by Lia Farrell
Jocelyn had been in prison for decades. He gave a long sigh of relief. Tomorrow he could begin working on his new goal—getting Jocelyn freed. It was a good beginning, but the atonement for his own crime might not be so easy. He mentally revisited the statute he knew by heart.
Aiding, abetting, accomplice and accessory charges allege that you intentionally helped someone commit a crime. That help can come before, during or after the crime. Examples include covering up for a loved one who you know committed a crime.
Even without checking the statute again, Wayne knew he was guilty. He had helped Jocelyn Outinen cover up a murder. How could he possibly get the deceased Arne Outinen convicted of killing his brother and set Jocelyn free without turning the cold case evidence over to the police? That evidence would send Wayne straight to prison. His phone buzzed and he saw the number of the sheriff’s office.
“Nichols,” he said.
“Wayne, it’s Ben. Nothing has come up in Cam’s search of the databases or from Captain Paula’s staff to ID our vic. Any ideas?”
“I got to thinking about that blood-stained rag and knife Dory found the day of the ASPCA raid. Anything that links the material to the victim?”
“Not yet. The knife had been wiped; no prints showed up. The DNA analysis will take longer. However, since the body was found near the back of Clifton’s property, my guess is that Dory’s find is likely to be the murder weapon.”
“What about Clifton? Has he turned up?”
“No, he’s still in the wind.”
“Do you need my help with this one, Ben?” Wayne asked, hoping on some level that the discovery of a new murder victim would require his services and prevent his ill-boding odyssey. “I finally got a breakthrough, thanks to Mark Schneider, and located my foster mother. She’s in prison at Huron Valley in Michigan. I’m seeing Evangeline Bontemps tomorrow to figure out how to proceed. I thought I’d use some of my personal time, unless you need me.”
“You might as well work on your private stuff at least until we get an ID for our John Doe. I’ll keep you in the loop and if we need help, I’ll ask, but this one looks like a slam dunk. Rob needs a case or two to cut his teeth on.”
“Okay. Call if you change your mind.”
Chapter Ten
January 9th
Mae December
“Mae’s place. How can I help you?” Mae heard her mother answer the business phone when it rang in her kitchen. “Just a moment,” Mama said, and brought the phone to Mae, who was lying on the living-room sofa. She had hoped for a call from Ben with an ID for their John Doe, the poor dead man she had found in the river, but looking at the screen, she saw that the phone number was from an unknown caller.
“Is this Miss December?” A man’s voice asked.
“This is she.”
“This is Larry Gunderson calling from the ASPCA. I got your name from Dory Clarkson with the Sheriff’s office. She said you might be available to foster some puppies from a place we raided. They’re pit bull pups, so we’re having a little trouble finding homes for them. Do you think you could take two or three until we can place them?”
“Was this a dog-fighting operation, Mr. Gunderson?”
“We didn’t find any evidence of that, just a puppy mill that was crowded and dirty. There was definitely animal neglect, probably cruelty, but no dog-fighting as far as we could tell.”
“Good. I’d hesitate to take puppies if they were bred to fight—for the safety of my own dogs.” She did a quick calculation in her head. “I’m only boarding three dogs right now, so I can take three of your puppies. Have they been immunized?”
She heard Gunderson sigh with relief. “Thank you so much, Miss December. We’re working on immunizing the puppies now. Got some kids in from the vet school giving them physical exams and shots. They’ll be ready to go in a few hours. Could you come by and get them today?”
Mae made arrangements to pick up two females and one male in mid-afternoon. Mr. Gunderson thanked her once more before she ended the call. She handed the phone back to Mama, who was narrowing her dark eyes at Mae.
“What?”
“You know what! I’m here to help you, because of your broken wrist, and you just agreed to foster three puppies.” She gave a quick shake of her sleek, dark head. “How are you planning on even getting there to pick them up, let alone taking care of all these dogs with one good hand?”
Mae smiled at her agitated parent. “I guess it’s lucky I’m right-handed, Mama. I can drive myself over there if I have to.”
“Not on pain pills, you can’t!” she exclaimed.
“I’m just taking some ibuprofen,” Mae reassured her. “The other stuff made me feel sick, so I stopped taking it. And since they were able to cast my wrist after the swelling went down, it feels a lot better, really.”
“Well I’m driving you over there anyway,” Suzanne declared. “I need to run a few errands, but I’ll be back in time.”
Tammy rolled in an hour later, looking much better than the last time Mae saw her. They had talked briefly when Mae called her best friend about breaking her wrist and finding a drowning victim in the river, but she didn’t want to discuss anything serious with Tammy today. She looked to be in a wonderful mood, and she had pulled herself together. Her short, silver-blonde hair was clean and fluffy. She wore a gray sweater dress and high, black boots. Her dark eyes sparkled almost as much as the large diamond that adorned the ring on her left hand.
“Ow, that thing just blinded me.” Mae laughed. “I’m going to have to find my dark glasses if you’re going to wear that in here.”
Tammy smirked at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can barely see this tiny little stone.” She waved her left hand in front of Mae’s face and the large, emerald-cut diamond flashed in the light of Mae’s kitchen window. “How’s your wrist? Are you feeling better?”
“Yes, I am. I don’t have to have surgery, thank goodness.” She tilted her head. “And speaking of feeling better, you look a lot perkier than you did the other day. I take it Patrick proposed, and you said yes.”
“Well, it wasn’t really a traditional proposal,” Tammy said, smiling down at her engagement ring. “I couldn’t reach him the other day, so I finally sent a picture to his phone—the pregnancy kit stick with a plus sign.”
“You didn’t! I can’t believe that’s how you broke the news.” Mae shook her head. “C’mon, let’s go sit down in the living room and you can tell me the rest of the story.”
Mae shared the news with her mother on the drive over to the ASPCA office in Nashville. Apparently Patrick, after seeing the picture on his phone, had been quick to react. He had proposed by sending Tammy a selfie. In it, he was down on one knee, holding a handmade sign that said:
The only way I could be happier about you having our baby is if you would PLEASE marry me! What do you say? If yes, meet me at Estate Jewelry on Main St. in an hour.
Tammy had showed Mae the picture on her phone, and told her all about the selection of the ring—a one and a half carat diamond in an antique setting that just happened to fit her perfectly. She had bubbled over about the small ceremony she’d like to have and wanting to do it soon, before her belly got too much bigger. She was determined that her wedding photos show her in the best light possible.
Mae decided not to tell her mother that she had offered to host the ceremony and reception at her house on Valentine’s Day. Tammy had been thrilled at the idea. All of her best friend’s reservations about getting married seemed to have melted away like last week’s snow. Mae had never seen Tammy so happy, and she was determined to give her two friends a wonderful wedding. She thought briefly about Noah, her former fiancé, who had died in a car accident. Noah had been Patrick’s big brother. He would have loved to be the best man at Patrick and Tammy’s wedding. She swallowed a lump in her throat.
Pulling into the parking lot behind the ASPCA building after her thirty-minute drive, Suzanne parked Mae’s Explorer as
close to the door as she could get. The snow might be gone, but it was a brisk thirty-two degree day with a biting wind. They didn’t want the puppies to get chilled. Mae and Suzanne went into the one story brick building that smelled of dog food and disinfectant in equal measure. The sounds of whining and barking were muffled but inescapable in the small reception area, where a young girl with a stud in her nostril and her hair dyed cherry red sat behind a metal desk. She wore earbuds that were plugged into her cellphone and appeared to be watching a movie on her iPad while her own musical selections played in the background.
At the desk, Mae cleared her throat loudly. The girl looked up with a start, quickly pulling out her earbuds. “Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t hear you come in. Can I help you?”
“I’m Mae December,” Mae said. “I told Mr. Gunderson that I’d take three of the pit bull puppies to foster. He said to come this afternoon to pick them up.”
The girl frowned. “Is Mae December like, your real name?”
Mae gave her a bright, insincere smile. She had been asked this question far too often in her life. “Sure is. This is my mother, Suzanne. What’s your name?”
“I’m Francie.”
“All right, Francie, I need you to check and make sure those three pups are ready to go, and help me get them into my vehicle. If there’s any paperwork I need to fill out, I’ll start on that while you check on those puppies.”
Francie sighed and rose to her feet. She rustled around in a file cabinet behind her desk, finally pulling some papers out that she stuck in a clipboard and handed to Mae.
“I don’t have a pen. Just fill those out.”
“I have a pen in my purse,” Suzanne informed the sullen girl.
And that is more than enough of your teenage ’tude. “Could you let Mr. Gunderson know that I’m here?” Mae asked.
Francie opened her mouth to give her a tart reply then must have thought better of it. Instead she nodded and went through the glass doors behind her desk. Mae hoped she’d return with someone who would be a little more helpful. She made brief eye contact with her mother, who shook her head. Sitting in one of the old waiting room chairs, Mae took the pen that Mama had fished out of her purse and began to fill out the required paperwork. It was her first time fostering and she was worried she might fall in love with the puppies before they went to new ‘forever’ homes. She shook her head and reminded herself sternly of the four dogs she already owned.
Several minutes later, Francie returned, carrying a white short-haired puppy with a black eye patch and another one that was pure white. A stocky gray-haired man with a square jawline walked behind her with the third puppy, a black and tan. He nodded at Mae and Suzanne.
“I’m Larry Gunderson, Miss December, Ma’am.” He smiled at Mae’s mother. “If you’ve finished filling out the forms we can get these rascals loaded up.”
“How old do you estimate they are?” Mae asked.
“My guess is about eleven weeks. Did you leave your car running? I wouldn’t want these little guys to get sick on you.”
“I’ll go start the car and let it warm up a little,” Suzanne told him. “Their coats are so short, I don’t want them to freeze.”
“They’re so cute.” Francie smiled down at the puppies she held.
I guess she’s sweeter to animals than people. Suzanne hurried out to the parking lot then came running back inside. “Brrr, I’m already chilled. I cranked the heat up, Mae.”
“Thanks, Mama.”
“Do you want me to carry one of them?” Mae asked Francie. The girl gave a slight nod and handed one of the puppies to Mae. A female, she was tiny and lightweight, with a dark spot covering one ear that masked one of her eyes.
“She’s my favorite,” the girl said.
The puppy looked from Francie back up at Mae.
Mae smiled. “The other little female is so shiny she looks like a pearl. Maybe that’s what I’ll call her. I need to figure out names for the other two.”
Francie and Mr. Gunderson followed Mae out to her Explorer. Suzanne opened the hatch and they put all three pups into the nest of blankets in a crate in the back. Snuggled together, they were adorable.
Mr. Gunderson told her the type of food the puppies were used to and Mae said they’d pick some up on her way home. She shook hands with Mr. Gunderson and thanked him for the good work he was doing in the community. Mae climbed into the passenger seat. Her mother closed the hatch, got into the driver’s seat, and pulled out of the parking lot. Francie gave them a little wave.
On the way back to her house, Mae thought about names for the baby pit bulls. The male, she decided, would be called Guinness, since he was black and tan and Guinness was a dark beer with tan foam. She would call the puppy with the eye patch “True”, since she so fully embodied the breed standard for pit bulls.
Chapter Eleven
January 10th
Dory Clarkson
The date Dory was scheduled to take the deputy test—January tenth—dawned cold and windy. She had offered to delay it because of the murder case, but Ben told her to go ahead. It had been three days since Mae found the body, but until they got an ID on their John Doe, the staff was focused on that task. Deputies George Phelps and Cam Gomez would be tied to the office checking missing person’s reports, hospitals, and the information from nearby police posts in an attempt to pin down their victim’s identity. Detective Rob Fuller was busy tracking down the copper pipe leads that Jacko, Detective Wayne Nichols’ confidential informant, had provided, freeing Dory to take the test.
The ground was still patched with melting snow and the skies were an intense, vibrant blue. Dory took a shower, blew her hair dry, and put on a long-sleeved flannel shirt and jeans. She tied the laces of her low boots tightly. In the mirror, she saw a woman who looked very different from the fashion plate she usually styled herself to be. No jewelry and no makeup. But she was pleased with her appearance. She looked like a serious ‘don’t mess with me’ black woman. She smiled a tiny cat smile at herself in the mirror.
She drove to the local community college and made her way to a large auditorium. In the back of the building were three tables manned by officers. Dory gave her name and received a name tag.
“Do you need my driver’s license?” she asked, figuring if she was going to be tossed out, it might as well be now. Miss Dory was just a tad over the age limit for a woman to become a deputy in Tennessee. Her friend Evangeline, who was an attorney, had assured her that the difference in cut-off age between men and women to qualify was inherently discriminatory.
“If you pass the test, they can’t legally disqualify you based on age alone,” Evangeline had told her. “You’ve worked really hard with that fine looking young trainer of yours. You need to at least try to pass.”
“What’s your name?” an absurdly young man asked her.
“Eudora Clarkson,” she said, reaching to pull her identification from her purse.
“Already got it,” the young man said, looking at the computer. “You preregistered. Just let me take a quick look. Okay, I see it here. If you have trouble hearing the instructions, you can sit toward the front.”
Dory gave him a look that would have felled a tree. “I can hear just fine, young man.” A sense of relief filled her. She was in.
Walking up to the front of the stage, the registration clerk made an announcement.
“Everyone, I need to do a roll call. This is a two-hour timed test with no breaks. If you need to use the facilities, do it now. I’ll give you five minutes. We lock the auditorium while the test is proctored.”
Dory quickly visited the ladies’ room, heaving a sigh of relief that the person at the check-in desk hadn’t asked for her driver’s license.
Back in the auditorium, she waited impatiently while all the candidates’ names were called and everyone was seated. As the proctor passed out test booklets, Dory took a deep breath. What were you thinking, Dory Clarkson? This stuff is hard and you’re no spring chick
en. She took a deep breath and lowered her shoulders, confidence coming back.
“Old, hell. They got no idea what I’m capable of,” she whispered. The man seated next to her gave her a grin.
“I can believe it,” he whispered back, chuckling.
At the end of the two-hour examination, Dory turned in her booklet and was told that she would receive her scores online. A young girl gave her a business card with a private URL, a user name, and a password on it. The information would be confidential.
“Just put this in your browser and your name and score will come up. It’ll take about a week. If you’re ready to take the physical challenge, I can take you out back to the track.”
As the seven men and Dory walked on the remnants of snow behind the school, she reviewed her responses to the questions on the content test in her head. She was pretty confident she had done well. Hell, if George can do it, I certainly can, she told herself, although she was slightly daunted by remembering that George had passed the tests while in his twenties. But I’m smarter than George even on a bad day.
They reached an oval track. At the base of the bleachers stood a guy in a track suit, who started calling out names. Looking at the young men who were stretching and warming up, Dory felt ancient. The man called the candidates up one by one. When he called out, “Eudora Clarkson,” she thought she was going to faint. She managed to walk across the field and was given a list of exercises to perform.
“This test requires a broad jump, sit-ups, push-ups, chin-ups, a dummy drag and a one mile run.” His voice boomed out. “We’re going to do the tests in reverse order. Each of you will do the one mile run first. We’re going to time you, but it’s not about how much time it takes, it’s about your heart rate and blood pressure when you’re done. Ready? I’ll shoot the gun to start.”