Deadly Production (Mapleton Mystery Book 4)

by Terry Odell

  “Let me get this straight. You locked the door, then used a pry bar to get in?” Gordon tried to wrap his brain around that.

  Bart’s brow furrowed. “Hello?” He tapped his temple again. “Duh? I had her key. And I didn’t want anyone to discover a break-in while I was inside. I did that after I was done.”

  Gordon visualized the contents of Marianna’s purse. Yes, there had been keys. At the time, he’d assumed—kicking himself for that one—her RV key would have been on her main key ring, and only her B and B key was separate. But it stood to reason she’d get a new key to the RV when it was assigned to her at the shoot, and likely on its own ring.

  Leaving that behind him, he asked, “Where did you get the pry bar?”

  “From the equipment trailer. Nobody was around, and there’s all sorts of crap in there.”

  “Taking a big risk, weren’t you?” Solomon said.

  “Not really. By then, everyone was being hustled off the lot. And by then, I had everything I needed.”

  “You found your file,” Gordon said.

  “Yes, and that bitch had put all sorts of bullshit crap on it. But I figured if mine was the only one missing, that would make me a suspect, so I grabbed Cassidy’s and Lily’s, too, because they were in folders next to mine, and then two others at random. I tossed all the papers on the floor. I thought it would be harder to notice what was missing.”

  “You seem to think we’re not capable of doing our jobs, don’t you?” Solomon said.

  “I wasn’t thinking too clearly by then,” Bart said.

  “What about the spilled coffee?” Gordon asked.

  Bart shrugged. “I wanted to confuse things. There was a little coffee left in Marianna’s pot, so I poured it on the floor and washed the pot out. I thought you’d spend your time checking into coffee, not the hot chocolate. I washed her hot chocolate mug, too, and tossed it in the trash behind Finnegan’s. If I’d had time, I’d have grabbed those cups from the lounge, but by then, I knew I had to haul ass and pick up Kathy.”

  He bowed his head, peered upward, like a dog caught after stealing the roast thawing on the counter. “Guess I screwed up, huh? But you did say if I told you the truth, things would go easy for me. It was all an accident.”

  “That may well be, Mr. Bergsstrom, but I’m afraid you’re under arrest for the murder of Marianna Spellman.”

  Chapter 34

  Gordon rolled into his parking space early Monday morning and took a moment to enjoy another crisp fall day. With Bart Bergsstrom in the hands of the legal system, the public parking lot void of movie vehicles, and a cup of Daily Bread coffee in hand, he was looking forward to a normal, quiet day in Mapleton.

  Inside his office, he set his coffee on his desk, booted his computer, and headed for the workroom to retrieve the weekend reports. He almost collided with Solomon, who was on his way out of the room.

  “Was coming to find you, Chief. Colfax said they’ve got proof Franklin Fitzgerald was a homicide.”

  Franklin Fitzgerald? Gordon reorganized his thoughts. Not a movie person. “Right. The potential Deadbeat Dad victim.”

  “Lab reports found evidence of a sedative in his system,” Solomon went on. “And before you say anything about how he wanted to make sure he didn’t chicken out, or make things easy on himself, it was injected at the hairline at the back of his neck, which doesn’t seem to be a logical place to do it yourself. It didn’t kill him, though. They have proof he was still alive when he was overcome by the exhaust fumes.”

  “So he was drugged to make him compliant, or keep him in the car. Then the car was rigged to make it look like a suicide. Any leads as to who their culprit is?”

  “That’s what I wanted to ask, Chief. I put in a bunch of OT on Marianna Spellman’s case, and with your permission, I’d like to work with Colfax on this one. He said he’s got a couple of good leads.”

  “Let me check the duty roster first,” Gordon said, more as a formality, because he knew he could juggle a shift to cover Solomon’s absence for a day.

  He grabbed the report folders and strolled to his office, Solomon almost nipping at his heels. As he pulled up the files, he asked Solomon, “Did Colfax say he’d cover your salary for the day? There are rules against working for free. I can’t justify paying you to do County work.”

  “Colfax said he knew his way around the system, so it can show up as comp time on the Mapleton end,” Solomon said. “Or, I could take a sick day. You’re the number cruncher.”

  “I’ll work it out,” Gordon said. “Keep me posted.”

  Solomon shot out of the room like a bottle rocket. “Will do, Chief. And thanks.”

  A happy officer was a good officer, and Gordon had to admit he was curious to see whether Solomon’s theory panned out.

  Gordon called Dispatch, told Tessa about the personnel switch, made sure she’d let Connie know at shift change, then went through the reports, sipping his coffee. Even for Mapleton, it had been a slow weekend—not counting arresting Bart Bergsstrom, of course—but that hadn’t impacted routine patrol work. Not even a nuisance call from Mr. Johnson. Life was good.

  Gordon put the murder book in order, locked it in the evidence room with the other two, and caught up on neglected paperwork until it was time for his crossing guard duty.

  When he got back, Laurie stopped him, a huge smile on her face, a file folder in her hand. “We got the computer grant.”

  Could the day get better? Gordon took the folder. “How much red tape do we have to cut before we see these computers? Or the money to buy them?”

  “I’ll have the paperwork ready for your signature by lunchtime.” She swiveled her chair toward her file cabinet and pulled out a catalog. “Meanwhile, you can start shopping. I’ve flagged everything we requested in the grant.”

  Gordon took it to his desk and had turned to the first marked page when Laurie buzzed him on the intercom. “Sir, Mayor McKenna said you’re presence is required at a meeting of the Town Council at nine-thirty.”

  Which was fifteen minutes from now. “I don’t suppose he said what it’s about?” Gordon said. “The regular meeting isn’t for another month.”

  “No, just that it was imperative you be there. Maybe he’s going to commend you for your work in getting Marianna Spellman’s murder wrapped up so quickly.”

  The gnawing sensation in Gordon’s gut said he didn’t think the mayor would go that far, but he thanked Laurie and went to change into his dress uniform. Clothes made the man.

  After one final check to make sure he was as spiffed up as he could stand being, he drove to City Hall and strode into the room where the council met. The room smelled of lemon furniture polish. Dust motes danced in the sunlight streaming through the window.

  Aside from the mayor and the council members seated at the expanse of dark wooden tables at the front of the room, no one else was there. So, hardly a congratulatory meeting. If the mayor was going to present him with a medal, Gordon figured he’d have had at least the reporter from the Mapleton Weekly on hand.

  Back straight, head erect, Gordon marched toward the tables.

  “Thank you for coming, Chief Hepler.” Mayor McKenna gestured to the rows of chairs facing them. “Please, take a seat.”

  “I’d rather stand, sir.” And he did. At full attention. Titch would approve, although Gordon doubted Titch’s heart would thud the way Gordon’s was now.

  The mayor fussed with a pile of papers. The rest of the council either stared into space beyond Gordon or studied the table in front of them. When the former mayor had left, there’d been a shakeup of the council, and until this minute, Gordon had felt they supported the way he ran the Mapleton Police Department.

  Gordon opted to take the offensive. “Before you begin, Mayor McKenna, I want to inform you and the esteemed members of the council that as of this morning, the Mapleton Police Department has been approved for a grant to cover in-vehicle computers for the entire fleet. This will not only make communication
easier and faster, but will also increase the safety of our officers by allowing them to do traffic checks and run vehicle plates without having to radio them through Dispatch. And, because it’s a grant, it will have no impact on our budget.”

  “That is good news, indeed,” the mayor said. “However, there is still the matter of your conduct during the recent investigation that needs to be addressed. I’ll be frank, Chief Hepler. Such behavior cannot be condoned by the city of Mapleton, and we have put you on probation.”

  Gordon suppressed the what the fuck? that threatened to spring from his mouth. He waited.

  Furtive glances, clearing throats amongst the council members suggested the mayor’s decision hadn’t been met with unanimous approval. The mayor continued.

  “We are a small town, Chief Hepler. As such, we do not have the resources to deal with major crimes when in reality they have little or no bearing on our populace. In the case of Vista Ventures, they arrived as a self-contained unit, with their own personnel, housing, and security. Any criminal investigations should have been left to them. Instead, you insisted on taking over, thereby costing Mapleton significant dollars and disruptions. I, on several occasions, suggested—and I stress the word suggested because in no way did I intend to run the police department—that you allow Vista Ventures to get along with their business. I pointed out you might be opening Mapleton to a potential lawsuit. Instead, you ignored my counsel, to the point of almost ridiculing their own security.”

  As if those clowns would have had a clue what to do. Who’d gone crying to Daddy? Lean and Lanky, or Porky, or the third guard, so nondescript he couldn’t even recall his face? Or was it Lionel Dawson?

  “With all due respect, Mayor McKenna, the crime happened in Mapleton.”

  “On studio property,” one of the council members interjected. “Nothing in that parking lot beyond the asphalt was part of Mapleton.” One of the new guys, chosen to rubberstamp whatever the mayor wanted to put through, Gordon assumed.

  Tempted to turn and leave, instead Gordon schooled his features into full cop mode and let things play out.

  The mayor started reading from a list of expenses. Gordon’s cell vibrated at his hip, followed by a klaxon alert. The mayor peered over the papers. While he was chastising Gordon’s level of respect for the meeting by not silencing his phone, Gordon read the display. The rising and falling tone meant only one thing. Officer in trouble.

  Gordon waved off the mayor. “This is an emergency.”

  He left the room and raced to his vehicle where he got on the radio. “What happened?”

  Chapter 35

  When Gordon heard the tremor in Connie’s voice—Connie, the unflappable dispatcher—his pulse raced.

  “It was a very short transmission from Solomon,” she said. “‘It’s hitting the fan’ was all we got before we lost contact.”

  Stunned, Gordon flipped on lights and sirens and didn’t bother stopping at the station. “Tell Laurie I’m gone for the day.”

  He toggled his radio to the County Dispatch channel. Nothing but routine calls, which meant they’d switched over to a separate channel for the emergency. He checked in, identified himself, and got the new frequency as well as the location of the incident. Incident. Such a mundane word to describe what was going down. He pulled over long enough to feed the address into his GPS. Too bad they didn’t have their new computers yet.

  His foot pressed against the accelerator as he listened to the officers reporting the situation in front of them.

  Well-trained, he thought. No shouts, no frantic pleas, no profanity. Cops doing their jobs. But all he could think about was Solomon. Had he arrived? Was he in the thick of things? Knowing his officer, the answer would be yes, unless Colfax had managed to keep him away.

  Hearing the SWAT team had arrived didn’t make Gordon feel any better. While they knew what they were doing, the fact they’d been called out didn’t bode well.

  Tempted as he was to break in, he let the deputies do what they’d been trained to do. He turned up the volume on his radio, all the while straining to hear Solomon’s voice. Telling himself not hearing it was good, because it meant Solomon was not in the midst of the action.

  Detectives had no business being part of the action. Colfax would have drawn back, let the SWAT team take charge.

  When Gordon was about three miles from the location, he let County Dispatch know where he was, asked for any updates.

  “Outermost perimeter is two miles out. Negotiator is on scene. Hostage situation. Do not approach beyond perimeter. Code two. Radio traffic for involved personnel only, please.”

  Code two. He flipped off his lights and siren, then wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers. He switched frequencies to the regular channel. “Dispatch, do you have a twenty for Mapleton PD Officer Ed Solomon? He may have been present at the current incident.” Heart in his throat, he waited … and waited … for the response. Maybe the longest five seconds in recent memory.

  “Negative, Mapleton One.”

  Gordon risked keeping the dispatcher from his task for one more question. “What about Tyler Colfax?”

  A pause. Gordon held his breath. The dispatcher’s voice held merely the slightest indication of concern. “Sir, Detective Colfax is the hostage.”

  Gordon dropped the handset. When his heart started beating again, he picked it up and hooked it into place. How the hell had Colfax ended up as a hostage? But if there was one thing he could count on, it was that the deputies would let nothing stand in the way of protecting one of their own. And whoever had taken Colfax hostage was going to have a miserable rest of his or her life.

  Radio traffic on the incident frequency had gone silent. Gordon envisioned what was happening. Everyone would know his position, his part in the program. Somewhere, the SWAT commander and the negotiator were discussing their plan of action.

  The address the dispatcher had given Gordon was in a residential area. Swearing again at the lack of the ability to pull up a decent sized map on a full-size computer screen, he slowed when flashing red and blue lights appeared in the distance. Damnation, he did not want to be two miles away from the action.

  Adrenaline surged through his veins. Time slowed. His vision narrowed. He took a deep breath, then pulled his car alongside a deputy’s vehicle.

  The deputy was speaking into the mic at his lapel. “Roger.” He turned at Gordon’s approach.

  Although Gordon was in his official vehicle, when the deputy gave him the once over, head to shoes, he sensed the deputy’s confusion with the uniform. As if he were dressing up to come to a crime scene.

  He introduced himself to the deputy. “I was in a meeting, got the call. One of my officers might be involved.”

  That seemed to work for the deputy. “Can’t tell you much. Detective Colfax was out to question a person of interest in a potential homicide. Apparently the POI wasn’t happy about it. We’re in the dark as to how anyone managed to get the drop on Detective Colfax. Come to think of it, I believe it was a Mapleton officer who called it in. We’re making sure nobody gets out. Boring work, until it gets exciting and you end up in pucker power territory.”

  Gordon’s sphincter tightened at the words. If anything happened to Ed … But it wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Gordon wouldn’t allow it. Losing a man in the line of duty was never easy, never right, never justified. But this case was Solomon’s side work, a puzzle he’d chosen to play with, one that had nothing to do with his job as a Mapleton police officer. Gordon thought of Solomon’s wife, his kids. His throat clamped shut. He fought the emotion, let the anger through. No. Nothing could happen to Ed. It was unacceptable.

  He needed to know what was happening. Being blind and deaf to the situation had his stomach roiling. “I have to get closer,” he said to the deputy. “Do you have a map?”

  The deputy hesitated, but must have seen the cold fury in Gordon’s eyes. He motioned him toward his cruiser. “Hop in.”

  Gordon opened the passenger door.
The deputy got into the driver’s seat, but instead of starting the engine, he tapped some keys on the computer. A map appeared. He tapped more keys, zooming in on a schematic view showing the streets and houses. He pointed to the screen. “This is where they are.” He zoomed out, then pointed again. “This is our location. If you follow this route, there’s a vacant lot about a block away. You can leave your unit there, then cut through this alley—” he pointed again— “and they’re a block away. But I wouldn’t do it without letting the SWAT commander know you’re coming. Otherwise, you might end up being a casualty.” He gazed at Gordon’s chest, where his uniform displayed his service ribbons. About as useful as an umbrella in a blizzard in dealing with bad guys.

  “And sir, I’d suggest a vest,” the deputy said.

  “Roger that. You give me five minutes, then you call the commander. Tell him I defied orders, tell him what you have to, but it’s my man over there somewhere, and I’m not standing two miles away with my thumb up my ass. I need to know he’s safe.”

  You’re on a roll, Gordon. First ducking out on a town council meeting where they wanted to kick your ass, and now bullying your way onto a crime scene. Hell, maybe you should offer to change places with Colfax. They’ll have your badge for sure after this.

  And did he care? He wasn’t cut out for bureaucracy, for sitting behind a desk juggling numbers. Not that he condoned crime, but he’d felt more alive this past week than he had since—since last winter and the Wardell case. If he wasn’t the chief, could he be a patrol officer again? Work for the county?

  And what would Angie have to say about it?

  He shoved those thoughts behind him as, against every instinct, he drove slowly, following the route the deputy had laid out. When he reached the vacant lot, his anger was gone, replaced by the calm determination honed by years of training. He slipped out of his SUV and fastened his vest. He patted the pistol at his side. Almost as an afterthought, he released the shotgun from its rack.