by Doc Macomber
Colefield’s face flushed. He hit the next message.
“Hey now I’m starting to worry. If you don’t want to talk to me, just leave a message telling me you are OK?”
He held his breath as he pushed the next one, made at 3 a.m.
“All your buddies have been in the bar and they say you’re fine, so I’m guessing you just don’t want to talk to me, or maybe I was right before and you are just too busy being a cop to be a boyfriend.”
And just like that Jill had broken up with him. Again. His shoulders slumped as he checked his text. It was from Bart and had just come in.
TIED ^@ AKCDENT. WIL B N TUCH.
He got the gist of the message. Someday he’d have to have Bart fully decipher his text talk. He put the phone back in his pocket and started the engine. What other job affected you in so many ways as police work? He mused on the conflict between the job and his personal life as he drove through heavy traffic to the Island. Before this case, he had considered himself independent and strong, but now he realized his soul harbored an angry and hurt boy who still reacted against painful memories. The realization that he’d met people that by the sheer act of rebelling against them had set the tone for his life was mind blowing. He now clearly saw that last night’s illusory tête-à-tête with Tam, while pleasant, wasn’t real. They had both hidden behind champagne and carefully choreographed conversation in an effort to recreate their earlier and forever lost times together.
They met at the Island store. This time Colefield spotted her sedan in the lot. He parked alongside the building and climbed out of his patrol car. Agent Costa had her window down breathing in the fresh air as he opened the passenger door.
“This time I got the coffee.” Costa handed Colefield a steaming cup of salvation.
“Let’s make a plan.”
Colefield donned a pair of dark sunglasses and his “take no prisoners” attitude as they pulled out of the parking lot.
“You interview the parents and I’ll have another go at the grandfather.” Costa was back on the FBI horse. “Based on the results of those interviews, we’ll have another talk with Jeb.”
“Sounds good to me,” Colefield nodded. “What’s our angle on this?”
“I have no idea,” Costa admitted. “Fishing expedition. Let’s see what surfaces.”
The Scarbough farm was over the next hill. Sirens approached from behind. Colefield craned around in the passenger seat.
Costa had been watching the activity in her rear view mirror. “Paramedics,” she pointed out, and began to pull the car to the side of the road to allow the emergency vehicle to pass.
The red truck raced by and headed toward the Point.
“There is only one farm out this far. Step on it!” Colefield said.
The sedan pulled back onto the narrow road and sped off. Over the next ridge the Scarbough farm came into view.
The red emergency vehicle had pulled up to the front of the house and the paramedics were already inside when the sedan pulled into the driveway. The two jumped out of the car and headed up the front steps. Since the door was ajar they pushed it open and went inside.
The living room was filled with daylight sifting in through lacy curtains. An open paperback was resting on the dining room table along with a pair of reading glasses. Colefield caught a whiff of fresh coffee brewing in the kitchen. There didn’t appear to be anyone around downstairs.
There were voices upstairs. He nodded to Costa to lead the way.
The bedroom door was open. Across the room two paramedics were performing CPR on someone lying in bed. Colefield drew closer. It was Mr. Scarbough’s daughter-in-law, Anita. The dead boy’s mother.
Scarbough was standing back from the bed watching. After a few more moments, the paramedics stopped pumping on the woman’s chest and stepped back from the bed, shaking their heads.
“We’re sorry sir. She’s gone.”
They gathered up their emergency kits and headed for the door. Colefield stopped them. “What happened?”
“Appears to be an overdose,” one of them said. “We’ll make the call to the Medical Examiner’s Office.” Colefield stepped aside so the paramedics could leave.
Costa stepped up to the bed, looked down at the dead woman and glanced at the night stand where a brown prescription bottle rested on its side, its white cap beside it.
She took a pen from her pocket, plucked up the prescription bottle and studied the label. “Seconal,” she turned and said to Colefield. “Prescription is for 40 pills. Bottle’s empty.” She looked toward the haggard man. “The script is in your name, Mr. Scarbough.”
Scarbough nodded. “I had some issues sleeping awhile back. They were in my medicine cabinet. She must have found them.”
“Where’s Jeb?” Costa asked.
“He’s out looking for his dad.”
“Isn’t Dave locked up in the barn?” Colefield asked.
“He’s gone.”
“When?”
“When I woke up this morning.”
“Maybe Jeb let him loose.”
“Don’t believe so. His truck was gone and Jeb was still in bed.” The man’s hands were shaking.
“Is Jeb on foot?”
“No. He took his skiff.”
“When did he find his boat?”
“Yesterday morning, he checked the grandparents’ house for Penny and it was tied to the dock.”
“And Penny?”
“Still no sign of her.”
“If the boat is still on the island, then odds are so is she,” Costa jumped into the conversation.
“Any idea where Dave might go?” Colefield asked.
“Tavern, probably.”
“How’d he get free?” Colefield knew he had to have help.
“He’s stronger than a bull, but there’s no way he broke that chain. Someone let him loose. The key was on a hook by the door. Maybe Anita did it. She was up and around yesterday. She asked to see him. I wouldn’t allow it, but she knew where he was.”
“When was the doctor last here?” Colefield asked.
“She was by yesterday morning and we decided not to sedate Anita anymore. That’s why she was out of bed.”
“When do you think she got the pills?” Costa asked.
“I went to the grocery store about 4pm. I was gone about an hour. That’s the only time I’ve been off the radar.”
“Was Jeb here alone with them?” Costa asked.
“Yes.”
Colefield and Costa exchanged glances.
“Does Jeb have a cell phone?”
“He did, but told me he lost it in the river yesterday.”
“So there’s no way to reach him or track him…..” Colefield didn’t like where this was heading.
“I’m calling this in. We need to bring in some help to process this scene,” Colefield said.
Colefield stepped out of the room and called his office from his resurrected cell phone. It took some doing, but he reached Bart by text. His young partner assured him that he and Weaver would be at the farm within the hour. Colefield made a couple more calls, checked his watch and returned to the bedroom.
Scarbough took a seat across the room by the window. Costa was pacing.
“I got them,” he said to her. “They’re on their way.”
“Jason, I think we ought to leave now before the boy has a chance to hook up with the dad or his sister.”
Colefield shook his head. “Leave for where? We’d just be chasing our tail. I put an APB out on Dave’s car. That will be easier to spot than Jeb’s boat.”
She didn’t like it but went along with it. “Jeb could have given Anita the pills and sprung his dad last night. Dave could be miles from here by now,” Costa agreed.
“Mr. Scarbough I’m going to need you to remain here until the ME arrives,” Colefield said.
Scarbough nodded. By the sagging jawline and blackened circles around his eyes, caring for these broken relatives of his had extracted a heavy
toll.
“Stay with him. I’m going to check the barn,” Colefield said.
“Watch out for my dogs,” Scarbough called as Colefield headed out the door.
Once outside the house, Colefield followed a dirt path toward the barn, keeping an eye out for the Labs. Not a whimper or a bark came from the side yard where they had been chained up before. They didn’t appear to be on the loose in the field either. Had they been locked inside the barn by mistake? Maybe Jeb took them with him. Colefield mused they were probably pretty good trackers.
As he pulled open the barn door, he kept his hands up in a defensive posture. As his eyes got used to the dim interior he relaxed and moved toward the back of the barn to the former pig pen.
It was empty. The hay was still on the ground where the man had slept. The bucket by the wall had some old urine in it. The tin of water was half-full. The big chain attached to the wall snaked across the floor but the end that had been locked to a metal cuff around Dave Scarbough’s ankle was lying on the ground.
As he turned to leave he noticed a piece of fabric clinging to the gate latch. Colefield unsnagged the thin material from the wooden post, put it in his pocket.
He circled back behind the barn on his return to the house and found a small workshop. A table in the corner had some spent shells and reloading supplies. He walked over and took a closer look at the reloader. It was a single stage Lock-N-Load classic, just like the one Montgomery had described.
The bedroom door was wide open. Costa was sitting in a chair opposite Scarbough. “Find anything on the body?” Colefield asked.
“No signature letter anywhere on Anita that I can find without disturbing the scene.”
Colefield nodded. “Well I found something in the barn.” He removed the piece of cloth, walked over to Anita’s body and searched her nightgown. Down near the hem the garment was missing a section of material. Colefield compared the piece of torn cloth against the piece missing on the gown. It was a perfect match.
“She was in the barn.”
“The chain that had been used on your son had been unlocked. I found this piece of material snagged on the gate. She was inside the pen. I suspect she’s the one that let him loose.”
Scarbough just stared across the room, the life sucked out of him.
Colefield looked over at Scarbough. “Your dogs are gone too.”
“My Sarah and Sadie are gone? Is that what you said?”
“Yes sir.” Colefield was somehow touched by hearing him say their names. “Do you think Jeb or Dave took them?”
The old man was done talking for now. He turned and stared at the wall.
Colefield moved to the window. Down in the driveway a ME’s van pulled up to the house and parked. Two men climbed out and approached the front door.
“Agent Costa, could you go downstairs and let the ME know we’re up here.”
Costa nodded and headed to the front door.
As soon as she left the room, Scarbough mumbled aloud. “I saw it.”
Colefield moved to the window. “What?”
Scarbough looked vacant. “The shooting.”
“You saw Timmy get shot?”
“No. I heard the shots. I saw something fall out in the field. So I got my dogs and went down there. On the way I heard an outboard motor fire up in the channel.”
Colefield could hear the others downstairs. He had to hurry. “So you discovered Timmy’s body when?”
“The day before I called it in.”
“And he was already dead?”
“I told you that. Then I found my shotgun tossed in the bushes halfway to the river. Only one person could have done that. I had to think about it – what I was going to do. Jeb was my great hope for the family. A miracle really that he survived his tumultuous upbringing.”
“You should have called the authorities.”
“I suppose I should have. Instead, I just smoked a cigar along the riverbank. Soon enough, I figured, one of us would have to face a firing squad.”
Scarbough glanced over at the dead woman on the bed before facing him again. “What are the odds that Jeb would lose two different mothers to suicide?”
“We’re not 100% sure if this is a suicide,” Colefield replied.
Scarbough processed Colefield’s comment, then turned to him. “You knew I was lying about something. When you took that shell of mine, I knew I had a fifty-fifty chance you’d figure it out.”
“It wasn’t legal bird shot. You weren’t hunting game that day.”
“You’re right, Deputy. I spent the entire day and night with that gun by my side.” Scarbough looked him dead in the eye. “Because I thought I might be next.”
Before Colefield had time to digest the grandfather’s most recent statement, Costa arrived with the men in white from the ME’s office.
It was all too much for Scarbough to handle. He started shaking. “I can’t watch them take another member of my family away.”
“No problem.” Colefield pulled out his handcuffs and hooked Scarbough’s limp wrists together as he read him his Miranda Rights, surprised to discover that the long anticipated scenario did not give him the satisfaction he had expected.
Colefield turned to Costa. “Could you escort Mr. Scarbough to your car? And make arrangements for him to be taken downtown and booked?”
“On what charge?” Costa asked.
“Obstruction, conspiracy and as a suspect in the death of Timothy Dodson.”
Chapter 25
The channel under the Sauvie Island Bridge was narrow and the current swift. The river patrol boat circled against the tide and floated toward the small dock. Bart was behind the helm and Weaver stood on the bow with a line in hand ready to throw it to Colefield standing ashore.
“Toss it!” Colefield caught the rope and tied it off. He held onto the boat’s gunwale while the deputy climbed out and joined him on the dock. Behind them, Costa was waiting impatiently outside her car double parked in the lot.
“We confirmed the 4 X 4 is at the grandparent’s home,” Weaver said.
“Anything on the kid?”
“Not yet.”
“What about the dogs?”
“There’s an APB out on the Labradors now?” Weaver laughed.
“I think they might be with Dave,” Colefield said. “Can’t see Jeb taking the dogs in a boat and besides if Dave has the dogs they can’t be used to track him.”
“Or they could be running loose like dogs do,” Bart said.
Bart hopped down into the wheelhouse and waved up at Costa, standing with her arms crossed and looking badass in her tactical gear. The agent didn’t wave back.
“She looks ready to bite,” Bart said.
“She’s getting heat from her superiors.”
“Like that’s anything new.” Weaver yawned.
“She’s itching’ to break this thing open.” Colefield turned to Weaver. “You ready?”
“Shit! Bart I need the radio.”
Bart leaned inside the wheelhouse, picked up the handheld off the chart table, and carried it over to Weaver.
Weaver turned it on then checked the dial. “Still channel 22?”
Colefield nodded, then turned, glanced back up the hill and gave a thumbs-up to Costa, still posing like a soldier on watch as Weaver joined her.
* * *
The plan was going to be simple. The house sat at the end of a houseboat moorage, providing adequate cover. They had studied the layout of the house and would hit it from the front and back simultaneously. There was just no telling what Dave would do. Colefield suspected he might flee via the water, so they’d better be prepared.
The winter chill started creeping through Colefield’s bones as he moved outside the wheelhouse to get a better look with the binoculars. Just around the bend in the Channel, he could see houseboats coming into view. The road leading to the floating homes was different than the main road leading to Scappoose. He was sure Costa could find her way even without a worki
ng GPS.
Debris was heavy again on the river. It was just that time of year. Colefield pointed out a few stumps and limbs floating into the boat’s path. Bart made small adjustments to dodge them. He was learning, his piloting skills improving all the time.
The first floating home came into view. A cedar-shingled shack with a swim platform. The curtains were pulled on the windows and Colefield suspected that the place was used as a weekend get-a-way. There were plenty of those units and a few were abandoned with Foreclosure signs posted. The vacant residences would make it easier on the deputies if they had to draw their weapons. Fewer civilians to worry about meant fewer potential casualties. As they crept through the murky lapping water, more activity could be seen on the river. Suspicious faces peered out bedroom windows.
For some reason, Colefield thought of Montgomery. How he was faring in Alaska. Stuck at a hunting lodge on some private island surrounded by wealthy guests most of whom had never hunted a day in their lives, nor for that matter, actually seen a brown bear in the wild. Yet they still desired to shoot one. The need to kill was in all of us.
He would have to go check on Montgomery’s castle after all this was over. See how the dredging was going.
Just as soon as it was all over….
Bart tapped on the wheelhouse window. Through the river mist on the windshield he was pointing at something ashore. Just ahead, at the end of the row of floating homes, the house came into view. Colefield picked up the binoculars. Through a kitchen window, he saw the two missing dogs barking and agitated.
Anxiety tugged at his gut, a feeling that didn’t come very often. Just then the handheld crackled out static and a clear voice announced: “River Dog Two, calling River Dog One, over!”
Colefield pressed the transmit button on the side. “This is River Dog One, over!”
“The dogs are inside the premises with others unseen. Use caution. Wait for my signal, over.”
“Roger that! We have eyes on the dogs as well. No one else visible riverside. Five minutes until in position, over.”