Denim Detective

by Adrianne Lee

  “Then why the hell do you look so guilty I’m thinking I should get a judge and a subpoena down here to give me access to your files?”

  Tears filled her eyes, and her haughty demeanor crumbled. “I’ve sunk my last dollar into remodeling this place. I’ve established new contacts, new clients, a sterling new reputation. Word of mouth, gossip, it can make me or break me. I can’t afford to pull up stakes and move again.”

  Beau fell silent, studying the attorney, taking her measure, deciding whether or not to believe her. But he took nothing at face value. T. R. Rudway wasn’t off the hook yet. “Don’t think I won’t check this out.”

  “Please do.” Trembling like leaves in the aftermath of a violent gust, she gave him her former name and the names and numbers of contacts. “But if you do, Sheriff, please, I’m begging you not to make it public knowledge. No one knows better than you and Mrs. Shanahan how brutal the gossip mill in this town can be. I’m just establishing myself, making friends, really feeling as if I’ve come home.”

  Beau rolled his eyes. “Ah, come on. I didn’t just fall off a cabbage truck. You’re about as country as a New York City cab.”

  T.R. waved her hand around the room, indicating the decor, then her own designer suit. “Forget all this. It’s for the benefit of my clientele. At heart, I’m a small-town Montana girl, more comfortable in my blue jeans on a horse than in this suit driving that leased Lexus out front. Please, don’t make me dig up the roots I’ve planted.”

  Deedra felt like the one who’d had the roots of hope yanked from her heart. Disappointment pressed down on her like a black cloud covering the sun. But nothing covered the sun as she and Beau stepped outside. Glaring light dug into her eyes and seared her skin. “I think T.R. is telling the truth.”

  Beau’s response didn’t surprise her. “She did sound sincere. But then, she’s slick. Selling winning arguments is her stock in trade. Give me facts over arguments any day. I’m not taking her word for anything. I just wish I had cause. I’d slap her with a search warrant so fast…”

  “And I think we should look elsewhere.”

  “We’ll look everywhere. But first I’m going to the precinct. I want to make a few phone calls and start the ball rolling on that background check.”

  “Okay.” Deedra felt certain it was a waste of time, but when he was this determined, she knew to get out of his way and let him roll. Besides, he’d feel better with that loose end tied into a neat package.

  They entered the precinct to find Luanne alone. She sat behind the check-in counter, her wire-rimmed glasses shoved to the top of her head as she scanned a Rolling Stone magazine. She slapped the cover shut and pulled her glasses onto the bridge of her nose.

  “Afternoon, Luanne,” Beau said striding toward her. “Has the lab called?”

  “No, but you have a few messages.” She gathered some pink slips stacked near the phone. “Dr. Warren called twice trying to catch you. She wants an appointment, but I wasn’t sure when you’d be free. She’d like you to call her.”

  Luanne glanced sideways at Deedra as if she knew the psychologist’s calls were about her. Deedra’s neck warmed.

  Shaking his head, Beau accepted his messages and scanned through them. He came back to Deedra and squeezed her hand. “I won’t be long. You’ll be okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Beau retreated to his office, shutting the door.

  Deedra felt Luanne’s gaze. She couldn’t blame the woman for feeling leery around her after yesterday. She’d terrified Luanne’s child. Deedra’s behavior could have traumatized Jess. She felt awful about that. She strode to the counter and smiled amiably at Luanne. “I’m sorry about scaring your little girl yesterday. I hope Jess didn’t suffer any nightmares.”

  Luanne seemed surprised at the apology, as if she didn’t come from a world where people acknowledged bad behavior. Her cheeks reddened and a wobbly smile tugged at her mouth. “Jess is fine. As Mama would say, she comes from strong stock.”

  “I’m relieved.” And she was. She hated that she might have upset a child. She couldn’t bear thinking of the trauma Callie must have suffered from the accident and… Deedra stopped herself, scrabbling for a distraction.

  Luanne tugged on her dark curls, and Deedra noticed how pale her skin was, like clear porcelain. The type of skin usually found on natural strawberry blondes. Even her eyes, a pure aqua with golden flecks in the irises seemed more appropriate to someone with fair hair. Had she dyed her hair brown for some reason?

  Luanne settled on a lock of hair, catching it with a finger, twisting it. “Ms. Shanahan, what do you think of Dr. Warren?”

  The question caught Deedra off guard. “I beg your pardon?”

  She twisted the curl tighter, making her finger whiter, and she spoke without taking a breath, spewing thoughts and words in a breathless burst. “Well, I’m going to her for grief counseling for the loss of my best friend, and I know you went to her, too, but after the way you sort of fell apart yesterday, thinking Jess was Callie and all, I just wondered if you felt she was helping you to get better?”

  Deedra blinked, taken aback. She didn’t know whether to be amused or defensive. She decided on cautious. “I’m no longer seeing Dr. Warren.”

  “Really?” Luanne’s eyes widened. “Why not?”

  Okay, edit the earlier thought. Luanne was either extremely guileless or downright snoopy. “I’d rather not go into that.”

  She sighed so hard Deedra realized it was neither lack of guile nor nosiness. But something personal. “Luanne, do you feel she’s helping you?”

  “See, that’s just it, you know?” Luanne grimaced. “Sometimes I come away from my sessions with her more angry than before I went. I know anger is one of the steps of grief, but shouldn’t it start to…what’s that big word? Dis-a-something. Oh, yeah—dissipate at some point?”

  Deedra stepped back, not sure what to say. She was hardly the one to talk to about dissipating anger, since she was full of rage at the moment. She decided the best tactic would be to take the high road but, all good intentions aside, she couldn’t help adding a dash of honesty. “I can’t speak for you and I wouldn’t presume to question Dr. Warren’s treatment for another patient, but her counseling hasn’t changed my situation for the better.”

  Luanne stopped twisting her hair. “Oh, then maybe I should see someone else.”

  “Ah, look, that’s up to you.”

  “Yeah, I know, and changing therapists would mean driving all the way to Butte once a week. What with the price of gas these days, well, it would just be more than I could afford. Besides, my insurance is already paying for Dr. Warren.” A look of resignation controlled her pale, oval face. “And she is the one who does psychological evaluations for the Buffalo Falls P.D., which saves me having to repeat all my secrets to someone else, someone new, you know?”

  “I didn’t know Dr. Warren handled the psychological evaluations for the B.F.P.D. How long has that been the case?”

  “Oh, she just started. Just finished them, I should say. We’ve all been to her now, Nora Lee, Heck, Sheriff Shanahan and me.”

  Beau had been analyzed by Dr. Warren? He hadn’t mentioned it, but then he might not, since it was work related and required by city council. She could only imagine how uncomfortable he had been being dissected by that woman. Dr. Warren hadn’t been a fan of his during Deedra’s sessions, and Deedra had since begun to suspect the psychologist disliked men.

  Luanne intruded on her musings. “She really wants a baby, you know?”

  “Who?”

  “Dr. Warren. Who else are we talking about?”

  “I didn’t think she was married.”

  “You don’t need to be married to have a baby these days.”

  “Who is she dating?”

  “Local gossip says no one.” Luanne leaned closer and lowered her voice. “I heard someone at Granny Jo’s say that no man would want to bed a…a ball-buster like her.”

  Deedra shook her hea
d. “There are always sperm banks.”

  “Yeah, but then, she’s been getting cozy with that new lawyer, Ms. Rudway. Maybe she’s gonna buy herself a kid.”

  Deedra felt the color drain from her face. Her thoughts and suspicions ran back to the lawyer. Had Beau been right about T. R. Rudway being a slick liar? Had Deedra totally misread her? And what about the shrink? Deedra had poured out her heartache over losing Callie to that woman. About Beau’s emotional distancing. Revealed some of her deepest fears. Would Dr. Warren use those secrets against her?

  Had either woman had something to do with Callie’s disappearance? Or was she grasping at any possibility?

  “I really wish you’d help me figure it out.” Luanne cut into her musing.

  “Figure what out?” Deedra had gotten lost in her thoughts and had no clue what Luanne meant.

  “Whether or not I should keep seeing Dr. Warren.”

  “You know, I’m not the only patient of hers you could consult for an opinion on this. Have you asked Nora Lee or Heck what they think of her?”

  “Uh-uh. I didn’t even start to wonder about whether or not she was helping me until you…well, until yesterday.”

  “I’m sorry if I caused you to distrust your therapist. Trust is vital to such a relationship.”

  “It’s just…I’m still so pissed off that my friend was killed.”

  Shock riveted Deedra. “Your best friend was murdered?”

  “No. Yes. Well, some I know say that. But I’m not sure what I believe.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss, Luanne. I know how it hurts to lose someone you love.”

  “Yeah, I guess you do.” Luanne caught her hair again. “Thanks for talking to me about this. But please don’t tell anyone I was asking. I wouldn’t want it to get back to Dr. Warren.”

  “I won’t tell a soul.”

  Luanne rolled her magazine lengthwise and stuffed it into a tote bag on the floor. A pink teddy bear stuck up from the bag, reminding Deedra of Callie’s bunny, reminding her that she still didn’t know where it was. Could it have been held as evidence? If so, it would be stored here, somewhere. “Say, Luanne, I know you were working for Sheriff DeMarco at the time of my accident.”

  “Yes, I was.”

  “Do you know where the records of my case might be?”

  Behind her glasses, her aqua eyes were curious. “Open-case files are kept in the sheriff’s office.”

  “What about cold-case files?”

  “Sheriff DeMarco stored all those in the basement. In boxes. I suppose your case could be there. I mean, they never did figure out who cut your brake line, right?”

  “Right.” Deedra forced herself to keep her tone even. “Do you think we could have a look?”

  Luanne gave an uncertain glance at Beau’s closed door, then studied Deedra. “Why? What are you looking for?”

  “I don’t remember the accident. I’ve been wondering if seeing the crime-scene photographs again might jar some memories loose. Something that might give us a lead to finding out who’s trying to kill me.”

  Uncertainty seemed to drain from Luanne to be replaced by sympathy. “Well, sure. Why not? But I can’t go with you. It’s nearly time for me to head home and give Mama some relief. Jess just plumb wears her ragged some days.”

  “It’s nice that your mother can watch her for you.”

  “Oh, Jess is just one of the kiddies she watches. She and my aunt run a day care.”

  Deedra blanched at the mention of a day care, thinking of Nell and the funeral she would be planning as soon as the Butte police released the body for burial. “Is the day care here in Buffalo Falls?”

  “No. It’s between here and Dillon.” She found a ring of keys from her desk and handed them to Deedra. “It’s the key with the big E painted on it. Your case file should be easy enough to find. The boxes are stacked by the month and year and clearly marked.”

  Deedra bade her goodbye and then hurried into the back of the building. One hallway led to the holding cells. Another hallway led to the bathrooms, an exit and the basement stairwell.

  “DR. WARREN, this is Beau Shanahan. I understand you want to speak to me about something.”

  “I told you that yesterday. I’ve been trying to make an appointment, but Luanne doesn’t seem to know when you’ll be in the office.” Her tone made it clear she disapproved of his not keeping regular office hours.

  “I’ve had pressing business.” He leaned back in his chair. “What do you need?”

  “This is a very delicate matter, and I’d like to speak about it in person.”

  “I’m here now.”

  “Unfortunately, I have a patient coming soon and can’t leave.”

  “Then you’d best spill it now.”

  She hesitated long enough that he thought she might have hung up. “Doctor…?”

  “Yes.” She blew air down the line. “Someone has been rifling my patient files.”

  “You’ve had a break-in?” Beau sat straighter and instinctively reached for a tablet and pencil, ready to take notes.

  “Well, not if you mean someone broke a window or the locks or anything.”

  “Then spell it out.”

  “The tapes of my sessions with one of my patients are missing.”

  Beau knew from his time on her couch that Dr. Warren recorded her counseling sessions. He grimaced, stuffing down the memories. Jed Bartley and his fool notions. He watched too many network cop shows. Jed, Buffalo Falls’ mayor, had insisted the city council pass a law requiring Beau’s whole damned staff to undergo psychological evaluation. Complete waste. They didn’t suffer the kind of burnout stress that warranted concern. “So, no one broke in?”

  “No.”

  He began writing on the tablet. “When did you notice the tapes were missing?”

  “The other day. The day your wife went…had the incident at Dupont’s.”

  He ignored the obvious dig at Deedra. “So, you think it was one of your patients who stole the tapes?”

  “I think it was you.”

  “Me?” His hand froze over the note page. “Have you lost your mind? Why would I steal tapes from you? Nothing that went on in our sessions has me losing sleep at night. You’re free to report it all to the city council.”

  “They weren’t your taped sessions that were stolen. They were Deedra’s.”

  “What?” The pencil snapped beneath his hold.

  “And who else would care what was in them except you?”

  Beau could think of someone, and the thought galvanized him. But what the hell would the killer want with those, except to further torment Deedra?

  DEEDRA STEPPED WITH CARE down the ancient wooden stairs that led to the basement. This building had been one of the first built in town. Parts of its structure dated back to the years when outlaws roamed free and wild. At the bottom, the stairs ended on a wooden landing. Straight ahead a solid door was marked Janitor. Behind the staircase was another door, marked Evidence. The air-conditioning cooling the main floor hadn’t been piped to this area, and heat seemed trapped in the tight space.

  She stepped to the second door and inserted the key, thinking what a joke it was to lock a door when the top portion was glass. Obscured glass, but still breakable. Then again, maybe security wasn’t an issue, given the few serious crimes that occurred annually in Buffalo Falls.

  The door shoved open easily on well-oiled hinges. She switched on the overhead light. The bulb cast a dim glow, doing nearly nothing to eliminate the shadows from the musty space. The room was huge. Eerily quiet. Hot and airless. Sweat trickled down the sides of her face, between her breasts. She left the door wide open.

  Tall metal storage shelves, sharp-edged and spindly, stood against all four walls and formed three rows in the center. To her surprise, the shelves were stacked full of storage boxes dating back to the end of the 1800s. Some of the cardboard containers seemed to be deteriorating. Too bad no one had started putting this information on microfiche or into a co
mputer before the oldest of the case files—some indicative of the very early history of Buffalo Falls—were lost forever. She’d have to speak to Beau about it. Surely this would be a better use of Luanne’s working hours than magazine reading.

  She began searching and found that the oldest files occupied the shelves against the walls. The newer ones would be in the center of the room somewhere. As she moved between the racks, touching this one and that, the shelves creaked and wobbled, making her wonder just how sturdy they were.

  Halfway into the second row, she found the box she sought on a bottom shelf. She squatted and grasped hold of it. Movement in her peripheral vision brought her jerking back. She glanced up and caught sight of a nasty looking spider adding strands to its web. She shuddered and inched away. It was high enough not to worry about it scurrying down to bite her, but where there was one spider, there were likely others.

  She shirked off the thought and tugged the box marked “Shanahan” onto the concrete floor, daubing sweat from her forehead. The lid came off, releasing a musty odor. Atop reams of paperwork, the photograph of the accident scene glared up at her. She stared at the image that was seared into her mind. She hadn’t forgotten one detail of it. Could have drawn it, point for point, though she was not an artist. Her mouth dried, and sweat pooled in the small of her back.

  The Jeep lay against the downed tree. Tipped on its side. Windshield cracked. Child’s safety seat empty.

  The bunny—all six inches of pink fluff with white satin inside its floppy ears—sprawled alone on the dirt road. Not as if it had flown free during the wreck. As though it had been dropped.

  Where was it? She dug to the bottom of the box. No bunny. “It should have been here.”

  Unless Beau…

  A shuffle near the door brought her head up. “Beau?”

  No one answered, and she started to stand. “Is someone there?”