by D. L. Keur
And now, finally, he had his answer. Now he knew why she’d gone into law enforcement and into criminal forensic science. He chuckled, happy with the knowledge. Now it made sense. “Search and Rescue is, yes. Human remains? Well, there are very few resources available here for that kind of work. Most finds here are accidents, a skull found by a hunter or hiker. It is a shame about search and rescue, though. But it’s because of lawsuits. Gone are the good old days of just putting out the call and the community gets out there with their dogs and horses and finds our missing people. In fact, I miss that.”
Her head jerked his way, her blue eyes turning even darker blue, if that was possible. “What?” he asked. “Did I say something you disapprove of?”
“Not at all. It surprises me to hear you say it, though.”
He sat back, rubbed his tongue across his lower teeth as he contemplated her words.
“You’re law enforcement,” she said when he didn’t respond. “You, as sheriff, are the Authority Having Jurisdiction, or AHJ, as my professors called it, making you one of the most powerful law enforcement entities in the country. I don’t expect that kind of perspective from law enforcement officers—any of them, much less the AHJ. They’re all into power and control. Keep it in-house and under jurisdictional authority.”
Those words almost bubbled over themselves in their rush to be said, and Landon heard candor—rare from anyone. What she said was surprising to him, coming as it did from someone who’d been boots-on-the-ground in law enforcement herself. She knew The Code, but hadn’t been seduced, then indoctrinated, by it, and he didn’t know quite how to respond. To admit that he might agree could make him vulnerable. To not admit it might alienate. He didn’t like either option. Luckily, their food arrived.
*
Finished with lunch, Jessie went ahead and let the sheriff pay the bill, putting up just enough of a fuss to seem legitimate. Outside, she let him walk her to her vehicle—her gram’s fancy Lexus, borrowed just for this occasion. Then she nodded and smiled as he touched his hat and thanked her for informing him of her trip. He wished her well, and he seemed genuine. Jessie thought that, all in all, the meeting had gone well. That remained to be seen, though. She’d find out soon enough.
Waiting until the sheriff got into his rig, she watched until his unit turned onto the highway and disappeared in traffic. Then, she dialed Pearson’s office and told him, in detail, of the meeting, backing up her report by sending an encrypted, zipped file of the audio to him, all perfectly legal in Idaho, a one-party consent state upon which, at the onset of the two-plus hour recording, she had, of course, recorded her consent. The lawyer was pleased, said he’d listen to it and get back to her, then again wished her a successful trip. “See you when you get back. Good luck on your endeavor.”
“Thank you.”
Home, she returned the smart key to the Lexus to her grandmother and went to her room. Closing the door, she kicked out of the heels, stripped out of the fancy clothes and hung them up, then got into her jeans, boots, and a tee. Bathroom next, she brushed the gel out of her hair and washed off the makeup. Then, grabbing a jacket, she went out, saddled up Chesterton, let her mare, Snake, come along, running loose, and spent the rest of the afternoon out on the trail, the dogs coming with, free to explore every scent they found delightful.
She needed the break, and so did they. Mostly, she needed to get her mind completely off of her upcoming test with Callen Parker now that she’d taken care of appeasing Sheriff Reid.
***
17 – Surprises
Sitting in the co-pilot’s seat in her dad’s G58 Baron, Jessie watched, admiring his efficiency as he ran up the engines at the end of the taxiway and went through all his before-takeoff rituals. Seeming satisfied, he called the tower and requested clearance to runway one-zero, and, minutes later, they were airborne, the ground falling away beneath them.
In the back, both Mitch and Milo, along with her dad’s four young dogs, lay in their crates, completely relaxed, contently chewing on their rawhide bones. Jessie let out a long sigh of relief when they hit altitude with not so much as a whimper out any of the dogs. So far, so good. Only about three hours to go, then to make it through landing without Milo’s ears causing problems.
“You fret too much,” her dad said. “That Benadryl® trick is a real winner.”
“I just hope landing is as easy as taking off once Milo’s ears adjust to our altitude.”
“Let’s not make problems for ourselves, okay?”
“Okay.”
The day was beautiful, and the weather report indicated they’d have clear skies and calm weather all the way. Still, Jessica, who trusted her dad and his flying, didn’t enjoy placing her trust in a machine—never had. Not even cars. She liked her feet on the ground or her butt on the back of a horse. Machines could break, and something breaking when at an altitude of up to 15,000 feet was not Jessie’s idea of a good time. Still, in all the years she’d been flying with her dad, nothing bad had ever happened, and today was a beautiful, clear day.
“What are you thinking, Jessie, my Jessie?”
“Just that it’s a beautiful day.”
“Right. That’s not what you were thinking, at all. You were fretting.”
Jessie grinned at him. “Well, I’ve got a test coming up tomorrow. You don’t. So I can fret if I want to.”
Oli laughed. “Okay. Fret away, but, while you do it, chew on this. Darby and I want to make you a full voting member in the business.”
Jessie felt her stomach do a flip. She turned in the seat and faced her dad.
“Dad suggested it, and your grandmother and I both agreed. Our lawyer has drawn up the paperwork. It’s ready whenever you decide to accept.”
Jessica felt like the whole world had just shifted. And then reality seeped in. “What about Erik? I thought he—”
“Erik is on board with this.”
Jessica frowned. “When did he tell you that?” He certainly hadn’t mentioned it in his phone call to her.
“In February.”
“Oh.” So, as usual, she was the last to learn about everything. Well, not last, but, of the dog people in the family, for sure. Her sister and younger brother—well, one had no legal right to an interest in anything, having been summarily disinherited, and the other had more pressing issues, like trying to stay alive and healthy. “Can I think about it?”
“Is there really anything to think about, Jessie?”
Yes, there was, actually, but she didn’t say that. “I guess not.”
“Good. We’ll wait until this trouble with the sheriff is out of the way, of course.”
“Yeah.”
And suddenly the full impact of what her family was offering hit her, and she just about lost it. Blinking back the tears that threatened, she whispered, “Thanks, Dad.”
He grinned. “You earned it a long time ago, Jessie. Unfortunately, you weren’t old enough then.”
And, yeah, once she was old enough, she’d gone her own way. If she had known….
*
They’d been lucky. Idaho State Police Forensic Services, the ISPFS, had put a rush on their samples.
And unlucky. Their perp was not in the database.
The truck was still their best hope, but, so far, that had turned up nothing. It was like the vehicle didn’t exist, yet they knew it did. What Landon had found in his research through old cold cases of missing persons was that it had first appeared two years ago, and continued to be identified in three of the more than twelve more recent cases.
“Fourteen! That’s a lot of potential victims,” Barry said, coming in with some paperwork. He stepped closer to the whiteboard Landon had up.
“Yeah, it is. And where are they?”
“You think they’re dead and up on Long Peak?”
“I don’t know. You’d think that, if they were, somebody would have run across something, though. Skulls, lower jaw bones, hips, femurs….”
Barry scoffed. “
I don’t know that most hikers are actually that focused on their surroundings, really, though. Mostly they’re focused on getting to their destination.”
“Yeah. I know. Still, though, we get a lot of tourists traipsing around these mountains, never mind hunters and trappers. You’d think someone would have tripped over something. But you didn’t come in here to listen to me grouse. What do you need?”
“I don’t need anything. I come bearing gifts.”
Landon frowned, immediately suspicious. The last time Barry had brought him a gift, it had brought down the ire of the county commissioners. “Let me see.”
Barry grinned and handed over the papers he held.
Scanning them, Landon looked down the list in column one, then down the list in column two, noting the disparities. “Where’d you get this?”
“I set it up. Assigned a couple deputies to visit all the local car dealerships, new and used, and got them to share their sales reports for pickups since 2007, which is when the 2008 came out. Then I went back to the DMV database and tracked down every one I could. I had Lara do title searches on the state level to make sure they hadn’t been sold as scrap. That’s the result.”
And a lot of work. “Remind me to give you all a raise,” Landon said. “This is really useful.”
“I’ve got deputies and reservists out checking the ones that aren’t registered, since we’ve already checked everything that is and came up empty handed. Hope that’s okay with you.”
“Do you really have to ask?”
Barry grinned. “Nope.”
Landon stood up and stretched. It was lunch time. “Let’s go find us an early lunch, shall we? Then I want to go visit Martin.”
Barry let out a long sigh. “Can’t. I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at noon, and I’m on strict orders not to eat or drink anything until after.”
“Gads, man. I hate those tests.”
“Tell me about it. You going to warn Martin you’re coming?”
“Nope.”
“Don’t know if that’s wise. Last time I went to visit without giving him a heads up, he was about as friendly as mad badger, as Sam likes to say.”
“I’m forewarned.”
***
18 – Veteran Perspective
Martin Doyle was sitting in a nice lounge chair letting the sun bathe him through the window of his rehab room. “Hey, Martin,” Landon said, taking his hat off and plopping down in one of the couple of visitor chairs available. “How are you feeling?”
The older man scowled at him. “How would you be feeling? First, it’s like you’re being tortured and asked to do things even an Olympic athlete couldn’t, then, alternately, you’re treated like some old geezer, not even allowed to go to the bathroom by yourself without permission.”
Landon stared down at his boots, reached down to brush at an invisible scuff mark, then shook his head. “I wouldn’t.” He looked up and grinned. “I can break you out, if you want.”
Martin groaned. “Don’t think my wife wouldn’t come after you, Landon.”
“Hey, I can still run fast.”
“Except she’s a crack shot.”
“Yeah, well, there’s that. Speaking of it, how is the shoulder and arm?”
Martin grimaced. “Getting there, but it’s slow.”
“Still not right?”
“Not yet. Three surgeries worth. They tell me no more surgeries, but lots of therapy and I’ll get almost full use back.”
“Almost?”
“Yeah. There’s some scar tissue in the shoulder they’re worried about.”
“Hurt?”
“Not bad.”
“Say, you remember the Lily Thompson case?”
“Missing persons,” Martin said. “While your dad was still sheriff.”
“Yeah. That’s the one. And how about Frieda Bates?”
The man perked up. “That one I took a personal interest in,” Martin said. “Never found her. Never found the other one, Lily, either. We turned ’em both over to the Staties who then turned it over to the FBI. Last I heard about it.”
“Yeah, and that’s where it still sits today. I saw your notes in the Frieda file. Why’d you take a personal interest?”
“She was a court steno, a member of my church, an upstanding citizen, volunteered as an elections clerk, plus she was a wonderful Sunday school teacher. The kids loved her.”
“Was she gay?”
Martin gave him a stare. “Not that I know of. Never saw her with anyone. She had a dog and a canary. My wife’s got the canary still. Neighbors have the dog.”
“So, not gay and wasn’t seeing anyone of the opposite sex, either?”
Martin chuckled and shook his head. “Landon, I’d say she was just one of those women who men don’t find very attractive. Not that she was ugly or anything. Just …well, normal—old-fashioned normal, that is. Came from good upbringing—one of those women who has ‘spinster’ branded on them from the time they get to high school.”
“Didn’t wear her hair weird or look like an Emo- or Goth or whatever was the fad a couple years ago?”
Now, Martin laughed outright. “In our courts? Honest? …No, Landon. Never. Not Frieda. She was a very conservative, nice young woman who sang in our church choir.”
“Right.”
“Why all the questions about her? Weird questions, I might add!”
“I’ve got a murdered suspected lesbian, and her partner is missing, too. A red, older model, unlicensed truck is involved.”
Martin sat forward and his eyes went sharp. “When?”
“Week and a half ago—April 7th. ME puts her dead on the 6th. Got no match on the DNA found on and in the body.”
“Where’d you find her?”
“Up on Long Peak. She was raped, strangled, and her body mutilated, then left on the bank of Long Creek between the upper and lower falls area. Got footage of the perp and the red truck.”
That made Martin really sit up and take notice. “Footage?! You got an ID, then?!”
“Can’t identify him from the footage. He’s wearing some sort of mask. Most we know is he’s got dark hair, about six foot, slim, and drives this darned red pickup we can’t locate.”
There was a long pause, Martin’s face going pensive. Then: “How’d you get the footage?”
“A woman testing out her new drones caught it.”
Martin gave a long, soft whistle. His hand—his good hand—went to his chin. “That was lucky for you. …Except for the masked part, of course. Obviously smart, then.” He paused, then said, “So it all comes down to this red truck, which could be a coincidence.”
“It could be,” Reid agreed. “But the truck we have video of has no license plates, front or rear. And it’s a 2008. That’s what your interview notes say was true about the one that neighbors saw and that Frieda told her coworker was stalking her, right? That make, no plates, and about that vintage.”
“Yeah.”
Again Martin’s hand went to his chin. A frown creased his brow. Then, suddenly, he looked up. “You know, there’s this Special Needs kid,” he said. “…Well, he was a kid when I first met him. He’s got to be in his …ah …closing on thirty, maybe, now. Anyway, he goes out and takes photos of people’s cars driving on the highway and county roads. He’s got some form of autism, I think, and he’s real OCD, so we pretty much ignore it.”
“You mean Robert Tandy?”
“Yeah. That’s him. You might go ask him to see his photos. Maybe he got a snap of someone driving that truck in his collection.”
Landon wanted to groan, but didn’t. “Okay. Thanks, Martin,” he said, getting up.
“Hold yourself right up there, Landon. You’re not getting out of here that easy.”
Reid frowned. “What?”
“I’m coming back to work, thank you very much. Enough of this laying around and getting ordered about. Help me get my clothes on. I’m signing myself out of here, and you’re giving me a ride to base.”
Reid laughed. “So you do want to get me killed.”
“Huh?”
“Your wife?”
Martin grinned. Got a twinkle in his eye. It was the liveliest Landon had seen him in his whole convalescence. “Well, that would put me in charge, now, wouldn’t it? Not some still wet behind the ears legal beagle who only won the election ‘cause of his last name, his rugged looks, and fancy hat.”
Reid eyeballed his undersheriff. “You mean the same one who kept his opponent on as undersheriff?”
“Same one. And if you’re that worried about getting shot, then put on some Kevlar®. Dorothy always aims for center mass. Taught her myself, I did. Now get me my pants and shirt out of that closet. And grab my boots. We’ve got work to do, the first being going to visit Robert.”
***
19 – Special Talents
Robert Tandy lived in a group home on 3rd Street. He worked as a night janitor at the Grover Elementary School. Diagnosed as mildly autistic, he seemed relatively normal, except for his extreme OCD. The man—he was in his thirties, now—had to have routine and insisted nothing ever be in the ‘wrong place’. His four Special Needs housemates mostly shared his OCD fetish. They were grouped that way on purpose.
The house was run by a husband and wife team trained by the state to manage clients like Robert Tandy and his cohabitants. “Nice,” Robert told Landon and Martin, tipping his head toward them. “They cook good food.” He refused eye contact.
Explaining what they were looking for—a 2008 red, single cab Chevy 1500 truck with no license plates—both Landon and Martin held their breaths waiting for Robert to respond.
Suddenly, the man got up and headed to and then up the staircase. Landon and Martin watched him go, and, when he didn’t come back down after about five minutes, Landon sighed, grabbed his hat off the end table, and got up. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said.
“Just wait,” Martin said.
Landon sat back down.
Another five minutes passed. Then, footsteps on the stairway. Robert Tandy reappeared, stopped halfway down the stairs and said, “Come help.”