by L T Ryan
“Looks like you’ve got a real fan club in these parts,” she said.
Savage gave a bleak smile and focused on the road ahead. “Haven’t had much dealings with this area since taking over. From what I hear, the last sheriff did his very best to make them feel unwelcome.”
“Why’s that?”
“Don’t know. Might’ve grown up around here and developed a disdain for the residents. Or maybe he didn’t like poor people? Whatever the reason, there was no love lost between the trailer park and sheriff’s office.”
“Could’ve been his intentions were influenced by somebody else.” She stared at a porch missing its top step. “Somebody who needed them oppressed.”
Most of the numbers on the homes were either faded or had fallen off. The last number they’d been able to make out was fifty-seven. The medical form said the boy lived at sixty-eight. As they came around a bend in the dirt path, they saw a trailer up ahead with a big wheel in the front yard.
Savage slowed as he came up to the overgrown driveway leading to a dilapidated home. “No numbers on this one, but if I had to guess, we’re here.”
They pulled to a stop. Savage cut the engine. Hatch saw a woman in her early twenties wearing a thick bathrobe and slippers sitting in a rocker on the trailer’s small porch. The condition of the robe matched those of her surroundings. Tattered and torn bits of the once white cloth hung from the sleeves. A maroon thermal shirt, worn as an undergarment, came into view as the sleeve of her robe slid down to her elbow when the young woman raised her hands to sip from her coffee mug. Steam rose. The woman’s eyes widened at the sight of the police vehicle.
Hatch exited the Suburban, stepping down onto pine needle-covered ground. The chill in the air was cooler than before. The shade cast by the pines dropped the temperature ten degrees. The faded remnants of dinner seared on a charcoal grill lingered. Could’ve been steak. Might’ve been possum.
The woman looked nervously back toward the front door as they approached. Hatch couldn’t tell if she wanted to run away or call for help. Savage was definitely right about the community’s perception of the police.
“Hi there, I’m Sheriff Savage and this is Deputy Hatch. We’d like to talk to you for a minute if that wouldn’t be too much to ask.”
“Am I in some kind of trouble?” She hugged her robe tight.
“Not at all. We’d just like to talk with you about your son Gabe.”
Her eyes scrunched, pulling the chub of her cheeks into tight, rose-colored balls. “I don’t understand.”
“I was in the hospital yesterday,” Hatch said. “Overheard the doctor speaking with you about your son.”
“What’s the police care about a sick boy? Got nothin’ to do with the law. Hell, y’all never gave a damn about us out here before. And whenever you venture out this way, it’s to harass or haul our asses off to jail.”
“I’ve heard.” Savage adjusted his posture to appear less intimidating. “However you’ve been treated before isn’t going to pass muster on my watch. Without sounding like an old western, there truly is a new sheriff in town.” Savage gave a tip of an invisible hat.
Hatch watched the former city homicide detective as he embodied the role of small-town sheriff. She was impressed at his ability to shift gears. A true chameleon. He must’ve been pretty good in an interrogation room.
“Well, ‘round here talk is cheap.” The young mother stood up and made for the door. “I don’t think there’s anything I’ve got to say to you two.”
Hatch threw a Hail Mary. “There are others. More people who got sick just like your son. Probably more still to come.” She softened her tone. “We really could use your help.”
The woman paused with her hand on the door handle. “I don’t think so.”
Hatch stepped closer as the door opened and the woman slipped inside. She closed it and the deadbolt locked into place. With her hands on her hips, Hatch threw her head back, then turned toward Savage. “Guess we move on to the next one.”
“Not sure anybody in that file’s going to be willing to speak with us.”
Hatch met Savage’s gaze. “And what makes you so sure of that?”
He pointed to the other side of the trailer. The front end of a Range Rover peeked out. Its highly-polished red exterior shimmered. The vehicle was worth more than the double wide when it was brand new. Hatch was surprised she hadn’t noticed it before, but her focus had been on the woman.
“Something seem a bit out of place?” Savage walked around to take a closer look at the vehicle and Hatch followed.
“That thing’s fresh off the lot. It’s still got the purchase sticker on the driver side window.” She cupped her hands against the glass and looked inside. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“They’ve been bought. No way living here under these conditions that young mother would be able to afford anything like that. Hell, I couldn’t afford it.”
“First, we learn of a doctor buying a brand-new boat. And now this. I wouldn’t be surprised if we went to the others on this list, we’d find a similar set of circumstances.”
“This isn’t a wealthy town. Whoever’s responsible probably figures it’s easier to pay them off early, rather than in a class action lawsuit.”
“If that’s the case, then I’m going to assume they’ve signed a non-disclosure agreement of some sort to indemnify the company from any civil or criminal liability.”
“Let’s head back to the station and regroup.”
They entered through the front of the small headquarters. A heavy floral fragrance greeted them. Hatch glanced down and saw a plug-in air freshener hanging out of the first receptacle. Barbara perked up as Savage entered followed by Hatch. The thick plexiglass partition separating the small lobby from the inner workings of the office gave a clear view into the cluster of cubicles set back from the receptionist’s desk.
Hatch could see Cramer’s boots propped up on his desk and crossed at the ankles. The lowest performing member of the department was either hard at work on a word jumble or fast asleep. Figuring him for the type of man who wouldn’t be using his intellect during his spare time, Hatch assumed the latter.
“Looks like your little talk last night didn’t take.”
Savage closed his eyes and shook his head. “Can’t polish a turd.”
“One of my instructors used to say that on a regular basis. You never mentioned being prior military.”
“Honorary. My father was Army. Master Sergeant. Always said I got it worse than any of his guys. We ended up at Fort Carson for his last duty station and I liked it so much I decided to make Colorado my home.”
“It suits you.”
Savage shrugged as he used his fob, swiping it over the dark gray pad to release the door’s lock. He opened it and Hatch followed him in. “I’ll get you a key card to the office later. Once things settle down.”
“Don’t worry about it.” Her injured arm caught on the bulky lock hardware. She stifled a grunt. “I’m not planning on sticking around.”
“This place hasn’t won you over yet?” He smiled.
“It’s not that,” she said, rubbing her wrist. “I’ve just never been one for staying in one place for long. Especially since I left the service.”
Cramer was snoring softly. His tranquil mid-morning siesta didn’t last long. Savage walked by the man’s small office space and swiped his boots off the desktop. Cramer’s feet fell noisily to the floor. The portly deputy’s legs a cantilever and his round buttocks the fulcrum, Don Cramer launched forward, throwing the newspaper in the air as he caught himself before face planting into his desk.
“What the hell?” Cramer yelled. His face turned red and his eyes darted back and forth as his brain sought to reconcile the sudden shift.
“My apologies for interrupting your beauty sleep.” Savage leveled a heavy dose of sarcasm in his words.
“I was reading.”
“Try again.”
Cramer huffe
d. “You know I was working late last night. You’re lucky I even came in this morning.”
“Work is an understatement for what it is you think you do here. And lucky is not the word I’d use for describing my feelings toward you being here.”
Barbara laughed. Her seat rolling into view, she gave two thumbs up followed by a golf clap. Savage didn’t see because he was intently focused on his slack-jawed employee, but Hatch did and smiled her silent agreement.
“So, what's next?” Savage ignored Cramer’s disgust, turning his attention back to Hatch.
“I’d like to look at your case files.”
“What cases did you have in mind?”
“I want to take a look at those addresses.” Hatch was vague. Cramer might be a slug when it came to work ethic, but she didn’t want to risk exposing the focus of their investigation. Or more importantly, last night’s break in at the Town Manager’s office.
“We’ve got a digital report system, but all of them are printed and then filed.”
“Where do you keep them?”
“Basement. Been meaning to go through them myself and do a little spring cleaning.”
“Lead the way.”
Savage headed toward the back. Hatch followed. There, just past his office, was a closed door. He used his fob to unlock it. Savage flicked on the light illuminating a metallic staircase leading down to a gray concrete floor.
A musty dampness assaulted Hatch’s nostrils and the noisy hum of a dehumidifier filled the silence as she shut the door behind her. Lining the wall was a long line of six-foot-high cabinets. Even the newest additions to the metallic column looked to be at least ten years old.
“As antiquated as it is, these cabinets are filed in order by date. The farthest goes back nearly eighty years. A lot longer than we’d keep records in Denver. We had an archive, but mostly it’s all digital now. But there’s something about keeping a physical record of events that just feels right.”
“Like turning the pages of a book or newspaper, rather than reading them on a phone or tablet.” Hatch lightly rubbed her thumb and forefinger, imagining a piece of paper in between.
“Exactly.”
It was dim, but she noted the smile forming in the corner of Savage’s lips. Hatch pulled a small Maglite from her back pocket and illuminated the first cabinet she came to. There was a small handwritten label at the top, noting the files were from this year. She looked at the date of sale on the property list and moved to a drawer containing files from five years ago.
“What are we looking for exactly?” Savage asked.
“Not sure. Maybe wishful thinking, but it was something that mother said back at the trailer park that got me thinking.”
“What’s that?”
“She said whenever deputies came by it was either to harass or make an arrest.”
“Nothing too unusual there. Sometimes that’s the way people see us. You know as well as I do, public perception is often misguided.” Savage gave a slight shrug. “Like I said, the prior Sheriff didn’t have much fondness toward that community.”
“But it made me think about old Jed and the pressure to sell.”
“You think the former sheriff had something to do with these land deals?”
“Would it shock you if he did? I mean, didn’t you tell me the only reason you were able to oust him from office and take the seat was because he’d been implicated in some misappropriation of the town’s budget money?”
“There wasn’t enough to formally press charges, but he was definitely dirty. People here knew it.”
“That’s my point. I’m guessing if you have an elected official who’s filling his pockets, it’s not a stretch to assume he may have diversified his sources.”
Savage took a break from looking through files and glanced at Hatch. “It makes sense. Chisolm works hand in hand with Thad Cramer. Small town politics.”
Flashing her light on the outside of a drawer, Hatch found the date range she’d been looking for. She pulled on the handle. The rolling mechanism squeaked loudly as it slid open. She put the end of the flashlight in her mouth. The grooved grip had a sour taste. The cone of light shone on the labels, each marked with a last name, address line, crime, and date of report. Hatch rifled through, her fingers rapidly pawing at the tabs as she scanned for what she hoped would be there. Savage leaned in over her shoulder.
Wedged in between a burglary file and a missing child case was the file containing the name and address she’d been looking for. Hatch slid the file out and Savage stepped back, giving her space as she stood. Pulling the flashlight out of her mouth, she wiped off the excess saliva on her shirt and handed it to Savage. He moved alongside her and shined the light down as Hatch opened the thin file.
The report, a town ordinance violation, was one page long and dated from last fall. The name of the person cited for illegal dumping was Jedediah Russell. Deputy Don Cramer had filed the report.
“Son of a bitch,” Savage said.
“Looks like the former Sheriff had his hand in Chisolm’s pocket and was doing his dirty work.”
“He had a little help from our lazy friend upstairs. Makes more sense why he’s hated me since day one. When I took over as sheriff, it must’ve cost him financially.”
“If we can get some hard evidence to connect these, it may do more than hurt his bottom line.” Hatch handed Savage the file and took back her flashlight. She then followed the row of cabinets going further down the line and deeper into the historical archives.
“I don’t think we’re going to find anything related past the five-year mark.”
Hatch barely heard him. Her mind was focused on the dates. She muttered, “I know.”
“Then what are you looking for now?”
“An answer.”
“To what?”
“My past.”
And with that, Hatch saw the block lettering, 1998. Her heart beat faster. A tingling sensation vibrated throughout her body comparable to the jittery feeling the first time she’d fired her weapon in combat. Her eyes lowered until she found the cabinet where the file would be. A momentary wave of doubt flooded her, and she questioned the rationality of what she thought might be inside.
Her gut instinct told her the answer, or potential answer, was somewhere in the rusted drawer before her. Hatch’s gut was seldom, if ever, wrong. She pushed through her doubt and yanked open the cabinet. The filing system had been a little less organized twenty years ago, but there were a lot less reports, making the search easier. The file was thick and the corner of an eight-by-ten glossy photo was sticking out. She tapped it in place, not ready to see the images it contained. She closed the drawer and tucked the file under her arm.
Walking back to Savage, he gave her a weighted glance. “Did you find what you were looking for?”
“We’ll see.”
“Is this something I should be concerned about?”
“No.” Hatch was evasive. She wasn’t ready to bring Savage into this part of her past.
“I won’t press. You’ll let me know if and when you need me?”
“Yes.” She appreciated him for giving her space. Hatch didn’t need a knight in shining armor and he recognized this. “For now, let’s stay focused on the case we’re working.”
“Fair enough. Looks like we’ve got plenty to follow up on.”
The two spent the better part of the next hour seeking out other homeowners on the buyout list who’d had a police report filed about some minor infraction. Each report they found had been written by the same deputy.
They climbed the stairs and exited the basement. Hatch half expected to see Cramer asleep in his chair again. But he was nowhere in sight.
“Where’s Cramer?” Savage asked more to himself than anybody in particular.
Barbara rolled into view as Savage closed the door. “He left as soon as you two went downstairs.”
“Did he say where he was going?”
“No, but he sure did look to be
in a hurry. He’s a man not known for speed.” She chuckled at her own observation.
Hatch took into account the woman’s words. Savage’s eyes seemed to deepen, and she knew without asking he’d deduced the same thing. Cramer had scurried off like the rat he was to relay his observation.
“Do you have GPS in your vehicles?”
It was commonplace among most police departments to have a way of tracking the whereabouts of a shift. There were agencies that used the locators as a means of enhanced safety protocols. If a transmission for help went out, it was good to know where to send additional units. Dispatchers also used this for priority calls so that units in closest proximity to an incident could be sent first. But this was Hawk’s Landing, and basing her question on the antiquated filing system she’d just witnessed in the basement, she wasn’t sure the small sheriff’s office was current when it came to technology.
He was already moving toward a computer terminal. A few rapid keystrokes and the monitor came to life, showing a two-dimensional map. “He’s in the one marked four-oh-six. It’s his badge number.”
Hatch watched the rectangular icon with the 406-tag jitter forward on the map. “I wonder where he’s going?”
“I don’t.” Savage trailed his finger up a path on the screen and stopped on a house set in a clearing, far away from anything else. “That’s Larry Jefferies’ place.”
“The former sheriff?”
“He’s running off to warn him.”
“I guess old habits die hard.” Hatch placed her hand on Savage’s shoulder.
Savage looked back at her, his face hard to read. “This thing keeps growing. Pretty soon everybody in the town will be suspect.”
“Maybe they all are.”
Hatch’s phone rang. Looking down at the caller ID, she recognized the number. Cole Jensen. She stepped back and looked at Savage. It was his turn to try to decipher her reaction. To do so was impossible because Hatch didn’t have one. Hatch didn’t know how she felt about Cole. Looking at the rugged features of the man standing before her as the phone continued to chime and vibrate, she felt conflicted.