Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  Oliver called out to her as she reached her vehicle. “Tess, he’s upset and hurting and only lashing out.”

  “I’m not bothered by his anger. I don’t mind being a target if it helps him deal with his grief.”

  He put a hand on her truck door. “I know you had suspicions from the beginning about Tim’s death; your instincts serve you well.”

  “Yeah, and it makes me angry as well. It’s bad enough that someone in the valley is peddling death—that really fries me. Now, a promising young man is dead. I can’t help but think his death is somehow connected to the opiate seller. Find him, I find my killer. So that’s my target, and I will hit my target.” She climbed into the truck.

  “I know you will,” he said.

  She started the car and drove back to the station, anger building with each minute that passed.

  Did Tim uncover something about the drug trade that cost him his life?

  Did he take a picture of something he shouldn’t have?

  What in the world could he have done that was so serious murder was the only option?

  The drugs were the key—they had to be. Tess chose to focus her anger on the plague of opioids invading her valley.

  13

  All Hector’s cursing and spitting hadn’t gotten the cops to throw a single punch. He’d been booked, didn’t have the money to bail himself out right away, and the two people he called for help shined him on.

  Then the stupid cops found some old tickets he hadn’t paid. The judge ordered him remanded to custody for the fines. He knew they were just messing with him, but he couldn’t even film the clown court.

  By Thursday, Hector was still fuming in his jail cell, sore from being restrained and from sleeping on the hard, smelly jail bed. He’d expected to spend just a few hours in jail before being released. Now the bail was even higher and he was stuck. They were going to transport him to the county jail in LA, and he’d be released right away because of overcrowding and have to find a way home. The cops were such Nazis. He’d been to this rodeo before. He hated jail almost as much as he hated cops.

  The odor, the noise, the danger. The guy in the cell with him smelled of urine and beer and was snoring like a buzz saw on the bottom bunk. Hector paced the small enclosure, stopping only when he heard footsteps. The jailer was coming. Hector tried to think of a smart insult to hurl at the guy when he walked past. Cops were bad, but they generally had brains. Jailers were morons.

  But the guy stopped at his cell.

  “Ruiz?”

  “It’s Connor-Ruiz.”

  “Yeah, whatever.” He slipped the key into the lock and opened the door.

  Hector didn’t move.

  The jailer motioned with impatience. “Well?”

  “Well, what?”

  “You’ve been bailed. Do you want me to process you out or do you want to stay?”

  Hector started to ask by who and stopped. Did it matter? All he wanted was out of this hellhole. He grabbed his sweatshirt and hurried out of the cell, forgetting even to insult the jailer.

  When Hector hit the lobby about an hour later, still putting his belt through the belt loops on his trousers, a large man wearing a sleeveless shirt accentuating bulging, tattooed shoulders and biceps, someone he’d never seen before, was waiting for him.

  “You Connor-Ruiz?”

  Hector finished with his belt and pulled the court paperwork from his mouth. “Yeah, that’s me.”

  “I’m from Andy’s Bail Bonds.” He held out a manila envelope. “Guy who posted your bail asked me to give you this.”

  “Who posted my bail?”

  “Not here to answer questions, just to give you this.”

  For a long moment they stared at one another. Finally Hector reached out and took the envelope. The bondsman turned to leave.

  “Why all the mystery?” Hector called after him. “Who bailed me?”

  “Look in the envelope” was all the guy said without turning back or slowing his progress out the door.

  Hector stood there for a moment staring at the envelope. He turned to his right and saw the front desk police service assistant watching him. Deciding not to open the package in the station, he followed the bondsman out into the night.

  Hector walked all the way to Lincoln Park before he sat on a bench and opened the envelope. The money caught his eye first—a thousand large bundled with a rubber band. Next was a letter with instructions and a phone number pasted to a burner cell phone.

  Breath coming fast with surprise and wonder, Hector jammed the money in his pocket and read the letter. He reread it twice before he allowed himself a smile. If this were true, he’d not only hit the lottery, but he’d connected with someone with whom he had a great deal in common, a person who hated Tess O’Rourke just as much as he did and had the resources to take her down.

  14

  Tim Harper’s funeral was finally scheduled to take place two weeks and a day after his death, and it was heart-wrenching and draining. Oliver didn’t remember feeling so worn-out since Anna’s funeral. The church was packed. There was overflow in the fellowship hall. It even shut the town down for about two hours. Chief O’Rourke was there. Oliver knew she’d been working hard on the case since the murder classification by the coroner. But the department was shorthanded because Gabe was still off after having surgery. Oliver wasn’t certain how much she’d been able to accomplish.

  Also at the funeral was the guidance counselor from the college Tim would have attended. He’d really been impressed with Tim’s photos and his talent. More moving than any of the eulogies was a presentation Duncan, Josh, Greg, and Trace had put together of Tim’s photos of them, Tim’s family, school, and Rogue’s Hollow.

  Oliver was dragging by the end of the weekend, and that was why he did something he rarely did—he took Monday off. His friend Victor Camus had a drift boat and fishing poles, so Oliver went fishing.

  They met at the boat launch just below the dam at Lost Creek. Oliver liked to fish, but he loved being on the river. Every time he got out, it felt as if he’d never done it enough. God’s hand was in the power of the current and the beauty of the passing terrain. It always energized him. And it didn’t hurt to see an occasional deer on the bank, munching on foliage.

  He and Victor climbed into the boat early, around 5:30 a.m., and began to drift, Oliver casting, Victor expertly rowing and steering the craft down the Rogue River. Victor worked as a fishing and hunting guide. He garnered top dollar, so Oliver felt fortunate that the man would spend his free time taking him out. They didn’t speak until Oliver hooked his first fish.

  “Nice one,” Victor said as he readied the net.

  Oliver reeled the six-pound steelhead to the side of the boat and Victor brought it in. He then removed the hook and released the fish back into the river.

  Back at the oars, Victor got talkative. “Been about a year now—seems like that chief is working out for us.”

  “I would agree with that,” Oliver said as he prepared to cast again.

  “Too bad she can’t do something about the pot farms.”

  Oliver turned from his pole and looked at Victor. “They causing you problems?”

  “Not me personally, but they stir up the town. It’s ironic—years ago when it was illegal and there were hidden pot grows everywhere, I had to be careful when taking people out. Always a danger of booby traps and running across paranoid hippies. But it was a problem only out in the wilderness. Now that it’s legal, the problems are all front and center in downtown Rogue’s Hollow.”

  “It sure seems that way.”

  “All these overdoses, I think they’re a result of the proliferation of pot farms. One drug leads to another. Wouldn’t surprise me if the Hang Ten guys are in some way responsible for his death.”

  Oliver stopped midcast. “You thinking those guys are murderers?”

  “Maybe I’ve watched too much TV. They just seem like the usual suspects.”

  With the funeral preparation
having occupied his time, Oliver was not up to speed on exactly where Tess was on the investigation, but she’d probably considered the Hang Ten. “The chief is on it, Victor. I have confidence she’ll get to the bottom of Tim’s case. Tess is dedicated. She and Gabe were just down in California last week working with the DEA.”

  “I saw that in the paper. She got shot, didn’t she?”

  “It was a graze,” Oliver said, still a little shaken over how close Tess and Gabe came to getting seriously hurt. “She caught a bad guy, a big-time drug importer.”

  “Paper said that guy was probably the one sending stuff to Roger.” Victor tsked and spit into the water.

  Hearing Roger’s name brought to mind Victor’s sister, Helen. She’d married Roger, believing he was aboveboard, while he’d married her to simply provide cover and look respectable.

  “How is Helen?”

  “She’s okay, likes Arizona. She thinks the world of the chief. Called me after seeing the news report. It was good to see our chief on TV being praised for her police work.”

  “It was, and the praise was well deserved. She works hard.” Oliver thought the coverage was a two-edged sword. He was glad Tess was being recognized for excellent police work, but he worried about the chances she took, hoped the notoriety wouldn’t make her a target.

  He knew the murder of Tim Harper angered her. It had to be related to drugs. He remembered her frustration that all she could do was plug one hole in a leaking dike.

  Tess O’Rourke was a warrior for justice—he’d called it right—a dragon slayer, a quality that made her a good police officer and loyal friend. But always behind her zeal for justice was the underlying “I need to do this because God won’t.” She’d been railing against God and denying her faith since her father was murdered when she was sixteen.

  He thought about how she’d helped him in the immediate darkness right after Anna’s death, before the absolute horror of what had happened had set in, by reminding him that he needed to put one foot in front of the other and continue with the business of living. Life still had to be lived.

  While her advice was sound, it wasn’t what brought Oliver through the deepest valley of his life. It was remembering the Healer of souls. He’d spent a month home in Scotland after Anna’s burial and all the memorials that sprang up to honor her. The time in the Scottish Highlands cleared Oliver’s head, took him back to the basics, and reassured him that no matter what pain and loss he felt in this world, God was still in control. And there would soon be a time when the pain and loss were forgotten and he would be as healed as Anna now was, and in the presence of God.

  In the midst of his grief, Oliver had never felt close to losing his faith. On the contrary, it was his faith that sustained him. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he had new purpose, something Anna would approve of. Faith in God would never insulate a person from the pain of living, but without faith there was no hope that the pain would count for something, that it wasn’t all for nothing. He couldn’t imagine Tess truly healing from her dad’s death without relying on a faith that told her it was for a reason, it wasn’t in vain.

  A person could only put one foot in front of the other and honor their loss if they had faith that there was something worthwhile to come. Therefore, he knew he had to help Tess regain her faith. He must find the right way to show her that there was a God who was in everything—the good and the bad—and that he cared deeply for Tess.

  15

  Monday morning, two weeks and three days since the murder, Tess still had no leads, and other than her growing suspicion about Eddie Carr and the Hang Ten, she was at an impasse. Alone in her office, Tess tacked to her whiteboard a printout of Jonkey’s software scene rendering of the Spot during the party. She folded her arms and studied the representation. The figures were all named as Duncan remembered them when he left. There was no evidentiary use to the depiction and really no investigative use either. It just helped Tess to put her mind there.

  She jotted notes as she thought, alternately writing, then crossing out or underlining if it made sense.

  1. Were there arguments or fights that night?

  Murder among friends. It happened—Tess had seen it often in Long Beach, especially when alcohol was involved. But she doubted that was the issue here. Nothing she’d heard pointed to one of his friends killing Tim over a disagreement.

  2. Did Tim interact in a negative way with one of the strangers?

  No, everyone said the gathering was mellow, happy. Everyone was looking to the future.

  3. Were there hidden family issues?

  Every family had them. But Tess had seen too much raw grief from Tim’s parents to go down that path.

  4. What could Tim have done to cause someone to want to bash him over the head, then inject him with a lethal dose of drugs? Did he take an unwanted photo?

  That seemed far-fetched, but Tess knew murders were often committed with less provocation. She needed to look at the last photos he took, just in case. She remembered the cameras she’d seen in Tim’s room. Did one of them hold the evidence that would crack the case?

  She wasn’t sure how long she studied the artwork, but her perusal was interrupted by Sheila Cannan, her clerk, knocking on the doorframe.

  “Sorry to interrupt, but Drake Harper is here. He wants to talk to you.”

  “Oh, okay.” Tess turned the whiteboard around. “Send him in,” she said as she sat down behind her desk.

  Harper walked in a second later. He wasn’t a big man, but he had a presence, a military bearing that made him seem tall and powerful, even with the obvious grief. Tess had noticed he’d barely held it together at the funeral.

  “Have a seat, Mr. Harper.”

  “Thanks for letting me drop in, Chief.”

  “Not a problem. What can I do for you?”

  “First, I wanted to apologize for my behavior the other—”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. I understand completely.”

  “You’re too gracious. Thank you. I was wondering if I could have Tim’s phone back. The coroner didn’t have it. I’m not sure what you need it for, but my wife and I—”

  “I don’t have Tim’s phone.”

  “Didn’t you take it for evidence?”

  “At the time I was at your house, we were investigating a possible accidental death. The only evidence we collected was the paraphernalia.”

  He frowned. “Eva believed you might have it. We can’t find it anywhere. He was using it to take pictures that night. It would be the last of his work, maybe a last selfie . . .”

  And maybe a photo of his killer.

  Tess thought a minute. She hadn’t looked for a phone, and none was evident in the photos Becky had taken. If the coroner had come across anything, he would have notified her about personal effects.

  “I’d actually like to see those photos as well.”

  Drake brightened ever so slightly. “Tim was a great photographer.”

  “Did he have a cloud account? It’s possible the photos were uploaded as soon as he took them.”

  “I, uh . . . I’m not sure. I helped Tim learn about taking old-fashioned photos, even showed him how to use a darkroom, but that’s obsolete now, isn’t it?”

  She nodded, disappointed, but she took a different tack. “Have you gone up to the Spot? Maybe he dropped it up there somewhere. Sergeant Pounder is on duty today. I’ll have him meet you up there.”

  “Great, I’d like that.” He stood. “I can also call the phone company. It’s on our plan, so hopefully the GPS will tell us where it is.”

  His expression told her there was something else. She waited.

  “One more thing. I hesitate to mention it because Eva’s been a mess. But she thinks Tim’s clothes are gone.”

  “His clothes?”

  “Yeah. The ones he wore to the party, tan shorts and an orange Beavers shirt. I told her she must be mistaken . . . But first his phone, and we can’t find his bike anywher
e either—it’s all got to be related.”

  “His bike also?”

  “Eva initially thought Duncan brought him home from the party, so maybe the bike was still in Duncan’s Jeep, but it’s not. And Duncan didn’t bring him home anyway.”

  Nonplussed by this new information, Tess remembered the boy was in his boxers. Why would a killer take his clothes?

  “I’ll see that the other boys are asked about the bike. But his clothes, that stumps me.”

  Tess walked him out. “Sheila, can you call Curtis and have him meet Mr. Harper at the Spot? He wants to look for Tim’s phone. It might have some evidentiary value as well.”

  Sheila picked up the phone.

  “Thank you, Chief.” Drake faced her momentarily, then turned and left the station.

  The idea that there might be something in the photos blasted some hope into Tess’s thoughts. But the more she thought about it, the more her hope faded. If someone killed Tim over a photo, they almost certainly destroyed his phone.

  16

  Neither Curtis nor Drake Harper found the phone. And according to the phone company, there was no ping on the GPS. The bike was also problematic. Tim didn’t have a car. He rode his bike everywhere. Rogue’s Hollow wasn’t a big place. It wasn’t directly on a busy highway like Shady Cove. Tess had learned that a lot of people were comfortable riding their bike everywhere, even at night. The absence of Tim’s bike said that the killer likely gave him a ride home. From where? If so, had he kept the bike or hidden it, and why?

  Tess had reinterviewed all the boys after the funeral. According to them, Tim had still been at the Spot when the last of them left for home.

  “I offered him a ride,” Greg said, “but he told me that he’d probably ride around town to try to find the best place to shoot the moon.”