“I feel better about how things turned out knowing Hollis is on the mend.”
“Amen to that. So explain to me how you managed to get a confession from Larkin.”
“It helped that his attorney left him hanging. And despite Ruben Vickers not being the best witness around, Larkin probably recognized Vickers’s testimony would be a problem.”
“Seems Mr. Vickers has his own worries.”
“Which I plan on exploring tonight, Al. Just to let you know.”
He nodded in agreement.
I continued. “Then there’s his Kel-Tec 9. Hard to get around it being the murder weapon. But learning Brady had been at the scene is the piece of news that finally led Larkin to confess.”
“Turns out he was less beholden to his literal reading of scriptures than he let on.”
“What’s that mean, Al?”
“His anger over the theft of his truck turned to homicidal rage.”
“Nah, I don’t think that’s why he did it. The deal the Nodines had with Larkin? The Ram 3500 in exchange for the expedited death of Frank Sylvester. Larkin got tired of waiting for Sylvester’s assisted demise and had ‘a momentary lapse,’ as he put it.”
“Wow. How do those religious views of his square with murder?”
“He’ll have a long stretch in prison to figure that out.”
“Let’s hope so.” He glanced down at Hank. “Now that’s a gorgeous baby.”
“I’ll say.” I held little Hank closer. “We didn’t finish our search today, the other vehicles and the outbuildings.”
“The warrant gives us the leeway to do that as time and manpower dictate.”
About the last thing I wanted to ever do again was head back out to Bear Valley Cattle Company.
“Mark and I are going to the office to get the paperwork started,” he said. “But I wanted to mention something to you before I take off.”
“What’s that?”
“I’d like you to consider going through detective academy and joining the homicide unit.”
“You’re not serious? And by the way, I should remind you that my personnel file’s been flagged. No promotions, no transfers.”
“I’m very serious, Maggie. I’ll take care of the flagged file. Anyway, you don’t need to make up your mind tonight, but tell me you’ll think about it.”
I should have been flattered, I guess. But all Bach’s encouragement did was make my life more complicated than I wanted it to be right now. “All right. I’ll think about it.”
He nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
“Don’t lose too much sleep over the officer-involved shooting interviews, Al.”
“I shot the first man, who I knew was unarmed, and I didn’t give him any warning. Except for my own inner misgivings, I have no qualms about the tactical soundness of the second shooting.”
Detective Alan Bach, a cop who saw but two hues on the spectrum of police decision-making: black and white.
I rewrapped Hank’s swaddling and cradled him in my lap. “Thank you so much for taking care of Lil and the baby tonight,” I said to Dorie, now sitting across from me.
“I’m glad to get to know Lil better. She’s a good woman and an awesome mom. Told me her own mother doesn’t want to have anything to do with her or little Hank.”
“I’m afraid so.”
“Not even an auntie somewhere?”
“I’m not sure.” I hadn’t asked Hollis about Lil’s people. Hell, I knew next to nothing about his people. What kind of a best friend doesn’t pry, even just a bit?
“Well, I’m here if they need a hand. It wouldn’t be the first time I was some child’s stand-in auntie.”
God, I loved Dorie. Her sweet voice, her even sweeter nature.
“You look good rocking a baby, Maggie.”
“Well, I think I’m past all that at this point.”
She yawned. “Could be, but who knows?”
I was pretty sure I knew. “You should go home. And would you mind feeding Louie?”
“Happy to,” she said, grabbing her purse and coat and kissing me on the forehead. “Get some sleep. You were out late last night.”
Hollis was awake, waiting for my visit. He looked awful, like a man who’d been shot in the gut and undergone hours of surgery. His oxygen tube made it difficult to talk, so he’d been given a pad of sticky notes and a pen.
“And then what happened?” he scrawled.
I smiled. “Bach imposed administrative leave on himself and put me in charge of the investigation.”
“Congratulations?”
I rolled my eyes. “Long story, but I ended up interviewing Smith and Larkin by myself. Smith claims John and Ruben Vickers murdered Trudeau over the Remington painting. Says he saw the whole thing.”
“Holy shit!”
I nodded. “And Asa Larkin confessed to murdering the Nodines.”
Hollis held up his “Holy shit!” note again.
“And without asking for an attorney.”
“???”
“Yeah. The lawyer skipped town.”
“But, a confession?” he wrote.
“That needed some prodding, so I painted the picture of Brady, scared shitless and hiding out in the Ram 3500 during the murders.”
Dr. Zahn entered the hospital room dressed in a black silk pants suit and cream silk blouse. She wore a diamond bracelet and matching earrings. How had she ended up being assigned to our Podunk hospital?
“Visiting hours are over, Sergeant. Mr. Jones needs his rest.”
I winked at Holly. “See you tomorrow, dude.”
I found Ruben Vickers sitting on the edge of his bed in a cotton gown tied at the back of his neck. He faced the window opposite the door, leaving his hairy backside exposed to whoever entered the room. So much for being grief-stricken and hysterical; he was involved in a game of two-player pinochle with the so-called security guard.
“Excuse me,” I said.
The guard reluctantly shifted his gaze from his hand of cards to me. “Can I help you?”
“I’m here to interview Mr. Vickers.”
“The doctor give the okay?” the guard asked.
“I don’t answer to the doctor. Besides, Mr. Vickers looks to be in good enough shape to play cards. I’d say he’s fit enough to answer my questions. Now if you’ll excuse us.”
The guard stood, tucked his hand of pinochle in his shirt pocket, and walked from the room. I didn’t bother telling him the card game was over.
In an effort to appear pained and pathetic, Vickers lay back on his stack of pillows and pulled the blankets over his legs and torso. I adjusted his motorized bed to the fully upright position, which forced him to grasp the blankets tightly and tuck them under his chin.
I pulled up a chair, switched on the recorder, ran through my for-the-record spiel, and made myself comfortable. “Sorry for your loss.”
He lay silent and mopey for half a minute. “John had a temper. It was a problem. But he was my brother, and I loved him.”
I let that sit. He hadn’t asked for an attorney, and it was highly doubtful he had one on retainer.
I cleared my throat. “Tell me about last Sunday, the day Wayne Smith drove you and your brother to Mr. Trudeau’s home.”
The man’s ruddy face peeking over the white hospital bedding turned several shades paler, giving him the pained appearance he’d been aiming for when he crawled back under his covers. As far as looking pathetic, I had the sense Ruben Vickers always held that countenance.
He let the sheet and blanket fall onto his lap, exposing his hands and arms. “I think I need a lawyer.”
“I can turn off the recorder right now and call one.”
He sighed. “All we wanted was for the old guy to give us back the painting.”
I needed to word my next question very carefully. “We?”
“Me and John and Wayne Smith. But he croaked before telling us where to find it. We hoped the cops would think suicide. That pa
rt was Wayne’s idea.”
Smith hadn’t mentioned that, but I was sure there was a great deal he hadn’t mentioned.
Without further prompting, Vickers swallowed, coughed, and proceeded to describe Guy Trudeau’s killing.
That old man had become an angry recluse at the end of his life. Little wonder given that he was estranged from two of his children and robbed blind by the other. Even so, he was a bastard through and through. But no one deserved the lonely, humiliating, protracted death by strangulation that Ruben Vickers laid out in horrifying detail.
I had the urge to handcuff the cretin and haul his ass to the most uncomfortable jail cell the county had to offer. But there were other homicides to discuss.
“What can you tell me about the night you confronted Dan and Joseph Nodine? The night they were murdered.”
That caught Vickers off guard. He stared at his large hands. “I’m afraid John’s temper got the better of him again. He knocked them both around some. We wanted to get those steers they’d promised. They kept saying the cattle were too sick, that we wouldn’t get a nickel for them.”
“Because they’d stolen several of Trudeau’s unhealthy steers. Realized too late how bad off the animals were.”
He paused. “Wish they’d told us that before John got all bent out of shape.”
“And they used Mr. Larkin’s diesel truck and livestock trailer to transport the cattle.”
Ruben Vickers was finally connecting some dots. “Yeah, I never could understand why Larkin let that go. Them stealing that expensive vehicle.”
“Did he let it go?”
“Did he say something?”
“Any deal you and your brother cooked up with Larkin is no longer in play.”
“All right, but it was Larkin who killed the Nodines, not me and John. And preaching nut bag that he is, he enjoyed it.”
“And afterwards, you drove Dan and Joseph’s jeep and parked it next to their camper?”
“Yeah. John picked me up in the Bronco after he hauled Larkin back to the ranch and nabbed the extra key to the red pickup.”
“Why move the jeep?”
“John was afraid it would attract attention before we could come back for the truck. He’d already figured out who might buy it from us. Didn’t matter, though. You got there first.”
I unclipped my handcuffs from my duty belt, clasped one cuff around the bedrail and the other around his right wrist. “Ruben Vickers, you’re under arrest for the murder of Guy Trudeau and for being an accessory to murder in the deaths of Dan and Joseph Nodine.”
He huffed a long breath and stared at the hospital ceiling. “I probably should’ve had you get that lawyer for me.”
I pulled up my phone and called the county jail. “Evening. This is Maggie Blackthorne again. I’d appreciate you sending one of your night deputies over to the hospital. Room 218. I’ve just arrested a patient for murder, and we need a sworn officer guarding him instead of the rent-a-cop sitting out in the hall.”
On my way out of the hospital, I spotted Duncan in the waiting room. The lone occupant, he’d tucked himself into the rocking chair and fallen asleep. Seeing him, I was reminded of last night. Tired as I was, a charge raced through me.
I tiptoed into the room and stood next to the rocker. A thick strand of hair had fallen across his forehead and over one eye. He woke as my fingertips touched his brow.
“Didn’t mean to wake you,” I whispered and kissed his cheek.
He sat up and massaged his temples. “Maggie. Are you okay?”
I moved a chair closer to his and sat facing him. “I’m exhausted in every way possible.”
Duncan regarded me soberly. “I heard about Hollis.”
“Dorie?”
He nodded. “I was pretty worried.”
“Holly came through emergency surgery in pretty good shape.” I leaned into the space between us. “But I could sure use a kiss.”
He bent forward and kissed me lightly on the lips. “You’re the one I was worried about.”
I laid a hand on his knee. “You shouldn’t be so somber. We caught the bad guys.”
“Not before Hollis was shot.” He closed his intensely green eyes. “It could’ve been you, Maggie.”
So true, but now was not the time to go into detail.
“But it wasn’t me. I’m here. I’m alive.”
Duncan sighed deeply. “There’s something else. Rain admitted stealing the cattle prods and the rest of it. Apparently Brady passed it all on to the Nodines.”
I placed a finger on his lips. “Yes, I know. But I don’t want to think about any of that right now. Just hold me close for a while.”
He pulled me onto his lap. “We’ll have to talk about it sometime. We’ll have to talk about everything, including that nasty scar of yours, okay?”
I rested my head on his broad shoulder. “We will. I promise.” But I was dubious about that last matter, largely because it involved a protracted discussion of my short and sordid marriage to Jeremy T. Lake.
Duncan stroked my hair. “I’m sorry you had such a shitty day.”
“I’m sorry you were worried about me.”
“I guess I might have to get used to that.”
“Can you get used to that?”
“I hope so.”
I raised my head from his shoulder, and we kissed.
“I want a woman to love and to love me back, and I believe with all my heart that could be you,” he said. “And I still want kids.”
“I might be too old to bear children.”
“But you wouldn’t count kids out entirely?”
I pressed my hand over his beating heart. “Can I get back to you on that?”
He smiled. “Sure, beautiful.”
The lights in the waiting room had been dimmed some time earlier, and as we rocked slowly in the rocker, I felt myself drifting to sleep. Duncan might have been carried there himself, for he suddenly sat up straighter in the chair.
“You should call it a night, go home to Louie, and rest.”
“We both should call it a night. Brady’s still at your house, right?”
He yawned. “I was damn pissed when Rain and Brady came clean about stealing from my store. So mad, I sent Rain home. But I wasn’t about to kick Brady out with nowhere to go. Last time I saw him, he was studying for some test.”
I grasped one of his immense hands and kissed the palm. “You’ve had a pretty shitty day too.”
We both stood to leave, and he wrapped an arm around my shoulders.
“When can I see you tomorrow?” he asked.
My phone buzzed before I could answer. I eyed the screen. “I have to take this.”
I listened to Al Bach’s tense voice, then said, “I’ll meet you at the courthouse after I talk to the boy.”
I clicked off.
“Something else happened, didn’t it?”
“Tonight we arrested Brady’s father for the murder of Dan and Joseph. Half an hour ago he hung himself inside his jail cell. He’s dead.”
“God. Brady.”
“I’ll follow you to your house and explain it all to him.”
I said this as if all I had to do was pull out some tool from my duty belt, one that steeled me for delivering news of a father’s suicide. Calmly, professionally, without sentiment. Exactly the way I’d been trained.
Fact was, my fortitude had been knocked off plumb over the last ten days, and I suspected this last senseless death had depleted all my reserves. Could I summon the strength to put aside the old ghosts and the losses and heartaches? Could I speak the terrible truth to Asa Larkin’s nineteen-year-old son? Could I do all of that and meet Bach at the courthouse, process the incident, and oversee the transport of another body to Sam Damon’s mortuary?
I could.
I could because Sergeant Maggie Blackthorne—tough gal, smartass, tenacious, and profane—was a damn good cop and a strong fucking woman.
I could because I had to.
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Maggie Blackthorne Novels
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MURDERERS CREEK
A Maggie Blackthorne Novel
Sergeant Maggie Blackthorne's latest case gets personal as she risks everything to prove her innocence and bring a killer to justice.
After an unexpected and unpleasant visit from her ex-husband, Oregon State Police Sergeant Maggie Blackthorne is called to a grisly crime scene. Her ex has been found dead—the victim of a vicious attack.
Her earlier confrontation with the deceased places Maggie squarely on the list of suspects, and she is soon the subject of an internal investigation. Desperate to clear her name and uncover the truth, Maggie and her partner, Trooper Hollis Jones, have no time to waste.
With a couple of townspeople acting suspiciously, reports of missing or stolen property, and evidence of drug deals gone bad, the case is proving to be a difficult one to crack. And just when Maggie and Hollis think they’ve finally caught a break, the lone eyewitness turns up dead.
As the personal and professional pressure mounts, Maggie struggles to catch a remorseless killer who has nothing to lose. And one wrong move could cost Maggie her career... or her life.
Dead Point (Maggie Blackthorne Book 1) Page 32