Macy, the governor called me personally. There’s going to be a lot of pressure to get this right. I need you to get up to Wilmington Creek immediately.
Everything else she knew about the case had come in over the speakerphone as she drove north on Route 93. John Dalton had left the army right before Christmas on an honorable discharge and returned to his childhood home. He was twenty-six years of age and a highly decorated war veteran who’d survived three deployments in some of the most dangerous places in the world. According to witnesses, he’d stopped at a bar called The Whitefish to buy cigarettes at quarter past one in the morning. A half hour later he was found dead in the alleyway. There was a single gunshot wound to the back of his head and two in his upper back. The medical examiner was a cautious woman, so it surprised Macy she was already saying that it looked like an execution.
Macy followed Aiden Marsh’s gaze. A group of patrol officers were gathered in the alleyway between The Whitefish and Flathead Valley Savings and Loan. Somewhere beyond a low screen that had been erected, John Dalton was lying facedown in the gravel.
There was a tap on the car window and Macy put her coffee to one side. Aiden stood a few feet from the door. He’d removed his sunglasses and was staring down at the pavement. It was only when he raised his chin that she saw he was trying not to cry. Macy grabbed her bag and stepped out of her vehicle. Her long red hair was secured in a ponytail and the only thing on her face was an ever-thickening layer of freckles. It was colder than she’d expected, but the tops of the east-facing shop windows were already ablaze in the reflected light of dawn. By midmorning, temperatures would be in the eighties. By noon they’d reach one hundred.
They shook hands, but did not smile. “Good to see you again, Detective Greeley. I just wish it were under better circumstances.”
“You and me both. I take it you knew the victim and his family.”
Aiden tilted his head toward the restaurant and spoke in short bursts. “I’ve known the Daltons for years. John’s father, Jeremy, is waiting inside. Telling him about John … well, that was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
They walked across Main Street side by side. Wilmington Creek was well kept. Low-lying buildings struck out in even intervals in both directions. Mature trees shaded the sidewalks. Houses stood back while their wide green lawns stepped forward. White picket fences framed colorful borders. Three blocks to the west, Route 93 followed the rambling course of the Flathead River. During the drive up from Helena, Macy had passed hay fields as finely sewn as gossamer. They rolled off for miles before butting up against the foothills. The view ended there. Wildfire haze obscured the Whitefish Range. There’d been three fires in the area in the past two months. The latest was southwest of town.
Macy slipped on a pair of protective shoe coverings and pulled her sunglasses back on her head. The officers who’d been keeping watch over John parted as she and Aiden drew near. Not one of them looked up.
“Tell me about the family.”
“The victim’s father, Jeremy Dalton, owns one of the biggest ranches in the valley. John has been working there since he was discharged from the military.”
“What about his mother? I heard she was unwell.”
“Annie’s been suffering from early onset dementia for quite a few years now.”
“Any siblings?”
“A twin sister named Jessie, although you wouldn’t know it if you met her. They look nothing alike.” Aiden pulled up the crime scene tape and Macy ducked underneath as she slipped on a pair of latex gloves. “The family is well connected.”
“I kind of figured that, given the number of phone calls I received in the middle of the night.”
“Jeremy and the governor go way back. Hunting, fishing, that sort of thing.”
“When will the forensics team be here?”
“They’re on their way. The medical examiner and the photographer finished about an hour ago.” He handed Macy an evidence bag containing a wallet. “We found the wallet in his back pocket. It’s full of cash. This wasn’t a robbery.”
“What about his cell phone?”
“On the ground next to him. It’s been smashed up a bit. Already sent it down to Helena.”
Macy walked toward the front entrance of the saloon. “If it’s okay with you, I’d like to start over here.”
Aiden pointed out the two security cameras located along the roofline. “They’re directed toward the entrance. There’s nothing covering the alleyway or the parking lot.”
Macy peered through the glass door. Only a single lamp above the bar was illuminated. There weren’t any windows that she could see. She thought of going in, but changed her mind.
“I’m guessing you didn’t find anything on the security tapes.”
“Nothing so far. The bank next door and a couple shops further along have cameras. We’ll check them all.”
She turned toward the alleyway and tried to steady her nerves. There was no avoiding the inevitable. “Shall we?”
The sunlight slicing between the buildings glanced off the pale gravel. Macy lowered her sunglasses. The employee entrance was propped open with a cinder block. There were muted voices she recognized from the same talk-radio program she’d been listening to on the drive. Farther along, an access road that serviced the businesses along the eastern side of Main Street ran perpendicular to the alleyway. Beyond the road, there was a low white bungalow with a bright green lawn and a screened-in side porch. She could see the silhouette of a man seated inside. He was bolt upright in his chair and seemed to be staring straight at her.
Macy pointed at the house. “I’ll want to talk to the guy hanging out on his screen porch. He may have seen something.”
Aiden shielded his eyes from the glare. “That would be Mr. Walker. I’ll send over a couple of officers to speak to him, but don’t get too excited, he’s almost blind.”
Macy slid the plastic sheeting away. The dark entry wound on the back of John Dalton’s skull was clearly visible. A pool of blood soaked into the loose gravel beneath his head and she was relieved she couldn’t see the exit wound on his face. Even if she hadn’t been told ahead of time, she would have guessed he was ex-military. His hair was clipped short and there was something about the details of his dress that spoke of years of discipline. A bloodstained T-shirt stretched across his wide shoulders; two bullet wounds spaced a few inches apart cut into his right shoulder. No tattoos or distinctive markings were visible on his arms. There were no abrasions to his hands and his wrists were free of ligature marks. He wore faded blue jeans, but his boots appeared to be brand new. Macy pulled his wallet out of the evidence bag and flipped through it. There was a driver’s license and military identification card along with several photos, a couple of credit cards, and more than a hundred dollars in cash. A frayed business card for a therapist with offices in Collier was tucked into a recess.
Macy picked up a flashlight lying on the ground next to the body and read the label. Property of The Whitefish was scrawled in black marker across a piece of masking tape.
“Did the people inside know the victim?”
“Yes, but at that hour there was only one customer left and he’s still drunk. According to the manager, John spent most of the time he was inside speaking to his on-again off-again girlfriend, Lana Clark.”
She held up the flashlight. “So they heard shots fired and came out to investigate?”
“They heard something that sounded like a gunshot, but with the music on inside they didn’t think much of it. Thought it might be a car backfiring or kids screwing around. The manager found the body when he came out to smoke a cigarette.”
On the concrete steps leading to the employee entrance, tiny shards of broken glass glittered amongst the piles of discarded cigarette butts. The light fixture above the door was broken. “Any idea when that happened?”
“According to the manager, it must have happened last night.”
“A blind spot, a broken bulb, and no si
gn of robbery. This doesn’t feel random.”
“That was my thinking.”
“Three tours of duty in Afghanistan and he’s gunned down in his hometown.”
“It doesn’t seem right.”
Macy checked her notes. “This woman in the bar, Lana Clark? She’s an on/off girlfriend?”
“That’s the story that’s going around.”
“Where is she now?”
“Patrol car took her home to pick up a few things. She’s pretty shaken up.”
“When’s she coming back?”
“It will be another hour. She lives pretty far out of town.”
“Did you find John Dalton’s car keys?”
“They were in his pocket.”
“Do you have them? I’d like to have a look in his truck.”
“No need. It wasn’t locked.”
John Dalton’s pickup truck had six inches of dried mud haloing the wheel wells and looked like it had been rolled at least once. The windshield was dotted with divots and a fine web of cracks. On the door a panel read Dalton Ranch—proudly raising quality livestock since 1863. Inside, a single rifle was locked in a gun rack. Empty food containers and Coke bottles were scattered about on the floor. Everything was covered in dust and dog hair. It smelled like a farmyard.
“It looks like he lived in his car.”
“Given the size of the ranch, this is probably where he spent most of his time.”
“So what’s the deal with Lana Clark?”
“Since he returned home there’s been a lot of confusion concerning John’s relationship status. There have been two girls in particular. Lana was one, and Tanya Rose was the other.”
“You do know the Daltons well.”
“It’s a small town and people like to talk. Apparently, Tanya broke up with John because of Lana. Word has it that he has been trying to get her back ever since.”
“I’ll need to speak to her too.”
“I’ll let her know.”
“Any idea who John Dalton was with earlier in the evening?”
“A couple of friends. We’re calling them in for interviews.”
“Is it possible he came across something he wasn’t supposed to see? Do drug dealers use this parking lot?”
“It’s a rural community. You go a few miles north or south and we wouldn’t notice if you set off a bomb. There are better places to deal drugs.”
“How do you think he was adjusting to being back home? Three tours of duty can take their toll.” Macy poked through the glove compartment and came up with a semiautomatic pistol. She slid the chamber open and found it was loaded. She held it up. “He may have gone looking for trouble.”
“According to his dad, he’s been working pretty long hours. Really focused.”
“This is a man who was dating two women. Seems like he had plenty of time for trouble.”
Aiden shrugged. “We should probably go speak to Jeremy. He’s anxious to get home to his family before they wake up and turn on the news.”
Macy slipped the handgun into an evidence bag and shut the car door. “Once they’ve done a preliminary, I want the truck towed down to Helena for further processing.”
* * *
Macy suspected that Jeremy Dalton kept his heavily calloused hands folded on the table so no one would realize how much they were shaking. His deeply tanned face was lined with fine creases. Like on a map, the contours changed depending on the depth of his expression. Out on the street there was a flurry of activity as the forensics team pulled up to the alleyway. His eyes shot up, but his hands stayed clenched. For a long time he stared, the valleys of his face sagging as the seconds passed.
Macy pulled a slim black notebook out of her bag. “Mr. Dalton, my name is Detective Macy Greeley. The chief of the state police, Ray Davidson, has personally requested that I handle this case. I’m normally based down in Helena, but I’ve worked up here in the Flathead Valley before.”
Jeremy cleared his throat. “I was just on the phone with Sheriff Warren Mayfield. He speaks highly of you. Said he liked the way you handled things when they had that trouble in Collier.”
“I’ll have to thank him.” Macy pushed her business card across the surface of the table with her index finger. “First let me say that I will do whatever it takes to bring your son’s killer to justice.”
Jeremy smoothed his beard. He didn’t wear a wedding ring and his eyes were pale and red-rimmed. “When John was in Afghanistan, I stayed up a lot of nights worrying. Since he came back home for good, I’ve been sleeping like a baby.”
Macy waited.
“He had other options but he enlisted anyway. Felt it was his duty.”
“From what I’ve heard, he was a fine soldier. You must have been very proud of him. Did you serve in the military?”
“I was too young for Vietnam and too old for the next one.” His voice shook. “I guess I got lucky.”
There was an older gentleman sitting a couple booths away. He was dressed in a dusty pair of jeans, a long-sleeved shirt, and work boots. His white hair was cut close to his scalp and his dark eyes hadn’t left Macy since she walked in the restaurant. Other than Jeremy, he was the only person there who wasn’t law enforcement.
Macy returned the older man’s stare. “Did you come on your own, Mr. Dalton?”
Jeremy took off his hat and twisted it in his hands. “I woke up my foreman, Wade, when I got the call. He drove.”
“Do you mind if he sits in on our conversation?”
“Wade Larkin is like family.”
Macy wrote Wade’s name down in her notebook. “When was the last time you saw John?”
“Supper yesterday evening. We ate around six. He said he was going to see friends.”
“Anyone in particular?”
“I expect it was the same ones as usual.” He glanced over at Aiden before rattling off a list. “Dylan Reed, Tyler Locke, Chase Lane. Beyond that I’m not really sure.”
“Did John often stay out late on a weeknight?”
“Not normally. Today was supposed to be his day off.”
“Can you think of anyone who would have wanted to harm your son?”
“If there was a problem, he never mentioned it.”
Macy thought back on what she knew about the Daltons. “What about your family’s ranch? Have there ever been any disputes that have turned ugly?”
“We’ve been in business a long time. We’ve had disgruntled employees. We’ve been sued more than once, but there’s been nothing in the past few years.”
“Any issues with the local militias? There’s been some friction in other parts of the state. Some of the big landowners have been targeted.”
Jeremy looked down at his hands. “It’s just a few crazy libertarians that are making things difficult. If you ask me, they’re pushing their luck with their latest demands.”
“How do you figure that?”
“They don’t believe in private ownership of productive land. That’s not going to go over well with anyone in this state. Like I’d just roll over and give up my ranch to a bunch of misfits that have nothing better to do than play at being soldiers.”
“Have you been threatened?”
“Nothing more than a couple of late-night phone calls.”
“Did you inform the police?”
“I can’t bring myself to take those idiots seriously.” He paused. “There’s a woman who’s been researching the militia groups in the valley. I think her name was Patricia Dune. You should ask her if you want to know more. In my opinion she seems a little too well informed.”
Macy glanced up at Aiden. “Do you know about this?”
“She interviewed me a couple of months ago. She’s doing research for her doctoral thesis. It all seems aboveboard but there’s been some talk.”
“What kind of talk?”
“People think she’s stirring things up unnecessarily. They’re worried—”
Jeremy interrupted him. “She came out to
interview me a month ago. Kept asking about Ethan Green. I had to ask her to leave.”
Macy frowned. Ethan Green was a name she knew well. He’d formed one of the state’s first private militias. “I thought Ethan Green skipped town after a warrant was issued for his arrest.”
Aiden spoke again. “He’s wanted for questioning in relation to a sexual assault that occurred last year in Collier. No one has seen him since.”
Macy made some notes before asking Jeremy the next question.
“Why do you think Patricia Dune is so interested in Green?”
“I have no idea. You’ll have to ask her.”
“Do you know if Green believed in public ownership of productive land?”
“He did at one time. I’m not sure what he believes now. His manifesto was subject to change.”
“Could he have been the person who called you?”
“It wasn’t him.”
“You seem very sure.”
“That’s because I am. I’ve known Ethan all my life.”
“Is it possible that John came into contact with him?”
“My kids knew to stay clear. There’s no way they’d have gone anywhere near him.”
“This friction between you and Green. Do you think it could have become violent?”
“Our argument dates back to before my children were born. I doubt either of us gives it much thought these days.”
“This is going to be difficult for your family, but we’ll need to interview each of them, and anyone your son John worked with. He may have confided in someone.”
Jeremy stumbled over his words. “I have to get home. I have no idea how I’m going to tell them…”
He pressed the base of his palms into his eyes and wept. Macy was the only one who didn’t look away. This man had lost his only son. She fought hard not to imagine how that must feel. Her son Luke seemed so far away. She had the sudden urge to escape the diner and drive straight home. She had no idea how she could protect him if she was never there. Macy handed Jeremy a tissue from a box someone had placed on the table, and signaled Wade Larkin to come over.
Burnt River Page 2
