by Pamela Cowan
“That’s right. John said I should come in first thing in the morning.”
“Good. I’m handling that case and I’m a little tied up in the early morning. Could you come to my office at eleven?”
“Sure. Is your office—”
“Second floor of the courthouse. Just tell the receptionist you have an appointment. He’ll bring you back to my office.”
“Okay, I will. I’m sorry, but could you tell me your name again?” He did, and she jotted it down on the back of a junk mail envelope.
“All right, I’ll expect to see you at eleven. Oh, and Ms. Richland, it would be best if you didn’t discuss this with anyone but me, at least not until we’ve had a chance to talk. Do you understand?”
“Of course.” she told him.
“Good, then I’ll see you tomorrow, he said.
“Yes. Good—”
He’d hung up.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Tuesday, September 18
Emma had twisted and turned in her sleep all night. She was nervous about her meeting with the ADA but that wasn’t all of it. The girl, Bonnie, bothered her. Living way out there with her messed up mother. She wondered if she should call child services. When Bonnie said Dodge touched her, hit her, she’d asked why but as soon as the girl pushed back she let it go. Why hadn’t she fought for more details?
She knew why, because she didn’t really want those details. Also, she hadn’t wanted to lose her focus on the investigation. Terrible excuses. She’d have to follow up and talk to Bonnie again. See if she was all right. If she didn’t it would haunt her. It already was.
Giving up on sleep, she decided to get out of bed. It was dark. The moment she threw off her covers the cold air made her shiver and reminded her that the automatic thermostat was set lower at night to save money. A decision she regretted as her bare feet made contact with the wood floor.
She hurried into the living room, bumped up the thermostat, and heard the furnace kick in. Back in her bedroom she gathered her clothes and took them into the bathroom with her. A shower would warm her up.
The hot water felt good, driving away the chill. The scent of the peppermint soap she liked helped too, bringing her fully awake. As she shampooed her hair she thought about how radically her life had changed in the last few years. Sometimes it felt as if she’d stopped making choices and allowed fate or chance to step in and take control.
When she’d learned she had a talent for investigative work, she’d followed that thread and let it take her here. When Gwen asked her to look into an arson, even though she knew it was way outside her skill set, she had said yes. When they found Dodge’s body she’d let a detective’s rude comments drive her to make the decision to find a killer. Now she was being driven by a phone call from a girl she didn’t even know or have reason to believe. A good investigator would be more suspicious and not take Bonnie's words at face value. A good investigator would question everything. But then, she’d always fallen into the trap of trusting people. Especially Mark. She thought she’d lost that habit but maybe not entirely.
When she discovered Mark wasn’t who she thought he was, it was as if everything that she believed in was wrong. It was too much and she had shattered into a million broken pieces, each sharp edged and painful.
It had taken a long time and a lot of work to glue the pieces back together. Even now she knew the repair was imperfect. She could still feel the seams, emotional scars, the damage had been done and knew she had changed, and not in a good way. Catching him in the act, exposing his lies, was supposed to be a triumph. It should have given her strength. It had done the opposite. It had made her too aware of how emotionally fragile she was.
One of the worst things was that El had been there. She’d been witness to Emma’s worst moments. She’d seen her weakness, and the depth of her vulnerability. Whenever she thought it was behind her, that she’d forgotten that bad time, seeing El served as a reminder.
Could they ever be as close as they’d been as children? They’d once shared being alone together as they traveled from base to base, new school to new school.
Then the retirement and the move to Hollis. The idea of staying in one place had been strange but it had been okay too. They’d spent some time together, learning to kayak and snow ski.
Then El had joined the Army, but that had been inevitable and Emma knew she’d be leaving soon too.
College had been okay. Her days were filled with classes and study groups, her nights with parties. She’d sent letters to El, complaining about certain professors and talking about the boys she’d met. She’d read El’s letters, complaining about certain instructors and the boys she’d met. Their lives didn’t seem that different.
Then she’d met Mark. Suddenly all her hours were filled. Letters and phone calls to Ellen dwindled but still, it had seemed normal.
They’d talked more when their father left for Panama. Together they decided he must have thought his girls were fine and he could now go off and have some sort of adventure.
Well, his girls weren’t fine, at least not this one, thought Emma. Then, right after that: God, you’re such a whiner.
Emma stepped under the downpour of water, tilted her face up, and let the water wash away her tears. Enough with the self-pity. What she needed was to get out of her own head and think about something more important, like work, and coffee.
After applying her makeup with more care than usual, she dried and loosely curled her hair. In the bedroom, she dressed in black slacks, black turtleneck and black boots. Looking at herself in the full length mirror she said, “cat burglar,” to the empty room. Several scarves hung from the mirror above her dresser. She took a silk one with red poppies, added some hoop earrings with red beads and slipped a fat red bracelet on her left wrist. Staring into the mirror again she nodded her approval. “Better.”
An hour later, Emma pulled into the empty lot in front of her office. It was still dark and the street lamps were on, their constant buzz as familiar and comforting as the sound of cicadas. The same lamps, however, also cast spooky shadows. With a sense of dread she didn’t really fathom, but decided not to ignore, she checked the area before getting out of the car. There was nothing, and no one, there.
Once in her office, the familiar surroundings and the sight of the rising sun through her window, soothed her sense of uneasiness.
As usual, the first thing she did was start a pot of coffee. Then she dug her notes out of her purse, sat at her desk and began to organize them. Taking a legal pad she wrote down what she knew, as well as the questions she had.
5:30 a.m. – Rose seen driving to work.
6:00 a.m. – Audie reports seeing Norma leave Muddy Creek. Norma says she had breakfast with her daughter and had her hair done. Checked with salon and they confirm.
10:00 a.m. – Audie and witness saw Harry Olstad’s truck heading toward his house.
10:00 a.m. – Bonnie says Willy delivered firewood.
10:45 AM: Willy leaves and Bonnie hears a gunshot while he is still in view.
11:45 - 12:00 Norma passes Willy coming from the other direction as she’s going home. She says he was “all over the road.”
Once again Emma’s timeline led to questions. Why did Rose lie about her husband being out of town? What is she hiding? Why does he work cash jobs? Green card? Criminal? Hiding from something? Rose works at the hospital. Access to drugs?
Norma’s story seemed legit. Harry was in the hospital so he couldn’t have been driving. His truck was in the shop. Did Audie and the man from the community center see, not Harry’s truck, but one that was similar. Had to be. Harry’s truck still at My Body Shop. They confirmed that when Harry called.
If the gunshot Bonnie heard was the shot that killed Dodge that meant he was killed around 10:45 that morning. Did the police and coroner agree?
Norma said Willy was “all over the road.” Was that because his truck is old and needs work, as Norma suggested, or was it because he�
��d just killed someone and was shook up? Or maybe, as an alternative to that, was he shook up because he’d just witnessed a murder? Assuming Bonnie was telling the truth, then based on the timeline, Willy would have arrived at Dodge’s soon after Bonnie heard the shot.
Emma reviewed the timeline once more and came up with even more questions.
When did Rose come back to town?
Audie saw Harry’s truck heading in the direction of his house. Did anyone see it after that?
Bonnie said Willy was mad about what Dodge had done to her. In a way she had provided a motive for him to kill Dodge. So why call and provide an alibi? Was she looking for attention or was she telling the truth, that she didn’t want her cousin accused of something he hadn’t done?
Sitting back in her chair, Emma chewed on the end of her pen. If she accepted that Dodge was killed around 10:45, and that the people she spoke with had been truthful, she could eliminate some of the people seen that morning.
Rose was at work. Norma was in Hollis. Willy was in sight of Bonnie. Harry was in the hospital. That meant none of the original four suspects had killed Dodge. Yet, someone had seen Harry’s pickup. Emma rubbed at her temples, sensing the start of a headache.
It was possible that Audie might not have seen everyone who drove by that morning or, as she’d suggested, someone could have hiked in. If that was the case, the only way to find the killer would be through some lucky miracle of forensics, fingerprints or DNA that had been left behind.
If she was honest with herself, Emma knew that in all probability that was how this crime would be solved.
Still, Harry’s truck being seen in the area bothered her. There was something strange there, another puzzle, and she wanted to figure it out. What shop had Harry called about his truck? Oh right, My Body Shop. She remembered thinking the name was clever. If the truck was at the body shop, then the only way it could have been seen in Muddy Creek was if someone who worked there had been driving it. How could she find out who worked there?
She went to the Oregon Business Registry and did a search for “My Body Shop.” When she got to the name of the owner she sat back in her chair. What the hell?
With a dawning sense of understanding she read the name out loud. “Ernesto Padillo.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Tuesday, September 18
As Emma was reading his name, Ernesto Padillo was calling Assistant District Attorney Robert Beale. He always had mixed emotions when dealing with the man. Beale was competent and always came through with product as promised. On the other hand, he was part of the legal system and knew how to use it. There was more than one story out there about how crossing Beale had led to jail time, a longer sentence, even a disappearance or two. Given that, being up front with him seemed like the smart choice.
He dialed Beale’s number.
“Hello.”
“It’s Ernesto.”
“Yes?” said Beale, not trying to hide his surprise. Usually their phone calls went the other direction, with Beale calling Ernesto to tell him when and where a new shipment could be picked up.
Ernesto’s main product, heroin, came from Mexico, but Beale supplied him with Oxy and LSD. Of course some of Ernesto’s heroin ended up with Beale. It was the sort of “gentleman’s agreement” that kept the peace and the dollars rolling in. Neither wanted to screw it up.
“Got something I need to tell you. Gotta clear the air,” said Ernesto.
Beale, who’d just arrived at work, got out of his chair and closed his office door before wandering back to his desk, the phone held tight to his ear. “Go ahead,” he said.
“First, I want to say I appreciate how you stepped up for Natalia, paying for the funeral, giving her that check. It meant a lot to her, and my niece and nephew.
“Okay,” said Beale, a question in his voice. Natalia was Miguel Padillo’s widow. “You don’t have to thank me,” he said.
“No. I do. You didn’t have to do all that. But that’s not the only reason I called. Your guy, the one in the paper last week. The one who got shot?”
“Yes,” Beale said, acknowledging it was Dodge he was talking about.
“I want you to understand, it was for my brother.”
“Your brother?”
“Yeah,” said Ernesto. “I wanted to be straight with you. It had to be done and I had to be the one to do it. It was family, man. You get that, right?”
There was a moment of silence as Beale’s mind scrambled to make sense of Ernesto’s words and come to the realization that is was Ernesto, not Jelly, who killed Dodge.
“I get it,” Beale finally agreed, trying for an air of calm he didn’t feel.
“Good. I’ll wait for your call,” Ernesto said, indicating that it would now return to the way it had been, with Beale the one to initiate communications.
Beale heard the click as Ernesto ended the call. Jelly had let him believe he’d taken care of Dodge. Not exactly a lie, but close enough. What did the Catholics call it? A sin of omission. Yeah, a sin. He’d have to think about how to deal with that.
Fortunately it sounded like Ernesto found the justice he needed when he killed Dodge, that they could continue to work with each other. He’d have to keep a close eye on that. If Ernesto was trying to lull him into a false sense of security—if he intended to take him out as well?
He shook his head at the thought. Probably not. Ernesto liked money too much. Still, it was about family. People could be funny about family. Hard to know for sure. No, he’d better be on guard.
There was a knock on the door. Slipping the phone back into his pocket he said, “Come in.”
Beth, one of the admin staff, stuck her head inside. “Just wanted to remind you that you have an appointment with Bill Curry this morning. Also, I’m updating the website with all the staff bios and you still haven’t given me a headshot.”
Beale nodded. “Thanks. I’ll email it to you by the end of the day.”
“Promise?”
“Cross my heart.”
“Door open or closed?” she asked, standing with her hand on the door knob.
“Open is fine,” he told her.
Headshot, he thought, and fought the urge to laugh like a madman.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Tuesday, September 18
The phone rang, breaking the silence and making Emma jump. Sheepishly, she answered. The caller was Mrs. Carpenter, the woman El had referred to her. The one who had reacted to her abusive stepson by taking away the inheritance he’d been so eager to get his hands on. Emma applauded her method of revenge and looked forward to helping her find the missing cousin she wanted to leave her money to.
“I’ll do an initial search online, see what I can find. Maybe we’ll get lucky” she told her, after jotting down all the information she had provided regarding the cousin. Which was not much more than a name.
Finding a missing person Emma’s favorite kind of puzzle. Even her anxiety about meeting with the ADA was pushed aside while she dove into databases and search algorithms.
The next time she checked the clock she was shocked to see she was going to be late. Grabbing her coat and purse she locked the door and rushed to her car. Fortunately the drive to Blue Spruce took only a few minutes and she lucked into a parking space near the courthouse. Still, her pace was more jog than walk all the way to the top of the wide concrete staircase. She rushed into the elevator and again checked her watch. Emma hated making people wait but she had five minutes to spare.
By the time the receptionist took her into what felt like the inner sanctum, her breathing had slowed enough that she thought she presented a calm exterior. Punctual and organized, yes, that was her.
Her scarf slid to the floor. She looked down at it lying there as if mocking her and suppressed a laugh at her own expense. Scooping it up she gave it a shake then rewound it around her neck. Punctual and organized. Right.
ADA Beale was sitting behind his desk and did one of those funny half-rising
then sitting back down things. A vestige of the old standing when a lady enters the room etiquette, Emma thought, with a layer of uncertainty about how such a gesture would be welcomed in a more modern time.
“Please sit down,” he said, “I’m Robert Beale, but please just call me Beale, everyone does. Thank you for coming to see me today.”
Scanning the man and his office, Emma thought he fit the profile of professional and upwardly mobile white collar management perfectly. He was attractive, tall, fit, well-groomed and wore a charcoal gray suit, a starched white shirt and a burgundy tie. The kind of man who looked like he’d be most comfortable in a boardroom, at an exclusive health club, or on a golf course.
His office held the usual office things, a computer, a cup of pens, notepads, and a stack of folders. The only personal item was a framed photograph of what was probably his college soccer team. The near absence of personal items gave the impression that when he was at the office his focus was solely on work.
“John tells me you have information about Dodge’s murder,” Beale said.
“Yes, but I was wondering, isn’t this something I should take to the reservation police?”
Beale shook his head. “There aren’t any. The county has a contractual agreement to provide law enforcement services. Don’t worry, you’re in the right place. I understand that you were investigating a possible arson and somehow discovered something related to the murder. Is that right?”
Emma nodded. Then she told him about working for Gwen and recounted her conversation with Bonnie. When she was done Beale said, “That’s very interesting and we’ll look into it. Of course you realize that Bonnie is a child, with a child’s loyalty. How do you know she didn’t make this up to protect her cousin?”
“I don’t,” Emma admitted. “I plan to keep looking into it though. If Bonnie heard the shot then someone else must have. I’m told the area is popular with people who like being outdoors hiking, riding horses, fishing. If I keep asking, someone, maybe someone who was up there, I don’t know, paddling around in a canoe or something, will remember. It would really strengthen Bonnie’s story if I could get just one more person to corroborate the time of the shooting.”