“Don’t forget Sadie Sawyer, Talia’s neighbor,” Gemma reminded him. “Sadie saw a woman fitting Tiffany’s description with Brandt when Talia was out of town.”
“So the husband is definitely cheating,” Dale remarked. “But we can’t prove that Talia was.”
“That’s correct,” Lando stated.
“And no one is who they seem,” Gemma muttered. “A phony Silicon Valley rich guy, who turns out to be nothing more than a deceptive husband, and a fake ATF agent.”
“You got it,” Lando said, jotting down more notes on the board. “So, we keep an open mind. As you can see, suspects in Talia’s murder are listed on the right. Brandt. Tiffany, and Unknown. Unknown might be the mystery man Talia could’ve been seeing on the side, or someone Brandt paid to kill his wife.”
Gemma walked to the board. “But there’s a caveat, isn’t there? There’s a possibility Talia was murdered because she caught on to the counterfeiting operation, which might imply that Brandt was mixed up in all of it.”
Lando pointed to his wife. “Bingo. So Unknown could also be someone tied to Woodson, which doesn’t widen our pool of suspects but narrows it down. That means Lewis might not have killed his wife, but he could’ve been involved in the counterfeiting scheme up to his eyeballs. After all, the man was here in town for a reason. I don’t think it was because of Talia. So, what brought him here?”
He turned to look at the faces of his team. “Any questions so far? Everyone following me so far?”
Payce got up to throw his container in the trash. “Sure, I get it. I knew when we found the body in the trunk, this would be a crazy case to solve.”
“And so it is. But let’s get back to the plane blowing up and taking out our fake ATF agent. The pool of suspects comes from the people Woodson routinely hung around with, his drinking buddies. We don’t know who he met up with on his trips out of town, but we can focus on the locals, that small group he hung around with when he wasn’t flying them to Vegas or wherever. Which is the main reason Tully is up there.”
Dale studied the list of suspects. “Maybe we should hide that whiteboard when we go home tonight. I’m not sure just anyone should see that our fire chief is listed.”
“That’s a good idea,” Lando stated, suddenly hungry and feeling better about the cases. While he dug into his tacos, he kept looking at the whiteboard until finally, he put down his takeout. “Zeb is going through Woodson’s logs at the airport. But let’s face it, those logs could be as phony as everything else.”
“So where does that leave us?” Jimmy asked. “We don’t know what is real and what isn’t?”
“Patience,” Lando returned. “First off, we don’t panic. We start figuring this out from Talia’s murder. That’s the center. We work our way out from there to the plane crash. A week before that plane went down, someone strangled Talia Lewis. Why?”
Gemma sat down to finish her salad, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the board either and all the hard work Lando had done in such a short time. “Because whoever killed Talia, blew up Woodson.”
“Tonight, that’s the theory I’m going with. It could change tomorrow. I’m not locked in yet on any one theory, and that could be a problem.”
“You said to keep an open mind,” Dale recounted. “That’s as good a starting point as we have.”
Jimmy cleared his throat. “What gets me is that the phony ATF agent picks Coyote Wells as the center of his counterfeiting operation. There’s a reason for that. I’d say that’s an insult to us as law enforcement.”
“I’m with you there,” Lando said in agreement. “And it went on for five years on my watch. I’m not happy about that.”
“Who’s to say five years?” Gemma questioned. “Woodson might’ve waited for a year or so before he thought it was safe.”
Lando shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. The fact is it went on for too long. And the dead body in the trunk means Woodson had an agenda from the day he arrived in town.” He went over to the whiteboard to add another piece of the puzzle. “Let’s not forget the body who blew up in the tanker accident outside Salt Lake City. We now know it wasn’t Peter Olson. So, who was the poor sap that got incinerated in that explosion? Because he was a victim, too.”
“I don’t know about anyone else, but my brain hurts just thinking about all of this. The depth Olson went to is staggering.”
“But he didn’t work alone,” Lando reasoned. “There’s a bigger fish swimming around town. And we need to uncover who it is before he or she finds their next victim.”
12
Gemma began her Friday morning in the garden, weeding and deadheading the hydrangeas, clearing her head.
After getting back home late last night, she’d had a rough time falling asleep. Two hours in, she’d woken and couldn’t get back into a deep slumber. She’d walked through the house, ending up in the solarium where she’d fallen asleep curled up in one of the chairs.
Not for the first time, Lando found her there before six o’clock. “I’m beginning to think you like this room better than our bedroom?”
“It’s not that,” she told him through bleary eyes. “Last night it was disturbing trying to sleep knowing there’s a killer out there. It could be anyone. I just couldn’t shake the feeling enough to close my eyes. We’re under the impression our little town is safe, but maybe that’s an illusion.”
“And maybe that’s why Kamena, Aponivi, and Salisaw gave you the powers of sight. Did you ever wonder why they picked you?”
Since that conversation, Gemma had thought of nothing else. It’s the reason she was out here pulling weeds with the sun filtering down through the cherry trees. She wasn’t all that great at her so-called abilities. Almost everyone thought she’d gotten it wrong about Brandt Lewis. The husband was always guilty, right? But this time, she felt she needed to stick to her own theory. The guy wasn’t a good guy, that much was evident. But someone else had killed Talia. She was sure of it and needed to find proof.
But probably not today. Today, the mayor had a full slate.
Continuing to dig in the dirt, Gemma didn’t see Lando come up behind her until he’d placed his hands on her shoulders. “I need to go.”
“I got carried away out here, didn’t I? Sorry about that. If it were up to me, I’d stay out here all day and play in the garden.”
Lando realized the weight of being mayor might already be getting to her. But he also knew she’d never let down the people who’d voted for her, and even those who hadn’t. “It sucks the way you got roped into this job.”
She lifted a shoulder and got to her feet. “It’s okay. Lianne’s running the shop like she loves it. That’s all anyone could ask for.” A little smile crossed her lips. “If I’m honest, her chocolate truffles taste better than mine.”
Lando ran a hand down her cheek. “I’m sure that’s not true. You look tired. Sleeping in a chair doesn’t agree with you.”
“I’m fine, more worried about Talia’s killer than I first thought. What’s on your agenda today?”
“Try to run down Woodson’s friends, interview Tully, find out where each one was the night Talia died.”
“In other words, another full day. Me too. Let’s plan to have a quiet dinner together before we meet Tiffany.”
He placed a kiss on her lips. “I look forward to a quiet anything. Want a ride into work?”
“No. I need to take my own car, gotta meet the structural engineer out at Wolf Creek Bridge at ten-thirty.”
“Watch where you step out there. That creaky old thing is on its last leg.”
“All the more reason to get the ball rolling and fix it.”
That ball began as she watched the structural engineer—a man in his late forties named Jim Dutton—climb all over and around the bridge, mostly muttering to himself, taking lots of notes about the rotted wood and rusted iron damage, and sighing a lot.
After ninety minutes spent inspecting the bridge itself and the land surrounding it,
Jim’s list became long and detailed.
“You’ll need to be specific when you fill out the paperwork for the funds,” Jim said, out of breath and sweating. He ripped out a copy of the estimate for her benefit, then handed it off. “It’s a wonder this old thing hasn’t collapsed already. One good rain and it could fail, wash out completely under the stress. Its current condition alone should make it eligible for all kinds of funding.”
“Plus, it is one of the main arteries in and out of town,” Gemma pointed out. “That has to count as well.”
“Which is why it needs massive renovations to bring it into the twenty-first century. I also recommend widening it.”
“That’s the plan. No point in overhauling it if doesn’t include widening this stretch of road. Have you ever been part of filling out the requirements before, maybe for another small town?”
“Sure. Lots of times.”
“Then I’ll buy you lunch if you give me a few pointers. The town really needs this bridge repaired. That’s why I’d like it if the government said yes right away the first time and not turn me down four or five times because of mistakes I make in the application process.”
“Settle down. No need to freak. I’m happy to help a newbie like yourself. I only wish others were as willing to get their projects off the ground like you are. Do their homework first.”
As a thank-you, Gemma dragged Jim to Captain Jack’s for the Friday fish fry special—three halibut fillets and fries with coleslaw for only $7.99.
“This is good,” Jim said, halfway through devouring the meal.
She forked up a bite of fish. “It’s the best around, ask anyone. What do you think my chances are of getting those funds?”
“Very good to excellent, especially since I’m going to help you with filing all the forms.” He shoved a business card across the table. “Here’s my contact information. We’ll do it all by email.”
“Why not now and get me started?”
“Because I’m due back in Redding for another appointment. And it’s Friday. I wanted to start my weekend by taking my wife on a tour of wine country.”
“Fine. But message me first thing Monday. I’m under a lot of pressure to see this through. I can’t let the town down. Other mayors have, but I don’t want to be one of them.”
“I hear ya. I promise we’ll get started next week.”
“Do not let me down, Mr. Dutton,” Gemma warmed again. “The people in this town are depending on me.”
While Gemma took care of mayor business, Lando caught up with Tully Beacham at the firehouse. But Tully seemed nervous about answering questions.
“How much did you know about Woodson’s life here in Coyote Wells?”
“Just what he told me.”
“Which was?”
“He retired here after working with the ATF for twenty-five years.”
“Not only did he not work for the ATF, Tully, but Woodson wasn’t even his real name.”
Tully’s face dropped. “That can’t be true.”
“I’m afraid it is. Fingerprints don’t lie. Plus, your friend kept a dead woman in his shed for perhaps the entire time he lived here.” Lando waited a beat to let that nugget sink in before adding, “How long after he moved here did you start up a friendship?”
“I don’t remember exactly. I met him down at Thackery’s. He seemed like a stand-up guy at the time, offered to take all of us at the table to Vegas for the weekend. I knew my wife was visiting her mother, so I jumped at the chance to get out of town. That was about four months after he arrived. He said he knew someone at The Lucky Palace who would comp our rooms. Sure enough, they did. Once we got to the Strip, the guy seemed to be a big fish everywhere we went, a high roller who knew everybody, and everybody knew him. It was like being with a celebrity.”
“Did he do anything that came off as suspicious while you were with him? Did he contact anyone who seemed sketchy?”
Tully scratched his chin. “I didn’t pay that much attention. That trip, I tried my hand at blackjack and mostly concentrated on the game. He did have one habit that seemed odd to me.”
“What was that?”
“Whenever I tried to talk shop with him, Pete would always redirect the conversation to something more mundane like sports or fishing.”
“You mean when you tried to bring up fire-related topics, something you might have in common, Woodson avoided answering directly?”
“Yep. Most of the time he acted like he never heard my question, would just ignore it if I asked him about arson or what type of cases he worked on during his stint with ATF.”
“Probably because he didn’t have a clue. If he’d answered you, he would’ve given himself away as a phony. Last question, how many times did you accept his invitation to Vegas?”
“Over five years, probably half a dozen.”
Lando left it at that and moved on to Woodson’s other buddy, Darby Berwick. With little startup money, Darby had turned the old shipyard into a thriving salvage operation. The forty-year-old businessman greeted Lando with a handshake and an upbeat attitude.
“I’m here to find out how much you knew about your friend Woodson.”
“He was a nice enough guy, willing to buy his fair share of drinks. What more could you ask from a man on a Friday night after putting in a hard week at work?”
“And he was willing to pay for trips to Vegas.”
Darby grinned. “That too. It wasn’t a bad thing. A free room in Sin City, plenty of drinks on the house. Woodson was one of those frequent visitors there who got the red-carpet treatment.”
“How many times did you make the trip?”
“Half a dozen. Yeah. Probably six.”
“Did you ever hear him talk about his time as an ATF agent?”
“Nah, he seemed to want to play it up when it suited, but when it came down to details, he’d usually pass on letting anything specific cross his lips.”
“And you didn’t find that odd?”
“Nope. I was getting a free jaunt to Vegas and a nice room to boot. I’d have gone with a drug dealer for that.”
Lando moved on to the docks, where he had to wait for Lucien Thorne to come in from his catch. But he got the same song and dance from the fisherman. Woodson came off as a real pal who treated them to trips to Vegas, dined and wined them like girlfriends, and then kept them supplied with booze down at Thackery’s Pub, buying rounds of drinks until closing time.
“How many trips did you take to Vegas?”
Lucien didn’t miss a beat. “I’d say about a half a dozen.”
Lando was beginning to see a pattern. Either they all had rehearsed their stories or Woodson had purposely taken them to Vegas as a group only six times over a five-year period. Either way, it was suspicious.
As he sat in his cruiser, Lando put in a call to Zeb. He relayed the gist of the interviews to his counterpart, hoping for a matching story from Kenny Painter. Zeb didn’t disappoint.
“That’s basically word for word what Painter told me,” Zeb offered. “Which means we might have our network of conspirators.”
“We need a lot more proof before we know for sure.” Thinking about how they planned to confront Tiffany later that night, Lando felt he needed to know Zeb’s plans for the evening. “What are you doing tonight?”
“Having dinner with my parents while Leia works. You?”
“Hopefully just a quiet evening at home with the wife.” The lie wasn’t a total falsehood. After sending Tiffany packing, he wanted to go home and prop his feet up to watch some TV.
With nothing more to talk about, Lando’s next stop was the morgue where he hoped to wrangle new details out of Tuttle. Jeff wasn’t surprised to see him.
“I wondered how long you could stay away before stopping by.”
“You’ve had five days to do the autopsy on Woodson, or rather Olson, four on the mummified remains, and about that same amount of time for Talia. So, start talking. Tell me something I don’t already know.
”
“In order of appearance, there’s nothing new about Olson. What was left of him gave me no jolts or surprises. Tox screen came back clean. Fingerprints you already know about. As for the mummified female, the state lab has agreed to help me obtain fingerprints by rehydrating the epidermis. If that fails, they’ve agreed to try transillumination to pick up the ridge pattern. But don’t hold your breath we’ll get results.”
“In other words, we may never know who she was.”
“You got it. As to Talia, you already know she was strangled. I can tell you it was by ligature, some type of cord wrapped around the throat until it snapped the hyoid bone. She died about two hours after she ate a batch of fish and chips. She’d had sex before she died, took a DNA swab just in case.”
“Is that it?”
“She also fell, found a bruise and a knot on her forehead and cuts and scrapes on her legs.”
“Are you saying Talia was running from someone?”
“That would be my guess, yes. She could’ve fallen down a flight of stairs. Now my turn. What’s the status on the plane crash? I got a formal request from the ATF to take Woodson’s body to their own lab. This isn’t a turf war, is it?”
“All I know is that the metal fragments were sent off to the ATF’s West Coast lab. They’re looking for residue pointing to whoever produced the bomb. At this point, everything is wait and see on their end. They may want the body to see if anything matches up. So, yeah. I guess it is a turf war. If you’ve told me everything you know, I don’t have a problem with letting go of the body.”
“They seemed interested in getting to the bottom of all his aliases. Pretending to be one of their own seems to have upset them.”
“They’re upset? For five years this joker pulled the wool over my eyes here in Coyote Wells. That makes me want to be the person who finds all the answers.”
“Hey, I get it. I’m on your side, remember? It’s not my idea to pack up his remains and give someone else a shot at another autopsy. But if the request is valid, I won’t be able to stop them.”
Fire Mountain Page 15
