The Dunn Deal Page 2

  With a burst of resolve, I squelched the urge to race down the hall and peek into her closet. Instead, I pulled myself toward a group of law enforcement officers hunched in the hallway. One of them, Deputy Sam Colter, I’d met six months earlier during the investigation into the murder of my neighbor, Lila Payne. I didn’t like Deputy Colter then, and time had not improved my opinion of him. He still had that air of superiority and disdain. The lone woman in the group, Deputy Laura Elliot, had filed our missing person’s report on Lila. The other two were strangers.

  I lifted the coffeepot toward them, but they appeared not to notice. I wasn’t offended, since at roughly five-feet it would be easy to overlook me.

  Deputy Elliot spoke in hushed tones. “You’ve been out there. Did he fall into that ravine or did someone push him?”

  Push him? I inched closer.

  Deputy Colter shook his head, speaking just above a whisper in an affected robotic cadence. “It appears that he slipped on loose rocks at the top. It is highly unlikely anyone caused his fall. The evidence supports that conclusion.”

  The expression of one of the strangers registered a flicker of surprise. The name tag on his uniform read G. Rogers. “You’ve concluded that the fall caused his death? Aren’t you a bit premature?”

  Deputy Colter peered into his coffee cup as if consulting tealeaves. “Placer County forensics will draw their own conclusions based on their investigation, of course. I merely

  state my personal theory based on twenty years’ experience. Dunn slipped at the top where piles of loose rocks render footing unstable. At the bottom of that ravine is a dump site for rusty metal tools and machinery from the old mining operation. In the fall, he impaled his body on a metal spike. C-O-D appears to be obvious.”

  The initials threw me for a moment. C-O-D? Cause of death?

  Perhaps I let out an involuntary, “Oh!” when I winced because they all stopped talking at once to stare at me.

  I blinked from one to the other in turn. “Uh, w-would you like more coffee?”

  They shook their heads in unison.

  Deputy Elliot handed me her mug. “No, thanks. Gotta shove off.” She scurried down the hall without a backwards glance.

  Forgetting my waitress mission for the moment, I focused on Deputy Colter. “Why did he go out there in the first place? Was he chasing someone?”

  Colter raised one eyebrow. His beady brown eyes peered around his rather substantial nose as if he’d just noticed an insect. I remembered how annoyed I’d been during our previous encounters. Does he remember me, or is he just debating about whether to share information with a peon?

  Seconds passed while he tapped his forefinger on his mug. “Official findings have not been released, as I said. It is far too early in the investigation. I merely report preliminary facts I gathered from visual inspection of the scene.”

  “But why did he go out there?” I repeated.

  Another deputy spoke. His name tag identified him as E. Oliver. ”I was at the office when Baxter got a call. He left just after five.”

  Colter continued. “According to his last communication, Deputy Dunn had answered the call and started for home when he stopped a van.”

  There he goes again, that condescending tone. He must think I’m terribly stupid. I spoke slowly, enunciating each word in case Colter didn’t understand English. “Where was he?”

  Deputy Oliver answered. “Out on Highway 20.Just past Half-Moon House.”

  Deputy Colter sent him a glare.

  Was that a breach of code? “Why?”

  Colter’s fingers drummed his coffee mug, perhaps stalling while he decided whether to answer or not. Almost everything they’d shared so far, except Deputy Colter’s theory about how Baxter’s death actually occurred, I’d already heard on the news or from the family.

  No one answered, leaving my question hanging in the air. Maybe they didn’t know what I was asking, so I clarified “Why did he stop the van?”

  Deputy Colter heaved a dramatic sigh before answering, “His final radio communication came in at 21:25, that is 9:25 pm. At that time, he reported following a speeding black van. When dispatch ran the plates, they came up stolen.”

  I tried to locate Half-Moon House on my mental map. “Where did they find his body?”

  When Colter paused, one of the others spoke. “In the ravine just west of the main entrance to the old Star Mine.”

  Deputy Rogers’s forehead scrunched as if puzzling over how to fit the pieces together. “That’s at least ten miles north of Half-Moon House.”

  I mimicked the frown. None of it made any sense to me. “Ten miles is pretty far to chase someone. How did he get way over there?”

  In that instant, they all became mute again.

  I searched each face. “Did he drive there?”

  Blank stares.

  “Where’s his patrol car?”

  Deputy Colter’s eyes darted from face to face before he turned to me. “The patrol car has not been located yet.”

  I wanted to grab his shoulders and shake information out of him. “The morning news reported that he didn’t have his weapon or his radio with him. Why would that be?”

  The others observed Deputy Colter with eyebrows raised. Rogers crossed his arms over his chest. The tempo of Colter’s thrumming increased.

  Deputy Oliver stared at the carpet. “Maybe he removed them when he went off duty.”

  Deputy Colter stopped drumming. “Or they fell off when he went over the side of the cliff.” He glowered down from his lofty position at least a foot above my head. “We cannot ascertain any of this with accuracy yet. There must be a thorough investigation.”

  A minute suspicion wriggled into my consciousness, fueled by Colter’s evasiveness. More a feeling than a conscious thought, I couldn’t identify exactly what troubled me. “What time did he fall?”

  Deputy Colter answered a little too quickly, as if he had anticipated my question. “Around midnight. Of course, you understand they will pinpoint T-O-D when they do the autopsy.”

  Time of death?

  His small eyes bored into mine with renewed fervor as if I’d become a person of interest. Would that be a P-O-I?

  I focused on Colter’s shiny shoes shifting on the carpet while suspicion tickled my brain. “Something just doesn’t feel right.” As soon as the words left my lips, I wished I’d censored

  that thought before I spoke. The feeling explanation never worked with men.

  Deputy Colter snapped into a military at-ease position, feet spread, and arms akimbo. “You are Christine Sterling, are you not?”

  I nodded, dreading his next words.

  He glared pompously down at me, as if about to pull a dead cockroach from his soup. “I remember you from the Payne case. Look, Mrs. Sterling, an officer of the law has died under unexplained circumstances. The sheriff’s office takes the death of its officers very seriously. This is no matter for amateur sleuths. We will handle the investigation in a thoroughly prudent manner. You will not interfere in any way. Is that clear?”

  My frustration trailed out in a sigh. Not a matter for amateur sleuths, eh? He didn’t know me very well.

  Once that suspicious feeling surfaced, I simply couldn’t let it go.

  Chapter Two

  Thursday afternoon, I backed my Jeep out of Zora Jane’s driveway and nearly ran over the Channel 11 news reporter who jumped out of his van to rush me with a microphone. A spry cameraman in a t-shirt followed behind with his camera pointed at my face.

  The squeal of my brakes had barely subsided when the news guy shoved his microphone at my face through the window I’d opened to see whether I’d done them any serious damage.

  “Has there been a break in the Deputy Dunn murder?”

  I wanted to say, “Don’t be an idiot!” But it didn’t come out. Instead, I said, “Do you know I would have hit you both if I hadn’t been able to stop? Why would you run behind a moving car like that?”

  “Can you get
me inside to interview the family?”

  Might as well be talking to the television. I tried his tactic by answering a question with a completely unrelated question. “What do you mean murder?”

  He leaned toward me. “The sheriff’s office is currently investigating a suspicious meeting Deputy Dunn had on the

  night he died, a meeting with known drug dealers. Was Deputy Dunn a drug user?”

  “Oh, for pity sakes! You’re making me wish I had run over you! He was an officer of the law. They’re supposed to round up the bad guys. That means they have to talk to bad guys sometimes. You’ll grasp at anything to sensationalize this story, won’t you?”

  I shoved his microphone out of my way and started to roll up the window. “I’ve never understood why news pieces with no redeeming value grab the media’s interest and won’t go away while stories that benefit the public get no press at all. Can you explain that to me?”

  The microphone moved toward me again. Since I considered my question rhetorical, I closed the window as fast as I could and accelerated.

  The news guy ran alongside my car for a short distance, huffing and puffing. Through the window I heard, “Does the family wish to make a statement about Deputy Dunn’s involvement in the drug trafficking industry?”

  By Sunday, strange rumors concerning Baxter’s death flooded the airwaves. Each day a new, scathing headline on the front page of the local newspaper detailed every minutiae of the investigation. Ed, Zora Jane, and Jesse agreed not to read or listen to the distorted news stories. I half-heartedly nodded along with their decision, wondering how much information I could accidentally overhear by pretending not to listen to the news.

  Fifty miles away, Sacramento papers carried the story. I tried to ignore them at first, and then I’d read a few lines when Jesse wasn’t looking, always sorry afterwards that I had

  indulged. The articles were riddled with misleading statements and contradictions. One headline proclaimed, “Botched Drug Deal Tied to Death of Deputy,” asserting a conclusive connection between Baxter and drug dealing. “Late Night Tryst Contributes to Deputy’s Death,” implied that Baxter participated in an affair with an unnamed woman. “Search for Mystery Woman,” requested information from the public concerning the woman in question.

  Other articles contained plain bald lies. For example, that between his last communication and the time Baxter fell off the cliff, he had engaged in various questionable activities that included buying and selling illegal substances, consorting with known criminals, and accepting bribes. Supposedly this explained why he didn’t radio headquarters during that time.

  For some unknown reason, the media seemed to unanimously conspire to defame Baxter’s reputation. By suggesting that the Nevada County Sheriff’s Department investigated his illegal or immoral activity as well as his death, they planted the notion that his own guilty actions precipitated his death. That old lawyer trick of turning the victim into the perpetrator. I just couldn’t understand the motive. Why were they collaborating against Baxter?

  Friday morning, Zora Jane and I sat on the deck at the back of her grand yellow Victorian house enjoying the sunshine and steaming cups of decaf. Jesse left early to ride his horse. Ed had gone into town. The girls attempted to return to some semblance of normalcy. Of course, normal had forever been changed for Kathleen, but she was anxious to get back into her routine, mostly for the sake of the children.

  Where Zora Jane and I sat, a view of the sloping pasture spread before us like a idyllic tableau. Several sheep, two Jerusalem donkeys, and Zora Jane’s three-legged goat, Eileen, wandered among spring grasses, munching contentedly. Farther down, Mustang Hill Road cut through the little valley between the Callahan’s hill and ours. I could see the driveway that trailed up to Lila Payne’s former residence. Our small part in solving her murder and getting her killer sent to prison ended last fall, but the abandoned gray and white house still scarred the landscape, reminding us of inhumanity’s painful consequences.

  A little ways up the hill, I could barely make out the back of our three-story log house. Jesse’s barn and fenced practice arena peeked through the hundred year old oaks; new lime-green leaves covering the branches. Verdant spring grasses sprouted on the hillsides with wildflowers popping up among them.

  Zora Jane leaned back in her chair and sighed. A vision of spring in her baby blue running suit, she wore tennis shoes with blue accents. A matching headband held back her curly reddish hair. Underneath the jacket, a chartreuse shell with a scattering of baby blue polka dots peeked out.

  “The Lord has created another beautiful day.” She inhaled a long draught of fresh spring air. “How can evil exist on a day as perfect as today?”

  Watching her pleasure, I couldn’t help smiling. “Makes you feel as if you could tackle the world.”

  She tilted her chin back and closed her eyes. “It does, doesn’t it?”

  “Now’s the perfect time to deal with those funeral details we still need to finish.” I consulted the folder we’d filled with plans. “There’s not much left.” Most of the decisions had already been finalized through family consensus.

  “A shame about his badge.” Zora Jane frowned at the page where I’d written Find badge in bold letters at the top. “I wish we could’ve found it. Seems like he should be wearing it on his uniform at the funeral.”

  “I wish we had his badge.”

  Zora Jane straightened. “Did you hear something?”

  I sat as still as death, straining to hear. At first, not a sound. Then, a rumbling like a buffalo stampede growing louder. We turned to see what caused such a racket.

  Not buffalo. A herd of reporters came into sight, rounding the corner at a fast clip. Most were strangers, but in the center of the pack I recognized the Channel 11 news guy’s pudgy face, jowls pinned back in the wind while he hurried along.

  As each one scrambled for position, they jostled each other, grunting more like wild pigs than buffalo. Audio-visual gear dangled from their shoulders. Black microphones stuck out on all sides like porcupine quills.

  Even before anyone spoke, three vehicles screeched into the driveway. Their logos advertised news stations in Sacramento.

  “Oh, no! Something bad has happened.”

  Zora Jane turned toward the approaching throng. “Dear Lord, give us patience and kindness.”

  Out of the mishmash of voices that erupted when the herd surrounded us, I caught only two phrases: patrol car and Rawlins Lake.

  Zora Jane held up one hand to plead for silence. “Slow down and speak one at a time. Please. We can’t understand what you’re saying.”

  Mr. Pudgy Cheeks panted. Hard to say if it was from over exertion or extreme excitement.” The patrol car, Deputy Dunn’s. They found it at Rawlins Lake. In the lake.” He stuck his black padded microphone in Zora Jane’s face. “Care to

  comment on the murder of Deputy Dunn? What about Dunn’s involvement in the drug trafficking industry?”

  Zora Jane blinked. “I’m sorry. We know nothing about this.”

  Murder? Who made that leap? I shot a look at my friend. Her eyes had glazed over and her mouth had formed a puckered O. I hadn’t mentioned anything about the news guy’s accusations or the newspaper articles to Zora Jane, figuring that official findings would be communicated to the family in due time. Why hadn’t they contacted Kathleen first? Oh, yes. She and the children took a break from the reporters at the family cabin in Lake Tahoe.

  Someone shoved another microphone in Zora Jane’s face. “Can you comment on Deputy Dunn’s clandestine rendezvous at a local bar with an unknown woman the night of his murder?”

  A third microphone invaded her private space. “Can you confirm Dunn’s death was a murder-for-hire operation? Who wanted Deputy Dunn out of the way?”

  “What?” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Don’t be ridiculous! You’re talking about a fine young man, a Christian man with an exemplary record of service in Nevada County.”

  They all st
arted yammering again. Zora Jane looked as if she wanted to answer. Before she could speak, I grabbed her arm and yanked her into the house. I had to shove someone’s microphone out of the way to slam the French doors shut.

  “Call the sheriff’s office,” I said, securing the lock. “Get Colter out here. Somebody’s got to tell us what’s going on.”

  To avoid the press, we barricaded ourselves inside the house for the rest of the afternoon. Blinds and drapes remained closed with only a few lights turned on which left us sitting

  mostly in the dark, praying and talking in hushed tones. When I peeked out a window, I spied parked news vans with cameras, microphones, and satellite equipment poised in readiness should someone venture outside.

  After a few hours, Ed returned. I called Jesse and he hurried over a few minutes later. From his scowling expression, I gather he didn’t relish shoving his way through the growing mob.

  About dusk, Deputy Colter finally arrived.

  I met him at the front door and tried to keep the sarcasm out of my tone. “Deputy Colter. How nice of you to come.” I didn’t say, ‘finally,’ although I thought it. I swatted a couple of microphones out of the way so I could slam the front door.

  He apparently heard the finally in my voice because he looked down on me with disdain when he removed his hat. “I came as soon as I could. We have a huge operation in place to work this complicated case.”

  Ed hurried into the entryway, followed by Jesse and Zora Jane. “Just get to the point, Deputy, if you don’t mind. What’s this about the patrol car?”

  Deputy Colter cleared his throat. “Deputy Dunn’s patrol car has been pulled out of Rawlins Lake.”

  “And…what about it?” Ed asked.

  Deputy Colter’s smallish brown eyes scanned our faces. “It appears that Baxter was not alone.”

  What a gift for the obvious! I stepped closer. “Who found the car? Rawlins Lake is nowhere near where Baxter’s body turned up. It’s not near Half-Moon House, either. What made them look in Rawlins Lake?”