River City

by Doc Macomber

  Detective Redden finished his telephone call and offered his cell phone to Colefield.

  “I’m going to step outside.”

  Colefield stood under an awning to make his call. He checked the time on his wrist watch. It was almost 4 p.m. when he dialed Jill’s number. The phone rang and rang and rang and then went to voicemail. Leaving a message seemed like a chicken shit thing to do, but he needed to let her down as soon as possible. He kept it brief and said he’d explain everything that evening at her place.

  He returned inside, gave Redden his phone back, and sat down. The detective looked at him.

  “You know, Colefield,” he said. “This shoulder is going to take me out of action. With Harvey out of the office and now this, I’m going to suggest the case be transferred to you. I read your file. You were a diver and did demolition work during your stint in the Navy. You logged five years on the street before you went to work for the River Patrol. You’re a good cop. I’d like you to be lead man. You down with that?”

  “If the Lieutenant signs off,” Colefield said, “we’re good. I may have a very pissed off girlfriend over this but I’ll make it up to her somehow.”

  “Doubtful,” Redden moaned.

  Chapter 10

  By the time Colefield borrowed Montgomery’s car and reached the condominium on Tomahawk Island Drive, daylight was fading. Jill didn’t wield a knife when she answered his knock, but her hip blocked the threshold and she refused him entry. Rain poured down, dumping on the front porch and soaking Colefield. She seemed happy about that. A car drove by, the tires sloshing through the standing water on the pavement.

  “Can I come in?”

  “No.”

  “Jill, I’m sorry.”

  “I had my heart set on this trip.”

  “So did I – I’ll make it up to you.”

  She didn’t believe him.

  “I knew last night you’d bail on me.”

  “I tried to call you when it all went to shit…”

  “The only call I had today was an hour ago.”

  “My cell phone got smashed while in pursuit of a suspect.” He lamely held up his baggie of parts. “I borrowed a phone at the hospital where I took my injured partner following said pursuit which also destroyed my truck. I borrowed the car I’m driving. It all sounded so crazy I didn’t want to leave a long message on the phone. I figured I owed you a full explanation in person.”

  She wasn’t buying it. “They serve beer in hospitals now?”

  “No.”

  “Then why do I smell alcohol?”

  True enough, he could smell it too. “A drunken woman spilled a beer on me. Then I was in a barroom brawl that smashed my phone. Could be either or both you smell.”

  “Got to be in a bar to be in a barroom brawl.” She was still having none of it. Her mind was set. He could see it in her mocking expression.

  “You promised me this wouldn’t happen, Jason. In the short time we’ve been dating, you’ve cancelled three dates because you had to work some case or another. I’ve always tried to give you the benefit of the doubt but this beats all. I rented skis. I arranged to have Julie cover my shifts at the bar. I went out of my way to make this happen. You didn’t. I own a business and found time for you but you can never find time for me. It’s like there’s this invisible line you can’t cross whenever you have to choose between me or the job.”

  “I know it seems that way right now.”

  “So what do you expect me to do?”

  He shrugged. “At least let me reimburse you for the ski rental.” As he reached for his wallet she physically recoiled.

  “This isn’t about money.” She studied his wet face. “I took a chance with you, but you just blew your last one.”

  “Jill…”

  Shaking her head with an emphatic “no”, she closed the door.

  He didn’t blame her for being angry and disappointed. Everything she’d said was true. It was tough dating a cop. Crooks and dead bodies get priority seating when you’re a cop. He’d change it if he could, but he wasn’t the one in charge. Or would he? In a rare moment of self-reflection Colefield had to admit he identified more with the victims of this world than those pulling the strings.

  He stood there looking at the brass number plate on her door. The cold rain rolled down the back of his neck. Rain. Not sleet or snow. If things had gone as planned, they would have been feeling the light dusting of soft flakes on their shoulders as they glided up on the chair lift. Hand in hand. Instead that pipedream was replaced with the heartbreaking memory of a child slaughtered, his siblings missing, and a new love lost.

  It wouldn’t have mattered how long he stood there in the rain, Jill wasn’t letting him in. He knew that about her. She was a pull-the-trigger type. He didn’t believe she would give him a chance to make it up to her.

  As he stepped away, he remembered the first night they had kissed under her porch light. Not all that long ago. The kiss felt real. He thought he might have found something special in the saloon owner.

  On the street in front of her condominium he climbed in behind the wheel of Montgomery’s old beater. At least Montgomery had come through….

  He tried the ignition. The engine turned over slowly, sputtered but wouldn’t fire. He tried it again. Same thing happened. Colefield recalled Redden’s earlier comment about karma destroying everything he touched. He said a short prayer and choked it back one more time. The motor sparked to life.

  If it was only that easy to jump start a life.

  Admittedly, he felt pretty low. The fact of the matter was he about to be homeless because he still hadn’t lined up where he was going to stay while the dredging took place at the marina. His phone was destroyed, which was going to cost a week’s salary. His girlfriend had dumped him. His pickup truck was sitting in a pumpkin patch with the linkage dangling in the mud. Another expense he hadn’t counted on. He had the equivalent of a six-inch thorn in his side every time he breathed.

  To top it off, Tam had shown up, churning up all sorts of emotions. He was driving a piece of shit car that didn’t have a working defroster, forcing him to drive with the windows down in this hurricane. That part was OK because he stunk to high heaven – a combination of sweat, stale beer and dead ducks. Not to make a big deal about it, but he wouldn’t be getting another day off until they had a suspect in custody for the boy’s murder. A good cop was counting on him to come through and so was a fourteen year old girl who actually gave a shit about her dead stepbrother. All in all, it had been a pretty rotten day.

  And it wasn’t over yet.

  First things first. Get a working cell phone. Luckily, there was a Verizon Store at Jantzen Beach. Just down the street in a mini-mall.

  He parked in the lot in front of the store and went inside carrying his bag of parts. He dumped the contents on the counter in front of a sales clerk. She had a pink ear bud sticking out from under purple hair that she kept poking at as she looked down at the mangled phone.

  “Not your day, is it?” she said.

  “Anyone ever tell you you’re psychic?”

  As she leaned forward to have a closer look, she caught a whiff of Colefield and pulled back to allow some fresh air to come between them. “Did you take out insurance on your bag of parts here?”

  “I think so. Look my account up on your computer.”

  “What’s your telephone number?”

  He said it aloud and she punched it into her keyboard. She let out a little Ughhhhh… “Sorry – looks like it expired last month.”

  “Is there a grace period?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “No special consideration for police officers?”

  “Nope. We offer a ten percent discount to military. You military?”

  “Not in quite a while.”

  “And just so you know, we’re out of your model,” she sighed. “We’re waiting for the new edition to come out which should be any day now. The release date was originally scheduled f
or last Friday.”

  “You have a loaner I could use in the meantime?”

  “Afraid not.”

  “Is there another store nearby where I could get one?”

  “Let me check for you.”

  The clerk was all business. She found him a phone across town near the Fred Meyer on Northeast Broadway. She turned and looked at the clock on the wall behind her.

  “They close at 6 p.m. on Saturday. If you hurry, you might make it.”

  “Can you call them – tell them to stay open until I get there?”

  “I can call them but I can’t guarantee they’ll still be open after closing hours.”

  She punched in numbers. The clerk said they would be happy to stay late, if they only had that particular model in stock. The last one just walked out the door a few minutes earlier. A college student had his telephone stolen. A car break-in...

  His next best chance at getting his model of smart phone was in Gresham or Beaverton.

  “But—”

  “Don’t tell me, if the store is open…”

  “Would you consider purchasing a different model?”

  “No. It took me two months to figure out this one.”

  “Well, then. I suggest you try our sister stores. Monday would probably be your best bet.”

  “Great.”

  He thanked the clerk for nothing and left the store with his measly bag of parts in hand.

  Just as he stepped out from under the building’s awning, the sky unloaded a frigid mix of snow and rain. The cold front had finally arrived in full regalia. The wind had shifted to the south. Never a good sign in January. Only in the Pacific Northwest could the weather change from warm and sunny to cold and shitty within an hour.

  Colefield pulled his coat collar up around his neck and jogged over to Montgomery’s car, trying his best to stay dry. The door lock didn’t work right so at least he didn’t have to mess around looking for a key.

  He slid in behind the wheel and wiped his wet face on his sleeve. Locating a pay telephone in the mall was an option but that would require going back outside. The office was only a few miles away. There, he could use the landline and reach the Sheriff’s Department to find out if a patrol car had been able to locate the teen or her father yet.

  By the time he reached his office, it was dark out. Dime-sized raindrops were falling out of the sky as he swung out of the car and darted toward the door. Bart had apparently come in on a Saturday to get caught up on work because the office was warm and toasty inside. He thought he passed his Nissan heading west on Marine Drive.

  After showering and changing out of his trashed uniform, he settled in at his desk to make a few calls, the first being to the Sheriff’s Department. Dispatch gave him the number of the deputy who had responded earlier. He eventually reached him on the officer’s cell.

  “This is Deputy Ross…”

  “Ross, this is Deputy Colefield from the River Patrol in Portland. A detective Redden called earlier…”

  Ross knew all about it. “Sure. We got nothing yet.”

  “No teen? No stepfather? No car?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Let me give you a number where I’ll be for the next few hours. If you hear anything, could you give me a shout?”

  “Sure. Fire away.”

  He gave the deputy his office telephone number and hung up.

  He intended to check in with Tam and the body identification, but realized that her number was in his defunct phone.

  He dug through his pockets, pulling out Kleenexes, gum and two scraps of paper, each containing a phone number.

  He dialed Tam first, leaving the office phone number when she failed to answer.

  Next he tried Sally, Montgomery’s friend.

  A woman answered on the third ring. “Hello.”

  “Sally?”

  “Yes. Who’s calling please?”

  “Deputy Colefield.”

  “Who?”

  “Jason Colefield. I’m a friend of Bill Montgomery’s.”

  “Yes?”

  “Bill indicated that you may have a loft where I could hang my hat while they’re dredging over at the marina?”

  “Oh, you’re his tenant in the tender?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Bill mentioned you. Any other time it would be fine for you to stay at the loft. However, I’ve just received a call from my daughter who will be in town with her children. I feel it would be best if she stayed at the loft while she’s in Portland visiting.”

  “How long will she need it?”

  “Oh, at least through the end of the month, possibly longer.

  “Mr. Colefield if you still need a place come mid-February, you’re welcome to call back. I would be happy to discuss it with you then. I’m afraid there’s someone at the door. I’ll need to hang up now.”

  Three strikes and you’re out. Colefield placed the receiver back in its cradle.

  Chapter 11

  The wind rattled the building’s windows. Heavy gusts sliced through every crack and crevice in the old structure.

  Colefield shut off the computer and rubbed his tired eyes. His stomach growled. He had worked well into the evening looking up old case files and reading the FBI reports that Redden had forwarded to him, detailing the previous accidents which were now being considered as the work of a serial killer. Colefield figured if they could solve Timmy’s case, they might solve them all and right now he felt that he was all the kid had. So far he had found nothing that might provide insight into the boy’s death or the mysterious family that from time to time had entered the boy’s broken life.

  The farmer had been correct. The boy’s stepdad had a rather extensive record: assault, abuse, drunk and disorderly. The list of incidents was varied and exhaustive. The boy’s real father had no record nor did the grandparents. Anita, the boy’s mother, had two drunk-drives and hadn’t held a job in the last few years. Penny, the fourteen year old, had a number of run-ins with the law for shoplifting. Her older brother Jeb had a clean record. The only thing Colefield could find on him was a brief article in the local newspaper that listed him as the winner of the 2011 Bass Fishing Competition. He would schedule an interview with Jeb as soon as he found the kid. The brothers probably talked. Colefield remembered late night whispered discussions with his own brother when he was Timmy’s age.

  Even Scarbough Sr. – a respected Scout Master – had a blemish or two. Assaulting a boy about the same age as Timmy and assaulting a woman outside a tavern. Both had taken place a long time ago. In both instances the charges had been dropped.

  No need to do any more research on the boy because he remembered every detail of the shooting incident. One doesn’t forget being shot.

  He had been all of twelve then when Scarbough had fired a load of rock salt at him as he tore across the farmer’s fields on his dirt bike. He’d been warned many times before and probably had it coming. But it left facial scars he nicked shaving nearly every day. It had been an extreme measure taken for simple trespassing – the final straw that sent his family packing.

  He had never seen Scarbough after that day until yesterday.

  As Colefield slid back from his desk, the lights flickered. Went out and came back on. Went out and came back on again. The wind was picking up, howling through the trees. The front door shook against the jam. The noise grew progressively louder by the minute.

  Now it was a banging sound. Who was beating on the door at this hour?

  Colefield thought about getting his gun, but it was lying out on a fresh towel inside his locker, drying out. Right next to Penny’s knit hat which now smelled of gun oil. The Glock had taken a beating in the rain. So he’d wiped it down with a fresh coat of oil. He figured the hat would survive.

  He got up from the desk and opened the door. Wind and rain rushed in along with Agent Costa. She was the last person he expected to see. Her long wet hair and dark overcoat glistened under the office lights.

  She
put her hand up to her face to block the glare. “I got your message and was in the neighborhood so thought I’d drop by.”

  She immediately took off her wet coat and slung it over the back of a chair, looking around the cramped space. She’d changed clothes and looked out of place in her expensive red dress and high heels. After a moment, she turned and smiled. Her eyes were warm and inviting. Her lips were wet and as tempting as twenty-year-old whiskey swirling in a sparkling glass.

  “You look nice.” Colefield held open the hinged gate to the small office area.

  “I had to change. After my visit to the ME’s office I literally smelled like death warmed over.”

  “Did Anita make the identification?”

  “No. She was too wasted. Hank Scarbough ended up making the identification. I called him to come pick up Anita.”

  “So the guy who said he didn’t recognize the dead boy ends up identifying him?”

  “Strange, I know, but so far everything about this case is skewed.” Costa looked around at the desks stacked practically on top of each other in the cramped space.

  “You share this cubicle with how many other deputies?”

  “Six.”

  “You sit on each other’s laps?”

  “I see you’re still kinky.”

  She ignored the statement. Her restless nature took over and she ambled over and played with the marine radio dials, then squinted through the window at the river. It was too dark to see anything, even if there wasn’t a severe storm pounding the hell out of everything. Colefield allowed his eyes to roam over her body.