by L A Dobbs
Jo peered inside the bowl at the golden-orange colored goldfish, and he turned toward her. Was the water getting cloudy? Maybe she should spring for the oblong fish tank with the filter that the man at the pet store had said would be better for Finn's longevity. Somehow the tank had seemed like too much of a commitment, but maybe it was time to start thinking about putting down roots here and committing. She'd gotten quite comfortable in White Rock. She liked it here. She liked the people. And she liked her job. The thoughts of moving on that had plagued her when she'd first come had subsided, and now, for the first time in her adult life, she actually thought she'd found a place where she could spend the rest of her life. After all, Sam had been born here, and he hadn't gotten tired of the area yet.
She wondered what it was like, though, to have a close family like Sam and his daughters. She wasn't close with her sister. Any advances she'd made toward helping her had been rebuked. Apparently Bridgett preferred to live in drug-addicted squalor. Should Jo have made more of an effort?
She unscrewed the cap on Finn's yellow plastic flake food container and took out a big flake. She held it just above the water on the top of the bowl. Finn darted up, his lips piercing the top of the water and sucking the flake in as if it were one of Billie's gourmet cheeseburgers. She'd been working on hand-feeding the fish for a few weeks, and now he would come on command. It was a little thing but had created a bond between them, and Jo wondered what other tricks she could teach him. Would he roll over like Lucy?
Of course, having a fish wasn't anything like having a dog. Jo's landlord had been adamant that she not have any animals, so adopting Lucy had been out of the question, and besides, Lucy was clearly Sam's dog. She would have to make do with bonding with Lucy at work like everyone else in the office. Even Kevin had taken to the dog, much to her surprise. He'd seemed reluctant at first, almost as if he were afraid that Dupont would catch them with the dog and he would get in trouble. Tonight, Kevin had even gone out of his way to bring the special treats to her.
Perhaps she had misjudged Kevin. His explanation as to why he'd been at Lago made perfect sense. But the way he offered to help in Tyler's case had set her on edge. He must've caught on to the fact that they were investigating. She'd have to warn Sam to be more careful at work when they talked about it. She still wasn't sure it was a good idea to let anyone else know about their stealth investigatory activities.
She made her way into the bedroom, past her queen-size bed with the powder-blue silk bedspread and over to the white-painted scroll armoire. She flipped up the corner of the rose-decorated rug on which the trunk at the end of her bed sat and picked up the small silver skeleton key then fitted it into the armoire and opened the doors.
The armoire didn't contain clothing, jewelry, or any of the other things that most women kept. This one contained photographs, casework, and paperwork. It wasn't a closet. It was a workstation.
On the right side hung photographs and old papers that had to do with her sister's disappearance. Yellowed newspaper clippings. Handwritten notes she'd taken herself after researching old police files. Her heart twisted as unwanted childhood memories flooded back. Images of her sister, only a child the last time she'd seen her, laughing and smiling flickered through her mind, and then they were gone, replaced with images of her sister's toys sitting unused for over a year. Images of her mother's drawn face as she sank further into depression the longer it went with no news about her sister.
The day her sister had disappeared, Jo hadn't lost just her sister--she'd lost her mother too. Maybe that was why Jo was compelled to find out what really happened. It was like an obsession. She'd thought about asking for Sam's help a dozen times, but this one was hers alone. It was too personal. She didn't want anyone else to know she was looking. Maybe if she found the answer, she could finally stop torturing herself about what had happened to her sister. Had she suffered? Had she been terrified? And the final question... was she dead or alive?
Jo wasn't going to work on her sister's case tonight, though. She opened the left-hand side of the armoire. This one was less populated but with more recent photos. Photos of Tyler lying on the asphalt in front of his car. The inside of his police car. The car pulled over to the side of the road with a flat tire. The ashtray with the partial fingerprint. The dusting of cocaine. All of which had led nowhere.
Maybe this new lead of the large deposit into his account would give them something. She pulled her laptop out of the drawer and got to work.
Chapter Ten
The next day, Sam and Jo headed over to Margie Donnelly's. Sam had called ahead to make sure it was okay. Given Margie's condition, he didn't want to just barge in. Margie hadn't been surprised at the news that they'd positively identified the body. She seemed to have come to terms with the fact it was Mike. Sam guessed when you were facing a death sentence yourself, the mourning of a lost loved one took on a different meaning.
Margie had asked that they bring Lucy. Everyone in town knew about the police dog, and she was very popular. When Sam and Jo arrived, the Donnelly children were there as well. Sam had already done his homework on the family and knew that Brian Donnelly was in his early thirties and Melody in her midthirties. They were both married.
Melody met them at the door. "Chief Mason, nice of you to stop by." She juggled the stack of mail she was carrying into her left hand and held out her right. "I'm Melody Donnelly... Well, my last name's actually Marchand, but you know."
Her handshake was limp, and her eyes were red rimmed from crying.
"I'm sorry about your loss, ma'am. This is Sergeant Jody Harris."
Melody nodded to Jo and ushered them in. She turned to a man that was seated in the living room. "This is my brother, Brian."
They exchanged greetings as Melody put the stack of bills down on the table. Sam's eyes followed it. "I've been taking care of Mom's things for her. She can't handle this anymore, and Dad wasn't any good at it." Melody's voice caught, and Sam gave her a moment to compose herself. "Cancer's expensive, and these bills need to be handled."
Sam's eyes stayed on the bills. Cancer was expensive. And he knew that even if you had good insurance, it didn't always cover everything. Would Mike's life insurance help the family out?
Lucy trotted into the dining room and went straight to Margie, who was seated at the table. She looked even worse than she had the day before. Laid out in front of her was a pile of silver and the flow blue china Sam had seen in the cabinet. Margie's face brightened at the sight of Lucy, and she bent down with effort to pat the dog. Lucy licked her, sniffed the edge of the table, then moved on to the walker that sat beside Margie, apparently finding something interesting to sniff on the bottom. Sam's heart pinched. Margie hadn't had to use a walker when they'd visited the day before. Was she really failing that fast, or had Mike's death hastened it?
"I'm just putting things in order," Margie said. "Don't want to leave the kids with a mess now."
"Listen, Chief," Brian said. "We'd like to make arrangements for my father. We were wondering... about the body."
"Well, that's the thing," Sam said. "We'd like to do a few more tests."
Melody frowned. "Tests? Why would you need to test anything? He shot himself."
"He was shot, yes."
"You mean you think someone else shot him?" Margie asked. "Who the hell would do that?"
"That's what I was gonna ask you. Had Mike tried to kill himself before? Did he have any enemies?"
Brian shot up from his chair. "Of course he never tried to kill himself! And everyone liked him." He gestured toward his mother. "You could see why he would be upset. Haven't we been through enough? Are you going to drag this out now and cause my mother further suffering?"
"We're not going to drag it out. That's the last thing we want," Sam said. "But we have a certain protocol, and certain criteria must be satisfied before we can rule his death a suicide."
Margie struggled to get up from the table. She clutched the walker, her bony knuck
les turning white with the effort to help herself stand.
"You don't have to get up, ma'am," Sam said.
"I need to while I still can. I'm getting a lot worse, but I'm not dead yet. And if something happened to Mike, I want to find out what it was. But like I told you, he was very depressed, and I don't know of anyone that would want to kill him."
"Did he argue or fight with anyone recently?" Sam asked.
Margie snorted. "Just that Lucas Thorne."
Sam's left brow shot up. "They had a fight? What did they fight about?"
"He came sniffing around about selling the land again. Probably heard I was sick and wanted to take advantage."
"He was always asking about that." Brian pointed to the bills on the table. "Maybe Dad should have been thinking about selling, but it's ludicrous to think someone like Thorne would kill my father over the land."
"Probably. But we need to consider every angle," Sam said.
Brian crossed his arms over his chest. "Seems like a waste of taxpayer money."
Sam nodded. "I just want to cover all the bases. I'm sure the medical examiner will be done with his full investigation any day, and we'll be able to clear this all up. I don't want to put you people through any more than you're already going through." He turned to Margie. "Mike wasn't thinking of selling to Thorne, was he?"
Margie leaned on her walker. Her body was frail, but her voice was strong. "No way. He told that bastard that he'd get the farm over his dead body and then sent him packing."
Chapter Eleven
"So what do you think?" Sam asked once he and Jo were in the Tahoe heading back to the police station.
"Hard to say. I realize the family is upset with everything going on, but it seemed to me that the son protested a little too much at us continuing the investigation," Jo said.
Lucy whined from her place in the backseat as if in agreement.
Sam looks at Jo out of the corner of his eye. "Did you get a chance to look into that deposit and Tyler's account?"
"I had to call in a few favors. Since we can't get a subpoena for that information, it has to be done in a different way," Jo said. "I happen to know a few people, and we should have some information soon."
Sometimes it was hard being a cop--everything you did was tracked and recorded. Maybe that wasn't always the best way to serve justice. But with the strange things coming up in Tyler's case, Sam wasn't exactly sure if serving justice was going to end up the way he'd previously thought it would.
Reese was waiting for them anxiously inside the lobby of the police station. The way her sneaker-clad foot was tapping out a rhythm on the marble floor indicated to Sam that she had some interesting news.
Lucy ran straight over to Reese's desk and sniffed at the drawer. Reese opened it and fed her a treat.
"I think we might want to lay off the treats," Sam said. "We don't want her getting fat. I'm feeding her a premium dog food at home. These snacks might not be good for her."
"Kevin brought them in special," Reese said. "We don't give them to her a lot."
"Where is Kevin?" Jo peeked over the post office box divider. "He's not in there."
"He clocked out already," Reese said. "I have good news and bad news."
"Bad news first?" Sam phrased it as a question. He wasn't sure which he wanted first.
"The glasses were washed. Only Mike's fingerprints and some touch DNA that was a partial match."
"That was quick." And inconclusive, Sam thought. Having a partial match meant anyone from Mike's family could have left the DNA, but everyone knew the family used the camp, so there was nothing new there. Even though the drinking glasses were clearly used that night, Sam knew it didn't prove a thing.
"I have friends in high places," Reese said.
"Okay, so what's the good news?" Jo asked.
"John sent this over from the autopsy." She held up a piece of paper and wiggled it in the air.
"What's it say?" Sam asked. Judging by the look on Reese's face, he knew it was something interesting.
Reese handed it over, and Sam looked at it while Reese gave him the abridged version of the technical report.
"There wasn't enough of the fingers left to test for gunshot powder. Mike was right-handed, and that's the hand that the birds worked on the most. He got the partial print from the other hand." Reese grimaced. "Anyway, judging by the trajectory of the bullet, the placement of the gun, and the lack of gunshot powder, John thinks we need more investigation before we rule it a suicide."
An undercurrent of electricity ran through Sam. His gut feeling had been right. Could someone have killed Mike? He looked down at the report. Time of death was fixed at between six fifty and seven twenty that night. "Says here he died around seven p.m."
"At least gives us something to go on." Jo headed toward the K-Cup machine, grabbing her bright-yellow smiley mug and shoving it under the spout. "First order of business, find out where our favorite suspects were around seven p.m."
"The only people that could get into the logging road are people that have the key for that gate. That being Mike's family and the others that have camps up that road." Sam wondered if Thorne could've gotten the gate key somehow. He had contacts and knew people in high--and low--places. Sam wouldn't put it past him to have bribed someone at the logging company to give him keys to all the logging roads for his nefarious drug-dealing activities. The mountain trails in there would be perfect for transporting all over the county.
"Only the Ritchies have a cabin on Logging Road Number Four. The rest of the land is empty," Reese said.
Jo pulled her mug out from under the spout of the machine then turned to look at Sam over her shoulder. "Coffee?"
"Yeah. Thanks. Looks like we need to go interview the neighbors and back to the family again. They could have a motive if Mike's life insurance was going to pay out. Margie had a lot of medical bills, and Mike wouldn't sell the farm to pay for them. Maybe the kids didn't want to get dragged down by that. Guess we better make these coffees to go."
"Not so fast, Chief," Reese said and then at Sam's confused look added, "Remember how you asked me to call in some of those candidates for the job opening?"
"Uh-huh." Sam had forgotten.
Reese thrust her chin toward the front door. "Well, one of them is coming in for his interview right now."
Chapter Twelve
Sam spent an hour interviewing Gary Newport. He sat him in the chair with the shorter leg that they normally put suspects in to throw them off balance. Sam thought it might work just as well for seeing how job applicants reacted to having the added stress of a wobbly chair.
Gary, who was in his midthirties, seemed competent enough. He had the right things on his resume, but Sam just couldn't get excited about him. He needed more than some bullet points on a resume and a good education. He needed to get a feeling about the person. But with Dupont on his case about filling the job, Sam didn't have all summer to wait for the perfect candidate. Maybe the perfect one would never come along.
After the interview, Sam grabbed a ring of keys out of his middle drawer. He'd almost forgotten that he'd been given the keys to the logging roads when he'd taken the job. He'd never had to use them before, and he really didn't need to use them now either because Reese had called the Ritchies to let them know they were on their way, and they'd opened the gate for him. He brought them along just in case.
The Ritchies' camp was just like the Donnellys', cobbled together with bits and pieces. It was nothing fancy, but it served its purpose. Nancy put out coffee, and they all sat around the kitchen table as if it were a social visit.
"So what is it you want to know, Chief?" Nancy asked. "Surely you're not going to arrest Bullwinkle."
Sam smiled. "Bullwinkle had nothing to do with it. Mike was shot. Bullwinkle must've been spooked by something, and that's why he ran by your place so fast."
Nancy's hand flew up to her heart, and her mouth gaped open. "Shot? By whom?"
"That's what we need
to find out." Jo leaned her elbows on the table. "Have you seen anyone at the camp? Maybe a car that didn't belong?"
Bill shook his head. "Only ever saw one of the Donnellys' cars here. The truck and the brown Ford. The kids didn't bother with the camp too much, so it was mostly Mike's truck."
Nancy pressed her lips together. "Of course, our camp is beyond theirs, so anyone visiting their camp wouldn't have driven by here. We try to bring all our supplies in so we don't have to go into town, and we don't leave much once we get here. So it's possible another car was there. We wouldn't have seen it."
"Did you hear anything unusual that night? Gunshots or yelling?" Sam asked.
Nancy shook her head. "No... Oh wait! That was the night we heard those darn ATVs. It used to be so quiet up here. That's what we loved about it, but lately there's been kids on those ATVs, and in the winter, the snowmobile noise makes quite a ruckus."
Bill nodded his head in agreement. "That's why we didn't hear the gunshot. Those kids aren't just joyriding on ATVs. I think they're out poaching deer and God knows what else."
Sam frowned. In his book, poaching was as big a crime as murder. Hunting seasons were in place so that the population of wildlife remained healthy. He hated it when people ignored that. "So you did hear gunshots?"
"Rifles. Is that what Mike was shot with?"
Sam shook his head. "No, but with all that noise going on, you probably wouldn't notice another gun. Do you think the ATVs were at the Donnelly property?"
Nancy shrugged. "Hard to tell. The noise did come from that direction, but if you want to know for sure, why don't you ask that Jesse Cowly? He's one of the kids that rides on them."