by Kieran York
“We’re all appreciative of the witness couple that acted quickly. The witnesses made the difference.”
“Yes, indeed. And your deputies protected the crime scene. We got very little that didn’t reinforce the story the witnesses told. Blood splatter pattern, two cartridges, no ballistic match, no shoe imprint, tire tracks casts – a new Ford, and nearly every other recent model has the same tires. We’ve processed the attempted murder scene and found little. And as for the voice recording that your department brought over. A very bad sound. Your deputy, Sam, worked on it and improved it some. If we had a suspect in custody, we could run it for voice pattern.”
“We haven’t got much to go on.” Royce felt her insides clinch in anger. Her anger at unsolved, or unsolvable murder, flared. She wouldn’t settle on a cold case. Not ever. Not on this investigation. “Hold onto the bullets, Doc. I’m staying optimistic. When the case is solved and Nick is fully recovered. I want the bullets taken out of evidence and given to Nick. A presentation piece for our undersheriff.”
Grinning, Doc said, “I’m sure he’ll appreciate it. I’ll see that it’s given back to the Sheriff’s Department.” Doc Prichard looked up at the ceiling a moment. When he looked back into Royce’s somber eyes, he said, “Royce, this doesn’t look like it’s going to be an easy case.”
“Probably not. Enforcement now has what they call the SOD defense. Criminals say Some Other Dude did it. And unless we can prove guilt, or extract a confession, no one knows who the heck the other dude is. And no one is prosecuted.”
“You and your deputies, the D.A., and us – we’re all in on this one.”
“What do you think Nick’s prospects for recovery are?”
“Royce, I’m not certain. The surgeons aren’t certain. They told me they’re still hoping he soon regains consciousness. My best guess is that it’s dependent on the amount of blood that seeped. Luckily, it was reported early. He got immediate attention. Simply put, with the brain, blood spills kill cells. And time tells the tale.”
“Doc,” her eyes filled, “I’m heartbroken. His family, friends…we all miss him. We want Nick back with us.”
“As long as the medics are feeling optimistic. And we all believe. But make no mistake; his recovery could be a long way from now. But it could also be rapid.” Doc patted her shoulder. “Royce, it’s a time of folks being anti-enforcement. Yet, I can’t walk half a block but what a dozen towns people are asking me about Nick.”
Royce nodded helplessly. “I get that, too. I wish I had something positive to tell our town.”
When Royce returned to her office, she sat at her desk. Looking over the stack of messages, she examined what they knew, and what they didn’t know. Most of the messages began with uncertainty. No one claimed to know who attempted to kill Nick.
It was a clean crime. No one left fingerprints or DNA behind. Nothing. Not even Royce’s gut hunch was in play. It was an immaculate attempted murder. The scene gave little. The one gift was the witnesses.
***
After an afternoon of scouring files, idea, any information that might have come in from anyone who might know anything, produced little. After follow up, most were empty ideas. Royce changed into her civvies, and then called Hertha. Hertha said that she and the children had already eaten dinner. Molly had brought some pasties for them. She suggested Royce drop over to see her mother. Molly was worried about Royce.
Royce said she would go to Molly’s Pantry, and have dinner there. Then she added that she wanted to stop by the Bell Ringer. She wanted to talk with owner, Faye. Also, the sheriff had seen the Jeep on the street, and wanted to talk with Claude Myers, a suspect with great animosity toward Nick.
Walking across the street to first talk with her mother. She worried about her mother when there was a shooting. Molly had lost her husband when Royce’s father was gunned down. “Mom, any word from Bev.”
“No, not this afternoon. But Wanda from your office called to let me know Nick’s surgery went okay. Gwen said she’d go to the hospital early, and report back to me. I been worried about you, Royce.”
Chance snuck into the back of the bakery. She gave a whine. “My dog is begging.” Royce tried to lift the mood. “The pup patrol must have smelled some of the burger and chicken you keep for her.”
As they walked to the back, Molly confessed, “How can anyone turn down Chance? Why that dog is an angel.”
Royce glanced over at Chance. She was small for her breed. Between forty and fifty pounds, with a light-colored coat, and a magnificent stance. Her alert, intelligent eyes beamed her intent. She was hungry, and knew that hunger could be satiated with one of Molly’s wonderful doggy meals. As soon as Molly put Chance’s bowl down, the German shepherd ate.
Royce sat at the counter, and munched on two of her mother’s house specialties. Pasties were the best-selling meals. “Mom, please don’t worry about me.” Royce’s smile was bland. “I was worried about you. Sometimes I wonder why I went into enforcement.”
“We both know you became a deputy to make your daddy proud. And to solve crime. To solve this crime. You get down to the nitty-gritty of a case. This case is a turn up for the book. You don’t seem to have much to go on.”
“I’m headed over to the Bell Ringer now, Mom. I want to see what Faye Arnall knows. She gets more scuttlebutt in the bar. Everyone has ideas. I’m going to the right place. Because, Mom, I’m fresh out of ideas.” She kissed her mother’s forehead, then she and Chance walked to the Bell Ringer Saloon. Royce sat on a stool at the bar.
Townsfolk and tourists alike loved the frontier style western bar with its large swinging, welcoming doors. The rustic Western wooden swinging doors had been there for a century. Those famous vintage saloon doors made it what Faye called, a traditional cowboy saloon. The local watering hole for decades was thick with Western history and lore.
“Any news?” Faye inquired. Faye’s voice went from flat to high pitched, depending on her love-life.
“You’ve probably got more news than I do. Nick made it through his second surgery. Nothing much in the way of solving the crime.”
“Everyone’s feeling the pain,” Faye replied. She took a sip of beer. “You look like you could use a brew.” She took a long-necked beer from behind the bar and snapped the cap off.
“Thanks, Faye.” Royce sipped the beer slowly. “I wonder if you’ve seen a dishy, hot woman newcomer to Timber.”
Faye chuckled, “No way I’m directing you to a dishy and hot gal. Hertha would not best like that.” Faye’s cigarette hung from her lower brightly reddened lip. Attractive, and well-aged, she’d owned and managed The Bell Ringer for two decades. Although in her fifties, she kept a very young wardrobe. “Isn’t your domestic bliss, blissful?” She laughed, knowing better.
Royce smirked. “Bliss is wonderful. I’m not looking for a date. I’m looking for a woman that may have been implicated in the shooting. The Dillard kid was supposed to have a brunch date with a hot woman. Those were his words, not mine.” Royce grinned.
“No new women around here. Maybe she is a Crystal Village society babe.”
“Well, if you hear of anyone. Or see someone trying to get a job, whatever, let me know. Sam sent one of the deputies to check out the chic bars in Crystal, and everyone was looking for hot women. But there are so many tourists there. Who would know the difference?”
“I’ll keep a look out.”
“And your voice is very, very sensual. What’s going on?” the sheriff quizzed.
“I found me a great bed partner. He’s a decade younger, but he’ll do,” Faye said in a singsong way.” She leaned across the bar. “Don’t mention this to Gwen Ives. She finds out I’ve got a new man in my bed, and she’ll give me the stink-eye.”
“I think she can handle it, Faye,” Royce teased. Gwen and Faye had continued their feud of snipping at one another for years.
“Well, I’m happy. My new snug isn’t perfect, but he is good for my needs.” She leaned even nearer.
“And Molly said those witnesses claimed the shooter was a body builder type. But, Royce, my new lover was with me all day on the day Nick was shot.”
“All day?”
“Our day off. He’s my new bouncer, Ted Mosley. We were together all day.”
The sheriff then asked, “And have you seen Claude Myers?”
“I sure have. He’s blotto. I took his keys from him, and had our new bouncer accompany him out to his vehicle in the lot. He can sleep in the Jeep. He’s a mean drunk.”
“He had a scuffle or two with Nick. The rest of his group, Spuds and Duffy, don’t like deputies, it seems. But Claude really hates Nick.”
“Claude hates everyone. But he’ll be in tomorrow morning, and he’ll thank me for taking his keys. He treats me with some respect. He’s afraid I’ll eighty-six him. It’s common knowledge that I’m sleeping with the new bouncer – an ex-wrestler. Lost some of his muscle with age and thirst – it’s now beer muscle.”
“Well, I was going to tell you to stay safe, but looks like you’ve got that covered with your wrestler.”
“Sheriff, first thing in the morning Claude will be up. Just drop over and talk with him then. I’ve got his keys, so he isn’t going anywhere before you chat with him in the morning. You aren’t gonna get anything but snoring out of him now.”
Royce finished her beer, then put money on the bar top. “Thanks, Faye.” Royce would do a background check on Ron Mosely in the morning. Just to make certain he wasn’t involved in Nick’s shooting. Faye’s needs for him were far different than Royce’s. The sheriff needed to find a shooter of bullets.
As she crossed the street, Royce thought how different the world seemed in only a couple of days. She saw the porch light go on, and knew that Hertha would be waiting for her.
Chapter 4
The morning seemed so usual. Waking, showering, dressing, fixing breakfast, small talk with the family, and finally a goodbye hug from Hertha. Royce and Chance then left the house. Once across the street, at the side of The Bell Ringer, Royce spotted Duffy’s camo Jeep, where Claude Myers was sleeping. And he was probably not in a good mood judging his state of inebriation from the night before. The sheriff pounded on the window.
“What the hell?” Claude’s snoring halted. He sat up; his eyes were blinking.
Through the backseat window, she was insistent that he wake up. “Claude, I need to talk with you. I’m Sheriff Madison…”
“I know who the hell you are. I wanna know what you want.” He nearly rolled off the seat as he struggled to sit up.
“I’m interrogating everyone that might have had an issue with Nick Hogan.”
He exited the Jeep, stretching. “I heard tell that he was shot. I knew him because he was always bugging us at the hobo jungle. Trying to move us on. Pompous asshole.”
Royce felt her jaws clamp. “He could have had you and your band of vagrants on the outskirts of Denver if he didn’t have compassion. Now, I realize you don’t like him…”
“I hate him. Damned lawmen, they want to rule the world. I hate ‘em all. Some more than others. Shove everyone around.”
“Nick never shoved you or anyone else around. He had respect for the people in his community. I want to know if you have a firearm.”
“Nope. If I had one, I’d probably take a potshot or two at a deputy.”
“You just went on my suspect’s list. Wanting to kill someone and saying you might have shot them are strange things for an innocent man to say.”
“He said he’d run us in, and he had nothing on us.” Claude’s face reddened.
“An officer of the law can detain you for a multitude of sins. Listen to me, Claude. Right now, I can detain you to do a warrant check. I can run you in for threatening the life of a public official. I’d just write out a warrant on you for breach of peace. Or maybe a mental health hold. And Nick could have done anyone of the above. He didn’t. He did give you the benefit of trust. The county of Timber could come at you with a fistful of writs. Nobody has done that. You people seem to think enforcing is nothing but a contact sport. We like shoving you around. And you know better. We have other things to do. Just don’t threaten us.”
“Look, you…” he stepped toward her.
“Attention, Chance.” Deputy Chance sat directly in front of him, growling. “Claude, don’t move another muscle. You are only about three-feet away from having your neck shredded by the most ferocious teeth in the city. Just listen to what I’m saying. The law enforcement of this county is searching for the shooter of our beloved undersheriff. And we’re going to find that man.”
“I never tried to kill him. Yeah, well I wouldn’ta missed my target.” He began his stumbling walk to The Bell Ringer’s side door. He disappeared into the bar.
Royce was glad to have had her body cam on. She muttered to Chance. “Deputy Jaws, no need for a slugfest with you around. It was a clean confrontation. If you’d have ripped his throat out, you’d have been justified. And you looked good!”
The sheriff slipped a dog biscuit into Chance’s mouth. She then took out an evidence packet. She carefully taped a place on the Jeep’s door, where she saw his fingerprint. The dusty side door clarified the point where he’d touched. Carefully, she placed it into a small packet. Royce then walked a few steps to where Claude Myer’s spit. She took a vile, swabbed the spittle, and secured it in the vile. She would have Claude’s DNA and a background check by day’s end. Forensics would see what the DNA database had to say about Claude.
She felt like taking another shower. But she made scrubbing her hands the first thing she did when she entered the Justice Building.
After dropping the samples off at the lab, Royce went to her office. Wanda greeted the sheriff. “No deputy meeting today?”
“Nope. Just tell the deputies same as yesterday. I’ll type out my report, and then if you would, you can email it out to each of the deputies. Overtime is appreciated. And their reports should be shared. You know what we’re looking for. Any information possibly connected to the shooting. It doesn’t make sense to take an hour and a half meeting time when we’re needing every deputy hour we can squeeze.”
“That’s the truth,” Wanda agreed. “We’ve been run off our feet with questions people call about. We’re trying to solicit information to catch a killer, and one lady called to ask if she could borrow a deputy to clean of her driveway.” She shook her head. “You can’t make that stuff up, Sheriff.”
“Any additional report on Nick?”
“The operation went without a hitch, but he’s still unconscious. Bev said she’ll just call with reports because visitors are still not allowed. Terry said to call her if we needed information. Bev is exhausted, and she’s at Nick’s side every waking hour. But Terry’s trying to get Bev to rest.”
“Let the troops know, so they don’t bother the family. Nick is loved, that’s why everyone wants to know his condition. Also, please contact Gwen or Nadine, and maybe they can write the news that and citizens can be informed about Nick’s condition.”
“Oh, by the way, your Gran called. She asked if you could drop by the cabin. She and Debra need some help with the electrical power box. I’m assuming she meant the fuse box. She said you know how to fix it.”
“I was hoping when Debra moved in with her, Debra would be a fixer-upper.”
“According to Debra’s grandson, Mike, she’s more of a decorator-upper.”
Royce smiled. “D.A. Michael Parker is also more of a prosecutor-upper than a home repair fixer-upper. He did fix the sink washer a couple weeks ago.”
Wanda laughed. “Debra and Dora are having fun together though. They’re good companions for each other. They never miss a card game with their friends. Never miss a Sunday at church. They have a lot in common. And they cook together.”
Royce looked at her watch. “If Gran calls again, tell her I’m on my way. Glad I got up early this morning. I can get back here later, and get some paperwork done.” Royce smirked. “If that lady
caller doesn’t insist that I go over and scrub her danged driveway.”
Laughing, Wanda announced. “I got a call this morning with a complaint.”
“Oh?”
“Some looney called and said it irked him that there were so many black trucks in the country. He was searching for the black truck with the shooter. I guess some townsfolk are getting money together for a reward to finding the shooter.” Wanda snickered. “Nothing like a little monetary incentive.”
Royce smiled, and patted her leg for Chance. “I’m glad the citizens are taking the BOLO seriously. Come on, Chance. Let’s go look for a black truck.”
If only that black truck would show up. Surely, that would provide trace evidence of some type.
***
Early morning at Gran’s cabin had been such a large portion of Royce’s life. Not only did she visit her grandparents when she was growing up. Her entire life rotated around the cabin. As an adult, she stayed with her Gran after she joined the Sheriff’s Department. As a young deputy, she could watch after her Gran, and also had a place to live.
Both land and cabin were loved, she thought as she pulled into the driveway. Gran and Debra were busily baking, and the kitchen smelled delicious. “It’s the cinnamon that’s giving off that wonderful scent,” Debra commented.
“Any news on Nick?” Gran asked as she poured a cup of coffee for Royce.
“He had a restful night was the last we heard,” Debra offered.
Gran added, “And surgery went fine. The doctor announced his progress to the press a few minutes ago on TV, Denver TV, mind you. He said that it was still touch and go.”
