by J K Ellem
What was she going to tell Alice? Clare didn’t want to start a panic on the mountain and decided she was going to tell no one until she called Denver PD. Let them deal with it.
Fifteen minutes later she pulled up in front of the office just as her two-way radio chattered to life. She picked it up and listened.
There had been an incident at a store downtown, possible knife attack.
Clare cursed. Her day was getting progressively worse. She put the car in gear and kicked away from the curb in a hail of snow and ice.
* * *
It was dark by the time Clare sorted out the mess at Molly’s store, and she was hungry, angry and tired. The three logging camp employees had taken off before she arrived.
Clare spent the next hour helping Molly clean up, and then took a statement from her. She placed the switchblade and hard drive in separate evidence bags and put them in the trunk of her car next to the cooler.
Her cell phone rang. It was the Manager of the logging camp, Ray Taggart, claiming that three of his employees were attacked for no apparent reason by some vagrant while they were minding their own business shopping in a store in Lacy. One of the employees had a broken wrist and was currently in the camp infirmary getting it reset. The other two had concussions and were also getting medical attention.
Clare just nodded under the tirade of verbal abuse. She said that she was taking statements from all witnesses and would also need to talk to the employees as part of her investigation. She had Molly’s statement, but following due process she told him that she had to get all sides of the story before charges would be laid.
She ended the call. “Christ.”
Molly had provided a detailed description of the stranger who stepped in when the three men tried to take her into the back of the store. There was potential for physical assault and possibly attempted rape, so Clare wanted to find the stranger. He had disarmed one of the men who had produced a knife, after knocking out the other two. Molly was clever. She had hidden the evidence and told the men that the police were on the way. They got out of the store in a real hurry.
And the stranger? How was she going to find him? And what would she do when she did? Thank him? Arrest him? If what Molly said was true, he deserved a medal.
Clare pulled up outside her office again. The lights were on inside, a warm glow filtering through a gentle swirl of snowflakes. She got out and retrieved the cooler and evidence bags.
She pivoted around and pushed open the front door with her back, letting it close behind her. Clare turned and saw a man sitting in the reception area.
He looked up at her and in an instant her heart skipped a beat. It was the man Molly had described in vivid detail.
Alice rose from behind the counter. “Clare, this young man would like to speak to you. He’s been waiting here for about an hour.”
The man said nothing, just nodded.
Clare walked past him, carrying the cooler. “Just wait up, Alice, I need to take care of something.”
There was a refrigerator in the basement. She put the ziplock bag containing the hand inside and returned back upstairs. She placed the bag with the hard drive on her desk with the knife.
Alice pulled Clare aside as she took off her jacket and scarf, hanging them on the back of her chair. “I think it’s the same man Walter Pickens saw this morning, on the road coming up here,” she whispered. “He seems like a nice young man, very polite.”
Clare couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I gave him a coffee. He was so gracious.”
“Thanks Alice, you go, thanks for staying back. I’ll lock up.”
Alice nodded, powered off her computer and grabbed her coat. She smiled at Shaw as she left.
Shaw stood up. Clare’s hand moved just a fraction closer to her holster.
“I’m sorry, but I thought it would be easier if I came in.”
Clare looked at Shaw. “I know who you are. Are you armed? Do you have any weapons on you at all?”
“No”
“What about the rucksack? Anything in there I should know about?”
Shaw handed her his rucksack.
All she found was a spare change of clothes, neatly folded, some toiletries and a well-worn book filled with old bus and train tickets.
Clare handed it back to him. “Can you please empty your pockets, sir.” It wasn’t a request.
Shaw slowly emptied what he had onto the counter. Some loose change. A wallet. That was it.
“Sir, can I see some identification.”
Shaw pulled out his driver’s license.
She took it to her desk and ran it through the police database while Shaw sat back down. A few moments later the search results came back. No priors, no nothing. Clean.
She returned the license. “Thank you, Mr Shaw. I would like to ask you a few questions about what happened.”
“No problem.”
For the next ten minutes Shaw explained everything. He noticed the hard drive and switchblade in an evidence bag on the desk.
“You have the CCTV footage. It will show three men harassing the woman in the store.”
Clare wasn’t convinced. “The three men in the store claimed that you attacked them. That it was unprovoked.”
“Look at the video footage. They were going to assault the young woman. I just happened into the store. It was self-defense.”
“One man has a fractured wrist, the other two you knocked unconscious,” Clare said.
Shaw shrugged. “He came at me with a knife. You have that too. Check for prints. You’ll find prints on the hard drive as well. They ripped it from behind the counter before I walked in.”
“I will check it, but first Mr Shaw why are you here? Why on Echo Mountain?”
“I’m just passing through. Thought I’d see the Rockies. I was in Denver and hitch-hiked part of the way up here. Walked the rest.”
Clare scrutinised him for a moment. She should put him in a cell, hold him for twenty-four hours. He was a suspect in a multiple assault. She would have to wait until the morning to go out to the logging camp and interview the three men. How did he overpower three men? That was the more important question. He looked like he was more than capable of taking care of himself. Clare could tell. Most of the workers from the logging camp were typically covered with tattoos, well-muscled, and they mouthed off at everyone. They worked hard and played harder. Yet the guy sitting in front of her, according to Molly, had managed to put three of them down with relative ease.
“Where are you staying in Lacy?” Clare asked, her eyes darting back and forth between Shaw and her screen. She typed on the keyboard, seeking further clarification about his details. Clare’s instincts prickled with a mix of caution and curiosity.
“I’m not sure. Where can you recommend?”
“There’s a few motels.” Clare looked up. “I suggest that you don’t leave town. I will need to talk to you in the morning.”
Shaw wanted to leave, get out of the town as soon as he could. He had no reason to stay and there could be complications if he was charged with assault.
“I should take you into custody, hold you in a cell here.”
“Do you have probable cause?”
Clare blinked at the question. All of a sudden he knew a lot about police process.
“Are you going to also take the three men into custody as well? You no doubt took a detailed statement from the store owner? Did she support my version of events?”
Molly was grateful to Shaw and to Clare it did look like self-defense, not an unprovoked attack. But there were other issues at play that Clare had to be very careful about.
Clare scrolled the details on the screen for Shaw. Further down she noticed that his file had been flagged.
“I can’t tell you that,” Clare replied, clicking on keys, sending a request. Crime never slept and law enforcement didn’t either. She was hoping she would get a quick answer.
“You should take a look at the har
d drive,” Shaw said. “Before they pulled it from the computer you’ll see the three of them surround her, threatening her. Then it got ugly.”
Clare nodded, but knew the story she would get from Ray Taggart and the three workers. They would say Molly wanted it, that she came on to them, wanted to be roughed up, that it was going to be consensual. The usual shit men said. Clare shook her head. Reality wasn’t some stereotypical romance or erotic novel where the woman on the cover of the book looked like she was being dominated, submissive, like she was about to be assaulted, clothes about to be torn from her before she was thrown face-down on a bed like some dog. That wasn’t Clare’s idea of an ideal man.
She looked at Shaw.
“I will look at the CCTV footage. But in the meantime I would like you to stay put.”
“I’ve got nowhere to go,” Shaw replied.
* * *
It wasn’t the best arrangement, but Shaw volunteered. Clare explained that he wasn’t in custody and he’d insisted. It had never happened before, a person asking to be placed in cell. He said that if it made her feel more comfortable, then he had no problem with it while she watched the CCTV footage.
So Clare took Shaw downstairs and placed him in the holding cell. She went back upstairs, plugged the hard drive into her computer and watched the footage.
Six minutes later she was more convinced. Not fully, because the footage abruptly ended before Shaw entered the store. However Clare had seen enough to know when a woman was being intimidated, ganged-up on.
She reversed up the footage and paused it. “You dumb shits.” The frozen black and white image showed three large men surrounding Molly. In fear she was backed up almost against the wall, no escape. Things definitely seemed to be escalating into something much worse if Shaw hadn’t turned up.
Five minutes later she knew for sure.
Her email pinged with the answer to her request sent to a friend higher up in law enforcement.
She read the lines of text.
“Oh shit.”
6
In the solitude of the basement, the sound of keys turning in a heavy steel lock then the clunk of a latch sliding back was enough to wake the dead.
Shaw looked up from the bunk as Clare pulled open the cell door. He’d had nowhere to go, so he figured being out of the cold and on a comfortable bed wasn’t such a bad idea, including having a quick nap.
He swung his legs off the bunk and sat up.
He saw her face. She knows.
Her expression had changed, softened slightly. Before, she was all furrowed brows and narrow eyes. Now she looked at him with respect and a tinge of slight trepidation. Shaw guessed that she had contacted someone who found out things. Not everything, but more than what a typical sheriff or police officer could. She was resourceful and had good instincts.
“I need your help,” she said.
“You want my help?” Shaw replied. He wasn’t going to let her off that easily. “I was getting used to this place.” He pushed his fingers into the mattress. “A soft comfy bed. Three square meals a day, a warm cozy room. Better than a lot of motels I’ve been in.”
Clare stepped into the cell. “I’m sorry, you should have said something. You should have told me.”
Most cops would have just run a basic search, looking for a criminal history. But Sheriff Decker had been more thorough, more curious. Shaw didn’t look like a felon, but he did look like trouble in her books.
Shaw stood up. It had taken six months for someone to finally do a search and find out some deep details about him.
“It’s not the kind of thing I tend to advertise,” he replied. “I just want to be left alone, go about my business. But I don’t like people who swing their weight around. I prefer to be treated like everyone else. This is your town, I’m just passing through.”
“Please, accept my apology. I’m usually a good judge of character.”
Shaw nodded, pick up his rucksack and faced her. “No need for apologies. Really. It’s no big deal, I asked you to put me in here if it made you feel better. I’m no threat to you.”
The relief on Clare’s face was obvious.
Now Shaw felt bad.
“How about I buy you a beer? Make it up to you,” Clare offered. Her day was over and the sheriff was clocking off. She had reported the incident of finding the hand to Denver PD. They would be sending a team up first thing in the morning.
She needed a drink and was hopeful Shaw would be willing to help her. If what was in his records was true, then she could really use his help. She wanted him to stick around.
Shaw smiled and for a moment Clare forgot who or where she was. “Now that’s an offer I will accept.”
* * *
The beer was cold, and the ribs were sticky and fell off the bone. They sat in a booth at McKenzies and the service was fast. One of the perks of being the sheriff in town. A quick beer soon turned into ordering food, but Clare didn’t mind. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast and was ravenous when the smell of BBQ hit her. It was Friday night, so the bar was starting to fill with a mix of locals and workers from the logging camp, spending their payday money. It was easy to tell the loggers, they were dressed in high-visibility jackets and heavy work boots and were clustered around the only pool table in the place, jeering and shouting when a shot went astray. The camp was a dry-site for safety reasons and they were only allowed to come into Lacy to drink on the weekends. Having the logging camp on the mountain provided a much-needed boost for the local economy. Clare could feel politics would come into play if things got complicated with the three workers from there.
Clare took a swig from her beer and wiped her hands on a napkin. “I want to know more about who you are and why you’re here,” she said. She was direct and to the point. It was still her town.
Shaw shrugged. “You’ve looked me up. No doubt you know someone who is higher up the food chain to do some digging for you. Someone with a bit more pull than a local town sheriff.”
Clare nodded. “But it really didn’t tell me much. Except that you are US Secret Service.”
“Was,” Shaw corrected her. “I resigned six months ago.”
“Resigned? Why?”
“I’d had enough, too much politics. I didn’t like the games people were playing in Washington.”
“What are you, twenty-eight? Twenty-nine?”
“Thirty.”
“But you’re so young, I thought you had to be older to get in? What happened?”
“Just stuff.” Shaw didn’t offer more.
Clare found him fascinating. He was young, good-looking, and used to work for one of the most mysterious organizations on the planet.
“Did you protect the President?” Clare asked, almost jokingly. Presidential protection, while being the most publicly visible function of the US Secret Service, in reality was only one role the agency was responsible for. The truth was, behind the secretive facade, the majority of agency staff was employed in investigating financial-based crimes such as counterfeiting, cybercrime, bank fraud and identity theft. Only a small and very select group of agents were ever chosen to be in the exclusive protection detail.
“Vice-president,” Shaw replied casually.
Clare almost choked on her beer. “You’re kidding me?”
Shaw shook his head.
“My god, I had no idea. I’m impressed.”
“Don’t be,” Shaw replied. “The bulk of the work and credit should go to the agents who you never really see, the ones behind the scenes, the ones who follow-up on all the threats no matter how small.”
“How many crack-pot threats do you guys get?” she asked.
“Thousands each year, some are serious, most aren’t, but each one must be followed up on. Thousands and thousands of man-hours are spent doing background checks, looking into peoples’ pasts. It’s the agents who do all the tedious desk work poring over reports and offender records, they’re the ones who should get the credit. Don’t get me wrong, it’s
an honor to serve and protect a president or vice-president, but the real credit should go to all those people behind the scenes. Ninety percent of work is data analysis. Like most agency work.”
Clare smiled, amazed at the man who sat across from her. The things he must have seen, the great stories he could tell. “So what happened? Why did you resign?”
Shaw thought for a moment. He liked her and she was on his side. Most small town cops had big egos and turf to protect, and behaved like an overprotective hen sitting on a clutch of eggs. She was different.
“It’s a long story, sheriff.”
“Call me Clare. I’d feel a lot better if you did.”
“OK Clare, but it’s a long story, I don’t want to bore you with it. The short unofficial version is that I was kicked out.”
“Kicked out? Really?” She admired his honesty.
Shaw decided to tell her. There was something about her he liked. He felt comfortable in her presence. She was older, by about fifteen years he guessed. She was intelligent, street smart and experienced. In his gut he felt he could trust her.
“I will tell you on one condition,” he looked into her eyes, his face serious. “This conversation is just between you and me. No one else.”
Clare leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table. “Deal.” She held out her hand. Shaw shook it.
“I hit someone,” Shaw said slowly, thinking back to that fateful night in Oklahoma City, in the hotel corridor, where he and another agent stood guard outside the vice-president’s suite. For twenty minutes they had heard the screams and cries come from within the room, on the other side of the locked door. They were both given instructions not to enter the room, no matter what they heard unless the vice-president hit his panic button or called out to them.
“You hit the vice-president? The current one? The senator from Idaho? I’ve never liked him. He has beady eyes like George Bush junior.”
Shaw smiled. He liked her even more. “Yes, I hit him. Punched him in the jaw.”