Cassie Dewell 01 - Badlands

by C. J. Box

  Finally, Kirkbride strode down the hallway and paused at her door. He held up his phone so she could see her own text to him, which read:

  I NEED TO TALK TO YOU BEFORE THE BRIEFING. IT’S VERY IMPORTANT. CD

  “This is from you, right?” he asked.

  She nodded, and stepped aside so he could come in. She shut the door behind him.

  “I don’t have any names programmed into my phone,” he said, shedding his departmental parka. “So I never know who leaves me a message or sends me a text except by the numbers. I’ve got to hire one of my grandkids to do that for me, I guess. But in this case the four-oh-six Montana area code gave it away.”

  He glanced at his watch to emphasize how little time they had, then looked up expectantly.

  She said, “I found this in my refrigerator last night,” and handed him her phone with the photo on the screen.

  He took it and looked at it and then at her.

  “That’s Rufus Whiteley’s head,” Kirkbride said.

  “I know.”

  “And you found this in your refrigerator?”

  “Yes.”

  He lowered the phone and glared at her. “And you’re just telling me now?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit, Cassie,” he said, leaning back on her desk and rubbing his forehead with his free hand, “You found a human head—the head of a man we’ve all been looking for—and you sat on it all night long?”

  “Listen to my reasoning before you go off on me,” she said. “I almost called. I had the phone in my hand and I started to dial dispatch, then I thought about it. I almost called you but it was late and I had to work this out.”

  “Work what out? These animals threw body parts all over my county and put the head into the refrigerator of my new chief investigator. It’s like they’re telling us they’re in control. We could have done a sweep last night and maybe nailed ’em.”

  “I doubt that,” she said, “because I doubt whoever put that head in my apartment was the same person who mutilated Whitely.”

  Kirkbride closed one eye, trying to anticipate where she was going.

  “Look,” she said, “All of the body parts were scattered the night before or in the early morning hours. They didn’t hold the head back and deliver it to my place later. They probably don’t even know who I am or what I do here. They sure wouldn’t have access to the building. But whoever put the head in my apartment does.”

  The sheriff arched his eyebrows as if to say, “Go on.”

  “One of our own did it,” she said. “He found the head during the day when we were all searching for it, and he got into my apartment and put it there to scare me off. He probably thought I’d see it, go hysterical, and drive back to Montana. He doesn’t want me here and this was his way of running me off.”

  Kirkbride nodded but still looked skeptical.

  “I didn’t call it in because I wanted to see what happened this morning at the briefing,” she said. “I want to see who looks at me wondering why I haven’t reacted. They’ll wonder, ‘Did she even open the refrigerator door? And if she did, why hasn’t she said something?’ He won’t know what to think and he might give himself away.

  “Besides,” she said, “what’s the hurry calling it in? We know the head belongs to Rufus Whiteley.”

  “I’m not sure I completely agree with this tactic,” he said. “But I see where you’re coming from.”

  “Tell me about Cam Tollefsen,” she said. “He’s who I wanted to talk to you about yesterday. I get this vibe from him and it isn’t a good one. Believe me, I used to work with a guy who gave off that vibe at times.”

  Sheriff Kirkbride sighed and said, “Cam used to have your job, but you probably know that. I busted him down to patrol because I thought he was insubordinate and running his own show.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “Cam is an old-timer around here, like me. We joined the department just a couple of years apart. We used to be pretty close, but when I ran for sheriff he thought I’d gotten too big for my britches, you know? I think he resents me and I think he’s bitter that most of the people he knew around here either got rich or moved away. He feels entitled to a bigger part of the action. I thought he’d find that when I named him chief investigator, but he built his own little empire and froze me out of it. I’m not saying he’s corrupt, but I always get the feeling he’s like a train running down a parallel track to his own destination, you know?”

  Cassie said, “He showed up yesterday when I was checking out the field where the rollover occurred. I got the feeling he might have been guarding it from me.”

  “That’s nothing we can take action on,” Kirkbride said. “But it’s something, that’s for sure.”

  “I want to see how he acts this morning when he sees me,” Cassie said. “You watch him, too. You know him better so you’ll know if he seems bothered or upset.”

  Kirkbride said he would.

  “Several things in the rollover report seem hinky to me,” she said. “The times don’t make sense. Tollefsen was on the scene so quickly it’s almost like he was waiting for that car to show up. He didn’t hit his lights or siren and he didn’t call it in right away—Lance Foster did. I don’t think Tollefsen expected Foster to show up as backup so fast.”

  “You know what you’re implying, don’t you?” Kirkbride cautioned.

  “That’s all I’m doing at this point—implying.”

  “That’s right.”

  “But isn’t this exactly what you expected me to find?” she asked. “Isn’t that why you asked me to run an independent investigation?”

  Kirkbride didn’t answer but his eyes told her she was right. Instead he said, “We better get into that briefing. Max won’t start until I show up.”

  As she gathered her notebook and pen to follow him, he said, “Give it a few beats before you show up. I don’t want anybody to think we were conspiring in here, if you know what I mean.”

  She did. She asked, “What do we do about the head?”

  “I’ll figure something out.” He puzzled over it a moment and a smile formed.

  “What?”

  “You’ll see.”

  He handed back her phone and left her office. Before she dropped it in her pocket, she realized she had forgotten to call Prosecutor Leslie Behaunek back in North Carolina the night before.

  After the briefing, she thought.

  Cassie took several deep breaths and tried to take control of her composure. Her plan wouldn’t work if she entered the room looking concerned or rattled. She tried to think of something that made her happy, and thought of her son Ben and his crazy plan to become a fisherman in North Dakota. It made her smile, how determined he was. And it put her in the right frame of mind.

  * * *

  MAX MAXFIELD had already begun the briefing when Cassie walked in and took her position in the back of the room against the wall. Her arrival resulted in a hitch in Maxfield’s presentation and he lost his place for a moment before resuming, which took Cassie by surprise.

  She exchanged looks with Kirkbride in the front and Kirkbride cocked an eyebrow. He was puzzled also.

  Cassie felt more than saw a sustained sidewise stare from Tollefsen, who sat where he had the day before in the last row of chairs. She had no doubt he was looking her over closely for some kind of tell. Because she was prepared for it, she turned in his direction and nodded and followed it with a curt smile. It wasn’t what he expected, she guessed, and his eyes snapped back to the front of the room.

  Again, she locked eyes with Kirkbride and again he raised an eyebrow. He’d seen it too.

  * * *

  THERE WERE no leads on the disappearance of Phillip Klein. Twenty-four hours had passed and there was now reason to begin a legitimate inquiry. The photo of Klein and his description had been transmitted to law enforcement agencies throughout North Dakota, South Dakota, Minnesota, and Montana. Maxfield assigned two deputies to work the case and interview Klein�
��s colleagues at the man camp.

  There were also no solid leads on who had mutilated Rufus Whiteley or why. Maxfield said the department had received six or seven calls from people offering information or naming suspects. Whiteley had more than his share of enemies, including other bikers, coworkers, and people he owed money to. Cassie hoped at least one of the leads panned out. She knew from experience that more than 95 percent of felony crimes were solved as a result of citizens volunteering information to law enforcement. Maxfield assigned teams of two deputies to follow up on each lead, even though a couple—a reporting party had claimed he saw an Arab-looking “Al Qaeda–type” man get off the Amtrak train two days before and a second RP said he had a theory on how Whiteley could have mutilated himself—seemed less than promising.

  “As to potential motive,” Maxfield said, “I’d like to ask Ian to come up to the podium and share some things he heard on the street yesterday while the rest of us were running around town picking up the pieces.”

  Ian Davis stood and started to make his way up to the front of the room when Sheriff Kirkbride rose and said, “Before we do that, I’d like to commend the newest member of our department for doing something far beyond the call of duty—Investigator Cassandra Dewell.”

  Cassie was flummoxed. All of the deputies in the room rotated in their chairs to look at her.

  “Cassie here found Rufus Whiteley’s head. When most of us were home in bed last night she went out in the thirty-below weather and found it. It seems we all looked everywhere for it except for the alley behind the building. And because the forensics folks were not on duty, she marked and photographed the scene before taking it to her place. She put it in her refrigerator until this morning so we could examine it.”

  “Her refrigerator?” someone asked incredulously.

  “Right next to a six-pack of beer,” Kirkbride said with a smile. “So we can all stop looking for that head and worrying that some schoolkid might use it to kick around instead of a soccer ball. We can concentrate on our efforts to find the killer.”

  There were a few laughs and several deputies gave her a thumbs-up. Then they turned back to Kirkbride.

  Except for Tollefsen, who narrowed his eyes and seemed conflicted.

  Although she didn’t like to be surprised like that, she saw the cleverness of what Kirkbride had just done. He’d provided enough misdirection to confuse the man or men who’d set her up. They wouldn’t know if the sheriff had been told an outright lie by Cassie, what her motive was, or if he was conspiring with her. And he’d provided a plausible foundation for the retrieval of the head.

  Ian Davis had paused near Judy’s desk while the sheriff was talking. Kirkbride said to him, “Ian, let’s table that presentation of yours for now. Some new information has come to my attention and I want to go over it with you to see if it jibes with what you heard out there.”

  Cassie was confused, and so was Davis. The undercover officer said, “Sure, I guess.”

  Kirkbride approached Davis and whispered something to him and Davis nodded reluctantly. Then Kirkbride said to Maxfield, “Continue, Max.”

  * * *

  AS THE briefing concluded, Kirkbride signaled to Cassie to walk with him in the hallway.

  “Did I surprise you?”

  “Wasn’t it obvious?”

  “It was.” He chuckled. “But the look on your face was perfect. I think everyone bought it.”

  “Except for Cam Tollefsen,” she said.

  “I noticed he was the first to leave the room.”

  Cassie paused. “What about Max? Did you catch that?”

  “I did, but I’m not sure we’re on the right track thinking Max had anything to do with it. I think he’s still not used to a female investigator in the department, and you showing up a minute after he started threw him off track. But it did get me to thinking there’s a possibility we might have more than one guy in that room we need to be wary of.”

  She nodded. “Ian Davis?”

  “No, he’s a good egg,” Kirkbride said. “That’s why I asked him to come to my office in half an hour. I want to hear what he has to say and I’d like you there, too.”

  She got it. Kirkbride didn’t want anyone hostile to her investigation to know what Davis had learned. The sheriff wanted to keep any unfriendlies within the department off balance and guessing.

  “At some point I’m going to need some help on this case,” she said. “I can’t continue to work it alone without any resources.”

  “We aren’t there yet,” he said, and went into his office and shut the door.

  * * *

  THERE WAS a message on Cassie’s desk to call Brandi Atnip in evidence.

  Since she had a half an hour before meeting with Kirkbride and Davis, Cassie found Atnip’s extension on the list Judy had given her and punched the button.

  “Atnip.”

  “This is Cassie Dewell.”

  “Ah, right. Well, I’ve got that tire track cast you asked for.”

  “You do? With all you had to do yesterday you found the time?”

  “I worked late last night.”

  “Bless you.”

  * * *

  BRANDI ATNIP looked up from the counter wearing a white lab coat, jeans, and high-topped hunting boots. She had close-cropped magenta hair, hipster glasses, and a sly smile. It was amazing, Cassie thought, how evidence techs looked the same everywhere.

  “I’ve got your coat in back, too,” Atnip said. “At least I assume it’s your coat.”

  “It is. I really can’t thank you enough.”

  Atnip said, “Not a problem. You asked nice. A lot of these yahoos don’t ask nice and I keep ’em waiting for a while. Besides, it felt kind of right to go outside of town in the nice quiet snow last night after the day we had yesterday. Peaceful, even. And from what I just heard, I need to go to your place and bag up a head.”

  Cassie laughed at the way she said it.

  “It’s okay, it won’t be my first. I get to go to a lot of traffic accidents.”

  She hopped down from her stool. “Wait here, I’ll bring it out.”

  Atnip walked through a frosted glass door and it hissed shut behind her.

  After five minutes, Atnip pushed through the door again with Cassie’s coat and a puzzled look on her face.

  “It’s gone.”

  “What?”

  “It’s not where I left it. And damn, it was a good piece of work if I do say so myself. That track was frozen solid and the foam cast picked it up perfectly. It was kind of technical because it was so damned cold out there—but I was able to get it back home in one piece so it could set up. You could see every lug on the tire and you would have been able to match it up with the original.”

  Cassie shook her head. “Who could have taken it? Who came in here from the time you left me the message to when I called you?”

  “Nobody. That’s just it. You’re the only person who came in here.”

  Cassie started to ask about other evidence techs or deputies when Atnip said, “Except for when I went to get some coffee.”

  “What?”

  “I’ve been here all morning except for when I left to get some coffee across the street. I can’t stand that crap they make in the lunchroom.”

  “When was that?” Cassie asked.

  “About ten minutes ago,” she said. “I got back just when you called me.”

  At the same time the briefing broke up, Cassie thought.

  “Who else has access to your lab?”

  “Shit, everybody,” Atnip said. “Our keycards work on every door. Sheriff Kirkbride has a thing about it. He doesn’t like the idea of his people getting all territorial. Except for the evidence room, of course.”

  Cassie said, “This might make him rethink that policy.”

  Atnip shrugged. “Don’t count on it. He’s a stubborn old guy. He likes to think everybody in his department is on the up-and-up. Like it was before the boom, I guess.”

  “I�
��ll talk to him. But in the meanwhile, please let me know if that cast turns up or somebody gives it back. Maybe someone took it by mistake.”

  “Maybe,” Atnip said without conviction. “I hope that happens because there’s no way I can get another cast. The snow last night buried the track out in the field and now it’s just part of the snowpack. We wouldn’t be able to find it until spring—if then.”

  Cassie checked her wristwatch. Time for the meeting with the sheriff and Ian Davis.

  Then, maybe, returning the call to the North Carolina prosecutor …

  Cassie handed the keycard to her apartment to Atnip.

  “Make yourself at home,” she said.

  “Trust me. You won’t even know it was there. I’ll leave an open box of baking soda in there for the odor.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  IAN DAVIS seemed apprehensive about meeting with Kirkbride, Cassie observed. The undercover cop couldn’t stop fidgeting and his fingertips pounded out a silent drumbeat on the top of his left thigh. The sheriff couldn’t see that, though, because he was behind his desk. Cassie sat next to Davis and sympathized with him. Any cop would be nervous about being asked to come see the boss, even if he had nothing to be ashamed about.

  “Sorry to throw you a curve in there,” the sheriff told Davis.

  “No problem,” Davis said cautiously.

  “I’ve asked Cassie to sit in because she’s new here and I wanted an outside opinion,” Kirkbride said. “Sometimes we all get too close to the locals and the day-to-day, and I find it helpful to get that extra input.”

  Davis nodded and looked at Cassie, assessing her. Cassie couldn’t read what Davis’s conclusion was.

  “So please forgive me if I ask dumb questions,” Cassie said. “I don’t know all the players like you and the sheriff do.”

  “Okay.”

  “So what were you going to brief our guys about this morning?” Kirkbride asked. “I know you and Max went over it but I didn’t hear what it was.”

  Davis didn’t open his notebook. He said, “I wasn’t going to do any speculation, if that’s what you were worried about. I was just going to share what I’d heard out and about in town while all that body parts stuff was going down.”