by L A Dobbs
“And what’s your probable cause for the search warrant?” Holden asked.
Sam couldn’t tell Holden about the cat killing because he would want to know how they had gotten access to sealed records, so he simply said, “Just a hunch.”
“I don’t think you’re gonna be able to get a search warrant on a hunch. I have my doubts about Thorne, but I’m willing to look into any evidence we can get. That said, I think Thorne has friends in high places, and without probable cause you’ll have a hard time getting a warrant.” Major, who had crept to the edge of the filing cabinet while they’d been talking, let out a low growl. Sam glanced in his direction. Apparently, the cat agreed with Holden.
“I think it’s worth a try. Our acting mayor is hot to get this case closed. The election is next year, and if he can close this up quickly it’ll be a notch in his belt that’ll work in his favor.” Sam glanced at Jo. “I think we need to pay a visit and plead our case.”
Holden shrugged and made a face. “Fine by me. In the meantime, we should also focus on other leads that might come to fruition.”
Sam was skeptical at Holden’s change of tune. All of a sudden he was cooperating, and that made Sam suspicious. Then again, maybe what Jo had said was right. Maybe Holden really was just trying to rectify the way he’d acted before so that they could work together and all do their jobs. Either way, Sam would take the cooperation. “We’re doing that too. We got the correspondence sent to Joseph Menda. He thinks the killer could possibly be someone emulating him. Apparently, he gets fan mail.”
Holden Joyce grimaced. “Yeah. Sick, huh?”
“Yep. But if he’s right, maybe we can track that person through some of the mail he’s been getting.” Sam turned to Wyatt, who had been typing at his desk while half listening to the conversation. “Wyatt is looking into it.”
“I’m on it right now,” Wyatt said. “Had to go out on a call early this morning, but I should have something this afternoon.”
“Perfect,” Sam said. “In the meantime, Jo and I will go plead our case to Mayor Jamison.”
The mayor’s office was in the Town Hall, just down the street from the police station. The bright sun had burned off the morning chill, and Jo and Sam walked over. Once they were out in the street, Jo turned to Sam, “Where were you this morning?”
“I went up to the Bearded Owl Sanctuary. Marnie Wilson said Beryl Thorne goes there on Thursday mornings.”
“You think she might be willing to go against her husband? Did you learn anything from her?” Jo didn’t know much about marriage, never having been married herself, but she’d been in law enforcement long enough to witness the horrible things that spouses could do to one another. Still, a lot of them stuck together. She’d worked many domestic abuse cases in which the wives refused to press charges against the husbands, even though they were obviously mistreating them.
“She might,” Sam said. “I got a sense when she came here the other day that she was protective of her family name, and I also got the feeling this morning that she might be starting to wonder about things she’s seen or sensed about her husband.”
“I guess if it turns out he is a serial killer, she’d want him to be in jail instead of hanging around the kitchen.”
“No doubt. Anyway, it’s a long shot, but we’ll take what we can get.” Sam glanced sideways at her. “Anything from your sister yet?”
Jo’s hand instinctively went to the phone in her pocket. “Not yet. She may not even answer.” Jo sighed thinking of all the other times Bridget had seemed to just fade out of existence, especially when her attempts at going sober had failed.
The Town Hall was a brick building, built in the late 1800s. Inside, the lobby floors and walls were shining white marble. The moldings, sculpted in concrete, had fancy leaves at the corners. A line of flags draped from tall posts stood beside the stairway. Gilt-framed paintings of former mayors lined the walls. Jo wasn’t surprised to notice that there wasn’t one of Mayor DuPont.
They took the stairs to the second floor and walked the beige carpeted hallway to the walnut-paneled mayor’s reception area.
Dottie Chambers sat behind her desk, baby blue bifocals perched on her beak-like nose, eyes squinting at the computer screen. Dottie had been a fixture of the mayor’s office since the 1950s, and she guarded the mayor’s time like a mother bear guarding her cubs. Luckily, Sam had known Dottie since he was a little boy. She glanced up at them, her face widening into a smile when she recognized Sam.
“Sammie, you look so grown up.”
Jo smirked at the nickname, but whatever got them in to see the mayor worked for her.
“Nice to see you, Dottie,” Sam said.
Dottie popped up from behind the desk in a movement that belied her age. “I’ll just let Mr. Jamison know you’re here.” She leaned toward Sam as she came around the desk and whispered, “You’re in luck. No one is with him.”
She tapped the thick-panel mahogany door, then opened it a crack and stuck her head in. “Chief Mason is here.”
Silence ensued. Jo pictured Jamison scowling and trying to figure out how to get out of talking to them. She finally heard a resigned, “Send him in.”
Jamison sat behind a walnut desk. The windows behind him provided a bird’s-eye view of the rolling blue mountains in the distance. A stack of papers was piled in front of him, a pen in his hand. He looked disheveled, which aroused Jo’s curiosity because she’d only ever seen him looking like a magazine model. Apparently taking over as acting mayor was much more stressful than being vice mayor.
“I hope you have good news,” Jamison said.
“We may have some leads,” Sam said.
“Good. I’m getting my ass kicked on this. We need to catch this guy.”
Jo glanced at Sam. Jamison seemed almost human, friendly even.
“That’s what I want too, but we may need a warrant,” Sam said.
Jamison shrugged. “Okay. Judge Freeman is in today.”
“We were thinking we might need a little bit of a push from you to help us get it.”
Jamison put his pen down and frowned. “Now, why would you need that?”
“It’s for Thorne Construction.”
Jo wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Probably for Jamison to jump up and flail his arms in outrage as Dupont used to do when they wanted a warrant to investigate anything to do with Thorne Construction. But Jamison sat back thoughtfully, his eyes drilling into Sam’s. “You have probable cause?”
Another surprise. Jo hadn’t realized Jamison actually knew anything about the law, much less the words “probable cause.”
“We’ve linked the cabin with a meth lab, which links to the skeletal remains,” Sam said.
“And because we suspect that Thorne is a drug dealer, that kind of gives us probable cause,” Jo added.
“But you don’t actually have any solid proof that links Thorne to any of these cases, do you?” Jamison asked.
Sam wiggled his hand back and forth. “Depends on what you mean by ‘solid’.”
Jamison scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. “Okay. I guess it’s worth a try.”
He picked up the phone and called Freeman. After a short conversation that involved Jamison reminding Freeman about some Cuban cigars, he turned to them. “Okay. Get your warrant written up. Judge Freeman will sign it.”
Sam didn’t waste any time. He was already halfway out the door shooting a thank-you over his shoulder.
As they spilled out into the street, power walking back to the police station, Jo turned to Sam. “That was weird. He seemed overly cooperative.”
“I know,” Sam said. “First Holden Joyce. Then Henley Jamison. What is the world coming to?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Reese set a record typing up a warrant request, and they faxed it to Judge Freeman. True to his word, he signed. Even Major seemed excited.
Sam ripped the warrant off the printer. “Wyatt, we could use a hand out there.”
/>
“Sounds good.”
Sam was already halfway out the door. “Let’s take two cars. Shake him up a bit. You guys can take the Crown Vic. I’ll take Lucy in the Tahoe.”
Jo tossed the keys to Wyatt. “You drive.”
When they got into the Crown Vic, Sam’s taillights were already disappearing down the street. Wyatt didn’t waste any time. He seemed excited to be included, but not nervous. Jo reminded herself he was a seasoned cop, not a rookie. “So how is the search into the letters going?” she asked.
“Tedious. I mean, there’s a lot to look for, and I’m going over them with a fine-toothed comb. I don’t want to miss something.”
“No doubt. Could be a break in the case.”
Wyatt smiled. “Yeah, and I have some tricks up my sleeve to analyze the data.”
“Really?”
“Let’s just say I have a pretty good background in computer programming. I was a gamer as a kid,” Wyatt said. “So why do you think Jamison was cooperative with this warrant? Sounded to me like he usually blocked things like this.”
Was Wyatt changing the subject? Or did he just think that the details of his computer expertise would bore her? Either way, it was interesting that he’d notice that Jamison usually blocked things. Wyatt was quiet, going about his work without complaining, but he had been paying attention to the goings on at the station. That was a good sign.
“Dupont always blocked them, and it seemed like Jamison was on board with whatever DuPont did. But maybe we were wrong about him.”
“Or, maybe he’s up to something.”
Jo looked at the rolling scenery. Wooded forest, rolling hills, layers of mountains. Wyatt was astute in noticing the undercurrents that were going on, and probably a good judge of character if he thought Jamison was up to something. Then again, he might have been keying off of what he’d heard from Sam and Jo. But what difference did that make? The more she worked with him, the more she could see that he was a good fit with the team.
They rode the rest of the way in silence. She liked how Wyatt didn’t try to engage her in small talk or start a nervous, jittery conversation. He seemed calm, level-headed, all things she liked in a fellow cop. She made a mental note to invite him along to one of her jaunts to Holy Spirits with Sam after the case was over.
The construction site was much the same as Jo remembered from the last time she’d been there, except now the location of the lobby was at the opposite end of the building. Sam was already letting Lucy out of the Tahoe when they pulled in. Lucy looked as if she wanted to run off toward the construction site.
“Stay,” Sam commanded. Lucy looked disappointed, but stayed.
“I don’t want her getting hurt over there,” Sam said.
Thorne must have seen them pull up, because he came storming out of the trailer. “What is this?”
“We’d like to take a look around,” Sam said.
Thorne’s face reddened. “You can’t just come here anytime you want and look around.”
“Got a piece of paper that says I can.” Sam handed Thorne the warrant.
The shade of Thorne’s face deepened as he read the warrant. Wyatt and Jo stood silently watching. Jo used the time to scan the site looking for likely places where they might find rubber tubing, tarps and duct tape. Down in one corner was a big metal shed. She made a mental note not to forget to search inside it. The rest of the site was tidied up. The only things lying around were some metal scaffolding, lumber, and tools. She didn’t see anything that would be used in the manufacture of meth.
Thorne shoved the paper back at Sam. “Fine. But you’re going too far this time, Mason. I’m putting a call into the sheriff or the state police or somebody to let them know how you’re harassing me.”
“Good luck with that.” Sam looked at Wyatt and Jo, and jerked his chin in the direction of the building. “You guys ready?”
Dust kicked up in their wake as they walked the perimeter of the project. Lucy focused her interest in one corner, and Jo wondered if maybe there was an animal buried there. Or, if Thorne really was a serial killer, might it be something worse? Down at the other end construction was in full swing. The sound of pneumatic nail guns and workmen grew louder as they made their way around the building.
When they’d made a full circuit, Jo said, “I don’t see anything here, but what about that shed?” She nodded toward the metal shed.
“Yep, that looks like a likely place,” Sam said.
The shed was unlocked, and the rusty door squeaked as they slid it open. It was about twenty by thirty. It was also hot as a sauna and packed with rows of metal shelving that held building supplies. Larger items leaned against the back wall.
“I’ll take the far end. Jo, you take the middle, and Wyatt, you take the other end,” Sam said.
They split off, and Jo walked slowly down the row, her gaze swiveling from one side to the other. Sweat dripped from under her White Rock Police Department hat. Her disappointment grew as she made her way down the row. There was nothing here but supplies. Nails, screws, brackets, and metal rods.
When she got to the end she looked at the stuff piled up in the back, but didn’t see anything she recognized as familiar from the cabin. Sam and Wyatt soon joined her.
“Anything?” She asked them.
They shook their heads.
“I have a funny feeling about this. Wouldn’t he at least have some duct tape or a few tarps here?” Sam said. “There was a new pallet up at the front that’s shrink-wrapped, but it’s all new and that won’t help us.”
They trudged back to the door to find Thorne leaning against it, arms crossed over his chest and a smirk on his face. “Satisfied?”
“Not really,” Sam said.
Thorne spread his arms. “See? Your trip was a waste of time and your accusations are false. I’m a legitimate businessman. I have nothing to hide.”
Jo glanced back and said, “Especially not when you’ve hidden it somewhere else.”
Thorne shook his head. “Such little faith. But I’m not the one hiding things, right, Chief Mason?”
Jo didn’t miss the look of pure animosity that passed between them. Thorne was referring to the knife he somehow had in his possession. He’d been using it to try to gain leverage over Sam and Mick. Jo wasn’t sure exactly what the story was. She only knew that it had something to do with Sam’s cousin, Gracie, who had been raped many years ago. Maybe Sam and Mick had exacted some revenge? If so, who could blame them? Gracie had been brutalized and her life had been ruined. But as far as she knew, Thorne had nothing to do with what happened to Gracie. He’d gotten the knife from Dupont.
She knew Sam wouldn’t let the threat stop him from prosecuting Thorne. She doubted the threat had much power, anyway, because Sam couldn’t have done anything really bad. He was too good a person.
“I get your drift, Thorne,” Sam said. “Where are your smaller supplies? Hoses, duct tape, that sort of thing?”
“We use that up real quick. I have a new shipment over there.” Thorne pointed to a shrink-wrapped pallet at the beginning of the aisle that Sam had inspected. It wouldn’t help them in this case. They needed to find something that had been lying around for five years. Something they could use to compare with the items found in the cabin.
“I bet you do,” Sam said.
“I don’t know what you’re after, but I haven’t done anything wrong, and now that you didn’t find what you were looking for you can stop harassing me.” Thorne took a step closer to Sam, but Lucy’s low growl had him quickly backing up. “I don’t think you want to find out how it feels to be accused of something.”
The tension grew as Sam and Thorne stared at each other. Then Sam turned and walked back to the Tahoe without another word. Lucy followed, casting one threatening glare back at Thorne. Jo and Wyatt brought up the rear.
“What was that about?” Wyatt asked as they got into the Crown Vic.
“Typical Thorne.” Jo glanced sideways at Wyatt. Would
he press her to find out what Thorne’s threat was about? But to his credit, he didn’t. He simply started the car and drove.
“Maybe that’s why Jamison was so cooperative. He knew he was going to tip Thorne off, anyway,” Wyatt said.
“That could very well be.” Jo settled back into her seat. She liked where Wyatt was coming from, his thought process. But it made her wonder. Was Jamison in on things with Thorne and pretending to play both sides? If so, he might be an even craftier foe than Dupont had been.
It was almost five in the afternoon when they returned to the station. They pulled their chairs in a circle in the squad room. Lucy sat beside Sam, Major skulked around the perimeter of the circle behind them, weaving his way around the back legs of their chairs while casting wary glances at Lucy. He took care to stay far enough away so no one could reach down and pet him. At least he’d come down from his supervisory post atop the filing cabinet.
“You didn’t even find one thing?” Reese glanced behind her at the photos on the cork board. “Not even any remnants of old tarps?”
“No, which is suspicious in itself because you usually find tarps at a construction site,” Sam said.
“Looks like he got rid of things,” Wyatt said.
“So someone tipped him off?” Reese asked.
Sam nodded. “But who?”
“Jamison?” Wyatt asked.
“Or his wife,” Sam said. “Maybe I shouldn’t have dropped so many hints to her. I was hoping we could get her to volunteer some information.”
“I think you did the right thing,” Wyatt said. “I mean, who wants to be married to a serial killer? If you were, you’d think you’d want him put away pretty quick.”
Jo looked into the bakery bag that sat on the corner of her desk. Even the promise of a jelly doughnut didn’t lift her spirits. Good thing, because the bag held only chocolate glazed. Probably for the best. She needed to cut back on her sweets consumption. Wyatt stood and rolled his chair back behind his desk. “We still have those letters from Menda’s disciples. We might find something useful in there.”