Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “Did he tell you where the best place was?”

  “He mentioned a couple of spots. . . .”

  Tess had asked all the boys to come to the station; she just wanted to go over everything again. She asked Duncan how it was that he and Tim, not jocks, had become part of a group of jocks.

  “We’re all from the Hollow. We grew up together. We’ve always been friends.”

  Greg Nguyen was the leader of the group—that much was obvious. He looked the part of star pitcher: tall, solidly built. His father was Vietnamese, his mother white, and he inherited both light coffee-colored skin and slightly almond-shaped arresting green eyes. Tess bet the girls were all over him.

  “But he wasn’t sure where the absolute best location would be,” Greg said. “Chainsaw Ridge was one.”

  Trace was next in the pecking order. He was a baseball player as well, though no scholarship waited for him. He was a lithe, rangy kid, with dark hair and eyes. He’d brought a baseball with him and was fiddling with it, bouncing it off his bicep and catching it.

  “I heard him say that, but he also talked about the viewing platform at the Stairsteps.”

  Josh and Duncan agreed with their friends.

  “Did he interact at all with the guys from the Hang Ten?”

  Greg and Trace exchanged glances.

  “It wasn’t anything,” Greg said.

  “Let me be the judge of that. What happened?”

  “Tim was taking photos on his phone, of everyone. That Eddie guy asked him not to photograph him. Tim didn’t; that was it.”

  “Was he angry when he asked?”

  “No,” Trace said. “He was just like, ‘Hey, don’t point that thing toward me.’”

  “What about Dustin?” Tess had been trying to find Dustin for a second interview, but he’d disappeared. She’d checked out places he often stayed and came up empty.

  Trace looked at Greg, then said, “I don’t remember Dustin saying much of anything.”

  “Yeah.” Greg nodded. “He just smoked—sat next to a rock and smoked.”

  “How did Dustin get there? Did he come with someone?”

  Duncan laughed. “Oh, that guy, he has a sixth sense when it comes to the possibility of free anything. He rides an old beat-up beach cruiser. He was still there when I left.”

  The other boys shook their heads.

  “I don’t remember when he left, or if he was still there when I left,” Greg said.

  “Who of all of you left the party last?”

  “Me and Trace rode together,” Greg said. “Duncan left first, Josh after him. When we left, Tim was the only one of us still there. Even the crashers were gone.”

  “Anything else you can tell me about Eddie Carr?”

  They exchanged looks; then all of them shook their heads no.

  She wanted more from them about Eddie Carr, but they had no more to give.

  After the boys left, Tess mulled what she’d heard. She got a little more information when a surprise showed up in her doorway. It was Coach Whitman, back from Salem. He’d been absent from the funeral. Tess thought that odd, but Greg said the man spent a lot of time in Salem.

  “Chief O’Rourke, I got your message. I’m just devastated about Tim Harper, but how can I be of any help?” Whitman looked like an ex-jock going soft. Probably in his late forties, his hair was gray and a small paunch hung over his belt. She remembered reading that he’d coached college ball in Arizona before coming to Oregon to coach high school. She wondered at that. Why the comedown?

  “Thank you for coming in, Mr. Whitman. I heard you were at the party that night. I’m asking everyone who was there what went on.”

  “I’m in an uncomfortable position here. Yes, I was at the party for a few minutes to wish Greg well. He’s the best athlete I’ve ever coached. But if it comes to light I was present while the boys were drinking beer . . .”

  “I’m trying to find Tim’s killer. Getting you in trouble for bad judgment isn’t high on my list.”

  “Ouch. Yeah, it was bad judgment. Maybe if I’d gone off on the boys and stopped the drinking and the party, Tim would still be alive. I spoke to Greg and Trace and then left for Salem.”

  “What’s in Salem?”

  “My girlfriend. She moved up there two months ago for a job and I’ve been trying to keep the fires burning.”

  “What time did you get there?”

  He hiked a shoulder. “It was a long drive. I think I got there about three in the morning.”

  Tess considered this. Salem was roughly three hours away. Leaving here after eleven would get him there by three.

  “I’ll need your girlfriend’s name and number.”

  “Am I a suspect?”

  “Everyone is a suspect. Do you have a problem with giving me the information?”

  “Forgive me, Chief. It’s just that we’re circling back to my bad judgment. Is there any way the high school will get wind of this?”

  “I want to talk to your girlfriend, not your boss.”

  She didn’t get much more out of Whitman. Even the boys had said he didn’t stay long. Tess called the woman and got voice mail. She left a message and requested a timely call back. The coach bothered her, and she thought about checking into his background, but there wasn’t a way to do that without notifying his work. Then again, he did come in without being asked. Maybe the girlfriend would clear everything up. She decided to wait until she talked to the woman.

  Tess returned to Eddie Carr and the Hang Ten. Maybe this wasn’t about the party; maybe Tim had ridden his bike to where he thought he’d get a good shot and that’s where he met his killer. Haywood and his people were paranoid; maybe they misconstrued what he was doing. But why take Tim home, leave him on his bed, and take his clothes?

  She’d called Steve after receiving the coroner’s report but struggled with how to ask him for help.

  “Good morning, Steve.”

  “Hi, Tess.”

  There was an uncomfortable pause. Tess cleared her throat. “I was calling to talk to you about Tim Harper.”

  “Yeah, I read about him. What a waste. He was a good kid. Hard to believe anyone would want to kill him. How can I help?”

  Tess relaxed. This sounded normal and routine. “Looking to answer the ‘Why Tim?’ question. Assigning motive is the hardest part of this case. I keep coming back to drugs. We had a couple party crashers.” She read him the description of the so-far unidentified man at the party. “Does he sound like any guys you know about who are involved in drugs?”

  “Kinda sounds like a guy MADGE has been looking for. They think he’s been cooking the fentanyl we’ve been finding.” MADGE was the Medford Area Drug and Gang Enforcement task force. It was made up of several law enforcement agencies in the area. The only reason there was no Rogue’s Hollow officer on it was that Tess couldn’t spare the personnel.

  “They think he’s a retiree from California, possibly renting a house in Shady Cove. They haven’t yet been able to nail down an address. Have them check out the residue you sent to the lab. They might be able to tell if it’s some of the same stuff they’ve already confiscated.”

  “Great. Thanks, Steve.”

  “No problem. I wanted to talk to you about the press conference in Yreka a couple of weeks ago. Good job. Glad you weren’t hurt too bad.”

  “Unfortunately, Gabe got the worst of it.” With the awkwardness gone, Tess realized she’d missed him.

  “You’re short now, huh?”

  “Yeah, till he gets back.”

  “Holler if you need help.”

  “I will, thanks.”

  Tess hung up and wondered about Steve. He’d been so supportive when she first arrived in Rogue’s Hollow. He’d helped her navigate the new penal code, introduced her to people, shown her a little bit of her new state, and become emotional support. But as much as she pulled him close, she also pushed him away. Her ex-husband had been a cop and betrayed her. That’s why she added rule #12 to her list
of rules to live by: “Keep work professional, and personal life, personal.”

  She liked Steve. Sometimes Tess wondered if she was being too guarded. After all, they worked well together; she enjoyed his company. But there was no spark, no pull to him she felt compelling. This had made her doubt the wisdom of entering a committed relationship with him.

  Still, there was nothing in the world so awkward as “let’s just be friends.”

  She absentmindedly scratched her arm, the spot where the bullet had skimmed. The Steri-Strips were gone, and the spot itched. She was fortunate. Poor Gabe had to endure more. Typically, his PD brethren were not the coddling type.

  “Look at the bright side,” Curtis Pounder joked. “Any work on that nose can only improve the face.”

  But losing a member of her eight-man force, even if only for a couple weeks, was not a laughing matter. It meant Tess working more hours, filling in gaps. It wasn’t that she minded working, but Tim’s murder was getting colder by the day.

  The lines between work and personal life were so blurred right now, she was taking work home with her as she pondered Tim’s murder and all the other drama in a small town. But at least it distracted her from the nightmare still haunting her sleep, and that was a good thing.

  17

  Wednesday Tess had no coverage but herself, and it was a busy day, full of nuisance calls. Tess remembered times in Long Beach when she worked a patrol car, going from call to call. At certain times, when she worked the late shift, she’d log on to a page full of calls holding on the computer. Usually music complaints and disputes, she’d cover her beat and handle one after the other. Here, there were disputes, but also reports about a possible body in the river—turned out a kayaker got dumped, but he’d made it safely to shore—and another call of a broken fence and livestock on the roadway. These were all issues that had to be handled, but ultimately no big deal. When it quieted down, she used the time to look for Dustin but came up empty. She also made an appointment with the coroner for Thursday. She’d received the hard copy of the postmortem and wanted to go over it in person, make sure she wasn’t missing anything.

  Ever since the snow stopped, Tess, Casey Reno, and acting Mayor Addie Getz tried to have lunch together once a week, on Thursday. After the death of Anna Macpherson, Tess’s first good friend in Rogue’s Hollow, Casey and Addie became her closest confidantes. This week Addie was too busy for lunch, and Tess almost canceled because of her scheduled visit with the coroner. But Casey had a good idea. She had some shopping to do at the mall in town and said she could do that while Tess was with the coroner. So they decided to have lunch in Medford after the visit to the coroner.

  Tess went over every aspect of the report and asked if it was possible to determine how the head injury occurred. The coroner could not tell her with any certainty but thought perhaps Tim had fallen from his bike, or maybe he was hit by a car and knocked off his bike. He also went over the scrapes he’d found, wounds Tess couldn’t see very well when she did her brief visual exam.

  After the meeting, Tess picked Casey up, and Casey treated her to lunch at Jasper’s, a local favorite hamburger joint.

  “It breaks my heart. Tim was a good kid.” Casey Reno wiped her eyes and worked to compose herself while Tess waited patiently. That was the thing about living in a small town—everyone knew everyone else, and when something like what happened to Tim occurred, it touched a nerve in everyone.

  “It’s mind-boggling, really. Tim was the sweetest boy. I’m not sure Eva and Drake will ever recover.”

  Tess felt that pinch her heart. She remembered thinking she would never recover when her father died. She did because she knew that’s what her father would have wanted.

  “They have each other. I can only hope they find it in themselves to recover together.”

  “You must be looking at the Hang Ten. Honestly, everyone who works at that pot farm is shady, except Bryce. But the big man, the one with the tattoos—” she shivered—“he’s scary.”

  “They are obvious suspects, aren’t they? I just have no evidence right now.” Tess went back to her burger.

  But Casey wasn’t finished. “So you’ve considered them.”

  Tess swallowed, drank some iced tea. “I have. Carr doesn’t have a record, and everyone knows that Don Cherry is an ex-con. But he’s off parole; there are no restrictions on him any longer. He’s not even one of the Hang Ten employees who carries a gun. As much as I’d like to drag them in and question them, I have no reason. Carr was at the party, but Cherry wasn’t.” Tess probably spoke more sharply than she meant to.

  “I’m sorry, Tess. I know you’re doing your job. But this hits so close to home. After what happened to Kayla last summer . . .”

  She choked up and Tess understood. Her fourteen-year-old daughter, Kayla, had been kidnapped by Roger Marshall when he tried to flee. Though unhurt, Kayla and her family were certain to have lasting scars from the incident. She could have easily been the kid the town was mourning last summer.

  Casey blew her nose. “All of this comes back to drugs. They are everywhere nowadays, and for a parent it’s terrifying.”

  “I’m working on making them scarce, I promise.”

  “I get that you understand; that makes me feel better. It will only help everyone involved to be certain that the killer is off the streets.”

  They went back to their lunch, but Tess couldn’t stop her mind from working, thinking about the people at the Hang Ten.

  Carr was annoying for sure, but Tess felt he was all bluster. It was Don Cherry who bothered her the most. He could kill; he had once already. Research told her he’d done five years in prison in California for assault with GBI, or great bodily injury, and manslaughter. And not just any prison, but Corcoran, one of the toughest in the state. Tess had made a call to his prior PO in California.

  “Don kept his nose clean in jail, but he does have tenuous ties to La Eme. With me he checked in when he was supposed to, but you know the workload down here.”

  Tess did. According to the PO, officially Cherry was clean, but no one with “ties to La Eme” ever really broke those connections. And the drug ring in Yreka was affiliated with the same gang, the Mexican mafia. The man she arrested had been covered with La Eme tats. She hadn’t seen any indication of mafia influence in Rogue’s Hollow, and even in Medford, officers said they rarely had hard-core issues like that. If there was any evidence Cherry had been at that party, she’d be all over it.

  As for Eddie Carr, he had no record. Shaved head, he was thin and wiry, and the way he walked, sneakily, reminded Tess of a cat. He had a rep for being hot tempered and a fighter, despite the absence of a record. Both men had hardened, ex-prison looks about them.

  The third man, Bryce Evergreen, the guy Casey would vouch for, was the only one who didn’t cause concern on Tess’s part. Oliver had given Tess the lowdown on Evergreen. Bryce had grown up in Shady Cove, just up the road, and at one time had been part of the church youth group. But he fell away. He joined a group of druggies who made their mark on Shady Cove and Rogue’s Hollow long before Tess’s time. Back then he was tight with Tilly Dover and the now-deceased Glen Elders.

  Today, Evergreen was a down-on-your-luck story. He’d left the state a few years ago and, by all appearances, cleaned up his life. He got off drugs and started working as a handyman, a kind of jack-of-all-trades, in Washington. But he tended to follow work from place to place. While heading to a job in Portland, he’d been stopped for a traffic violation, and police discovered that he had a very old outstanding warrant in Medford.

  Arrested and shipped back to Medford on the warrant in February, as a nonviolent offender Bryce was immediately given a court date and kicked out of jail with a schedule of fines to pay off. But then he had no car and no money and he was far from his home base in Washington. He spent some time at the Medford Gospel Mission after his initial release and before his first court date. Oliver had run into him at the mission and gotten the word out that B
ryce needed work. Oddly, it was Gaston Haywood who hired him, something that caused Tess to raise an eyebrow.

  “I know. It bothered me as well,” Oliver said. “But Bryce isn’t working with pot; he’s working as a handyman. And from what he tells me, Haywood is so paranoid about theft, there is no way Bryce could get near any pot if he wanted to.”

  Yet Tess wondered about the temptation there. She had talked to Bryce herself and he appeared committed to staying clean. Like Tilly Dover, the other ex-druggie Tess was familiar with, he wanted that life to stay in the rearview mirror.

  Casey interrupted Tess’s musings, almost reading her mind. “I wish I could find other work for Bryce. If only for his parents’ memory. I hate to see him working at that pot farm.” Born and raised in the Hollow, she remembered babysitting Bryce when he was a kid.

  “I talked to him,” Tess said. “He just wants to make enough money to pay his legal fees, get back to Portland, get his truck out of impound, and leave the state. You know there aren’t many places in the valley where he could find a job to pay him quickly enough to do that.”

  “I know. But I’m afraid being around the element will cause him to stumble.”

  Tess shook her head. “He seemed pretty committed to staying clean. And he hopes to be gone before October, the next pot harvest.” She’d been impressed by his resolve.

  “I’ll try to find a way to help him,” Casey said as they finished their coffee and got up to leave the shop.

  “Why don’t you help me understand this Oregon weather?” Tess asked as they stepped outside the shop. The early summer weather had been going great, but last night the temperature had dropped somewhat and clouds had appeared. There was the promise of rain and a thunderstorm in the air.

  Casey laughed. “This is unusual, but we need the water. Consider it a blessing.”

  “I consider this whole area a blessing.” Tess smiled and meant it. She loved being chief in Rogue’s Hollow, a realization that still surprised her. Coming from Long Beach PD, a department with over eight hundred officers, to Rogue’s Hollow, Oregon, with eight sworn officers and three civilian employees, had been a shock, but every day was coming easier and there was a smoothness to the routine now. She was even starting to feel a part of the community. Even after seventeen years in Long Beach, while she’d felt a part of the police department, the community at large had always felt separate. Not many officers even lived in the city limits in Long Beach. Here in Rogue’s Hollow, they all did. When she thought of Casey and Oliver, it was truly community policing here in the Hollow and she was glad to be a part of it.