She shrugged. “I don’t know. But maybe they filed the lien and then had to keep Robert from paying it. He must have had enough money, or at least access to enough. If he couldn’t pay his tax lien, then anyone could buy his land. They could take the property for just a few thousand bucks.”
“Does that give them the mineral rights, as well?”
“I don’t know for sure,” Blake said. “But probably, if it’s all on the same deed.”
“Just because these men are related doesn’t mean that they’re in it together. I mean, why would the mayor put himself into a compromising position?”
“Most of these tax liens are bought out by holding or investment companies.”
“So?”
“The largest investment company in the county is Tartarus Environmental Investments. And who do you think the CEO is?”
Jeremy shook his head.
“The one and only Mayor John Engelman.”
“This is still only circumstantial evidence. There’s nothing that directly ties the mayor to Robert’s death.”
“Not yet, but I have a feeling if we just look hard enough, we’ll find what we’re looking for.”
“Hold on.” Jeremy leaned against the back of the couch. “We need to proceed slowly. Let’s not jump to any conclusions.”
Maybe Jeremy was right. She needed to slow down. If she had this wrong, there would be fallout.
“We need to get this evidence back to the unit,” she said, staring at the papers strewn over the floor.
“First we need to make sure we have pictures of everything. If what you are saying is true, there’s a good chance something could disappear.”
She made sure to get a clear picture of every piece of paper she thought could be of any use in their investigation. Then they dropped the boxes of paperwork off with the evidence unit.
As they drove away from the office, Blake called the captain.
“West, how’s it going?” Captain Prather asked.
She told him about the medical examiner’s findings and the connection between Engelman and Davy. The captain was silent for several moments.
“Dang it,” he said finally in a muted whisper. “Do you have any direct evidence?”
“No, sir.”
“Then don’t you dare utter a word of this to anyone else. If you’re wrong, this could cost us both our jobs.”
“I know, sir.” She paused, then, “Sir, do you have the number for the mayor’s PA? I was hoping that maybe I could talk to them and at least get a line on the mayor’s whereabouts at the time of Robert’s death.”
He rattled off a number.
She tapped it into her phone.
“West,” Captain Prather continued, “you better hope that you’re wrong. This kind of thing could bring everything down on top of the entire county.”
“What exactly do you mean, sir?” She wasn’t sure, but she could have sworn from the tone of his voice that he was suddenly regretting ever putting her on this case.
“Nothing, West. Just tread softly.”
The phone line went dead.
She looked to Jeremy, who was sitting in the passenger’s seat, his head in his hands. He must have heard everything. “Heck of a way to spend your days off from your department, isn’t it?”
“It looks like I may need to take a few more days off,” he said, forcing a smile.
She started to reach over to take his hand but stopped. Something about touching him seemed wrong. They had already taken things too far. They couldn’t do that again. It could compromise everything—their friendship, her investigation and even her job. And if the mayor was involved, as she assumed, it was hard to tell how far those political ties went. Montana was a large state, but when it came to connections and secrets, sometimes it was entirely too small. Both of them could be in danger.
She had to call the mayor’s personal assistant. She had to eliminate the mayor and his cronies from her list of suspects. They couldn’t possibly have been involved. They didn’t get to where they were by being stupid and getting mixed up in homicides—at least ones that would point directly to them.
She dialed the number the captain had given to her, and the mayor’s PA answered.
“This is Deputy Blake West. I was hoping to catch up with the mayor today. Do you know where he is?” she asked, trying to avoid the question she most desperately wanted to ask.
“He’s in Helena today with his wife. He should be back tomorrow morning. Can I let him know you called?”
“No,” she said, maybe a bit too emphatically. “No,” she repeated, this time a little softer. “It’s fine. By chance, when did they leave for Helena?”
The PA was quiet for a moment. “Well, he had the finals for the Montana Shooting Sports Championship here in Butte this week, so he had to wait until this morning to leave, but his wife is set to arrive in Helena this evening.”
A gun championship? If Engelman had been competing, then he may have an airtight alibi for his whereabouts at the time of Robert’s death.
“Oh, I heard the about the championships,” Blake lied as she tried to draw the PA into a conversation in which she could learn more. “How did Mayor Engelman do?”
The PA laughed. “Oh, he wasn’t shooting. He was just making an appearance. Anything for a little publicity and a few bucks, you know.”
The knot in her gut tightened. “I see.”
“Is there something you wanted to talk to him about?” the PA asked.
An edge of panic cut through her. No one else could catch wind of her investigation or where it was pointing—especially not the mayor.
“No, but thanks.”
“Are you sure?” the PA pressed, her voice flecked with suspicion.
“Yes. I’ll try and get in touch with him later. Our department was just wondering if he would be available later this month. We’re working on a public event,” she lied, trying to cover her tracks.
“Oh, okay.” The warmth returned to the PA’s voice. “I’m sure he’d be interested.”
“Great, just great,” Blake said, the panic returning to her voice. “Talk to you soon.” She hung up the phone.
Blake’s feint had worked, but there would be no guarantees for how long. It had been a bad idea to call the PA. Now her name would be on the mayor’s radar. And if he was responsible in any way, he would be alerted to the possibility that he was under investigation. She let out a ragged breath.
“What’s the matter?” Jeremy asked, staring at her.
She tried to shake off the thoughts that plagued her. “Nothing. No worries.”
“I know you. You can’t lie to me.”
Was that true? Did he really know her? She had been on her own for so long now that she balked at the thought that a man—no, not just some man, but Jeremy—really cared enough to think that he knew her. She looked at him for a moment, taking in the barely noticeable crow’s feet that adorned his perfectly almond-shaped eyes. Eyes that seemed to look straight through her. Eyes that seemed to see her for who she really was, and not the hard-edged person she tried to show to the world.
She looked away. She couldn’t fall for those eyes, or the man behind them. She couldn’t let herself lose her focus or her edge.
“I think I got a lead,” she said, skirting the issue. “Mayor Engelman was at the Shooting Sports Championship.”
“That’s not much of a lead.”
“No, but we have a solid place to start investigating our number one suspect.”
Chapter Nine
At the gun range men and women were standing in the trapshooting fields, and the sharp echoes of shotgun blasts and the scent of spent gunpowder filled the air. In a strange way, the smell of the powder made Blake comfortable. She’d spent so many days
on the range with her standard-issue Glock 22 .40 caliber pistol. Every officer in combined city and county sheriff’s office, known as the Butte–Silver Bow County Sheriff’s Department, had been issued the same gun, but over time hers had become special. It had become a part of her. She reached down and touched its familiar grip.
She and Jeremy made their way to the clubhouse. A man in his early twenties sat behind the counter reading a Guns & Ammo magazine. He looked up as they approached.
“How can I help you, Officer?” he asked, setting the magazine down on the counter and giving them his full attention.
She smiled. “I was just wondering about yesterday’s competition. Was the mayor here?”
“Yeah,” the clubhouse manager said with a sharp nod. “Mayor Engelman gave a great speech on the need for enforcing our Second Amendment rights.”
“How long was the competition?”
“The prelims started last week. Yesterday was the finals.” He rambled on about the winners and their shooting averages, while Blake pretended to listen.
“Was the mayor here the entire time?” Jeremy asked when the man took a break between statistics.
The manager nodded. “He was here on and off throughout the week, and yesterday he was here most of the day. Made a big thing out of it. You should have seen it—he even took a turn on the shooting stage. Missed just about all the clays, but you know how it is, not being his gun and all.”
“He’s not a good shot?” Jeremy asked, giving her a questioning look.
The manager passed them a grin. “Hey, I ain’t saying he’s bad. He just ain’t a shotgun man.”
If the mayor wasn’t a good shot with a shotgun, it didn’t mean that he wasn’t necessarily a good shot with a handgun—particularly the one that had been used in Robert’s murder. Heck, anyone could have been a good shot at such close range. Then again, would the mayor really have wanted to get his hands dirty? Would the glad-handing, speech-making, baby-kissing mayor really be capable of pulling a trigger to get something he wanted?
Jeremy laughed. “Hey, we can’t all be good at everything. Am I right?” he asked, chumming up with the club’s manager.
“Hey, I heard he’s real good with a sidearm.”
“Is that right?” Blake asked, perking up.
“That’s the talk around the clubhouse. I had a guy in here yesterday. Said he was shooting with the mayor just last week. He said the guy could shoot a solid grouping at twenty-one feet.”
“Who was the guy the mayor went shooting with?” Jeremy asked as he leaned against the counter in what she assumed was his attempt to look nonchalant and nonconfrontational—anything to put the manager at ease and make him talk a little more. It was enthralling to watch Detective Lawrence in action, the way he looked at the man like he was a friend rather than a source feeding them much-needed information.
“I think the guy’s name was Todd. Maybe Todd O’Banyon or something.”
“O’Banyon?” Blake asked. “Do you mean O’Brien? Todd O’Brien?” Robert’s neighbor.
“That sounds about right. The mayor and Todd were in the bar,” he said, motioning over to the door on the other side of the clubhouse, which must have led to the tavern. “Todd had a few beers after the mayor left, and then he finally stopped talking about what good friends they were. He was thinking himself some kind of big man. I think maybe the mayor even bought a gun off of him.”
“Do you know what kind of gun?” Blake asked.
The man shrugged. “Some kind of Glock. I don’t remember. Like I said, the guy had a few beers under his belt. From what I heard, it’s possible that he was just making it all up.”
“What do you mean?” Jeremy’s body tensed, but the manager didn’t seem to notice.
“I don’t know. The guy was just talking all kinds of nonsense—about how he was going to be a millionaire if he played his cards right. You know. Crazy talk.”
Had they gotten it all wrong? Was O’Brien the man they were looking for? Or was he involved in the mayor’s plot? Why would the mayor be buying a gun from someone—especially Robert’s neighbor?
“Did he mention how he was going to be making these millions?” Jeremy asked, a cold edge to his voice.
The man shifted in his chair. “I dunno,” he said with a shrug. “It was Greek to me. Something about buying investment properties or something.”
She thought back to Todd O’Brien’s property. It was covered with rusted-out car frames and filled with garbage. How could a man who couldn’t afford the upkeep for his property afford to invest? Todd O’Brien had never had a job, as far as she knew.
“Is there something I should know about?” the clubhouse manager asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “Nah, it’s no big thing. We’re just looking into a few different things. If necessary, though, would you mind if we came back and asked you a few more questions?”
The manager smiled. “Not at all. I appreciate all that you guys do. You have the hardest job of anybody, protecting the streets. The least I can do is answer a few questions.”
Sometimes she loved living in Montana, where law enforcement officers—for the most part—were treated with respect. It wasn’t the same everywhere else. She read about it in the national headlines all the time, officers being shot or their homes vandalized simply because of the job they were drawn to do. And those in her profession were constantly struggling with the stigma of being crooked.
She thought of the mayor. Maybe he was part of the problem. There were always a few in public service who were corrupt. It was the political way. Unfortunately, across the country it was her brethren who had to pay.
* * *
JEREMY FLIPPED THROUGH the saved pictures on Blake’s camera as he waited. He scrolled past the images of Robert’s body and stopped at the picture of the gun that sat next to his brother’s hand. It was the standard police-issued Glock.
Every fiber of his being told him that this gun was the same one the manager had told them about. Instant hatred flooded his veins. The mayor was likely behind his brother’s death. Now he and Blake would just have to prove it.
He looked over at Blake, who was having the clubhouse manager sign a statement. The man had taken the questioning remarkably well. In Missoula, things were a little tenser with the public—especially after the strings of arsons and his involvement in the investigation. He and his department were still trying to win back the public’s trust.
It was hard to know who to trust anymore, and the public felt the same way. In a world full of lies and corruption, few stood above it; few wanted to live with honor.
He looked back at the photos on the camera and started scrolling through them. He came to the ones they’d taken earlier, at Robert’s house. Some of the documents in the photos were ones that Blake had gone through, and he hadn’t seen them. Now he took his time, scanning through them. He clicked again. On the screen was a picture Blake had taken of a photograph in Robert’s files; it was of a car parked in Todd’s driveway. The date marked on the photograph put it at having been taken a week ago.
Why would Robert have taken a picture of a random car and then slipped it into his files? He must have wanted to keep it as a record of something, but what?
The picture was dated one week prior to his brother’s death.
He zoomed in on the license plate. It was the blue vanity plates that celebrated Glacier National Park. He made note of the number.
After picking up his phone, he called Dispatch. A woman answered, and he gave her his information. “I need to run a plate,” he said, reciting the number.
There was a long pause as the dispatcher clicked away in the background. After a moment she came back. “The license plate is for a 2015 silver Land Rover registered to John Engelman. Is there anything else you’d like to know, sir?”
; His breath wheezed from his lungs. “No, thanks,” he said, forcing the words from his body.
His brother had left him a sign. He had left Jeremy the evidence he needed to bring the sucker to his knees.
Chapter Ten
The ride back to their houses was tense. How could she have missed the picture of the mayor’s car? Jeremy’s face was tight as he stared out the window. Whether he was angry or just preoccupied with the details of the case, Blake couldn’t be sure.
Hopefully he didn’t think she was incompetent. She was working this case as fast as she could, and sometimes things fell through the cracks, but that didn’t mean she didn’t care. If anything, she cared about this case more than she should. Most of the time, even when she knew the victims, she could gain emotional distance—but not this time, not when the vic was Jeremy’s brother.
Maybe she was too close. It had certainly been a mistake to find herself on the floor with Jeremy. It had been so exciting, so euphoric to be wanted by him, to be in his arms and desired, but she shouldn’t have let down her guard. It had added a degree of tension to everything they did, every expression he made—like now.
As soon as she parked he got out of the car and slammed the door.
“Wait,” she called as she went after him. “What’s your problem?”
He looked surprised as he turned back.
Had her insecurities made her jump to conclusions? Was he not really upset with her? She instantly regretted her tone.
“What?” he asked.
“What’s going on with you, Jeremy?” she asked, trying in another way to see if she was crazy or not.
He frowned. “Nothing.”
That was a cop-out. Everything about him, from the way his eyes had darkened to the way that even now his body turned from her like he was desperate to run away, said otherwise. “Don’t lie to me, Jeremy.”
He turned to face her. “There’s nothing wrong,” he said, his voice hard and his words abrupt.
Blake walked toward him so they were toe-to-toe. “You don’t get to be angry with me. You missed that picture, too. If nothing else, it’s just good that we found it. Now we have evidence—”
Dust Up with the Detective Page 7