Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  She did not want him living rent free in her head. But he was there, and that raised so many questions about his appearance in her new state: Why now? What did he have planned? And what were the people she worked with going to think?

  Saturday morning, Tess worked to forget Hector. She planned on staying home and unpacking moving boxes. But it was supposed to be the hottest day so far this year and her heat pump saw fit to stop working. A morning phone call from Jeannie cheered her up immensely.

  “Hey, how are you doing up there in the great northwest?”

  “I’m doing fine, except . . .” Tess told her friend about Hector.

  “You’re kidding me. He moved up there?”

  “So he says.”

  “Wow. I’ll ask around. I know his blog has tanked, haven’t heard a peep from him in a while.”

  They talked for a few minutes. Tess told her about Tim Harper’s murder, and Jeannie told Tess about the latest in Long Beach.

  “Let me tell you some good news. Remember my cousin in Portland? She’s getting married next week. I wasn’t going to go, but I changed my mind at the last minute.”

  “That sounds like fun.”

  “It will be. I decided to put a convoluted twist on it. Suppose I fly into Medford on Friday? I could spend the night, leave early in the morning, make it to the wedding. Get to see your new house.”

  “I’d love to see you. But my house—” She considered the weather and the fact that she kept having problems with an old, cranky heat pump. “The heat pump is temperamental, so it might be too hot here.” She’d forgotten to call the technician and knew she’d probably not get someone out until next week.

  “Well, we could stay at the B and B.”

  “How about the inn?” Since Cole was on his high horse again, Tess didn’t want to go to the bed-and-breakfast he and his wife owned. The inn would be safe turf, and as much as she loved her house, she didn’t want to worry about cooking or cleaning.

  “That would be fine. I’ll call you later in the week and firm things up.”

  Tess hung up, happy she’d be seeing Jeannie, even if it was only for one night.

  Tess let her thoughts drift back to movie night. The sense of community she’d felt at the church bolstered her. There was a feeling of safety and camaraderie here, a feeling of peace, and as she began to tackle some boxes, it surprised her to admit that to herself.

  Rogue’s Hollow was home now. While not overly superstitious, she recognized the importance of gut feelings. And she’d learned that you could have feelings about places, situations that could help you, that could increase your comfort level. That was what made certain parts of town more desirable than others, the gut feeling that a place was safe, that you could let your guard down. There were certain parts of Long Beach that made Tess feel safe and certain parts that made her tense with awareness, preparing for the trouble she knew might lurk around any corner.

  She preferred the safe feeling, the places where she could let her guard down.

  She made herself a sandwich, and between bites, she opened a couple of boxes she’d stacked in the dining room. They weren’t labeled, so the first one contained a big surprise. Inside, Tess found a small, long-forgotten box filled with some of her father’s belongings. She hadn’t even realized she still had the items. It had been years since she’d seen them. Sifting through the box reminded her of her dad and engulfed her in bittersweet memories.

  There was his sweat-stained LA Dodgers hat and well-worn baseball glove—her father had been an awesome shortstop for the department’s softball team—and the shoulder patches from his uniform shirt. And there was an index card he’d laminated. It was something he’d carried in his uniform pocket every day at work. There were four Bible verses cited on the card with short paraphrases of their meanings.

  Sitting in her new home, facing the picture window that looked out over the river, watching the powerful movement of the water and an occasional rafter, she remembered a moment from a long time ago. Maybe ten years old at the time, she was with her dad in the mountains. They’d just finished a rousing snowball fight, one her father had let her win. They were both a little wet, cold, breathing hard and laughing. He’d just made the card and had it on the kitchen table when they went into the house to make hot chocolate.

  “What do those numbers mean, Papa?”

  Her father smiled and held the card up. “This is my courage card, peanut.”

  “Courage?”

  “Yep. The words and numbers help me to always remember who I’m working for.” He read the numbers and the verses. And now, sitting at her own table, Tess read aloud what was written and imagined she could still hear her father’s voice reciting the words that meant so much to him.

  “Romans 13:4—‘I’m God’s servant. I don’t bear the sword in vain. I am an avenger who carries out God’s wrath on the wrongdoer.’”

  “Joshua 1:9—‘Be strong and courageous . . . for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go.’”

  “Matthew 5:9—‘Blessed are the peacemakers.’”

  “Psalm 82:3-4—‘Give justice to the weak and the fatherless, the afflicted and the destitute. Rescue the weak and the needy from wicked people.’”

  Only a few words stood out to her at the time, words she would always associate with her father. Peacemaker. Strong and courageous.

  “Are you a peacemaker?”

  “You bet, peanut. What I love to do is keep the peace for the Lord.”

  “He’s your boss?”

  He laughed. “He sure is.”

  “Will he keep you safe?”

  “You bet he will.”

  That conversation haunted Tess when her father was murdered. By that time, she’d been attending church with him for years; she understood about God and Jesus and all those verses her father used to carry in his pocket. But she would never understand why none of it had protected her father.

  24

  When the day began to heat up, Tess went to the station to work in her office. Del Jeffers was working in the field on overtime. The station would be locked, but a front intercom activated. On weekends when there was no one in the outer office, people could still press the intercom for assistance. If no one was in the station to answer the call, it went to the dispatch center where 911 calls were answered.

  Tess planned to go back to the drawing board, reviewing everything she had on Tim’s murder. At this point she knew it by heart. Besides finding Dustin, the only thing she was waiting on from the lab was the tox screen and whether any prints were lifted from the syringe. Eddie Carr was not off her list or her radar in relation to the Harper murder, but he was in custody and no threat right now. She was mulling over the other people still on the list when she arrived at the station.

  Key in hand, she went to open the door and stopped. The front door and vestibule area were plastered with homemade handbills courtesy of Hector Connor-Ruiz.

  Beware the Red Menace! Your chief of police is a murderer!

  There was a picture of the boy Tess had shot in Long Beach, an idyllic picture of the kid several years younger than he was when Tess shot him, making him look like an angel. Hector had also typed out a paragraph describing Tess’s corruption and even mentioning the arrest of Edward Carrington. That was, of course, suspect and possibly a frame-up.

  She sighed, counted to ten, and started tearing all the papers off.

  “Looks like you have quite the fan club.”

  Tess turned to see Agent Hemmings smirking at her.

  “Agent Hemmings, are you here to talk to Haywood at the Hang Ten?”

  He nodded, spitting seeds all over the gutter. “Ledge said you wanted to come along.” He turned. “Let’s go.”

  Tess’s hands were filled with torn pieces of paper. Why hadn’t he given her warning? “Give me a minute, please?”

  “Burning daylight,” he said as he climbed into a big black SUV.

  Irritated on top of being irritated, Tess tossed everythin
g into the nearest trash can and climbed into her truck as he made a U-turn. Why no notice? She could understand working on a Saturday, but Hemmings was just plain rude.

  She caught up to him as he stopped at the security gate at the pot farm.

  Her window was down and she heard him announce himself. At first, whoever answered the intercom told him to buzz off; he wasn’t getting in.

  Hemmings explained that they’d been harboring a fugitive by employing Carrington, and if they didn’t want to talk nice to him now, he’d come back with a warrant, an entry team, and they’d tear the place apart.

  A few minutes later, the gate swung open.

  Tess followed the DEA agent in. The dirt driveway curved down to a parking area. The house was on the right, two travel trailers on the left. The gray van Carr had been driving when she arrested him was there, along with three other cars of various makes and models.

  Haywood, Connor-Ruiz, and Don Cherry stood outside the front door. Hector had his phone out, ready to record or possibly recording already.

  Hemmings got out of the car with an agent Tess didn’t know. She followed them toward the three pot men.

  “What’s she doing here?” Hector called out as they approached.

  “She’s local law enforcement. This doesn’t have to be hard. Just answer some questions.”

  “We don’t want her here,” Hector yelled.

  “I don’t care what you want. I’m here to talk to Gaston Haywood. It looks as if he has a penchant for hiring troublemakers.”

  “Look—”

  “Shut up, Hector. Let’s just get this over with.” Haywood glared at his new partner.

  “Wise man,” Hemmings said. “You must be Haywood.”

  Haywood stepped forward and handed Hemmings a folder. “That’s all I have on the guy. I thought he was Eddie Carr. I didn’t care about his driver’s license because he wasn’t doing any official driving for me.” He tossed an irritated glance Tess’s way. “Unless you have a warrant for the house and grounds, this is all you’re getting from me.”

  Hemmings took the folder, threatening a full-blown warrant, but Tess lost track of their conversation. The hair on the back of her neck stood up, and she turned to see Don Cherry staring at her. She stared back and he didn’t look away. His eyes were the eyes of a stone-cold killer. There was no doubt he could have killed Tim Harper with his bare hands; he wouldn’t have needed opiates. Yet with all his scariness, there still had to be an answer to “why?”

  Tess looked away and tuned back into the conversation Hemmings and Haywood were having. But she began to wonder if it would be prudent to look harder at Cherry. He had a rough background—maybe he was the killer hiding in plain sight. Time for more digging.

  25

  “I don’t see that we have anything to charge Haywood with,” Hemmings said after they left the Hang Ten. They returned to the police station, where Hemmings grudgingly let her copy the contents of the file Haywood had given him. There wasn’t much: a half-complete application for employment and a referral by someone named Howard Delfin.

  “His business paperwork is on the up-and-up. Carrington only worked there for a few months.” Hemmings shrugged. “The guy is naive—heck, he’s a pothead—but I don’t think he’s criminal.”

  While Tess agreed with Hemmings, she remembered the level of investigation that went on after Roger Marshall was discovered to be a fugitive. It wasn’t just two guys asking a couple of questions. True, Eddie didn’t kidnap anyone like Marshall had, but he was a seriously dangerous person. He’d killed a DEA agent, so she expected a little more fanfare.

  She had to acknowledge that she was having difficulty looking at the Hang Ten without a jaundiced eye. Maybe a part of her wanted them to be guilty of something. When she’d told Jeannie about the case, her friend had warned, “Don’t let that place be a bogeyman.” Was that what she’d done? Turned the Hang Ten into a bogeyman and let the killer get away?

  Hemmings left and she continued cleaning up the front door, stomach churning as she considered the other problem: Hector Connor-Ruiz and his crusade to annoy her. How bad could it get?

  – – –

  After the agents left, Hector began to review the footage he’d taken.

  “Why do you have to yank everyone’s chain?” Haywood whined.

  Hector lowered the phone and faced the surfer. “What? I hate cops. You can’t just let them trample your rights.”

  “I didn’t let them do anything. That stupid Carr put me in this pickle. Don’t you make it worse.” He went back inside the house before Hector could respond.

  The big guy stayed outside. He leaned against the side of the house, cleaning his fingernails with a pocketknife. Hector had nothing to say to him and decided he’d head into town.

  Halfway to his car the big guy spoke up. “Where’re you going?”

  Hector jerked around to face the guy, snide comment dying on his lips. The guy was scary. All Hector managed was “What, you my keeper?”

  “Just asking.”

  “To town. My job is to bug the chief—today and every day.” He hurried to his car, relieved when the big guy said nothing more.

  – – –

  Hector walked up and down the main street of Rogue’s Hollow every day of the week. He often wore a T-shirt with a picture of the Red Menace silk-screened on the front with the caption, “This woman is a murderer and she’s your chief.”

  No one asked him about it, but a lot of people read it, he was sure. Toward the end of his first week in town, he was already certain that he had beaten her. She was the chief of Mayberry, for heaven’s sake. What a comedown from Long Beach. He already hated this place, he thought as he walked into the pizza place, ordered a pie, and sat down, snickering to himself about what a hick town O’Rourke was stuck in. He was halfway through his pizza when a thought occurred. He could truly ruin the woman here, not just get her fired, but ruin her completely.

  He smiled and chuckled to himself. He’d redouble his efforts. There was no place lower for her to go; he’d drive her there, stomp her down, then be on his way back to civilization.

  – – –

  As it happened, it got considerably worse for Tess. On her next walk around town, three people stopped to ask her about the man.

  “That guy moved all the way up here to make noise about you?” Pete, the coffee shop owner, asked.

  “I guess so.”

  He held up a pile of paper. “He asked if he could leave these here for people to pick up. Then he threatened to sue me when I said no. Kept yelling about equal access or some such stuff.” He shrugged. “He left and I pulled them back here. I’m going to toss them.”

  “Thanks, Pete. Sorry he’s being such a nuisance.”

  Pete wasn’t the only person she apologized to. Connor-Ruiz made his presence known around town with more than just handbills and quickly became the topic of conversation. That he could stir up so much in a short time amazed Tess.

  “Wow, that little guy has a lot of fuel in his engine,” Gabe said after logging in on his first day back.

  “Doesn’t he?” Tess was glad Gabe was healed but doubly glad to be in her own car again. Forest had finished fixing it and dropped it by before Gabe arrived.

  “Any movement on Tim Harper’s case?”

  Tess sighed. “No, still waiting on the lab for info on the prints. And the bike and the phone are still outstanding.”

  Gabe’s return set the schedule to even, but Hector’s activities promised to keep everyone busy. Tess was asked about him during her Thursday walk by just about every business owner, and he seemed to be everywhere. He kept urging people to attend the upcoming council meeting and voice their concerns over their corrupt police chief. As a result, Thursday’s city council meeting was packed, and Tess found herself the topic of conversation, Drake Harper leading the charge.

  “This man is making serious allegations against Chief O’Rourke,” he said, standing, nodding toward Hector, and then
reading from written notes. “I want to know if the council is taking any steps to look into them.”

  “Drake.” Addie Getz addressed him first. “I’ve heard the allegations, and frankly this gentleman has absolutely no evidence to back up anything he says.”

  “That doesn’t answer my question. My son was murdered four weeks ago and the investigation has gone nowhere. She’s done nothing—she didn’t even take fingerprints at the house after my wife told her someone had been there with Tim. How do I know that’s not because the chief is corrupt and not doing her job?”

  “I have full confidence in the chief,” Casey Reno said.

  A few people, led by Hector, booed.

  “Well, I don’t,” Cole Markarov jumped in. “And I think Mr. Harper has a point. Chief O’Rourke has never had my full confidence. Recently she nearly totaled a practically brand-new patrol vehicle. It’s high time we revisit her hire.”

  With that, the room exploded, as people for and against rose and spoke up to have their opinions heard. Tess had never seen the room so animated. It took several minutes before Addie gained control.

  “I will have order here,” she said. The normally unflappable woman was visibly shaken at the turmoil. “Drake, your concerns are noted and are on record. I’d like to hear from a few others.”

  After that, the council gave four people the opportunity to speak for two minutes. Two of them—Tess recognized them as habitual problems from the trailer park—blasted her as well, complaining that she ordered her officers to harass them. Hector goaded and egged them on until Addie cautioned that he would be removed as a disruption.

  Two people stood to support Tess, but they both seemed intimidated and their endorsements were lukewarm. Tess wondered where Oliver was. He would have stood up for her as well . . . at least she thought he would.

  “Thank you,” Addie said. “Thank you for your input. I’m ending debate at this time in order to give the council time to consider this issue. We’ll decide on a course of action as soon as possible.”