Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “Will you ever be?” He stood and faced her, and Tess saw the hurt in his eyes. “We have a good thing . . . at least, it feels that way to me.”

  “It does to me as well, but I . . .” She struggled to find the right words and then felt awkward when all that came out was “I like things light and noncommittal.”

  She saw anger replace the hurt and he stiffened. “That’s just not good enough for me.” He grabbed his coat and was gone. Tess remembered watching the door close and wondering why she didn’t try to stop him.

  She really did like Steve, but the thought of making a commitment turned her feet ice-cold. They’d spoken on the phone a few times since that night when they realized they both wanted different things. He couldn’t understand her reticence completely, but neither one could say the words “We need to break up.” And now they were navigating the murky world of “taking a break.” At first, it was relatively easy. Steve was reassigned to a desk job for training purposes for four months, and their paths never crossed at work. He’d only recently returned to working in the field. So taking a break would get harder to do in a small valley.

  Rubbing her forehead and feeling like she could use another cup of coffee, like maybe a gallon size, Tess decided she could wait until the coroner’s report came in to call Steve. Knowing the exact cause of Tim’s death would be helpful.

  Relieved for the moment, she stood up to pace and think about this drug problem and possible suspects. The Hang Ten came to mind. Even though it was legally licensed by the state to grow pot, the pot farm was a headache in a lot of ways. On the surface, there was no evidence that the Hang Ten was involved in anything illegal. But Tess wondered. The legalization of pot was a kind of new gold rush, and it created a whole new class of entrepreneur. Tess had been amazed at the different classifications of workers on the farms. It was big business for sure. Besides the master cultivators, there were trimmers, budtenders, and people who supervised the drying. But these weren’t stable, year-round positions. Law enforcement had discovered a new subset of migrant workers with these farms, nicknamed trimmigrants or scissor drifters. These pot workers migrated between jobs, not exactly homeless, but not exactly laying down roots anywhere either.

  Added to the mix was the fact that pot was still a federal crime. Money made from and associated with pot sales couldn’t be deposited in banks. That meant a lot of cash floating around, which in turn meant a lot of thievery, attempted or successful.

  The Hang Ten’s owner, Gaston Haywood, moved from Southern California about a year before Tess. He’d established the farm and by all accounts had done well with his first harvest. She’d dealt with him a couple of months ago after he was the victim of a robbery. Two armed men assaulted him in his garage, beat him up pretty good, and stole several young plants from the greenhouse, some ready-for-sale pot, and a whole lot of cash—nearly $75,000. All told, Haywood estimated his total loss at close to $100,000. It was the kind of attack that was becoming common where pot farms were concerned.

  In this instance, Tess caught the crooks before they could even smoke a joint or spend a dime. Like an event from an episode of America’s Dumbest Criminals, one of them had dropped an ID card at the Hang Ten. She and two of her officers arrived at the address on the ID as the guys were removing what they’d just taken from their truck. It was a laughable law enforcement story she and Bender would probably tell over and over. Since then, Haywood had improved the security at the farm, adding cameras and a gated entry. He and some of his workers took to wearing handguns openly, legal in Oregon, an open carry state. He also hired two scary-looking guys, Eddie Carr and Don Cherry, ostensibly for security.

  She wondered if the two at the party were really a couple of Hang Ten employees. She chewed on her bottom lip. It was an easy jump to make because she’d yet to totally adjust to pot being a legitimate business. Her law enforcement mind classified them as drug dealers and often feared that pot farms could easily be fronts for dealing harder drugs like fentanyl or heroin.

  A knock at her door broke her chain of thought.

  “Sorry to interrupt. Thought you could use a little more coffee.”

  It was Oliver, holding out a welcome sixteen-ounce cup of coffee from the Hollow Grind. His gaze was warm and friendly. “You take it black if I remember right.”

  Tess nodded. They had shared many cups of coffee in the past year, both before his wife’s death and after. Not always the wonderful stuff the Hollow Grind produced.

  Grateful, she stepped forward and took the coffee. “Thanks. I was just thinking I needed more caffeine. How is Mrs. Harper?”

  Oliver gave a tilt of his head. “Devastated. Several of her friends are with her now. And her husband will be home as soon as he can.”

  “Good.” She sipped her coffee, realizing that she wanted to talk to Oliver about anything but a death. Their last long conversation had been about his wife’s death.

  He started this conversation. “I have a couple questions—that okay?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Is something bothering you? You seemed a little distracted this morning.”

  Tess couldn’t suppress a smile. “And I thought I had such a cop face.”

  Oliver grinned. “My job is to read people. And friends . . . well, I tune in to them.”

  Tess considered what she wanted to tell him. She’d made certain her birthday didn’t show up anywhere at work. She’d learned in her first month here that the people she worked with liked to celebrate each other’s birthdays with a potluck or pizza. She’d participated in several celebrations so far, dodging inquiries about her own. She was determined that her birthday would remain uncelebrated. She wondered about mentioning it to Oliver. With him, she knew it would go no further.

  “The date is bothering me.”

  “The date?”

  “Tim and I share a birthday. Only I haven’t celebrated mine since I was sixteen, and I have no plans to start.”

  “Your—” His face told her he realized exactly what she meant. “Hmm. I can understand why you don’t see the day as something to celebrate. Even with the passage of time.”

  Tess shrugged, now uncomfortable. The last thing she wanted was pity. But as she held his gaze, she saw no pity there, only understanding.

  He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I put the screen back on Tim’s window for Eva. . . . Uh . . . Are you thinking foul play?”

  “It just struck me as odd, that’s all. I have a suspicious nature.”

  He smiled. “I suppose that’s why you’re good at your job. But I’m not normally suspicious, and the circumstances with this bother me. Maybe I’m naive, but Tim and drugs aren’t two words I would put together.”

  Tess sat, sipping her coffee, and contemplated for a moment. “If you’re right, and the next choice is foul play, then it begs the question: who would want to hurt a kid like Tim?”

  He puffed up his cheeks and blew out a breath. “That I can’t say. In this day and age, murder doesn’t seem to need a specific reason.”

  “Now you’re talking like a cop.”

  He smiled. “I’ll, uh . . . I’ll leave you to your day. Mine is busy as well. But if you need something, I’m always available.”

  She nodded and he left.

  5

  Tess had developed a simple routine since her hire. It developed out of something she’d done last summer when she was trying to find a killer. Back then, she’d walked the town, talking to shop owners and anyone she thought might have been able to help her solve a homicide. After the killer was caught, Tess thought about the walk-through and decided it would be a good practice to continue. So three days a week, if weather permitted, at random times, she’d leave her office and walk the town, talking to people, stopping in at businesses, being visible. She didn’t want the walk to become a rut, hence the random times, and quickly discovered that she liked the interaction. She got to know people and places and felt that it helped her to be a better chief.
/>   After finishing her coffee, she needed fresh air, so Tess went out on her walk. It had been a long winter. Rogue’s Hollow had gotten snow, sleet, and everything in between, so the warm sunshine was very welcome. River Drive was busy; the rafting and fishing on the river was ramping up. Tess walked to where the businesses began and then headed down River Drive, a spring in her step and the nightmare a distant memory.

  She poked her head into the bookstore, owned by her friend and council member Casey Reno. Casey wasn’t there, but Tess said hello to the woman behind the counter before continuing down the street. Hotshot Fishing was busy; she merely nodded to some tourists, not wanting to interrupt the business. After Hotshot, she walked past the station and post office.

  Then came the Hollow Grind, which was busy also, though it was long past the morning rush. She continued to the latest new business in town. Pizza and Things had opened after the first of the year, filling a space that had long been vacant. It smelled great and her stomach rumbled. Maybe pizza would be her late lunch.

  “Chief!”

  Tess turned to see Arthur Goding coming out of the pizza place, sandwich bag in hand. He was a retired postal worker and a great friend to police.

  “Arthur, what’s up today?”

  “Glad I caught you. I’ve got those ATVs ready to go for you.”

  “Already?” The man’s hobby was repairing and refurbishing off-road machines like ATVs, snowmobiles, and dirt bikes. He’d told Tess over the winter that he had a couple to donate. She’d been thankful; the one off-road vehicle the PD owned had come in handy over the winter, but it had reached the end of its useful life. Thanks to Arthur, next winter they’d be better prepared.

  “Yep. It’d help me out if you could come get ’em. I’m heading down south soon for a wedding. I plan on picking up a couple of machines on the way back, so I could use the space.”

  “Okay, I’ll get ahold of Gabe—he’s got the trailer—and we’ll come get them today. That work?”

  “It does.” He saluted her with his bag and walked off to his truck. His dog was hanging out the passenger window, tongue lolling.

  Cutting her walk short, Tess sent Gabe a text. He indicated he’d go hitch up the trailer and meet her at Arthur’s. Gabe’s patrol vehicle was a four-wheel-drive pickup with towing capabilities. The ATVs would be stored in a maintenance shed at the end of Midas Drive. They could be used to search trails, if need be, or to get to remote rural properties. They’d had to travel to some out-of-the-way properties to check on a couple of elderly widows during the winter.

  Tess headed back to the station to pick up her car, reflecting on the fact that Arthur’s property was on Chainsaw Ridge, next to the Hang Ten. Duncan had said two guys from the Hang Ten were at the party. Did that mean they brought more than pot with them? There wasn’t enough evidence at this point to search the place or drag any of the employees into the station, but it warranted questioning the men. As much as Tess wanted to visit the place herself, she’d leave it to Jonkey. This was her case right now, and Tess wasn’t going to micromanage. She trusted her officers, and she wanted to make sure they knew that.

  – – –

  As Tess drove up Chainsaw Ridge, the elevation was such that she could look right and see Gaston Haywood’s pot grow area, secure behind eight-foot dog-eared redwood fencing. From what Tess had read, outside pot went in the ground the end of April, beginning of May. She couldn’t yet see growth from this far away but knew the weed would grow fast. The plants had been huge last October, or Crop-tober as she’d heard some people call it.

  Arthur and Haywood had isolated, relatively private pieces of property, with astounding views of the valley and the Rogue River. Identical seven-acre lots on Chainsaw Ridge, they backed up to a narrow canyon that was BLM forest. Arthur’s property sat a little higher than Haywood’s; he was the only one with easy access to the canyon.

  Tess pulled into Arthur’s driveway and parked in front of the house next to Bender’s truck and trailer, then walked back to where a large metal garage stood. Arthur had the garage built behind his animal pens and barn, specifically for his hobby. The large structure was filled with ATVs, snowmobiles, and Jet Skis, some operational and some not.

  She found Bender and Arthur bent over an ATV partially taken apart. They were talking about repairs, and to Tess it might as well have been a foreign language.

  “Hey, Arthur, Gabe, what’s going on?”

  Both men looked up, Arthur with a smudge of grease obvious on his coffee-brown cheek.

  “Chief, just working through a problem with Gabe here.” He wiped his hands on dirty coveralls and pointed. “Those are your babies.”

  She looked in the direction he pointed and saw two ATVs, one a two-seat Kubota with a cargo bed on the back, the other a single-seat QuadRunner.

  “Wow,” she said as she moved toward them. “These are used? They look brand-new.”

  “I fixed ’em up and painted them. They’re running like new as well.” He stepped next to her. “I heard the Harper kid died today.”

  Tess jerked toward him, almost forgetting how fast news traveled in a small town, especially bad news. She nodded. “Waiting for the coroner to say the how.”

  He tsked and glanced toward the Hang Ten. “It’s ’cause of them, I know it. Not directly maybe, but it’s never a good thing when a vice becomes legal.”

  Tess said nothing because nothing was definitive yet. Drugs were on people’s minds because of the opiate deaths in the valley.

  Arthur shook his head and pointed to the ATVs. “Why don’t you take them for a spin?”

  “I’ve never driven one of these,” Tess said as she put a hand on the Kubota and took a closer look. It appeared powerful and well-appointed. The back section would hold a lot of gear.

  “Aw, it’s just like driving a car.” Bender handed her keys and then walked around and jumped in the passenger seat. “Let’s go. We can check out the old logging camp.”

  Tess climbed behind the wheel. “I’ve wanted to see that place.” Tess had heard about the remains of a logging camp from several people since she’d come to town. She loved learning history and local lore and had read a little about the place, called Midas Camp. The area had been actively logged from the late 1800s to the early 1900s.

  “Wow, this is fun!” Tess said as she stepped on the accelerator and shot up the canyon on the peppy ATV.

  It was Bender’s turn to grin. “Kind of makes you wish we had more calls in the forest.” He spoke loudly to be heard over the engine.

  It was warm and dry and the vehicle climbed easily.

  “The camp is about a mile and a half up the canyon,” Bender said.

  In a short time Bender pointed out the first structure. Tess pulled up to it and killed the motor. They both climbed out and Gabe gave her a tour. There were five discernible buildings and four piles of graying wood indicating structures that had already been compromised by time and weather. She could make out a discernible pattern, the smaller structures in a semicircle around the large one.

  “The large log cabin over closest to the millpond, that was the mess hall. It’s in the best shape.”

  Best was relative, though. While the building he indicated was surprisingly intact, parts of the roof were missing. Of the other four cabins, some roofs looked ready to cave immediately, and all the windows were missing. Tess doubted it would be long before nature recovered all the ground.

  “The smaller structures were living quarters?”

  “Yeah, and over there by the large pile of wood, if you dug down a bit, you’d find the last remaining railroad tracks. A sawmill used to stand there, and the timber would be taken down the canyon by railcar and sent to the larger mill in the Hollow. You know that the church at one time was a sawmill.”

  Tess nodded; she’d heard that story.

  Bender continued. “Once the area was logged out, they just shut everything down and left it.”

  Tess looked around at the beautiful fores
t surrounding them. “Hard to believe that this area was ever logged out.”

  “Nature comes back quickly, that’s for sure.”

  “Kids don’t bother the place?”

  “There’s been a little vandalism over the years, but it’s not easy to get here unless you cross Arthur’s property. There are some roundabout ways in if you take the trail at the end of Midas Drive and go south, but it’s only hardy hikers that find the route down, and they are inclined to respect it, for the most part.”

  They wandered around for a bit. Tess noted that a lot of grass was crunched down, so some hikers had obviously found their way up here.

  “Let’s head back,” Tess said.

  “Okay if I drive?” Bender asked.

  “You bet.” Tess hopped in the passenger seat.

  Coming down the canyon, Tess had a clear view of the pot farm and saw that Haywood had someone hard at work on fencing in their entire acreage. That cost a pretty penny. She knew he’d gotten a little paranoid since the robbery and really didn’t blame him. The fence must be an extension of his security plan.

  As Tess and Bender made the turn from the trail onto Arthur’s property, they found themselves in the middle of a dispute: Arthur in a heated discussion with Gaston Haywood.

  “What do we have here?” Tess asked, half to herself and half to Bender.

  “Aw, that Haywood guy thinks Arthur is spying on him when he rides his ATVs up the canyon,” Bender said. “He gets all fired up because of the robbery. Probably thought we were doing a little spying.”

  “What?” Tess gave a laugh of disbelief. “What possible reason would Arthur have to spy on him?”

  Bender shrugged. “Who knows what goes through a pot grower’s mind.”

  Tess had to admit, from the lip of the canyon, she could clearly see Haywood’s home and the two travel trailers he kept on it, not to mention the fenced-in pot grow area and the large greenhouse. It’d be easy to spy if Arthur wanted to. And Haywood’s agitation brought up the thought she’d had earlier: What if the fentanyl and opiates plaguing the valley were coming from the Hang Ten and that’s what he had to hide?