“Yeah, pretty good, pretty good.”
I knew that was a bit of a lie, but not one implicating him for attempted murder.
“If you don’t mind me asking, son, what happened to the side of your face?” Al asked.
“Dang barbed wire snapped loose when I was tightening up the fence, whipsawed across the right side of my face.”
“Did you mean the left side?” Bach said.
That appeared to shake Shannon. “Yeah, yeah. The left side of my face.”
Barbed wire. He had to be the man who’d shown up in emergent care claiming barbed wire was responsible for his facial lacerations.
“What’d you come by to ask me about?” he asked.
The detective cleared his throat. “Do you know a woman named Janine Harbaugh?”
Shannon paused. “No, sir.”
“Dave,” I broke in. “I told you about her when I called to tell you your stolen vehicle had been totaled. She’s the one who spotted it from the fire lookout.”
“Oh, right. I forgot her name, I guess. But I don’t know her.”
I was beginning to regret starting the conversation off on a friendly note. “Did you ever take that red Ford F-150, the loaner you had for a while, to the Malheur National Forest out around Murderers Creek and Aldrich Mountain?”
“Nah. I like to haul my ATV into the mountains once or twice a week, take a spin in the woods. But it’s been a while since I rode around Murderers Creek.”
I pressed. “When was the last time you took your all-terrain vehicle out for a spin in the woods?”
“Wednesday of last week. I drove out to Desolation Ridge.”
Shannon gave the impression he’d relaxed some. Perhaps he was pleased he’d come up with an alternate location for last Wednesday’s ATV run, either because he’d actually scoped out Desolation Ridge that day or because he’d invented a possible alibi.
“Where’s that?” I knew damn well where it was—on the opposite side of the county from Aldrich Mountain and in a different national forest.
“The easiest way to get there is to go north on Highway 395 a little past the town of Dale, turn right onto Route 10, and follow Desolation Creek about sixteen, seventeen miles.”
“I remember now. There’s a guard station near there, right?”
He nodded. “Desolation Guard Station.”
I kept going. “It’s quite a bit newer than the one out near Murderers Creek, and I think several families live on the grounds.”
“Nah, there’s just a single run-down cabin at Desolation,” Shannon said. “Forest Service rents out the cabin at Murderers Creek but not the one at Desolation.”
“Have you rented it before? The cabin at Murderers Creek?”
“I tried to once, but it was booked up.”
I turned to Al Bach, who had ended up parking himself on a rickety ladder-back chair.
“Well, thank you for your time, Mr. Shannon,” he said and rose to leave.
I did the same. “Thanks, Dave. I’m glad you were able to replace your stolen F-150 so quickly.”
“Yeah, I got lucky.”
“Oh, I have one more question, Mr. Shannon.”
“Yes, sir.”
“After Sergeant Blackthorne took your theft report last Thursday, did you leave your property?”
“You mean the day my truck was stole?”
Bach nodded. “That’s right.”
“Well, I was pretty much stuck here at the ranch since my truck was stole.”
“You could’ve borrowed a vehicle from a friend,” Al suggested.
“I don’t have any friends.”
The detective handed the man his card. “Again, thank you for your time.”
Walking to our SUVs, I glanced back at Shannon. He was sitting on the stoop, staring at Al’s business card.
“Good move, Al.”
“Really? I wish I hadn’t asked him if he left his property the day his truck was stolen. I was trying to get at whether he had an opportunity to drive out to the Murderers Creek cabin and possibly kill Sergeant Lake.”
“Yeah, I got that, and I thought it was a worthwhile line of questioning. But that’s not what I’m referring to. He didn’t know you were from the homicide unit until you handed him your card. I looked back at him just now to gauge his reaction. He seemed pretty horrified.”
“Like I’ve heard you say a few times, ‘Well, that’s something, at least.’”
When we caught up with Hollis, we saw he had laid out a few items on the back seat of my Tahoe—bags containing clumps of dried mud, two paper cups from Nade’s Coffee Den, and the battered handle from a hammer or a mallet.
Eyeing the collection of objects, the detective appeared perplexed. “Where did you find all of this?”
“Took the mud from the ATV’s front fender and found the cups and handle on top of the debris in the burn barrel behind the garage. There’s been a no-burn order in the county for some time, so they were just sitting there waiting to be torched.”
Ironic that a guy who might have murdered someone in our county would also religiously follow its burn ban. Does make it easier to get away with the facade of law-abiding citizen, though.
“So, I get the paper cups—possible fingerprints, and there might be DNA to test.” Al went on. “There could also be prints and DNA on the handle. But the mud?”
“It’s from the ATV,” Hollis repeated.
Bach was clearly in the mood for complete clarity. “You said that. And?”
“The summer’s been tinder dry. Where did he find mud?”
“He regularly takes his all-terrain vehicle out in the mountains,” I said.
“What for?” Holly asked.
“To drive to spots he can’t get to easily with his truck, I guess. He mentioned Desolation Ridge.”
“Where out there would he be driving through mud?”
“He also mentioned Desolation Creek. Maybe he tried to ride its bank, follow it to its source, I don’t know.”
“Sure, he might’ve tried to ride its bank, follow it to its source. And where else
might he have done that?”
I let that sit in my head for a moment. “Shit. Did he use his ATV to stash the tackle box full of heroin at the headwaters of Murderers Creek?”
“Whether he was stashing it or traveling to pick it up, I’m hoping the mud will tell us whether it came from the soil and wet springs that make Murderers Creek what it is.”
“So, Harry gets the handle and cups to ID fingerprints, but he’s not equipped to sample DNA from either. That will require involvement from the Bend lab. But I don’t know where to send the dried mud,” Al put in.
Hollis smiled. “We’ll send one of the cups to the state lab in Bend, but I bet the Forest Service can help us with the soil sample.”
“You know someone there?” I asked.
“I don’t, but I’ll touch base with the local office and check it out.”
“Hollis, no matter what, that’s some pretty good sleuthing,” Al said.
“Yep, the guy’s a pretty smart cookie,” I added.
“Which is why Maggie mentioned to me she plans on recommending you for a promotion.”
“Did she? That’s the first I’ve heard about that. Anyway, I turned it down the first time, and I likely would this time. Too much family stuff right now, and I don’t know if I’m really open to a transfer.”
“Oh, I get that,” Bach said. “But you can still get the promotion, make more money, and stay here as long as you want.”
“Really?” Holly and I asked in unison.
“Yeah. Although state police superintendents have taken a dim view of doing that. Especially in rural areas.”
“That’s what I thought, but I don’t know why they take a dim view of it,” I said.
“Too many sergeants in a small shop can get messy from the perspective of command hierarchy,” Al explained.
I was within a gnat’s eyelash from telling Bach I thought tha
t notion was a crock of shit, but I’d already used that expletive once today, and that was likely one time too many for his sensibilities.
Hollis looked up the little hill toward Shannon’s house. “I think we need to vacate Mr. Shannon’s property before he starts thinking we’re calling for backup.”
Holly and I jumped in the front seats of my Tahoe. Al took off before we did, both rigs heading east, back toward John Day.
“What did you think about the detective’s command hierarchy comment?” Hollis asked.
“You don’t want to know.”
“BS, right?”
“Something like that.”
“Thanks, by the way, for recommending me for promotion.”
“Just say the word and I’ll put in the paperwork.”
“Let’s see how Lil’s surgery goes next week. But I really don’t want to move anytime soon.”
“What the hell?” I braked, pulled to the shoulder, and turned around.
“You said it, what the hell? Where are we going?”
“Laycock Creek Road. We just passed the turnoff on our right. It eventually links up with Forest Road 21.”
“Okay, and…oh, I get it, if you can get to Forest Road 21, you can go just about anywhere you want to in the Aldrich Mountain range and the Murderers Creek area.”
“That’s right. Shannon’s place is only about a mile and a half away from Laycock Creek Road. It’s illegal for him to drive his ATV on a state highway or any road designed for passenger vehicles. But out here, no one would give a damn if somebody used their ATV to tootle a little way down the highway. I bet lots of ranchers do it all the time.”
I turned up Laycock Creek Road, just to get a sense of the lay of the land.
“I’m sure you’re right,” Hollis said. “Don’t tell my boss, but when I’m out on patrol, I usually ignore anyone driving an ATV on the highway. Besides, they tend to pull into the road shoulder if a vehicle pulls up behind them.”
“Don’t tell my boss, but I do the same. Anyway, an all-terrain vehicle might not haul ass like a fancy four-wheel drive, but it would get you practically anywhere you wanted to go in the forest, including the headwaters of Murderers Creek.”
“Well, especially if that’s where you needed to get to, seems like an ATV might be the best mode of transportation.”
In order to turn around and make our way back to Highway 26, I pulled onto a small scarp, let the engine idle, and set the brake. From there, we had a different view of the valley. From this vantage point, the mountains largely loomed behind us, but before us was a great undulating swath of river, alfalfa, cottonwood, and juniper hemmed in by a strip of golden Palouse and burning sky.
“Scenes like this are also why I don’t want a transfer,” Holly put in.
“It’s the main reason I came back.”
“Not the scintillating conversations you can have with your fellow Grant County residents?”
“With the exception of Duncan, Dorie, Lil, and I suppose you, no.”
“Not even memories from your childhood?”
He knew the answer to that question, but I played along. “Hell no.”
My phone vibrated from my pocket. I drew it out. Al Bach. No doubt wondering where we were.
“Hi, Al. Hollis and I were scouting out a possible ATV route to Murderers Creek near Shannon’s house. We’re heading to the station now.”
“Maggie, I have some bad news. Your office manager received a call from the hospital director. I’m sorry, but Ms. Harbaugh didn’t make it.”
“Damn it! She was better yesterday, I swear she was.”
“She passed a blood clot, and that killed her.”
“No, I’m thinking Dave Shannon killed her.”
“Come back to the office, and we’ll talk all of that through. But you sound pretty upset. Maybe Hollis should drive.”
“Al, I promise I won’t use any more profanity when you’re within earshot, but do not ever patronize me again.”
“I’ll work on not patronizing, but I’m positive you’ll manage to slip a cuss word or two into future conversations.”
Whatever, dude. “We’ll see you in fifteen or twenty minutes.”
I clicked off and tossed my phone on the dashboard. “Fuck.”
“Janine?” Holly had heard only my end of the conversation.
I nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“I was sure she was going to make it.”
“Yeah, I know you were.”
“Sometimes this job sucks.”
“Or just life in general sucks on occasion.”
I pulled onto the roadway and booked it back to John Day.
23
Late Morning, August 20
I temporarily sealed the matter of Janine’s passing in that part of my psyche where I often locked away sorrow. Later, after we carted her killer off to the hoosegow, I would be free to remember her life and mourn her death.
In the meantime, I took a last-minute detour on the way back to our cop shop without so much as word of explanation to Hollis. He tossed me a what’s-up? glance.
“I have a question for the town historian,” I said.
“I see. How is Dorie these days?”
“She’s thinking of selling her place. I’m trying to convince her to buy one of the still empty new houses next to Duncan’s.”
“For childcare purposes?”
“What? No.”
“You will need that at some point, unless you plan on quitting your job.”
I parked beside the Castle Thrift Store. “That would take care of the problem of having multiple sergeants in the office, but no, I don’t plan on quitting my job.”
I stepped out of my rig.
“I’ll wait here. Unless you need a witness,” Hollis said.
“This won’t take long.”
Dorie opened the door before I could knock. “I saw you pull up, come on in. Hollis is welcome to come in too.”
I closed the door, and we sat in her small, tchotchke-adorned living room. “I just have a couple of questions for you.”
“Is this an official visit?”
“Kind of. And I have to rely on you keeping it out of the church ladies’ gossip society.”
“Oh, there are lots of secrets I keep to myself. For instance, I noticed the remains of a pregnancy test kit had been deposited in my small dumpster.”
I felt my face turn scarlet. “I haven’t had a chance to tell Duncan. I started to night before last, but then he got the call his dad had a minor heart attack. I want the time to be right, I guess.”
“We’ve already held a couple of prayer circles for his dad.” She took my hand. “I’m very happy about your other news. And I won’t say a word.”
I kissed her soft, worn cheek. “So, what can you tell me about Bob Cole?”
“You mean besides the fact that he works at the Ford dealership.”
“I know he spent a few years at a boys’ reform school when he was a young guy.”
“He was a wild thing, kinda like his kid Robbie. Anyway, Bob supposedly got a girl pregnant before he was sent off to MacLaren School for Boys in Salem. Don’t know who she was, but rumor was her parents placed her in a home for unwed mothers. Something people still occasionally did back then.”
“Back when?”
Dorie silently counted on her fingers. “The child would have been born twenty-eight years ago, if memory serves.”
“Robert, Sr., seems to have left his criminal streak long behind.”
“He’s had a rough life. Robbie, too, I suppose. Bob’s wife took off when his boy was so young. No wonder the kid’s got problems.”
“So, I’m going to ask you another question, but it’s very important that nothing I’m asking you about leaves this room.”
“If you can’t trust me, Maggie, who can you trust?”
I nodded. “What do you know about Dave Shannon?”
“I know he bought that sheep ranch about six years a
go, and I know he’s already gone bankrupt. Know he doesn’t go to church or socialize much.”
“You’ve seen him up close, right?”
Dorie thought about that. “Maybe once or twice at Chester’s Market. Mostly, I see him only in passing. And he’s pretty standoffish.”
“He bears a resemblance to Robbie Cole to me.”
She stared at me for several beats. “Maggie Blackthorne. Now who’s a gossip? You’re inferring that Bob Cole is the father of Dave Shannon, am I right?”
“I’m not inferring anything, I’m just saying he looks an awful lot like Bob Cole’s son.” I checked my watch and stood. “And anyway, I need to get to the office.”
Dorie reached for my hand and squeezed it. “Let’s celebrate your engagement and your other news soon. I’ll bake one of my pies.”
“Sounds fabulous. Especially the pie part.”
Doug Vaughn was holding forth with Sherry Linn, the two of them seemingly cantankerous about a few of our local politicians.
“Good morning, you two,” Sherry Linn said as we entered the office, Hollis carrying his three plastic bags. “What have you got there?”
“Evidence, we hope,” Holly said.
Seeing Vaughn, I recalled he’d referred to himself as an amateur geologist when he brought in the green tackle box last Sunday.
I indicated the bag containing the soil sample. “Doug, you might be able to answer this question. Is it possible to identify where this came from?”
“I’m pretty sure you can narrow it down to possible geographic areas, but I don’t know if you can identify a specific place soil might’ve come from.”
“How about geologically, as in its makeup?” I asked.
Vaughn shrugged. “That could include a broad swath of locations.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate,” Hollis said. “Would the Forest Service have scientists who might be able to at least test a sample?”
“There’s the Oregon Department of Geology and Mineral Industries. They have some connection to the Forest Service, I think, but I’m not totally sure what they do. Bureau of Land Management might be able to test a soil sample.”
“Since BLM no longer has an office here, that would likely take too damn long,” I said.
Murderers Creek (Maggie Blackthorne Book 2) Page 21