Crisis Shot Page 8

  Bender stood up from his desk when she walked into the outer office. “I heard a lot of what Art had to say. My report’s done. Do we need the SO?”

  “We’ll wait on notifying the sheriff until I know exactly what we have.”

  Tess considered the officer, her thorn in the flesh. Pounder would be in soon; she’d rather work with him. No, she decided. Rule #2 applied here for sure: “Be fair, not emotional.” She wasn’t going to solve her problem with Bender by avoiding him.

  “Join us,” Tess said. Then she turned to Arthur, asking as they walked out of the office, “Do we know who the dead guy is?”

  “We didn’t poke too close. Del didn’t want to mess up the scene. From what I saw, though, he didn’t look familiar. Pastor Mac might recognize him. He knows a lot of people. If the guy is from the area, he’s likely to know him. Maybe we should bring him with us.”

  Tess could see the pastor preparing to cross the street and return to the church. For a second she hesitated; after all, he had his own problems. And he needed a report filed about his wife.

  But Arthur called out, “Pastor Mac, think maybe you can give us a hand?”

  Macpherson turned.

  Before he could speak, Tess said, “Pastor, you have your own situation to deal with. I’ll send someone—”

  He waved her quiet. “If I can help you, I will. I’m not certain about my problem. It may be nothing. I don’t want to overreact. What is it that’s happened?”

  Arthur filled him in.

  Macpherson’s eyebrows rose. “A murder? Here?”

  Tess could tell the thought appalled him.

  As well it should, Tess thought. She’d dealt with a lot of stuff here that in Long Beach would be considered minor. Sure there were drugs, drunks, and wild tourists, but there weren’t shootings and stabbings and murders every other night. The place was peaceful and, except for occasional outbursts by Bubba Magee, too many tourists in the summer, and noise complaints from the local trailer park, relatively quiet. It was disturbing how that calm had now most likely been shattered by a heinous crime.

  “Ride with me, Pastor. We’ll all follow Arthur back to the scene.”

  Macpherson nodded and stepped over to the passenger side of Tess’s cruiser. She started the car as he hopped in.

  Tess pulled in behind Arthur, while Bender followed her. Arthur led them east on River Drive, then turned right on Midas Drive, the road that ran parallel to Midas Creek, which was the natural eastern boundary of Rogue’s Hollow. A quiet residential section of town spread out to her right. Once they were on the road, she turned to Macpherson.

  “You sure you’re okay with this?”

  He sighed. “I’m really not sure about Anna. What if I’m wrong and she just needs some space? Would filing a missing person report be a sign that I don’t trust her?”

  “That all depends. Does she have a reason for wanting to get away from you? Is your marriage in trouble?”

  For a second their eyes locked. Then Tess looked away to keep her eyes on the road. But in that second she saw only care and concern in the pastor’s stormy eyes. She trusted her instincts and doubted Oliver Macpherson was the problem here.

  “I’d have said we had an almost-perfect marriage.”

  “Almost?”

  “It’s the cancer. It’s clouded our lives for fifteen years.”

  “That long?” This surprised Tess. The impression she’d gotten from Anna was that this was recent.

  “She was first diagnosed three years after we were married. It’s been a part of our lives ever since.” He shook his head as if shaking away bad memories. “Anyway, this last round of chemo was not effective.” His voice broke and he paused. “The doctor was worse than not optimistic about her prognosis. Anna . . . well, she said she needed to think about that, consider all the ramifications by herself before discussing everything with me.”

  Pained, Tess bit her tongue. Her knuckles turned white on the wheel, and she couldn’t speak. Her thoughts were selfish at first. Anna is my only friend here, and she’s going to die. And then she had to address the obvious question.

  “She’s not suicidal, is she?”

  “No.” His answer was quick and firm. “If I thought that for a second, I’d have come to you immediately. She just wants to sort things out.”

  Tess swallowed as pavement gave way to gravel and they began to climb. Arthur continued up the road that paralleled the creek. Midas Creek ran down from the mountains year-round, fed by a spring, and eventually joined the Rogue River at Rogue’s Hollow. This road led to trailheads and dry campgrounds.

  “If that is what this is about, maybe you should give her time. But it wouldn’t hurt to have someone check out the cabin in Union Creek. If you want, I can send an officer.”

  “No, that’s not necessary. I can call and ask a friend who lives out that way to check and see if Anna is there.”

  They passed a partially filled parking lot for a viewing platform and bridge that spanned the creek. Midas Creek tumbled down a beautiful tree- and rock-lined path and was known for two spectacular waterfalls, the Stairsteps. The two steep drops resembled hand-fashioned stairs. After the Stairsteps, the terrain leveled so that eventually, at the confluence of the river and the creek, it was a gentle joining.

  Arthur continued climbing before turning onto a smaller, less-used road that headed directly toward the creek. He drove for about a hundred yards before coming to a stop in a small, dusty parking lot where the road ended. They were at least half a mile upstream from the Stairsteps, and the forest was thick here, the terrain rugged. There was a truck parked in the lot with three men sitting on the tailgate. She recognized her officer Del Jeffers as one of the men. Tess parked next to Arthur and Bender pulled next to her.

  She turned to Macpherson. “I’ll take a look first. I can’t guarantee it won’t be gruesome, so you don’t have to look if you don’t want to.”

  “I’ve helped pull unfortunate bodies out of the river when people have drowned, and visited many a deathbed. I’ll be fine.” He moved to get out of the car with her.

  “Suit yourself, but listen to me. I don’t want the crime scene contaminated.”

  Tess didn’t wait for a response. She got out, opened the back, and pulled her brand-new crime scene kit out. This would be the first time she would put it to use. She strode to where Del was. He stood up to greet her.

  “Afternoon, Chief.”

  “Del, what do you have?”

  He pointed. “The body is near the creek’s edge. Arthur and I were on our way to a fishing spot when these guys—” he pointed to the hikers—“flagged us down. I tried to make sure nothing was contaminated and sat them down here to wait for someone on duty. It’s definitely not self-inflicted.”

  Del was her only black officer. He was an older, experienced cop, and it sounded as if he’d made a lot of good decisions. He worked days, the other side of the week from Gabe Bender. He was one officer who seemed okay with Tess being in town. While not overly friendly, he was never cold like Bender.

  “Good job,” Tess said. She looked at the hikers. “Did you guys see anyone else around the body?”

  One shook his head. “We saw no one until Del and Art showed up here.”

  “Okay, I’m going to check out the body before I talk to you. I need to know exactly what I’m dealing with.”

  They both nodded.

  She turned to Bender, handing him a roll of yellow police tape. Pointing to a tree, she said, “Tape this area off as best you can. We might get looky-loos, and I don’t want anyone tramping in by accident.”

  He nodded and began unrolling tape. Del stepped up to help him.

  She started to move forward, but Del grabbed her arm.

  “There’s also a dog there, next to the body. It’s a pit bull. It let us get close enough to verify that the guy was dead by unnatural means, but . . .” He hiked a shoulder. “I didn’t want to force it to move.”

  “What’s it doing?
”

  “Nothing. Just sitting there with the body. Probably the dead guy’s dog.”

  Tess paused to process this information. In Long Beach pit bulls were the dogs of choice for gang members. They were trained to fight and usually mean and protective of their owners. She remembered a call she assisted on where an officer had to shoot a pit bull. The 9mm bullet he fired basically bounced off the dog’s head and he kept coming. Two other officers fired before the dog was stopped.

  A shudder rippled through her. Tess loved dogs. But she would have shot that snarling eighty-pound missile of teeth if the guys around her hadn’t. It had made her all the angrier with the stupid gang member who’d trained the poor animal to be a weapon.

  Was that what she had here? She hoped not, but she unsnapped her holster just to be on the safe side. She continued on in the direction Del indicated, calling for Bender to follow when he finished with the tape. Arthur and Del stayed with the hikers. Tess would speak to Del later at length about his observations.

  She noted that she’d been directed a way that was off the main trail, but the path taken was obvious. The dry grass was smashed down by many footfalls. Tess pondered this. One dead guy, two hikers, then one of her officers and a local man she’d seen around town often. There was more destruction to the grass than she imagined five people would account for. She stopped and turned.

  “Is this a popular spot for any reason?” she called out to Del.

  “Nah. Too close to Stairsteps.”

  Tess could hear the water rushing down the channel. The steep drop at this portion of the creek was what made the Stairsteps so spectacular. The creek came down from the mountains along a rocky path, wide in some spots but narrow here, which worked almost like a kinked hose to shoot the water toward the falls.

  “The hikers were headed farther up the creek,” Del continued. “They were going to try and reach the headwaters.”

  She nodded and kept going. There was a campground farther up, Tess knew, a backpackers’ campground, rough and dry, with only a couple of pit toilets and a trail that took people up to the headwaters of Midas Creek.

  The main section of Rogue’s Hollow and all the businesses sat on the Rogue River, near where Midas Creek joined the river. There, fishing was good, and swimming was even possible. Since she’d stepped into the chief’s shoes the first day of summer, she’d already been through two of the busiest tourist months in Rogue’s Hollow. Camping, fishing, boating—you name it, people came here to the Hollow for great outdoor adventures.

  Tess made her way toward the creek’s edge, paying attention, looking for anything that might be evidence. She could see there was a steep bank here as the creek rushed toward the falls. People didn’t raft down Midas Creek.

  The creek itself was a natural boundary; on the east side was Bureau of Land Management land. Tess hadn’t explored much yet, but she had read bulletins from the BLM that complained about bike riders destroying habitat. She’d not had the time or the inclination to check out their complaint.

  If this was indeed a gunshot victim and he was killed here, it was doubtful anyone had heard the shot over the roar of the water. Even people on the viewing bridge below were not likely to have heard or seen anything. The Stairsteps were loud, and the view downstream less obstructed than the view upstream. Del had confirmed this was not a locals’ fishing spot. One thing she’d learned in the last two months was where most of those were.

  She smelled the body before she saw it, death’s signature aroma, but since it was a warm afternoon, the smell would be a lot stronger in a couple of hours. Tess had viewed many homicide scenes in her career. She’d worked homicide for two years before promoting to sergeant. Her first month in homicide had the distinction of being the busiest month in the history of LBPD homicide, with thirty bodies in thirty days. Tess was baptized by fire. So nothing surprised her, and she took in the scene with a practiced, jaundiced eye.

  The victim was still stiff with rigor; he hadn’t been here more than twelve hours. She looked at her watch; it was close to 1 p.m. He’d been shot earlier in the day, maybe while she was dealing with Bubba. There had been a struggle. There was a circle of smashed grass, broken branches, turned-up dirt. The dead man lay on his left side, right arm flung out as if he were pointing to the river. She could see two holes in the flannel shirt on his back, and when she got closer, she saw what was probably the coup de grâce, the bullet hole in the back of his head. A row of thorny blackberry bushes likely kept him from going over the side into the rushing Midas Creek.

  The dog was half-sitting, half-lying on the man’s right thigh, his snout resting on the hip. Definitely a pit bull. The distinct broad forehead, powerful jaws, and dark eyes gave him away. His ears weren’t cropped, though. Gang members in Long Beach often cropped their dogs’ ears off with scissors or knives, leaving a jagged mess. This dog, at least, hadn’t been butchered in that way.

  It raised its muzzle as she approached. Tess chose to ignore it for the moment while she concentrated on the man. She kept her hand on the butt of her .45, comforted to know that caliber was not likely to bounce off the dog’s head. The man looked to be in his thirties, wearing jeans and a dark flannel shirt that was torn, in addition to the bullet holes. Was that from the struggle? She could see a dark T-shirt under it.

  He’d been killed here. Blood had pooled beneath him. As Tess waved away flies and looked around at the trampled grass, she wondered if this was a chance encounter or if he knew his attacker. She also wondered if she was seeing crime scene contamination courtesy of the hikers.

  “Oh, my,” Macpherson said and it startled Tess. The water was so loud and he’d been so quiet she’d forgotten he was with her. He’d walked up on her left and peered down at the man.

  “Sorry. That’s why I wanted to check things out before I brought you out here.”

  “It’s not that. It’s just . . . well, I know him. That’s Glen, my wife’s cousin.”

  15

  “I like her. I think she’ll do a good job.”

  Anna’s comment shortly after Chief O’Rourke had been sworn in came back to Oliver as he watched the woman work.

  “I want to make sure she feels welcome and supported here.”

  He’d agreed with Anna that day. The chief needed support, a fair chance to do well. So far, Oliver hadn’t been disappointed. She was conscientious, careful, and smart. Her attitude with this horrible crime was confident, composed. There was no straining; she wasn’t trying too hard. He saw her simply as a consummate professional in her element. She observed the entire scene, and he doubted she would miss anything.

  Anna would be happy that her intuition was spot-on. He sighed as he remembered the day of O’Rourke’s swearing in as a good day; they’d not yet heard the doctor’s bad news. He’d not yet heard Anna doubt God and question something they’d both believed in for as long as he’d known her.

  Was Anna now somewhere private just sorting things out? She’d done that once before, during the first battle with cancer they fought, the one that made it impossible to ever have children. Two days passed before she let him in. Was that going on now? He prayed it was and that she’d be home when he got there.

  Oliver tried to shift his thoughts to the scene at hand. He folded his arms and watched Chief O’Rourke, wondering how to help here. He knew nothing about a murder investigation, but if the chief needed something from him, he’d be ready.

  Chief O’Rourke gave orders in a way that instilled confidence. Watching her delegate and organize this murder investigation, Oliver was even more certain that they had a winner. He wanted to share all of this with Anna. He also wanted to be the one to break the news about Glen to Anna and hoped she didn’t hear it from the radio or newspaper.

  After the shock of realizing that the dead man was Glen, he’d forgotten the area was a dead zone and tried calling Anna’s cell. It didn’t go through, and now he was frustrated that he couldn’t even leave a message that her cousin was dead. He was
torn between not wanting her to hear the news on the radio and wanting her to, because maybe that would bring her home.

  Then he considered the money. He knew the only way Glen could have gotten that kind of money was illegally. As he stared out at the rushing creek, he wondered, was that why he was lying here dead?

  “Are you okay, Pastor?”

  Oliver looked away from the creek to the concerned face of Chief O’Rourke.

  “Yes. Well, as okay as possible under the circumstances.” He held up his phone. “I tried to call Anna, forgot there’s no signal here. It’s frustrating.”

  She nodded, and as he observed Chief O’Rourke assessing the situation, he realized she had even more layers. Professional and she had a heart, Oliver thought, knowing that she was concerned about the dog.

  “You know him—what about his dog? Is it friendly or not?” she asked.

  “Glen rarely if ever came here to Rogue’s Hollow to visit us. I’ve never met the dog, only heard about her.” Oliver searched his memory. What was it Anna had told him about the dog?

  “It’s a female?” Chief O’Rourke asked.

  “Yes, I think so. He’s had her about two years. Glen may not have had the common sense God gave a goose, but he was never cruel to animals. I think I remember Anna saying the dog was well behaved. But for the dumb name he’d given her, she was a good dog.”

  “Dumb name?”

  “Yes, he called her Killer.”

  The chief placed her hands on her hips and stared at him.

  “I don’t recall Anna saying anything about the dog being a problem or vicious,” he added lamely.