Crisis Shot

by Janice Cantore

  “I have rules for things, and my rule #7 applies. I think this situation requires a ‘trust but verify’ attitude, Pastor.”

  She left Oliver and he watched as she cautiously approached the dog.

  After a few minutes she backed away. “The dog is hurt. She’s wet and bleeding. Whoever shot the master also shot the dog,” she muttered.

  She was silent as she studied the dog. “Didn’t I read somewhere that we have an animal advocate in this town? Someone who might be able to help with this dog? I know animal control is too far away.”

  “Yes, we do. Casey Reno is involved with an animal sanctuary. She might be able to help.”

  “Do you have her number? Can you give her a call?”

  “I’ll have to walk out to the road a ways for a signal.”

  “Would you mind?”

  “Not at all.” Oliver was happy to put distance between himself and Anna’s dead cousin. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  He called Casey Reno, who arrived quickly. The two women huddled together and assessed the situation. He watched as they coaxed the injured dog away from his owner. It was a serious injury; Oliver could see that. The poor animal’s right front leg hung uselessly and there was a lot of blood. Casey carefully led the dog to her truck and got her inside on a pile of towels. She left with the dog to take it to the vet. O’Rourke said she’d pay for the care.

  The last chief wouldn’t have been so kindhearted.

  While Oliver watched O’Rourke’s cool competence and tried to keep his mind from anxiousness about Anna, he couldn’t quell the dread building in his gut about his missing wife.

  First Anna leaves, and now her cousin is found murdered.

  If Oliver believed in bad omens, this would be a doozy. He also wished he’d listened closer to Anna when she’d said she needed time. Did he miss something in her tone? Her choice of words?

  His thoughts snapped back to the here and now as Tess strode toward him, peeling off her latex gloves as she did.

  “Okay, Pastor, I can’t search his pockets until the coroner gets here, but if that is your cousin-in-law, does he live here in the Hollow?”

  “His last real address was in Shady Cove. Lately, I believe he was mostly living on the streets, out of his Jeep. He had a drug problem. Anna tried to help him many a time. Nothing ever took.”

  Her probing gaze held his. Oliver wondered if she was full Irish. Had to be with that wild red hair and those green, green eyes. He felt as though she could see down into his soul and not miss a speck.

  “He said nothing the night he gave Anna the money? Not about where he’d been or where he was going?”

  “No. According to Anna, all he said was ‘Only God can make this clean.’ Then he fled into the darkness.”

  She considered this. “This makes me more concerned about Anna. We’ve been looking for Glen since you turned in the money. Any idea where he might have been?”

  Oliver sighed, crossing his arms. “Not really. Some months ago, Anna did visit him from time to time in Shady Cove, at the last place he was living. She speaks about praying for him often, that he was wasting his life with drugs. His parents are divorced. His mother lives in Washington State but his father is still in Shady Cove.”

  “Would he have been with his father?”

  “I doubt it. His father is not a forgiving or compassionate man.”

  Tess said nothing for a minute and Oliver went on.

  “I think her being gone and him being here is just a coincidence.”

  Tess shook her head. “Sorry, I just don’t believe in coincidences. Not like this. Not at all.”

  16

  Wanting to finish everything before it got dark, Tess methodically began photographing and processing her crime scene as soon as the dog was gone. She got lucky and found a shell casing a short distance from the body. She only found one when there should have been at least three more, so it was probable the killer policed his brass. Tess was certain that someone firing a 9mm automatic handgun had shot the dog and killed Elders here, right beside the creek. With luck they’d pull a print off the casing and solve this quick. There was also a possibility that the coroner would pull a spent slug from the body that would further help them evidence-wise.

  The scene wasn’t giving her much. Back home she would have set up a line of officers to search the grassy area inch by inch, but here she didn’t have the resources. She and Bender did the best they could. The sheriff was sending someone to pick up the body, but right now they couldn’t spare any other personnel.

  Bender had provided a second ID, besides Macpherson; he recognized Elders as well. Bothering Tess was the nagging indication that there had been at least two other people here with Glen. Begging the question: Were there two killers, or was there another victim to be located?

  The hikers who found the body were adamant that they hadn’t tramped down all the grass, likewise Arthur and Del. Del had tiptoed in to be certain the men saw what they thought they saw. The reason Arthur had driven to the station to deliver the news was because they hadn’t brought phones with them, due to the area being a dead zone. Tess knew a lot of guys liked that about the creek. While they fished, they didn’t want to be disturbed by phone calls.

  But Tess could make out two sets of large footprints and one smaller set of tennis shoe impressions. One set of impressions matched Glen’s shoes and the smaller set of tennis shoe impressions was always next to his. Most of the impressions disappeared in a mess of disturbed grass and dirt, and to Tess, that indicated a scuffle.

  As she considered the body, she wondered about Glen—homeless with a drug problem, not a good combination. Was he a loner? Did it make more sense that he’d be here alone rather than with someone? She needed to find out more about her victim.

  She stepped as close to the edge of the creek as the brush would allow and watched the rushing, swirling water. In California there would be a railing here. Tess was surprised that only the Stairstep Falls were fenced off, not this rough section of the creek. But locals had told her that besides the fact this was a wilderness area—and who would be crazy enough to try to fence off all the wild?—most everyone respected the power of the creek.

  Bending over the ravine, hearing and watching the rushing water gave Tess pause. Did another victim fall over the side into that crashing gully? There was an opening here in the thick brush—narrow, but there nonetheless. Her eye caught a flutter of fabric snared in the blackberry thorns. She knelt down and stretched as far as she could, the creek roaring in her ears. At nearly the very end of her reach, she grasped the fabric and pulled it free. A couple of inches long, it was a shred of flowered flannel. Definitely not from Glen’s clothing.

  She frowned, looking down at the churning water. Did someone fall in here? If they did, was there any possibility they survived?

  Rule #4: “Never assume.” They had to find out, and fast.

  “Find something?” Bender yelled to be heard over the water and startled her as he appeared at her side.

  She jerked toward him. He’d been respectful and helpful so far, and Tess hoped she was making headway with the man.

  “I found this.” She stood and held the fabric up for him to see. “There’s a possibility someone went over, into the creek here and on to the Stairsteps. Anyone ever survive that?”

  His eyes narrowed. “Once or twice, but they get all banged up. I’ve lived here all my life, and mostly, you go over the falls, you die. If someone fell in here, odds are that if their body hasn’t already been seen, it will be soon. It would hit the Rogue, head downriver, where there are tons of fishermen and rafters. Someone will see it.”

  “We need to check. I heard Pounder log on, didn’t I?”

  He nodded, then anticipated her next question. “You want him to check out the viewing platform?”

  “Yes. Ask him to take a look. I don’t think anyone could get out of the creek until after the Stairsteps; the banks are too steep.”

  �
�That’s about right.”

  “Okay, then notify the sheriff, tell him we think someone went in. They can check farther downstream or let us know if the body has already been seen and we just haven’t heard yet.”

  “Right away.” He stepped away and she heard him relay her instructions.

  This was the most time Tess had spent with Bender on a serious call. She realized that when he cooperated and did the job, he was good at it.

  “Curtis is on his way to the viewing platform, and the sheriff copied our request. They’ll put the word out, check downriver. If someone did fall in here, we should know soon.”

  Tess nodded. If there was a second victim/witness to this mess, she or he was most likely dead like Glen. She continued to peruse the ground around the body and saw a glint of something. She knelt down, hoping for another casing, but what she found was a bit of metal, burnished bronze in color, maybe a broken key chain. She held it up, turned it over in her hands. It looked like three letters, part of an o, then SS.

  She looked at Bender and held up the bit. “You recognize this?”

  He stepped forward. “Platinum Security Systems.” He pulled a matching key chain out of his pocket. “I’ve got one. Beto Acosta gives them out like candy.”

  With the whole thing intact, she could see that it was a PSS. What she held had broken off from the P.

  “Hand me an evidence bag. Maybe it belonged to our killer.”

  He opened a bag for her to drop the broken key chain inside.

  “Coroner is en route.” Bender repeated what she’d heard the radio say.

  She acknowledged his statement with a nod, knowing that her small department would be the lead investigators on this homicide, according to what she’d read in the procedures manual. But Jackson County had deputies and a detective ready to help smaller agencies with all major crimes.

  “Are we going to handle this or give it over to the SO?” he asked, hands on his Sam Browne, appraising her, a little of his snootiness back.

  Bender was basically in the middle when it came to seniority on her police force. Del had twenty-five years; Pounder, her sergeant, had twelve; the newest officer, Martin Getz, had two years on. Bender was at seven. Of all the people she’d want to work a homicide with, it wasn’t Bender. But he was here, and he was working hard, and his plans to leave notwithstanding, Tess wasn’t going to be petty and push him aside for someone she got along with better. She was going to work with Bender.

  The fact that no one could remember when the small town had had a homicide meant all the officers would be green.

  Sure, there were always deaths to deal with. Tess had, in her short tenure, handled two accidental river drownings and one fatal car accident.

  As for Bender, aside from his obvious resentment over her appointment, Tess had been impressed by the quality of his work, his reports, and his overall hard-charging attitude. Trim and wiry, Bender would have fit in on LBPD. With his close-cropped dark hair and a neatly trimmed mustache with a small hint of gray, he could be on any recruiting poster.

  She shrugged. “We may need some assistance, but I worked homicide in Long Beach for a couple of years. I think I can handle this. What about you? You up to doing some detective work?”

  His features and body language changed almost imperceptibly. “You mean me being a backwoods hick and all?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Anger flared and Tess fought to keep her composure. She’d never insinuated any such thing, had she? “But if that’s what you think of your abilities, maybe I should call in Sergeant Pounder.”

  “I’m a cop, a good one. I can handle this.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Tess said in a measured tone. “And I may know how to run a homicide investigation, but you know the area and the procedures much better—” She was interrupted by a commotion behind her.

  “I demand to know why I wasn’t notified about this sooner!”

  “Sir, you can’t go in there. This is a crime scene.” Del had his hands full, but he was properly forceful. Tess saw why. Douglas Dixon, the chicken-chested mayor of Rogue’s Hollow, was trying to force his way into the crime scene.

  Tess sighed and counted to ten. She should have known she couldn’t put this off for long. She’d worked with her share of micromanagers while in Long Beach, but she was learning that Dixon was a micromanager on steroids. He was a Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Supportive but hands-off one minute and a hovering nanny the next. Tess tried to cut him slack. She knew his wife was disabled and he was the primary caregiver. You can’t be all bad and take care of an ailing wife.

  Funny, no one warned her about him. Addie Getz, the woman who ran the inn where Tess was currently living until she found something more permanent, had told her of the narrow margin by which she had been hired, and that one of the dissenting voters might try to undermine her. But it wasn’t Dixon Addie was worried about; it was Cole Markarov.

  “Watch out for Markarov,” she’d said. “He’s a horrible chauvinist. He even calls his wife ‘the little woman.’”

  Tess remembered Markarov from her interview. A jerk, pure and simple. But she’d seen little of the man since her hire, while Dixon seemed to always be listening to the scanner. He’d appeared at just about every major scene. She’d been surprised he hadn’t popped up at Bubba’s. He had a funny way of showing his support.

  “Chief O’Rourke, Chief O’Rourke! Why was I not notified about this crime? Why did I have to hear about it on the scanner? And is this officer here on overtime? We can’t afford that. Why didn’t you call Jackson County for assistance?”

  Dixon was in his sixties with a potbelly and a mostly bald head. Thankfully he didn’t employ a comb-over, but what he did do struck Tess as just as odd. He wore what hair he did have long, in a braid that went halfway down his back.

  Tess had deferred to him at every incident before this. But something snapped now. This was a homicide; she was not going to let him muck up the investigation. If it got her fired, so be it.

  “Mr. Dixon, I’m in the middle of a murder investigation. That requires my concentration and attention. It makes no sense to stop in the middle of what I’m doing to phone you. Now please step back behind the yellow tape before you contaminate my crime scene.”

  “Wh-what did you say?” Dixon turned crimson. For a second he reminded Tess of a cartoon character about to blow his stack. She didn’t have time to coddle him. In Long Beach even the mayor knew better than to invade a homicide scene.

  Pastor Macpherson stepped forward. “Doug, the chief knows her job. There is no need for you to interfere.”

  She’d forgotten the pastor was there. He’d been conversing with the hikers.

  “Why is Pastor Macpherson here?”

  Tess swallowed a chuckle at the whiny, petulant tone in the man’s voice.

  She brought a hand to her mouth to compose herself, then said, “Pastor Macpherson came along in the hopes of helping us ID the victim. He has since proven a big help in calming down the hikers who found the body.”

  “Who is the victim?” The mayor’s voice took an anxious tone. Tess wondered at that. It was almost as if he feared her answer.

  “We believe he’s a homeless man. Glen Elders. Do you know him?”

  Dixon relaxed somewhat but frowned. “I’ve heard the name. He’s a druggie, isn’t he?”

  Tess nodded. “So I’ve been told. Please don’t share that information with anyone. I don’t want the next of kin to hear about this on the news.”

  “Of course, of course.”

  “Del was off duty when he was flagged down about the body by a civilian. It made sense to keep him here to secure the scene. The sheriff is stretched thin today but someone will be here as soon as they can to collect the body. Until then I want the crime scene closed, so I need my people. Is there a reason you want to walk into my scene and disturb the dead body?”

  He huffed. “I don’t want to disturb anything. But I am the mayor. You are required to keep me
up to date on what is happening in my town!”

  “I would have called you when I got back to the station.”

  Bender waved at Tess. He’d heard the chatter on the radio while Tess had missed it. “Chief, the coroner is here. Can’t get in because the mayor’s car is blocking the way.”

  Tess turned to Dixon and arched an eyebrow. “Mr. Mayor?”

  Flustered, he said, “I’ll move my car. But I want a full accounting of this incident as soon as you return to your office.” He wagged his finger at her before turning on his heel and stomping away.

  “He bother you at every crime scene?” Oliver Macpherson asked.

  “Goes with the territory, I think.”

  Sergeant Pounder down at the viewing platform asked for Tess on the radio. “Chief, I don’t see anything here, but the light is getting bad. It’s shady here. If you’re sure someone went into the creek, we’ll need to walk the banks.”

  “You think someone went in the water?” Oliver asked.

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “Chief.” Del stepped up. “I’ll walk the east bank. Been fishing this creek nearly twenty years. Don’t mind taking a look.”

  “Thanks, Del. I’ll submit overtime for you. Meet Sergeant Pounder at the viewing platform; he should walk the west bank.”

  He nodded and left for his truck.

  Tess turned to Oliver. “How are the hikers doing?” When she’d conducted her interviews with the men, she’d noted that one of them was having a hard time dealing with the fact he’d found a murder victim.

  “Still quite a bit shocked, but they’ve settled down.”

  Tess nodded. “Thank you. They can go now. I’ll tell them. As soon as the body is removed, I can ask Arthur or Gabe to take you home.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  “Have you thought any more about filing that report on your wife?” Tess hoped her thoughts on coincidences had sunk in. She was already nursing a bad feeling about Anna.

  He gave her a thoughtful look, then a resigned sigh. “Let me wait a bit. As soon as I get home, if she’s not there, I’ll ask a friend to check into the cabin at Union Creek. And I’ll pray. If she just needs time, I’d hate to step on that.”