Wounded Badge Vista

by Kieran York

  “May I use your binoculars a minute?” the sheriff asked.”

  “You betcha, Sheriff. Just got the binoculars two Christmases ago. It’s a dandy.”

  Royce took the binoculars and surveyed the truck. She could tell it was fairly new from the back bumper that was just beginning to show. It was not a truck that was being disposed of, rather than taken to the dump. It was being purposely hidden.

  Glancing back, she saw the tow truck moving toward them, along with two patrol vehicles. When deputies rushed to her, she pointed upward. “We can be fairly sure it was driven off from there, or shoved off. Please crime tape where the truck’s probable area of discharge into the water might have been. Wrap that entire top. The truck was undoubted shoved into that sector of the lake. Unless they have a drive-on-water trick. Then also tape all around this lake side area. It will be our platform for lifting the truck out of the lake. Be cautious of disturbing anything that might be of importance to Forensics. They’ll be here momentarily. Let’s try to preserve any evidence.”

  A tap on her elbow, and the voice behind her was familiar. “Remember me,” Terry said with pure steel in her voice. “You’re not supposed to be out without protection, a shadow. Imagine my bewilderment at being told you’d left five minutes before I’d arrived. Sheriff, someone wants to kill you. Don’t you get it?”

  “Deputy,” Royce said with irritation. “A truck had been found. I brought my gun, and I brought Deputy Chance. Now, stand back. We’ve got a crime scene to concentrate on.”

  “It could have been two crimes, if the killer saw you alone.”

  “I said stand back. Look, I’m sorry, but we’re moving on. I won’t make the same mistake again. You’re going to be tired of seeing my uniform ahead of you. So, shadow away.”

  ***

  The first look at the truck appeared as if had been immersed in the lake since it had last been seen. Forensics estimated that the truck indeed had been submerged since its disappearance. Divers had secured hooks and steel cable. Then the truck was hoisted by the huge crane on the shore. As it was lifted, the truck jerked and pulled, and brownish grey water seeped from the opened windows.

  Royce took no pleasure in having been correct about a body inside. It appeared to be Kirk Dillard. Royce had a temporary tent erected when she spotted news teams with their cameras. It might not be enough, but it was all they had available. They could do little more than shield the body being removed from the truck, and onto the tarp inside the canvas shelter.

  One of the responders saw the bloated sallow skin of Dillard. He had the dry heaves. “This is just a kid.”

  As soon as the coroner finished his preliminary findings and had made final notations in his notebook, he took off his eyeglasses, and rubbed his eyes. Then Dr. Ben Prichard pointed down to the back of the corpse’s head. Doc Prichard was still bent over the corpse, “Sheriff, two bullets at the base of the skull. I hate to use the old crime term, but this is classic gangster.”

  “The clothing,” Royce commented sadly, “is the same that his father described. It’s what he last wore. Have we got enough to assume it is Kirk’s body?”

  “We certainly don’t need to go into forensic anthropology to figure the kid is early twenties, male, and has been murdered.” Prichard zipped the bag, and motioned for the coroner’s assistants to put the body on the stretcher-gurney. “As you know, when a body has been immersed for days, it’s a bit more difficult to identify. I’ll call his dentist. That will be a quick confirmation. I’ll text you with the results. Then if the parents want to come in so they can identify him, we’ll set up a time for them.”

  “I’ll go to the Dillard penthouse now. Give them what information I have, and then wait to hear from you. I’d like to have confirmation, but the news sources are flocking in. I’d rather the family hears it from me. I somehow think they’re expecting it.”

  “You’d be surprised, Sheriff. Some relatives just refuse to believe it. What I don’t get is why the killer didn’t just steal a car.”

  “It’s a more convoluted crime than that.” Royce spoke with sorrow. “The killer needed a link. An identity to plan to take out me, and Nick.”

  “I guessed it was an organized crime hit when I saw the bullet entry markings.”

  “I’m not sure if it was organized crime, but I’d agree it was a hired hit.”

  ***

  Terry, Chance, and Royce climbed into the Ford Interceptor. Royce started the ignition as she said, “I wish we had an official homicide report, rather than speculations.”

  “But then they’ll probably complain that they were the last to know.” Terry opened a bottle of water and drank. “This seems to always be a two-sided profession we’ve selected. On one side, it’s damned if you do. On the other, it’s damned if you don’t.”

  “There’s no good way to tell parents. If they want us to accompany them down to the Coroner’s Office, I shall.” Royce’s hand trembled. “No parent should hear this kind of news.”

  “I’m with you, Sheriff.” After a mile, Terry asked, “You must have ticked off some rich organized crime people, right?”

  “Yes. However, I somehow believe this is more personal. Whoever planned this took too much painstaking trouble. And it’s such a small county, community. If it were an organized crime - homicide, they would want more bang for their buck. They’re not going to pull out a copy of The Timber City Times to make it a point. No, I think it’s someone that hates me. And Nick. They just got to Nick first.”

  “Maybe the hitman was the kind of contracted killer that does a two for one special.”

  “Terry, I just want to solve this crime. This pain has been inflicted on us, on our community, and we need to find justice. And I want my own revenge served along the side of justice,” Royce confessed.

  ***

  By the time they reached the penthouse at the Golden Nugget Apartments, they saw a swarm of press vehicles. “Well, that means the parents have been alerted,” Terry’s voice portrayed her disenchantment. “I know we need the press, but I’d like for them to be invited.”

  “That’s their job, but I wasn’t going to a kid’s parents without knowing. The press beat us here because I was pulling the body of a young man out of a lake.”

  When the elevator door opened the women got out. They knocked, and the door flew back immediately. Of course, the parents had been told. But Royce repeated what she knew. “His clothing and the truck were identified. Dental charts are being examined. But I wanted to let you know.”

  Both parents had been sobbing, but Courtney Dillard was in hysterics. “My God, it is Kirk. I know it is.”

  “Would you like me to call a doctor for you, Mrs. Dillard?” Royce questioned.

  “No. Can we see him?”

  “The body is at the Coroners, in the Justice Building, and they do need to officially declare the homicide first. Then they’ll prepare the body for viewing.” Royce put her arm around Courtney’s shoulder. “I know this will be the most difficult thing you’ve had to go through. If there’s any way we can make it easier…”

  “Thank you, Sheriff,” Lyle said. After a gush of tears, he reached for his ex-wife’s arm. “Courtney, I know I wasn’t always around for you, or for Kirk…”

  She pulled away. “Damn certain you weren’t. For either of us.” Her voice had turned brittle.

  He went to the bar and poured her a drink. “Here,” he offered as his hand extended toward her. “This might help.”

  She took two large gulps, and then threw the glass at him. “What would have helped would have been if you helped when he was growing up and I still loved you.”

  The silence was jagged, and it was explosive. Royce thought perhaps they needed time to be alone. And maybe help one another.

  “We can come back,” Royce said. “We can take you to the Courthouse later.”

  Lyle was trying to sound as if he believed that was taking charge. “We’ll have our driver take us. Just call when they’re
ready for us to view the…view Kirk.” A rush of tears flowed. He bent down, shaking. “I did love him.”

  “We’ll get back with you, Sir.”

  Royce and Terry felt the static in the elevator. When they were at ground floor, they looked at one another. The quiet remained until they got back into the vehicle. “That was difficult,” Terry remarked. “There didn’t seem to be any real love left in their relationship.”

  “Thinking about you and Sam?”

  “Maybe I am. Those two people fell in love and now they have nothing. But a divorce.”

  “Not all relationships end without love. It’s a day by day ending for some marriages. Hertha and I went through a difficult patch. In the end, we got back together because there was love. But we’d lost communication before parting.”

  “I don’t think Sam would allow us to lose communication.”

  “No,” Royce said with a smile. “I think Sam would just bring out his Sunshine routine, and the two of you would have a pillow fight, and then forgive one another.”

  Chapter 12

  That morning, Sam drove Terry to Timber City so she could shadow Royce. Then Sam and Royce planned to drop by the Forensics Department. Terry had wanted to stay in the Sheriff’s Department, and get some computer time to search out potential suspects.

  Before the meeting Royce received an urgent call from Mandy Connor. Mandy’s voice was hesitant. “Sheriff, Ron and I were talking and I mentioned that when I pulled back memories of the shooting, something didn’t fit. I’m not sure if it’s my imagination.”

  “Anything you can tell me is important.”

  “When the guy was shooting, the gun looked funny. It took my brain time to catch up to it. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe it was a gun. It was like it was the guy’s hand. Ron said it struck him something was wrong, too. Do gun’s come in colors.”

  Royce was quickly seated and grabbed a note pad. “Maybe a tan gun?”

  “Yes, tan. That would be more like what we saw.”

  “There is a hand pistol that is called Coyote Tan. The complete handgun is Coyote Tan.” Royce pulled information from her memory. The gun she was thinking of was mainly sold through the Army. But was also sold to collectors and civilians as commemorative pieces. It’s a SIG Sauer P320-M17. It’s a 9mm Lugar and it’s called Coyote Tan.”

  “Yes, that’s what we saw. We argued if it was tan or flesh color.”

  “Thank you so much,” Royce said. “You didn’t imagine it; you solved a part of the puzzle.”

  Dr. Ben Prichard, and one of his techs, Stella, invited the Sheriff and the Acting Undersheriff to sit in on his roundtable discussion of the Kirk Dillard homicide. His face was somber. “This case is a doozy,” he muttered. “Crime is getting so scurrilous.”

  “Ben, your case file has grown.”

  “Sure has. But as with all experienced killers, this one is excellent at covering his tracks. Killers are often schooled in prisons. A wealth of tips on how not be captured. Most people’s instincts are not immediately skilled enough to know things like this killer knew. Entomb a corpse in a body of water, and it will destruct the cells quickly. Very little case evidence can be taken from a decomposed body.” Doc Prichard shook his head vigorously. “The killer was aware of that fact.”

  Stella spurted out, “This killer is great at his job.”

  Doc Prichard agreed. “Yes. Although the vehicle would have had the weight to hold it down, there are nature’s mechanics at work. At the bottom of a lake is a wonderful place to hide a truck and a body. However, the car wasn’t there long enough to rust, but the young man’s body had significant decomposition. The killer knew exactly how to select a point in the lake where the overhang would dump it into the deep area. Although this murderer didn’t know that even a heavy object can move with the vast weight of the water. It sunk. But the area where it was located made all the difference. It allowed the truck to shift along on top of the silt at the lake’s bottom. If it hadn’t, we probably wouldn’t have found it. We can’t send divers down in every mountain area lake looking for autos with bodies in them. Hence, they go unnoticed. It might have gone years without being discovered.”

  Sam asked, “Were there any clues at all left?”

  “We got the bullet’s slugs, and some fragment. Same caliper, matching – it was the same gun that shot Nick down. The very same as came from Nick. This guy didn’t keep Kirk’s body around any longer than he had to.”

  The sheriff said, “I just got a call that may help us.” She explained the new evidence of the gun perhaps being a SIG Sauer Coyote Tan 9mm pistol. “I know they’re fairly rare. We don’t have numbers, but I’m thinking it might help somehow.”

  Stella immediately jumped in. “I’ll get the information, and see if the SIG has any trace traits.” She paused. “I’m wondering how the crime went.”

  Royce was speculating. “My best guess. He and his beauty queen, Mimic Maiden, took Kirk away from whatever place they’d planned on meeting for brunch. Kirk was taken prisoner. Captured and contained. Dropped at a secluded place with Mimic Maiden keeping her eyes on him. Mystery man then meets with his prey, someone with a sheriff’s badge. He attempts to kill Nick. Two bikers scream when they hear the shot. Mystery man gets back in Kirk’s truck, and scrams back to where their captive, Kirk, is being secreted. They kept him out of sight. Then the killers take a shackled Kirk to the edge of the cliff, overlooking the lake. They exit the truck, then bind their victim into the driver’s seat with the seatbelts. Next, they execute Kirk, in the truck so that there are no, or minimal, blood traces where the truck went over. And immediately they shove the truck, with body, into the drink.”

  Prichard added, “We did find blood splatter up on the top plate of the cliff. It was obvious that they launched the truck from there. That is ground zero of murder evidence.”

  Royce considered the grizzly scene. They’d indeed put him into the truck. He was killed immediately before he was strapped into the driver’s seat of the truck, or as he sat. They’d bolted him in with the seatbelt. And off the cliff he goes, into a deep end of Woodchuck Lake. The sheriff could only hope that he was unconscious when it was happening.

  Sam guessed, “They take his identification and credit cards. But then Mimic Maiden gets antsy and sees a credit card ripe for the using. Runs to town. Goes into Drop-On Buy, and loads up on beer, groceries, and smokes.” He pauses, “But why would she chance using the credit card?”

  The woman technician, Stella, said, “I’ve been a crime profiler in the past. My guess is that she took the time to smear the license plate, use a disguise, careful not to touch anything, used the edges to toss a clean credit card on the counter. Everything she thought she should. But when the card wasn’t spit back out at the register, her confidence went way up. She even touched the ashtray and gave a DNA sample on the cigarette. She thought she was home free. The evidence would be long gone when the clerk cleaned up in the morning. Naw, I don’t think she needed the money. It was a game to her.”

  “But she doesn’t have a record. That seems incredulous that she isn’t somewhat experience with crime. So why hasn’t Mimic Maiden had a hit on the DNA and fingerprints?” Royce asked.

  Sam suggested, “Maybe like we were saying, she just doesn’t have a record. Maybe she is very green, and has only done some petty crimes. Been very careful. If she’s a prostitute, she might have hit the right johns. Guys that would rather lose their credit cards and cash, rather than have her arrested. In Denver, now sometimes in Crystal, the john simply says he was in a restaurant and someone lifted it. Maybe she hasn’t done time because she’s had beginner’s luck on her side. Now, she’s involved over her well-drawn eyebrows in a Capital crime.”

  Doc Prichard nodded. “Many criminals fly under the radar, and watch for hazards. Some never do get caught. But that admission is bad for our business.”

  “Right,” Royce smiled. “And now they’re in a remote area, allowing time to tick. Then they’ll
surface, and try again. Mystery man would like to take Nick out, because Nick might have seen him, and might be able to identify him. And he would like to kill me to collect his bounty.”

  Stella chuckled. “Doc and I were thinking the same thing. But we didn’t want to appear to be prophesizing it.”

  Royce laughed. She was amused that even the rather stodgy Dr. Prichard was expelling a simpering half laugh.

  ***

  The sheriff solemnly walked back to the Sheriff’s Department. Terry glanced up, “Sheriff, I haven’t found anything of any importance. We did get a dozen photos sent that might be a possible suspect. These guys,” she said as she tossed a packet of photos toward Royce’s desktop, “are releasees from prisons holding inmates that might have a grudge against you.”

  Royce thumbed through them. They all had short hair, and the shooter had slightly longer hair, according to the witnesses, Ron and Mandy Connor. That could have been a wig, since his accomplice showed a penchant for dress-up, and makeup.

  “When Nick becomes conscious, I’m hoping that he saw the face and can identify the killer.” The sheriff rubbed her forehead.

  Terry cocked her head. “Sheriff, Nick was trained to examine the small things, to remember. And he has been doing better. Bev said that he’s still confused and slurring, but definitely improving.”

  “Let’s go to Crystal and see Nick, and then maybe I can speak with one of the doctors and see where we stand. Maybe find out what we can expect. I’m pretty sure there will be rehab, and Denver has one of the best physical rehab hospitals in the nation.”

  “Let’s ride, Sheriff,” Terry stood and made a beeline toward the door. Royce had mentally characterized each of her deputies. She stood when they did. Terry was definitely easily bored with too much office work. And for that reason, Royce assigned her to patrol, where she could change it up a bit. Sam, on the other hand, could stay in the office for centuries at a time, and be perfectly happy feeding information to his computer. He was brilliant at exploration – cyber style.