The Dead of Winter (A Piper Blackwell Mystery Book 1)

by Jean Rabe

  “So whatdya want? Huh? I need to get going. And how’s Paul Blackwell? Heard anything?”

  Randy pursed his lips and shook his head, waited a beat. “He’s in ICU. Boss is with him.”

  Buck snorted. “You call her boss. I call her—”

  Teegan poked her head in, looked down at the dog. “Oren called, says he’s going to stay out there for maybe another hour and then stop at the hospital before heading home. Says he’ll bring in the stuff to send to the lab in the morning. No more mail’s going out today anyway and—” The phone rang and she disappeared again.

  “—an embarrassment,” Buck finished. He stuffed his hands under his armpits and harrumphed. “I call her an embarrassment. Hell, Randy, I’m thirty-six. I’ve got a college degree in criminal psychology, worked in Santa Claus five years before I got on here, and I’d made sergeant. I don’t care if she’d made sergeant in the Army. It’s not the same thing, you know that. I don’t want to answer to no—”

  Teegan came in again. “That was Sheriff Blackwell with an update. Paul’s sitting up, talking. I’d phoned the florist over there before they’d closed, sent a bouquet. I’m assuming you’ll chip in. I put everyone’s name on it.” Another call. “Busy busy. Better catch it.”

  Buck and Randy nodded.

  “I’ll give you some money in a few,” Buck hollered.

  “You told me you’d checked on Jacob Wallem, Buck, and you told me his neighbors claimed he was away on vacation.”

  Buck shrugged. “So?”

  “You couldn’t have checked on Jacob Wallem. There wasn’t a bootprint in the yard. And the neighbors told me no one from the sheriff’s department asked them about Jacob or asked about anything for that matter.” That was a lie, Randy hadn’t asked the neighbors a single question, Marsh and two other deputies were still interviewing them now. “So who told you Jacob was on vacation?”

  “Oh, people.”

  “The people at the animal shelter?”

  “Yeah, them.”

  “Funny, the shelter folks said no one from the sheriff’s department talked to them either, but one of them had called Rockport police, concerned Jacob had missed a few shifts.” Randy let the silence settle again, and he glanced at his notepad. The tune in the other room changed; a woman singer this time, sounded like maybe Dolly Parton. He didn’t like what he called goat-roping music, but he liked Dolly.

  “You had me checking on quite a few people, Randy. I might have missed a few things.”

  More silence.

  “Buck, honestly, did you check on Jacob Wallem?”

  “I drove by the Wallem house the other night, okay. No lights on. It was obvious the guy wasn’t home, nothing shoveled, mailbox stuffed to the gills. Construction business…no one hires roofers in the winter. I figured he went to Florida or something.” He laughed. “Hell, if we’re going to have another winter like this, I’ll take all my vacation and go to Florida.”

  Randy was thinking Buck might have a lot of vacation time on his lazy-ass hands.

  “I didn’t know he was dead, Randy, that roofer. Had no reason to think that. Why the hell would I have a reason to think that when you had him on your suspect list?”

  “All that mail built up, you didn’t think that odd?” Randy idly flipped the notepad over because he noticed Buck was trying to read it. “What about Elias Gerald Hagee?”

  “Who?” Buck honestly looked puzzled.

  “Relative of Chris Hagee, the guy who hosted the party across from Conrad Delaney’s. Elias Gerald Hagee.”

  “Oh, him. Yeah, what about him?”

  “You said you did a follow up on him, and his ex-. You were assigned follow-ups on five people, including Elias Gerald and Chris.”

  Buck shrugged. “So if my report said I followed up, I followed up. You know I’m not great on names.”

  “Damn, Buck.” Randy felt his face warm with ire and he grabbed the edge of his desk. “Maybe I don’t want to work for a twenty-three-year-old either.”

  “Twenty-three-year-old girl,” Buck cut in. “Who ain’t never worked in a sheriff’s department ever before this, who ain’t got no right to be the boss. Damn fools in the county thought they were voting for her dad, I’ll bet.”

  “Did you follow up with any of these people?” He flipped the notepad over again and pushed it at Buck so he could finally see the names.

  Buck glared at the page. “You talked to all of them first, right? Said you and Oren did. You’re the detective. I’m not going to learn anything that you two hadn’t already. Would’ve been a waste of my time. Had plenty enough to do anyway, all the calls that weren’t about the dead bodies, DUIs and—”

  “So you didn’t double-check a single one of these folks’ alibis. You didn’t follow up with even one of them.”

  “I don’t like how this conversation is going, Randy. I’ve been in this department six years. Busted my butt here for six years. But it won’t be seven. I don’t have to worry about vacationing in Florida next winter. I’ve been talking to the new sheriff over in Vanderburgh. He’s got an opening coming in two months when his chief deputy retires. I’m on his list, likes my experience, my degree, my record, and I can get three weeks of vacation there automatically. Been looking at apartment listings in Evansville ever since the Courier’s last Sunday classifieds came out, started making calls when I got a look at her in that sheriff uniform. Ain’t no Christmas Card Killer over there in Vanderburgh. Now, if you don’t have anything else…because I don’t work for you. At the moment I work for a twenty-three-year-old girl. I’m going home. My feet hurt. Got a problem with me, tell the girl about it. Better yet, I’ll tell her about it in the morning when I turn in my notice. I quit.”

  Buck hadn’t even unzipped his coat. He glanced down at the dog as he pushed out of the chair, snorted, and left.

  “Son of a bitch,” Randy said, looking at his list. “Son of a bitch.” Buck wouldn’t get the Vanderburgh job, not if he called the sheriff, mentioned the shoddy work, and said that he wanted the job instead…which he would do in the morning. Calling the Vanderburgh sheriff about this at home might only piss him off.

  Randy looked through the bag of cards Buck had brought. Samuel Reynolds hadn’t received as many as the other victims, and apparently hadn’t received ones from Abigail or Jacob Wallem. Received one from Conrad, mentioned giving old toys to Samuel’s kids. No apparent thread to connect them all…but there had to be one.

  He walked the dog in the parking lot, and then put it in the little kennel with some water. Merry looked up with sightless eyes, sniffed, found his hand through the grate and licked it. Then he grabbed his coat and the notepad.

  “Teegan, I’m gonna take a run over to St. Mary’s and check on Paul.” Then he was going to tackle what Buck Hannoh hadn’t, all the double-checking that was never done, and see if Marsh had been just as careless, too. Piper Blackwell had been so busy she couldn’t have known that at least one of her deputies wasn’t working to full potential…she was trusting her department. Naïve of her. But, hell, she was twenty-three. He would have liked to take a shower first, knew some of the stink was clinging to him. But he didn’t want to take the time.

  “Look in on the dog for me, will you, Teegan? Give her a little walk before you clock out and put her back in that crate. She likes to pee right next to your car.”

  Twenty-Six

  Oren walked into the ICU of St. Mary’s hospital just in time to see Randy stepping out of Paul Blackwell’s room.

  “He’s pale,” Randy said. “About as white as the sheet he’s laying on.”

  Neither said anything for a moment. Oren heard the rattle of a medicine cart being pushed somewhere nearby, smelled the strong antiseptic cleaner used in places like this. He’d attended the autopsy yesterday for Sweet Abby T, and the smell was similar in that hospital—until of course he entered the room where Dr. Annie Neufeld was working. That room didn’t smell similar to anything.

  Three bouquets of flowers sat
at the nurse’s station, as well as a big basket of fruit topped with a loopy blue bow, a helium Get Well balloon floated above it. Oren glanced at the attached cards, all to Paul Blackwell, the largest bouquet from the sheriff’s department with everyone’s names on it—he’d have to chip in for that. Other flowers were from the Rockport Police Department and someone who must be a neighbor, name not familiar. The fruit, supplied by a local grocer, was from Dr. Neufeld. Word had traveled like lightning about Paul Blackwell’s heart attack.

  Yesterday he and Annie had talked about fruit. She mentioned to him that she’d just put in an order with an online company for a tray of olives, dates, figs, and pomegranates to commemorate Tu B’Shevat, which was weeks away. It was a large order, she’d said, and would he like to share it with her and Bebe? The Jewish festival meant “New Year of the Trees” and was something Oren acknowledged but typically never celebrated. It had come to be an ecology awareness day, and some people planted trees in celebration. Too cold to plant a tree at his Santa Claus home. He had enough in the yard anyway.

  “Sure,” he’d told her, wondering if she’d made the offer because if the killings kept going they’d be seeing more of each other anyway. “My wife would like to catch up with you two.” Oren was good friends with Annie, had been since they were young. But he felt “itchy” when Bebe was in the picture. Oren’s wife seemed more accepting of the coroner’s same-sex marriage.

  “They won’t let him have that stuff in his room,” Randy said, catching Oren looking at the flowers and fruit. Randy had a box of chocolates in his hand, nothing fancy, probably grabbed at the store on the way over here. Oren knew better than to bring something because of ICU rules, and he knew he’d be tossing money at Teegan for his share of the flowers. Randy placed the candy next to the fruit basket. “You give that to Paul Blackwell when he gets moved into a regular room, okay?” he asked the nurse. She nodded.

  “How’s he doing?” Oren figured he should say something to Randy.

  “I only stopped in to say ‘hi,’ didn’t ask how he was doing. He just doesn’t look good to me.” Randy shrugged. “Boss is in there with him. She said the doc claims it was a fairly minor heart attack…if there’s such a thing.”

  “There is.”

  “But he looks like a ghost, I think. Hope he bounces out of it. He’s a good guy, Oren.”

  “I know. A real good guy.”

  “But cancer…twice, and now a heart attack. And he’s only what, fifty-eight?”

  “Fifty-five.” Ten years younger than himself.

  “Yeah, that’s not that old.”

  “We all get different cards,” Oren said. “Some of us get dealt a better hand.”

  Randy shook his head. “Hope he bounces out of it,” he repeated. “Hey, listen, I need to go. I’m in a hurry, actually. Some things still aren’t sitting right with—”

  “A helluva lot’s not sitting right.”

  “Buck’s been skimping.”

  “Yeah, I got that feel from him. Doesn’t like the new sheriff.” Oren might not have liked the new sheriff either, but it wasn’t in his makeup to skimp on work.

  “I don’t know if any of the others haven’t been following through. I don’t know how widespread the malaise is.”

  “Malaise.” Oren rubbed his chin. “Not a word I use.”

  “It means—”

  “I know what it means. Marsh was kind of shoddy on some Thornbridge stuff, but I had a talk with him this morning. He hasn’t missed anything that I can tell, just hasn’t been as thorough as he should be. I think the new sheriff is clueless about department morale. People just aren’t liking to work for someone so young and with no experience.” Oren rubbed at a mark on the back of his hand—his years showing in a few liver spots. “But JJ…hell…JJ loves the new sheriff and is working harder than ever.” He laughed. “Helluva thing all of this.” He sniffed. “What did you step in?”

  Randy ignored the question.

  The medicine cart clattered by. The orderly pushing it nodded to them.

  “So, I’m going to backtrack on everything Buck was supposed to do, just to be safe. And Buck claims he’s putting in his notice tomorrow. Really, I gotta get going.”

  Oren unzipped his coat; it was warm in the hallway. “Buck…he’s never been all that hard of a worker anyway, you know, Randy.” A pause. “Are you staying? With the department? Annie said there’s an opening coming in the Vanderburgh sheriff’s office. She figured you, maybe Marsh, were casting your eyes over there because of little Piper Blackwell.”

  Randy gave a clipped laugh.

  “I’ll take that as you’re thinking about it. I’m not looking. I’m not moving. But I’ll write you a recommendation if you want.” I’m too old for the sheriff there to pick me up. “If you stay, I’d make you my chief deputy come April if—”

  “Oren!” Piper was in the hall, had just come out of Paul’s room. “Good of you to stop by.”

  “Yeah, that’s the thing,” Randy continued. “If she doesn’t pass it. Like I said, I gotta run.” He zipped up his coat, looked over his shoulder. To Piper, “I’ve got some things to check on, Boss, before I call it a night.” Then he stepped around Oren and disappeared around the corner.

  “He’s still awake,” Piper told Oren. “But they won’t let you stay long.”

  Oren took his hat off. It gave him something to do with his hands. “The bald guy in the waiting room back there, that Anthony Delaney?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Good thing he was with your father. He give you anything? About Conrad? Enemies?”

  “Not much.” She put her hands in her pockets and seemed to study a design on the tile floor. “But Anthony’s been gone from home a lot of years. He was friends with Jacob Wallem, though. I need to tell Anthony about that. Randy said he’s pretty sure it was Jacob in the chimney.”

  “Dentals will take a while.”

  “Yeah.” A pause. “I’m gonna go get a cup of coffee. You want some?”

  “Nah. Just here to see Paul. I won’t stay long.” Oren watched her retreat down the hall, probably in the direction of some vending machine.

  “Keep it to fifteen minutes, please,” the nurse said as Oren walked by.

  “No problem.”

  The antiseptic odor wasn’t as strong in here, and Oren detected a hint of pine. Maybe they tried to make the place smell better for people in critical shape.

  Randy was right—Paul looked awful. Pale, haggard, like an old man, eyes hollow. He was propped up because of the adjustable bed, and something clear from a bag dripped into a tube connected under some gauze tape to his arm. Colored wires poked out from the top of his hospital gown and fed to a machine monitoring probably everything. Oren hoped he never ended up like this; if he had a heart attack he’d like it to be lights out, let’s see if something is after this.

  “Paul,” Oren said. He took a seat next to the bed, but pushed it back a bit. “They taking good care of you?” He didn’t know what else to say. Hope you’re feeling better didn’t seem right.

  “I suppose. They’ve stuck so many needles in me, and all these monitors…I feel like I’m in a science fiction movie.”

  “They said I can’t stay long, but I wanted to stop by. Check on you.”

  “Thanks.” Paul shifted a little and one of the lines on the machine jumped then settled down. “Geeze, Oren, you look like a raccoon, the dark circles. You getting any sleep?”

  “Working late. We all are. This is bad business.”

  “I think Piper’s barely sleeping.” Paul’s forehead wrinkled with worry lines. “Is she doing okay, Oren? Is Piper handling stuff okay?”

  Funny thing to ask, Oren thought. No, she wasn’t. Piper Blackwell is twenty-three years old, no experience in a sheriff’s department, not even a certificate from a community college. No, she wasn’t handling stuff okay. He should be the one “handling stuff” and wearing the sheriff’s badge. Piper should have stayed in the Army.

  “Con
sidering,” Oren said. “Considering we’re dealing with a serial killer, she’s doing okay. Never had one in the county before.”

  “Ever,” Paul said. “Sadly exciting, isn’t it?”

  Oren noticed Paul’s eyes gleam with a little life.

  “It is that. Never had a serial killer on my plate before. Hope I don’t ever again. But while it’s there…all served up on the table…yeah, it is sadly exciting.”

  Paul motioned for a cup of water that had a bendy straw sticking out of it. Oren obliged him, held it while he drank, and then set it back on the tray. “She’s not saying much about it to me. Hasn’t asked for a lick of advice. Wants to stand on her own feet, maybe doesn’t want to worry me. Probably figures I have enough to worry about.”

  Cancer and a heart attack, Oren thought. Yeah, that’s more than enough to worry about.

  “We’re pretty clueless,” Oren admitted. “She bought a whiteboard, has it all filled up with victims’ names and how they’re connected, has collected all the Christmas cards. You know they’re posed like the cards, right?”

  Paul nodded. “Randy says they’re calling it the CCK—Christmas Card Killer.”

  “Helluva thing.”

  “Suspects?”

  “Thought we had somebody good for it, a roofer in Rockport…a thread that connected to Delaney, Abby T, and Sam Reynolds. He did some work for all of them. But we’re pretty sure he’s the body that was stuffed in his chimney. Glad I was dealing with Sammy the Snowman, a better looking corpse.”

  “I hadn’t heard about that one, the roofer. So four victims?”

  “Yeah. Scene’s still active. Him and Sam Reynolds found dead the same day.” A pause. “But the roofer’s been dead a while. Annie’s thinking he was killed a few days before Christmas.”

  “And nobody missed him?”

  “That’s Randy’s scene. I’m working on Sammy the Snowman.” Oren laughed. He hadn’t laughed for a while. “Helluva thing, a serial killer, more bodies than…well…”

  “Calling in the State?”

  “Yeah, Randy says she’s calling them tomorrow. Don’t like it, but I don’t see that we have a choice.”