Deputy Defender

by Cindi Myers

  “I believe you,” Brenda said.

  “I’m going to send someone over to the museum to check,” Dwight said. “If we don’t find anything, we’ll let you go.”

  “Eddie Carstairs is a liar and a weasel,” Paige said. “He always has been. And he’s never liked me, ever since I turned him down when he asked me out.”

  “I swear, I thought he and that guy in the SUV were up to something,” Parker said. “That’s the only reason I stopped.”

  “Next time you see something suspicious, call us,” Dwight said. “Don’t investigate on your own.”

  Parker looked at the floor, saying nothing. Brenda imagined for someone in his position, only recently out of jail and rehab, calling the cops wasn’t the first line of action that came to mind.

  The door opened again and Gage stepped in. “I checked the museum,” he said. “I can’t find any sign of tampering with any of the windows.”

  “Any gloves lying around anywhere?” Dwight asked.

  “No. But I did find where it looks like Eddie and Parker scuffled—and two sets of tire tracks.”

  “Did you get a good look at the man in the other car?” Dwight asked Parker. “Was it the mayor?”

  “I couldn’t see him very well,” Parker said. “And I’ve never met the mayor, so I wouldn’t know what he looks like.”

  “Clearly, Parker is telling the truth,” Paige said. “You need to let him go.”

  “Brenda, do you want to press charges for trespassing?” Dwight asked.

  “No.” She shook her head.

  “I think you should be charging Eddie with assault,” Paige said.

  “No, Paige,” Parker said. “I just want to get out of here.”

  Dwight unlocked the cell, and Parker stepped out. He stopped in front of Brenda. “Thanks for believing me,” he said.

  “I do believe you.” She lifted her chin. “I’m a good judge of character—not always, but most of the time. I think Eddie was the one lying, not you.”

  The four of them left together. “I’ll take you home,” Dwight said to Brenda.

  She waited until they were in his SUV before she spoke again. “Why was Eddie lying?” she asked.

  “I can’t say for sure,” Dwight said.

  “But you have a theory. Tell me.”

  He sighed. “Eddie has always wanted to be the hero. I think, his first night on the job, he wanted to catch a burglar, prove it was a good idea for the town to hire him. But he always goes overboard. That’s why Travis fired him.”

  “I think you’re right,” she said. “And I’m glad Travis fired him. He thinks wearing a gun makes him better than everyone else, and that’s a dangerous attitude.”

  “Are you going to let Parker volunteer at the museum again?” Dwight asked.

  “Yes. He did a great job for me today.” She angled toward him, and studied the side of his face, illuminated by the dashboard lights. “Sometimes you have to go with your gut and trust people. And don’t remind me I trusted Andy when he didn’t deserve it.”

  “I wasn’t going to say anything.”

  “I was younger then,” she said. “And I was still grieving for my mother when we married. And later—later, I think I knew something wasn’t right. It was why I kept questioning him about how we could afford all the work we had done on the house. But I was in love, and I wanted to believe him.”

  “I understand,” Dwight said. “And I’m glad everything you’ve been through hasn’t made you cynical.”

  “Not about everything,” she said. “Though I don’t trust as easily.”

  “That’s all right. One thing being a cop teaches you is persistence.”

  She studied him, surprised by the word choice. “What is that supposed to mean?” she asked.

  “It means I’m going to earn your trust. One of these days you’re going to let down your guard with me and let yourself feel again.”

  She looked away. She didn’t want to ask him what he thought she would feel. She could see it there, shining in his eyes. Dwight Prentice didn’t think of her as just another crime victim who needed help. When he looked at her, he saw something more. He was letting her know that, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it. She wasn’t ready to let down her guard with him or any other man. She wasn’t ready to fall in love. The message Dwight had just sent her let her know he wasn’t going to settle for less.

  Chapter Seven

  The next morning, Dwight met with Travis to review the previous night’s events. “I spoke with the mayor,” Dwight said. “Eddie’s story about him stopping by last night checks out, though he says he doesn’t know anything about Parker Riddell being there.”

  “What about the rest of Eddie’s claim?” Travis asked. “Was Parker trying to break into the museum?”

  “I don’t think so,” Dwight said. “I think the kid really was trying to sneak up on him and the mayor and Eddie overreacted—as usual.”

  “Gage didn’t find any sign of an attempted break-in at the museum,” Travis said.

  “Brenda said she thought Eddie was lying, and I tend to agree with her,” Dwight said. “He wouldn’t look me in the eye.”

  “They could have chosen a better person for the job, but I don’t think the town was wrong to hire a watchman for the museum,” Travis said. “If the person who threatened Brenda thinks the book might be there, it’s the next logical target.”

  “Brenda gave an interview to Tammy Patterson yesterday,” Dwight said. “She said she told Tammy to make sure she stated in the article that the book was locked up at the sheriff’s office.”

  “Good idea,” Travis said. He leaned back in his chair, frowning. “Forensics didn’t turn up anything on the notes. We did find the banner—ripped to pieces with a knife, probably a pocketknife—and stuffed into the Dumpster behind Moe’s Pub. Nothing to go on there. The arson report on Brenda’s house didn’t turn up anything new, either.”

  “So we’re back to wondering who wants that book destroyed and why,” Dwight said.

  “How’s Brenda holding up?” Travis asked.

  “Amazing. She’s determined not to let this guy get to her. I thought later this morning I’d take her up to Eagle Mountain Resort and show her the lab—see if she spots any historical details the DEA missed.”

  “That’s not going to prove a connection between what happened up there with Gage and Maya and what’s going on with Brenda now,” Travis said.

  “No, but it might point us somewhere—to some collector and someone involved in the original project.”

  “When are you going?”

  “She had some work to do at the museum this morning, then we’re going to head up there,” Dwight said. “Meanwhile, I want to take a look at that book.”

  “It’s in the safe downstairs,” Travis said. “Make sure you sign it back in when you’re done.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Dwight retrieved the combination to the safe, then got the book and sat down at his desk with it. After the first few pages, he struggled to keep going. The writer—S. Smith—had managed to take a potentially exciting subject and make it dry as sawdust. So he was relieved when the phone on his desk rang.

  “There’s a man here who wants to speak to you,” Adelaide said. “A Professor Gibson.”

  Dwight closed the book and set it aside. “Send him in.”

  The professor was about eighty years old, thin and slightly stooped, with a full head of white hair and faded brown eyes peering from behind horn-rimmed spectacles. “The young woman at the newspaper suggested I talk to you,” he said, peering into the office.

  “Which young woman is that?” Dwight asked.

  “Tammy? The reporter?” He stepped into the room and looked around.

  “Why don’t you sit down, Mr. Gibson.” Dwight stood and closed
the door behind the man.

  “Val. Val Gibson.” He lowered himself carefully into the chair across from Dwight’s desk. “I’m a retired professor of history at Colorado State University.”

  Dwight returned to his seat. “Why did Tammy suggest you contact me?”

  “She called me to get some information for a story she’s working on—something to do with the government’s activities in the state during World War II—Project Razor. She was researching the topic online and found an article I had written and realized I was a local. I retired to the area seven years ago.”

  “Project Razor?” This piqued Dwight’s interest. “Do you mean the project to develop chemical weapons for use in the war?”

  “Not just chemical weapons—biological ones, too.”

  “I’m not sure I’m clear on the difference,” Dwight said.

  “A chemical weapon uses a chemical agent to inflict harm,” Gibson explained. “So, for example, mustard gas in World War I or sarin gas. A biological weapon uses a pathogen, such as smallpox or anthrax.”

  “Aren’t those against the Geneva Convention or something?” Dwight asked.

  “The Geneva Convention of 1925 did ban the use of biological and chemical weapons,” Gibson said. “But by World War II almost every major power, including the United States and Great Britain, had development programs in place. We don’t believe the biological agents were ever used, but it wasn’t until 1972 that a UN treaty was formed that forbade production of biological weapons—and even then, not every country is a signatory.”

  “How effective are biological weapons?” Dwight asked. “I mean, they sound terrible, but can’t people be vaccinated or something?”

  “Are you vaccinated against Q fever and tularemia?” Gibson asked.

  “I’ve never even heard of them.”

  “Many of the agents used in biological warfare are obscure. As weapons, they can be devastating, but their effect isn’t immediate, delivery methods are awkward, and you can’t account for individuals who might have a natural immunity. So they’re not seen as very practical for large-scale warfare. Still, there is some concern that terrorists could use them as another way to wreak havoc—release a vial of botulism spores in the air-conditioning system of a large office building and you could kill a lot of people and create a panic.”

  Dwight held up the book. “Are you familiar with this?”

  “I’m very familiar with it,” he said. “I have reason to believe that copy you’re holding belongs to me.”

  Gibson spoke calmly, his expression pleasant. “Why do you think that?” Dwight asked.

  “That young man—a lawyer—asked to borrow it years ago. Andrew Stenson. I was reluctant to lend it, but he was very persuasive. By the time I tried to get it back, he was dead.” Gibson shrugged. “I tried to contact the widow, but the person who answered the phone said she was too upset to talk to anyone. They promised to look for the book and return it to me. I never heard anything back. I probably should have pressed the issue more, but it seemed petty, under the circumstances.”

  Was he telling the truth? Dwight couldn’t tell. On one hand, maybe he was—Andy must have gotten this obscure title from somewhere. On the other, maybe this was a less-violent ploy to get hold of the book.

  “Why did Andy Stenson want this book?” Dwight asked.

  “He said he needed it for research he was doing on a case. He didn’t elaborate, and I didn’t pry. It’s been my experience that lawyers as a group are fairly tight-lipped. Which I suppose is as it should be.”

  “Why didn’t you say anything to Brenda Stenson when you saw that the book was up for auction?” Dwight asked.

  “I didn’t know it was up for auction until Tammy told me about it yesterday afternoon,” Gibson said. “I don’t take the local paper.”

  Again, maybe true—maybe not.

  “I’ll admit I haven’t read the book,” Dwight said. “It’s a little...dry.”

  Gibson chuckled. “I suspect the author had written one too many government reports. It reads much like one. But as far as I’ve been able to determine, the information in the book is factual.”

  “Is there anything in there that might lead someone to want the book destroyed?” Dwight asked. “Something that incriminates an individual or casts a bad light on someone?”

  “Destroyed?” Gibson looked puzzled.

  “Someone sent Mrs. Stenson threatening notes, ordering her to destroy the book—or else. What kind of stationery do you use, Professor?”

  “I have never threatened Mrs. Stenson, Deputy. And I’m not the sort of person who would ever destroy a book, or ask someone else to—especially not a valuable collector’s item, like that one.” He straightened. “And I don’t use stationery. Who does in these days of emails and text messaging? I may look like a dinosaur to you, but I’m not.”

  Dwight remained skeptical. “You said Tammy contacted you because of an article you wrote about the project?”

  “Yes. I’ve thought of writing a book about the history of biological and chemical warfare. The research has been a hobby of mine for some time now.”

  “Do you know where in Rayford County Project Razor took place?”

  “I haven’t been able to discover that, no.” He nodded toward the book on Dwight’s desk. “All that says is that abandoned mines were used for the laboratories, but considering how many of those are in the area, that isn’t much of a clue.”

  “Do you know of anyone alive today who was involved in this research?” Dwight asked.

  “No. From what I can gather, the scientists involved were in their thirties and forties at the time. That would make even the youngest over a hundred years old.”

  “Then it’s not one of them threatening Mrs. Stenson. Maybe a child or grandchild?”

  Gibson shook his head. “There’s nothing in the book to implicate anyone. As I recall the author, Mr. Smith—which I suspect is a nom de plume—didn’t use any real names in his book. There’s a disclaimer in the front that says so.”

  Dwight nodded. He had skipped over the book’s front matter, but he had a vague recollection of an author’s note. He’d go back and read it later. “Maybe this book isn’t even the point,” he said. “It could be a distraction to keep us from looking at the real reason for the threats.”

  “Why did Mrs. Stenson decide to auction the book?” Gibson asked.

  “The museum she directs is in financial trouble. When she found the book in her late husband’s belongings, she researched it online and saw how valuable it was, so she decided to sell it and use the money for the museum. She’s been collecting donated items from others to auction, as well.”

  Gibson nodded. “I suppose I would rather see the book used for something like that than for personal gain.”

  “You could always bid on the book yourself.”

  He smiled. “My days of having that kind of money to spend on a hobby are gone. I lucked on to the book at a secondhand shop in Denver a good twenty years ago. I think I paid seven dollars for it at the time.”

  “Are you going to ask Mrs. Stenson to return the book to you?”

  “I don’t think so. I wasn’t savvy enough to ask her husband for a receipt or any other proof of the loan. That was my own foolishness.” He stood. “Now that you’ve told me what Mrs. Stenson intends to do with the book, I’m happy to see it used for those purposes.” He gave a wry smile. “As you observed, it’s not exactly light reading material—and I never was one for owning things I wouldn’t use or enjoy. Though I hope the threats toward Mrs. Stenson don’t continue.”

  “We’re watching the situation closely.” Dwight walked with the professor toward the front of the station.

  He was surprised to find Brenda waiting in the reception area. She stood as he approached. “I’m ready to leave when you are,” she said.

  �
��Brenda Stenson, this is Professor Val Gibson,” Dwight said. “He—”

  “I have some expertise in the history of biological and chemical weapons development in the US,” Gibson said. “I wanted to offer my services to law enforcement in regard to the book that I understand has been the subject of threats to you.”

  “You know something about the threats?” Brenda asked.

  “No, only about the book and its subject matter,” Gibson said. “I’m afraid I wasn’t much help.” He nodded to her, then turned to Dwight. “Feel free to contact me if you have any questions.”

  * * *

  AS SOON AS the professor had left, Brenda moved closer to Dwight. “What was that about?” she asked.

  “I’ll tell you on the drive up to the resort. Come on.” He led the way out the back of the building to his cruiser.

  She waited until they were belted in and he had started the engine before she spoke again. “Why did the professor really come to see you?” she asked.

  “You don’t believe what he told you?” Dwight asked.

  “You were about to say something about him when he interrupted.” She sat back in the seat. “Don’t ever play poker, Dwight. Your face is full of tells.”

  “You should have been the attorney in the family,” he said. “You’d be good at interrogating witnesses. But before I answer your question, tell me if you’ve ever heard of Professor Val Gibson before.”

  “No. Who is he?”

  “He’s the man who owned that book before Andy. He said Andy wanted to borrow it to do some research for a case he was working on. The professor never saw the book again and had put it out of his mind until Tammy called him up yesterday to interview him for the article about the threats being made against you.”

  “Whoa, back up a little. Andy stole the book from the professor?” In addition to being a blackmailer, was her late husband a thief, also?

  “I don’t think he intended to steal it—I think he borrowed it and was murdered before he could return it. Then it just kind of fell through the cracks.”

  She nodded. “Does he want the book back? Is that why he came to you?”