“Officer down,” he said with a smile. “Deputy Mitchell Steele, that is. Care to follow me there?”
CARA FOLLOWED on automatic—almost.
She wasn’t surprised when Zeller’s car headed toward the side of town where she only went when seeking a good, juicy story. It was always surprising to her that a relatively small town like Mustang Valley had an area that was the wrong side of the imaginary tracks, but it did.
Officer down.
Mitch.
Oh, Lord, how the thought scared her…as much as she wanted so desperately to hate him.
Zeller pulled into an alley. Cara followed. It opened into a lot behind a warehouse. An empty lot. Time for Cara to go.
Only, Zeller was faster. He jumped out of his car and pointed his Beretta at her.
She’d already reached into her purse—and pointed her camera at him. “Standoff,” she shouted through her still-closed window.
“I don’t think so.” He came closer, the weapon still aimed toward her as she snapped one digital shot after another. “Hand over whatever you found that lets Steele’s old man off the hook, and then you can go.”
“You’ve come this far but you’ll let me, a witness, live?”
“Sure. Now hand it over.”
“Why?” Cara demanded. “Why do you care if Sheriff Martin Steele is cleared?” She wished her voice didn’t shake so much. She wasn’t an idiot. A gun was pointed at her head. And even though she was recording this with her small dictating machine hidden on her lap, she didn’t have a death wish.
She didn’t like the fact that Zeller’s smile didn’t falter as he replied. “Because if anyone digs too deep, they’re just liable to find the truth.”
“That you were the one who took the bribe, framed Martin and then murdered him and made it look like a suicide?” Not that Cara had figured it out before, but why else would Hurley be doing this?
“Could be. But no one’s going to dredge that up again, once you aren’t around to—”
“Drop it, Zeller,” said another voice, slightly muffled outside the closed window but definitely recognizable. And definitely welcome.
Mitch stepped out from the shadows. He held a Beretta that looked just like Zeller’s—both, undoubtedly, standard issue by the department. His was aimed right at his counterpart’s head.
“What the hell are you doing here?” Zeller growled, not obeying.
“Drop it,” Mitch repeated, pressing the barrel to Hurley’s temple.
This time the other deputy obeyed.
“Cara called me while she followed you, you piece of filth.”
She’d promised herself she’d call him only if the hounds of hell had been on her tail, and they had been.
“I kept telling her not to put herself in danger,” Mitch continued, “but she claimed this was the only way to flush you out. Now, why don’t you tell me why you’re so interested in evidence that would exonerate my father?”
“Shove it,” Zeller cried. He ducked and lunged toward Mitch, who instead of firing hit him in the temple with the butt of the gun. Zeller went down without a word.
“I guess we’ll have to find out later,” Cara said with a shaky sigh.
“THIS DOESN’T CHANGE anything,” Cara said a long while later.
Mitch hadn’t had to argue with her about following him to the department. He’d cuffed Zeller, tossed him into the back of his car and dragged him in once they arrived.
Sheriff Ben Wilson had been outraged—at first. But he couldn’t argue with Cara’s photographs and tape recording of the whole thing.
Mitch had been furious with her earlier for putting herself in such danger for the sake of a story. “Not for a story,” she’d told him in a soft voice that had reverberated inside her car. She had used the speaker feature of her new cell phone so Zeller wouldn’t see it. “To find out the truth. And I know you want that.”
He’d wanted to shake her afterward for not listening to him. And to hug her.
But their earlier argument in his office had gone too deep. And she’d refused to listen when he’d told her he’d been trying just to string Sheriff Wilson along. She didn’t believe that the message on his desk from Jerry Jennings was the umpteenth that he’d refused to respond to, even though Beau Jennings’s up-and-coming media-whiz nephew had tried over and over to get an interview with him about the Wilks murder.
He knew the pain Jerry had put her through years ago, stealing her research and using it for his own gain. Mitch knew she believed he was similarly stabbing her in the back.
Well, he’d violated his own inviolate rule, and he regretted it now. He’d allowed someone to get close. Under his skin.
Caring for anyone had always been a mistake. He’d gotten through his uneasy teen years, then the loss of his parents and his only serious girlfriend, thinking his lesson had been learned. But he’d let down his guard just this once. And now he would pay.
“Let’s listen to the tape again,” Mitch said.
MITCH WASN’T SURPRISED that Hurley demanded a lawyer.
The first he’d asked for was Lindsey Wellington. That was a surprise, till Mitch thought it through. Lindsey had recently gotten a client off a murder rap.
Of course, that client happened to be innocent, framed by another lawyer in Lindsey’s firm. And now Lindsey and her former client Bart Rawlins were about to be married.
It was with great pleasure that Mitch had informed Hurley that Lindsey declined to have anything to do with him.
“Donald Church, then,” he’d demanded. Since Church was the only lawyer left of the town’s former primo law firm, that wasn’t a huge shock to Mitch, either.
The only surprise was that Church agreed.
Now they were in the Sheriff’s Department interrogation room. It had always seemed too small before. Now, even though Mitch sat at the far end of its table from Zeller, it felt like the room had shrunk even more. Deputy Stephanie Greglets had asked to conduct the interrogation, and Ben Wilson had agreed. Mitch didn’t see the sense of his reasoning. Sure, Ben and he were both too close to the situation to avoid the appearance of a conflict of interest. But so was Stephanie.
Hurley was Ben’s protégé and wunderkind who’d let him down. And Mitch was the person in the room who wanted to ram Zeller’s teeth down his throat till they sliced open his jugular.
The son of a bitch had taken from Mitch one of the people he’d valued most in his life: his father. And he’d threatened to kill someone else Mitch cared for, even if his feelings for her were out of line: Cara.
Lovely, brave, foolish Cara, who could have been killed because she’d insisted on trying to find out the truth. For her story. Or so Mitch tried to convince himself.
But he knew better, in his gut. She’d done it for him, too.
And Stephanie? Well, she’d been dealing with Hurley’s inappropriate interest for a long time. That hardly made her impartial.
The inquiry had started a few minutes ago. A court reporter was present, and a tape recorder was running.
So far all they’d gotten from Hurley was his name, address, birth date and profession.
“Deputy Zeller,” said Stephanie, “let’s start with today. Ms. Cara Hamilton said you lured her to that warehouse parking lot by claiming Deputy Mitchell Steele had been injured there.”
“That’s argumentative,” asserted Donald Church. Though Mitch had always considered the man, whose expensive clothes didn’t keep him from looking chubby, a good guy, he was, after all, a lawyer. He was even taking notes on a yellow legal pad, with a gold pen that probably cost more than Mitch’s salary for the day. “Deputy Zeller didn’t lure Ms. Hamilton anywhere. And what is your question?”
Mitch caught tall, self-assured Stephanie’s annoyed look before she tried again. “Let me rephrase. Deputy Zeller, did you tell Ms. Hamilton that something had happened to Deputy Steele and ask her to follow you?”
“That’s a compound question,” Donald Church said.
&
nbsp; Mitch glanced again at Stephanie. Was she too green to do this? He’d taught her better techniques in other interviews. But the contrition and confusion he expected to see as their eyes met was preceded by a flash of triumph. What was that about?
“I’ll answer,” Zeller said. He ignored his attorney’s protests. “I know how these things go. Let me cut to the chase. Yeah, I’ve done some stuff I probably shouldn’t have. See, as you known, I’m an ambitious guy, Deputy Greglets.” He grinned at Stephanie, obviously forgetting that she’d tried to shake off his advances even when there was no indication he was anything more than an over-sexed jerk.
Mitch couldn’t interpret her return glance, but there was definite emotion in it. Was there really something between Zeller and Stephanie?
“I’m thinking of running for sheriff when Sheriff Wilson becomes mayor,” Zeller continued. He grinned at Ben, whose expression remained stony. “I thought Cara Hamilton was being too nosy, and her bad-mouthing Sheriff Wilson could prevent him from being elected. So, could be I made a bad decision, but I thought I’d scare her a little.” He shrugged and kept smiling.
“But when you were with Ms. Hamilton, you didn’t tell her to stop investigating her stories,” Stephanie said. “I’ve got the transcript of what she recorded right here. You demanded that she hand over something that she’d said would clear Sheriff Martin Steele’s name.” She again glanced toward Mitch, who was using every ounce of self-control he had to keep from taking over the questioning. Stephanie must have read that on his face since she looked away fast. As if trying to maintain control of the interview, she demanded, “Then Ms. Hamilton asked if you were the one who took the bribe, framed Sheriff Steele, killed him and made it look like a suicide, and your response was, ‘Could be.’ How does that fit into your story that you just wanted to scare Ms. Hamilton into backing off?”
“Don’t answer,” Donald Church insisted. The older man’s fingers were pale from clutching his pen over his legal pad, but his face was red, a contrast with his starched white shirt.
Mitch had been silent long enough. He stood and waved Stephanie away when she joined him at the end of the table. “I know I’m not the most objective interrogator, but this is an informal session. I want to ask some questions.”
“But—” Stephanie protested while leaping to her feet.
“My client is instructed to answer nothing,” Church interjected at the same time. He’d also risen, as had Ben Wilson. Hurley Zeller, the subject of the inquiry, was the only one to remain seated, along with the court reporter.
“Who did you take the bribe from back then, Deputy Zeller?” Mitch asked.
Zeller said nothing, but his ugly, sardonic grin made it clear to Mitch that he was on the right track.
“Was it from Juniper Holdings, the outfit my father was accused of taking bribes from?”
No verbal response, but Zeller’s eyes narrowed farther.
“What do you know about Juniper Holdings?”
“What do you know about them, Steele?” Zeller glanced at Stephanie, then toward Church.
“I’m asking the questions, Zeller. Here’s a big one. Did you frame my father in the interests of furthering your ambition, as you called it, hoping somehow you’d become sheriff?”
“All I’ll admit to is wanting to become sheriff after Ben.” Zeller wasn’t grinning anymore.
And Mitch had no intention of letting up on his barrage of questions. “There’ve been three recent murders in Mustang Valley. Two have been solved, but by outsiders. Did you sabotage the investigations to prevent this department from solving them?”
The look that Zeller shot his lawyer gave him his answer. Ben, too, for he took a few steps toward the man he’d treated like his son and successor. Mitch blocked him.
“You son of a—” Ben began. “I thought it was Steele sabotaging my department to make sure I was punished. I figured he thought I railroaded his dad so that I’d get the sheriff’s job I was entitled to in the first place.” He looked at Mitch. “Believe me, son, I thought all the accusations against your dad were the God’s truth, including that he shot himself.”
Mitch didn’t try to take the chill out of his response. “Well, now we know, don’t we, Ben?” At least he understood why his boss had always been so antagonistic, not that he’d cared. Mitch hadn’t sabotaged any investigation, of course. But he had tried to prove the sheriff guilty of bribery and murder.
Keeping his anger in check, the way he did so well, he turned back to the worm who had, in fact, committed all of those offenses. “Okay, Zeller, let’s continue. Did you date Nancy Wilks? And before you decline to answer or deny it, remember I have witnesses.”
Zeller stood, his barrel chest heaving as he faced Mitch. He was so close Mitch could smell the reek of his cigars on his bulging khaki uniform. “Yeah, I dated her, but you’re not going to pin her murder or anything else on me. Going out with her was a mistake. I thought she had some information, but she wasn’t the one who…” He stopped, obviously realizing he’d said more than he’d intended. He darted a look toward Stephanie that suggested as much of an apology as that bastard was likely to give. Her return stare was switchblade sharp and looked designed to lop Hurley off at the knees. “I didn’t kill her,” he finished, taking his seat once more.
“I think this interrogation is over,” said Donald Church, his eyes on his client.
“Yeah,” Zeller said. “I’m not answering any more questions.” He shot Mitch a furious glare, but the fear glinting in his eyes told Mitch the guy knew he was screwed. Mitch would never let up until all his allegations were proven—especially that Zeller had framed, then murdered, Mitch’s father. And Mitch would learn Stephanie’s real relationship with Hurley. Something there didn’t ring true, and he’d get to the bottom of it.
The truth about Zeller wouldn’t bring Martin Steele back to his son. It would probably not even bring Mitch’s mother back from the refuge from this world that she’d sought by joining others of her background far from here.
But his efforts to learn the truth would finally have paid off, and that would make Mitch feel a hell of a lot better.
THE THING WAS, Mitch thought after making sure Zeller was settled securely in one of the Sheriff’s Department’s small and uncomfortable holding cells, so far it was only allegations.
Questions percolated in his mind as he helped Stephanie with paperwork relating to Zeller’s incarceration. As they worked, they talked.
Stephanie admitted she’d given in to Hurley’s relentless attempts at seduction. Mitch figured there was still more to it than that but had too many other things to dwell on to pursue her indiscretion further—for now.
A lot of apparently unrelated strings needed to be tied into a cohesive knot. Somehow, much of what had gone on in Mustang Valley for the last couple of years had to be related.
He actually believed Zeller’s claim he hadn’t killed Nancy Wilks. The bullet wound in her forehead had come from a small-caliber weapon. Sure, Zeller could have a gun in addition to the department-issued Berettas, but he couldn’t see the beefy deputy with something that didn’t seem an extension of his already inflated opinion of himself.
By the time Mitch was ready to return to his desk, he had a headache. Too much. Why did Juniper Holdings bribe Zeller? Why did Zeller frame his dad? Maybe it had been his ambition, wanting to get Martin Steele out of his way. Or maybe he’d been concerned Martin would learn about the bribe.
But who killed Nancy Wilks? What was the Lambert & Church connection to the three murders? What was the Ranger Corporation connection?
Mitch didn’t have the answers. But he knew someone else who was as interested as he was.
When he reached his desk, a light was blinking on his phone. Cara had left him a message: “Mitch, I’m still damned mad at you. But I’ve thought about it and realize I can’t hold information back that may help your investigation just because you and I can’t get along.”
With a grin too big
to originate only because a citizen had promised cooperation, Mitch placed a call to Cara’s cell phone. His smile broadened when she answered on the first ring.
“Cara,” he said, “it’s Mitch. I’m returning your call. And I was just about to call you, too.”
Chapter Fifteen
Cara agreed to meet Mitch once more in the coffee shop at the Lone Star Lodge. The dive was neutral territory, not too intimate, yet a place they were unlikely to be observed by anyone who mattered.
Like heck had Mitch been planning on calling her this time. Cara knew better. Yet his saying so had sent a thrill of relief and anticipation through her that she’d had to squelch.
How dare he try to reward her with so worthless a remark?
And how dare she sing inside as if he had rewarded her?
Though she was usually prompt, or even early, she purposely strolled into the restaurant five minutes late, her large purse slung over her shoulder. Mitch’s patrol car was in the parking lot, so she knew he’d beaten her there.
She’d considered running home to change. Her dark blue slacks and loose knit top were not her most becoming outfit. But this meeting wasn’t a game of seduction. It wasn’t a game at all.
He sat at the same table where they’d talked cooperation in the first place. His crisp khaki uniform was in sharp contrast to the seedy surroundings. His Stetson rested on the booth beside him. Had the table been cleaned in the interim? She couldn’t tell. The containers of condiments—ketchup, mustard, salt and pepper—all looked as if they could use a good scrubbing. Two greasy menus were stuck into the middle of them.
Mitch had coffee waiting. At least the cup looked clean. He stood as she approached. The brief smile on his face looked genuine, lighting up his handsome, angular features. But there was a wariness in his eyes, as if he expected her to shout or make a scene.
She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.
“Hi, Mitch,” she said quietly as she slid onto the bench seat. Damn! Her heart was in her voice; it sounded sad and quivery, even to her. More strongly she said, “No matter how I feel about you or how you played games with me, I shouldn’t have withheld this.” She pulled out one of the documents she’d taken from the Ranger offices while in the guise of a heating and cooling repair person.
Lawful Engagement - Linda O Johnston Page 19