Woulds

by J. L. Wilson

  “So somebody wanted the sheriff’s people there.” My mind was spinning, considering and tossing aside ideas. “Why? What’s special about the Sheriff’s office? What would you do that a police officer wouldn’t?”

  Owen once again held up a hand. “We’re working on it. I have an idea but it’s just that. An idea.” When I tried to speak again, he leveled his gaze at me and gave a short shake of his head. I got the hint.

  “I was short-handed last night because one of my deputies is in Des Moines, getting special training. So I went on the call with the deputy on duty. We got to the factory and saw immediately there was a problem. All the exterior lights were lit, chickens were running everywhere, and the doors to the factory were open. Some animals were trampled or . . . I don’t know. It was a mess.” He stared at his desk, his mouth grim. “The whole place is a mess. Anyway, Rob Huntington pulled in about the same time we did. He went into the office building while we checked the area. I was coming around the corner of one of the machine sheds when I saw someone running.”

  He stopped, his eyes still fixed on the desk. “And?” I prompted.

  Owen continued, his voice so neutral it was almost robotic. “I called to the person to stop, but they kept running. A gunshot was fired. I ducked behind one of the tractors. There was another gunshot. I saw something flash in the distance. I fired my weapon. It got quiet. My deputy came up and joined me. We walked into the field and found him.”

  It was too easy. It was too simple. It should be far, far more complicated to kill someone so young, so vibrant. I leaned forward, staring hard at Owen until he finally met my gaze. “What the hell happened, Owen?”

  “The DCI is investigating.” When he saw my blank expression, he added, “The state Department of Criminal Investigations. It’s standard in cases like this. We have to turn the reconstruction over to another department, and I can’t be involved in any way in the investigation. I got the preliminary report this morning. It wasn’t my bullet that killed him. Someone else was there.”

  “Your deputy?”

  “He carries the same caliber weapon I carry.” Owen regarded me somberly. “Most officer-involved shootings take place in close quarters, a few feet from a suspect. The odds of me or my deputy being able to hit a fleeing man in the dark from several yards away aren’t good. I’m telling you this because you’re owed an explanation for what happened to a member of your family. This is still confidential because it’s an ongoing investigation, but it will be announced soon it was not a member of law enforcement who killed the man.”

  “Holy crap in a bucket. Will was right to be afraid for his life.” That damn factory. It truly was a Heart of Darkness. It made me remember the grim scene I witnessed in the parking lot at my bar. “Does PJ’s death have anything to do with this?”

  “I’m not sure. We’re not even sure how he died.”

  “It’s a tad suspicious when a man is killed at the factory and the factory owner dies within a few hours.”

  “I know that. I’m sure the Barnsdale officers will share their findings with me.” When I looked surprised, he said, “They have jurisdiction. It happened in their back yard, so to speak. Of course, first there will be an autopsy.”

  “Really? Isn’t the widow consulted about that?”

  “Not in the cause of an unnatural death.” Owen’s lips compressed. “And that was a very unnatural death, if you ask me.”

  I swallowed hard. “No kidding.”

  “The County Medical Examiner will do the autopsy. Once cause of death is determined, they can start working on the manner of death and whether it was through foul play.”

  “Whether it was foul play?” I almost sputtered with indignation. “Lord have mercy, Owen. The man strangled on his own tongue. It has to be foul play.”

  “We have to wait for the evidence.” He stared intently at me. “We all have to wait for the evidence.”

  “Well, of course. What do you think I was going to do?” I bent to retrieve my purse, avoiding his assessing gaze. “I want justice for Will. And I guess I have to trust you to do it for me.” Before he could answer, my phone rang. I almost dropped my purse, suddenly remembering those hateful words on the tiny screen minutes earlier.

  “Are you going to answer that?” Owen asked while I stared at the bag on my lap.

  “It’s probably not important.” I peeked at the phone display then whooshed a big sigh of relief. “Oh, it’s Alan.” I put the phone to my ear. “Hey, I got delayed. I mean, I’m with Owen now.”

  “Why didn’t you call me?” Alan broke in. “I saw on the news that PJ died at our restaurant. What the hell happened? Are you okay?”

  I winced. When he said it that way—our restaurant—I saw how terrible it might be for our business reputation to have a man die of what might be food poisoning in our parking lot. “I’m so sorry. It happened really fast. PJ was there with this woman and they went to the parking lot to have a little sex and the next thing you know, PJ was dead.”

  Alan’s sigh of relief was so loud I’m sure Owen must have heard it. “Thank God. Was it a heart attack?”

  “Uh, I don’t think so.” Owen watched me with an unblinking gaze, so I wasn’t sure what I could or couldn’t say. “I’m not sure if I know what killed him. But I did get a chance to talk to Owen, at least.”

  “Did you tell him about the threats?”

  My jaw sagged open. “What threats?”

  Owen sat up straighter. “Threats?”

  “Didn’t you say your nephew was threatened?” Alan asked.

  I rubbed my forehead. Did I tell Alan? I couldn’t remember. “I thought you meant the threat about—” I clammed up so fast my teeth snapped together with a click.

  Owen eyed me warily. “It’s about time you tell me what you know, Tucker. Starting with any threats.”

  I ignored him to focus on the phone. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about with PJ’s death because he wasn’t in the restaurant. He was in the bar and a dozen people saw him there and he was fine. But maybe you should call Marianne Archer. She was writing up a news story. Maybe you could say you think the owner of the pub should be allowed to make a comment about the death?” I checked Owen, who still stared at me, his pretty gray eyes positively stormy with anger. “I have to go.”

  “I’ll call Marianne. And I’ll see if I can find Rob. If PJ is dead, Rob is probably in charge at the factory. Maybe he can shed some more light on what happened last night.”

  “Rob was manager there, not PJ.” I nodded to Owen and smiled tentatively in an I’m trying, I’m trying sort of way.

  “He’s operations manager, but PJ was the overall manager. I don’t know if Richard will promote Rob or not. I’ll see what I can find out, Tuck. Call me when you can. Tell Owen . . .” He hesitated. “Tell him I’ll talk to him later.”

  “Will do. Later.” I clicked the little icon to end the call and lowered the phone. “Alan said he’ll talk to you later.”

  “What threats?” Owen asked, zeroing in on what I wasn’t telling.

  I regarded my phone screen. “Can you tell who sent a call if I give you the phone number?”

  “What?”

  I held up my phone. “Can you?”

  He nodded, turning to his computer and pulling a keyboard from under the table. “What is it?”

  I retrieved the number on the computer screen and recited it for him. He tapped busily on the keyboard. “Guy Gibson called you. So what?”

  I sat back, stunned. “Guy?” I don’t know what I was expecting, but a threatening text message from Guy Gibson was not it.

  “Tucker? What aren’t you telling me? If someone is threatening you, I need to know about it.”

  I stared around the room at anywhere but directly at Owen, struggling to decide what to do. It made no sense. How would Guy know Will gave me information? Maybe it was a prank of some kind.

  Or maybe not. With a sigh, I straightened, prepared to hand Owen my cell phone. Before I
could do it, though, a knock came on his door. One of the deputies from the outer office stood in the hall, clearly visible through the glass of Owen’s office door. Behind him stood Richard Fitz.

  Owen waved his hand for the deputy to open the door while he stood up. “This isn’t done, Tucker,” he said in a low voice as the two men entered.

  “I know.” I started to stand, but Richard Fitz and the deputy blocked my movements in the cramped office. I subsided back onto the seat.

  “What’s being done about my brother’s death?” Richard demanded.

  Owen nodded to the deputy, who left the office, shooting Fitz a baleful glare on the way. I could easily imagine the arrogant son of a bitch striding into the deputy’s space, acting like Pharaoh telling Moses to get his ass out of the palace. “Hello, Mr. Fitz. Would you care to have a seat?” Owen nodded at the other unoccupied guest chair in the room.

  “No, thank you.” Richard assessed the seat with one quick up-down motion of his head, determining its worth and deciding it was unacceptable for his patrician butt. “I’d like to know the progress of the investigation into Patrick’s death.”

  “I’m not sure about the progress,” Owen said calmly. “It’s being handled by the Barnsdale Police Department.”

  “That’s ridiculous.” Richard glared at me. “Why are you here?”

  “The police asked me to talk to Miss Frye and get her statement about what occurred at her pub.” Owen resumed his seat, his gaze fixed on Fitz.

  “What happened to your face?” Richard eyed my new gash warily. “Did you get into a fight again? Were you involved in Patrick’s death?”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You were there with me. Of course I wasn’t involved in his death. Besides, I didn’t get into a fight the first time. Other people got into a fight and I got in the middle. Like this time. Your brother and his floozy popped out to the car for sex and the next thing you know, he’s dead and his floozy collapsed on top of me.” I stood, almost toe to toe with Richard, who towered over me. “Excuse me.”

  He stepped back. “What floozy?”

  I rolled my eyes while I inched by him and started for the door. “You know what floozy. You saw him with her in the pub tonight. Marcia or Marcie or whatever her name is.”

  Richard turned to Owen. “Is that true? Was it a heart attack?”

  “I didn’t say heart attack,” I pointed out.

  “It’s an obvious conclusion,” Richard countered. “PJ wasn’t a young man. Perhaps the strain or the excitement caused it.”

  Owen held up a hand. “All of this is speculation. The County Medical Examiner will do an autopsy to determine the cause of death. I’m sure the police will be in touch with Mrs. Fitz to discuss their findings.”

  “Mrs. Fitz?” Richard’s mouth opened in a slight O of surprise. “Mrs. Fitz? Oh, you mean Patrick’s wife. Why aren’t you investigating?”

  “The Barnsdale police have jurisdiction,” Owen said with admirable patience.

  Richard shook his head like shaking off a troublesome fly. “I would prefer that you handle the investigation.”

  I almost laughed aloud. He sounded like a king who was struggling to speak in a reasonable tone to these most unreasonable peons.

  “It’s not a matter of preference,” Owen said.

  “But it is a matter of competence,” Richard said. “I’m not sure the Barnsdale police department is capable of handling a complicated investigation.”

  “Why do you think it’s complicated?” I put on my best innocent expression when Fitz swung his attention to me. “You said you thought it was a heart attack. That’s pretty straightforward. Do you know something about his death?”

  Richard cleared his throat busily. “Well, no, of course not. From appearances—I mean, from what I saw of Patrick, it doesn’t appear to be—” He clenched his hands, the muscles in his tanned forearms bunching. At the moment he reminded me of a wrestler or football player, a person who exuded barely contained violence.

  The moment passed and the suave, confident businessman returned. “I’m sure the police department is capable of handling an investigation. I’m concerned. After all, Patrick was my brother and I want to spare his widow and his children any further grief.”

  I almost snorted with derision but I caught Owen’s cautionary glance. “I’ll give Isabel a call and see if she needs anything.”

  Richard’s gaze swept over me. “I’m sure she’ll appreciate that,” he said, his voice so neutral it was insulting.

  “You’re probably anxious to plan a memorial service.” Owen’s calm tone didn’t quite defrost the ice in his gray eyes.

  Richard took step back from Owen’s desk, almost treading on me. “Memorial service?” He blinked rapidly. “Yes, of course. I’ll speak to Lee Knight and Marianne Archer.”

  “What does Lee Knight or Marianne Archer have to do with a memorial service?” I stopped at the doorway.

  “Lee is in charge of the town party this week and Marianne is assisting. It’s why I’m in town, to speak at the celebration. Perhaps we can combine a memorial service with the celebration.” He nodded, lips pursed. “Perhaps by then Guy Gibson will be back. He could speak, as well as some of Patrick’s other friends.”

  I could almost see the gears spinning in Fitz’s leonine head. What an arrogant asshole, to think the town would like their festivities combined with a eulogy for his no-good brother. “What a good way to put a damper on fun. Maybe the town won’t miss PJ.”

  Richard’s dark eyes narrowed. “Why don’t you let me be the judge of that?”

  I strode back to him, bumping into the guest chair and adding another bruise to the ones already dotting my shins. I moved close enough so I smelled his cologne. “I trust you about as far as I can spit, and I was raised to be a lady so I don’t spit so good.” I glanced at Owen, who watched this exchange with a bemused smile. “Isn’t there a law or something about using a public gathering to make grandiose statements about an asshole?”

  Richard started to speak but Owen beat him to it. “I don’t know if there is a law, but I’ll check to be sure.”

  Richard brushed me aside. “I doubt whether anyone in town would object,” he said through clenched teeth. “Fitz Agri-Industries has done a lot for the people here. I’m sure they’d like to repay our generosity with a small token of respect for my brother.” He paused at the door. “I’m sure all of our elected officials will be happy to oblige.” His attention shifted to me. “All of the businesses in town profit from the robust economy provided by the employment opportunities at Fitz Industries. You’d be wise to keep it in mind.”

  “Is that a threat?” I turned to face him.

  “Of course not. I’m just stating an obvious fact.” His dark eyes stared beyond me to Owen. “Sheriff, I trust you’ll do what’s right for the town.”

  “And what’s right for Fitz Agri-Industries?” I demanded.

  “Fitz has many holdings, only one of which is the factory in York.” Richard shrugged. “We need to assess the factory’s status in light of what happened.”

  “You mean the egg recall?” I was hard pressed not to sound too gleeful. “I’m sure it must put a damper on your profits if you’re forced to recall millions of eggs.”

  Richard regarded me coolly. “I was thinking of questionable and incompetent business practices uncovered in the course of evaluation of the factory management.”

  “Geez, PJ is dead so it’s not very nice, talking about how bad a manager he was.” I frowned at Richard, surprised at this breach of etiquette.

  “Patrick?” Richard’s dark eyebrows drew together in puzzlement. “Rob Huntington is the manager of the plant. I gave him the job a few years ago when he came to me, asking for work.” His lips twisted in disdain. “It wasn’t the wisest move on my part, but Rob always did need a helping hand. I felt sorry for him.”

  I opened my mouth to say Rob reported to PJ, who probably really ran things, given Rob’s general feckless nature, but Owe
n spoke first.

  “I’ll relay your concerns about the investigation to the police chief.” Owen rose from behind his desk and came around to stand next to me. “Thanks for stopping.” He put a hand on my arm, gently holding me back.

  Richard’s eyes met mine for a long second. I stared right back at him, daring him to make some comment. He smiled, lines fanning around his eyes. “Thank you, Sheriff.” He swept from the room and I could almost hear his kingly robes rustling while he walked.

  “When he takes Viagra, do you think he gets taller?”

  Owen chuckled. “Richard Fitz is accustomed to having his own way. Don’t let him get under your skin.”

  “I dislike arrogance.”

  “So do I. But it’s something I’ve learned to handle. Don’t forget, Tucker, I’m an elected official. I serve at the whim of the public. The Barnsdale police chief is appointed, but I have to run for office. It’s a political job.”

  “I tend to forget that. I guess I think ‘cop’ and I assume you’re hired willy-nilly, the same as everybody.”

  “I always have to be careful to avoid the appearance of favoritism. I can’t treat the Fitz family or their businesses any different than I treat you or any other business person. You or Alan or anyone, do you understand?”

  I nodded. “I think I see where this is going. If it comes out that someone called the sheriff’s office directly, it might be construed as—” I frowned. “As what?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m not going to let anyone imply I’m treating someone unfairly for political gain.” When I started to move away, his hand tightened slightly on my arm. “Weren’t you going to show me something? Tell me something? Before Richard Fitz arrived?”

  Oh, damn. There was a threatening text message from Guy Gibson sitting on my mobile phone. I wavered, not sure what to do. Once again fate intervened, once again in the form of a deputy who appeared in the open doorway.

  “Sheriff?” He stopped when he saw me still there. “Sorry. I didn’t know you still had someone here.”