Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  Tess turned to Ledge. “I’m sorry, Agent Ledge. This is your rodeo. I don’t want to take the spotlight.”

  He grinned, not bothered at all like Hemmings was. “I knew I was taking on a celebrity when I asked you along. Just hang out for this circus, answer specific questions about today if you want. If they get overzealous, I’ll redirect them.”

  Tess smiled and nodded.

  Tess and Bender stood in the background while Ledge ran the press conference. Even after the field was dug up, for all the resources involved, it was a disappointing outcome. The agency was, however, playing up the raid as a huge success, exaggerating a bit here and there in a psychological warfare kind of way. When another agent showed up with pictures of some of the contraband they’d recovered from the houses they had raided, the media lost interest in Tess. The photo spread of weapons and drugs confiscated, though minimal, helped to calm some of the outrage over a dead teen drug dealer.

  There was bomb-making material, several assault rifles, and fentanyl. But the agency had expected a lot more. Even in personnel, they arrested only six people. Alexander was the only one on their most wanted list; the others were low-level workers without serious police records. But when the floor was opened for questions, the first reporter was not interested in the topic of drugs.

  “How is it that Chief O’Rourke was involved in this operation? She has no jurisdiction in this state anymore.”

  “Chief O’Rourke was instrumental in developing the intelligence that led us here. As you may recall, she arrested the person running things in Oregon last year. We couldn’t have gotten to this point without her. And where we are today is at the conclusion of a successful, multiagency drug interdiction operation.”

  That was it. Ledge, true to his word, redirected the reporters, and the focus returned to what they’d done today, not what had happened in Tess’s past.

  “This is our outstanding suspect.” Ledge pointed to a sketch of Fantasma. “I asked an artist to draw something up with everything we’ve discovered about the guy to this point. Someone in the viewing audience knows this guy. There’s reward money for information leading to his arrest.”

  Tess studied the rendering. He came off as sinister and dangerous. He was smart, though; Tess knew that. He’d been running a criminal drug cartel for too long to be stupid.

  “We’re asking for the public’s help and we’re setting up a tip line. José Garcia should be considered armed and dangerous. Take caution and call police if you see him.”

  Tess wanted to be the one to take him into custody. She wanted to be the one to close the book for good on the bad actor but doubted he’d ever show his face in the Hollow.

  10

  Oliver looked at the calendar and a profound sadness enveloped him. It had been nearly a year since Anna’s death, and he was running out of firsts without her—first Thanksgiving and Christmas, first birthdays, first wedding anniversary . . . The realization hit like a punch. He filled his coffee cup, then went to his study and sat at his desk to steady himself and let the sorrow volcano run its course. A deep sense of loss hit him occasionally but had lessened with time. This one was strong. Tim’s death had stirred up memories and stoked a fire causing him to feel Anna’s death all the more completely at the moment. It was always tempered by the knowledge that she was whole and happy in heaven, but he missed her deeply.

  He thought of Tess, losing her father on her birthday and now being unable to celebrate the day because the two events would forever be connected. Anna had barely gotten to know Tess, but she’d liked the new chief and believed she’d be a good fit for Rogue’s Hollow. As usual, Anna was spot-on. Tess had fit in and Oliver was glad she was here. He felt a connection with the woman; in a short time they had gone through a lot together. He knew that she understood his loss, but he wished she had the same peace that his faith gave him when the loss weighed down like an anchor.

  He believed that was the problem the other day, on her birthday—the loss was smothering her, after all these years, because she’d never really come to terms with it. He hated the word closure because there never really was closure for such a profound loss, the wound was forever. But he knew personally that there was hope, the hope of heaven and eventual restoration. Tess couldn’t move on because she didn’t have the same hope he did. Oliver wondered how he could help her.

  A glance at the clock reminded him that she was in Yreka, helping the DEA. He prayed all would go well with the operation. And then he prayed for Tess, that somehow he’d find a way to help her find peace with the loss of her father and maybe, one day, be able to celebrate the day of her birth for only that.

  – – –

  Tess and Gabe got back into town late Monday night. Her disabled unit was dropped off at Forest’s repair shop and Tess took the keys for Gabe’s truck. She doubted that Gabe would be able to work for a while. After filling out all the associated injury-on-duty paperwork, she talked him into letting his wife take him to the emergency room for his nose. Despite putting ice on it right away, it was swollen and he was having trouble breathing. His wife texted a while later that surgery was scheduled for sometime Tuesday, but it was expected to be routine and easy.

  Tess got a few hours’ sleep and made it to the station on time and had to right away deal with Bender’s absence. It was going to take some schedule juggling.

  She was in the midst of plugging holes in coverage when she realized that she hadn’t heard anything from the coroner about Tim Harper.

  Sitting back at her desk, she wondered if she should call. True, it had only been a couple of days, but things generally moved faster here than in Long Beach because there wasn’t the same volume of bodies making their way to the coroner’s office. There, an autopsy for someone like Tim, with no glaring signs of foul play, could take a couple of weeks.

  She called and the coroner spoke to her himself.

  “Sorry, Chief; there are some anomalies here. Hate to be mysterious, but I’m not making a determination until I’m certain. I’ve asked the coroner up in Multnomah County to consult. I promise to get back to you ASAP.”

  He would say no more, and Tess was left to ponder the word anomalies.

  11

  “I hate cops.” Hector Connor-Ruiz slammed the newspaper down on the table, spilling his coffee and garnering him dirty looks from several coffee shop patrons. He glared back and they returned to their coffees. He’d bought the paper specifically to see if there was an article about the news report he’d seen the day before. He found the article on the front page, and it turned his stomach and killed his appetite. O’Rourke hadn’t been the shooter. And to make matters worse, she was being lauded.

  He got up, discarded his unfinished coffee with the paper in the trash, and left the shop. He’d been in a bad mood before he’d stopped for coffee, and now, after reading the paper and seeing the one person he hated more than anyone else in the world being applauded, his mood was worse than ever.

  He climbed into his car and turned on the scanner, feeling somewhat better when he heard there was a traffic stop happening around the corner. Hector stepped on it, pulling away from the curb and cutting someone off and ignoring the honk. He made a turn and saw the patrol car half a block ahead of him on the other side of the street. He pulled over and parked as soon as he was able, then bolted from his car, spitting on the ground as he did, hurrying to get in position to film the traffic stop. Quickly pressing the right buttons on his phone, he started a livestream on Facebook, hoping a lot of followers would tune in.

  He held his phone up as he crossed the street and came in behind the patrol car, working his way up to the car the two officers had stopped. Whenever he happened upon police activity, he filmed, and when filming, he always provided his own unique commentary.

  “Hello, fellow justice warriors. Hector here, live and ready to stop injustice. Not sure what these fascists pulled this innocent citizen over for, but we’ll make sure it’s all on the up-and-up.”

&nb
sp; One officer cast a glance his way before talking to the driver; the other kept his gaze trained on Hector, who showed him a rude hand signal and kept talking to his phone.

  “The pigs have seen me and are watching me. I’m exercising my free speech rights.”

  To the cops he said, “This is a public place and you two are public servants. I have every right to be here.” Then he continued his narrative. “These two pigs have nothing better to do than harass people.”

  The cop on the passenger side of the car stepped toward Hector and held up his hand. “I’m asking you not to interfere, sir.”

  “And I’m asking you not to be a fascist. Why are you harassing this poor man? Because he’s black?”

  “That’s not your concern, sir.”

  “It’s everyone’s concern!” Hector moved toward the passenger window. “Are you okay, citizen? Do you need my help?”

  The officer stepped between Hector and the car. “You’re interfering with the performance of our duty. Step back or you will be subject to arrest or citation.”

  Something snapped in Hector. He’d had a bad couple of months. Traffic had dropped off precipitously from his blog, he’d run up an enormous amount of debt running for mayor—a contest he lost soundly—money from outside sources had dried up, and he’d wasted hours searching fruitlessly for a cheap place to live. And all his problems he blamed on the police.

  He swung his fist, but the cop was ready. He stepped back and Hector’s punch merely grazed his shoulder. Before Hector knew what was happening, he was on the ground in handcuffs.

  “Sir, you’re under arrest for assaulting a police officer.”

  Hector cussed and kicked. But the cop didn’t hit back. He simply held him down, kept him from landing any kicks or punches, until Hector got tired of fighting and they could pull him to his feet and put him in the police car. They were annoyingly polite and firm as they belted him into the backseat.

  Hector called them names, cursed and screamed, spit at the barrier between the front and backseat.

  He hated cops. But there was one cop he hated with every fiber of his soul.

  He cursed her as he was booked in at the downtown station. Someday he’d get even with her.

  Someday Tess O’ Rourke would pay.

  12

  The week got busy being one man down. Bender’s surgery went off without a hitch, but the doctor wanted him off at least a week, maybe more. Drake and Eva Harper were not at all happy with the delay at the coroner’s office. They wanted Tim’s body released so they could plan a memorial. Tess sympathized with them, but her hands were tied. It was Thursday afternoon before she heard back from the coroner about Tim Harper’s autopsy.

  “Chief O’Rourke, sorry this took so long, but frankly, you got yourself a winner. A very interesting case.”

  “What have you found?”

  “I ran a preliminary check. The white powder residue you sent tested positive for opiates, and Tim Harper died from respiratory failure. He was an otherwise healthy young man, so the obvious suspicion is that the underlying cause of the failure was opioid overdose. The sample has been sent to the lab for further testing.” The man paused.

  “Why do I hear a but coming?”

  “Because the young man also suffered a severe closed head injury. There are some scratches to indicate a fall. I also found some gravel in a wound on his knee, indicating he might have fallen on the pavement. Now the injury to his head wasn’t fatal. But he most likely had a concussion and needed medical attention. I found a single needle mark on his right arm, so if heroin or fentanyl is the culprit here, I doubt he was conscious when injected with the lethal dose. That leaves me with a homicide finding.”

  Tess leaned back in her chair, ears buzzing. The coroner went on with his postmortem, but knowing that Tim was murdered changed everything. She tuned back in as he finished.

  “Also, since there was only the one needle mark, there is no evidence to suggest he was a habitual intravenous user. The paperwork says you found a syringe?”

  “Yes, we did. I asked that it be printed.”

  “Wise. I’ll send them Mr. Harper’s prints. I doubt they will be on the syringe. I’d bet money he did not inject himself.”

  Wow, that was definitive. “Thank you.”

  “I’m inclined to release the body for burial unless you want a hold on it for any reason.”

  “You’ve taken all the tissue samples you need, correct?”

  “Yes, we’ll have complete tox screen results in three to four weeks.”

  “Then release it.”

  He hung up after saying she’d get her hard copy of the autopsy in a couple of days.

  Tess pulled up the reports Jonkey and Bender had written, their interviews with Tim’s classmates who’d attended the party, looking to see if they held a clue about who would have murdered Tim and why.

  “He was excited about college.” Josh Heller.

  “No one was in a bad mood. It was all good.” Duncan Peabody.

  “Taking pictures, that was all Tim talked about, creating mind-blowing photo essays.” Trace Danner.

  “He barely drank one beer. He was taking pictures of the moon.” Greg Nguyen.

  Jonkey indicated that Coach Whitman had not been contacted. Per the boys, the reason he left the party almost as soon as it started was to drive to Salem for personal business. Tess made a note to call later in the morning and see if he was home.

  Bender had spoken to Dustin Pelter. “I just got high, that’s all. Stayed long enough to get a joint. Didn’t know the guy’s name. Free is free. I’m not using anything stronger these days.”

  “‘Free is free,’” Tess muttered in disgust. Free dope would attract someone like Dustin. Though Dustin had helped Tess last year with her first homicide investigation in Rogue’s Hollow, he was not what she’d ever call reliable.

  Jonkey interviewed Eddie Carr, the new security guy at Hang Ten. He claimed he stumbled upon the party while hiking by himself and only stopped to smoke a joint. He denied knowing anyone, contradicting what the boys had said, that he seemed friendly with the guy giving pot away. And he didn’t know who Tim Harper was. Tess read the statement a couple of times. Jonkey had indicated that she thought the guy was lying, but there was no leverage to push him at the time, no proof of foul play.

  Everything was different now. And they were almost a full week behind the curve. Tess needed to talk to everyone again.

  Only one party attendee was as yet unidentified. The older man who was offering everyone pot. All the guys said he appeared to be a friend of Eddie Carr’s. Tess had thought that would be Don Cherry, the other new security guard for Hang Ten. But the description the kids gave of the man did not fit the hard-to-miss Don Cherry. At six foot five, solid muscle, with prison tats covering his arms, he could never blend into a crowd of teenagers.

  Tess had spoken to Drake Harper when he arrived home. He was devastated by his son’s death. How would he take the coroner’s news?

  The parents had to be told. Tess stood and walked into the lobby area.

  “Sheila, I’ll be out for a little bit but listening to the radio.”

  “Okay, Chief.”

  Tess climbed into Gabe’s patrol truck, missing her SUV and mentally rehearsing what she would say to Eva and Drake Harper. While she’d already considered murder, she was certain the parents hadn’t, and she knew it wouldn’t be any easier to swallow than overdose.

  When she arrived at the house, the driveway was full of cars. Oliver had told her that some family had flown in from back East and support from the church had ramped up. She looked for his car and relaxed when she saw it. He’d help cushion this blow.

  Someone outside having a smoke saw her, crushed out his cigarette, and rushed into the house.

  Drake Harper met her at the door. “Chief, do you have news?”

  “I do, Mr. Harper.” Everyone in the living room was watching them. “Is there a place I can speak to you and your wife in priv
ate?”

  “Uh, sure.” As he turned, Tess could see Eva. The woman looked as if she’d aged ten years since Friday. Next to her was Pastor Mac.

  “We can go in my study.” Drake stepped aside for Tess to enter. “Eva, the chief wants a word.”

  Eva’s eyes were as big as saucers. “May Pastor Mac join us?”

  Drake looked at Tess and she nodded.

  Once in the office, Drake closed the door and Tess gave them the coroner’s news.

  “What?” Drake paled and Eva collapsed into his side. “Why? Who would do this?”

  “Mr. Harper, I assure you I will do everything in my power to find out the who and the why.”

  Color slowly returned to the man’s face.

  “Do you know of anyone who’d want to hurt Tim? Anyone he didn’t get along with?”

  “No, absolutely not.” Drake was angry. “Tim was well liked. He was a positive, upbeat kid.”

  “Do you have any leads? Any guesses?” Eva asked.

  “It’s too soon. Obviously I will reinterview all the partygoers, look at everything from a different perspective.”

  Fury twisted Drake’s features. “Yeah, you can’t blame him anymore, can you?”

  Oliver stepped forward. “That’s not fair, Drake. The chief has not been laying blame.”

  “Fair? What’s not fair is my son is dead. And someone used drugs to kill him. It’s no leap in logic that there are drug dealers here in town hiding in plain sight. Duncan told me Eddie Carr was at the party. He’s your killer—that’s obvious. You should have arrested him from the get-go instead of blaming Tim.”

  Oliver started to say something else, and Tess gave him a look.

  “Mr. Harper, I repeat, I will find out who did this and arrest that person. I’m truly sorry for your loss.” She turned and left the office, walking back through a room of people with questioning looks on their faces. She saw Duncan and Greg in the corner. She wanted to talk to both boys but thought another time would be better.