Killing Dreams: A Sam Mason Mystery Book 5

by L A Dobbs

  The smell of bark mulch permeated the air, and the sun warmed Sam’s back as he picked his way toward the guy, careful not to disturb the mulch or squash a plant. Sam’s eye was drawn to the machine. This one was a rolling aerator and looked like a walk-behind lawn mower, except instead of cutting grass it propelled spikes down into the earth. It was the type that could make the holes Sam had seen in the tarps. He couldn’t see the spikes from where he stood, but he hoped they’d match the diameter and spacing of those holes.

  “Something wrong, officer?” The man asked.

  “No.” Sam gestured toward the machine. “Just wanted to get a good look.”

  “You need your lawn aerated?”

  Sam laughed. Most times it paid to be friends. As his grandmother always said, you catch more flies with honey than vinegar. “Nah, just looking for something. Mind if I take a look?”

  The man stepped aside. “Not at all.”

  Sam crouched down next to the machine, Jo beside him.

  Sam glanced up at the man. “This job is for Thorne Construction, isn’t it?”

  The man nodded.

  “So this equipment belongs to you or him?” Jo asked as Sam tipped the aerator on its side. The spikes were about two and a half inches long and a little thicker than a pencil. Did that match the size of the holes in the tarp? With the way the tarp had been frayed and ripped, it was hard to tell. But they seemed about the right size to Sam. Bev’s lab had made a plaster mold of the holes from the piece of clay they’d dug out. They could easily prove it matched through that.

  “Belongs to the company. We work for Thorne Construction.” The man crouched beside them. “Is something wrong with it? I don’t know anything about permits or specs. We just do what the company tells us.”

  “Nah, just wanted to get a look at it.” Sam compared the spikes on the machine to what he remembered seeing at the grave site. The spikes seemed to be a bit farther apart. He’d have to call in for someone to measure them to be sure. He turned the cylinder slowly, studying each row of spikes, his hopes waning as he did.

  There were no missing spikes. Whatever had made those holes in tarps in the graves wasn’t this.

  Jo looked at him over the top of her sunglasses, her gray eyes mirroring his disappointment. Another dead end.

  Sam nodded. He put the machine right, dusted off his hands, and stood. “Is this the only aerator you have?”

  The man nodded. “We only have the one. It usually does the trick.”

  “And when it doesn’t?” Jo asked.

  “We borrow one from another company.”

  “What’s the name of that company?” Sam asked.

  “Mervale International.”

  “Somehow I don’t think that getting a look at the Mervale landscaping equipment is going to be as easy as just walking up to the crew and turning a machine on its side,” Jo said once they were back in the Tahoe.

  “Think we need a warrant?” Sam asked.

  “Unless you think Beryl Thorne will be nice enough to just show us whatever we want.”

  “She might, but if she isn’t that might tip her or Thorne off, and they could hide or destroy evidence before we get a chance to look,” Sam said. “Better get a warrant.”

  The police radio under the dash squawked with a blast of static. “Let’s make use of this thing.”

  Sam keyed the mic, “Reese, you there?”

  Static and then, “Yes, chief, 10-4.”

  Sam glanced at Jo. “Um, can you fill out a search warrant form?”

  “10-21.”

  “Huh?”

  “You’re not supposed to ask questions over the police radio, chief. You’ll have to 10-21 that.”

  “What?”

  “Call me on the phone.” Reese sounded exasperated.

  Sam rolled his eyes. “I finally find a use for this thing and I’m not supposed to use it for that?”

  “Sorry, chief. Police protocol. People can listen in, you know.”

  Sam hadn’t thought about that. Guess Reese had a point. “Okay, talk later.”

  “That’s 10-4, chief.”

  Sam hung the mike up. “See? That thing is not useful, just like I said all along.”

  “I’ll call her. Maybe we should talk to Jamison again and have him push it through,” Jo said.

  Jo pulled out her phone, ignoring the fact that there was no text from Bridget. She couldn’t let that steal her attention away from the case right now. She needed to focus. She called Reese and relayed the information they needed on the form and then told her to fax it to Jamison.

  Reese was quick, and the form was on Dottie’s desk by the time Jo and Sam got there. Dottie had already arranged an audience with Jamison, who seemed a bit perturbed to find them in his office again.

  “I just pushed a warrant through for you and it came back to bite me.” Jamison smoothed his blue patterned tie. “And you didn’t find anything?”

  “He might have been tipped off,” Sam said.

  Jo watched Jamison’s reaction. If he was the one who had tipped Thorne, she couldn’t tell by the way he reacted.

  “Judge Freeman will never agree to another warrant against Thorne. Thorne complained loudly about the last one. He made noises about a harassment lawsuit.” Jamison said.

  “This one isn’t against Thorne,” Sam said. “It’s for Mervale International and it’s solid. We’re looking for a machine that can make a series of small holes like those found at the graves. The graves were linked to the cabin and Mervale is also linked to the cabin.”

  Jamison was silent. His eyes moved from Sam to Jo and then back again. Finally, he sighed and leaned back in his chair. “Fine. Judge Moseley is in today. I’ll give him a call.”

  “Thank you.” Sam started toward the door.

  “Better hope this one isn’t a bust,” Jamison yelled after him.

  Jo was skeptical about Jamison’s motives in helping. He’d never seemed helpful before. Then again, he’d been in the shadow of Dupont. Had she misjudged him? But even if he did help, she was also skeptical about Moseley signing the warrant. They probably had a black mark against them from the previous one. But whatever Jamison had told him must have worked because the warrant was coming off the fax machine when Sam and Jo got back to the station. They grabbed it, did a quick about face, and headed right back out to Mervale.

  Chapter Thirty

  Sam went straight to the back of the Mervale International parking lot, slowing as he passed the row of tall Lombardy poplars.

  “I remember seeing some storage sheds back here when we came before.” In the spaces between the trees, Sam saw the sheds. They were a little bigger than a residential tool shed, but looked a heck of a lot sturdier.

  “I guess that’s where they keep their equipment.” Jo tapped the search warrant against her leg. “Let’s go serve this and see what’s inside.”

  The same blonde was behind the reception desk. Her eyes narrowed when she recognized them. “Are you here to see Mrs. Thorne?”

  “No. This time we’d like to talk to the head of maintenance.” At least Sam hoped there was a head of maintenance. Someone had to manage the equipment, and a building this size would need someone to perform maintenance work on the facility.

  “That would be Mr. Blakely. I’ll see if he’s in.” She made the call, and Sam and Jo shuffled around the lobby for a few minutes until a tall, beefy guy in his mid-30s wearing a corporate emblem T-shirt and cargo pants appeared.

  “I’m Jimmy Blakely.” The man extended a calloused hand.

  “Chief Mason. This is Sergeant Jody Harris.”

  They all shook, and the man shifted on his feet. “Is there something wrong?”

  “We’d like to take a look at your landscaping equipment.”

  The man hesitated. “I don’t know. What exactly is this about?”

  Jo handed him the warrant. “Ongoing case. We’re not at liberty to talk about it, but as you can see, we officially have the right to look.”


  “Oh.” He looked down at the paper, and Sam could see he was torn over whether he should call his boss or simply lead them to the sheds. It didn’t really matter much to Sam. The search warrant would get them in eventually. But they could get a look at the machine quicker if Jimmy didn’t involve upper management. Sam hoped he wouldn’t, because he was pretty anxious to find the machine that had made those holes so he could start moving on the case before Thorne did something drastic.

  “Okay, this way.” Jimmy walked to the door, and they followed. Sam’s pulse picked up a notch. They were getting very close to a big break. “We keep it all out back in the storage sheds.”

  At the sheds, Jimmy pulled out a large ring of jangling keys and unlocked the doors.

  “Do you have a lawn aerator?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. It’s in that shed.” Jimmy gestured toward the first shed. “It’s in the back. Let me get this other stuff out.”

  Sam helped him pull out rakes, saw horses, and even one of those heavy-duty riding lawn mowers that commercial landscapers stood on to mow large lawns.

  Finally, Jimmy pulled out the aerator. This one was a little different than the one they’d looked at earlier. It was narrower and looked heavier. Sam tipped it on its side, his hopes plummeting. Instead of the thin spikes, this one had round cylinders. Sam recognized them from some work he’d had done on one of the fancy Victorian homes one of his ex-wives had talked him into buying. The cylinders removed plugs of earth, churning them up and leaving them in the grass like Canada goose droppings. Unfortunately, the plugs were about a half-inch in diameter and three inches in between. They were too big and not spaced properly to be the machine that made the holes in the tarp.

  “Is this the only aerator you have?” Sam asked.

  “Yeah. We don’t need more than one. Hardly use it,” Jimmy said.

  Jo glanced down at the machine. “What’s wrong?”

  “Wrong kind.” Sam chewed his bottom lip. “But you probably had a different aerator before, right? Is this one new?”

  “Nope. Look at the thing.” Jimmy gestured to the mud-caked, rusted machine. “I’ve been here almost 10 years now, and this is the only one we’ve ever had. It still works okay, but like I said, we hardly ever use it.”

  “What’s going on?” Beryl Thorne appeared between two poplars with a confused look on her face. “Chief Mason? What is this about?”

  “We got a lead that links to some landscaping equipment.”

  “One that involves us? I thought you said nothing involves Mervale?”

  “I didn’t say our lead involved Mervale.”

  Beryl made a face. “And yet you’re here.”

  Jimmy cut in, “I’m sorry, Mrs. Thorne. They had a warrant, and I thought I’d better comply. I hope it’s okay.”

  “You did the right thing, Jimmy. Thanks. I’ll take it from here.” She held out her hand for the keyring. “I’ll lock up when we’re done.”

  Jimmy nodded, handed her the keys, and left. Then Beryl turned to Sam. “Just what is going on? If this is about that cabin, I thought it was clear that we didn’t even own that place at the time in question.”

  “Right. Like I said, it’s not Mervale that we have questions about.”

  Beryl crossed her arms over her chest. “Then why are you looking at our equipment?”

  “The guy doing landscaping for Thorne Construction said that sometimes they borrow equipment from you.”

  Beryl’s eyes narrowed. Fear? Suspicion? Or deviousness? “Thorne Construction? Yes, sometimes we lend them equipment. I mean, we do know each other. Is it Thorne Construction that’s under suspicion?”

  Sam made a noncommittal gesture, noticing how Jo was watching Beryl carefully for any signs that she had suspicions about her husband.

  “Is this related to the reason you were at the café? Something about those emails?” Beryl asked.

  “I can’t really give out too much information.” Sam glanced back at the aerator. Damn it. His one lead, and now it was a dead end. Then again, maybe Mervale wasn’t the only place Thorne’s landscaping crew borrowed equipment from. The Thornes themselves had quite a big estate, with a huge lawn to take care of. “Does Thorne Construction ever use landscaping equipment from your home?”

  Beryl’s eyes widened. “Our home? No. Just what are you insinuating?”

  Sam held his hands up in a placating gesture. “I’m just following a lead. We think a piece of equipment is related to the skeletal remains.”

  “And you think that equipment might be at my home?” Her eyes darted from Sam to Jo. Sam almost felt sorry for her. After all, the poor thing was married to Lucas Thorne. And if getting her riled up served to have her give evidence against him later, it would be better for everyone, including her. Even if Thorne wasn’t the killer, he was a drug dealer, and Beryl would be better off without him. “You’re barking up the wrong tree. We don’t have any landscaping equipment like this. We use a service.”

  Damn! It looked as though this really was a dead end.

  “Okay, then. I’ll put all this stuff back in the shed for you.” Sam rolled the aerator in, and Jo grabbed the wheelbarrow. Beryl picked up some rakes and followed them inside.

  “I would like to know exactly what is going on. This is getting close to home, and I have a right to know if it concerns me,” Beryl demanded.

  Sam slid the aerator into place and looked at her. “I can’t really say much as it’s an ongoing case, but I think it is getting close to home for you. If you know anything, or have any suspicions, you should tell us.”

  “What do you mean? I don’t know anything. How could I know something when I don’t even know what you’re talking about?”

  Sam didn’t have to be an expert in human behavior to tell by the way Beryl’s eyes shifted to the left that she did know something. Now if he could only get her to say what it was. He contemplated telling her that Thorne had mutilated cats when he was younger. He figured that wouldn’t sit well with an animal lover like her. But getting a wife to turn on her husband was a delicate balancing act. Sometimes they could become more defensive of their spouses. He needed to bring her along slowly and get her to come to her own realization that it was in her best interest to give them whatever she knew about Thorne.

  Beryl sighed. “If I knew more about what your suspicions were I might remember something or know what to look for.”

  Fishing for information? Was that because she was trying to make sure her husband really was into criminal activity? Or so that she could warn him?

  “Let’s just say there is compelling evidence that what went on at the cabin might link to something at Thorne Construction,” Sam said.

  Beryl blew out a breath, her eyes hardening as if she’d reached some sort of conclusion. Sam hoped that conclusion was that she should turn on her husband. She reached into her pocket, pulled out a card, and handed it to him. “My cell phone number is on here. I understand that you can’t tell me specifics, but I’d appreciate a call if you discover that there’s more you can tell me.”

  Sam accepted the card and put it in his pocket. Beryl turned to leave, then said, “It might be in your best interest to keep me informed because if I knew more I might know how I could help with the case.”

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Back at the station, Lucy and Major must have sensed Sam’s mood. There was no growling or hissing when Lucy tried to pass Major at his usual post atop the filing cabinet to greet Jo and Sam.

  Wyatt looked up from his desk when they entered the squad room. “How did it go?”

  “Dead end.” Sam put his keys on the hook on the wall and went to the coffee machine. “Anyone want a coffee?”

  “I’m good,” Jo said, walking to her desk with the doughnut bag she’d snagged from Reese as they passed the dispatcher.

  “Me too. But I have something that might help.” Wyatt approached Sam with papers in his hand. “When Reese said you were looking at the aerators, I did some r
esearch. I got the specs from the machines and measured the holes in the photos to compare them.” Wyatt pointed to the columns on the paper. “Now, my numbers might be off because I was going by the photograph, and it’s not life size. I have a call into the county lab to see if I can get the exact measurement from that chunk of clay we dug out at the site. This was just something quick I worked up so we could have something to work with right now.”

  The paper was neatly done. The hole sizes and spacing on the tarp were at the top, rows of measurements for the specs of the various machines under them. Sam didn’t like what he saw. “None of these match the holes.”

  Wyatt nodded. I know. “But like I said, the math could be off.”

  “I don’t know if it really matters. We’re out of machines to look at,” Sam said.

  “Maybe we should go back to the drawing board with the holes.” Jo pulled a toasted coconut doughnut from the bag.

  “Did you get any more on those emails?” Sam asked Wyatt.

  Wyatt shook his head.

  “Maybe Holden Joyce got that surveillance set up,” Jo said. “If what Menda said was true, our guy might be gearing up to send an email boasting about his intentions.”

  “Hopefully he’ll do that before he actually kills someone else,” Sam said.

  Major jumped off the filing cabinet, landing with a soft thud. He hopped onto Jo’s desk, peering into the bag.

  “Do cats eat doughnuts?” Jo mumbled with her mouth full.

  Major stuck his face in farther, his whole head disappearing into the bag.

  “Guess so,” Sam said.

  Major shook off the bag, then hopped down, telltale crumbs in his whiskers. Lucy trotted over and sniffed the bag, which had fallen to the floor. Major apparently hadn’t left much, because she went back to her place in the sun after a few sniffs.

  “What about Beryl Thorne? Do you think she knows something?” Sam turned to Jo. “Didn’t you think she was acting a little weird?”

  Jo chewed thoughtfully. “Yep. It seemed like she was. I got the impression she knows something and was deciding whether she should tell us.”