Dead Point (Maggie Blackthorne Book 1)

by LaVonne Griffin-Valade

  “How is it you’re now certain of the exact day, when earlier in our conversation you weren’t?” Al continued.

  “I just remembered it was on Monday of last week. My shop is closed on Mondays. That’s when I do my grocery shopping and run errands. I was out for a couple of hours, I guess. When I got home at about two, both boys were here, not at school where they were supposed to be. It made me angry. Brady can afford to skip school, but Rain can’t. He could lose his basketball scholarship for that, too. I took Rain back to school and drove Brady and the handgun to his father’s cattle ranch.”

  I sat back in my chair. “What happened when you arrived at the wigwam burner?”

  “It was pretty dark inside, but I saw Dan and Joe on their hands and knees with a flashlight. They were trying to coax their dog out from under the red truck. I left before they saw me.” She lifted a tissue from the pocket of her pink uniform. “I heard later the dog was found under the pickup, shot to death.”

  “This is important, Ms. McKay. Was Brady or Rain inside the wigwam burner?”

  “No.”

  “You’re positive?” Al’s voice had taken on an edge.

  “I didn’t see anyone else.”

  “Which is not the same as they weren’t there, is it?” I put in.

  Kat directed her gaze at me. “Rain was home when I got back. And I didn’t see Brady or anyone but the Nodines inside the burner or anywhere near it.”

  “And why didn’t you tell me about going to the wigwam burner when I brought you news of the murders last Friday?”

  “Being there had nothing to do with the killings, Maggie.”

  “Except that it makes you a possible suspect.”

  “Is that true, Detective?”

  “Until we learn more, you’re a person of interest,” he said.

  “I did not kill those men.”

  For the first time, I believed her completely.

  18

  Morning, February 28

  Bach shut off the recorder and rummaged through his daypack. He sighed. “I don’t have a statement form with me. Do you happen to have a blank copy with you, Sergeant?”

  “Afraid not, Detective.”

  “We’ll need you to follow us to the police station and fill one out, Ms. McKay.”

  Kat nodded.

  “And after that, you’re not to leave Grant County until we give you the go-ahead,” he added.

  “The go-ahead for what?” It was Duncan. He and Rain had entered the house through the back door without being noticed, and now they stood in the arched passageway between the kitchen and dining room.

  Rain’s expression of sheer distress was even more pronounced than usual. It was a look I’d interpreted in the past as severe anxiety, possibly a sign of emotional abuse. But after our little chat the other day, I’d come to view it as something else. A thoughtful, introverted boy sorting out his place in the world.

  Duncan looked past me toward Kat. “The go-ahead for what?”

  I rose from my chair. “Detective Bach, this is Duncan McKay, Kat’s brother. And her son, Rain.”

  Al stood and shook their hands. “Alan Bach, State Police homicide unit.”

  Duncan removed his cap. “My nephew was concerned his mother was about to be arrested.”

  “Ms. McKay has agreed to follow us to the police station and make a formal statement,” Bach said.

  “About?” Duncan asked.

  Kat eyed Rain cautiously. “My relationship with Dan Nodine. We dated for a while.”

  Given Rain’s obvious astonishment, it was plain she had kept her son in the dark about her romance with Dan. Still, it was better he’d gotten word of it from her before the story made its way through the rumor mill. Kat understood that, and if nothing else, she would always be pragmatic.

  Whatever Duncan’s views on Kat dating Dan Nodine might have been, he kept them close to his vest. “I’ll make sure Rain gets to school,” he said.

  “Thanks.” She turned to Al. “Shall we get on with it? I’d like to open my salon on time.”

  Everyone moved from the dining room to the foyer. Kat fetched her coat out of the front closet and followed Bach out the door.

  I faced Rain. “Sorry we had you worried about your mom.”

  “It seemed pretty serious when I noticed her talking to you and that detective.”

  Duncan nudged him toward the hallway. “You should finish getting ready for school, son.”

  I stepped to the porch and turned to glance back at Duncan before he closed the door. He smiled and winked. A wave of longing and tenderness left me blushing. I returned a smile just as Al Bach tapped the horn on his Ford Interceptor.

  Once Kat McKay’s statement was signed and out of the way, Bach got caught up in some long-distance coaching of the team investigating the multiple murders down in Paisley. He sounded weary as I listened in the background. Too many killings in a short period could scramble any ordinary cop’s brain, but if it started to get to an experienced homicide detective, you had to know justice was in trouble.

  I was anxious for us to corner Brady Wakefield and, with any luck, to do so before his father made bail. On the drive back to the office from Kat’s place, I’d contacted Zan Wilson, principal at the high school. Three days ago, when I asked him about the name of Larkin’s kid, Zan had given me the runaround, using the lack of parental permission as an official barricade.

  That was before I knew Brady was an adult, legally speaking. And before I’d begun to wonder about his interactions with the Nodines and his access to the murder weapon. This time I told Zan that a State homicide detective and I would be showing up at the high school this morning at ten o’clock, and he needed to have Brady waiting alone in an office. We’d soon know if that bit of bluster worked.

  After Al hung up, he gathered his laptop and thermos and loaded them in his pack. “I have to get to Lake County, straighten out a couple of detectives on the protocol for questioning a murder suspect.”

  “I’m going to talk to Brady Wakefield. But I’ll take Hollis with me.”

  He nodded. “I trust your judgment, Maggie. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be heading for Paisley right now. But if I’m not around, make sure Hollis or Mark is alongside you every step of the way from now on. You got that?”

  “Of course. I trust your judgment too.”

  He smiled tiredly and gathered his coat and hat. Sometimes the sweeping, radiant beauty of remote Oregon locales didn’t compensate for the paucity of State Police resources.

  After Al left, I gave Hollis the rundown on our interview with Kat and told him the two of us would be heading to the high school in fifteen minutes to meet with Brady Wakefield.

  He slipped on a latex glove. “Why isn’t the McKay woman under arrest?”

  “She claims she returned Larkin’s pistol three days before the Nodines were killed.”

  Hollis carefully slid Kat’s empty water glass into a plastic bag. He had offered it to her as she’d stood at our counter signing her official statement. “Prints.”

  “Gotcha.” I checked my watch. “If Brady says it was three days, then she’s probably off the hook.”

  “What about her being at the wigwam burner?”

  “Kat didn’t deny it. Says she went there looking for Brady and Rain. Wherever Brady goes, Rain goes, I gathered. Says all she witnessed was Dan and Joseph dealing with the wounded dog.”

  “Did they notice her?”

  “Guess we’ll never know.”

  Hollis removed her water glass to the evidence locker.

  “We should get going in about five,” I called after him and then gathered a few blank statement forms, tucked them inside my pack, and made sure my Tascam digital recorder was charged.

  Hollis retrieved his wallet and phone from his desk drawer. “Did Kat know the Nodines stowed the Ram pickup at the deserted mill?”

  “Her story is Brady had found it there.”

  “Why didn’t he just drive it home?”
/>   “No key.”

  Hollis rolled his eyes and followed me to the waiting area where our coats hung.

  “Mark, we’ll be at the high school,” I said to Taylor, standing at one of the filing cabinets.

  “Anything you want a heads-up about while you’re there?” he asked.

  “Yeah. Text me if the court calls to say Asa Larkin’s out on bail. Or for that matter, if you hear from him or his attorney directly,” I said.

  Alone with Hollis in my Tahoe driving to the high school, I felt strangely satisfied we were going to be conducting the interview together. “What’s your sense of Brady Wakefield?”

  Holly massaged the dark stubble sprouting from his chin. “He’s an enigma with an odd father.”

  “Nineteen is kind of old to still be in high school. He must have been held back a grade somewhere along the way.”

  “Lots of students are nineteen when they graduate. Me, for instance.” Hollis turned down the volume on an old Willie Nelson song. “Do you think the kid’s involved in the Nodine murders somehow?”

  Sunlight breaking over Canyon Mountain pierced the cobalt sky, lit up the cottonwoods, nearly blinding me. “Jesus,” I said, slipping on my sunglasses. “I’m not at the point of naming Brady a suspect, but he knew Dan and Joseph and had dealings with them.”

  “And if he did murder those men? What’ll happen to him?”

  “Even Larkin can’t buy away a homicide conviction. If Brady did it and we can prove it, his life is pretty much fucked.”

  “Despite his age and no criminal history?”

  “You know the answer to that, Holly. Aggravated murder. Unless his attorney can convince a jury it was self-defense. I could envision that, I guess. The Nodines were good-sized men. They might have jumped him, he got spooked and killed them.”

  “Except, according to the ME, they were probably forced to sit against the burner wall before they were shot.”

  “Except for that.”

  I turned into the parking lot at Grant Union High School. The historic part of the building had stood in a small basin in the shadow of juniper-covered hills since 1936. Canyon Creek cut behind the two-story structure just off of Highway 395 next to the short stretch of road between John Day and Canyon City.

  It was eerie entering the doorway of a building I’d walked into at least a thousand times over twenty years ago. The place had stayed pretty much the same, but it had changed too. For one, there were fewer rich kids and more poor ones. Although it was apparently still unusual to spot a person of color, especially a tall Black man holstered up and official. Hollis hadn’t seemed to notice, or gave up noticing a long time ago, but I found all the teenage looky-loos annoying as hell. Plus it meant by the end of the day, everyone in town would know we’d dropped by to pay a visit to Brady Wakefield.

  We found our way to administrative services, and I announced our appointment with Zan Wilson to the receptionist.

  “Sure, Maggie. I’ll be right back.”

  I had no idea who the woman was, but she seemed to know me. That kind of moment had occurred several times since moving back to town. More than once I’d stood in the middle of Chester’s Market, chagrined by my lost knack for recognizing faces, all the while some old schoolmate or their sibling or parent regaled me with memories of me as a kid.

  “I apologize,” I said once the receptionist returned and asked us to have a seat. “I’m afraid I don’t remember your name.”

  She laughed. “I’ve only lived here for a year or so, but my husband grew up here. Randy Buckley.”

  I knew the Buckley family, but no Randy.

  “You might remember his dad, Mike,” she added.

  My God, Mike Buckley was only a couple of years older than Duncan, and he had a married son? Maybe a grandchild?

  “Sure, I remember Mike.”

  “And everyone knows who Maggie Blackthorne is. You too, Trooper Jones, although I don’t know your first name. You didn’t grow up here, I guess. How’s your wife and baby doin’?”

  Hollis smiled and was about to answer Mrs. Randy Buckley when Zan appeared.

  He signaled for us to step into the hallway leading to his office. “I thought you said you’d be accompanied by a homicide detective,” he whispered.

  “He was called away on another case,” I whispered in return.

  Zan took a moment to weigh his choices, but strictly speaking, he didn’t have more than one. “Brady’s in my office. He thinks you’re here because of his father.”

  “Is he upset about that prospect?” I asked.

  “I can’t tell. He’s pretty opaque.”

  I removed my police Stetson. “Is he a good student?”

  “Above average. Barely.”

  “But enough to get into U of O, I hear.”

  Zan pointed east. “My office is at the end of the hall.”

  I knocked and opened the door. Out of the large window, the canyon was stunning, especially on a day like today, cloud-free, the indigo mountain shimmering. A nearby thicket of scrub junipers neatly framed the view from Zan’s desk and hid most of the crowded parking lot.

  “Nice to see you again, Brady,” I said. “You remember Trooper Jones.”

  He acknowledged Hollis and turned to me. Someone had landed the boy a doozy of a shiner.

  “What’s this about?” he asked.

  I placed my recorder on the table where he’d waited for us. “I’m here to ask you more about your father’s handgun. The one I found in the Prius.”

  “All right.”

  I understood what Zan meant about Brady’s opaqueness. I didn’t think it was an act, more like learned behavior. Maybe a survival skill.

  We sat across from the boy. I clicked on the recorder and clarified for the record today’s date and why we were questioning Brady Wakefield.

  I decided to avoid any attempt at coyness. I wasn’t very good at it, anyway. “You loaned the Kel-Tec PF-9 to Kat McKay?”

  “So?”

  “Rain was surprised his mother was thinking about buying a pistol and that she actually tried out your father’s weapon,” I said.

  Brady eyed me for a moment. “His mom does what she wants and doesn’t really care what Rain thinks.”

  “Did Rain tell you that?”

  Brady shrugged. “No. I just gathered that from conversations. Anyway, what’s the big deal about loaning her the gun?”

  Hollis moved forward in his chair, signaling he had a question. “Do you know the combination to your father’s safe?”

  “Of course.”

  “I thought so. You remind me of me at your age. Except for sports, I didn’t care much about school, grades, all that. I liked puzzles. Solving them. Liked scoping out computer logic, complex systems, networks.”

  Brady scoffed. “You were a hacker?”

  Hollis smiled faintly. “When you unlocked the safe, what did you find?”

  “A bunch of papers and the nine-millimeter Kel-Tec.”

  Brady had dropped the innocent act he’d played me with after I pulled him over and found the gun.

  “How long did it take you to figure out the combination?” Hollis asked.

  Brady leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “No time at all. Deep down, Asa’s a simpleton. I used his simpleton reasoning. It had to be something biblical, so I ran through a few of his stupid morning affirmations. Then I tried the acronym for that crap adage he tacked up on our gate. J-L-G-B. And ta-da!”

  Hollis leaned in a tad. “J.L.G.B. Jesus loves grass-fed beef. Something he picked up while visiting you at the Glorious Lord Academy?”

  “Good job on the Google search.”

  I paged through my spiral notebook until I found my jottings from two days ago. “‘Tuesday, February twenty-sixth. Brady Wakefield denies knowing about the Kel-Tec PF-9 automatic pistol in the rear lower storage compartment of the Prius.’ And here you are bragging about breaking into your father’s safe and finding the very weapon.”


  “I denied knowing it was in the back of the Prius because I didn’t know it was there.”

  “Why don’t I believe you?”

  He started to respond, probably some smartass remark, then he changed the subject. “Can I have some water?”

  “I’ll get it,” Hollis volunteered.

  “Thanks,” Brady said and faced me directly. “I don’t tell lies.”

  Which wasn’t exactly the same thing as not being a liar. “Good to know. Now, when did you loan the gun to Kat McKay?”

  “Maybe a month or so ago. I don’t remember exactly.”

  “Clearly she’d returned it by the time I pulled you over for reckless driving.”

  Brady removed his phone from his back pocket, scrolled through his messages.

  “What are you looking for?”

  “I’m trying to figure out when I loaned her the gun, Sergeant.”

  Hollis returned carrying a glass of water. He’d placed a napkin around it to absorb drips and to make sure the surface was clear of his own fingerprints. “Here you go,” he said, handing Brady the glass and removing the napkin.

  The boy drank it all in one long gulp, then checked for dates on a series of text messages. “I loaned the Kel-Tec to Rain’s mom on February second. A Saturday. Rain was working at his uncle’s store, so I took it to him there.”

  “And she gave it back to you when?” I asked again.

  “Sometime early last week. Monday, I think. Yeah, Monday. That’s the day she caught Rain and me skipping school. I took it home and shut it in the safe.”

  Just as Kat had told Bach and me—she gave the gun back to Brady three days before someone used it to murder Dan and Joseph.

  “Were you friends with the Nodine brothers?” I asked.

  “I paid them double for beer. If that’s a friendship.”

  I decided to keep the questions focused on his relationship with the dead twins. “Did you know they’d stolen your father’s Ram 3500?”

  For a full half minute, the room was silent but for our combined breathing and the low roar of students roaming a hallway far from Zan’s office.