Kylie Brant - What the Dead Know (The Mindhunters Book 8)

by Unknown

  Keira stilled. “His mother said he brought his traps and gun with him. He was trapping here?” DNR would require a different permit for each county.

  It took the woman a couple tries to get the cigarette lit. “Yeah. We had some fights because he made such a damn mess cleaning his catch in my garage.”

  “Did he give a name of the man he argued with? A description?”

  “No and no. Some asshole, that’s all he said. Accused Joseph of poaching his traps or something.” She shook her head, sending a strand of hair dangerously close to the ash on the cigarette she was holding. “I don’t know anything about that. Wish I didn’t know about any of this.” She pointed the lit cigarette at Keira, a sheen glistening in her eyes. “Right now I’d give a lot to believe he went home or ran off with some other woman. It’d be better than thinking about him out there somewhere, injured.”

  _______

  They finished interviewing the rest of the employees on site. A suddenly cooperative Sylvie Baxter had provided them with a list of the off-duty staff, complete with their phone numbers. But after all the interviews, Keira and Finn had little more to go on. None of the co-workers seemed to have known the man well. Certainly not well enough to recall someone who’d wished him harm.

  “Trapping gives us a similar angle. Your father was approached outdoors. Maybe Atwood was, too.”

  His words mirrored her thoughts. “The DNA test is a priority.” She needed to be sure about the second victim’s identity before looking for links between him and Danny. The fact that a growing certainty had taken root inside her wasn’t enough.

  But it fit. It fit too well. Keira’s foot pressed more firmly on the accelerator, anxious to get back to Munising. In a sad twist of fate, if it was Atwood who’d been murdered by her dad’s killer, the other man’s death might provide their first real clue.

  _______

  Neither of them went home to change. A feeling of urgency had settled, and Keira knew Finn was experiencing it, too. She dropped him off at the county garage, perhaps lingering a moment too long watching him walk away. Some men were made to wear jeans. Finn Carstens just happened to be one of them.

  She pulled into the courthouse parking lot, which seemed more cramped than usual. The mountains of snow around it grew each time it snowed, encroaching further into the slots. Unfortunately, there was enough room for the dark green Malibu with license plate ALG HRD. Keira gave one fleeting thought to driving out again. Decided she’d have to deal with the Alger Herald reporter at some point.

  After speaking briefly with Cal, she walked straight to the open door of Hank Fallon’s office. His face lit up with an almost desperate gratitude. “Afternoon, Sheriff.”

  Stella Cummings turned her head and, spotting Keira, whirled from her stance at the investigator’s desk to send her a brilliant smile. “Sheriff Saxon. Just the person I was looking for.”

  Hank stood.. “I was explaining to Ms. Cummings why her planned headline in tomorrow’s paper wouldn’t be a good idea.”

  Keira caught the warning in the deputy’s words. “Why don’t you come to my office and tell me about it, Stella.”

  The woman looked shocked at the invitation, as well she should. It had never been tendered before. Quickly she recovered and hurried to follow in Keira’s steps. Cal handed her a few notes for missed phone calls, and she flipped through them as she walked. Reaching the door to her office, she pushed it open and ushered the reporter inside, stealing a glance at the clock. Five minutes, she promised herself. And knew she’d be lucky to get rid of the woman in twice that amount of time.

  Showing Cummings to a seat, Keira hitched a hip on the corner of her desk and tried for a smile. “So. What can I help you with, Stella?” She tried—and failed—to suppress a memory of Phil’s description of the woman. Although unkind, it held a kernel of truth. At least sixty, the reporter’s hair was died to an improbable shade of platinum and worn long and straight to her shoulders. Her eyes beneath her bangs were heavily made up and narrowed at Keira assessingly.

  “You can corroborate a source who told me that this office is investigating your father’s death as a homicide.”

  Keira schooled her features to remain impassive. She’d had plenty of practice. As a detective with CPD she’d faced more than her share of reporters anxious for a new byline in a murder case. “My job isn’t to substantiate rumors you’re following up on, Stella. It sounds to me like you need to check your source.”

  “So you deny it.” The woman dug in her fur-trimmed purse to pull out a pen and small tablet.

  “All I’m prepared to say at this point was included in the press release.” Keira folded her hands in her lap.

  “Your office recently hired an outside consultant.” Pen poised over a fresh page, the reporter waited expectantly. “What was that for?”

  “To provide specialized expertise in a homicide under investigation.” She held up a hand when the woman opened her mouth. “I’m waiting for positive ID on the victim.”

  “And how does that case constitute a conflict of interest for your office?”

  Keira schooled her features to impassivity. The inquiry was expected. They had more questions than answers at this point. She’d require far more information before she was willing to divulge her father’s connection to their investigation. “No comment.”

  Stella’s foundation had settled into the wrinkles creasing her angular face, accentuating them. They doubled when she smiled, which she did now, her red-slicked lips curving slyly. “I heard there was some sort of mobile laboratory taking up space at the county garage. From the picture I saw it was plastered with signs about dangerous chemicals on board.”

  Plastered was an overstatement, Keira noted silently. She recalled one in each window. Irritation filtered through her. Right now Finn and Wilson should have the only two keys to the bay where the lab was located. The picture could have been snapped as it was making its way through town. She gave a mental shrug. It was locked and alarmed, whether Finn was inside it or not.

  “Chemicals mean forensic tests, which would require evidence. That suggests your department has collected items from the scene of a crime. If this case is high profile enough to warrant an outside agent, it’s critical enough to share with the media, especially if it means there is a serious threat.”

  She felt a stir of uneasiness. Balancing citizens’ safety with the privacy necessary on an investigation could be a seesaw of conflicting priorities. There were a few instances when going public about a crime could be advantageous, especially to urge witnesses to come forward. The flip side was creating unnecessary alarm, which usually meant a flood of worthless ‘tips’ being called in, which then had to be checked out.

  With no suspect and no motive, there really was little more to reveal to the woman unless they got a match on Atwood’s DNA. She could keep the real cause of Danny’s death secret, for now, but a positive ID on another victim meant releasing a second statement. She’d wait until that was necessary. “When there’s something to report, you’ll be notified.”

  The woman’s bright red lips thinned. “You’re not going to fob me off with this, sheriff. It can’t be a coincidence that the lab arrived the evening after your house was broken into.”

  “It can’t?” Her brows skimmed upward. “Again, I feel you’re reaching for conclusions where there may not be a logical cause and effect. But for the record, I can’t corroborate your assumption.”

  “Meaning you won’t.” Smoothly the reporter switched tactics. “Was the breakin connected with the rash of burglaries we had last November?”

  “I think that’s doubtful.” She snuck a look at the clock. “Those perpetrators are behind bars.”

  “Do you think you were targeted as an individual, then?”

  Stella was becoming visibly annoyed. Keira stood, deciding to end the meeting while things were still civil. “I can’t say. If there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”

  The reporter didn’t mo
ve. “Can I at least get a reaction on the change of attorney on record for three of the four accused in that drug bust that went down recently?”

  Keira stilled. “I don’t have a reaction because I didn’t know. But that has nothing to do with our office.”

  “I think it does.” Finally, Stella clutched her purse and stood. “Obviously, the three are going to give testimony about the other one. I would think that might have some sort of bearing on the case you’re building.” Her mouth tightened in irritation. “As I told your deputy, if you cannot verify my information about your father’s death, I’ll be forced to rely only on my sources.”

  It was an old interview tactic; veering from subject to subject, waiting until the interviewee lowered his or her guard before striking again on the most sensitive topic. Keira had used it herself in interrogations, with far more success than she was going to give Stella. “We both know you value your paper’s reputation too much to print what is no more than unsubstantiated gossip.” When the woman bristled, she continued calmly. “When we have another publicity release we’ll call you.”

  Temper stiffened the woman’s ramrod figure as she left the Keira’s office and made her way toward the door. She used the intercom on her desk to summon Hank, and the man joined her, humor and relief mingled in his expression. “Gotta say, I’ve never been so glad to see you walk through that door. Talking to that woman is like crawling through a pit of rattlers.”

  “She’s got an interesting style,” Keira agreed. “What all did she have to say?”

  Fallon rubbed his shaven jaw. “Smoke, mostly. But she told me if she didn’t get information from us that her next headline was going to read former sheriff’s death ruled murder.” He shook his head. “I don’t see an upside to showing our cards publicly this early in the game.”

  “Me either.” She hadn’t been flattering the reporter. Stella was justifiably proud of the county paper she put out. “You’re right, that headline was made up to shake you.” If all she had were unsubstantiated supposition, she wouldn’t run it.

  “You think she got this from the meeting minutes?” Hank folded his arms over his chest.

  “No.” Last night she’d read through them. They’d been brief and factual, reporting only that the sheriff’s office was paying for an outside investigator and private funds for the expense would be run through the county budget. “She could have jumped to the same conclusion that Arnie did.” And had she contacted the commissioners, Hassert would be the one most willing to share his opinions with her. Keira gave a mental shrug. She’d known the act of hiring an outside investigator would garner interest. As long as her office remained silent on the matter, it would remain the subject of conjecture. That couldn’t be helped.

  “What do you know about there being a different attorney of record on three of our drug bust suspects?”

  “Burke Landau out of Marquette is going to represent Bielefeld, Chrissy Larson, and Tom Payne.”

  “Landau was Bruce Yembley’s lawyer for his assault trial.” She remembered because the defense attorney had spent a lot of time trying to discredit her dad on the stand. Nor had that been their first meeting. Landau had an aggressive attitude that cast a wide net of blame on others to create reasonable doubt. Law enforcement personnel were often the targets of his attempts at misdirection.

  “Not surprising. He’s considered one of the best on the peninsula.”

  And the cost for his services reflected that reputation. “Outside the money found in the safe in Bielefeld’s shed, I didn’t see anything in his financials that suggests he has the cash for an attorney of Landau’s stature.”

  “I’ve been trailing that.” Fallon leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “He may have dummy accounts under other names. Can’t see that he’d be sharp enough to manage anything overseas, but maybe he has someone smarter doing it for him. Or someone else is financing him. Someone who isn’t helping Abernathy.”

  “Maybe Charlie is thinking about turning evidence against the other three.” If he were, the prosecutor would be the one to determine whether a deal was on the table. And it would hinge on how damning Abernathy’s testimony might turn out to be. “However Bielefeld is paying for his legal services, he’s as to be able to pay for them. He’s hiding money somewhere. Keep me posted.”

  “Ok.” He started toward the door and then faced her again. “Hey, did you know that your dad once beat Bruce Yembley out of the UP marksmanship title?”

  The news was a surprise. She vaguely remembered the trophy from her childhood. It used to sit in her dad’s home office. Keira hadn’t seen it for a long time, and it hadn’t been among his things when she’d gone through them after his death. Danny had given up those sorts of contests a long time ago as unseemly for someone in his position. “I recall the trophy. I wouldn’t have known who he was up against.”

  “Just caught my attention, because Finn asked me to do a thorough check on Yembley and Roger Wilson.” With a wry twist of his lips, Fallon added, “Something tells me Yembley’s history is going to be a whole lot more interesting than Wilson’s.”

  She stared at his retreating back, her earlier unease about the situation returning. While he was checking out those names and others on the list of people who might have a grudge against Danny, Finn would no doubt be delving into Hank’s background for the same reason. With any luck, her deputy would never have to know.

  Next she summoned Mary and Brody, turning on her computer while she waited for the two deputies. When they entered, Brody was trailing the woman, steam rolling off the coffee in the foam cup he carried. “I’m going to fine-tune your assignment a bit,” Keira told them.

  The younger deputy blew on the brew before cautiously taking a sip. “ThinkAtwood’s our guy?”

  “We can’t be sure yet. But I’d say it’s likely. Mary, I want you to concentrate on cases on either side of the peninsula that might have been closed, but the victims were never found. Like that case last year with the ice fisherman.”

  The female deputy looked intrigued. “You think he could have been a victim of this killer, too?”

  “It’s a long shot,” Keira admitted. “But I can recall Dad mentioning some cases on the peninsula where there were people lost and a body was never recovered. Get me all those details, complete with the contact information for each case officer.” When the woman nodded, she switched her attention to Brody. “We’re going to change the focus on the missing person’s compilation. Now I’m interested in cases as far back as seven years. Narrow in on those with notes indicating some sort of outdoor activity as a hobby. Fishing, hiking, hunting, trapping, snowmobiling…anything that might have the individual in an isolated area, possibly alone.”

  Brody’s eyes were alert with interest over the brim of his cup. “I recall a couple where something like that was in the description.”

  “I want an update before you leave for the day.”

  The two nodded. When they’d left, Keira went out and got herself some coffee before sitting down to access the state’s DNR files.

  The Department of Natural Resources had law enforcement duties included in their mission to preserve and protect the state’s natural resources. Incidents that happened on state or federal land would fall under their jurisdiction, regardless of county lines. The list of Alger County fishing license holders had several thousand names. Tourists would be included as well as county residents. She’d bought one herself each year she’d visited in the summer.

  Switching her attention to the register for hunting licenses, she perused it even more carefully, looking for familiar names. The compilation numbered in the thousands, although it was significantly shorter than the one for fishing licenses.

  She didn’t find Joseph Atwood’s name, so she quickly brought up the trapping permits. He was absent from that record, as well.

  Switching to Baraga County, she found Atwood listed as holding hunting, fishing and trapping licenses there. Keira’s knowledge about the regul
ations for each was vague, but she did know that Native Americans enjoyed higher limits for fish and animals caught and trapped than did the general population. She wondered if Atwood’s failure to apply for a license in his new county of residence indicated that he hadn’t expected to live here long. Or maybe he had applications that were pending.

  The stranger Baxter had talked about had accused the man of poaching. If Atwood had ever been caught at that, it would be on the DNR list of violations. That was the next database she turned to. After studying it for several minutes, she could see that Atwood had no infringements for either Alger or Baraga Counties.

  Deciding the coffee had cooled enough, she reached out and brought the cup to her lips, sipping as she returned to Alger County records. Keira paused to take a legal pad and pen out of her drawer to make notes. For the next few hours, in between juggling phone calls and interruptions from staff, she pored over the registers.

  She wasn’t done—not by a long shot—when she dropped the pen on the notepad and leaned back in her chair to rub the heel of her palms against her eyes. Another hour and surely blindness would strike. Keira reached for the cup next to the computer, found it empty. Turning her attention to the notes she’d made, some familiar names leaped off the page at her.

  All of her deputies except for Mary were hunters, and all fished. Hardly surprising, given their surroundings. Only Brody and Hank held trapping permits. Bruce Yembley and Pete Bielefeld had licenses for trapping and fishing. As felons, they couldn’t possess guns for hunting. Two of the commissioners held all three licenses, as did Roger Wilson. She recalled a long ago occasion when one of their awkward conversations had been about fishing.

  Keira scanned the rest of the names, frustration mounting as she did so. There were people on it that would also appear on the list Hank and Phil were checking for those with reason to dislike Danny. She’d need to cross-check them when her deputies were finished with them.

  Somewhere, on one of these records, might be the killer they were tracing.

  Leaning back in the chair, she closed her burning eyes. Her father had been found in a wilderness area, which would have been protected and squarely in DNR territory. But there was no way to know where the second victim had been killed. She reached out a hand toward the phone, letting it hover in the air a moment before withdrawing it. The nearest DNR service center was Marquette and the officers were frequently in the field.