Sinister Justice

by Steve Pickens

  “Jake and I don’t believe in violence, Detective, although Reed Longhoffer was the type of person to even push me to the edge.” He shook his head. “And even though Jake grabbed him by the collar, he verbally hit Reed with one of the few things he’d actually understand—threat of a lawsuit and a team of high-priced lawyers.”

  Haggerty again suppressed a smile. He was beginning to like Sam O’Conner. Both of them were obviously innocent, but Haggerty also followed his gut. It had never led him astray, but he also left no rock unturned. He scribbled a few more notes, wanting to rule the couple out for good. “Again, I’m sorry about Mr. Finnigan. I really didn’t realize he was quite as ill as he is.” He thanked Sam for the coffee and got up to leave.

  “I’ll be watching it, trust me. Like I said, Jake has this nasty habit of turning colds into bronchitis or pneumonia practically overnight,” Sam said as they crossed over to the foyer. “Last year after that business with…” Sam checked himself. “He fell into the river and within a week was laid flat with bronchitis. “

  “How did he—”

  Just then, the front door banged open and Evelyn O’Conner swept into the room carrying a crock-pot and the smell of hot chicken soup.

  “Sam, I’ve got some bread in the car if you can grab…” She caught sight of Adam Haggerty. “Well, Detective Haggerty. I can’t say I’m at all surprised to see you here. You have a murder committed in this town and naturally you seek out a minority to pin the crime onto.”

  “Cool it, Mom. He just came here to ask some questions.”

  “That’s what Hoover used to do as well, just ask questions. Did you check to see if he planted a bug anywhere?”

  “This isn’t Mission Impossible, Ma.”

  “No, but with those Republican cretins in Congress eroding all our personal freedoms and turning this country into a police state…”

  “Kitchen, Ma, please. Go plug the soup in.”

  “I have my eye on you, Detective,” she said as she went into the kitchen.

  “You’ll have to forgive her. She’s kind of a conspiracy theory nut.”

  “Well, actually I agree with her, but you can rest assured I didn’t plant any bugs in your home.”

  “Well, if you had, that’s what you’d say, isn’t it?”

  Haggerty held up his hands, his trench coat flapping like wings. “No bugs, I swear.”

  “Fine, I believe you.” Sam walked out the door with him to retrieve the bread from his mother’s car.

  “Well, thank you for your time,” said Haggerty.

  “Not at all, Detective. I hope you catch the guy soon.”

  “So do I, Mr. O’Conner. So do I.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Evelyn, quit fussing over me,” said Jake, taking a spoonful of soup.

  “You don’t look good at all, Jacob.”

  “I’m fine. Well, okay, not fine, but I’m feeling better,” he said, enjoying another spoonful of Evelyn O’Conner’s famous chicken soup. It was about the only thing he could tolerate eating when he was sick.

  Sam came in with the bread a few seconds later. “Cup of tea, Mom?”

  “And a slice of the pumpkin bread would be wonderful, Sam, thank you,” she said.

  Sam nodded and left the room. Jake ate another spoonful of soup, feeling much warmer and more relaxed, even though he still was achy and uncomfortable. He took another spoonful then sat back, aware Evelyn’s eyes were still on him.

  “What?”

  “Sam told me that Jason is moving out. How do you feel about that?”

  “I’m fine with it.”

  “Jacob, this is me you’re talking to.”

  “Well, I’ll miss him,” said Jake, after a moment’s consideration, adding, “And I think it is a disaster in the works.”

  “Ah ha. I thought you might say something like that,” she said, twisting her emerald ring round and round on her right ring finger. “Do you not approve of Mr. Brauer?”

  Jake tried to decide how best to answer that question. He remembered Gavin’s warning, and Jake was unwilling to trust him despite the fact that Derek Brauer was certainly likeable, handsome and very intelligent.

  “I think he bears watching,” he said. “I just think he was part of the problems J.D. had in San Francisco, and I’m not at all sure it’s a good thing. I know Jason wants to help Derek with expenses. They are old friends and all, but it just seems to me Jason was trying to make a clean break of it, make a completely fresh start. But it is Jason’s life, and I’ve got no right to butt my nose into it.”

  “Very wise. There’s something you’re not telling me.”

  “San Francisco, for a very big city, is still rather insular.”

  “Ah, Doctor Ashworth, I presume?”

  “Says he knows of many people with the imprint of Brauer’s rather large shoes on their back,” Jake confirmed.

  “Hmm.”

  Evelyn respected and was quite fond of Gavin and Jeff, having shared many a holiday meal with them in discussion of everything from multiple realities to meditation to Bigfoot.

  “I would say then, Jacob, that your assessment of the situation is probably correct and exercising caution when it comes to Mr. Brauer might be well advised,” she said as Sam approached. “Ah, thank you, Sam.” She took her cup of tea as he set a small plate of pumpkin bread next to her. “I wish my darling daughter would live by those words. Sam tells me she’s made your life somewhat difficult. Planting a little seed of doubt, as it were.”

  Jake nodded as he took another sip of soup. “Nora never took my plans very seriously. I know Nora’s very career oriented, but she never seemed to take into account that it might not be the kind of career I want.”

  “We all knew you weren’t cut out to be a career employee with the ferry system, Jacob. You’ve always been far too creative for it. I’m glad you are writing full time again. You’ve got too much talent to let it lie dormant. I think it is fantastic that you and Sam are in a position to be able to let you follow your passion,” she said, taking a bite of bread.

  “Thanks, Evelyn,” Jake said, finishing his soup. “And thank you for the soup. It is, as always, wonderful.”

  Evelyn beamed. “Anything for my boys,” she said, sipping her tea again. “And let me guess, Sam. Nora busted you over the financial situation with Jake.”

  “Ma,” said Sam.

  “We have no secrets here, Samuel,” said Evelyn with a wag of her finger. She retrieved another piece of buttered pumpkin bread. “Secrets are dangerous things. They end up getting revealed at a horrible price.”

  “She’s right, you know.”

  “Yes, she did. What business of hers it is I don’t know.”

  “Your sister, progressive as she is, still doesn’t get that your relationship with Jake is just as any marriage would be.”

  “Nora doesn’t see things quite that simply,” said Sam.

  “No, I know it.”

  “That’s because Nora sees things in Noravision, and that doesn’t include subtlety, nuance, or acknowledging other people exist,” said Jake.

  “Would it help if I pretended I was insulted to sound like a good mother?”

  “You are a good mother,” Jake assured her.

  “Maybe it would help your sister if you had a proper ceremony,” said Evelyn. “I mean, vows exchanged in your living room hardly is what a mother dreams about for her son.”

  “We’ve thought about it,” said Sam.

  “We can’t agree on what colors to have.”

  “Or where to honeymoon, since no-fly-boy over here won’t step foot on an airplane.”

  “You can see a lot of this country by rail.”

  “Can’t get to Europe by train.”

  “There’s always the Queen Mary 2,” said Evelyn. “If he doesn’t want to fly, don’t try to talk him into it, dear. When you’ve had a premonition about dying in a plane crash, it’s wise not to ignore it.”

  “Thank you, Evelyn. She does have
a point, Sam. Maybe going through a ceremony would get Nora off your back.”

  “I am not going to go through a ceremony just because my sister doesn’t have an accurate handle on our relationship,” said Sam sharply. “When and if we do it is because we choose to, and not for any other reason. I need to get back to work. See you tomorrow.” He kissed his mother on the top of the head and stalked out.

  “Hmm, guess I’ll have to remember not to bring that one up again,” said Evelyn, rising. “You get some rest, Jake. Would you like some more soup?”

  “Not right now, thanks.”

  He watched her go then settled back into the depths of the sofa, pulling the comforter back over himself. He wasn’t cold any longer, just aching and wishing he felt better. Jake hated being sick, not only for the general discomfort, but for the helpless feeling it always gave him. He disliked anyone having to take care of him, which was another reason the money issue still bothered him…and another reason he was angry with Nora. If she really had argued with Sam about their financial arrangements, not only was it truly none of her business, it showed that she didn’t take their relationship seriously. That, more than anything, annoyed Jake greatly.

  His thoughts turned to Reed Longhoffer. What kind of twisted individual set a wolfhound on someone? It was certainly possible to train a dog to kill, but he didn’t want to imagine what kind of training it would be, or what it would do to the poor animal.

  The next thing he knew, he felt Sam’s hand pressed against his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, and he saw Sam’s face etched with concern.

  “Your fever is up. Time for another dose.”

  “Yes, sir,” said Jake, swallowing more Dayquil capsules. “What time is it?”

  “A little after three,” said Sam. He sat in the chair his mother had occupied earlier, sighing. He began to fidget, playing with the coaster on the end table.

  “Spill it, Sam. What’s bugging you?”

  “Nothing.”

  Jake looked at him, arching an eyebrow, but not saying anything.

  “All right. Nora’s bugging me.”

  “Thought as much. I imagine we’re irked by the same thing.”

  “That my dear liberal sister doesn’t seem to equate our relationship as being equal to hers with Ben?”

  “Something like that. What did she say to you?”

  Sam shook his head. “It was nasty, Jake. She said I should be protecting my assets, that things had a way of changing.”

  “Ah,” said Jake. “She didn’t throw in the word ‘statistically’ did she?”

  “She did.”

  “Okay, I’m really no longer upset that she isn’t a part of our lives. As of this moment, I’d really like nothing more than to grind a grapefruit in her unappreciative face.”

  “Take a number.”

  “I don’t get it. I mean, just because she can’t manage a relationship for more than two years, why does she expect ours to deflate after ten?”

  “Because Nora’s about as insightful as your average teaspoon. I suppose I shouldn’t be terribly surprised. She’s never once sent us an anniversary card.”

  “Sam,” said Jake dramatically. “Will you marry me?”

  Sam whipped his head over to Jake like a shot. He looked his husband in the eyes and said, “Jake, will you marry me?” with the same amount of drama.

  “I asked you first,” Jake pointed out.

  “Well, we’ll both answer at the count of three. One…two…three…”

  “Yes,” they said in unison, erupting in giggles.

  Jake smiled. “I had little doubt.”

  “Neither did I. I suppose we shouldn’t joke about it though. Some of our brethren take weddings very seriously.”

  “I know. You know how I hate weddings. Funerals, too.”

  “I think I was aware of that when I said ‘I do’ standing next to the fireplace over there with all of three people in the room. Five, including us.”

  “It was kind of obvious, wasn’t it?”

  “And I’d rather skip the funeral, Tiger.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “I do. It might be nice to have proper rings, though.”

  “I told you, I don’t need a fancy ring. The titanium band is just ducky in my book.”

  “Show the depth of your commitment, I know. However, did it ever occur to you in that feverish little brain that I might like to get you something nicer than a titanium band?” said Sam.

  “Well no.” He couldn’t think of a single reason to object. “All right. But not yellow gold. And no diamonds. I’ve never cared for them.”

  “Me either,” said Sam, giving his husband a long hug and a kiss on the forehead.

  “Sam?”

  “Yes, handsome?”

  “How long would it take to train a dog to kill someone?”

  * * *

  Derek Brauer’s head still felt like it was coming off his shoulders. He stared at his copy on the computer, completely and utterly dissatisfied, but he would have to send it in soon enough if he wanted to make deadline. The rest of the paper had been set except for the lead story. He sat back and ran his fingers nervously through his hair, then shook his head and hit the SEND button. For better or worse, the story was going to press.

  He sat back in his chair, wishing he had a cigarette. He hadn’t smoked in two years, but still the cravings crept back like unwanted relatives whenever he was under stress. And this case was stressing him out.

  Something was decidedly foul in Arrow Bay. It had everything to do with the murders, of course, but something more sinister was going on. Whoever had engineered the two crimes was very cunning, very patient, and very bizarre. Poisoning was fairly mundane, but the killer had gone to extraordinary methods of delivery. Using a half-starved wolfhound as a weapon was something else entirely. It was preposterously symbolic. He’d looked up the symbolism of wolves on the Internet in regard to people and came up with wolves standing in for “a cruelly rapacious person” which, of course, was his ex-boss to the letter. It just seemed like an astonishingly arduous way to make a point.

  Derek glanced over at the editor’s door. Reed’s name had been scraped off and David’s painted in gold letters the day before. He’d been locked in there all day, refusing to see anyone. No one was quite sure if it was grief or what. Marion and Joyce both agreed the two brothers had loathed one another, though Derek supposed David had to have some residual guilt. It was simply bad timing. Undoubtedly, the killer had previously set the date of murder. David arriving back in town was more than likely a coincidence.

  Bizarre, he thought again.

  He’d checked with the local kennels. No wolfhounds were missing from any dog breeder in Washington State, and Customs didn’t have any record of anyone bringing a wolfhound across the border. All that was good and well, but if you had the money and the resources, you could get anything over the Canadian border. It was too wide open and too understaffed.

  Guilt, he thought again, looking at David Longhoffer’s door.

  “What’s up,” said Jason, handing him the mail.

  “Ah, well. Not much to tell.”

  “Somehow I doubt that. Got your story in?”

  “Off and running.”

  “Good man,” he said, glancing over at Marion’s desk. “Marion said she’d have some more word on the case late this afternoon. She was going to bug the coroner on the autopsy of the wolfhound.”

  “Necropsy. That’s what you call it on an animal.”

  “Well, in that case that’s what’s being done on both of them as far as I’m concerned. Only I wish the poor dog hadn’t died,” he said with a snort, wandering off.

  There was little grief over the death of Reed Longhoffer in the offices of the Arrow Bay Examiner. People felt shock and abject horror over the way he had been killed, but Derek also sensed a great deal of relief that there was not going to be the prolonged fight over the ownership of the paper they had all feared.

  De
rek sifted through his mail, tossing away the junk until he came across an envelope that looked familiar. With a sense of mounting dread, he carefully slit open the envelope. Derek shook it until the letter dropped out, and then unfolded it using the opener and a pair of scissors.

  Sickness swept over him. He backed away from the note, knocking over his coffee mug. It fell to the floor and shattered like a bomb, spraying the office with coffee and ceramic shrapnel, causing everyone to look up.

  Marion Burd looked over the top of her desk, catching Derek’s ashen face. “Derek, what is it?”

  He couldn’t answer. He kept staring at the blood-soaked piece of cloth. He was sure it was the same type of pinstriped Oxford shirt Reed Longhoffer had worn daily.

  “Call the police, Marion,” he said. “Get Detective Haggerty. Tell him it’s urgent.”

  Above where the cloth had been taped, another message was spelled out in clipped-out pieces of the Examiner:

  Two down, many to go!

  Watch your back!

  Enemies of Arrow Bay, a grim fate awaits you!

  A Concirned Citisen.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The first heavy frost came to Arrow Bay in the pre-dawn hours of Sunday, October 29th. Clint Shimmel was heading into Arrow Bay toward his landing craft, the Sea Eagle. Shimmel hauled gasoline trucks out to Orcas and the other islands in the San Juan archipelago. He normally didn’t work Sundays, but he could use the extra cash with the holidays approaching. Unfortunately, he was the first to realize just how slick the frost was. His ’88 GMC pickup hit a patch of ice on SR 22 and slid right into the ditch. He was furious because his wife, Marietta, had warned him against working on the Sabbath, and knew she’d tell him he got just what he deserved.

  At the same time, Alexander Blackburn Junior got out of bed, not caring if he woke his wife up or not. He stomped down to the office of his home. Like all the others on the street, was part of a gated community. Their goal of driving up prices and taking out the eclectic collection of farmhouses and 1950’s ramblers that surrounded them had largely been thwarted by Clint Shimmel and several holdouts preventing gentrification of the area. Shimmel’s ramshackle old farmhouse was across the fence on Bay View Road. Thinking of this irritation, Blackburn called his lawyer. As he bellowed orders at the man, he noticed a battered car driving slowly down the street, right headlight flickering as it went. Blackburn looked out past the faux gingerbread trim on their retro Victorian, scowling. Who the hell let that riff-raff into the neighborhood? He’d be talking to the security people about that, soon as he finished berating his attorney.