Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1

by Lisa Phillips

  “Maybe I saw something.”

  “Care to share?”

  “It might’ve been a woman. I’m not sure.” He sniffed. “Small enough to be a girl. But she was in all black and her hair was in a cap or something or short, because it wasn’t long that I could see.”

  John made a note in his book. “What was she doing?”

  “Running.”

  He glanced up. “Where were you and where was she?”

  “Over there.” The kid pointed to the corner at the end of the street behind John. “She was up there but she ducked between Elmer’s—that’s the hardware store—and the mayor’s office. She was bookin’ it.”

  “In a hurry?”

  “That’s what I said.”

  “Did you touch the body at all or move anything?”

  “Eew. No way!” The kid paled. “I just told Bill to stay here and I ran to the command center.”

  “Okay. If you think of anything else, you know where to find me.”

  The kid nodded and then scurried off up the street, leaving John to speak with Bill. Something made them seem younger and John feel old. Technically he was old enough to be their father. But only if you fudged the numbers a little.

  When he was done with the second interview, the mayor rushed over. “Enough of this standing around. My wife is lying over there and what are you doing? Moseying around like the new sheriff in town and chatting.”

  “Mr. Collins, I’m very sorry for your loss.” John paused. “This is not a process you want to rush. Investigating takes time. If you want answers to what happened to your wife, then I need you to let me do a thorough job, not a half-baked attempt that doesn’t get to the bottom of it.” He let that sink in. “I’m going to need you to walk me through your itinerary for the evening.”

  His mouth gaped. “I’m not some kind of criminal.”

  “I need to establish a timeline of your wife’s whereabouts for this evening. When was the last time you saw her?”

  “At dinner. I didn’t stay long.” He sucked in a choppy breath. “I was in my library by eight. I’m working on a proposal I’m establishing for town expansion as well as a way to generate revenue that will mean we’ll be able to rely less on outside supplies.”

  John spoke, just to get the mayor to stop talking about his expansion project. “Did anyone come over, or did your wife go out at all? Did any calls come in?”

  “I was on the phone between eight forty-five and nine oh-five.” The way he said it indicated he wasn’t going to share the subject of the call, or who in town it was with. At least not without a considerable amount of pressure. “I don’t know what my wife was doing.”

  “Is there anyone who might’ve wanted to harm your wife?”

  “What? No. Betty was loved.”

  Right. “This might be my second day here but I understand the responsibilities of this job. I’m going to find out what happened to your wife and if this truly was a murder, then the person who committed this crime will be brought to justice.”

  Beyond the mayor, Harriet stood with a balled up tissue pressed to her face. Her eyes were wide and she looked like she wanted to say something.

  The doctor waved to get his attention. “Sheriff?”

  He would have to find time to talk with her later.

  John thanked the mayor and jogged back to where the doctor crouched beside Mrs. Collins. “Yes?”

  Deputy Palmer sprinted up to them, red faced and breathing heavy like he’d run all the way across town. “Goodness. Was this a hit and run? Who did it?”

  “That’s what we’re going to find out.”

  Palmer swallowed, his eyes on the body. “I don’t have to touch her, do I?”

  John glanced down. The man’s shirt was misaligned, buttoned in a hurry, and his hair was ruffled. “Why don’t you go to the office and get us some coffee?”

  “Right.” Palmer blinked and looked at John, his face balmy. “Was it a hit and run?”

  “Since she was stabbed six times, I’m going with no.” Doctor Fenton turned to John. “And she’s been dead less than an hour.”

  John looked at his watch. 10:30.p.m. That meant she was killed shortly after John saw the flag taken.

  “No-o,” Palmer sputtered. “She wasn’t murdered.”

  John eyed him. “And you know this because…”

  “There’s no murder in Sanctuary.”

  “Since when?”

  Palmer blinked. “No, I mean ever. Not once in the history of this town has there been a…murder. ” His head shifted side to side fast enough John got dizzy just watching.

  “Calm down, Deputy.”

  “Do marshals investigate…this type of thing?” Palmer motioned to the body. “Have you even done this before?”

  “I’ve been involved with several, just never took the lead.”

  “I don’t even…I can’t…”

  John crouched. The wounds were all located in the victim’s abdomen. Palmer shifted behind him and wretched. John lifted his eyes to the heavens and beseeched whoever was up there that Palmer hadn’t just destroyed perfectly good evidence.

  It was going to be a long night.

  **

  Hours later, John hauled the duffel bag of evidence collecting equipment into the sheriff’s office. An elderly man whose skin closely resembled a mummy sat in John’s chair, arms folded across his chest. He might have been dead, except for the drool running from the corner of his white, handlebar moustache. The superior court justice looked smaller in real life, swallowed up by John’s predecessor’s chair. He still looked like a mouse, just an elderly one.

  John locked the evidence in the safe, piling the paper bags and containers on the shelf above the guns he’d decided to store there. He had no idea where Palmer kept his. The coffee pot was half full but cold, so he nuked some in his kitchen. Matthias popped up on the couch but John waved him back down and he was snoring again within seconds.

  John sat in Palmer’s chair and got the initial paperwork done on his tablet. He emailed his brother a preliminary report that would be fun breakfast reading for him. Then he shook the old man awake.

  “Ha…what?” The old man smacked his lips and blinked up at John. “The new sheriff, I presume.”

  “Yeah and you’re in my chair.” The old man’s laughter sounded like a monkey screeching. John turned away to hide his grimace, dragged Palmer’s chair over and sat facing him. “John Mason.”

  “Justice Anthony Simmons.” The old man’s gray bush eyebrows twitched. “Any relation of Grant Mason?”

  “The director of the marshals is my brother.” John linked his fingers on his stomach.

  “Director Mason allowed me to maintain my authority, but only within city limits. I have the power to grant a warrant for arrest, contingent on the requisite evidence being in place. Among a few minor things, such as my vote on the city council, that is the bulk of the reach of my position here. With the exception of being able to perform weddings.”

  Simmons continued, “We do not hold hearings in town. You make the arrest and they’re detained here, under guard, until they can be taken out of town in the custody of the marshals. They are then transferred to Boise where they will be remanded without bail until their hearing—that’s part of the agreement each of us made. If the outcome of the hearing is a conviction, they are given a new WITSEC identity and serve their sentence in the federal prison of the director’s choice. If they’re acquitted, they come home or they can get transferred somewhere else. Depends on the circumstances.”

  John’s brain spun. Since it was almost four in the morning he settled on the last thing that crossed his mind. “How do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Live this life. Give up what you had for…this?”

  The old man shifted in his chair. “All that power and position exchanged for what essentially amounts to impotence?” He huffed but there was no humor there. “I’m an old man, Sheriff. I’d achieved the highest position
I could. You could say it was stolen from me but then there would be little left for me except bitterness. In this life, in this town, I have my wife, my granddaughter and my great granddaughter here. I see my family every day, all of them. We live a quiet life, closer than we ever would in Washington D.C. with cell phones and busy lives.

  “If my great granddaughter grows up and wants to leave, go to college, that is her choice. I’ll likely be dead by then, so I doubt I will care overly much.” He grinned, a face-full of dentures.

  John smiled. “No, I don’t suppose you will.”

  “You have your boy with you?” He glanced around like it was brunch and they were having coffee, not the middle of the night. “I thought I heard that.”

  “You did. Patrick, he’s eight. It’s been a while since we saw each other. My last undercover assignment ran long, but I’m hoping we can build a life here. If we decide Sanctuary is where we want to live.”

  “Some of the locals call it death valley.” The old man’s wrinkled face shifted with the force of his expression. “Why not? We all come here to die.”

  He shifted and stood, rising to a full five feet in his shoes. “Well, the wife would be mad if I was remiss in telling you she wants you and Pat over for dinner some time. She’ll try and set you up with our granddaughter Cassie, since she feels Gracie needs a father figure in her life. Like I’m chopped liver or something. Anyway, I’ll expect to see you at dinner soon.”

  “Yes, sir.” What else did you say when it was a Supreme Court Justice asking? “Soon as the case is wrapped up I’ll be sure to take you up on the offer. I’m not much of a cook.”

  The old man’s eyes narrowed. “My Cassie makes a delicious meatloaf.”

  “I’m sure she does, sir. I’ll look forward to it.” John opened the door for him.

  “Thank you for calling for me.” The old man grinned. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in months.”

  “Happy to oblige.”

  He disappeared, the monkey screech laugh echoing in his wake.

  Palmer stuck his head in the back door. “Is he gone?” He glanced around, strode in and blew out a breath. “Phew, I though the old man would never leave.”

  “Is there a problem between you and Justice Simmons?”

  Palmer shook his head. “He’s hardly anything special anymore. Just an old man wishing for the good old days.”

  Yeah, that was exactly what John had gotten from him. He nearly rolled his eyes. “Where have you been anyway?”

  Palmer took his coat off. “What are you, my mother?”

  No, but I am your boss. John sat at his desk and gathered his papers. “Did you find the murder weapon?”

  “No, and now I smell like trash since I had to search through every single bag.”

  “You know, in some places that job would be a rite of passage for a cop.” John grinned, not the slightest bit remorseful. “You can take a shower later. Right now we have work to do.”

  “It won’t keep until tomorrow?”

  “Welcome to real police work. It doesn’t respect the boundaries of the nine-to-five existence you’ve been living.” John sighed. “Look, it’s late. I’m tired, you’re tired. Why not just write up what needs writing up and then head home. I’ll work figuring out what needs doing with the evidence.”

  “What evidence?”

  John counted to ten. It’s not his fault he’s never done this before. “I’m waiting for her clothes. That will be huge, if we can get DNA from the killer. A drop of blood or a hair sample isn’t all that likely but it could give us his or her identity. We have her shoes. Once we find the murder weapon, we can check that for prints. We also need to find the location the murder took place. Since there was no blood on the wall and little blood had pooled around her, it’s reasonable to surmise that wasn’t where she was killed. In a town this size, we should be able to do that by process of elimination assuming she wasn’t killed in someone’s home. We can’t just go barging in.”

  “Actually, we can. It’s a stipulation of our positions and the fact residents are in the witness protection program, even the people born here. In the event of extenuating circumstances we can force entry.”

  “Did Sheriff Chandler ever have to do that?”

  “Just once. That was when the Fuller kid committed suicide. I was in junior high but I heard all about it.”

  “What was he like? I mean, what kind of a sheriff was Chandler?”

  Deputy Palmer leaned back in his chair. “He wasn’t bad. Gruff sometimes, but his leg bothered him in the winter. He’d been here since the town opened, like I said. I don’t know how he got the assignment or if he was in WITSEC too. He never told me. Anyway, Chandler made me learn all the rules and put me through all these tests and stuff he said I had to do, so I could become a deputy, you know? It wasn’t all that fun, but I wanted this job so I did it.”

  “You should be proud. You’ve held the fort down since he got sick, right?”

  The guy nodded. John wasn’t convinced Palmer was even a halfway decent cop, except in a town like this where nothing much happened. But he’d still worn the uniform through the previous sheriff getting a terminal diagnosis. He might not be the biggest proponent for something like Battle Night, which John had actually thought was fun. But Chandler had clearly seen something worth something in the kid.

  For the time being, John was willing to coach him along. These were evidently unprecedented circumstances if there’d never been a murder in Sanctuary’s history. It was so far from John’s experience of the world that a crime level this low was almost unreal. It would take some getting used to, for sure. In fact, this whole town was like a foreign country.

  John’s satellite phone rang.

  “Sheriff—”

  “A homicide? What are you doing to my town?”

  “Grant—”

  “No, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Fix this, John. These people are supposed to feel safe. I promised them that.”

  John leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Did you give me this job so you can yell at the sheriff of Sanctuary without remorse because I’m your kid brother?”

  “No, I gave you this job because Alphonz made bail. He lasted three seconds before he was blown up on the front step of the courthouse in Montgomery.” Grant huffed. “Alabama, for goodness sake. No one was even supposed to know he was there. Now I wake up to murder in my town.”

  John pressed his lips together. “Were you going to tell me that, or just mention it in my Christmas card?”

  “John—”

  “Have you ever actually been here?”

  “That’s not the point.”

  John swallowed the laughter. “Dude, calm down or you’ll need an aspirin. I can handle this if you can get my evidence tested for DNA.”

  “Get it on Monday’s transport. Mark it up with the orange stickers in your safe. I’ll get it sent to a lab. But the likelihood is it’s gonna take weeks, at least. No one’s gonna take a rush job, even if it is from me. Labs are way too territorial. They always give preference to the local guys they know and they’re always backlogged.”

  “So I have to solve this myself.”

  “The old fashioned way.” Grant said it like it was a terrible affliction.

  The bell over the door jangled and Harriet Fenton pushed her way in.

  “Gotta go.” John hung up.

  Her face was all blotched and puffy. John held back the grimace and stood. “How can I help you, Mrs. Fenton?”

  She stood straight and lifted her chin. “I know who killed Betty.”

  Chapter 8

  John managed four hours in bed but he barely slept. Harriet’s declaration had left him sleepless.

  Andra Caleri killed her.

  When he got up, the words were still ringing in his head along with all the questions. Matthias had left him a note explaining what time church started, so John walked over to the Meeting House.

  The air outside was clean and the sky a cl
ear blue that made him wish he’d unearthed his sunglasses even though it was fall. Inside, folding chairs had been set out in rows. At the front of the room there was a podium and a guy tuning a guitar—the farmer, Dan Walden.

  John searched the gathered crowd for Pat and found him with Olympia’s family, one hand grasping Matthias’s sleeve.

  “Dad!” Pat ran for him and John crouched, receiving the now familiar tackle of a long absence.

  John waited until Pat looked at him. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Dad, Reuben has a Wii. He said I can come over and play whenever I want!”

  Matthias strode over, hauling a boy on each of his shoulders. They were younger than Pat, four or five maybe. Twins, their features were similar but not identical. Both of them had dark hair, light blue eyes and a lighter skin tone than the bulk of Olympia’s family had.

  “This is Reuben and Simeon. They’re twin hooligans who’ll probably completely corrupt Pat’s sweet nature and turn him into a troublemaker.” Matthias laughed and the boys joined in but not because they got the joke. He swung them around, making the boys squeal.

  “Thanks for the tip.”

  Matthias looked like he wanted to say more, but made his way back to the rest of his family instead.

  “Want to sit with us, Dad?”

  “Sure.” John let Pat pull him all the way to the front of the room, where Olympia’s family took up a whole row on the right side.

  Father Wilson stepped up to the podium in his minister’s shirt and collar. Black pants and dirty sneakers completed his outfit. “Welcome.” He smiled wide, his attention settling on John for a moment since he was likely the only person everyone didn’t know.

  John nodded but his head was too full of what had happened to concentrate on announcements.

  Andra killed her.

  How Harriet had been so certain, John wasn’t clear on. When he’d asked her about it, she’d just said, “She hated Betty.” As though dislike was a good enough reason to stab someone six times. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, but Andra did not seem like the type.

  They stood to sing. John didn’t know any of the songs and they weren’t the hymns he’d heard as a kid. He’d have to see where the evidence led; interview anyone who might have been around at the time other than the two young guys who found Betty’s body.