One and Done (Sam Johnstone Book 2)

by James Chandler

  Beretta was in his corner office on the second floor alternately watching the mid-November snow fly and looking at a spreadsheet. He was losing interest and thinking about calling it an afternoon when his secretary, Mona Ogletree, called him. “President Beretta, Sarah Penrose from the Bugle is on line two—do you want to speak with her?”

  “Of course, Ms. Ogletree,” Beretta said, unconsciously straightening his tie as he reached for the phone. “Ms. Penrose, President Vincent Beretta here. How might I help you?”

  “Mr. Beretta—”

  “President Beretta, if you would,” he said sharply. “After all, we are speaking in my official capacity, are we not?”

  “We are,” Penrose said. “President Beretta, what can you tell the Custer community and the people of Wyoming to assure them in the face of this apparent hate crime?”

  “Hate crime?” Beretta said, jumping to his feet. “What are you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about the disappearance of one of your sophomores—a young man named Kaiden Miles.”

  “What makes that a hate crime?”

  “I’m told he was gay, and given the history of gay males in higher education in this state, I feel certain that my readers—your constituents—will be interested to hear what steps are being taken to protect the LGBTQ+ population from attack.”

  “What? I don’t know anything about that!”

  “You don’t know anything about the disappearance of one of your students from his dorm last week?”

  “Well of course I do, Ms. Penrose,” Beretta said. “I just didn’t know anything about him being gay.”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. President,” Penrose said, making notes. “Surely you’ve seen the signs on campus. My sources tell me there were protesters in the student union yesterday.”

  “I—I’ve been out of town briefly,” Beretta said. “No one has told me anything—”

  “Surely you’ve seen the messages posted on your own social media sites?”

  “I—I’ve not looked.”

  “President Beretta, now that you’ve been informed of what’s going on at Custer College, what can you tell our readers?”

  “Uh, Ms. Penrose, what I can say, uh, is this. . . As an educator and the leader of Custer College, I am deeply committed to, uh, a campus environment where every individual can live, work, and learn in a caring, safe, and supportive environment. I—I am deeply concerned when issues of homophobia or, uh, anything else target individuals or groups,” he said, pausing for a drink of water. “Such behavior is against our core principles and will not be tolerated.”

  “What steps are being taken to protect other members of the Custer College community?” Penrose asked.

  “I can say we, uh, we are cooperating fully with local law enforcement authorities in their investigation. At the same time, we, uh, are . . . we are protecting the rights of our students. We want to ensure that all students, especially students from historically oppressed groups, are treated, uh, fairly and, uh, are supported throughout the process.”

  “What kinds of support are you providing?” Penrose asked.

  “We are making our counseling staff available to students from these groups,” he said, buzzing for Ms. Ogletree and scribbling, “Get me the counseling office!!!” on a piece of paper as he spoke. “And we are augmenting our college police force with off-duty officers from the local community,” he added.

  “Are you working with the sexually and gender diverse communities of Custer at all?”

  “Yes, uh, I have reached out to the local chapter of gay and lesbian students, and while we have no reason to believe that additional students, faculty, or staff are at risk, I have nonetheless assured that group we are working to ensure their safety.”

  “What else can you tell us?”

  “I will have no additional comment at this time.”

  “Thank you, Mister Beretta,” Penrose said, hanging up.

  “That’s President—” he said to the dial tone, before getting up and walking quickly to his door. “Ms. Ogletree! Stop whatever you are doing. I need to speak with the head of our counseling office, then with Chief Lucas and our head of security. Then get me someone from one of the gay and lesbian groups—in that order, and now!”

  “What’s going on?”

  “The shit is hitting the fan, that’s what’s going on! Why didn’t you or someone else tell me about the student protests?”

  “Protests?”

  “Sarah Penrose says there were protesters in the student union yesterday!”

  “I got lunch there yesterday, sir,” Mona said. “There were two protesters, if you could call them that. One had a sign calling for divestment of anything involving oil and gas and the other one had a sign reading, ‘Where’s Kaiden?’—whatever that means.”

  Buck Lucas had the door to his office closed with a sign on it reading, “Knock and enter quietly.” The rather bleak sun was shining through his office window and he was on his stomach on the floor, trying to stretch and hoping the feeble rays would warm his back. Probably due in part to the change in weather, he’d slept poorly and had gotten in before five a.m. Now, the situation involving a missing campus sophomore was causing him discomfort just a little bit south of there. When the phone rang, he fumbled around, trying to reach it before grasping it and growling, “Chief Lucas.”

  “Chief Lucas, this is President Beretta.”

  “Vince, how’s it hanging?” Lucas asked, knowing that Beretta hated to be addressed using his given name and figuring he’d be appalled by that greeting. “How can I help you?”

  “You can find that missing kid and do it fast!” Beretta said in his falsetto. “We are dying over here. Have you seen the protests going on?”

  “Well, my officers tell me that there are some people who are holding signs and walking around on your campus, yes. But you have a security force. What do you want from me?”

  “I want you to solve the disappearance of Kaiden Miles, is what I want!”

  “We are doing the best we can,” Lucas said. “I've got Punch Polson on it—world of confidence in him.”

  “And I heard he was dragging his feet because this young man was gay,” Beretta said. “In fact, that story in the newspaper seems to say just that.”

  “Well, all I can tell you is that story is bullshit.”

  “Do you think maybe you should bring somebody in? Like maybe the FBI? I'm not sure a small-town police force like yours is capable of solving this crime.”

  “Vince, right now, I’ve got a missing person,” Lucas said. “That’s all I’ve got. When and if I feel like we can’t do the job, I’ll get someone in here who can. Until then, we’ll handle it. And when I need your advice, I’ll ask for it.”

  “All I’m saying . . . All I’m saying is that maybe your guys could use a little help,” Beretta said.

  “And I assure you, when in my judgment we need some help, I’ll ask for it,” Lucas said. “I’ve done it before.”

  “I just don't want to have another situation like you had in Laramie years ago,” Beretta said. “Your community cannot withstand that kind of a situation.”

  “You mean our community, don’t you, Mr. President?”

  “Well, yes . . . Of course, that is exactly what I mean.”

  “That’s what I thought, Vince,” Lucas said. “And I’m glad to hear it. I'd hate to have to talk with the board of directors if I thought differently. I mean, I went to high school with most of ’em. Dated the board chair, in fact. You see Greta, you give her my best, will you?”

  “Don’t you threaten me, Chief! I’m telling you I want this solved, now! I am not going to have this kind of shit-show on my campus! Diversity and inclusion are important and make us who we are. You need to get this thing solved right now, or—”

  “Or what?” Lucas growled. “Vince, I don’t care whether that kid is straight, gay, trans, or doesn’t know what he is. He is someone’s little boy. I believe that every human life has valu
e, and I don’t prioritize one over another for any reason. Ask around, and you’ll find I am an equal opportunity asshole. I’m on my people to get this thing solved, and solved as quickly as possible—and you want to know why? Because that family deserves it, if for no other reason. Now, why don’t you go and count pencils or administrators or whatever it is you do all day? I’ve got things to do!” he concluded, slamming the phone down so hard it nearly broke.

  “Chief, what’s going on?” his secretary asked. She’d heard the commotion and had knocked and come in.

  “Nothing! Just get Polson’s ass in here now!”

  Several days later, on a snowy November Saturday morning, Punch was at his kitchen table, buttering a piece of multigrain toast, when a call came in. “Boss, we’ve got a body,” Jensen said.

  “Where?”

  “On the edge of the creek that runs along the south end of the college.”

  “Who found it?” Punch asked, taking a huge bite of the toast.

  “Couple of joggers,” Jensen said. “Older couple. Had their lab with them. Dog got off the trail and wouldn’t come back, so they went down to the edge of the water and saw the body.”

  “This our guy?” Punch asked, chugging coffee and getting to his feet.

  “Can’t tell. No one’s touched anything. Head and shoulders are in the water.”

  “Hoodie and jeans?”

  “Yeah. We can see that much,” Jensen said.

  “Okay,” Punch said, putting on his shoulder holster, “I’ll be there shortly.”

  By the time Punch arrived, Goodrich had cordoned off a sizable area up and down Cavalry Creek and running perpendicular to the walking path, so if one envisioned the scene as a rough square, the body was at the center of the south side, with the walking path being the north side. Two strips of yellow crime scene tape formed the east and west sides of the square. Punch sighed and looked about him. A few bystanders were huddled behind one of the plastic tapes, but beyond that it looked like word had yet to get out. Jensen walked up to meet him. “Morning, boss.”

  “Good morning. Anything good?”

  “Not really. I’ve kept everyone away so you could get the first look. Crime scene guys are on the way.”

  “Okay, where’s the photographer?”

  “Over by the truck. Want him?”

  “Yeah, let’s get him in to take pictures of the scene first,” Punch said. “I want pictures of all the footprints in the snow before we start mucking things up.”

  “Got it,” Jensen said, and then turned and waved at the photographer. “Yo, Thorp! You’re on!”

  “Go with him, Jensen. Make sure he doesn’t dork anything up.”

  “Roger,” Jensen said. “Folks who found the body are in the back of Goodrich’s car, keeping warm.” Punch turned to go see the couple. “Hey, boss?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You got some crumbs on the front of your shirt.”

  “Thanks,” Punch said, wiping himself down. He walked over to Goodrich’s vehicle, opened the front passenger-side door, and after moving several notebooks, paper bags, and an empty holster, squeezed his way into the seat. The couple was huddled in the back seat, clearly upset by what they’d found.

  “Not good,” the man said.

  “It was horrible!” said the woman.

  In short order, Punch got their story. There wasn’t much to it. They’d let their dog off his leash and he’d gone down to the creek and wouldn’t obey their commands to “Come,” so the man had gotten irritated and had gone to get the dog. “I was gonna drag Barney—that’s my dog’s name—back up to the trail,” he admitted. “But then I saw the feet and the legs and I yelled at Barney and I think I scared him. He came that time.”

  “Did you touch anything?”

  “No.”

  “Did you see anyone around?”

  “No, but it was still kind of dark. Even though we’re partly retired, me and the wife still get up early,” the man said proudly. “Barney wouldn’t let us sleep in, anyway,” he added.

  “Any footprints other than yours around the body?”

  “Well, Barney’s,” the man said. “But I didn’t see any others. Tell you one thing, though.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I think he’d been there for a while.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Well, because you can tell his body was frozen, and it didn’t look there was much snow under him, so he musta been there before we had that last big snow. What was that? Ten days, maybe two weeks ago?”

  “That’s good detective work.” Punch smiled. “I’ll look into that. Ma’am, do you have anything to add?”

  “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Okay, well, let’s do this: I’ll have you leave your contact information with the officers, and we’ll have to get you in at a later time to make a more complete statement.”

  “Thanks, Detective,” the man said. “Is—is that the young man that’s been missing?”

  “We’re not sure. We’ll go about the business of identifying the remains here soon enough. I’ll be in touch. Here’s my card; give me a call if you think of anything between now and then,” Punch said as he left the vehicle.

  “Detective Polson.” Penrose matched Punch’s stride as he walked to his car. “Sarah Penrose from the—”

  “I know who you are,” Punch said. He was walking quickly, thinking about everything he needed to get done. “I don’t have anything for you at this time.”

  “Can you confirm you have discovered a body?” she asked, walking beside him.

  “I can.”

  “This is a crime against a gay man, right?”

  “I don’t even know if it is a crime yet,” Punch said.

  “Is it Kaiden Miles, the young gay man who has been missing for ten days?” she asked.

  “We don’t know yet,” he said, opening the car door. “We’ve yet to recover the remains.”

  “Is the body that of a male?” Penrose asked.

  “We’re unsure at this point.”

  “Detective, how can you be unsure of something as simple as that?” she asked, holding the recorder toward him.

  Punch looked at her for a time, considering his options. “Can we go off the record for just a minute?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I want to tell you something, but I don’t want the mother of this person to know the details of what I’m going to tell you,” he said. “No one should ever know something like this.”

  Penrose thought for a moment, then nodded and made a point of switching off the recorder.

  “We haven’t recovered the body yet,” Punch began, “because it looks like after the person passed away, they either fell or were dragged halfway into the creek, which then froze over and thawed. Looks like animals may have been feeding on the body. So all we’ve been able to see at this point are feet, legs, and an ass—and I can’t tell if they belong to a man or woman. Jeans, socks, and tennis shoes. Nothing to indicate gender yet. Now, eventually, we’ll be able to get the body out of the creek—I hope without it falling apart. Then the medical examiner will look at it and make his findings. At that point I’ll get information to our press liaison, who’ll put something out, okay?”

  He looked at her steadily. She was rather pale now, and nodded her understanding. “Thank you, Detective. I’ll just say the remains are unidentified.”

  “Thank you,” he said, then closed the door and started the car. Before he was out of the parking lot, Penrose was on the phone with her editor, dictating.

  8

  Sam habitually got to the office before six a.m., so as usual he made a pot of coffee, turned on some country music, and checked the sports websites for the box score from the previous evening’s college football games. After perusing the sports, he checked the weather, as he was hoping to get some fishing in over the weekend. He then read the local news. According to reporter Sarah Penrose, a yet-to-be-identified body had been found near
Custer College, but she was hinting strongly it was that of the young man who’d been reported missing. According to the reporter, the missing young man was a manager for the college’s basketball team and—why this was included was a mystery to Sam—he was gay. After finishing the story, Sam began drafting an estate plan for an elderly couple he’d met with the day prior. He was still doing that when Cassie arrived with the morning’s distribution.

  “Good morning, Sam,” she said.

  “Good morning. How are things?”

  “Fine. Did you hear they found a body?” she asked. Sam knew she also had a child attending the local college.

  “I read about it. Very sad.”

  “If it’s Kaiden Miles, my daughter knew him,” Cassie said, putting the stack of paperwork in his in-box. “It’s a small school, of course.”

  “It is,” he said.

  “I just hope they find whoever did this, and fast. The kids are very upset. I’m just hoping it doesn’t have anything to do with his being gay.”

  “What is that all about?” Sam asked.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Why is it important that he is gay?” Sam asked. “That got played up in the online account.”

  “Don’t you remember the Matthew Shepard case?”

  “No. I’m not from around here, remember?”

  “Oh, right,” she said, sitting in a chair on the other side of his desk. “About twenty years ago, two men in Laramie killed a University of Wyoming student. They wrote and said horrible things about him being gay. It was on the national news.”

  “So, two idiots killed a guy because he was gay,” Sam said. “What does that have to do with this?”

  “Well, a lot of people from out of state seized on that story and decided that Wyomingites are homophobic.”