The Dunn Deal

by Catherine Leggitt

  Ed chose a serious black suit for the service, foregoing his usual plaid golf pants. His bald head looked extra shiny. With her typical stylish flair, Zora Jane reflected the tone of the occasion outfitted in a somber black sheath with a leopard print belt. From a few rows behind, I admired the prominent black flower waving atop her black hat.

  Pastor Gregg began the service with prayer and Scripture reading. In his booming radio voice, he read familiar words of comfort from Psalm 23. Then he turned to 1 Corinthians 15 to read about the fate of those who have already died in faith when Jesus returns the second time. Those verses give me chills. I imagine my mama coming in the clouds with Jesus as I listen.

  Baxter’s older brother, Max, read a lovely poem he wrote about their relationship. By the time he finished, people were reaching for the Kleenex boxes the women’s ministry had left in the pews. Baxter’s sister, Alexia, sang a beautiful old song with a contemporary arrangement about going where the roses never fade. Painting a lovely picture of the gardens of heaven, the song made me smile.

  Following the song, one of Baxter’s fellow officers spoke about the fine job Baxter did for the county. I recognized him as Deputy Oliver, whom I’d met at Zora Jane’s house. Tall and blond, he represented American law enforcement in a wholesome, handsome package. He appeared to be somewhere around Baxter’s age, in his mid to late thirties.

  He gave statistics about Baxter’s career. I didn’t realize Baxter had made so many arrests or been decorated for so many selfless acts of bravery. Deputy Oliver got a little choked up recalling pranks they’d played. Like the April Fool’s Day Baxter squeezed toothpaste onto the toilet seat of the men’s locker room commode then hid to watch the reactions of his victims. Or the hours of surveillance time they passed making up names and situations to prank call the rookie lady dispatcher.

  When he finished speaking, Deputy Oliver asked if anyone else wanted to recount a story of Baxter’s impact on his or her life.

  People trailed to the podium and recounted how Baxter helped members of the community. They also spoke of his love for children and the elderly, of his patience, gentleness, and generosity.

  After we’d been there nearly two hours, Pastor Gregg returned to the podium and led us as we sang Baxter’s favorite hymn, “How Great Thou Art,” before he dismissed us with a final prayer.

  The officers provided an impressive escort to the cemetery in their polished green and white patrol cars, lights flashing and sirens wailing.

  We stood with the crowd around Baxter’s grave while a group of his fellow deputies lowered his coffin into the ground. Kathleen and the children pulled red roses out of one of the arrangements to throw on the casket. Many people followed their example. Even Jesse and I contributed.

  While people in the line waited for their turn to toss flowers, I noticed Deputy Oliver as he joined a circle of men in uniforms. Such an opportunity couldn’t be passed by.

  “I’m going to talk to someone,” I said to Jesse.

  Jesse turned his good ear toward me and frowned. “What?”

  “I’m going over there to speak to someone,” I repeated.

  His frown deepened. “It sounded like you said your hair was squeaking like a siren. You didn’t say that, did you?”

  My shoulders sagged. Sometimes I just didn’t feel like making multiple repetitions. “Never mind. I’ll be right back.”

  Jesse reached for my arm, but I moved away as fast as I could in my Sunday shoes. My high heels stuck in the cemetery grass, scattering little grass plugs in my wake. Dedicated to my mission, I increased speed, determined to persevere.

  Once I got to the group, I sucked in a substantial breath and spoke with authority. “Excuse me. I have questions about the investigation into Baxter’s death. Could you take a few moments to answer them?”

  The group consisted of four uniformed men, all but one around Baxter’s age. I focused on Deputy Oliver first so maybe that’s why he answered, but not before they eyeballed each other and stepped back to open the circle.

  Deputy Oliver’s eyes narrowed. “It depends, ma’am, on what you want to know. We’re only peripherally involved, so we’re not privy to all the facts. Also, it’s an ongoing investigation, so some things we can’t talk about.”

  I waved off his disclaimer. “First off, where did the media get the idea that Baxter went to a meeting with drug dealers before he died?”

  A couple of the men cleared their throats, exchanging another glance that I read as “let’s humor the old busybody.” A burly dark haired man, the one who appeared older than the others, answered. I remembered him from the Callahan’s house, G. Rogers. “What we might say about that is there has been a long investigation into drug trafficking in Nevada

  County. Only recently has there been progress in locating the major players.”

  “Uh-huh,” I said. “But Baxter wasn’t part of the Narcotics Task Force. Wasn’t he with the Crimes Against Persons and Property Unit?”

  Deputy Rogers gave a condescending nod. “That’s correct. However, he knew about the task force. And drug trafficking often involves loss to persons and property. Let’s say it’s possible he inadvertently uncovered suspicious activity while investigating something else.”

  “What ‘something else?’”

  “We’re not at liberty to divulge that at this time.” His smile looked a tad artificial.

  I wasn’t going to let them off the hook without trying harder. I turned to Deputy Oliver. “Baxter got off duty at six, right?”

  “That sounds right,” Deputy Oliver answered. “That’s when he usually got off. But if he was in the middle of something important, he couldn’t just leave to go home.”

  If I kept asking the same questions in different ways, maybe I’d get lucky. “What was he in the middle of?”

  A couple of the officers, the two who hadn’t spoken yet, shuffled and lowered their eyes.

  Deputy Oliver gave a slight cough. “Mrs.…?”

  “Sterling, I’m the Callahan’s’ neighbor.”

  He bent slightly as if speaking to a child. “Mrs. Sterling, Baxter developed a lead on a missing person’s case he’d been following for more than a year. I was with him at the office around five when he got a call concerning the whereabouts of this person.”

  The repeated use of the word “person” increased my suspicion. I remembered the reference to a woman made by one of the news people. “Was this person a woman?”

  More shuffling, more averted gazes. All except Deputy Oliver who bent lower to stare directly into my eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Sterling. He went to meet a woman. But don’t you pay any attention to those rumors about an affair. Baxter Dunn was definitely not having an affair.”

  The phone rang while I cleaned up the kitchen after dinner the next evening.

  When I answered, I heard concern in Zora Jane’s voice. “Christine. Deputy Rogers just called Kathleen. He’s been assigned to investigate Baxter’s death.”

  “Oh, yes. I met him yesterday at the graveside. Is he a detective then?”

  “I guess so. Anyway, the preliminary autopsy results came in this afternoon. Please pray for Kathleen. She’s quite upset.”

  Her tone brought on a flush of fear that started around my chest. “Why? What did he tell her?”

  “They found a suspicious substance in Baxter’s blood. The blood sample has been sent away for more detailed analysis. Toxicology reports take a long time, he said, because they go out of state or something.”

  “Oh, no. Did he say what the substance was?”

  “Some kind of hallucinogenic drug. Deputy… rather, Detective Rogers asked if Baxter was a drug user.”

  My chin dropped to my chest and I squeezed my eyes shut.

  A drug user! What next? How could anyone think Baxter Dunn would voluntarily ingest hallucinogens?

  Chapter Four

  Waiting in the audiologist’s office for Jesse’s hearing test, I tried reading one of the celebrity gossip magazines from t
he messy stack on the end table.

  Where did they find enough gossip to fill so many periodicals? And who were these supposed celebrities? I didn’t recognize a single name or face.

  I paced across the small waiting room a few times. With no one else sitting I had the run of the place, but the confined space didn’t allow much walking room. Feeling the need for fresh air, I pushed the door open and stepped outside. The sparkling spring air exuded joy, the kind of day that makes you think of birds singing and butterflies floating above the flowers even when you can’t see flowers or hear birds.

  As I wandered next door to the drug store, a newspaper rack filled with Los Angeles newspapers caught my eye. I stooped to look at the headlines.

  ‘Alleged Deputy Misconduct Suspected in Homicide Cover-up’

  “That can’t be. In an L.A. paper?” I leaned closer to scan the print. Sure enough, the article concerned Baxter Dunn’s

  death. After the headline, they didn’t bother to use the word alleged. Presented as fact, the short blurb purported to expose a giant conspiracy by a hayseed sheriff’s office in Nevada County to cover up Baxter’s illegal conduct. Baxter’s meeting with drug dealers and the clandestine rendezvous were both mentioned, citing “Baxter’s double life.” By day, he’s mild-mannered family man/deputy, Baxter Dunn. But at night, he transforms into The Party Boy of Nevada County. Right.

  The placement of the fold kept me from reading the entire article. The last paragraph before the fold said:

  The Nevada County Coroner has ruled that death resulted from a fall into the ravine where Baxter Dunn was impaled on a rusty spike. The preliminary toxicology report indicates the presence of a hallucinogenic…

  I straightened abruptly. “What in the world?” Shaking my head in disbelief, I turned when the door to the audiologist’s office banged open and the gum popping receptionist stuck her head out to call. “Mrs. Sterling?”

  I started toward the office. “Yes?”

  “Linda wants to see you now.”

  The receptionist ushered me to one of the examining cubicles while I ruminated on the pervasive lack of respect in a generation intent on calling professionals by their first names. Jesse sat on a little bench. He turned to grant me a tiny smile of recognition when I entered.

  “Mrs. Sterling.” Linda Adams, the audiologist, smiled and extended her hand. “Come in.”

  I sat where she pointed as she produced a chart with a zigzag line drawn horizontally in blue marker along the middle. “Jesse wanted you here while we go over the results of today’s testing.” She tapped the blue zigzag with her pen. “This shows where Jesse tested today. Normal hearing would be at the top

  of this chart, so you can see he has significant hearing loss. Roughly speaking, he’s only hearing a little more than half of normal.”

  “My goodness,” I said. “No wonder he has trouble understanding what I say.”

  Jesse rolled his eyes. “That’s only because you mumble.”

  I ignored that, preferring his retort to the one I’d left myself wide open for. “What caused it, Dr. Adams? He lost his hearing almost overnight.”

  She consulted her chart again before glancing up at Jesse. “Since this hearing loss occurred rather rapidly, I’d like to send you for a few tests to see if we can determine the cause. I hesitate to speculate at this juncture. It could be many things, heredity to injury to serious things like tumors. You indicated that both parents had hearing loss?”

  “Yes. My father died at sixty-five. His hearing wasn’t terrible, but getting there. Mom’s hearing is getting worse, too. But she’s in her eighties. My older brother can hardly hear at all these days.”

  Dr. Adams scanned her notes. “This may have started during your stint in Vietnam. Firing heavy artillery without earplugs would undoubtedly damage the inner ear. Or we could be dealing with genetic hearing loss which will worsen while you age, but I’d like to have the tests done anyway. Just to rule out other possibilities.”

  “Can you fix it?” Jesse asked.

  “Let’s get these tests done and then we’ll be in a better position to discuss possible solutions.” She wrote a requisition for several tests and dismissed us with a professional smile.

  I called Zora Jane as soon as I got home to tell her about the newspaper article. “Has Kathleen heard anything about the coroner’s report?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not unless they just called this morning. I talked to her last night and she didn’t mention it. Why?”

  I recounted what I read in front of the drug store. “Where do you suppose the news people get the terrible stuff they print? Why doesn’t anyone hold them accountable for printing things that aren’t true?”

  “Well, it did say ‘alleged’ in the headline,” Zora Jane pointed out.

  “But they slanted the whole thing toward convicting Baxter of misconduct, regardless of the fact that an official finding hasn’t been made yet. It’s slander against a wonderful young man. It just galls me!”

  “Hmm. Ed tried to talk with Detective Rogers a couple times. He said they’re investigating every lead, involving officers from other counties, too. They don’t ever take the death of a fellow officer lightly. I’m sure they won’t this time. But I’m afraid they’re not going to share much with us until the investigation is completed. And that’s what they’re supposed to do. I think we ought to…”

  “Don’t ask me to pray for the sheriff’s department right now, please Zora Jane. I’m just not feeling that charitable.”

  She chuckled a righteous little trill. “Okay, Christine, but you know we really should.”

  When I returned from taking Molly for a walk the next afternoon, I discovered Sam Colter had left a voice message. “This is Deputy Sam Colter from the Nevada County Sheriff’s

  Office. I am returning a call from Christine Sterling. I am leaving the office today. Please feel free to call tomorrow.”

  “AARGH!” I said to Molly. She immediately sat at my feet, waiting for my command with adoring eyes. I knelt to run my fingers through the soft collar of white fur on her chest and then patted her black head. “I really wanted to talk to him.”

  Jesse dashed into the room. “What?”

  “I was talking to Molly.”

  He pursed his lips. “I thought you called me.”

  “I’m sorry. Deputy Colter finally returned my phone call and I wasn’t here to answer it.”

  “Did the phone ring while you were gone?”

  A laugh escaped before I could stop it. “You poor thing. It must be so frustrating not to be able to hear.”

  I guess he didn’t see the humor because he stalked out of the room, throwing back a glare when he exited. I sighed. I never seemed to say the right thing anymore.

  Wednesday morning I called Deputy Colter again. The dispatcher answered. “Nevada County Sheriff’s Office, may I help you?”

  “I’d like to speak with Deputy Colter please.” I answered, crossing my fingers.

  “One moment please.”

  My hand flew to my mouth to suppress a whoop. Never before had I called and been directly connected.

  “Deputy Colter, how may I assist you?”

  “This is Christine Sterling. I’d like to make an appointment. How about tomorrow at your office?”

  The edge in his voice didn’t sound friendly. “What is this in reference to?”

  “About the murder of Deputy Dunn.”

  Now he sounded downright peeved. “As you know, an ongoing investigation into the death of Deputy Dunn is in progress. I am limited in what I can discuss concerning that investigation.” I heard tapping on his end, probably his pen against his desk. “Besides, Mrs. Sterling, you are not a family member so information will not be shared with you when it becomes available.”

  How could I make my request sound attractive? Sweet talk? Could I pretend to be a damsel in distress? “Yes, Deputy, I know you aren’t supposed to talk about the investigation.” I threw in as much sweetness as
I could muster without upchucking. “I greatly admire your conscientious attitude about your work. But I have no one else to turn to. You’ve been kind to me in the past. I just know I can depend on you now. The thing is, it’s been over three weeks since Baxter died. I’ve tried desperately to sort things out in my mind, but I’m still so confused. It keeps me awake at night worrying. You simply must help me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Please, Deputy Colter. I’d like to be facing you when we talk.”

  The tapping stopped.

  “I promise not to take much of your valuable time,” I said in my Marilyn Monroe voice. “And I would be most appreciative.”

  He cleared his throat. “I am off this weekend, but I could give you a few minutes next Monday afternoon. Around two o’clock.”

  “Oh thank you, Deputy Colter. I knew I could count on you. Bye, bye. See you Monday.”

  As soon as I hung up, I started making a list of questions for our appointment.

  Early Friday morning, Jesse herded Ranger, his black Morgan stallion, into the horse trailer and drove off to a mounted shooting match in Gilroy. Cowboy mounted shooting had become Jesse’s latest passion. At the matches, he joined other contestants who donned vintage western costumes and raced around orange highway cones with balloons attached. The object was to shoot all the balloons in proper order, round the barrels according to the prescribed pattern, and ride back through the finish line at full speed. After the results of each stage were added together, the person with the fastest overall time won. Being a better than average shot, Jesse had already amassed an impressive array of belt buckles and plaques. He would rather do cowboy mounted shooting than breathe.

  Although I usually complained about his time away, this time I considered his absence fortuitous because it provided the perfect opportunity to conduct a wee bit of sleuthing. Since Half Moon House figured into the puzzle of Baxter’s demise, I would begin my search there. With luck, I’d locate the woman he was last seen with.