Just past Picture Gorge, I picked up enough cell service to be able to call Dr. Hilliard. When he answered, I explained I’d visited Janine Harbaugh while in Bend, that she’d passed along some information I wanted to share with him face-to-face and as soon as possible. He sounded mildly suspicious of my motives for the after-hours conversation, but he agreed to meet me that evening at nine in his office at the hospital.
The station house was oppressive, airless, and empty of other humans when I arrived. Al planned to pick me up there at eight forty-five, so I had about fifteen minutes to scrounge up something to eat. I opened the freezer and found a packaged entrée, albeit a ghastly looking mac-n-cheese, judging by the photo on the box.
I heated up what amounted to both lunch and supper and scarfed it down while checking in with Duncan. He did his best to be cheery when I told him the detective and I were planning to interview someone and I might not be home until ten or ten thirty.
“I’ll be waiting up,” he said. “I’ve missed you today. A lot.”
“I wish I hadn’t had to make that damn trip to Bend, although I did get to spend a few minutes visiting with Janine.”
“Is she doing any better?”
“I think so.”
“Well, that’s the silver lining to the trip, I guess.”
“It is.”
“Speaking of people who are doing better, they sent Dad home already.”
“Wow, earlier than expected. Give him my love, and tell him I’ll stop by for a visit soon.”
“I will. By the way, he and Mom asked about a date for the wedding.”
“We haven’t even been engaged a week yet.”
“They tell me I’m not getting any younger.”
“That’s an astute observation.”
“Yeah, I thought so too. I think it was really meant as a reminder to get the show on the road if we plan to have kids.”
“Ah,” I said, certain he’d nailed it. “Hey, Dun. I just heard Al pull up. Talk to you later.”
I tossed the entrée packaging and the little plastic tray into the trash can, shut off the lights, and climbed inside Bach’s Interceptor. We sped to Blue Mountain Hospital, where we checked in with the night nurse at the front desk. She sent us on back to the director’s office.
Hilliard was again seated at his desk when we arrived at his door and, as planned, surprised to discover that two OSP officers were there to meet with him.
“Dr. Hilliard,” I said. “This is Detective Alan Bach, OSP homicide unit.”
He stood and shook Al’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Detective.”
“Same here, Doctor.”
“I hope this doesn’t mean Ms. Harbaugh has passed away,” Hilliard said and motioned for us to sit as he did the same.
“No, Dr. Hilliard,” Bach began. “But her attacker may have a connection to the recent homicide of an Oregon State Police sergeant whose body was found at the Murderers Creek Guard Station property. His throat had been slit, but I assume you know about that.”
“Of course.”
Al continued. “We have reason to believe the same individual who presented with severe facial lesions at your hospital’s emergent care clinic is somehow involved in the murder, as well as Ms. Harbaugh’s fall from the fire lookout.”
“Suspected severe facial lesions, detective. And as you know, I can’t give his name to you without a judge’s signature.”
“I believe you can,” Al said.
“Without that signature, I need verifiable evidence of either crime.”
I threw out what I was convinced was a red herring. “Robert Cole, Jr.?”
“Who is that?” the good doctor supplied, and it came with a smirk.
I went on. “Let me try another name, someone with AB negative blood.”
Dr. Hilliard did not appreciate being backed into a corner. “As I said…”
I interrupted him. “Dave Shannon.”
He sighed. “As I said, I need verifiable evidence or a judge’s signature.”
The detective stood. “Thank you for your time, Doctor.” He left Hilliard’s office, and I followed behind.
We exited the hospital without speaking, but once we were back inside the Interceptor, Al turned to me. “We’re paying a visit to Mr. Shannon first thing in the morning. I’ll follow you and Hollis in one of your vehicles to his ranch.”
“First thing in the morning means?”
“Seven a.m.”
On the trip back to the office, I phoned Hollis, hoping he was still up.
He answered right away. “Sarge?”
“Detective Bach, you, and I are questioning Dave Shannon in the morning at seven.”
“I’ll meet you at the office just before that.”
“Get a good night’s sleep, Holly.”
“Will do.”
“How long have you known Hollis?” Bach asked after I clicked off.
“Twelve years or so. We were Academy outcasts together.”
“I see. Must be why you use that nickname. Holly.”
“I know it’s frowned on, but he’s my closest friend.”
“It’s not against protocols or even frowned on. But the expectation is that friendship won’t color your judgment. Or his, for that matter.”
“What’s this all about, Al?”
“I know Jeremy Lake recommended Hollis for a promotion to sergeant once just to get your goat.”
“To get my goat?”
“Come on, Maggie. You know Hollis would’ve likely been offered a transfer if he’d been promoted.”
“There’s some possibility he wouldn’t have taken it, though.”
“I suspect Hollis turned down the promotion because of his loyalty to you.”
“He turned it down because he had a newborn at home and wasn’t ready to take on any extra responsibility just then.”
“His child is almost two years old, right?”
“Well, one and a half.”
“Either way, he’s no longer an infant. So why haven’t you recommended Hollis for promotion?”
“You’re right, Al. I should’ve. But I don’t think he’d go for it now.”
“Why in heaven’s name not?”
“Hollis wouldn’t want me to fill in the details, but I can tell you a close family member may be quite ill.”
Bach pulled into the parking lot and put his Interceptor in park. “Does it call for emergency leave?”
“I don’t think the situation is quite there yet. But I promise you I’ll insist he take leave if it comes to that. And whenever the time is right, I’ll put in for his promotion.”
“I’d appreciate you keeping me posted about Hollis’s state of mind. The serious illness of a family member is very distracting, of course, and I wish you’d mentioned it to me before. I wouldn’t have had him join us tomorrow.”
“Al, I suspect police work, these investigations in particular, are about the only thing keeping Hollis sane right now.”
He nodded and trained his eyes on the floorboard. We sat quietly. I figured he was saying a silent prayer on Holly’s behalf.
After a time, he lifted his head. “Good night, Maggie.”
“See you in the morning, Al.”
Duncan was asleep in the daybed where he usually sat to read. The tome he’d been trying to finish, No Respect: Class Wars in America, was open on his lap. In an effort not to wake him, I closed the door carefully and tiptoed to his chair. He breathed softly, his head turned to one side of the chair back.
I loved the man more than anything. And I knew we were lucky to have found one another. I also knew we both would’ve been fine if we hadn’t.
He opened his eyes slowly. “You’re home.”
“Yeah.”
“It’s late.”
“I know, and I’m out of here early in the morning.”
“Does this mean you’re about to crack the case?”
He meant J.T.’s homicide investigation, not Janine’s attempted murder. I ha
dn’t let him know she had been pushed. And unless the staff at Blue Mountain Hospital overheard her revealing that to me and spread the tale far and wide, the only information made available to the general public was that she’d fallen from the fire lookout.
“I hope so.”
“Me too.” He stretched and yawned. “Are you hungry?”
“Nah. I had a few minutes to heat and inhale a frozen entrée.”
“Sounds disgusting.”
“Trust me, it was.”
“There’s some leftover country fried chicken in the fridge.”
“Sounds delish, but let’s go upstairs and go to bed.”
Duncan rose from the armchair and gestured toward the hallway leading to the stairs. “After you, ma’am.”
I woke wondering how I would feel about this job in a year. I’d likely be married by then, and there would definitely be a child in my life. Did I love my career enough to make room for all of that? I was sure I did, but did Duncan love me enough to support my choice to be wife/mother/cop? Yes. As long as it was in that order. But would it always be in that order? I didn’t think so.
I pulled off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed. The slant of light cast above the rim of curtain reminded me that summer was already two-thirds over, and also that I needed to get a move on if I wanted to meet Hollis and Al on time.
“You better get a move on,” Duncan said, his voice hoarse with sleep.
I crawled back under the covers and wrapped an arm around his waist. “I was just thinking that same thing.”
He glanced at the alarm clock. “It’s five thirty.”
“So it is,” I said, stroking his muscled shoulder and chest.
He cupped my naked breasts in his warm, broad hands. “You have time for this?”
“Not if you keep talking.”
Hollis and Al were waiting for me when I pulled into the parking lot shortly after seven. Someone had to be the last to arrive, I told myself. Still, my face pinked up when I opened the door and caught the detective checking his watch and Holly glancing at the schoolhouse clock on the wall.
“Sorry to be late.”
“We forgive you.”
Bach didn’t make many smartass remarks, so I couldn’t help but giggle.
“Let’s go,” he added.
We loaded into the two rigs, and I led us out onto Highway 26 and proceeded west.
“You’re looking perkier than I’ve seen you in a few days,” Hollis said.
“The lethargy and queasiness come and go. I’d give a pinky finger for a full weekend of sleep.”
“So would I.”
“How’s Lil?”
He fiddled with his shirt collar. “Let’s talk offline about it. And not in the office.”
We weren’t in the office, but I got his drift. “It’s a deal.”
We drove a few miles without engaging in one of our habitual ribbing contests, the yellow hillocks shimmering under a late summer sun.
Holly broke the silence. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Hank’s made a request. He’d like Aunt Maybe to come over for supper next weekend and bring Duncan with.”
“He can pronounce Duncan but not Maggie?”
“I’m ad-libbing a bit. Lil added the Duncan part.”
“Well, we might be having dinner with the Taylors next weekend.”
“Mark and Ellie?”
“Yeah.”
“Be sure to behave yourself. Ellie’s smart enough to catch on that you think Mark’s the biggest nerd in the world.”
More like blowhard, but whatever. “I’ll be nice as pie.”
“Don’t do that either. They both know you’re not.”
“Look at you, giving me advice about manners. Anyway, we haven’t set up a time for dinner with Mark and Ellie yet, so let me get back to you.”
We turned onto the gravel parking area next to Dave Shannon’s sheep ranch, or rather, the livestock operation he managed. The man’s battered house stood nearby at the end of a short driveway, on a small hill just off the highway.
A rudimentary road drifted from the side yard of Shannon’s house and down to his pastureland, which filled a dell below us and extended north to the John Day River. A small flock of Suffolk ewes and a couple of rams grazed there, and a few outbuildings dotted the field, including a weathered, sagging barn long past its prime. Next to the barn stood a corral and loading chute. An all-terrain vehicle and an ancient tractor were parked beside a combination garage and toolshed. None of it the picture of prosperity.
“I don’t see the new Ford F-150 anywhere,” Hollis said.
“Nope.”
The detective pulled in behind us and cut the engine on his Interceptor. I shut off my Tahoe, and we all climbed out of the rigs and stood near the shoulder of the highway.
Al gazed at the house. “Shall we proceed to Mr. Shannon’s home?”
“His truck doesn’t appear to be here,” I said.
Bach scanned the property. “Possibly inside one of the outbuildings?”
“Could be, Al. Given the one he had parked right here was stolen.”
He began walking toward the house. Hollis and I followed him up the driveway to the small front stoop.
Bach banged on the door. “Mr. Shannon?” After several beats, he knocked again.
“I’ll check at the back door.” I dashed to the rear of the house. There was no back door to check, and curtains were drawn closed in every window. “Can’t see inside,” I said, returning to the front of the house.
“Mr. Shannon is single?”
I nodded. “As far as I know, anyway. Turns out he’s a bit of an enigma.”
“And a loner,” Holly added.
Al sighed. “We have nothing that a judge would find worthy of a search warrant.”
“What would we be searching for?” Hollis asked.
“My point exactly,” the detective quipped.
“The idea was to drop by for a conversation,” I said. “Ask him if he’d driven the red loaner truck in the Murderers Creek area, find out if he’d been in a wrestling match with a cougar in the last few days.”
“There was something last night with Dr. Hilliard. He seemed on the edge of telling us Shannon was the patient with facial scratches,” Bach speculated.
Apparently, I was in a mood to taunt. “It’s not like you to draw those kind of conclusions without more to go on, Al.”
“I’ve been known to have a hunch every now and then.”
“How often are your hunches correct?”
“I was wrong only once. Early in my detective career. It taught me not to rely on a hunch as evidence but to look for evidence a hunch is correct.”
I didn’t believe for a second he ever acted on a gut feeling, let alone relied on it. That wasn’t the Al Bach I’d come to know.
“Maggie?” A voice behind us called out.
The three of us turned to find Dave Shannon walking up the little hill to his house. Sure enough, he wore a large bandage on one side of his face. But even with the gauze patch, I thought I caught a glimpse of Robbie Cole, but ten years in the future.
22
Morning, August 20
Detective Bach introduced himself to Shannon, and without throwing in the part about being from the homicide unit.
“We’d like to ask you a few questions, if you don’t mind,” Al said.
“Sure. How can I help you?”
“Would you mind if we stepped inside?”
Shannon hesitated. “The place is a real mess.”
“That’s okay, Dave. We’re not here to police your housekeeping,” I said.
“Well, I don’t have enough chairs for all three of you.”
“I don’t mind waiting outside,” Hollis offered. “Would it be possible to take a look at your old Allis-Chalmers? I grew up on a farm, and we had one about that same vintage.”
Again, Shannon had to think about that. “My tractor? Sure, I guess. But it’s not for sale.”
�
�And I’m not in the market for one. Just nostalgic.”
Shannon nodded and stepped to his front door, which had one of those keypad locks. He moved in close, making it impossible to discern the password as he punched it in. The moment the door opened, a waft of rank air rolled forth, the telltale odor of filth, rotting food, and potent weed.
The house opened up to a small living room with two chairs, a tall stool, and a couple of side tables loaded with empty beer cans, overflowing ashtrays, and dirty dishes. I followed Bach, who followed Shannon inside, and he invited us to sit wherever.
I removed a small bong from the stool and placed it on one of the side tables before sitting down. Recreational marijuana had been legal for much of Oregon for a few years, but Grant County had initially opted to ban its sale. Recently legalized throughout the county, I still hadn’t gotten used to walking into a citizen’s domicile and finding pot paraphernalia openly on display.
I didn’t know Shannon at all, except by casual acquaintance or what drifted out of the gossip grinder, which didn’t amount to much more than he seems like a nice enough guy. He minded his own business, and I assumed he paid his bills, and he apparently didn’t have a girlfriend—or a boyfriend, for that matter.
Once we were all seated, I decided to start off in an innocuous vein. “Did you grow up around here, Dave?” I hadn’t gotten around to asking Dorie if that was the case.
He shook his head. “White Salmon, Washington. Across the Columbia from Hood River on the Oregon side.”
“Did your family own a ranch?”
“Nah. It was just me and my ma. She worked at the local grocery store.”
“How’d you end up raising sheep?”
Shannon seemed overly nervous, chewing on his lip before offering up his answers, but maybe he was just the agitated type.
He shrugged. “I was a 4-H kid, raised four or five ewes over the years. Inherited a bit of money years ago from my gramps, so I decided to buy this place and keep a flock for sheering and raising market lambs.”
“And that’s working out okay for you?”
Murderers Creek (Maggie Blackthorne Book 2) Page 20