By His Own Hand

by Neal Griffin

  Travis laughed out loud as he turned into the campground entrance.

  Unlike the previous day, the place was quiet. No one was in sight. The only sounds came from a flock of crows that took off, agitated by their arrival. Somewhere in the distance a chain saw buzzed, probably working hard on a tree trunk, but other than that, it was graveyard quiet.

  “Where did everyone go? Yesterday there were, like, twenty church buses. Couple of hundred kids floating around.”

  “Floating?” Travis sounded defensive, as if he figured Tia was still taking cheap shots.

  “Relax. I just mean that yesterday there were kids all over the place. Now it feels deserted.”

  She watched as Travis looked around, ready to agree with her. She grabbed his arm, feigned panic. “Oh my God, TJ. We’ve been left behind.”

  He shook his head and she laughed. “‘Left behind,’ get it? That’s what you guys call it, right?”

  Ignoring her, Travis drove up to the door of the office cabin. The kids might have left but Tia gave a good visual scan for the media truck. She was glad to see no sign of Lucy Lee-Jones anywhere.

  They walked in and found the same woman Tia had spoken to the previous day standing at the counter, with the regional news section of the Capital Times spread out in front of her. Reading upside down, Tia saw a headline about the discovery of the body and a still photograph showing her and Mills facing off on the stage of the campground.

  Great. The print media were following the lead of the television coverage and connecting the dead body to the church retreat. That would make Ben’s day. Tia knew they needed to get ahead of this thing, to put out the flames of hysteria before the media hype sent it completely off the rails. Tia wasn’t one of those cops who hated the media. She understood the role they played. Even appreciated it. But just because it was a slow news day, which was just about every day in Waukesha County, wasn’t a reason to create a bunch of commotion about a damn suicide.

  The woman looked up as the police officers entered. Her expression shifted rapidly from mild politeness to a tight-lipped scowl that dug a deep crevice between her eyebrows. She stared at Tia then turned pointedly to Travis.

  “Can I help you?”

  Tia touched Travis lightly on the arm, a signal that she’d handle the conversation. She did her best to work up a genuine smile. “Eve, right?”

  “Ev-a,” she said. If eyes could really shoot daggers, Tia thought, she would be a bloody mess on the floor. Travis cleared his throat, enjoying her obvious popularity. Without looking his way, Tia pressed ahead.

  “Right, right. Sorry. Eva. So, is Reverend Mills in?”

  “No, he’s not.” Eva looked back down at the newspaper. “No one’s here, just me.”

  “What about the, uh … youth brigade?”

  Eva scoffed. Obviously offended she looked up from her paper and practically shouted, “Youth corps.”

  “Oh, sorry. Youth corps. Where are they?”

  “Everyone is gone, Detective. After your visit and the television broadcast, well, parents started calling, coming to get their kids. Everyone left.”

  “No shit?” Tia blurted out. “Sorry. I mean, really?”

  “Yes, really.” The camp cook turned to Travis and was no more friendly to him. “You’re together, I take it?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m afraid we are.” Travis pulled his wallet badge from his pocket. “I’m Sergeant Jackson, Newberg PD. Detective Suarez and I need to meet with Reverend Mills and maybe work out a way we could speak to—”

  “Like I just told you,” Eva said. “Everyone has left.”

  Tia heard a noise behind her.

  “Reverend Mills?” Eva said, looking past Tia and Travis. “When did you come in?”

  Tia turned, ready to face off with the Reverend, but was surprised to see a man who looked to be in his mid-thirties smiling in the office doorway. Handsome and well built, he was dressed casually in jeans and a T-shirt. His smile conveyed an easy-going personality.

  “Hey, Eva. Just picking up a few things for my dad.” He came out to stand by the counter. “I’m Sam Mills. Can I help you with something?”

  Travis took the lead. “Sergeant Travis Jackson. Detective Tia Suarez. We’re with Newberg PD. Are you part of the retreat?”

  “Not officially, but after all the excitement last night, I came to help get the kids all reconnected with their parents. Come on into the office.”

  Following the men, Tia shot Eva a last smile. The cook didn’t smile back.

  “I’m sorry. Did she say Reverend Mills?” Travis walked into the office ahead of Tia.

  “Yes, but my father is the Reverend Mills,” Sam said. “I’m the mere-mortal other guy.”

  Sam motioned to one chair and pulled another from along the wall. He kept talking as he stood behind the desk stacked with boxes full of books and papers. “I usually don’t have much to do with the retreat. I mean, I used to, as a kid, but not anymore.”

  “As a kid?” Tia asked, taking a seat.

  “When Dad’s church was up in Chippewa Falls. We had a summer retreat back then, too. Nice campground in Chippewa County.”

  Tia nodded. “Oh, I see.”

  “But anyway, when things got a little nuts yesterday, I volunteered to come by, help everyone get checked out. I’m just packing up a few things for Dad. He’s pretty upset, didn’t feel like coming in.” There was sadness in his voice as he went on. “He loves this place. Practically moves in every summer.”

  “So then I take it you know everything that went on?” Travis asked. “All about the body?”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s all everyone’s talked about. Some of the parents…” He shook his head. “But that’s not important. It’s just so tragic. Even a bit scary.”

  “That’s why we’re here,” Travis said. “We’ve got some follow-up to do.”

  Dropping a few more books into a box, Sam said, “I’m sure you do. How can I help?”

  “There’s a problem about the discovery of the body,” Travis said. “We, the police that is, didn’t find him on our own. Someone called nine-one-one, but we don’t know who.”

  Tia couldn’t resist chiming in. “There’s a good chance the call came from someone at the camp, but I didn’t get a chance to find out yesterday. Now everyone is gone.”

  Sam smiled and nodded. “Yeah. Dad filled me in on all that.”

  “Too bad he couldn’t have been more helpful,” Tia said. “Might have been able to clear this all up nice and quiet. Without all the media drama.”

  “You’re probably right,” Sam said with a shrug. When he went on, his tone was disarming. “But then again, you might have figured out some way to get your message across without threatening to arrest him.”

  “Good point.” Tia stared at him. “I probably went there a bit too quickly.”

  “Would you really have done it?” he asked. “Arrested him, I mean.”

  Tia ignored the question. “So you don’t have a formal role at the camp?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing, really. Just seems odd,” Tia said.

  “How so?”

  “I don’t know.” Tia pushed back in her chair, raising it slightly up onto two legs. “Just seems like, you know, you’d be heir apparent and all.”

  Tia felt daggers for the second time in less than five minutes, this time from her boss.

  Sam laughed it off. “You live up to your billing, Detective.”

  Tia couldn’t help but like this guy. His manner was relaxed and unflappable. He reminded her of Connor back in simpler times.

  “You didn’t answer my question. Would you really have arrested him?”

  “You preach with your dad?” Tia wasn’t going to answer him, maybe because she wasn’t sure what the answer was.

  “No, I have my own church in Milwaukee.”

  “Milwaukee, huh?” Tia raised her eyebrows. “Bet you can really pull in the crowd down there, right?”

  Travi
s smacked her on the arm.

  “It’s all right.” Sam waved it off again. “I get about fifty folks in for services on most Sundays, but our real emphasis is outreach. We run a food bank, drug counseling center, day care. A shelter in the winter. So, no. I’m not … what did you say? ‘Pulling them in.’ As far as preachers go, my dad is the big dog in the family.”

  “Reverend—” Travis said, clearly ready to refocus the conversation.

  “Please, call me Sam.”

  “All right, Sam. As Detective Suarez was saying, it seems likely the nine-one-one call came from someone here at the campgrounds. Or if not, someone may have heard or seen something. We, the police department, that is, would like to conduct canvass interviews of all the young people that were here last night.”

  “Canvass interviews?”

  “Yes,” Travis said. “A nonintrusive, noncustodial interview. Very limited in scope. An officer would meet with each participant, one on one. Then we’d use a list of predetermined questions intended to identify any possible witnesses. Can you help us out with that?”

  “To be honest, we canceled the retreat to avoid just that.”

  “I’m not following you,” Travis said.

  “After the news broadcast, we were flooded with calls from parents. Some just showed up unannounced and took their kids home. Quite a few of them were concerned the kids were going to be questioned by the police. In the end, the church elders conferred with legal counsel and it seemed best to cancel this year’s retreat.”

  “Okay, then how about this.” Tia was glad to hear Travis challenge the Reverend. “Give us addresses and phone numbers. Now that the kids are back with their parents, we’ll take it from there.”

  Sam shook his head. “Every one of the retreat participants is under the age of eighteen. Our legal team is uncomfortable releasing their personal data to the police.”

  Travis persisted. “Sam, we’re conducting a legitimate investigation into the death of a seventeen-year-old kid. Why would anyone not want to answer a few questions?”

  Sam shook his head and his body language signified to Tia he might agree with them, but he had to stick to the party line. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, but like I said, it’s on advice of legal counsel.”

  “How about staff?” Tia asked. “Can we talk to them? Get their names and addresses?”

  Sam mulled it over for a moment, still reluctant, then said, “I don’t see why not. They’re adults. They all signed waivers. You know, for background checks, so they could volunteer and be around the kids. I guess that’s reasonable.”

  Travis and Tia nodded at each other, then Travis said, “Good. We’ll start with that.”

  Sam called Eva’s name. There was a pause while they waited, then she appeared in the doorway. Tia noticed she was out of breath again.

  “Yes?” she asked.

  “Eva, do we have a list of all the adult volunteers, counselors, everyone on staff this week?”

  “Yes. I have it. I had to make the meal cards.”

  “Great. Can you print that out for me?” The young reverend smiled at the cook.

  “And phone numbers,” Tia said. “Home addresses, too.”

  Eva looked to Tia and back to Sam. “May I ask what this is for?”

  “Just trying to help the detectives.” Sam’s voice took on a new, businesslike tone that Tia was glad to hear. “And do be sure it includes everyone’s contact information. How long will that take?”

  “Well, I don’t know.” Tia heard the woman’s reluctance. “I’ll have to go through files and … well, it could take a while.”

  Tia turned in her chair and faced the woman. She made it as clear as she could that any initial attempts to resurrect their relationship had come and gone. “But you just said you have it, right?”

  Eva threw a quick glare toward Tia then looked back to Sam. “It’s going to take some time.”

  “All right, Eva. But let’s make it a priority, okay? Get it done as soon as you can,” he said, dismissing her. When she turned to leave, her long hair swung out far enough to swish against the frame of the door. “No sense in you guys hanging around here. I’ll stay on her about it and let you know when it’s ready.”

  The detectives stood and Travis stuck out his hand. “Thanks for your help.” The two men shook while Tia watched, feeling like a spectator at some male bonding ritual. Sam spoke but only to Travis. “Not a problem. Happy to help. So anyway, how’s it going? Any ideas?”

  “What? On the body?” Travis said. “We’re leaning toward suicide.”

  Watching Sam’s face, Tia saw what she thought to be genuine sorrow.

  “That’s rough,” he said. “Especially him being so young.”

  “So you’ll get a hold of me when the list is ready?” Tia interjected, pulling a business card from her pocket and laying it on the desk.

  An awkward moment passed until Sam spoke. “Sure. I’ll give you a call or text you or something.”

  Back in the car, Travis turned to Tia. “Sorry about that. Didn’t mean to step on your case.”

  Tia knew what he meant. She wished he hadn’t given up the suicide angle but it was over and done with. “No worries. He seems legit. No reason not to tell him.”

  “What about Livy?” Travis started the car. “You going to be able to bring her around? Get her onboard with suicide?”

  “Definitely on my to-do list for today. Convince the forensic expert she’s got it all wrong,” Tia added, pointing down the road. “But for now, just Holy Roll my ass outta here. I think I’m starting to have visions.”

  Travis shook his head. “You never stop, do you?”

  Tia tuned the radio to the Latin station and cranked the volume.

  “Never.”

  FIFTEEN

  “Hey, Livy, you remember about a year ago, that case we had? The guy with the arrow through his chest?”

  Tia sat on the corner of the smooth wood countertop in the closet-turned-evidence-processing-room of Newberg PD, her feet dangling a foot above the cement floor. She watched as Livy finished up her print work on the Remington shotgun.

  “It wasn’t through the chest,” Livy answered without looking up. “It entered through the duodenum and traveled upward to pierce his spleen. It never entered the chest cavity.”

  Typically, in a case of suicide, Tia would process her own evidence, but she’d asked Livy to come by the station and handle the shotgun. She wanted a chance to talk with Livy and hopefully come to some kind of understanding.

  “Yeah, okay, whatever,” Tia said. “But you remember the case, right? The guy who gut-shot himself through and through with a crossbow? You were pretty damn sure that was murder.”

  “Is that what this little charade is about?” Livy said, stopping to look up. “Having me come over here to process your evidence for you?”

  Tia stayed on point. “Scene had some crazy blood spatter, right? Looked like the guy had been in a fight for his life. I was just about to jump the shit of that poor schmuck who called it in, remember? I started leaning all over him about ‘where were you?’ and ‘who were you with?’ Then it dawned on me.”

  Livy went back to work. “That case was entirely different.”

  “That’s right, dumb-ass detective me posed the obvious question: If he went and got himself murdered, who dead-bolted the door from the inside?”

  It had been a gruesome scene. A twenty-three-year-old man, dead in a hotel room. A carbon-shafted hunting arrow with a steel broad-head tip buried in his body right up to the fletching. All four walls of the small room were smeared and spattered with blood. At first glance, it looked as though there’d been a significant struggle and the scene had the feel of a homicide. Then Tia noticed the damage to the door. The hotel manager had forced the door open because it was bolted from the inside with a three-quarter-inch steel rod. The windows were all barred. They found the compound crossbow, still on scene, half hidden under the bed.

  “Every bloody smear of a prin
t came back to him. Probably thrashed around for an hour before he finally died. We never figured out if it was intentional or not, but yeah. Poor bastard somehow managed to shoot himself with a bow and arrow.”

  Livy finally looked up but refused to engage in any argument. “Completely different.”

  “I don’t see how it’s so different,” Tia said cautiously. “Sometimes the answers are right in front of you. Common sense, you know?”

  “Oh really?” That got Livy a bit more riled. “Common sense is one thing. Taking the easy way out is another.”

  “Think about this case, Livy. Here you got a boy with a miserable fricking life. He loses his dad. He’s a supply mule for his junkie mom. He quits high school because all the other kids make fun of him for looking like a damn elf. He gets shipped off to juvie, where he gets his ass handed to him a time or two. I mean, he brought the gun with him. You think, what? He’s going on a turkey shoot?”

  Glaring at Tia, Livy finally seemed ready to fully engage when the door opened and Rich Puller walked in.

  “Hey, Detective … Sorry. I mean Tia.” He turned to Livy and his toned changed to something that struck Tia as a bit friendlier. Intimate, even. “Hey, Livy.”

  Livy blushed a bit as she replied, “Hi, Rich.”

  Tia looked back and forth between them, smiling. “Well, hey, Rich. What brings you by?”

  Rich held what Tia recognized as a department supplemental report, typed and completed. “My report from the crime scene. Sergeant Jackson approved it. Said you would want a copy. Told me you were down here in the evidence room.”

  “Give.” Tia waggled her fingers and Rich handed her the report. Sure enough Travis’s initials and badge number were at the bottom. Still seated on the table, she started to skim through it, glad to see that Rich could write. The way hiring had been going lately, some of the reports coming across her desk struck Tia as the work of fifth graders.

  “How about Youngblood?” she asked, still reading. “Did he turn his in yet?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure.” His uncertainty drew her attention and she looked up to see that he had that same expression of conflict she’d seen at the crime scene. She knew Youngblood had a reputation of being a hard-ass with his trainees, but something more seemed to be bothering the rookie. Tia kept reading then stopped.