She shrugged and handed me a knowing grin. “Lambing season.”
I didn’t understand what that meant exactly, but I nodded. “Nice to see you, Jen.”
“How’s Louie?”
“Much better. I’ll bring him by your clinic soon.” I moved toward the front door.
“Take it easy, Maggie,” she said.
Which, if I’d bothered to think about it, I might have interpreted as some kind of warning.
21
Midmorning, March 1
Zan Wilson’s office was unavailable, so Mrs. Randy Buckley led me to the crowded, messy, windowless space used by the school’s guidance counselor and went to fetch Brady from his math class. The posters on the office wall were ubiquitous epithets encouraging good habits of mind and body, or they displayed healthy, vigorous teens about to march off to mundane college campuses to begin their academic studies. A military recruiting poster was also taped to a file cabinet, as if the guidance counselor had displayed it under duress.
Brady closed the office door a little too hard. He wasn’t happy to see me.
I pointed to the chair on the opposite side of the counselor’s desk. “Have a seat.”
“Do you know how much crap I got for meeting with you yesterday?”
“From?”
The kid tossed me a nasty look. “Lots of people.”
“How about John and Ruben Vickers?”
“I didn’t go home last night.”
“Where’d you stay?”
He shrugged. “With a friend.”
“Your father didn’t have anything to say about you not coming home?”
Brady fiddled with the guidance counselor’s paperweight. “He was pissed, but mostly at you. He didn’t like spending a night in jail. Anyway, I told him I had to cram for a history test.”
I turned on the recorder, placed it on the desk. “Why do you suspect the Vickers men killed the Nodines?”
He counted out the reasons. “One, John knows the combination to the safe. Two, they’re scuzzy ex-cons who boss me around and make lame jokes about my clothes. And three, they ratted me out to Asa a few times.”
“Nothing specifically related to the Nodines, though?”
He shrugged. “No. Other than John being able to nab the gun out of Asa’s safe if he wanted to.”
“They ever threaten or physically assault you?”
“Like I told you yesterday, John knocked me around. And he pushed me up against a doorframe once, told me he’d beat the shit out of me the next time I opened my smart mouth.”
“Did you tell your dad?”
He sneered contemptuously.
“What’d they rat you out about?”
“The Nodines buying me beer, the times I snuck out of the house, that kind of crap.”
I took a different tack. “Are all of the hired men authorized to use that old green Bronco?”
Brady paused. “Wayne has his own SUV. Pretty much just John and Ruben drive the Bronco.”
“How about your father?”
“A couple of times, maybe, when he has to drive somewhere the Prius can’t go.”
“How about you?”
“I’m not good with a stick shift, but I might drive it if Asa’s out in the Prius.”
“Have you ever driven it?”
He took a moment to answer. “Just around the ranch. Why all these questions about the Bronco?”
I ignored his question. “Are you planning to go home tonight?”
He shook his head. “I can’t breathe there. And something weird’s going on.”
“Weird?”
“Asa’s coming more unhinged every day. And John’s basically running the place now.”
“Are you staying with the same friend tonight?”
“His mother said I couldn’t.”
“Kat McKay?”
He nodded. “I’m not worried. I’ll find a place to stay.”
“I can probably arrange somewhere for you to go for the night.”
Brady tilted his head slightly. “Why would you do that for me?”
“For your safety. I probably should’ve arranged to place you yesterday.”
“Place me? What do you mean by that?”
“You’re an adult, so I don’t mean foster care. And you can say no.”
He chewed his upper lip. “What’ve you got in mind?”
“How about Rain’s uncle?”
The boy’s demeanor softened. “Will he do it, do you think?”
“I spoke with him earlier. You’re welcome to stay at his place. If you say yes, he’d like you to meet him at the Feed and Tack after basketball practice.”
Brady smiled for the first time since entering the counselor’s office. “Rain says he’s a good guy.”
“So that’s a yes?”
He nodded. “Are you going back out to Asa’s ranch?”
I clicked off the recorder and had him sign and date a second statement. “You’re free to go to class now.”
“If you do go back out to the ranch, you’ll probably need the access code for the gate. There’s a keypad attached to the gatepost. Punch in the letter J and three, one, six.”
“John 3:16?”
“What else.”
“That’s helpful, Brady.”
“As long as the code hasn’t been changed.” He stood. “Tell Mr. McKay I promise I won’t be in the way.”
“Just remember to mind your manners and eat whatever he fixes for dinner. I hear he makes a mean pot roast.”
Bach was still on the road when I radioed with an update. “I hope this is our last foray to Bear Valley Cattle Company, Al.”
“Couldn’t agree more. See you in half an hour.”
Hollis, at his desk across from mine, had listened to my side of the conversation. “How might all this go down when we get out there?”
I tried to read my partner’s thoughts. “Are you worried?”
“Sure, a little.”
“Me too. Only a fool wouldn’t be.”
I noticed Taylor sorting reports at the print station. “Mark, I’ll need you to join us when we question Larkin and his men today.”
A smile cracked his wide face, like a kid who’d finally been picked for the team.
“In the meantime,” I said, “you two should take an early lunch. My guess is Bach will want to move in on Larkin’s place soon after he gets here.”
“What about you?” Hollis asked.
“I’ll slip next door for a slice of pizza,” I answered.
“Come on, Sarge. We can shut down the place for an hour,” Hollis countered.
“Nah. We’ll be closed for the duration once Bach gets here. Besides, I need to think through some things,” I said.
Taylor gathered his coat and hat. “Back in an hour.”
Hollis continued working at his desk.
“I mean it, Holly. Take your lunch.”
He closed out his document and pulled his keys from the drawer. “Make sure you get something to eat, okay?”
“Yep.”
But I wasn’t hungry. I sat in the alcove and stared at the Nodine murder board. The room was dim and cloyingly small. I exhaled, added “John and Ruben Vickers” to the list of suspects. Beneath that, I wrote Wayne Smith’s name. I considered tacking “Cecil Burney” up there for good measure, but I just didn’t buy it, especially knowing Larkin’s automatic pistol killed the twins, not the old man’s shotgun.
I needed some air and stepped outside to the pizza window across the parking lot. Nearly froze my ass off while a couple of tellers from the bank around the corner got the rundown on topping choices.
I was in a mood by the time I sat back at the card table chowing down my single slice, an all-meaty with spicy peppers, warmed up to about the same temperature as my cup of diet cola on ice. But mostly it was the murder board and not my trip to the pizza window that had set me on edge.
My cell phone buzzed, and Morgan’s name flashed on the screen. There was a
time not so long ago when his calls made my pulse race. “Sergeant Maggie Blackthorne here.”
He laughed. “Happy birthday! I meant to send a card, but you know how it is.”
I didn’t really know how it was with him, but it didn’t matter. He’d remembered to call, and he still had the sweet voice of the always chipper. That cheered me up.
“God, I’ve been so busy, I almost forgot about my birthday.”
“Yeah, I heard about your backcountry crime spree. Are you doing okay?”
“I’ll be doing a lot better when we solve the murders.”
Al Bach appeared at the entrance to the makeshift alcove.
“Hey, Morgan. I really do appreciate the call, but I’ve got to go for now. I’ll get back to you sometime this weekend.”
“Take care of yourself, and do get back in touch soon. I’ve got a lot to tell you.”
Al sat down in one of the folding chairs lined up around the card table and pointed to the list of names on our murder board. “Prime suspects?”
I turned toward him. “In the Nodine case, the Vickers brothers for sure. John knew the combination to Larkin’s safe, and Ruben’s prints were found on the Nodines’ jeep key. We should keep Larkin on that list, too. And possibly Kat McKay, but unless we learn something new, I don’t think so.”
“I agree with you about the McKay woman. How about Larkin’s son?”
“Brady’s a little lost and confused, angry with his father. But I’ve seen nothing yet to make me suspect he’s the killer.”
“And how about the Trudeau murder?” Bach asked.
“Again Wayne Smith and the Vickers men.”
He placed his thermos on the card table and spread out the contents of his sack lunch. “Anyone else?”
I thought about the possibilities. “Maybe the Nodines, if they’d been alive. Their father, Farley, I suppose, but that’s a long shot with zero evidence.”
He lifted his sandwich from the table. “So Larkin, Smith, and the Vickers brothers.”
“And if I’m wrong?”
“We’ll work our way through the next rung of suspects.”
Bach’s plan was to caravan to Bear Valley Cattle Company. Taylor would ride with him in the Interceptor, and Hollis and I would take my Tahoe.
He laid out the rest of it. “Maggie, you’re more familiar with the terrain, so you’ll lead. Try to find a place to park about a quarter mile or so from the ranch compound.”
I nodded. “Think I know just the spot.”
“And assuming all the men will be there, we’ll frisk each for weapons and have them wait in the main ranch house. Mark, you’ll stay with the men while the rest of us search the three mobile homes. We’ll check the main house last and question them one at a time,” Al clarified.
“Larkin will want his attorney there for sure,” I said. “The rest of them might too.”
“If we have to, we’ll take them into custody and bring them back here.” Bach briefly inspected our sparse digs. “Remind me, does the courthouse have an interview space? Doesn’t seem like the State of Oregon has set you up for that.”
“Yeah, the courthouse has a spare office for interviews. It’s only marginally better than our storeroom,” I said.
“The difference is there’s a handy jail cell just up the stairs,” Holly noted.
I swirled the dregs of my coffee. “There’s that.”
“I’ll call over and give them a heads-up,” Taylor offered. “Could get tricky if we bring in all four at once and want to separate them.”
Bach stood and stretched. “We’ll work it out. I’ve interrogated suspects in almost every tiny courthouse in the state, including this one. Sometimes you have to get creative. Before we take off, I’d like to assure everyone we’re going out there as part of a murder investigation. This is not a tactical operation with sharpshooters on standby. We’re not confronting the posse comitatus, we’re visiting a ranch to question the owner and his hired hands.”
I wondered about the purpose of this little talking-to. Was it to bring down the tension or ratchet it up?
“I think we all understand that, Detective,” I said.
“Good. Let’s move out.”
Tall clouds, pure white and immense, roamed the pale sky. The climb up Canyon Mountain toward Bear Valley had been quiet, the thrum of tires and the heater’s rattle in the background. Mostly I found the churn of road noise strangely soothing, but Al’s parting admonition nagged at me.
We all knew we were heading into a situation that could go south in a hurry. Maybe we should have called in the sharpshooters or at least been geared up for that. In the end, though, I had to trust Bach’s judgment.
I glanced over at Hollis. “Hey, does Lil know this afternoon could turn out to be a deal?” Cop code for a fucked-up mess.
“No. Does Duncan?”
I hadn’t expected that, but all right. Things were out in the open, at least. “He knows something’s up. Mostly because he agreed to take in Larkin’s kid.”
“That so? I had a feeling Duncan was one of the good ones.”
I knew I didn’t need to make that same pronouncement about Lillian Two Moons. Holly understood that was a given. Plus he was merely handing me his blessing where Duncan was concerned.
Then I remembered his promotion. He’d soon be transferred. A stab of rage swept over me, that old hatred and bitterness revived. J.T. Lake. I’d kill that dickwad yet.
Hollis interrupted my mental tirade. “What’s up, Maggie? Are you practicing your tough face?”
“What?”
“You look mad as hell.”
“It’s this case.” I really wasn’t very good at lying.
“Sure. I thought you only brought out that face for J.T. Lake.”
“As a matter of fact, I was thinking about that asshole.”
“Can I give you some advice?”
“Can I stop you from giving me some advice?”
“You need to move on from all that baggage between the two of you. It’s not healthy.”
Pondering his good counsel, something else occurred to me. I needed to get over myself, quit the self-absorbed bullshit attitude where his promotion was concerned. At least try, for Christ’s sake.
“True dat, Holly. Being chronically pissed at the man is an exercise in futility.”
“True dat? You posing as Outkast or something?”
“Just throwing around some urban lingo, my friend.”
“Yeah, from the nineties. You’re just showing your age, my friend.”
I shoved my right hand toward him, palm forward. “Talk to the hand.”
“Oh, snap. You got me there, Sarge,” he said and chuckled.
We passed Starr Campground, just off 395. The Aldrich Mountains spreading west, the Strawberry Range spreading east, we drove across the plateau between. Scrub juniper and pine battled for sparse water on the dry foothills and rangeland until we reached Bear Valley Meadows. Its sweet creek composed a narrow swath of high desert lushness. I tapped the brakes and signaled right. Checked the side mirror to make sure Bach had seen I’d turned down Harden Road toward Larkin’s ranch.
I kept the speed low. The road was graded, not paved, and likely prone to dust, even this time of year. About a mile in, I pulled off next to a knot of larch, verdant with new growth and surrounded by juniper and sagebrush, making sure Al had room to park beside my Tahoe.
I figured we were within a quarter mile of the entrance to Larkin’s fortified cattle company. Tucked next to the trees, our vehicles would be largely hidden from the ranch house and the compound of mobile homes and outbuildings.
As I cut the engine, my phone rang. It was Ariel Pritchett. “I need to take this.”
Hollis nodded and climbed out of the SUV.
“Ariel?”
“Two strangers—big guys—were in the bar last night. I couldn’t hear everything they was sayin’, but they griped about their boss a bunch.”
I glanced at the others waiting i
n the weather for me to join them. “Okay?”
“Their boss is named Larkin. I wrote it down. Don’t know if this guy’s who Joey and Danny had the deal with. But it’s the same name, I’m sure of it.”
“Thanks, Ariel. That really helps us a lot.”
“I’m glad, Maggie.”
“I have to go now, but you take care.” I decided to keep Ariel’s news to myself for the time being. If it was true, what did the Nodines agree to do for Larkin in exchange for the Ram 3500?
Bear Valley Cattle Company stood on a mesa, the two mountain ranges on either side. The high winds of afternoon bore down on the four of us gathered between the two rigs, silencing our phones and double-checking our nerves.
His voice barely audible against the windy bluster, Al asked me to lead the way to the entrance. Beyond the electric fencing, we caught sight of dozens of Black Angus feeding at an elaborate covered cattle crib filled with hay. It was easily fifty feet long and double-sided to accommodate a large number of animals. The usual aroma of sage, pine, juniper, and clean air had been overtaken by the raw stench of cow manure, now blown far and wide across the prairie and yellow-green hills.
Behind the cattle crib stood a sizable new metal barn, probably erected after Larkin bought the place from Chet Harden. Parked next to it was a small fleet of three-wheelers, a hay wagon and bailer, an ancient Allis-Chalmers tractor, and the old green-apple Bronco.
When we arrived at the entrance, I found the keypad, held my breath, and entered the code Brady had passed on to me this morning. The gate waved open slowly. Unlike the visit Al and I had made out here two nights ago, the hired men didn’t rouse from their mobile homes. The sound of our movement had found cover in the gusty whip-snap of tree branches, but that didn’t make us invisible. We were standing at the wide-open entrance of the compound in broad daylight.
Larkin’s black Prius was parked in the gravel driveway, but Wayne Smith’s silver Pathfinder was nowhere to be seen.
Bach pointed toward the main ranch house. “Let’s start with Mr. Larkin.”
In most scenarios, four State Police officers approaching the well-preserved thirties-built farmhouse might have piqued someone’s curiosity. But we managed to make it to the front porch and ring the doorbell without causing a stir.
Dead Point (Maggie Blackthorne Book 1) Page 28