Fatal Divisions

by Claire Booth

  This all happened seventy-two hours ago. And Sheila had not told him. Sam had not told him. He took the stairs two at a time and threw his clothing back in his suitcase. He went back down to the kitchen, scrawled Jerry a note, took a set of keys that weren’t his, and left through the garage.

  At least he hadn’t gotten all dressed in his uniform yet. He was still in sweats and a T-shirt when he called Sheila and got the smackdown. He couldn’t believe she didn’t want him to come in today. They always worked nonstop during a homicide investigation. He stopped with his hand halfway into the cereal cupboard as a thought occurred to him.

  What if it had to do with overtime? Sam knew he was already in OT territory for the week, so today would just add even more to Sheila’s balance sheet. But, come on. It was a murder. That took priority over everything. He sighed. Sometimes he thought he understood her pretty well. And then other times, it felt like he didn’t understand her at all.

  He pulled the Golden Grahams out of the cupboard, poured a bowl and started stabbing his spoon into it. So now what the heck was he supposed to do with himself all day? He’d been counting on a busy day at work to keep his mind off of tonight and how nervous he was. He ran through a dozen possibilities and two full bowls with milk before it occurred to him. The Chief’s errand. He’d never reported back to Hank after looking at that storefront. He got out his phone and stared at it, but had the same problem he’d had yesterday. He couldn’t write a text without feeling guilty. Oh, by the way, sir – there’s a murder going on. I must’ve just forgot to mention it when I talked to you before. He shoved the phone away with a groan, but quickly pulled it back. He could do more. He could look into it further. He could drive by there again. He could definitely run the plates of those cars that were parked out back of the building.

  He quickly changed into jeans and a sweatshirt and went outside to scrape the frost off the Bronco’s windshield. Not for the first time, he wished he’d been able to find a house to rent that had an enclosed garage. He hated having to do this every winter morning. The little place did have its good points, though. It had a washer and dryer, which a lot of rentals didn’t include. And the shed out back had room for all his hunting gear, and his mountain bike. He loved that. It was so great not having to go back over to his parents’ house every time he needed some of his stuff. A lot of the people he went to high school with weren’t that lucky. Not only were their things still at home, they were still at home. And it’d been more than seven years since graduation. Granted, for some of them the problem was a lack of motivation rather than a lack of employment opportunities.

  By the time he got everything cleared off, the sun was completely up. He made sure he had his notebook and his phone and headed out with the old Bronco’s heater on high and a cloud of exhaust billowing from its dented tailpipe. Ten minutes later he was in an empty parking lot. This time he parked and got out. He peered in the windows but didn’t see anything more than he had during his drive-by yesterday. He trudged around the building to the back, where the closed metal door looked the same, too. He paced for a minute or two, smacking his gloved hands together as he walked. Then he tried the door. It was locked. He was starting to turn away when he noticed scuff marks on the asphalt outside the door. He backed away and looked at them from different angles. Probably just boxes or something getting dragged into the store. See, they went toward one of the barely outlined parking spots up against the cinder block wall of the building. He took a few steps back toward his truck and then stopped to look again. The thing was, they seemed to be going away from the door, not toward it.

  He shook his head in exasperation. They were dirty marks on blacktop. Behind an empty store. That was all. Hell, he didn’t even know why the Chief wanted him to check out this location in the first place. What was he even supposed to be looking for? He wished he knew. It would occupy a lot more time if he had a genuine thing to investigate. He walked back to the Bronco, which had been joined by a Dodge pickup at the other end of the lot. He added that license number to his list and walked the length of the strip mall. Two spots from the far end, there was another empty storefront. This one still had the ‘For Lease’ sign in the window. He saw himself grin in the window reflection. Calling the phone number on the sign would give him more to do. He snapped a picture with his phone and hustled back to the Bronco. His ears were starting to freeze.

  The inside of the sheriff’s Branson substation wasn’t much warmer than the parking lot had been. It was seldom used, with only two tiny offices and a barely functioning coffee pot. But it was much closer than department headquarters fourteen miles away in Forsyth. Sam kept his coat on as he booted up one of the old desktop computers. He ran the license plates and printed out all the information. Then he dialed the property management company. He knew it was a Saturday, but he figured he could at least leave a message.

  The guy picked up immediately. Sam thanked him for answering on a weekend and explained why he was calling.

  ‘Yeah,’ the man sighed. ‘I got this last lousy space to fill and two more across town, so I’m answering every call I get. It’s not the high-flying nineties anymore, when this town could support umpteen outlet malls and people were banging down my door. Now even if I got tenants, they up and leave. I’m losing the one in the middle of that center next month. Oh, wait. Man, I can’t let that get out while I’m trying to lease this last space.’

  Sam swore that he wouldn’t tell anyone that Nora’s Quilts & Collectibles was closing. But he really did need to know who’d rented the one at the end but hadn’t moved in yet. There was some paper shuffling and keyboard tapping. It was a limited liability company out of Columbia called Drawbridge Holdings, he said. They signed the lease five weeks ago. All done over email. They hadn’t even wanted to see the space. Just made sure it had an enclosed storage room and back entrance. He was frankly a little surprised they hadn’t moved in their merchandise and opened for business yet, since they’d been so hot to sign the lease.

  Sam thought that was a little strange, too. Who had he given the keys to?

  ‘Mailed them to a post office box up in Columbia,’ said the lease man, whose name was Ray Gillespie. ‘And you know … all of this was done over email, now that I think about it. Doing some of it that way isn’t unusual, but to do the whole business and then have the keys mailed is … well, kind of odd, frankly.’

  Sam thought so, too. Was this what the Chief was looking into? At least Mr Gillespie had been smart enough to make sure the deposit money and rent check cleared the bank before sending off the keys. He’d even upped the amount of the security fees from what he normally charged, just because he hadn’t been able to speak with anybody directly. Which Sam thought was a pretty darn good idea.

  ‘So, is something shady going on?’ Mr Gillespie asked.

  ‘That’s a good question, sir. I don’t know at this point, but if you could contact me immediately if they get in touch with you for any reason, that would be great.’

  He agreed instantly and sounded almost excited as he hung up the phone. Sam loved people like that. They usually turned out to have wanted to grow up to be cops when they were kids, and they always turned out to be really helpful. He double-checked all the information and took a deep breath. Time to text Hank.

  TWENTY-SIX

  The paper was divided in half. Two columns. One had a long list of names. Some were written in pen – they’d already phoned in sick. The rest were in pencil, only because their shifts were later in the day and they hadn’t yet called. Sheila was getting an average warning time of only ten minutes before a deputy’s shift was supposed to start.

  The second column had two names. Herself and Molly March. She had a couple of hopefuls, but she hadn’t dared write down their names for fear of jinxing it. She flipped the notebook closed just as the office phone rang again. Another name went from pencil to pen. Then she programmed the phone so it would ring through to her cell and walked over to the jail. The sun was barely u
p and the shift was just changing. It would be the only time she’d get to be outside until God knew when.

  ‘Well, good morning. Ma’am.’ Bubba Berkins waddled out and didn’t even try to hide his smirk. ‘Why in heaven are you here on a Saturday?’

  ‘Come to talk to that Timmons inmate. Why?’

  A flash of disappointment crossed his face. He wanted to witness her anxiety over the sick-out. But there was no way she was going to let on that she knew anything was about to happen. She gave him a bland smile.

  ‘You have a good day there, Bubba. You’re back on tonight, right?’

  ‘Well, yes, I am. Ma’am.’

  He conjured up a little coughing fit and it was all Sheila could do not to roll her eyes. She wished him well and went inside. She’d bet money that he would call in sick less than five minutes before his next shift. She went through the motions of readying the interview room until she knew that everyone had left. Then she sent a quick text. Two minutes later, Earl Crumblit came in from the parking lot, where he’d been waiting. Earl was the civilian who worked the reception desk at the jail. He usually dealt with jail visitors and information requests. Not today.

  ‘It’s you and me until three o’clock,’ she said. ‘Lock the lobby doors and put up a sign that we’re closed to visitors this weekend. Say it’s a maintenance issue.’

  ‘They’re all actually sicking out, are they? Damn shame.’

  ‘And you’re OK with being here, even with that going on? There could be blowback for you.’

  Earl snorted. ‘I’m “just” a civilian. Most of them always make damn sure to let me know that I ain’t in their league. So I don’t owe them a thing. But Sheriff Worth, him and you have always treated me good. Like I’m somebody, too. So I’m happy to help.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She’d never meant it more. With the two of them, they just might keep things operational until Deputy March came in at three o’clock. She went back in to the control station just as her phone rang with Ted Pimental’s number. She held her breath and picked up.

  Jerry’s BMW ate up the miles to Branson. The phone rang through the Bluetooth stereo system halfway around Lake of the Ozarks.

  ‘Hi, Jer. I’m sorry about the car. I’ll bring it back when … well, I don’t know when.’

  ‘I don’t care about the car. I want to know why there’s an elderly woman making tea in my kitchen.’

  Half a mile went by while Hank tried to process that one. Oh. Aunt Fin.

  ‘I didn’t leave that in my note?’

  ‘Maybe. It’s hard to tell.’ Jerry was trying not to laugh. ‘Little illegible, bro. What kind of fire got lit under your ass?’

  ‘I just found out there’s a …’ He searched for words and came up empty. All he had was an enraged buzzing in his head. ‘A work emergency. I need to get back to Branson.’

  ‘Hmm … I’d think it was bullshit, except that your job actually does involve genuine emergencies. However, I’m pretty sure it doesn’t involve leaving old ladies with your single roommate and cramping his style.’

  ‘Oh, God, did you bring someone home last night?’

  ‘Well, no. I was referring to wandering downstairs in only my boxers with a bottle of Tums in my hand.’

  ‘That is more your style these days.’

  ‘Don’t be impertinent, or I’ll call my police and tell them someone stole my car.’

  ‘I said I was sorry.’ Hank steered through traffic while explaining why Maggie’s aunt was staying in Jerry’s spare bedroom. ‘You didn’t scare her, did you?’

  ‘Her? I’m the one who shrieked like a little girl. She, on the other hand, thanked me very nicely for my hospitality, gave me the once-over, said I looked too skinny, and offered to fix me some eggs.’

  ‘Did you take her up on it?’

  ‘I did not. Me and my closure-free underwear hightailed it back upstairs, whereupon I called you. You asshole.’

  Fair enough.

  ‘Can you keep her for a few days? Well, I mean, can you continue to house her? I don’t want her going back home, but she has to stay in Columbia because the police are going to need to interview her again.’

  ‘OK, then, I’ll … wait, would they come here? To talk to her?’

  ‘Maybe. I don’t know.’

  ‘Uh …’ Silence descended on the phone line.

  ‘Jerry … why would you be worried about that?’

  ‘Um, no reason. I think. I should probably do a quick sweep beforehand, though.’

  He was pretty sure Jerry was messing with him, but still …

  ‘You didn’t do that before I came?’

  Jerry scoffed. ‘You are easily outwitted, my friend. But I don’t know these guys. They might be smart.’

  Hank smothered a laugh. And then thought of something for the cheeky bastard.

  ‘So since I have this car, I’m sure you could always use Fin’s if you needed something bigger than the Acura. She parked in the driveway last night.’

  ‘Oh, good. I might need to go to Home Depot.’ He heard window blinds rattle. ‘Oh, my God, a Buick?’

  ‘Bye, Jer.’

  The voicemail Sam left for Hank said he had information, but the Chief hadn’t called back. In itself, that wasn’t too big a deal, but he’d been hoping the Chief would give him something else to do. If he didn’t have something to occupy himself, he would go crazy by the time tonight came around. Maybe he could sneak in some Timmons case work, if he could figure out a way for Sheila not to find out. He decided to canvass Nighthawk Lane again. It couldn’t hurt. He was locking up the substation when Willy Hoch called.

  ‘I just wanted to make sure you’re on board, kid.’

  Sam stopped, keys dangling from his hand. ‘Huh? On board with what?’

  ‘So you’re going to play dumb, instead of manning up and admitting that you’re with them?’

  ‘Willy, I have no idea what you’re talking about. Honest.’

  ‘The sick-out. Right now. Every deputy is calling in. See what that bitch thinks of her no OT policy now.’

  The keys slipped through his fingers and hit the concrete. That was why Sheila ordered him not to come in today. She’d known about the sick-out and wanted to keep him out of it.

  ‘You better not be at work.’

  Hoch’s voice finally cut through the torrent of thoughts in Sam’s head.

  ‘Uh, no. I’m not on the schedule, actually,’ he said slowly. ‘So I’m not working today. Or tomorrow.’

  ‘Good.’ It came out as a grunt. Hoch had always been a dick. If it was someone else who’d called, he’d be tempted to ask some questions. But not with this guy. Hoch warned him not to answer any calls for overtime and hung up. Sam sagged against the wall of the substation.

  Sheila had manipulated things so that he could avoid making a decision. Was he mad? Was he grateful? Was he with the rank and file or was he with the top brass? Could he keep walking the line between the two? There’d always been some tension there, ever since Hank took office and started using him for investigations more often. He saw the looks sometimes from other deputies. Not all of them, but definitely some. He’d always pushed it to the back of his mind, telling himself it wasn’t something that would ever have to be dealt with. Now here it was.

  He stood there, breath billowing around him in the freezing air. His fingers were going numb. His keys were still on the ground. He didn’t know what to do.

  Tyrone answered the door.

  ‘Hi there, Hank. You’re back in town? It’s good to see you.’

  Hank nodded as politely as he could. He liked Sheila’s husband. Under normal circumstances, he’d love a cup of coffee and a nice chat. These were not normal circumstances. He asked to speak with Sheila.

  ‘Oh, she’s not here.’

  Hank looked at her Toyota 4Runner in the driveway of the Turleys’ ranch home.

  ‘She brought a squad car home last night,’ Tyrone said. ‘I think because she knew she’d be going in today. Said
she had to get to the jail early.’

  Had she arrested someone in connection with the homicide? The question must’ve been visible on his face, because Tyrone shook his head sympathetically.

  ‘I know, man. It’s just nuts. I can’t believe they’re doing it either.’

  ‘Do you know—’ Hank stopped himself. He had absolutely no right to interrogate this nice man. Especially when only Sheila could answer the one question that mattered. What the hell was she thinking, not telling him about the murder? ‘Never mind. I’ll find her. Thanks, Tyrone.’

  Better that the conversation wasn’t here, anyway. Tyrone didn’t need to hear what Hank was planning to say to his chief deputy. He walked back out to Jerry’s car and pointed it toward Forsyth and the main sheriff’s department complex. The route would take him right by his own house. He thought about that. No one there was expecting him today. He would go home, certainly – but he didn’t have to do it right this minute. He could get away with taking care of this mess first. But as he sped past the turnoff, he couldn’t bear to turn his guilty gaze in its direction.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  She’d forgotten how much she hated working the jail. The smells. The clanging noise. The visceral anger coming from so many cells. Resignation coming from the rest. All of it rolling off the inmates just as fiercely as the odors did.

  She was almost four hours into her ‘shift’, which would last what – twenty-four hours? Would people report to work tomorrow, or would there be another sick day? She had no idea. She looked at the clock and nodded at Earl. The two of them had settled on a routine. Every half hour, he watched the monitors solo while Sheila did a swing through both the men’s and the women’s sections. It violated just about every procedure in the book, but she had no choice. She’d given him a deputy’s coat to wear, so he looked slightly more legit than he did in his civilian employee button-down shirt. The last thing she needed was the population figuring out there was only one sworn officer in the whole building.