If it’s wrong for me to be his friend, Lord, why does it feel right? Even with all the reasons making it seem like a bad idea, I still feel like I have to do it. Are You drawing me to him, or am I letting other things control me? I’m asking now for your guidance. Please use me to help him come to grips with the pain he’s suffering and ease the doubt he’s feeling about you. If that’s all I can do for him, that’s enough. Amen.
Chapter 28
Hardy and Matt Ashford paused at the front door of the police station. “You’d really rather take pictures of dead animals than drive a truck?” Matt still seemed surprised by the answer Hardy gave him over an early dinner.
“I told you, I’m not cut out for sitting in one place.” No matter how much Hardy liked Matt, he couldn’t share what he was really doing. As much for his friend’s safety as his own.
Matt shook his head. “Better you than me, son.” He gave a small salute. “Got to get back on the road. I still have a long way to go before I call it a night.”
“See you later, Matt.” Hardy watched a moment as the other man walked down the sidewalk to where he’d parked his semi-truck, before turning and heading into the police station.
He walked back to the dispatch area, where a man way too dressed up for a visit to a police station stood talking to the woman behind the counter.
“I’m Beau Harding,” he told the dispatcher with Crystal on her badge.”Sheriff Landon is expecting me.”
Mitch appeared before she could respond.
“Hey, Millan,” Mitch addressed the other man before turning his attention to Hardy. “Come on back. We’re all set up and ready for you to get started.”
Hardy followed the sheriff down the hall to the room in which he’d been “talked to,” which was now set up as a conference room. He sat on the chair Mitch indicated.
Hardy looked at the other men sitting around the room. Other than the sheriff standing at the corkboard, the tall, black man who had brought Hardy in was leaned back in a chair, nursing a bottle of lemonade. Hardy remembered his name was Wayne Daniels. The other four sat at attention, waiting for Mitch to begin their Saturday afternoon meeting.
“Men, this is Beau Harding.” Mitch gestured toward him. “Hardy, I think you remember Wayne.” The black man nodded amiably. “And the man sitting next to him is Jeff Fielding.” The man with coal black hair, probably about Hardy’s age, casually saluted. “And the young man sitting there writing down every word I say is Hank Stone.” The young, red-haired deputy’s face flushed as he looked up from the pad of paper he was industriously writing on, to smile at Hardy. “The duo sitting in the back are Tom Winkler and Jerry Young, our very own Tom and Jerry.” The men, who reminded Hardy of people he couldn’t quite place, nodded.
“You men will have to trust me when I tell you Mr. Harding is highly qualified to work on cases like the ones we’re dealing with in Shadow right now. He’s been kind enough,” Mitch looked pointedly at Hardy, “to agree to act as a consultant. For reasons I can’t go into, the depth of his involvement stays in this office. His name stays out of the paper.”
“So, he’s going to look at case files and tell us who’s doing it?” Deputy Fielding looked less than impressed. “If he’s like that FSA profiler, why don’t we just ask him for help instead of this guy?”
“He’s not a profiler, Jeff.” Mitch’s tone of voice was enough to cause the deputy to squirm in his seat. “He’ll be on site with us. I’m giving him a gun. For all intents and purposes, he’s a deputy acting as a consultant. We’re just not letting the public know.”
Wayne set his soda on his leg. “Won’t people wonder why he’s at crime scenes with us?”
“You can thank my fiancée for this one.” Mitch appeared to be pleased with whatever Tessa had come up with. “Beau Harding is now our official crime scene photographer.”
Wayne sputtered on the swallow of lemonade he’d just taken. “I’m sorry, Mitch, but we have a total of six…seven, if you count him, on staff, and you expect people to be okay with one of us doing nothing but take pictures?”
“I’ll handle any flak we take,” Mitch assured his deputy. “And just so all of you know, Harding is the man who linked the crimes together for me. You all asked me how I figured it out. Well, I didn’t. He did.”
The attitude of the deputies changed immediately. Hardy could now see a mixture of respect and admiration on their faces.
“So, let’s bring Harding up to speed. Hank, dig into your notes and tell us about our witness.”
Hardy wasn’t aware there had been any witnesses, so his interest immediately heightened as the young man stood and walked to the board.
“Hilda Crowe, eighty-seven, lives alone on River Junction Road. The back of her house faces the back of the animal clinic. With the corn down in the field between the two buildings, it’s a clear view of sight between them—both ways. She says on the night in question, she observed our perpetrators.”
“In their spaceship,” Tom dryly observed.
Hank’s face colored. “In a blue vehicle. I believe she saw a dark blue panel van, like the one seen at one of our other crimes. She kept saying one of the men was important, which I finally figured out meant he was wearing a uniform.”
“A police officer?” Hardy hoped not. Bad cops were worse than the lowest criminals in his book.
Hank shook his head. “She waved me off when I showed her photos of ours and the state uniforms and claimed it was something different.
Hardy mentally filed that information away to consider later. “How many people did she see?”
“Three, and she was certain they were all men.”
“Okay. So, the blue vehicle further supports our premise it’s the same perpetrators in all three of those crimes.” Mitch looked at Hardy as though he expected him to comment.
“You’re looking at the same perps in all of your cases, Sheriff. I can say that with certainty because of the lack of rage and obvious staging at each scene.”
“Even the shooting at the convenience store?” Hank was the one who asked.
Hardy had taken a closer look at the crime scene photos. “I don’t think the shooting was planned. I think your victim is one of your criminals. It was a double cross, or maybe he managed to make his partners mad enough one of them waited until his back was turned to shoot him in the head. I believe they were finished and ready to leave when it happened.”
“So, do we have an ID on the victim yet?” Wayne asked Mitch.
The sheriff shook his head. “His prints aren’t in CODIS. No missing person reports matching his description. The coroner supplied me with a picture of his face after he got him cleaned up, though. I may have the state lab fix it up to show to the public.” Mitch pulled a sheet of paper from the envelope in front of him and tacked it to the board as Hank sat down.
Hardy started to give the photo a cursory glance but was immediately drawn back to it. He stood up and walked to the board for a closer look.
“You recognize him, Harding?” Mitch asked.
What could the presence of this man mean? Hardy nodded. “His name is Roscoe Callen.” He shook his head. “Sheriff, this doesn’t make sense. Callen is a small-time thief who has been arrested more times than I can count. His prints should have shown up in CODIS right away.”
“You sure you got the right man?” Mitch’s voice was quiet.
Hardy carefully again before he answered. “That’s either him or he has an identical twin I’ve never heard of. I don’t know why his prints didn’t come up, but that man is Roscoe Callen.”
Mitch seemed to accept Hardy’s word as fact. “Okay, then. Any idea who he might be working with?”
Another puzzle. “He was a loner. He had the personality and social skills of a turnip. Even other criminals disliked him.”
“Apparently one of them disliked him enough to shoot him in the back of the head,” Jerry dryly observed.
Hardy slowly nodded. “I can see that. Roscoe someho
w pulled in on a team job. Mouthing off like he always did, until one or more of the other guys got fed up with him.” That theory made more sense than anything else he could come up with.
The sheriff sighed. “We’re still back to square one. Unless this guy had it out for you.” He looked expectantly at Hardy.
“I don’t know why he would,” Hardy honestly admitted. “I’ve never even arrested the guy. I was at the station plenty of times when he was hauled in, but I’m not sure how he’d even know who I was.”
“So, maybe it’s not you after all.” Hardy didn’t know whether the sheriff looked relieved or disappointed. If he wasn’t the “Davis” the messages were being left for, they were really in the dark.
He felt pretty sure of one fact, though. “I think there’s a good chance it’s me. I just haven’t figured out exactly what’s going on or who’s behind it.”
“Could this Callen guy be hired muscle?” Hank asked.
“I don’t know,” Hardy had to answer. “He was money-hungry. The man tried to rob a restaurant at the Navy Pier while over two hundred recruits were on leave from the Great Lakes Naval Base. I guess he didn’t figure a sailor would try to stop him.” Hardy smiled wryly at the memory. “It made the paper because three female recruits took him down.” As far as Hardy could remember, Callen hadn’t been identified, other than as “an escaping thief.”
“You’re a Chicago cop." Hardy realized too late he’d said too much when Wayne spoke.
He exchanged looks with the sheriff before he reluctantly nodded. The two of them had wondered if it would come to this.
“He’s a Chicago cop with a large syndicate out for his blood. He disappeared and is living here under an assumed name. He’s doing us a solid by helping us out. That’s all you need to know.” Mitch’s expression dared any of his deputies to object.
“You’re Harding Davis.” Jeff spoke flatly. “You’re supposed to be dead.” He looked at Wayne and then back to Hardy. “I read about the trial. It was your testimony that put Teddy Dohner away for good.”
Hardy didn’t know what to think when the deputy stood up and walked forward to offer his hand. “You have guts. Most men would have denied knowing anything to save their own hides, but you showed up in court every day and testified. I’ll be proud to work with you.”
“Nobody will find out who you are,” Wayne assured him as he stood. “We’ll protect your secret, and we’ll protect you.” The two deputies in the back row offered similar sentiments.
Hank stood and spluttered around so much Hardy nearly offered him a tissue to dry off with. Before the embarrassed young man was finished fawning over him, Hardy halfway feared Hank was going to ask for his autograph.
It was a much more cohesive unit that sat back down to listen to their sheriff.
“Thank you.” It was all Hardy could think to say. “I’m sorry I brought trouble to Shadow, but I’m going to do my best to help get rid of it before I leave.”
“You aren’t responsible for what others choose to do.” Mitch looked him straight in the eye. “I was wrong to try to force you to stay, and I won’t try to stop you from leaving again.”
Hardy shook his head. “I’m not leaving until I know this is taken care of.” He thought of the people he’d grown to care about. Luke, Holly, Nancy, Matt, Tessa, Barney, and certainly not least of all, Haley, as well as others he’d met in passing. “I tried not to care about people in this town, but some of you just wouldn’t let me get away with it. So, let’s put our heads together and figure out our next step.”
Mitch smiled at Hardy before he looked at his watch. “We have a couple of hours since the state boys are helping us out. Let’s brainstorm.”
“Where do we think the next break-in might be?” Wayne asked. “Is there a pattern?”
Mitch flipped the corkboard to show a map of the county on the other side. There were red pushpins at five points on it.
“I have the site of each incident marked.” He pointed to a pin. “This is the salon.” His finger indicated corresponding pins as he spoke. “Then next was the animal clinic all the way out here. The insurance agency, Ebharts, and the convenience store was our last—so far.”
“They’re all over the place,” Jeff observed. “I don’t see any kind of a pattern.”
Hardy’s mind was working, and he’d come up with a different angle. “What about where our perps are staying?” The other men stopped and looked at him. “Roscoe didn’t live here in Shadow. He had to be staying somewhere. What about motels, or the bed and breakfast?”
Hank leafed through his notebook before he spoke. “There haven’t been any guests at the bed and breakfast for eight weeks, and no guests at any of the motels or the inn who stayed longer than two nights.”
“Okay.” Hardy looked from Hank to Mitch. “So, where are they staying?”
“Someplace where they won’t be noticed.” Mitch spoke confidently, but then he frowned. “I just don’t see how they could blend into the community without somebody noticing them. Haley and the other dispatchers have been answering some pretty ridiculous calls.”
“What about the campground out at the nature preserve?” Hank hesitantly offered the suggestion. “It wouldn’t be busy this time of the year, would it?”
Wayne gave Hank a pat on the back. “They could have a tent on one of the primitive forest spots, and nobody would see them, not even Joe. He only goes that far out for maintenance, and I doubt he’d be mowing in October.
The deputies exchanged looks of growing conviction. They clearly liked Hank’s idea.
“Okay.” Mitch looked around the room. “Let’s go check this out. Wayne, you and Hank follow my car. Davis—Sorry, man.” He smiled apologetically at Hardy. “Harding, you’re riding with me, and Jeff, I need you to patrol. We don’t want the community to think we’ve forgotten them.” He nodded at Winkler and Young. “You two go home and get some sleep. I’m going to need you on your toes every night from now on.”
The men were quickly organized, and Hardy soon found himself sitting beside Mitch in the sheriff’s squad car. They were running with lights, but no siren.
“Feel like old times?” Mitch glanced over at Hardy to ask.
“Very, very old times,” Hardy had to admit. “I’ve been in an unmarked too many years to remember what it feels like to drive a cruiser.”
“What’s it like to go undercover?” Mitch seemed almost embarrassed by his own curiosity, but evidently not enough to keep him from asking. “I’ve always wondered.”
Hardy searched for a way to describe his old job. “It’s rough. You can’t just tell people you’re somebody else; you have to be that person. I was Joe Ryman for nearly five years while I worked the Dohner case.” It felt very strange to be talking about it. “I probably still would be if it hadn’t been necessary to testify against Teddy.”
Mitch glanced over at him again. “What made your bosses decide it was more important to put you on the stand than stay undercover? To be so close to taking him down and ending it so abruptly had to be tough."
While Hardy hadn’t liked it, he understood the decision. “Teddy Dohner managed a network of people who sold drugs to kids. And he didn’t care about quality, only quantity, so the drugs he was moving were very dangerous. Kids were dropping like flies from using stuff his people sold. And he couldn’t care less, as long as the money kept coming in."
"I read about him when I checked up on you." Mitch's wry smile was probably as close to an apology as he would give. Seems like every article had a different body count, though.
"There’s no way of knowing the exact total, but the number they came up with for trial was fifty-two. Fifty-two kids, some as young as twelve years old, died so Teddy Dohner could have a larger profit margin.”
Hardy fought back the rage he had dealt with for more than a year. “They were leaving me in place until the prosecutor realized he was losing. The witnesses he called were drug pushers and people who bought from them. He
needed something solid to take Teddy out of business.” He shrugged. “That was me. Joe Ryman had access to evidence that would lock Teddy Dohner up for good, but it wouldn’t hold up without my testimony. So, they called me in and blew my cover.”
“So, to take down the son, you had to sacrifice your chance to get the father.” Mitch’s brows lowered in a frown.
“That about sums it up."
“That’s a bad situation, no matter how you look at it.” Mitch's knuckles were white on the steering wheel. “The FSA must have hated losing their only chance to take down the ringleader."
"The media was purposely misinformed; I wasn’t the only chance we had to get to the old man, but I was further in than anybody else had ever made it.” Hardy trusted the man sitting next to him. “There are others."
"Agents? In the Dohner network?" The sheriff's gaze left the road to look at Hardy.
"Yeah. There are agents from the FSA and Chicago PD working the case. I recognized a couple of them, but I never knew how many other officers were undercover in the organization, or how deep they were."
"So there's a good chance they'll still bring the man in?"
Hardy nodded. “The good guys haven’t given up; they just suffered a setback.”
“Is there any chance this Callen has anything to do with the Dohners?” Mitch turned the car onto a blacktop road.
“My gut says no.” Hardy had thought long and hard about the possibility. “Dohner has a lot of money, and Roscoe Callen was a petty thief. If Ted Dohner found out I am alive, he would send somebody with what he considers class. He’d want the right people to know he’d gotten even with me, and he wouldn’t want somebody with Callen’s lack of pedigree sullying his reputation. Does that make sense?”
Mitch nodded. “Perfect.” The sheriff squinted as a ray of sunlight hit the rearview mirror. “Can you think of any other people you’ve put away who would be angry enough to do all this?”
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