Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “About time,” Cole said, casting a triumphant glance toward Tess.

  Addie tossed Tess a sympathetic look. But it didn’t help. Tess felt slapped in the face by the entire proceeding.

  Hector started a chant. “No cover-up! No cover-up!”

  As people filed out, Tess saw Oliver working his way in, against the flow.

  “Sorry I missed the fireworks,” Oliver said as he made his way to the front of the room.

  “It was a doozy,” Addie said. She briefly recapped for Oliver.

  It stung, almost as much as when she’d been forced to leave Long Beach, to see all that sentiment in the council chambers going against her.

  Casey nodded to her. “I believe in you, Tess,” she said as she left.

  She thought she and Forest Wild, the fourth council member, were on good terms, but he wouldn’t even meet her eyes. He and Cole Markarov were in deep conversation. Tess knew where Cole stood. Was Forest against her now as well?

  “I’d really like to get a better handle on this fellow,” Addie said when she finished recapping for Oliver. “Right now he’s kicking up a lot of dust.”

  Tess felt like roadkill.

  What a mark Hector had made in only a week.

  “No wonder you look stressed, Chief,” Oliver said.

  Irritated on one hand for being so transparent, while glad on the other hand to see Oliver, Tess tried to curb a temper that was ready to explode. She knew she had the pastor’s support, and right now, that was a lifeline.

  “It’s been a rough week.”

  “Time for coffee and a little chat?”

  “Sounds great, but I’m beat. I’d kind of like to go home and get to bed. Rain check.”

  “Certainly. And for what it’s worth, that guy—I know the type. He wants you on edge, on the defensive. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

  “I really try not to. But if he’s not tacking notices to trees and doorways, he’s popping up and snapping pictures everywhere. It’s disconcerting. And now he’s poisoned Drake Harper . . .”

  “Drake is hurting; he’s lashing out.” Oliver sighed. “I was late because I had a meeting with Eva Harper. She’s worried about him. People mourn in different ways, and right now all of his hurt is channeled into anger.”

  “I can understand his anger, but he’s letting his outrage be fueled by Hector’s made-up allegations.”

  “Be patient, Tess.”

  She looked into Oliver’s eyes when he said her name. His ability to steady her with a glance amazed Tess. At that moment, she felt such a strong connection to the man.

  He continued. “I believe this will all work itself out in time. And the people in this town are good people. They’ll see through Connor-Ruiz—I’m sure of it. You’re a good chief. You fit in here. Do your best to let all his antics roll off your back.”

  His words were calming, soothing even, but Tess couldn’t help but wonder, would she have a chance to do that before she got fired? And if she were fired, where would she go? What would be left of her career? It was nearly impossible to tamp down the fear that reached up and grabbed her by the throat when she considered losing her job. It was her life.

  Working in a small town was a double-edged sword. Yes, it was nice that everyone knew everyone, but then there was the problem: everyone knew everyone.

  26

  Tess got home from the council meeting Thursday night frowning and fretting. She’d told Oliver she was beat, and that was the truth, but she knew it would be impossible to sleep right away, so she didn’t try. Connor-Ruiz appearing and her heat pump dying doubled up to make her feel as if she were in that hot place no one wanted to go. But the more she fretted, the angrier she got. She was not going to let Hector win.

  She went to bed around 1 a.m., tossed and turned, barely sleeping. After a shower and breakfast, she headed into town to face a new day, hoping it would be better than the day before. One bright spot came with a call from Jeannie.

  “Hey, girlfriend! I’ll be in by dinnertime, okay?”

  “Great!” Tess flashed between excitement and dread. There was so much going on. But the excitement won out. She needed to talk to her friend. Jeannie would understand what Hector was putting Tess through better than anyone.

  But waiting for her at the station when she got there was Damien Gangly, the owner of the small local newspaper, Upper Rogue Ramblings.

  “Chief, I hope you can spare me a few minutes. I’d like to discuss the council meeting.”

  Tess didn’t want to spare him a second to recap that fiasco. She was tired and cranky and just wanted to drink her coffee and think. But she erred on the side of diplomacy.

  “Sure, Damien, come on in.” She nodded to Sheila on the way in. It turned out that the topic of Hector not only dominated her night, it would begin her day.

  “That guy truly thinks you’re evil. He’s stirred up every criminal element and even some not so criminal,” Damien said as soon as she closed her office door. “He’s been here—what?—seven days, and he’s already sent me a couple dozen e-mails he wants to run in the paper. Stories he says prove you’re unfit for office.”

  Tess sighed, remembering rule #1: “Listen. Think. Speak.” Connor-Ruiz had done more than send e-mails to Damien.

  She swallowed some coffee, not wanting to fan any flames. “He does have a vendetta against me. And he doesn’t have much respect for police in general.”

  “But why is he fixated on you?”

  “It has to do with something that happened years ago in Long Beach, I think. At least it’s the only thing I can put my finger on. He was a college kid, and he got stuck in traffic when a plane crashed on the freeway, just short of the airport. He tried to photograph the dead pilot—it was pretty gruesome—and in doing so, he interfered with the officers trying to contain the scene and prevent any car accidents. I approved the arrest.” She shrugged, remembering the civil suits with Connor-Ruiz claiming his rights had been violated and the ultimate vindication the PD received when he lost every decision.

  “He sued and lost, and he’s been angry with me in particular and the police in general ever since. I’m surprised he followed me up here, but not surprised he still hates me.”

  “There’s nothing more personal?”

  Tess held her hands out. “Not to my knowledge.”

  Damien shook his head. “Well, his messages to me are hate-filled and one-sided. I’ve told him to write about something current.”

  Tess laughed grimly. “I’ll try not to give him any relevant fodder.”

  “Chief—” Damien stood—“I also have to ask . . . what is happening with the Harper investigation? Drake Harper put a bug in my ear about you needing to contact the sheriff for help.”

  “I simply have no leads.” She rubbed her forehead. “I understand Mr. Harper’s pain, but I’m working that case from every angle. Right now there is nothing the sheriff could do that I’m not already doing.”

  “At what point will you ask for their help?”

  That question took Tess back a step. She hadn’t considered that she needed help. She was a competent investigator; her people were competent; they’d covered every avenue they could cover. The prints were out of their control—all they could do was wait on that front—but Dustin was in their court. Yet no one seemed to know where he was, so they were at a standstill. Indecision and uncertainty suddenly clouded her thoughts.

  “When I’m certain I’ve exhausted everything,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound defensive.

  He seemed satisfied with the answer and asked a few more questions about Cole and the upcoming election. Tess tried to get back to work, but there was a feeling of foreboding roiling in her gut. Connor-Ruiz coming to Rogue’s Hollow was just plain bad karma.

  27

  “It’s not going to work, you know.” Oliver looked down at Hector Connor-Ruiz. Friday morning the annoying man was sitting at an outdoor table at the Hollow Grind. He had a large coffee, a plate of sweet pas
tries, and a newspaper in front of him.

  Hector looked up. “What?”

  “This effort to smear our chief. We trust her.”

  Hector grinned. “Ah, pops, you’re breaking my heart. I don’t trust any cop. Especially not her.”

  “You moved to Oregon just to bother her?”

  “I came to save you people. What’s your name?”

  “Sorry, that was rude. I’m Oliver Macpherson. I pastor the local church here.”

  “Well, Oliver, I think the chief is corrupt, plain and simple.” He touched a hand to his chest. “I’m my own sort of public servant. Pointing out all that is wrong with her is my public service to you.” He held his hand out toward Oliver, a smirk on his face.

  Oliver felt his anger rising. There was no speaking to this man. “What’s your endgame?”

  Hector took a bite of a peach pastry, confectioners’ sugar dribbling down his chin, and spoke with his mouth full. “I have made it my personal mission to make sure that woman never works as a police officer ever again.”

  “Then I’ll have to make sure you fail at your personal mission.”

  Hector swallowed and exploded into derisive giggles. “Oh, the preacher goes jihad on me. Just remember, she gets no points for having a holy boyfriend.” He laughed like a lunatic, and Oliver had to leave, never considering denying the boyfriend line.

  – – –

  Later Oliver regretted getting in the man’s face. And he wondered at the strong urge he felt to protect Tess. It was disconcerting for Oliver to see her so distracted, wounded really, with all the scurrilous accusations Hector was throwing around. And a side issue was that it felt like he was accusing Anna of being mistaken, and Anna was never mistaken, at least not about the goodness in people. Tess was a good person, a good cop. She was a calm, strong presence when a law enforcement situation required it. After the city council meeting, he’d prayed that this new troublemaker, Hector whatever his name was, would relax. He was off-putting on so many levels.

  After confronting Hector, Oliver thought about Don Cherry. He wanted to ask the big man about Hector again. He’d tried once. But Don was rarely forthcoming and often talked in riddles.

  Oliver also wondered what Tess would think about the visits he’d been getting from Don, if there was anything she’d want him to ask Cherry. The guy just seemed to materialize out of nowhere. Last night, after the council meeting, Cherry had appeared on his porch. It was the first time Oliver had asked him about the guy at the Hang Ten, the one causing Tess all the trouble, and his response had been strange to say the least.

  “What do you know about this new boss of yours, the one who keeps spouting off about the chief?”

  “Hector?” He gave a dismissive wave of his large hand. “He’s not my boss.”

  “I thought he was Haywood’s partner.”

  “Haywood’s not my boss either.”

  “Was he Carr’s boss?”

  Cherry looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “That guy was a moron. All he had to do was drive right—that’s all—and he’d have flown under everyone’s radar. Couldn’t do it. I’ll tell you, though, your chief is either very lucky or tougher than I thought.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Carr would have knocked her down and shot her with her own gun without thinking twice. I’m a little impressed she got the cuffs on.”

  He talked about shooting Tess in such a matter-of-fact way, Oliver had to take a breath.

  “Did you know Carr was a fugitive?”

  Cherry smiled a Cheshire cat smile. “What’s with the twenty questions, padre? We’re supposed to conversate.”

  Oliver had to laugh. “I’m just curious about the rank structure there at the Hang Ten.”

  Cherry then abruptly changed the subject. Something he did often, usually with non sequiturs, when he didn’t want to talk about something. The conversation left Oliver wondering about the pot farm and whether he should mention Cherry’s visits to the chief. The indecision inside surprised him. As far as he knew, Cherry wasn’t breaking any laws. He was scary-looking, and he was an ex-con, but it seemed as if he simply needed to talk. He waffled between wanting to talk to Tess about Cherry and then thinking talking about Cherry to Tess would be betraying some unspoken confidence he had with the man. He wondered at the indecision. Was it because after several talks he still didn’t know what Cherry wanted?

  He thought about Tess’s life rules, especially the one she quoted often about trusting your gut. Tess had a gift there. Usually when she had a gut feeling about something, she was correct. Was that it? Oliver wondered. He had a gut feeling that something was off about Cherry, something the chief should know?

  But that conflicted with the pastoral part of him. Cherry also had a soul that needed to be saved. Somehow he knew he needed to calm the conflict inside the man. He just didn’t know how.

  28

  Friday morning, not five minutes after Damien left, Tess’s phone rang with a call from a reporter for the local news station in Medford. She asked for a five-minute interview with Tess and seemed pleasant enough, but an unexpected question knocked her cold.

  “What is this rumor of police corruption we hear concerning Rogue’s Hollow PD?”

  “Excuse me—what rumor?”

  “The station was contacted by an individual who resides in Rogue’s Hollow. He informed us that he is urging the FBI to commit to an investigation of your PD. What do you have to say about that?”

  Feeling the heat rise and forcing her voice to be calm and modulated, Tess asked, “Who is your source?”

  “Does that matter? Is the Rogue’s Hollow PD corrupt?”

  Tess cleared her throat. “I think I know your source. Mr. Connor-Ruiz is mistaken. He likes to make wild and unsubstantiated claims.”

  “Have you been contacted by the FBI or the Justice Department?”

  “No, I have not.”

  That ended the interview, and Tess left her office because she needed some air; the walls were closing in on her. But she didn’t feel like doing a walk-through. Hector’s being here was worse than his being in Long Beach. At least there were more places to blend in, in Long Beach.

  But was that really what she wanted—to blend in, to hide? That made her cringe. Cops didn’t hide. She grabbed her coffee and intended to sit at an outside table and drink it when her radio squawked with a call for her. A bike had been found out near the Dover place, Gabe Bender told her.

  “I’m on my way.”

  Finally, maybe a lead. Tess felt her spirits lift. She couldn’t let Hector Connor-Ruiz distract her so much that a murderer got away.

  – – –

  The bike was in a tangle of blackberry bushes about a quarter mile from the Dover property. River Drive ended just beyond the Dovers’ driveway. On the river there was a parking lot and a small day use area called Smugglers Cove, with five picnic areas, each a little private with a table and a barbecue grill. The place was lightly used, mostly by tourists. Locals said though the tables were shaded, there was no shade over the water and it was shallow, not good for fishing.

  “How’d you find it?” Tess asked Gabe when she arrived.

  “It was Bart Dover. He saw a portion of the bike sticking out of the bushes and called. He was afraid this area was turning into a dump spot. That’s happened before. He just asked that we take a look.”

  Tess studied the bike. It was the same brand as Tim’s, and there was a Dutch Bros. Coffee sticker wrapped around the frame. It hadn’t been in the bushes long, but it was banged up. And it was a long way from where the kids partied—and from Tim’s home, for that matter.

  “It’s been hit.” She looked at Gabe. “There’s some paint transfer.”

  “That was my thought. A car hit him and . . .”

  “The driver kills him to hide the crash?” Tess shook her head. “Why take him home and put him to bed?” She paused for a moment. “I’m glad we found this, but it doesn’t answer any questions; i
t just raises more.” She looked at the surroundings. “Let’s check out the picnic areas, see if there’s anything else. Maybe we’ll get really lucky and find his phone.”

  Bender nodded. He started for the two farthest spots and Tess took the three closest. At the water’s edge she looked around and then up. There was a clear view of the sky from here and the warm sun beat down. Was it possible that this was the spot Tim picked to photograph the moon? She could picture the boy lying on his back on the picnic table, pointing his phone skyward.

  Thinking of that image, Tess searched the area carefully for any clue. Unfortunately, she came up empty.

  She called Drake Harper to tell him the news.

  “His bike was way down there? Was he in a car accident?”

  “The frame is bent and scratched, so yes, there is a possibility someone hit him.”

  “Can I have the bike or do you need to hold it?”

  “We collected some paint transfer and I’ll dust for prints. After that, sure, you can have it back.”

  He gave a grunt of acknowledgment and disconnected.

  Tess pulled her kit out of the car and proceeded to do something she’d been trained years ago to do, and had done hundreds of times—dust for prints. She looked at the bike and imagined where the person who threw it into the bushes would have gripped it. It had been mostly hot and dry since Tim’s murder. Thunderstorms had threatened but never materialized. There should be prints, and there were. It was comforting in a way, to do things the tried-and-true old-fashioned way. Tess pulled several partial prints off the frame. Some were certain to be Tim’s, but with luck at least one belonged to the killer. She placed the print cards into an evidence envelope with the paint chips and put it in her pocket.

  “You can take the bike to the Harpers’. I’ll send the evidence to the lab.”

  Gabe nodded and put the bike in the bed of his truck.

  Tess called the lab before she headed back to the station, explaining about the prints and paint scrapings she was sending and asking about the syringe.