“Lt. Caldwell,” she sighed, like a patient kindergarten teacher. “I am merely the assistant to the Sheriff and his liaison with his staff and constituents. It is not my purview to tell you that James Quillen is a pointless sycophant. You will need to divine that on your own. Now, he’s waiting for you, so please go speak with him.”
She spun around in her chair, turning her back to him, and busied herself with running her fingers through a drawer of green file folders. Evan considered himself dismissed and walked over to the oak door with the black label designating it as belonging to Sheriff Randall Hutchins. He tapped on it twice, and opened the door.
The man behind Sheriff Hutchins’s desk was subtly startling in appearance. It took Evan a moment or two to reconcile what he was seeing. Quillen didn’t exactly look small, but he somehow made the desk and chair look bigger than they had appeared when Hutch had sat there.
He looked to be in his late fifties, with dark hair and a salt and pepper beard that was so finely trimmed that it looked painted on. He wore a decent but not too expensive gray suit. The man’s eyes were so green that they had to be colored contact lenses. He smiled with warmth so sincere that it would have been impolite not to smile back, despite Vi’s warning and his own uneasiness.
Quillen stood, with well-practiced dignity, and extended a hand, his smile expanding just enough to no longer be believable. “Lieutenant Caldwell,” he said, his voice resonating in a way that suggested he used it often to direct the affairs of lesser mortals. “I’m Commissioner Quillen, James Quillen, that is. So nice to finally meet you. I wish it were under, uh, better circumstances.”
“So do I,” Evan said, shaking the man’s hand.
“Have a seat, if you would,” Quillen said, extending his other hand toward the chair on Evan’s side of the desk. “Please.”
Evan sat, placing the file folder on his knee. Quillen remained standing for a moment. Evan had just started wondering if that was a power play, when the man finally sat back down. His face pinched in a show of ponderous thought as he slowly perused the office and its various accoutrements. Then he looked back at Evan, his eyes expressing sympathy tinged with deep, personal pain. “I imagine this has been a very busy and difficult morning for you, Lieutenant Caldwell. How are you holding up?”
“It has been busy,” Evan said. “I’m guessing it will continue to be busy for several days.”
Quillen smiled again, acknowledging Evan’s polite point. “I won’t keep you long, Lieutenant.”
Looking at the councilman’s teeth, Evan guessed he could buy a small sedan for less than Quillen had paid for his smile. The man was definitely invested in his political career.
“First of all, Evan, do you have everything you need for this investigation?”
“I think we have everything covered,” Evan said. “So far, at least.”
“I want you to know that you have the full backing and support of the County Commissioners. If there is anything we can do to help you resolve this case, anything at all…” Quillen peered across the desk at Evan, ratcheting up the sincerity in his stare.
Evan wasn’t sure what Quillen expected him to need from politicians. “I’ll let you know.”
“I see you drive a…well what is that exactly? A Chevy?”
“My personal vehicle?” Evan asked. “I drive a Pilot.”
“Ah, a Pilot.”
Evan felt his forehead wrinkling. “That’s right.”
“Well, how about we, um, assign you a fleet vehicle, something more official? Like I said, we want you to have everything you need.”
“Mr. Quillen, I appreciate that, but I really don’t feel like this is the best time to discuss my vehicle assignment,” Evan said politely.
“No, no, I understand. You have a lot on your plate today, but like I said, we want to make sure we support you in every way possible.”
“I guess about the only thing I need right now is some clarification about chain of command,” Evan said. “Although, a call over to the M.E to convey the urgency of the situation would be welcome.”
“Grundy! Ha! That ol’ codger. He’s more of a mascot than anything else. We keep him around for sentimental reasons, mostly.” Quillen’s cell phone vibrated on the glass-top desk, but he ignored it. “It’s those college kids that do most of the real work. They have all the new science, they’re motivated, and they cost us about a quarter of what it would take to replace Grundy. But don’t you worry about that. If there’s any issue with the M.E.’s office, you let me know and I’ll make sure you get what you need. You have my word on that.”
“Okay,” Evan nodded, “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“As to chain of command, well, that’s the reason I asked to see you.”
Evan wanted to say, maybe you should have opened with that. He refrained from vocalizing it, but worried his face conveyed the thought. If so, Quillen showed no sign of recognition.
Quillen continued. “For the time being, you will report directly to me, and the rest of the commissioners, of course. But I’ll be your, uh, primary point of contact.”
“Okay,” Evan said, waiting for the rest of whatever it was Quillen had been working up to.
Quillen folded his hands on the desktop. Evan noticed a silver wedding band on his left hand and what looked like a fraternity ring on the other. After a deep breath and a pained sigh, Quillen finally got to it. “I need you to do something for me, Evan. Can I call you Evan?”
Evan nodded. His fingers desperately wanted to tap, and he needed a cigarette now more than he had all morning.
“We’re aware of the circumstances of your coming here to Gulf County. We know all about your stellar career over in Brevard. We also know that you have no, uh, history with anyone in this town. You carry no grudges, owe no favors, etcetera. You don’t have an agenda, so to speak.”
“Mr. Quillen,” Evan said quietly, standing. “I have an investigation that needs attending. With all due respect, I really need to get back to work.” He resisted the urge to tap the file folder against his thigh.
Quillen smiled, relieved, as if Evan had just said yes to whatever he had in mind. “Very well, straight to the point then. I respect a man that understands the value of time.”
He opened the lap drawer of the desk and removed a small wooden box, then walked around the desk so that he stood over Evan. He wasn’t quite tall enough to be imposing, but he was trying.
“We have a county-wide election November of next year. That means it’s going to be almost fifteen months before the good people of Gulf County can elect a replacement for Hutch. But we’re going to need someone to sit behind this desk between now and then. We feel that you’re the best man for the job.”
The man seemed not to notice Evan’s mouth opening, or the fact that Evan probably didn’t look too excited.
“Accordingly, we’ve appointed you interim Sheriff of Gulf County, effective today.”
Quillen opened the box and extended it to Evan. Inside, red velvet cradled a gold badge stamped Gulf County Sheriff. Thankfully, Evan knew it wasn’t Hutchins’.
This was the second time that morning that someone had said something about him being Sheriff. It took Evan a moment to respond, so profound was his surprise, and his revulsion at the idea.
Finally, Evan asked, “You want me to fill in for Hutchins?” though the intent had been clear enough.
Quillen nodded, tilting the box in a manner suggesting that Evan should take it.
“How long do I have to give you an answer?” Evan asked.
Quillen cocked his head. “An answer? About taking over as interim sheriff?”
“Yes.”
Quillen chuckled softly, “Son, no answer’s required when a question hasn’t been asked. This is what we’ve decided. Unless you’re planning on resigning in the next little while, this is what we need you to do.” He wasn’t smiling anymore. “You don’t have to run for the next term, but we do need you to step up to the plate for the time
being.”
“I see,” Evan said, more as a verbal speed bump than anything else.
“Good,” Quillen said, placing the box in Evan’s hand. “I would love to stay and chat, but in this current crisis, I just don’t have the time. Vi has been in this office just about as long as Florida’s been a state. She can answer any questions you might have about the job. You also have the full confidence and support of the County Commissioners.”
Evan thought about suggesting Quillen appoint Vi as interim sheriff, but Quillen didn’t strike him as someone who appreciated sarcasm. As the commissioner stepped out the door, he called back to Evan, “I left my card on the desk. If you need anything at all, you call me.”
Evan sighed as the door shut behind Quillen. There seemed to be more air in the room now that he’d left, but there still wasn’t enough of it. He loosened his tie just a bit, then leaned back in Sheriff Hutchins’ well-worn leather chair. He jerked himself upright as the chair threatened to dump him onto the floor. The Sheriff had outweighed Evan by at least sixty pounds, most of it applied to his width.
He ran a hand through his hair at he stared at Hutchins’ desk. Letter trays containing files and papers that he knew nothing about and wasn’t sure he should know anything about. Drawers he hesitated to open, even to look for a pen; filled as they were with things that belonged to someone he was not.
Yesterday, Hutchins’ had been wiping at the coffee he’d spilled on his shirt while he’d asked Evan to run down a witness in an armed robbery over in White City. The coffee cup was still sitting on the desk, with the Gators logo on the outside and about an inch of too-light, very cold coffee in the bottom. Now Evan was sitting in an office he didn’t know, having been given a position he didn’t want or understand.
There were two sharp raps on the closed door. “This is Vi,” came Vi’s anchorman voice on the other side before he could answer.
“Come in,” Evan said.
Vi opened the door, then sighed at him as she propped a hand on her hip. Her short, reddish hair was fine as down, and her bifocals were perched at the last stop on her beak. Evan thought she looked like a toddler buzzard, wearing the glasses on a rhinestone chain that had belonged to the elderly woman her parents had just consumed.
“What can I do for you?” she asked.
Evan started to answer automatically, then held up his hands as he realized he had no idea. “I don’t even know precisely what it is you do,” he said.
“I am your administrative assistant,” she answered sternly, as though he’d just taken some other kid’s milk money.
“I realize that,” Evan said. “I just don’t know what that entails.”
“Everything you don’t have time to do and I don’t need a badge for,” she answered. “I can pull the document listing my duties, but please be aware that we no longer have typewriters or Dictaphones and I no longer fetch coffee.”
Evan worked at not sighing. “We’ll figure it out.” He could almost feel her getting ready with a retort, so he amended his statement quickly. “I’ll figure it out.”
He was surprised to see Vi’s gaze soften just a hair, though he doubted she actually had an expression in her repertoire that could be considered soft.
“Lieutenant. I was very fond of the sheriff, as you know. We worked together for many years,” Vi said, still managing to sound like she was reprimanding him. “It will take me a moment to get used to you sitting in this office. In his chair. You’ve been put in a very awkward position, for you. But I suspect, because of your resume and reputation, that you’re most likely the best person for the job.”
“Thank you, Vi.”
“Very well,” she said, and shut the door behind her.
Evan started making a mental list of his next steps. Foremost was a cigarette, and he stood up and rounded the desk to head outside, but was stopped short by an obnoxious buzzing behind him.
As he turned around, it was followed by Vi’s voice through the desk phone’s intercom. “Lieutenant--Mr. Caldwell, Sergeant Goff is holding for you on line three.” Vi’s voice droned through the speaker again, sounding oddly distant and tinny. He could also hear her through the door, and found that distracting. “Pick up the receiver and push the blinking button.”
Evan walked over to the desk and took the call. On the other end, Goff said, “If you’re done hobnobbing, Tosh just dropped off Hutch’s truck in the impound lot. Paula asked me to go over it with you.”
“Sure, Goff, I’ll be right there.”
Evan was eager for any information gleaned from the truck, but he was exceptionally grateful for the excuse to go outside.
Tosh Bradley had just finished unhooking Hutch’s truck, and was busy securing the hooks and cables to his tow truck when Evan entered the back lot. The sun was right overhead, and Evan felt his hair melting before he’d made it halfway across the lot. He pulled out his cigarettes and lit one of the them on the way.
Goff stood to one side, studying a black smudge on the truck’s door handle.
“Goff?” Evan said as he approached.
“Hey,” Goff replied, turning. “Paula finished collecting what she needed. She’s headed back to the lab. She said she’d call you soon as she had anything to say.”
“She get anything good?” Evan asked, squinting through white-hot light at the fingerprint dust on the driver’s door.
“Don’t suppose so. Said she got hair samples off about seventeen different people, that being by eyeball, not microscope. Might be more once she has a closer look. Same with fingerprints. Lots of samples, but none that’s gonna amount to much. Hutch had folks in and out of that truck all day long.”
“Hmm…” Evan said. “And we don’t actually have any evidence from the scene to say for sure the killer was ever in the truck.” He reached for his sunglasses, but he’d left them in his suit blazer in the office. “If the shooter is a local, and I would guess that he is, he could have had legitimate reason to be in the truck, so finding his prints there wouldn’t mean much anyway.”
“Yep. Paula doesn’t have much hope for the stuff she got off the truck, but it’s a stone and she’s gonna turn it,” Goff said. “On the upside, we did find the slug. It’s a semi-jacketed .45 hollow point. Mushroomed out pretty good up front, but the back end’s in good shape. It’s got some clear striations, should be able to match it to a gun if one happens to turn up.”
“Well, at least that’s something,” Evan said. “You think he might have been killed with his service weapon?”
“Nah, Hutch carried a nine.” Goff took his SO cap off and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand.
“What about any items in the truck?”
“Nothing. Just his personal belongings that he’s always got in there.” Goff pulled a small notebook out of his shirt pocket, and Evan felt a sudden, though thin, kinship. “One of those insulated coolers with two warm Dr. Peppers, tackle box, a blue tarp and a brick from the truck bed, a few CDs. Hank Williams mostly.”
“Did you find his weapon?”
“Nope,” Goff said. “Didn’t find his wallet or cell, either. Guessing the killer took ‘em.”
Evan folded his arms and squinted at the truck. Smudges of fingerprint powder covered the door handle, steering wheel, dash, console, turn signal lever, and several other surfaces. The scenarios ran through his head as he visualized the crime scene, what it would have looked like at midnight or two a.m. Who had the sheriff met out there? Or had he just run across someone? But why would he be out there otherwise? And why would he kneel like that?
“Whatcha thinking?” Goff asked.
“I don’t know, yet. Not enough information I guess.” Evan thought a bit longer about the morning, about the events after he left the crime scene. So far, the case was a collage of incongruities, the pieces still too ill defined to be properly fitted together. But one particular enigma kept pinging around in his head: the fact that Beckett clearly disliked Hutchins. And he seemed to be close enough t
o the widow.
“Let me ask you, Goff,” he said. “Does it strike you as odd that Beckett made a point of suggesting the killer wasn’t a woman?”
“That was a pretty big hole,” Goff said. “We probably would have come to that conclusion on our own anyway. That was definitely a bigger gun than most gals carry.”
“Most,” Evan answered without commitment.
“The wife’s got a Desert Eagle 50 cal. But that ain’t usual.”
“Hutchins’ wife?” Evan asked, surprised.
“No, mine.”
“Your wife has a Desert Eagle?” Evan asked. He’d met Goff’s wife once when she’d brought Goff some lunch. She was even skinnier than Goff, if that was possible.
“She does,” Goff said, nodding. “Looks damn silly holding the thing, but ain’t no one gonna tell her that.”
Evan looked at the deputy for a long moment, trying to ascertain whether he was serious. Finally, he asked, “Your wife have any reason to dislike Sheriff Hutchins?”
Goff looked up at him, and Evan realized it was the first time he’d seen the man smile. “She’s got an alibi,” he said, with a twinkle in his eye.
Evan took a last drag from his cigarette and ground it carefully under his toe. “You have any luck pinging the sheriff’s phone?”
“Not a bit,” Goff answered. “It’s either off or out of business.” Goff crossed his arms over his bony chest, then nervously uncrossed them and propped his hands on his gun belt. “So, you want me to call you Sheriff, Sheriff Caldwell, or just leave it at Caldwell?”
Evan grimaced and let out a sigh. “Am I the last one to find out?”
“Naw. I only know ‘cause I walked in there when Quillen was tellin’ Vi. It’s just me and her.”
Evan pulled out another cigarette and lit it before he squinted back at Goff. “It’s not going to go over too well, I don’t think.”
“No, not right away it isn’t,” Goff answered. “Maybe not ever. But it’s not ‘cause they don’t like you, it’s just they don’t know you. And you’re from Cocoa Beach and all.”
Dead Reckoning (The Still Waters Suspense Series Book 1) Page 6