Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “That doesn’t sound like the Tess O’Rourke I know. She doesn’t wallow in self-pity. Where is the dragon slayer?”

  For a second Oliver was afraid he’d made a bad situation worse. But then she closed her eyes and smiled. “Careful, Oliver. Call me a dragon slayer, and Belcher may take that to mean I slew Hector.”

  “He may be on the wrong path right now, but if he runs an unbiased investigation like he said, I have faith he’ll find the evidence to point him to the true killer.”

  “Faith that God will help that to happen?”

  “Well, ultimately, faith that God is in control of all outcomes, yes.”

  “Humph.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a laminated three-by-five card. She held it up, showing it to him, but not close enough that he could read it.

  “I found this card in a box of my father’s things. He called it his courage card. It has Bible verses on it, verses he considered important to him as a cop. Out of nostalgia, I’ve been carrying it around, looking at it from time to time, thinking of my father.” She shrugged. “I even thought about showing it to you, chatting about the meaning of the verses.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “Because it’s all so useless!”

  Her vehemence surprised him and he waited until she continued.

  “When I was a kid, going to church with my father, I always thought God would keep bad things from happening to him. After all, he had such faith. But God didn’t keep him safe. And now I haven’t darkened the doorway of a church for so long, why in the world would God do anything for me?”

  “That’s not the way it works. It’s not quid pro quo with God.”

  “But what is it with him? When I think about what could happen if Belcher charges me with murder like it appears he wants to, I feel like I’m being closed in a vise. I need cold, hard facts on my side, something solid.”

  Oliver nodded, praying for the right words. “Faith is something solid—it’s a confident assurance. You are innocent; believe that the truth will prove that fact.”

  They were interrupted when Steve Logan walked up. He cleared his throat. “Tess, we need your duty weapon for comparison purposes.”

  She nodded and shot Oliver a look that broke Oliver’s heart. It said, Your God betrayed me again. How can I ever believe?

  38

  Faith.

  Tess pondered that word for a while as Saturday played out and she found herself the number one suspect in a murder. It mystified her why Oliver hung on to his faith, even after the loss of Anna. How could he? And if her father had known that the God he trusted was going to let him be murdered in the street, would that have changed his faith? Her dad and Oliver both believed an all-powerful God ran the show. Tess couldn’t. After her father’s death, she believed she was solely in control of her destiny, not a capricious God.

  She thought back to the shooting controversy that had forced her out of Long Beach. In that situation, everything was known except why the kid she shot hadn’t complied with her instructions. She could fight the accusations then. She knew what she did and why, and that knowledge kept her strong.

  Here and now, she knew nothing except there was a dead man on her porch. How could she fight with so much unknown? It always seemed to circle back to faith. She had to have faith in the justice system. But her faith in that system was sorely tested when Belcher requested she go with them to the county offices to be interviewed. And besides her firearm, they confiscated her personal laptop. Jeannie was the first person she called when she got home after a long day of being grilled.

  “I’m not gone twenty hours and already you’re in trouble?”

  Tess’s spirits were buoyed by the sound of her friend’s voice. It was good to talk to Jeannie, but she wished her friend was in front of her and not on the phone. Jeannie had given a statement over the phone Saturday afternoon. Tess knew Belcher had called her, catching her not long after the wedding had ended. He’d told her that she might be subpoenaed for a deposition.

  “It’s a nightmare, Jeannie,” Tess said.

  Belcher had decided to run the investigation himself, with assistance from another deputy. He pulled Logan from the case because of his relationship to Tess. No matter; Tess didn’t want to speak to Steve Logan at all.

  The interrogation was harrowing because she’d learned some of what had been recovered at the scene. Hector had a copy of an e-mail in his pocket, from Tess’s personal account, asking him to meet her to discuss their differences.

  From her personal account.

  That was why they’d wanted her laptop. Thrown off-balance, Tess had no explanation for this development.

  “I did not send him an e-mail,” she’d stuttered when Belcher held the evidence bag up for her to see. “I don’t even know his e-mail address.”

  “Can you explain how he received this message, asking him to come to your house?”

  “No. No, I can’t. But if you think I lured him to my home, killed him, then called the police to report the body, you really think I’m stupid.”

  Tess wasn’t that up on technology. She knew how to do the basic minimum and had been happy Rogue’s Hollow PD did not have as many tech toys as Long Beach. But she did think she took all the needed precautions to keep her account secure.

  “So are you saying you were hacked?”

  “I must have been. I never sent Hector an e-mail,” she repeated.

  Belcher didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, but he moved on, bringing up the altercation at the inn, trying to make Tess mad, or at least get her to admit she’d been furious with Hector.

  “I wasn’t the one who stood up to him. Pastor Macpherson and Victor Camus spoke to him directly and told him to back off.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “What?”

  “Were you angry that these men had to stand up for you? Were you angry that Connor-Ruiz was questioning your ethics in a very public way?”

  “I was irritated that he was rude enough to interrupt everyone’s meal. I was not mad, nor was I homicidal.”

  They’d gone back and forth for a few minutes, but Tess recovered her composure quickly. Empowered by the firm knowledge that she was innocent, she pushed back, asking Belcher to charge her or let her go. He let her go with an admonition not to leave the state.

  Other than the e-mail discovery, she was told little else about the murder scene and headed home, still reeling over the fact that this had happened in her quiet, safe-feeling enclave. She was also worried about Addie. Her friend was a competent small-town city councilwoman, but she’d not liked the job of interim mayor.

  “Too much gobbledygook,” she’d said. “The election can’t take place soon enough for me.” Certainly at this point, she had way more gobbledygook on her plate than anyone could have bargained for.

  “Tess, I believe you, but this is a lot bigger than anything I’ve ever contended with. I hate to agree with Belcher, but it does look bad.”

  “Are you removing me from duty?”

  “I, um . . . Not today. I do have to bring the council together. But maybe you should consider taking some vacation days. You’ve almost been here a year; you deserve some time off.”

  “Can I think about it?”

  “I can’t guarantee you’ll have a lot of time, but I won’t push it today.”

  Tess was grateful for Addie’s support, as tenuous as it was. She had a little breathing room. The only other thing she learned about the investigation was that Haywood had produced a note he claimed Connor-Ruiz had written. She told Jeannie about that.

  “This letter supposedly documents how many times I threatened to kill him.”

  “I knew that guy was cracked when he was in LB, but that’s delusional even for him. What’s in the water up there?”

  “I wish I knew. The only person I can think of who would want to frame me for a crime is Connor-Ruiz, and he’s dead.”

  “Maybe he is trying to frame you. Maybe he com
mitted suicide and did everything possible to make it look as if you murdered him.”

  “I don’t think even Connor-Ruiz was that cracked.”

  After she hung up, Tess debated calling an attorney acquaintance in Long Beach. While she knew she had had nothing to do with the murder, she also knew that if someone was trying to frame her, it would be for her own good to retain legal representation.

  It was a warm night. She’d not yet cleaned up the mess of blood on her porch. Tess stepped out of her house and walked back down to the dock. It was dark enough now that boaters were nonexistent.

  She looked out over the powerful rolling river, wishing she could believe, wishing she had the faith that Oliver had and there was someone she could cry out to.

  What would her dad do? He’d pray, she knew that.

  But Tess felt a drowning helplessness. Prayer and faith weren’t avenues she traveled on.

  39

  Haywood wanted a beer after the deputy left. He opened the fridge, but there was none left. Slamming the door, he opted for option two and went to roll some of his product. Don Cherry was sitting in a recliner, feet up, watching him.

  “What? Don’t you have some work to do?”

  “You don’t want to start a fight with me, that’s for sure.”

  Gaston found some courage. “Where’d you blink off to when the cops were here?”

  “None of your business. Boss says everyone is to lay low because of Hector, stay on-site for a bit.”

  “He didn’t tell me that.”

  In an instant, Cherry lowered the footrest and leaped up, getting right in Gaston’s face. He moved fast for a big man. Since Gaston barely made six feet and Cherry stood at least six foot five, it was beyond intimidating to have him so close.

  Gaston backed up and hit the wall.

  “I’m telling you now. Everyone lays low. Everyone. You tell the kid. Got anything smart left to say?”

  Gaston swallowed and tried to stand to his full height, pretend he wasn’t frightened. All he could manage was “Will do.”

  Cherry backed off and went back to the recliner, clicking the TV on. Gaston stomped through the kitchen and then outside into the yard to look for Bryce.

  Haywood hated Cherry—and the jerk Carr, for that matter. Both guys scared him. Haywood didn’t care for Hector, either. He was annoying and whiny, but he’d had no say in the matter. He’d been relieved when Carr was arrested, but then the boss showed up suddenly and Gaston realized how little control he had over anything.

  Bryce was the only one Haywood liked. The kid was a solid worker. He only wanted to earn enough money to pay his fines and get home. Haywood understood needing money. He’d inherited a little money but had needed much more to get his farm up and running. He’d found an investor easily enough, but what was the saying? You lie down with dogs and you get up with fleas. Cherry, Carr, and Hector were fleas. The biting kind.

  As usual, Bryce was working. He was digging up some water lines, looking for a leak.

  “Hey, Bryce.”

  The guy looked up. “Yeah?”

  “Got some bad news.”

  Bryce straightened up and faced Gaston. “Pump’s working. I saw to it first thing.”

  “It’s not the pump. It’s Hector. He’s dead.”

  “Dead?” He didn’t look too surprised. “I figured something was up when I saw the sheriff’s car. What happened?”

  Gaston shoved his hands in his pockets. “We think the police chief killed him.”

  Bryce said nothing.

  “Anyway, until it’s cleared up, the boss wants everyone to stay put here, no going off-site.”

  Bryce frowned. “Not at all, not even for coffee?”

  “We got plenty of coffee here. It’s just temporary, okay? The chief must have a vendetta. First she jacks Carr; now she kills Hector.”

  He didn’t look happy, but Bryce nodded.

  Gaston turned and walked back to the house. That’s what he liked about Bryce—guy just did what he was told, no drama.

  He took his time as he walked, gaze sweeping the plot of land he’d thought would be his golden ticket. He’d thought he’d make enough money his first year to pay off his investor, but that hadn’t panned out. There were so many expenses related to starting a business he’d never considered. Then he got beaten up and robbed. True, he got the loss back, but he wasn’t doing as well as he wanted everyone to think. He’d tried to pay back a little of his debt, get the hooks out at least a bit. His investor sank the hooks in deeper and sent him Carr, then Cherry, telling him the extra bodies would be good security. But it wasn’t like either of them did a boatload of work. Then came Hector, and Haywood had no idea what his job was.

  The boss wanted to expand. He wanted that old man Arthur’s place in a bad way. Why he didn’t just buy it bugged Haywood. When Hector first arrived, Gaston thought the boss had sent him to work on the old guy, get him to sell. But Hector was only interested in bugging the chief. And Haywood didn’t get that. Why poke the chief in the eye if you wanted to run a business and not be bothered?

  Gaston had come home on Friday to find Hector packed, ready to head back to California. But he was drunk, and Gaston was sure he’d sleep it off. Then his investor appeared at the Hang Ten, up for a visit. And he was scary. Haywood had never even seen him until now. All their business to this point had been handled through intermediaries. Out of the blue he showed up at the gate. He wasn’t alone either, but whoever he’d traveled with did not come in the house.

  A few hours later, Hector was dead.

  Gaston hated to face the pickle he was in. The boss had known about Hector awfully quick. This morning he’d told Gaston what to say to the cops and later gave him the note to hand over to the sheriff. Gaston didn’t ask any questions. He did like any good Borg would do on Star Trek—he complied.

  At the moment he didn’t know where the boss was. He’d disappeared with the other guy before the deputy arrived. Gaston got that the boss wanted all fingers pointed at the chief for the crime. He didn’t really care one way or another about her. The only thing he’d had in common with Hector was a hatred of cops.

  But Haywood disliked violence. He only carried a gun for show. He would curse and scream with the best of them, but when it came right down to blows, he didn’t like pain or the sight of blood, especially his own. He’d only glimpsed Hector’s body, and that was enough to make him physically sick. Worse still was the fact that he knew the chief did not kill the guy. Haywood figured Cherry had done the deed.

  Cherry seemed to have a better relationship with the boss than he did. They had an unspoken understanding; Gaston could see that. They were gone last night, and that left Haywood with the most troubling questions of all: Why did his investor have Hector killed? And was he now in danger as well?

  40

  Casey Reno was the first council member, besides Addie, to contact Tess after the murder. She stopped by Sunday morning. Tess had just finished cleaning up the blood from the porch. She welcomed the distraction when Casey showed up.

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t know, Casey. I found the guy dead and I have no idea why he was there or what he was doing. I was just going in to have some coffee. Join me?”

  Casey nodded and followed Tess inside. She sat at the kitchen counter while Tess busied herself in the kitchen making a pot of coffee.

  “The only thing Addie told me was that it looked as though he’d been executed. Who would do that?” Horror was palpable in Casey’s voice.

  “I’m not in charge of the investigation. But I will admit the first place I’d go is to the Hang Ten. I’d talk to Haywood, but by producing the letter, he preempted the deputies.”

  Casey nodded. “You know my thoughts about that place.”

  That Casey trusted Tess and seemed certain someone else was responsible for Hector’s death relaxed her somewhat. But Casey would be the easy one. Tess had saved her daughter from a pedophile. She would probably never thi
nk ill of Tess.

  What would all the other council members think? Addie so far had said that Tess could stay on the job. Would that stick?

  – – –

  Word spread fast about the murder. By Sunday, Oliver had already answered many inquiries when people found out that he had been on the scene. Everyone wanted to know if Oliver thought the chief was a killer.

  “Absolutely not” was his standard reply.

  Sunday morning the church secretary, who should have been in the sanctuary and not at her desk, handed him a pad of paper with several names on it. “They all called leaving messages asking about the chief. Just wanted you to know that after the service, people aren’t likely to be asking you about the message.”

  The phone rang again. “Should I answer it?”

  “No, come on. It’s time for service. If it’s an emergency, people have my cell number.”

  He preached the message he’d planned, on always remembering that God could be trusted with all of your burdens. And as his secretary predicted, a lot of people came forward to ask him about the chief and the murder. He tried to pin down where all the rumors were coming from that the chief had been arrested, but he couldn’t. All he could do was tell people the truth as he knew it.

  One surprising face greeted him after service—Drake Harper. He hadn’t been in the service that Oliver had seen, but he walked up to Oliver as he was closing the sanctuary doors.

  “Eva wants me to talk to you.”

  Oliver nodded, working to hide his shock at the man’s appearance. He was unshaven, it looked as if he’d slept in his clothes, and there were dark circles under his eyes. This was a departure from the proud, squared-away serviceman Oliver had come to know.

  “Eva is worried about you. I only want to help.”

  “How can you help? By defending that police chief? She doesn’t care about Tim. She’s nothing but a killer herself.”

  “Drake, I understand your pain. I still miss Anna. I—”