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

by Jean Rabe

  There was a gas station/quick mart in downtown Rockport, and she stopped to fill up the rental, talking to herself the entire time about the cards. Inside she bought three boxes of prepackaged doughnuts and the biggest cup of coffee they had; she found the coffee in the sheriff’s department a half step above awful.

  Piper dropped two of the doughnuts boxes on the dispatcher’s desk. “For anybody who’s hungry,” she said. The other remained tucked under her arm. “I’ll be in—”

  “—the break room?” This dispatcher came on at eleven, when Teegan left. His name was Drew Farrar, somewhere in his late thirties. He’d injured himself working at the Rockport power plant and had a prosthetic leg. Her dad had told her with the settlement and disability, if he’d wanted it, Drew could have managed to not work another day in his life. He used the settlement to buy a house, but he passed on the disability and instead took the dispatcher job, wanting to stay active, and proving that he certainly wasn’t disabled. Piper had promised to move him to the seven to three shift when or if it opened. “Where all the Christmas cards are, right? The break room?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You had your radio on in the car. I heard you talking about the Christmas cards. You really think you can find the killer by the cards?”

  “Ooops.”

  “The catches on some of those car radios are finicky, lets me hear everything if you don’t click it just so.” He paused. “How’s your dad?”

  She shrugged. “The nurses say good.”

  “But you’re not so sure.”

  “Cancer came back, now this heart attack. I suppose ‘good’ is relative. I’m hopeful. Listen, I can’t chat, I’ve got—”

  “Dog needs walking,” Drew cut in. “Nobody else here, I can’t leave the board. But if you’ll man the phones for just a couple of minutes, I can walk—”

  “Dog?”

  “Teegan said Randy brought in a three-legged beagle from one of the crime scenes. Says it has to stay here, that it’s evidence.”

  “Really?”

  “It’s in a little kennel in Randy’s office. Teegan said she walked it a couple of times. Apparently it pees a lot. If you’ll handle the board for a few minutes, I’ll—”

  “I’ll walk the dog. Thanks, Drew.”

  “Can I have it, the beagle, when it’s not evidence anymore? Been thinking about getting a dog. I can relate to that one. It won’t make it out of the shelter.”

  “I’m thinking yes, but we’ll check with Randy when he comes in. I don’t think Jacob Wallem had any relatives in the area.” And who knew if Jacob had a will that detailed plans for his dog.

  “When’s Randy coming in?” Drew looked anxious about getting the dog. “Oh, and you should check this printout. JJ found some death report from Henderson she flagged and made some calls on. Was sitting in Teegan’s ‘in’ basket. I couldn’t help myself. You better read it.”

  Piper juggled the coffee and her box of doughnuts, and grabbed the printout.

  “About Randy, Sheriff?”

  She wasn’t sure when her detective would show up. While the deputies worked in rotating factory-like shifts of seven to three; three to eleven; and eleven to seven, the detective kept mostly nine-to-five hours. These past several days had thrown the schedule out of whack, though, and she’d have to address overtime and her budget. “He should be in before the funeral. Mentioned he wanted to go to that.”

  “Yeah, I watch Blue Bloods. You can get clues, seeing who shows up at funerals.”

  She leashed the beagle and took it along the border of the parking lot. “And why are you evidence, Merry?” Piper turned too quick around a light post and the dog smacked into it. “Sorry sorry sorry.” She bent and scratched its neck. “You’re evidence because you’re alive. Our killer only throttles people. So I guess my dad has a bit of furry evidence nested on his kitchen floor.”

  Back in Randy’s office she spotted two evidence bags of cards on his desk, one labeled Reynolds, the other Wallem. He should have put them with the other cards, but he also should have at least spoken to her at the hospital. She’d seen him dash into her father’s room and come out in less than five minutes, talk to Oren and leave. Randy had been in a hurry to go somewhere, and not home. She knew he was putting in long hours on the CCK.

  “Hey, Drew, did Teegan say what Randy was working on last night?”

  “Nope. But Teegan did say she’d tried to get him on the radio before her shift ended. She didn’t know if she should feed the dog again. Said he’d turned off his radio. Cell phone, too.”

  Balancing the box of doughnuts under her arm, coffee in one hand, and bags of cards in the other, Piper used her elbow to flip on the lights in the break room. Two tables, one with Abigail’s cards, the other with Conrad’s, the whiteboard at the end listing the victims. No suspects yet.

  She spent the next hour and a half studying the cards uninterrupted, going through notes Randy and Oren had typed up, eating four doughnuts—she’d been careful and hadn’t taken the messy powdered sugar box—finishing the coffee, and filling the cup with the less-than-stellar stuff from the department pot. Piper decided to spend her own money on a good coffee maker for the office, as caffeine seemed to be a requirement.

  Oren came in before seven.

  “How’s Paul?”

  “The nurses say good.”

  “I called Randy. He’s not answering his phone.” He padded in and looked at the whiteboard. “Randy was onto something last night. I could smell it on him.”

  “I saw you talking to him in the hall outside my dad’s room yesterday. Did he give you a clue what he’s looking at?”

  “Nope.”

  “Are you sure he’s—”

  “He’s a good detective. He’s onto something, and he’s being secretive because he doesn’t want to share. Stinks.” Oren was clearly miffed. “He thinks catching a serial killer is part of some big game show and that it’ll net him a prize and a kiss from Vanna White if he guesses all the letters. Those notes of his you’re looking at…probably not complete. He’s probably holding something out of them so I can’t connect the dots.”

  That realization hit Piper in the gut. That’s why Randy hadn’t put the cards from the past two murders in with the others. There was something in one of them.

  She pointed to the new table she’d set up, half of it covered with cards from Samuel Reynolds’s place, the other half, separated by a yardstick, with cards from Jacob Wallem’s. She’d been sitting in the middle.

  “Shit,” she said.

  “And two is four and four is eight.” Oren hung his coat and hat on a hook and pulled a chair up opposite her. He did not meet her eyes. She was surprised he was in the same room with her, seemed he had basically avoided her presence since Day One. But this is where the cards and the clues were, and so she knew he didn’t have much choice.

  “There’s a vacancy coming in Vanderburgh. I wondered if anyone from here was nosing around,” Piper said. “Gut feeling Randy is.”

  “I wouldn’t know about that.”

  “Know or say?”

  He didn’t reply, and started studying the Wallem cards, which Piper knew he hadn’t seen since he’d not been to that crime scene.

  “Look at this.” She passed him the printout from the Henderson police report.

  SUSPICIOUS DEATH

  HPO Case Number: 0P05-33-645

  PIO Number: 10-4-21

  Date: December 10

  Time: 0657

  Place of Occurrence: Atkinson Park, Henderson, KY

  Victim: Thomas Olbert, Henderson, KY (DECEASED)

  Description of Incident: Henderson police and Henderson County Sheriff’s Office homicide detectives are investigating the suspicious death of a twenty-six-year-old man. Paramedics and deputies responded to a call shortly before 7 a.m. regarding a medical situation. A parks department employee preparing for the annual Candy Cane Hunt found Mr. Olbert impaled on the horns of a deer decoration in the park’s holiday d
isplay. Mr. Olbert was pronounced dead on the scene. The Henderson County Medical Examiner is conducting an autopsy to determine the cause of death. Initial observation is Mr. Olbert, a seasonal parks employee, was getting an early start on hiding candy canes, fell, accidentally impaled himself on the antlers, and was discovered by another parks worker.

  INVESTIGATORS FOR HPD: Det. Ira Dammann and Sgt. Harry McConnell

  THIS REPORT PREPARED BY: Selina Northquist-Baker/PIO

  Scrawled in pencil underneath was a note from JJ: checked with the coroner’s office, COD is strangulation, death between 9 p.m. and midnight the night before. Investigation is ongoing. They’ve marked it a homicide, but have no suspects. Dammann reported a red mug was found nearby, no mention if it said Merry Christmas or if there’d been anything in it.

  Oren let out a low whistle. “Killed on the ninth. That would be before Jacob Wallem, right? But it might not be related. Doesn’t say it was a Merry Christmas mug. And doesn’t fit the pattern, wasn’t posed at a house.”

  “Yeah. But it’s a guy impaled on a reindeer antler.” Piper pushed up from the table and dropped her coffee cup in the trashcan. She shuffled to the doorway. “Drew, try Randy’s radio again.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone, punched in Randy’s number—one of the few she’d memorized and not programmed in. It went straight to voicemail. She hurried back to the table and plucked up a card, turning it so Oren could see.

  It was one that had been sent to Jacob Wallem, a cartoon design with Santa, his sleigh, and reindeer poised on the roof of a snow-covered house. But Santa was tangled in the reins of the sleigh and was leaning over, his suit caught on the antlers of the first pair of deer. A word balloon above his head said “Merry ‘hic hic’ Christmas.” The inside greeting read: Have A Cup Of Good Cheer. Just Don’t Drink Too Much Of It. A scrawled note: Jake, I’m staying at the Harbor Light House Shelter until I can get back on my feet, getting some hours from the parks, managing to send out a few cards this year, not buying gifts though. Good seeing you at Thanksgiving, thanks for having me. Such a nice house you have. Someday, eh? I’ll call you when I get a phone. Hugs and fist pumps, Tom

  “Shit,” Piper whispered.

  “He wasn’t posed at a house because he didn’t have a house. He was homeless. But he was posed to look like the card he sent, leaning over a reindeer.”

  “I’m going to call the detective.” Piper put the card back on the table. “Randy found something in these cards, Wallem’s or Reynolds’s, that I’m not seeing. Maybe something that connects all of them together. Maybe this reindeer card.” She tugged her fingers through her hair, wanted to holler, slam down her fist. But she kept her composure; the Army had taught her that, to not appear ruffled in the face of frustration. “It’s in front of us, Oren. I just—”

  “Nothing!” Drew called from the other room. “Can’t get Randy, but I’ll keep trying.”

  “What the hell did he see that I can’t?” Piper moved around the table, looking at all of them, flipping each one open.

  “He’s a good detective,” Oren said softly.

  “So says you and my dad.” She stopped and leaned over another card. “But if he’s so damn good, why keep his discovery a secret? What’s good about that? There’s not a damn good thing about that. In fact, that’s absolutely rotten police work, Oren. Unconscionable. If he wanted to go for the Vanderburgh opening, I’d make sure he got a letter of recommendation.”

  “Solving a serial killer case would go a hell of a lot farther than a letter of recommendation, and maybe take him a hell of a lot farther than Vanderburgh County,” Oren shot back. “Those doughnuts up for grabs?” He nodded toward the open box sitting on the end of the table.

  “Please. Eat them.” Piper was stopping herself from going for a fifth. She needed to fit in these uniforms. She also needed to cancel dinner tonight with Nang, but figured she could do that in person. He’d probably go to Conrad Delaney’s funeral, claimed they were friends. She tried Randy’s cell phone again. “Randy said he’d be at the funeral.”

  “Told me he wasn’t sure about that,” Oren said. “Pretty good doughnut for something out of a box.”

  “Shit.”

  “And two is four and four is eight,” Oren said again.

  Piper remembered the expression. It was one her grandfather had used. He was a cribbage player, and she thought it referred to scoring awful on a hand. Oren was old enough to be her grandfather, she thought. Sitting in the ER hall last night, she’d thought a lot about the sheriff’s department, guessed that Oren wasn’t retiring because he was waiting to see if she passed the sheriff’s exam in the spring. If she didn’t, the county board would name him to fill the vacancy, that’s just how it worked. He was a vulture, circling for the job. Despite her lack of experience with Indiana law, Piper figured she could pass the test. Did she want to?

  Piper felt her face coloring and took a deep breath. Never lose control, the Army had taught her. Never ever. What the hell was Randy thinking? Thinking about himself, not the department, and most certainly not about chain of command. A sheriff, unlike a police chief, was responsible for all the deputies 24/7—liable for their personal conduct. And Randy’s conduct was sucking swamp water.

  “I’m calling the State later this morning,” she said. “Right after the funeral. We need help on this.”

  “Figured you would.” Oren still hadn’t met her gaze. “But if Randy’s got something, you should wait, until the end of the day or at least until you talk to him. How would it look, your very first case as sheriff, calling in the State? Not sending a good message to the people who voted for you. But that’s just my opinion.”

  It was a jab, Piper knew, veiled as advice. But it was a successful jab. Oren wanted the department to crack the case. She wanted to throw it back to him and say, How would it look, a crusty old fart with forty years in law enforcement, not able to solve a multiple-murder case? Forty years and zippo on this one, eh Oren? She tried Randy’s cell phone again. Nothing. Went to the doorway.

  “Drew, do we have GPS tracking software? Do we have a GPS locator? We’ve got something, right? It’s how you found my Taurus.” She didn’t bother asking Oren, as antiquated as he operated he probably didn’t know what GPS was.

  She walked to Drew’s desk. “No luck with Randy on the radio?”

  He shook his head.

  Piper noticed that Oren was standing in the doorway of the break room, eating another donut and making no move to conceal his curiosity.

  “Not all the cars have GPS, Sheriff. Some of the deputies opted out. Go figure, they thought it would be like spying on them, and your dad didn’t push it. He liked to keep everybody happy. But it’s a good idea, a locator for the department. It’s pretty cheap. Even the Rockport Police has it, and the State can be back up if the original system breaks. I can find us an online supplier.”

  “There’s nothing standardized?”

  “CALAE has been—”

  “The Commission on the Accreditation of Law Enforcement Agencies,” Oren supplied.

  Drew nodded. “They’ve been trying to standardize things across the country, get us to buy the same equipment and stuff. It’d be a big help, I think.”

  “So we’ve got no way of finding him? The car?” She heard the whir of some office machine in the background, someone sending a fax.

  “I’ll contact OnStar. Randy’s one of the few cars that has a GPS system.” He paused. “We ought to have a Facebook page, too, Sheriff.”

  Yeah, that would be handy, she thought. One more thing for her to-do list.

  “Call the detective in Henderson, will you? I want to get a copy of everything she has on this case, email or fax, doesn’t matter. I want it ASAP. Tell her it’s related to our murders.” She put the printout in front of him and stabbed a finger at Detective Ira Dammann’s name.

  “You gonna be here a little while, Sheriff?”

  Piper shook her head. “I’m going to take another
pass through the Wallem house.” What she didn’t say was if Randy had found something…maybe that something was from that crime scene. “Call OnStar right now, have them locate Randy’s car. I want to know where the son of a bitch is. Then call me when you’ve got it. And I want our own GPS locator ordered by Monday and something in place to get GPS in everything we drive.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Sheriff.”

  Piper would find the money in the budget, buy it herself if she had to. She turned to Oren. “Take another look at the Christmas cards. Find out what we’re missing. After Wallem’s, I’m going straight to the funeral.”

  “I’ll see you there, Sheriff Blackwell.”

  “Oh, and walk the dog in a little while.”

  “Sure thing, Sheriff Blackwell.”

  Thirty

  Randy’s phone went to voicemail for the umpteenth time; Drew had tried to ping it before she’d left the office. She knew that cell phones could be pinged in an emergency to give an approximate location, but the phone had to be active and have a signal. No such luck. Randy had shut it all the way down.

  “He’s disconnected,” Oren had said. “He’s figured it out, and he’s going to get the guy.”

  Piper hadn’t considered that something bad might have happened to Randy, but now that thought crept into her head. She’d almost been killed herself when rammed off the road a few days ago—and she still ached from the experience. Or was her detective so hell bent on grabbing glory that he’d severed connections from the world until he’d gained his prize, like Oren suggested? Oren certainly was convinced it the latter; Piper had never seen the chief deputy so pissed off. But if Oren had figured it out, wouldn’t he have done the same thing as Randy?

  Did she have any respect in the department?

  Was this a mistake?

  If it was, Piper could easily correct it come April. She could purposely fail the exam.