Lethal Target

by Janice Cantore

  “Thanks, Steve, I appreciate it. I appreciate everything.”

  He nodded and left. Tess listened to the messages on her phone. Two were from news organizations and she deleted them. One was from Jonkey.

  “Chief, I cleared up that photo, and I ran the plate. You won’t believe who it belongs to. Please call me back.”

  Tess grinned and gave a fist pump, then played the last message.

  That message brought her to her feet.

  “Chief O’Rourke, this is Phillip Whitman’s girlfriend. I spoke to you a while ago, and I have to tell you now that I wasn’t being truthful. I haven’t been able to sleep, but I’m not a liar. For my own mental health, I have to tell you the truth. Yes, Phillip did come to see me that weekend. But he didn’t get here until well after 10 a.m. And when he did get here, he was aggravated and upset. I don’t know what he did, but I can’t lie for him anymore.”

  68

  Tess needed to get to the station.

  “What’s the matter, Tess?” Oliver walked up. He’d finished speaking to Don Cherry, and that distracted her for a minute.

  “I have to do something. What did Cherry have to say?”

  “He’s . . . I’m not sure. Well, he said Garcia killed Hector.”

  “That’s Haywood’s story too. Will he testify?”

  “That I can’t say. He’s struggling with himself. It’s kind of like he’s standing on a fence—step one way and it’s the lawless life; step the other way and it’s the law-abiding life. I pray he steps the right way.”

  Tess nodded, realizing that thinking about prayer didn’t make her angry anymore. It might just work. “I never really considered that Cherry could be redeemable. But maybe the fact that you guys are still alive proves he is.”

  “I believe everyone is redeemable,” Oliver said.

  Tess saw Agent Ledge coming their way. She’d noticed that he was in a jurisdictional dispute with the state cops and the sheriff’s office. It looked as if he had won.

  “We need to interview both of you,” Ledge said. “My agents are going to be combing through everything here, including taking a run up to the logging camp. How about we head back to your station?”

  As much as Tess wanted to run off and finally close Tim Harper’s case, she knew she had an obligation to give her statement regarding what had happened here today. She had, after all, shot Garcia. There would be an investigation of that. She noticed the state cops leaving; soon the sheriff deputies would as well. DEA agents were everywhere.

  “Okay,” she said, casting a glance toward Oliver. “You’re probably exhausted.”

  “Starving, actually. Think we can get the Feds to pop for pizza?”

  – – –

  It turned into a long night of interviews and questions. Saturday morning Tess got the word from Addie.

  “I can’t put you back on official duty, especially since there’s a shooting investigation going on. But if you want to travel somewhere with one of your officers, I have no problem with that.”

  “Thank you. There’s something important I need to take care of.”

  Jonkey was waiting for her at the station. She had the enhanced photo in her hand. It was still a little cloudy, but the letters and numbers on the Oregon license plate were readable. Jonkey also had a printout of the registered owner’s information.

  “Ready?”

  Jonkey nodded and together they climbed into Jonkey’s patrol car. They were going to make an arrest in the murder of Tim Harper. Tess felt it right that Jonkey be the one to make the arrest; it had been her call, after all. It took them about thirty minutes to arrive at the small, nondescript home in Medford, on Delta Waters, just below Foothill. A four-door sedan was in the driveway. As Tess walked past it, she noted scratches in the front bumper.

  Tess took one side of the door and Jonkey the other. Jonkey rapped on the door. A moment later, Phillip Whitman answered the door.

  “Yes?” Fear flashed across his face when he recognized Tess. “Ah, Chief . . .”

  “Mr. Whitman, we need to talk.”

  He stared at them for a moment. Tess knew he was her killer, but the why eluded her. She’d decided on a course of action: Ask first. If he denied, she’d get a warrant and be content to prove the case in court. But she wanted a confession and a reason to give to Drake and Eva Harper as to why Tim Harper was dead.

  She was about to speak again when he stepped back and opened the door. “Sure, come in.” There was defeat in his voice.

  “First, you need to know your rights. You have the right to remain silent. If you give up the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to an attorney, and to have him present while you’re being questioned. Do you understand these rights as I’ve explained them to you?”

  “I get it.”

  “Having them in mind, do you waive your rights? Will you talk to me?”

  “I’ll talk.”

  “Mr. Whitman, I checked out your alibi for the night Tim Harper died. Your girlfriend called me. Do you know what she told me?”

  He swallowed; she could see his Adam’s apple working. He gave a slight nod. “I didn’t think she’d stay quiet.” He sat down hard on his couch, put his elbows on his knees, and held his head in his hands.

  “What happened after the party that night?”

  His head rolled back and forth. Then he looked up. “I’m sorry it happened. I’d take it back if I could. I went to Rogue’s Hollow that night to contact Howard.”

  “Howard Delfin?”

  “I didn’t know the boys were going to be there. The last thing I wanted was for them to see me with Howard. I improvised, told them I was just there to wish Greg well. I did that and I was able to give Howard a message to meet me out at Smugglers Cove.”

  “Tim found you there.”

  “He was after photos. I didn’t even know he was there. I mean, he rode up on his bike, went out to the picnic tables, where I was waiting for Howard. Tim heard our whole transaction. He . . . I asked him to be quiet, but . . .”

  “You didn’t think he would.”

  “No. I panicked. He rode off and I went after him and knocked him off his bike. And then it all went south from there.”

  “You took him home.”

  Whitman was crying now. “I couldn’t leave him in the ditch . . . I couldn’t. I thought if he died in his room, in his bed, there’d be less questions, less investigation. I wanted it to look like an accident. That’s what it was, really, an accident.”

  “You injected him with drugs.” Jonkey glared. She had no pity for the man’s tears, Tess could see.

  “Because it was humane.”

  “He wasn’t a dog. And his clothes? Why did you take his clothes?”

  “DNA, man. I cried, I cried. I’m sorry it happened—really, I am.”

  “Stand up. You’re under arrest for the murder of Tim Harper.”

  He stood and Jonkey cuffed him.

  “Were you distributing fentanyl for Delfin?” Tess asked.

  He shook his head. “That was for my personal use. I got steroids from Howard. They’re more lucrative than the other stuff, as far as I’m concerned.”

  Jonkey put Whitman in the back of the car while Tess called to see about a warrant for the residence. They’d be here all day, but she was bound and determined to charge Whitman with everything she could.

  After the warrant came through, she found a little bit of fentanyl and boxes of illegal performance-enhancing drugs. She also found some shorts and a T-shirt matching the description of the clothes Tim was wearing the night he was killed and an iPhone with Tim’s initials carved in it. It would be small consolation, she knew, but she was glad she had something to return to the Harpers after she told them that Tim’s killer was in custody.

  Finally.

  69

  TWO WEEKS LATER

  The election results came in and Tess breathed a sigh of relief. Pete Horning was the new mayor
by a wide margin. And the initiative for pot sales failed by twenty-five votes.

  “No recount for the mayor’s race or the pot initiative,” Casey Reno said as Tess poured her coffee. “I think peace will reign in the valley once more.”

  “Hear, hear.” Tess sat and raised her coffee cup. Her shooting had also been cleared, and Tess had returned to work after seven days off. It was the vote of confidence she needed from the townspeople. They were all on her side and she was ashamed that she even imagined that they weren’t.

  “You’ve had a lot of downtime,” Casey said as she looked around Tess’s eat-in area. Tess followed her gaze. Boxes were gone; decorations, books, and knickknacks were in their proper places.

  “Have you finally unpacked everything?”

  “I have. I hate just sitting around, so I made good use of my time off. This place is home now. My guest room is ready for the next time I have out-of-town visitors. I even have a new heat pump.”

  “Sergeant Pounder did a good job running the PD in your absence.”

  “Never doubted it. Curtis is a good cop.” He’d done a great job with the firestorm that had erupted after the shoot-out at Arthur’s house. It had everything the news media could want—a dirty federal agent, a violent drug lord, and piles of contraband and weapons.

  Casey left for the restroom, and while Tess sipped coffee, she recollected the past few days. Her first day back her colleagues had done something Tess hadn’t done since she was fifteen.

  They celebrated her birthday. Oliver brought the cake. Gabe shared how he and Jonkey both had worked to help Tess.

  “It was Becky who figured out how the e-mail message Hector had was faked,” he said.

  “It was easy. They weren’t very good at hacking. They used an address one character off, so at a glance, it looked as though it was from you, but it didn’t hold up to any scrutiny.”

  Tess couldn’t speak. She felt different. There was no crushing sense of loss when they sang “Happy Birthday,” and the dream had not returned. There had even been a surprise attendee: Drake Harper. He was thinner, and his arm was in a heavy cast, but he looked better, like he was on the road to recovery and acceptance. Whitman wasn’t going to fight the charges, so there would be no sordid trial to wade through for the Harpers.

  “Thank you, Chief. I’m sorry I gave you such a bad time.”

  “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m just glad we caught the bad guy.”

  He nodded. “It was so senseless—that’s what I struggle with most. I know why, but it’s a nonsense reason. But Tim was a boy full of hope and optimism. I can’t let that be forgotten.”

  “I understand.”

  “I know you do.”

  Tess had even been to a Sunday service. Oliver was mesmerizing behind the pulpit. His voice sang with a little Scotland as he spoke, and Tess could see why his congregation was so large. He’d preached on trust, and it brought back memories of her father, good memories.

  Trust.

  Tess pondered the word for the whole time she was off. She’d finally put her finger on how Oliver had changed after Anna’s death and his visit home: he was stronger. There was no knocking him over; his faith and trust in God rooted him. Tess had been knocked off her feet when her father died—whether because her faith was weak or because she’d never really had any, she didn’t know. And she’d always believed that she had picked herself up and moved forward—without God.

  Now she wasn’t so sure.

  She’d been reading her father’s Bible. Not the text, but his notes strewn throughout. Just about every page had at least one note written in her father’s crisp, clear block printing. She cherished every bit she read, hearing her father’s voice as she read them. There was a lot about trust, and there was a lot about Tess. She kept the Bible by her bedside and turned the pages every night, often brought to tears by her father’s insight and love. One note in particular touched her. It was in the margins of Psalm 139 and it was a prayer. “Lord, please help Tessa to know with certainty that your presence is always with her no matter what pain and heartache this world may bring.”

  She’d read that prayer over and over, wondering if it was true even though she’d been angry with God for so long. She wanted to ask Oliver about it. She wanted to talk to Oliver about a lot of things. Casey returned to the kitchen and grabbed her purse.

  “You have a visitor, and I have to run. See you later.”

  Oliver Macpherson had followed her.

  “Hello, Tess.” He stopped in the entryway. She knew he’d been to the jail. Don Cherry was still in custody in Jackson County but would be remanded to federal custody at some point. Hemmings and Garcia were already in federal custody. Cherry was accused of state crimes, but because of Sal Hemmings, the Feds were going to take their bite first. Oliver believed there was something in Don worth redemption. A week and a half ago Tess would have argued with him. But now she just didn’t know. And it puzzled her—Cherry could have added to the death toll and killed Drake, Bryce, and Oliver as ordered, but he didn’t.

  Tess smiled, glad to see Oliver. He’d been updating her regularly on the aftermath of the shooting and keeping her apprised of any news on the Rogue telegraph.

  “Hey. Have a seat and some coffee.”

  “I will.” He stepped into the kitchen and pulled a mug down from the cupboard. He poured the coffee and sat in the chair Casey had left.

  “Anything new to report?” Tess asked.

  “Aye, Jackson County Sheriff’s officially indicted José Garcia for the murder of Hector Connor-Ruiz. He’ll likely be tried after the Feds finish with him.”

  Tess arched her eyebrows. “Yeah? That’s great news. I wasn’t certain that Belcher would buy Don Cherry’s explanation of things.”

  “Well, Don’s had an awful lot to say. To borrow a phrase from old film noir movies, he’s singing like a canary. He’s giving detailed statements; he even helped close the murder of Howard Delfin.”

  “Garcia again?”

  Oliver nodded. “According to Don, Garcia had a singular focus: kill you and avenge his brother. Then he’d tie up loose ends and flee the country. That’s why Hemmings was here. He was leaving with Garcia because he believed his cover was blown.”

  “Why’d he stockpile all that stuff at the Hang Ten?”

  “His first plan was to get rid of you—that’s why he hired Hector and set up operation there, thought the location would be good. Eventually he’d buy Arthur out or just get rid of him. But when you proved too hard to get rid of, according to Don, he went ballistic. Arresting Carr lit the fuse; Carr did a lot of Garcia’s dirty work.”

  Tess considered this. “Did Cherry ever tell you why he didn’t kill Bryce and Drake when they told him to?”

  “I’ve asked. He gets coy.”

  “You have a guess?”

  “He’s working out his faith. I think he’s truly changed, just not ready to shout it from the rooftop.”

  “He’ll testify against everyone?”

  “He says yes.”

  “My guess is the Feds will try to get a plea deal going and avoid trials for Garcia and Hemmings. They have enough evidence. Don might not have to testify in court.”

  “I’m praying that he’ll get a lenient sentence whatever happens.”

  Although she doubted she’d ever trust him, Don Cherry had filled in a lot of blanks. He was an accessory to at least two murders in Oregon. He claimed to have driven Garcia to Tess’s house and watched him kill Hector. Likewise with Delfin. After Delfin was killed, he drove Garcia back to Arthur’s, which was where Garcia had been hiding.

  Cherry claimed it was Hemmings who drove Garcia back to Delfin’s looking for Tess and planning then to kill her because they were certain the grand jury wouldn’t indict her for Hector’s murder. Of course, Garcia called Cherry a liar. But Ledge had told Tess there was some evidence to lend credence to what Don had to say; they’d recovered several guns, and one had been positively identified as the gun
that killed Hector and Delfin. The only prints on the gun were Garcia’s. In fact, other than the AK-47 and a Taser, Cherry’s prints weren’t on much.

  And there’d been a little cooperation on the Delfin murder case from Dustin, still in the hospital but on the mend. He claimed he was hiding in the house when Delfin was killed.

  “You like the guy,” Tess said, referring to Cherry.

  “I’ll admit I got used to our little talks. He’s a complex fellow.”

  Oliver had faith that people could change. Would she ever get there?

  “By the way, Bryce Evergreen paid the last of his fines and has decided to stay in Rogue’s Hollow.”

  “No kidding.”

  Oliver gave a nod. “He accepted a job working at Dover’s orchard.”

  “Good for him. I heard that Haywood is going to try to keep the Hang Ten.” No charges had been filed against him.

  “He is. Maybe he’ll make a go of it.”

  Oliver peered at her over the rim of his coffee cup, peace in his stormy gray eyes. And that gave Tess peace.

  “Guess I’ll have to get used to pot farms in my jurisdiction.”

  He smiled. “Grand. The Hollow could use a good dragon slayer.”

  Tess laughed and they clanked coffee cups. He reached his hand out and gripped hers. She held on tight, not wanting to let go, knowing that she’d found more than a job and a home here; she’d found a life. A tingly warmth crept through her. Oliver’s presence and his trustworthy friendship filled the room. Tess liked the feeling. It was steadying, just like the feeling of being home.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  A former Long Beach, California, police officer of twenty-two years, Janice Cantore worked a variety of assignments, including patrol, administration, juvenile investigations, and training. She’s always enjoyed writing and published two short articles on faith at work for Cop and Christ and Today’s Christian Woman before tackling novels. She now lives in a small town in southern Oregon, where she enjoys exploring the forests, rivers, and lakes with her Labrador retrievers, Abbie and Tilly.