Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “No hint of drug use?”

  His brows furrowed. “You’re thinking narcotics. Eva thinks he had an aneurysm because he vomited.”

  “I could be wrong, but we found paraphernalia.”

  “Don’t tell me this is related to the other deaths?” His face went rigid with disbelief.

  Tess remembered that Oliver had presided over two of the recent drug-related funerals. He was up to speed on the poison that had found its way into the valley.

  “The coroner will have to say for certain,” Tess sighed.

  Oliver shook his head, eyes darkening with anger. “Roger Marshall is gone. How did another supply line pop up so fast?”

  When she arrested Roger Marshall for murder, and he was ultimately found responsible for Anna Macpherson’s death last summer, they’d discovered that he smuggled into the state stolen prescription drugs like oxycodone, receiving them from California and sending them north. He wasn’t a cooker; he distributed. This conduit for illegal narcotics was the reason she and Bender would be working with the DEA. A year later they were still trying to uncover all Marshall’s connections.

  “Drug dealers are like cockroaches—you stomp out some, but others just keep oozing up out of the cracks. All I can do is put a finger in one hole among dozens in the dike.”

  “It’s a testament to your dedication that you keep trying.” He offered her a tired smile.

  “Or to my hard head.”

  “That too, but in a good way. You remind me of an ancient warrior in stories of old, a dragon slayer, committed to killing the beast no matter the hardships or setbacks.”

  “But in those ancient stories there’s always a good end: the dragon is slain. I don’t see that end here. If I could find a way to take away the desire for drugs, that would be a dragon worth slaying.”

  “True. Only a heart change can take that away,” Oliver said, and Tess flinched.

  She’d heard her father say that exact thing so many times. She held Oliver’s gaze, saw the compassion and the pain there, and felt a connection return. They both wanted the same thing: to end scenes like this where people grieved over a senseless loss.

  Oliver started to say something and stopped. The spell was broken. Eva came out of the bathroom, wiping her eyes. This conversation could be saved for another day.

  “Mrs. Harper, do you feel up to a few questions?”

  The shattered woman nodded and sat on the couch. Pastor Mac sat next to her and placed a supportive arm about her. Tess faced them, sitting on the edge of the coffee table.

  “These questions are hard, but they have to be asked. Was Tim involved in drugs? Did he use?”

  Eva Harper shook her head. “No,” she said with ultimate certainty. “I know my son. He would not do drugs.”

  Tess feared she was wrong but let it go. “When did you last see him?”

  “The boys met here before they left to celebrate. He went off with his friends around 9 p.m. I went to bed before he got back from the party. I woke up when he and Duncan came in, but I didn’t get out of bed.”

  “He and Duncan?” Tess frowned. Duncan had told her that he left the party before Tim.

  “I think it was Duncan. . . . I mean, I heard Tim talking to someone, and I assumed it was Duncan. They made a lot of noise. It was around one o’clock. I yelled for them to quiet down, and they did. I should have come downstairs. Maybe if I had . . .” Her composure fled and she leaned into Macpherson.

  “Don’t blame yourself. I hate to say it, but you probably couldn’t have changed anything.” Tess waited a beat. “Was there a reason Tim took the screen off his bedroom window?”

  “Why no, I didn’t know he had. It’s off?”

  “It is. It’s too high for anyone to get inside without a ladder, but you’ll probably want it back on.”

  “If you have a ladder, I’ll put it back on for you,” Oliver offered.

  There was a knock at the door, and though the day was beginning and it was time for people to be off to work, Delia had returned with several other women from the area. They all surrounded Eva Harper, and Tess was glad the grieving mother had their support.

  Tess had nothing else to ask, so she left them to it and went to sit with the body until the coroner arrived. The wheels were turning in her mind, the dream forgotten and her birthday as a consequence. So many denials about Tim and drug use. Did Tim experiment one time with tragic results? It wouldn’t be the first time a kid played with fire and got burned. But it seemed so off to Tess.

  Yet, barring natural causes, what were the options? Intentional overdose, accidental overdose, or murder. What possible motive could there be to kill an eighteen-year-old kid set to leave for college?

  3

  Oliver stayed with Eva until the coroner came and Tim’s body was removed. It always hit home with those left behind when the body bag was wheeled out. Already fragile, Eva crumbled, and Oliver did what he could.

  He thought about Tess, someone who knew all too well what Eva was going through. She’d looked tired this morning, a little distracted, but she did her job well. She left when the coroner did, following behind his vehicle. Oliver had an image of her in his mind with her finger in the dike and knew that she would hold the line to the last. Even with the hint of fatigue, she projected such a strong, assured, and professional presence. The green in her eyes was vivid, and her gaze observant and alert, because she had a dragon to slay. He told Eva that she could rest in the knowledge that Chief O’Rourke would do everything in her power to figure out exactly what happened to Tim.

  Once the bedroom was empty and there was support for Eva, and since Tess had given him the green light, Oliver closed himself inside and cleaned up the vomit as best he could. He stripped the bed and started the laundry. The last thing he wanted was for Eva to have to worry about those menial chores. The mindless work gave Oliver time to pray for her and ponder the chief’s conclusion that this was a drug overdose. It didn’t make any sense, not with the Tim Harper he knew. Tess had good reason for considering narcotics, he knew, so they would have to wait for things to play out.

  As soon as he was certain Drake was on his way home, Oliver pulled the Harpers’ ladder out of the garage and put the screen back on Tim’s window and then said his good-byes, assuring Eva that he’d be available if she needed him. Oliver had a busy schedule and considered canceling the first couple of appointments in his book. But with all of Eva’s friends arriving, she was well taken care of.

  This opiate epidemic bothered him to his core. It wasn’t only because Anna died at the hands of a drug trafficker; it was simply the waste of life. But the more he thought about it and Tim, the more he believed it was unlikely that drugs had claimed the promising young man’s life.

  He hoped to be able to talk to the chief more about the subject. A stop at the Hollow Grind was called for. Listening to Eva had been more important than drinking his coffee. He felt the need for more caffeine before he went to work, and as he approached the coffee shop, he stepped right into the middle of an argument.

  “Stop trying to pressure me. You’ve no business knowing how I’ll vote.” The normally easygoing, mild-mannered Arthur Goding, one of his parishioners, squared off with a much younger man, one of the many who’d shown up out of the blue to work at pot farms. Oliver knew full well Arthur hated pot and pot farmers; he’d gotten an earful from the man many times.

  The youngster would not back off. “All I’m saying, pal, is that we’ve got a moneymaking business. If we do well, that’s money in the town coffers, not just our pockets.”

  “I’m not your pal. You’re pushy and rude.” Goding shoved the coffee shop door open but stopped before stepping inside. “You pot farmers are out there buying up good farmland and planting stinkweed. Don’t see that I have any common ground with that on any level.” Arthur continued into the coffee shop.

  The young man shook his head, looking around at all the people who’d watched the confrontation, including Oliver. “A vote
for pot sales is a vote for revenue. Even you must admit that money is good for a small town like this, right?”

  Oliver smiled, knowing that the point of contention was an upcoming election. They’d been without a mayor for almost a year. The last one resigned after it was discovered he’d been sheltering a fugitive. Senior council member Addie Getz was serving as interim mayor, but she didn’t want to serve the full remaining two years. The city finally decided to conduct a special election, which was scheduled to take place next month. A second item on the ballot was an initiative for allowing the sale of recreational pot in the city limits. While it was legal in the state, some municipalities had chosen not to allow its sale in their jurisdiction.

  “No, I wouldn’t admit that,” Oliver said pleasantly. “Ill-gotten gain is never a good thing.”

  The guy rolled his eyes. “Old dude, you need to step into the twenty-first century. Vote yes on Measure A.” He shoved a flyer into Oliver’s hands and then continued down River Drive.

  Oliver crumpled the flyer up and tossed it into the trash before entering the coffee shop. Arthur was putting cream in his coffee.

  “I wouldn’t worry, Arthur. The feeling I get is that they’ll lose. Not many people in this town want to see cannabis for sale on Main Street.”

  “I hope you’re right.” He sighed, calmer now and back to his levelheaded self. “But these potheads don’t stop bullying. Suppose they scare people into changing their minds? Now that they think they have a chance, they’ll apply pressure everywhere. The fellows at the Hang Ten are the worst,” Arthur noted derisively. “Those are some unsavory characters, I’ll tell you. Hired muscle. You better believe they’ll keep pushing, keep threatening, trying to change votes in their favor.” He held his hand up in frustration. “I hope our side isn’t intimidated.”

  “If they do threaten, then it becomes a police matter.” Oliver knew it was true about the bullying; the entire council had complained about this.

  “I wish the stuff had never become legal,” he said with a resigned sigh. “But the genie is out of the bottle now.” He pushed the door open and was gone.

  Hands in his pockets, Oliver watched him go. Arthur was right; the people who wanted recreational pot sales legal in the Hollow were often bullies. Would losing the election fair and square stop the nastiness? The whole issue would probably be a small thing in any large community, but in Rogue’s Hollow it was pitting neighbor against neighbor. That was Arthur’s problem; his neighbor happened to be the largest pot farm in town. Every day Arthur witnessed firsthand the pot business in operation. A couple other people Oliver knew who hated the new pot legalization had actually gotten into physical fights.

  The tranquility of the town had been shattered.

  “Hate to see that.” Pete Horning, owner of the Hollow Grind, walked from behind the counter and gave Oliver a cup of coffee. Pete was one of two people running for mayor. “But he’s got a point—the pot guys are a bit obnoxious.”

  “And it works against them. Thanks for the coffee.”

  “I just think the chief should be a bit more proactive.”

  This gave Oliver pause. “What do you mean?”

  Pete shrugged. “The Hang Ten would have been out of business after that incident a couple months ago. She should have left things alone.”

  A couple of months ago the Hang Ten had been the victim of a robbery. Several greenhouse seedlings, some packaged pot, and a large amount of cash had been stolen. The farm’s owner was on record saying he’d have been out of business if Tess hadn’t been able to return the stolen goods and cash. As Oliver understood it, that incident was in part why the Hang Ten had taken on “hired muscle.”

  “Wait a second. Are you saying she shouldn’t do her job? That she should look the other way?”

  Pete arched an eyebrow. “All I’m saying is any cop has discretion. She could have used a little in that situation; then there might just be one less pot farm here.” He went back behind the counter, leaving Oliver flabbergasted.

  The issue was doing more than shattering peace; it was shattering the character of some good people.

  4

  There were discrepancies in Duncan’s story, and it bothered Tess—almost as much as the circumstances surrounding Tim’s death did. Eva was certain someone had come home with Tim. If it was Duncan and he’d lied, what was he hiding? Tess found more that rubbed her the wrong way when she followed the coroner out of the house. She stopped to look under Tim’s window and didn’t like what she saw. The bush underneath was smashed as if someone had jumped from the window to the ground. The breaks in the bush were fresh; they hadn’t yet dried out in the warmth of the sun. She photographed it with her phone.

  She thought about going back inside and questioning Eva further but then decided not to put her through any more trauma. She’d talk to Duncan again, clear up the story he’d already told her. He should also know if Tim made a habit of jumping out of his window in a teenage thrill-chaser sort of way, something maybe his mom wouldn’t know.

  Her mind rumbled with a budding volcano of questions. If Tim or Duncan hadn’t jumped out, then who? And why leap out a window unless you were fleeing detection? And if fleeing, why? And from what?

  Duncan was in the station with Jonkey when Tess arrived.

  “Find anything useful?” Tess asked.

  Becky Jonkey was working on the computer, utilizing some new crime scene software. The department had been given the software as a free trial, and as the resident computer expert, Becky used it whenever she could. The jury was still out as to whether it would be useful to purchase. Tess could see that she was constructing a picture of the Spot. She’d also listed the names of the partygoers on the side.

  “Duncan gave me some good descriptions of the unknown subjects. I’m setting the scene just for the practice.” She didn’t look up. “List of party people is on your desk.”

  “Thanks.” Tess motioned to Duncan. “I have a couple questions for you.”

  “Sure, Chief.”

  “Think carefully, Duncan. Were you telling me the truth when you said you left the party before Tim?”

  “Yes, absolutely!” He frowned. “Why?”

  “Where’d you go?”

  “My curfew is midnight. Mom and Dad were waiting up for me.”

  That would be easy enough to verify.

  “Someone went home with Tim. Mrs. Harper heard another guy come in with him, and she thought it was you.”

  “It wasn’t, honest. Wait, do you think Tim was murdered?” His eyes went wide.

  Jonkey looked up. “Murder?”

  Tess held her hands up. “Hang on; I’m not sure. It’s still undetermined until the postmortem.” She told them about the window.

  “Tim never jumped out that window that I know of. Who would want to murder Tim?”

  “Don’t jump the gun, Duncan. I’m just dotting all the i’s.”

  “But—”

  “No buts. We need to be sure before we say something definitive. Don’t say anything that might get back to Eva Harper, understand? It could only cause more pain.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  “Now, if you’ve assisted Officer Jonkey all you can, maybe it’s time to go home?” She looked at Jonkey, who nodded.

  “Thanks for all your help, Duncan,” Jonkey said.

  Duncan shrugged, looking exhausted and deflated. “I didn’t help much.” His voice wavered. “I can’t believe this is happening. Tim’s gone—” The voice broke and he took a second to compose himself. “You’ll let me know what happens with this, I mean if it really is murder?”

  “Yes, I will. Thanks again.”

  Duncan left and Tess went into her office.

  Officer Bender, on for day shift, poked his head in. “Anything I should know about Harper?”

  Tess sighed. “Nothing certain, just a gut feeling that there’s more going on there than we know. At the very least, if it is drug related, I want to find the dealer. If you can
help identify all the partygoers, that’d be great. Get a copy of the list from Becky. We need to talk to everyone. Especially Dustin Pelter.”

  He nodded and left her office.

  “If it don’t feel right, then it ain’t.”

  One of her dad’s expressions came to mind. It was the one that had led her to pen rule #4: “Always trust your gut.” A rule Tess lived by.

  A lot of things surrounding the death of Tim Harper were unsettling. It was also distressing to Tess that this death warranted a call to the sheriff’s department to ask if they had any leads about where the illegal opiates were coming from. That meant Sergeant Steve Logan. She and Steve had dated for six mostly good months.

  Tess’s thoughts went back, unbidden, and she reflected on their time together. He’d been her rock through the holidays, helping her navigate the first winter she’d had to work in the snow. It was a whole new world fighting crime in the snow and ice. And it wasn’t all work; they’d played too, skiing on Mt. Ashland, snowshoeing at Diamond Lake, and snowmobiling at Lake of the Woods. It had been really fun.

  Through all of it, Steve had dropped hints about their future. He was ready to settle down, start a family—it was obvious. Tess ignored each and every hint, changing the subject when he got serious, preferring to take things one day at a time and hold lightly. Then the death knell came—she remembered it as if it were yesterday. The snow had melted and spring was in the offing. Her house was coming together and she’d made dinner for him. Afterward, they sat in front of the fire, and she could still feel the warmth of his embrace and the heady feel of his kiss, when he asked her point-blank: “Where do you see this relationship going?”

  “I like things the way they are.”

  “But nothing stays the same forever, Tess. I’m ready to take the next step.”

  She’d gotten up, irritated when thoughts of Paul, her ex-husband, and his betrayal flashed through her mind. I don’t want to be hurt like that ever again.

  “I’m not there yet—”