The Dunn Deal Read online

  A quick frown popped out before Deputy Colter rearranged his professional mask over it. What was that? Dread? Reluctance? Unhappiness? Why would Colter be unhappy about this development?

  Deputy Colter pursed his lips. “Someone phoned in a tip.”

  Jesse looked confused. “Did he say something about a fat lip?”

  “No.” I turned so Jesse could see my lips. “A tip.”

  “A tip?” Jesse frowned. “From who?”

  Colter’s blank expression magnified his evasiveness.

  Ed stepped right in his face. “Are you gonna make us drag this out of you?”

  Colter dropped his gaze to the hat he gripped with both hands and fired words rapidly. “People jog around the lake every day. A jogger noticed broken weeds and tire tracks running into the lake. He saw a large white object in the water.” He lifted a glance to Ed. “The patrol car has a white top.”

  “So, it’s a homicide investigation now?” Ed spoke louder than necessary. Steam drifted above Ed’s ears. At least, I thought I saw steam.

  The abrupt increase in volume blasted Deputy Colter back a step. “Nothing is conclusive at this time.”

  “Well, obviously Baxter chased somebody with stolen plates who then abducted him and took him to the top of that hill.” The level and speed of Ed’s voice continued to rise. “Someone pushed him to his death and ran his patrol car in Rawlins Lake. Good grief, man. I haven’t even been to the site and I know that much.” He turned to us for confirmation. “Isn’t that the way you see it?”

  We nodded our heads. That’s exactly how it looked to me.

  Deputy Colter shifted from one foot to the other. His fingers drummed his hat nervously while he lowered his gaze. “I…cannot make a definite statement about that. I came to confirm our latest discovery to you. At your request.”

  I stepped forward. “Okay then, how about the rumor that Baxter attended a meeting with drug dealers the night he died?”

  Ed flashed a look of surprise. Jesse’s mouth gaped open. But when I saw the pain in Zora Jane’s face, I felt sorry I’d blurted that question out without preparing them in advance. “I—I heard that from a member of the press.”

  “The news people will stop at nothing to create a story. Disregard anything you hear from them.”

  Ed scratched the back of his head. “Are you saying he didn’t attend such a meeting?”

  Colter’s expression said he wanted to run away and hide. “No. I… simply cannot comment. Not during an ongoing investigation.”

  I pushed closer until I stood directly in front of him. “Well then, how about the black van? The one Baxter stopped. Any progress locating that?”

  “No.” Deputy Colter’s head snapped back again. “The black van has not been located.”

  Jesse moved to Colter’s other side. “What about his belongings? His pistol, badge, and radio? Were they in the patrol car?”

  “No.” Colter turned to leave. Perhaps he feared we meant to ambush him.

  I followed. “So that means the man in the black van probably has them.”

  Ed followed. “Or they might be where the original skirmish occurred.”

  Zora Jane hurried to catch up. “Are they looking for the black van, Deputy?”

  Striding a few long steps, Colter made it to the door. Hand on the knob, he heaved a deep sigh before answering. “The way it appears to me, the driver of the black van panicked and tried to dispose of the patrol car.” He replaced his hat and mumbled, “My condolences.”

  We watched Colter navigate through the barrage of news people, elbow crooked to shield his face.

  Ed slammed the door, then scratched his head. “Didn’t he say exactly what I said?”

  Zora Jane looked puzzled as well. “Is he calling this a homicide?”

  Jesse stared at the door, brows furrowed. “It isn’t homicide if Baxter fell accidentally. But if it wasn’t homicide, why would someone sink his patrol car?”

  I tried to shake the confusion that fogged my brain. “Why didn’t Baxter radio in a report after he stopped the van?”

  Ed planted one hand on his hip, frowning. “If you ask me, there’s a lot more to this story than we’ve been told. Brace yourself, folks. It’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

  Colter’s strange behavior fueled that suspicious feeling now growing exponentially in my mind. Who called in the anonymous tip about the location of Baxter’s body? Who occupied the black van? Why couldn’t anyone find these people?

  Fed by my insatiable speculation, that pinprick of doubt soon transformed into complete disbelief. Something smelled rotten in Nevada County, and the officials sworn to uphold the law weren’t moving toward a resolution. At least, they weren’t reporting any progress to us.

  Saturday morning when I went to drive Zora Jane into town to run errands, just to get her out of the house for a few hours, I ran into the Channel 11 news guy again. He leaned against his van in the Callahan driveway looking quite bored. On my way into the house, I stopped to chat with him. He perked up as his microphone reflexively lifted toward my mouth.

  I backed away automatically. “Last week you said Baxter attended a drug deal the night he died. Remember?”

  His eyes lit with anticipation. “Do you wish to make a statement regarding Deputy Dunn’s drug addiction?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.”

  I attacked the microphone, pulling it out of my face, and held it down with both hands. “I want to know where you got that stupid idea about the drugs. Did you make that up?”

  He pulled himself to his full height, which was not much taller than me, as if I’d thoroughly insulted him. “Make it up? What kind of journalist do you take me for?”

  “Well then, where did you get that information?”

  “Surely you’re aware I can’t divulge my sources. Not even under threat of imprisonment. It’s my right under the Constitution.”

  “I didn’t know freedom of the press covered gossip mongers. Don’t you deal primarily with fiction? Anyway, I’m certainly not threatening imprisonment. I would, but I don’t have the authority.” A heavy sigh escaped. “I’m only asking if Baxter was involved in a drug deal. Fact or fiction?”

  “Madam!” He clutched his chest in indignation. “You cut me to the core! Fiction? Gossip mongers? Indeed! I am a journalist.”

  His blatant evasion annoyed me so much that I stepped right into his face. “Let’s cut the banter.”

  My nose so close to his must have startled him into submission. “No, of course not. It’s one hundred percent true. Baxter Dunn was observed consorting with known drug dealers the night of his death. He purchased illegal narcotics from them.”

  Once again, I stifled the desire to grab him and shake the stuffing out of him. “Who told you that?”

  “Someone at the sheriff’s office leaked it. Look, lady, I can’t tell you who.” With gentle fingers, he extracted the microphone from my fingers and stepped an arm’s length away as if he knew how close I was to thrashing him soundly. “I won’t tell you who.”

  “Just give me a hint then. Who would leak that information? Why would they tell you?”

  He shrugged, dramatically. “You’re not scoring points by implying I’m unworthy to receive information. Anyway, I can’t tell you. My entire profession rests on this right. However, I will tell you why I’m interested.” He bent to my level. “Baxter Dunn wasn’t officially part of the Narcotics Task Force. He wasn’t assigned to investigate drugs. He was off duty. So, what was he doing at that meeting? Why did he make a purchase? Most intriguing of all, why is all of this being officially denied by the sheriff’s office?”

  I fell back in surprise, questions echoing in my head. Where were these vicious lies coming from?

  Chapter Three

  While I made dinner Saturday night, I flicked on television for the evening news. A somber-faced female news anchor reported, “…further development this weekend in the investigation into the suspicious death of Deputy Sheriff Ba
xter Dunn in Nevada City. The patrol car Deputy Dunn drove the night of his death was located last Friday at the bottom of Rawlins Lake.”

  Footage of the green and white patrol car being dragged from Rawlins Lake flashed across the screen.

  “Rawlins Lake is twelve miles south of the ravine where the body of Deputy Dunn was found on March 14. Sources confirm that his death occurred around midnight last Friday, March 13. So far, investigation has uncovered possible misconduct on the part of Deputy Dunn and a group of his friends.” A smiling picture of Baxter Dunn in uniform flickered onto the screen.

  “Oh, come on,” I said to the TV. “Just give the facts without the spin.”

  Swiss steak bubbled on the stove. I lifted the lid off the pan and used my wooden spoon to rearrange slabs of tenderizing

  beef. I intended to change the channel, but before I replaced the lid the news lady continued, “We go now to Nevada City with a live report from our correspondent Leonard Pinzer.” My favorite news reporter appeared, planted in front of the Nevada County Sheriff’s Office. “Leonard, how is the investigation progressing?”

  Mr. Pudgy-face, I now knew his name was Leonard, replied, “Thanks, Kelly. Here at the Nevada County Sheriff’s Department a massive investigation is underway. Sheriffs from Yuba County and Placer County have offered assistance. As reported, the patrol car Deputy Dunn drove the night of his death has been located. Instead of providing answers, however, the patrol car raises more questions. Why was it at the bottom of Rawlins Lake? How did it get so far from Deputy Dunn’s body? What about the time line for the bizarre events of that fateful night?”

  A clip of Baxter’s draped body being removed from the ravine rolled as Leonard continued.

  “It’s beginning to look as if the death of Deputy Dunn is only the tip of a huge dirty iceberg. Two and a half hours are unaccounted for from the last communication Deputy Dunn made at nine twenty-five until his death at midnight.”

  The scene changed to shots of the Nevada County Sheriff’s Office. “Does the sheriff’s department know more than they are saying about his whereabouts prior to his death? Is the sheriff’s department covering for its own? Is this a case of good ol’ boys shielding the misconduct of one of their own?”

  Leonard’s grim face reappeared. “We’ll stay in Nevada City waiting for further developments. Reporting for News 11, this is Leonard Pinzer. Back to you, Kelly.”

  I snapped the television off in disgust. “I can’t believe it!”

  Molly, our thirteen year old border collie, lifted her head from where she’d been napping nearby. Her eyes filled with sympathy and her tail thumped the kitchen floor.

  Jesse rushed into the kitchen. “What?”

  “I was talking to the television.”

  He took me by the arm and turned me toward him so he could see my face. “What did you say?”

  Impatience with his inability to hear washed over me. Repeating everything had become quite tedious. “Nothing. I didn’t say anything. I was just talking to the television.”

  “I’m sorry, Christine.” Jesse’s expression deflated. “I’m sorry I can’t hear you. If you would quit mumbling, I could hear you just fine.”

  Of course then I felt like a complete heel. “It wasn’t anything important. I’m sorry for being impatient with you.”

  He dropped my arm. His hunched shoulders tugged at my heart.

  “I’m frustrated with those news people, that’s all. They report Baxter and his friends’ involvement in illegal acts as if it’s the truth, but they never name the friends or specify what they were supposedly involved in. Someone is just out to smear Baxter’s good name.”

  Jesse lifted the lid on the Swiss steak and sniffed. “I thought we weren’t going to listen to the news.”

  “Right.” I pulled veggies from the refrigerator to make a salad. “I’m curious about this case, though. A lot of what they’ve told us doesn’t make sense. And only the news people seem concerned about that.”

  Jesse stuffed a chunk of celery in his mouth and munched. “What doesn’t make sense?”

  “What triggered the search for Baxter on Saturday morning? And the time line. Baxter called Kathleen about five o’clock on Friday and told her he was on his way to check something out and probably wouldn’t be home in time for dinner.”

  Jesse watched me intently, reading my lips. “Uh-huh.”

  “Kathleen usually has dinner ready around six-thirty because Baxter’s shift ends at six. The kids go to bed about eight-thirty. That’s been their schedule since the kids were born. Zora Jane says they rarely deviate.”

  “Right. They’re big on routine.” He gestured for me to get to the point.

  “So, Baxter went somewhere from five until nine twenty-five when he called dispatch to check on license plates from a black van. Where was he? I don’t think he meant to be gone that long. If he had, he would’ve said it differently. He wouldn’t say, ‘I probably won’t make it home in time for dinner.’ He’d say, ‘It’s going to be late by the time I get home. Don’t wait for me.’ Something like that. ’Cause they like to put the kids to bed together.”

  “Pretty thin logic, Christine. How do you know what he might say? Do you read minds now? Not to mention everything you’re talking about is hearsay. You could be wrong about his exact words. Don’t think you could take any of that to court.”

  I ignored his negativity, knowing I had it right. “Another thing, where did he go between the time he stopped the car and the time he went off that cliff? Two and a half hours are missing. Driving from Half Moon House to that ravine doesn’t take two and a half hours. Even if he drove to Rawlins Lake and back, it wouldn’t take that long. I think the news guy is right. Someone needs to account for the missing time. Why aren’t they on that?” I whacked the lettuce in half with my big knife, chopping the pieces like a Benihana chef.

  “Hang on there, Slick. Just because the media isn’t reporting it doesn’t mean the officials aren’t investigating it. You’re jumping to conclusions again. And don’t get any ideas about helping the authorities out, either. We’re retired. Besides we’re too old to go traipsing around investigating especially

  when we have no authority to do that. It’s only been a week since Baxter died. The sheriff’s office is perfectly capable of getting to the bottom of this without your help. You promised you’d stay out of this, remember?”

  I made no such promise, but rather than argue the point and get into an argument, I slammed the refrigerator door. Jumping to conclusions, eh? Would they ever get to the bottom of this without someone lighting a fire under them? I had my doubts. And I surely wasn’t too old to start a fire either.

  Was I just waiting for a chance to jump in? If forced to take a lie detector test, I’d have to admit that I was. At any rate, right then and there, I started looking for everything I could find that might be connected to Baxter’s death.

  Being too technology challenged to research on the Internet, I went to the county library. Before Jesse retired, I worked as a librarian and knew my way around the Dewey Decimal System quite well. Although most information is now stored on the computer, I managed to find hard copies of old newspapers with stories pertaining to Baxter’s death from Friday, March thirteenth onward. I read the local paper and Sacramento papers as well.

  At home and in the Jeep, I listened to news reports on different channels when Jesse wasn’t around. I also started praying for truth, asking God to show me what to do. Surely there must be something.

  Over the next week and a half, I concentrated night and day on Baxter’s death. Someone needed to retrace Baxter’s steps. His whereabouts before and after he stopped the black van would surely be illuminating. Finding the black van and its occupants, along with Baxter’s missing radio, gun, and ammo seemed crucial, but how to accomplish either one baffled me.

  The rumor about the alleged clandestine rendezvous must figure into the equation since it kept coming up. Someone at Half Moon House might be willin
g to talk to me. Worth a try.

  Deputy Colter definitely knew something he refused to tell. Maybe I could get him to talk, ongoing investigation notwithstanding. I called and left a message for him, saying I’d like to make an appointment.

  Three weeks after Baxter died, the day for his funeral finally came. Although the atmosphere couldn’t be described as joyful, a certain feeling of celebration for a life well lived permeated the space. That’s usually the case when a Christian dies. Baxter’s many good works would not gain him eternal life, of course. Nevertheless, we were as certain as we could be, based on his public confession of faith in Jesus’ atonement and the way he lived his life. The fruit of his faith showed in his deep love for people and commitment to help as many as he could.

  Baxter Dunn would be sorely missed. His death left a huge hole that no one else could ever fill. However, the certainty that he had gone to be with God eased the sadness a little. I imagined God smiling as He welcomed Baxter to heaven saying, “Well done, faithful servant. Enter the joy of eternal rest.”

  Our little sanctuary in Nevada City overflowed with mourners come to pay last respects. Deputy Colter was noticeably absent, causing me to wonder why.

  After the pews filled, folding chairs were set along the aisles to accommodate more grieving friends. An impressive number of officers wearing crisply ironed uniforms crowded together in the middle section with hats in their laps and shoes so highly polished I could see my reflection in them.

  Multicolored floral arrangements lined the platform despite the family’s request that donations to Baxter’s latchkey

  ministry be made in lieu of flowers. So many different kinds of flowers surrounded the coffin that the air smelled like a florist shop.

  Jesse and I found seats behind the family. In front of us, Ed and Zora Jane flanked Kathleen. She held her youngest child in her lap. Zora Jane cradled another of the Dunn children. The remaining two huddled together at Zora Jane’s side.