I focused on the table, trying to recall a discussion with Mary about any kind of leverage she might have on the Kingfisher. When nothing came to mind, I shook my head.
Detective Rogers’s chair tapped the floor when he leaned toward the boys. “Rumor has it you kids were planning a big shootout at the high school. Any truth to that?”
The three gaped wide-eyed for a moment as if the question hadn’t been asked in English.
The attorney suddenly came alive. “I advise you not to answer that—”
“Hey, wait a minute,” Matt said. “We gotta answer. It’s a big lie. We got nothing planned.”
Detective Rogers consulted his notes. “Do you have guns?”
The attorney held up his hand. “I caution you not to answer.”
Josh shrugged. “They’re not ours, but, yeah, we got guns.”
The attorney made a disgusted sound in his throat.
Detective Rogers ignored him. “Who do they belong to?”
Attorney Benson held up one hand. “Again, I advise you not to say anything.”
The boys bent their heads and whispered to each other before speaking aloud. “Look,” Chris said. “What we were planning or not planning has nothing to do with this. We heard Mary got killed with a mining pick. If Goths were going to be violent, we’d use guns or knives, not mining picks. Who keeps a mining pick around anyway? What for?”
The others concurred with vigorous nods and murmurs of accord.
Mr. Benson fell back against his chair with a thud.
Detective Rogers had the boys retell their alibis, all of which amounted to no one being able to verify their whereabouts. He turned to me. “Do you have any other questions for these kids?”
I couldn’t think of any so Detective Rogers dismissed the boys, their parents, and their attorney. When they’d cleared the room, he faced me.
“You don’t really think those boys killed Mary?”
“Nah. I just hoped you’d think of something to help us while they talked. Besides, I thought you’d like to know what they said. Also, I wanted to thank you for your suggestion about the tire tracks.” He nodded. “That was good solid thinking, Mrs. Sterling. CSI did take other tire impressions out at Rawlins Lake where they found the patrol car. Nobody thought to bring those out in report. I had to dig to find them.”
“And?”
“They match the tires on the black van from Satori. The one you saw out there.”
Good news at last. “I knew it! But how did you get the black van?”
He seemed pleased. “The lab explosion. By the time the fire department got there, the big barn with the vehicles inside was burning. Most of the vehicles were consumed before the firemen got the fire under control. The explosion caused quite a commotion. Firemen and sheriff’s personnel rounded up all the soldiers they found and transported them into Grass Valley to get beds at the ‘YMCA’ before they were questioned. While they were looking through the woods, they found the black van and impounded it.”
Wonder of wonders! “So you have it now in the impound lot?”
He grinned. “I thought you’d like that.”
“Did you find anything inside, anything to prove who was in it the night Baxter died?”
Detective Rogers shook his head and laughed heartily. “I’ve told you too much already. Don’t share this with the Callahan’s. We haven’t notified them yet. You’ll have to wait a little longer for everything else we know.”
Despite my promise not to report to the Callahan’s, I blabbed the news to Jesse while we rode home through in rain. “Oh, my goodness, Jesse. Do you know what this means?”
He shot me a blank look. “What?”
“They have the black van and they matched its tire tread to the tracks at Rawlins Lake. So someone from Satori was at Rawlins Lake.”
“Yeah? There’s a lot of guys out at Satori. How’re they gonna prove who was in the van that night? How will they know if the van was there the same time?”
“Well, they’ll… uh… maybe they have boot prints, or… DNA.”
“You wish.”
Rain cascaded in rivulets down the window while I replayed everything I could remember from the first day we heard about poor Baxter’s death. “Wait a second, Jesse. You remember when I talked to Deputy Colter and those other officers that day at the Callahan’s’? Just after Baxter died? Colter said Baxter died at midnight, impaled on a rusty spike. How did Colter already know what time Baxter died? Before the coroner even got there?”
Jesse glanced my way, eyebrow cocked. “How do you know the coroner hadn’t been there yet when Colter was out there?”
I ignored his logic. I knew I was right, but I didn’t actually know how. “Another thing, don’t you think it’s interesting that from the very beginning the news people reported that Baxter died at midnight on Friday the thirteenth, just like Colter said? Leonard Pinzer used the exact same language about Baxter being impaled on a rusty spike. Who had insider information to send the media on that wild goose chase about Baxter’s drug use? Who tried to sabotage the investigation at every turn, even trying to point the finger at me by planting evidence? Who doesn’t want his superiors or the media digging into what he’s done?” I slapped the console between us. “The finger of guilt points to one person. By golly, I think we’ve got proof that good old Sam Colter has been leaking misleading information to the press from the get-go.”
Jesse watched the road while the windshield wipers swished back and forth. “I don’t know if that would constitute proof, but if you’re right, where do Satori and the black van fit in?”
I shook my head. “They’ve got to be tied together, don’t they?”
Jesse nodded.
“And the drug lab, and Mary’s death, and Colter’s need for money until his ship comes in, and…all of it.” A strange overwhelmed feeling flooded me. There was nothing conclusive enough for prosecution, but we must be close. For certain, Colter was right in the middle of the whole mess.
But how could we tie it all together?
Chapter Twenty-Five
The next day I rose early so I could shower, dress, and finish my morning chores while Jesse worked his black stallion, Ranger, in the arena. I left a note about going into town on errands, trying to keep it as vague as possible, worrying all the way into town about whether I had lied or not. Eventually, my conscience got the best of me and I had to concede that an intentional omission equaled an overt fib. And that was wrong. Rather than return to set it right, however, I focused my thoughts on Mary.
Between town and Mary Wilson’s house in Rough and Ready, torrents of pent-up emotion washed over me. I wiped tears with tissues from the Kleenex box I’d stowed in the car for such emergencies. Tears erupted often these days and I never knew when I’d need a tissue.
Although I hadn’t yet figured how to gain entrance to Mary’s house, I had to try. I also hadn’t planned where to look, assuming I got inside. Surely, the detectives had already searched Mary’s house for her “insurance” against any injury at the hand of the Kingfisher. I just wanted to have a look of my own.
As usual, I parked the car in the flat area near the door and got out. After the long drive, I stretched my back, hands planted on my hips while I surveyed the property.
Yesterday’s rain had washed the land and trees, but standing there I still felt the sadness I’d always sensed. The sun sent shimmering light through the pines and oaks. A slight breeze moved the air. It would be a lovely spring day except for the horrible wound Mary’s murderer had inflicted on the property. The only visible sign of her passing, a ribbon of yellow crime scene tape, waved from a nearby tree as if to draw attention to the crime scene.
Where should I begin?
I shuffled to the house and pulled open the screen door. The solid front door was locked, same as always. I cast about for a hidden key, under the worn welcome mat, over the lintel. No flowerpot nearby to hide a key under. Then I moseyed around the house pushing on windows.
This reminded me of Lila Payne. In just such a manner, I’d gained access to Lila’s house the first time I visited.
Dear God, what am I doing here? Don’t I ever learn from past mistakes?
Unlike my former experience at Lila’s house, none of the windows moved when I pushed on them through the screens, even though I tried each one. Where I could see the interior, it appeared that the formerly messy house had been thoroughly trashed. Someone had rifled through every cupboard, drawer, and cubbyhole. Probably the detectives, although it could have been Frankie.
The back door didn’t allow admittance either.
Now what?
When I returned to the front, I considered the car, still gathering dust in the yard.
Frankie’s old car.
Perhaps she hid whatever she held over her former boyfriend in the immobilized car.
But when I approached the car, I could see that it had also been searched. Seats and doors had been ripped apart. The trunk gaped open a crack. I pulled it up all the way to peek inside. The trunk lining had been yanked out and the spare tire removed. I bent to examine the discarded tire on the ground underneath the back end.
Nothing. I straightened and stared at the car. “Might help if I knew what I was looking for.” Not having the slightest idea, I shook my head.
As I studied the trunk, I tried to think like Mary. Where would you hide something, Mary? Someplace Frankie couldn’t find it.
I keep my insurance cards in the glove compartment.
An obvious answer, so why not look there?
I edged toward the passenger side and opened the front door. The glove compartment had already been searched, of course, leaving the door ajar. The compartment looked empty. I leaned in and ran my hand over the surface. Nothing. Now what?
Images of Mary played through my mind: Mary hunched in the back seat of the Jeep; Mary’s silhouette hiding next to me in the clump of trees at Satori; Mary sparkling in triumph after pilfering the uniform for Jesse; Mary picking tufts of stuffing from the overstuffed chair; me hugging Mary’s little body in the woods after she gave her heart to Jesus. So small. Just a child. How I wished I’d never involved her in this mess. If only I could turn back time. I wiped away a tear and sniffled.
Through my blur of tears, a tiny speck sticking out of the lining of the glove compartment caught my eye. It reminded me of the way the stitching sometimes holds a hint of a label after I’ve ripped the rest off. But why would there be a label in a glove compartment?
I picked at it with my fingernail, but it stuck tight to the lining edge. I picked more vigorously until an edge gave way. Then I pulled on the lining. It tore away to reveal a photograph.
“Aha.” I extracted a small picture.
The color photo pictured a group of men in front of the building with the surveillance camera at Satori. I recognized the Kingfisher and the curly-haired man who called himself Bodhi wearing their typical muumuu costumes. A silly turban sat atop Kingfisher’s big head making it look larger than usual. The two men knelt in the foreground with the tall man I’d seen coming out of the office. Their hands rested atop stacks of wooden crates with stenciled labels. Behind them, two rows of men in army fatigues posed with rifles and belts stuffed with ammunition like the soldiers I saw in the compound.
Why would this picture be insurance for Mary? It appeared to be a perfectly ordinary snapshot of Satori leaders. Each sleeve had some kind of patch sewn on, hash marks denoting rank no doubt. I held the picture at arm’s length trying to focus my old eyes on the faces. Something looked peculiar about one of them in the second row. I squinted.
My, what a big nose that soldier has! That nose could only belong to one person I knew. Beneath an army uniform hat, the face of Sam Colter stared back at me.
Faster than I usually drive, I flew to sheriff’s headquarters and sprinted inside. This should be enough to nail Colter for his ties to Satori. Adrenaline powered my resolve to expose him once and for all. My heart pounded in my ears and I knew my blood pressure zoomed near the red zone. Nevertheless, I must persevere in my duty as a citizen.
Even if Colter hadn’t personally killed Mary or Baxter, surely an officer sworn to uphold the law would be prosecuted for involvement with a militant organization practicing weird rituals. Especially since this organization manufactured and sold drugs to finance their operation, and, most damning of all, they had committed murder to protect their interests.
I patted the photo I’d stuck in the pocket of my jeans to ensure I had the evidence I’d need. I couldn’t wait until Detective Rogers got sight of this picture.
The receptionist glanced up while I raced through the waiting area and grabbed the doorknob of the door to the dispatch area. I yanked on it, but the door was locked.
“Miss!” she yelled at my back. “You can’t open that door!”
The receptionist hurried after me. I wheeled to face her. “Then you’d better get Detective Rogers out here fast.”
“I’m sorry, but he’s not available. Perhaps someone else can help you. What is this about?”
Every cell in my body shook. I took a few deep breaths trying to slow the tremors of rage. “I don’t want to talk to anyone else. Get him on the phone and tell him that Christine Sterling has found conclusive proof against one of his officers. He will want to see me right away.”
The receptionist eyed me warily before backing away a few steps as if I might still take off and charge through the locked door. “Will you please take a seat while I call him?” She gestured toward the waiting room seats. “Please. You’ll be much more comfortable.”
I couldn’t sit. I paced a few times while she leaned over her desk to make the call. Keeping her eyes glued to my face, she spoke in hushed tones.
My brusque entrance must have created some kind of breach in protocol because only a few seconds passed before the door burst open and three burly officers with their hands
on their holsters hurried out. They surrounded me, standing close enough that I could smell their mixture of aftershave fragrances.
My shoulders sagged. “I just want to speak with Detective Rogers. I guess I should have been a little calmer about my request.” I raised my hands. “I have no weapon or any way to injure anyone. Could I please speak with him?”
One of the officers spoke. “About what?”
I took a deep breath. “It concerns the deaths of Baxter Dunn and Mary Wilson.”
The deputy extended his hand. “May I examine your purse, Mrs. Sterling?”
“Sure, take it.” I slid the strap off my shoulder. “I have no weapons, and as I said, this is an urgent matter.”
The officer pawed through my purse and apparently didn’t find anything more lethal than my fingernail file. Surprise, surprise. He handed it back with a nod to the other two and they shuffled out without another word. They must have been the committee to assess potential danger.
I glanced at the receptionist now seated behind her desk. “Will you call Detective Rogers now?”
She scratched her head. “I… I’m not sure what to do, to tell you the truth.”
At that instant, the door popped open and Deputy Colter stomped through. His red face and angry expression left little doubt about his frame of mind. He reached me and grabbed my arm. Before I could get a word of protest out, he hauled me through the hall toward the conference cubicles where he shoved me inside and slammed the door.
He spun to confront me, beady eyes glowing like burning coal. “How dare you barge in here like that? Who do think you are?” His voice held the intensity of a scream without the volume.
Between my bout of rage and the race to the conference room, I’d started panting like a woman giving birth. I swallowed, trying to slow down.
Impatient with my gasping, Deputy Colter glared at me. “Well?”
“I wanted to speak with Detective Rogers, but… okay.” I pulled the picture out of my jeans pocket. “Explain this.”
His beady eyes narrowed. “Where d
id you get that?”
“Do you deny being affiliated with this band of desperados?”
He reached for the photo, but wasn’t fast enough. I yanked it out of reach and stuffed it back into my pocket. “No, you don’t. Let me hear your confession before I turn this over to your superiors. You killed Baxter and Mary, didn’t you?”
Lips thinly fixed, he started toward me. “You will not take that to my superiors.”
I sidestepped, but not fast enough.
Colter grabbed my arm in a vise grip and twisted it to my back. In this position, he propelled me from the room. My arm felt as if it had been broken. I could hardly get my breath and didn’t know whether to scream or grab onto something to keep from being forced out in this manner. We moved so quickly that in mere seconds it made no difference.
As we passed through the dispatch area, he lifted his voice extra loud as if he wanted witnesses. “I warned you before, Mrs. Sterling. You must stop snooping into our investigation.”
His actions took me completely by surprise. I sputtered. “But… no…” I tried to resist. But when people get older, their reaction time slows.
While we zipped through the area where his co-workers could see us, he placed his lips close to my ear and whispered, “Just keep moving and do not make a sound. I will not hesitate to shoot you if you resist.”
Just before we rushed out of the reception area, he called over one shoulder. “Sorry for the intrusion. Mrs. Sterling needs to realize she cannot barge in here and make demands. I am going to escort her to her car.”
By then we had reached the outer doors. I tried to grab the sides of the doorway to stop myself from being shoved through, but he was far too strong.
Not until we reached the outer doors shut did I find my voice. “Let go, you’re hurting me. Let go or I will scream!”
He paid no attention but continued stomping through the parking lot, pushing me ahead. Only we didn’t go to the Jeep. We raced directly to his squad car.
I should have screamed while someone could hear me, but the entire time from our exit to our arrival at the patrol car zipped by like a fast-forward movie. What was happening to me barely registered until it was too late to resist.
The Dunn Deal Page 22