Harriet Fenton hung back with the mayor, looking shell-shocked at the death of her friend. Was it really Betty Collins lying there? John and the doctor went to the body. “So you’re the medical examiner as well as the town’s doctor.”
The doctor nodded; his face somber. “I have authorization to perform the duties of coroner, medical examiner and town doctor. Complicated surgery has to be done at the air force hospital. I can stabilize trauma and they’ll be airlifted out. We have a trained midwife, but I perform C-sections and I sign death certificates for everyone in town.”
“Well, I appreciate you doing this. Especially given Mrs. Collins is a friend of yours.” He gave the man a second and then said, “Are you going to be okay?”
The doctor stopped and faced him. “There’s no one else in this town who even comes close to having the skills or the grace to deal with this.”
“Very well.”
They kept walking.
Dan had shown up with stage lights just after the mayor’s outburst and set them up to illuminate the body and the surrounding area. John watched the ground as he walked, looking for anything that might be helpful. Either of them stepping on something in their paper booties wasn’t going to be helpful. Never mind John had absolutely no clue how he was supposed to run the tests that should be run on whatever evidence he collected.
It was as good as being a wild west sheriff before there was any technology to test blood or collected materials, or even finger print analysis done with more than the human eye and a magnifying glass. How many of the old marshals from years ago wound up getting a wrong idea and sentencing an innocent man to death? John was going to have to be very careful, even given the fact he was impartial compared with the rest of the residents of this town. It would be easy to be swayed by the force of their opinion.
He glanced over at the huddled crowd growing larger by the minute. Who knew what secrets they protected? They didn’t even seem to comprehend Betty could just as easily have been murdered, assuming instead it had been an accident.
John drew his sketch. He took pictures from all angles and then they turned her. The dead body was Betty Collins. He took more pictures, concentrating on the blood stained front of her shirt, while the doctor closed her eyes with the fingers of his gloves. John took more pictures of the area. There didn’t appear to be anything here—just dirty concrete and the body. No murder weapon, despite the blood on her torso. It was just the rear of a building; street, walls and a collection of trash cans that would have to be sorted through. His nose couldn’t tell if the raw smell was the scene or the garbage.
John glanced back at the mayor. Harriet Fenton clutched his arm as though trying to hold him up lest he dissolve into grief. Her face was perfectly set in a painful grimace so pronounced he could see it even from this distance.
John stepped back from the body and let the doctor get to work. Killing always turned his stomach, more than natural passing. It was like all the emotion spent at the time of death—from both the killer and the victim—was imprinted on what was left. What lay there was a shell which used to be a person, one who had been loved and full of life.
John walked up and down, scanning the road. When he passed the doctor, he said, “What can you tell me about her?”
The doctor kept his eyes on his task but spoke in a low voice that matched John’s question. “Betty is the welcome coordinator, which you probably know. She’s met everyone in town. Generally happy. Liked. She hangs out with my wife, Harriet.” His eyes flicked aside to where she stood with the mayor. There was something there that looked a lot like disapproval. “Although apparently not as much as I’d previously thought. But that’s women for you. Smiling sweetly, and when your back is turned they’re off giving it to someone else.”
John didn’t nod, even despite the suspicions he’d had regarding his own marriage. The truth hadn’t been necessary, not when what he had known was bad enough.
Doctor Fenton sighed. “We get a new resident maybe once every eighteen months, so Betty wasn’t all that busy. Although she does like to stick her nose in social stuff and organize the crap out of things which didn’t need overcomplicating in the first place.”
“Anyone obvious you think might dislike her?”
“Just the usual tension with some people who don’t like how she does things. But we try not to ruffle each other’s feathers if you know what I mean. We all have to live here. But enough to murder her?” He shrugged.
“I have to interview the boys who found her, so I’ll leave you to it.”
The doctor gently pulled what looked like a meat thermometer out of Betty’s stomach and made a notation on his clipboard. “Sounds good.”
John went back to Bolton. “Any word on Palmer yet?”
“My guy isn’t back.” He motioned to the body with his chin. “What’s the verdict?”
“That would require a trial.”
Bolton huffed. “You know what I mean.”
Maybe the guy wasn’t former law enforcement. “I’m only at the beginning of my investigation. As soon as I have any answers I’m sure it will be all over town before you can say, ‘damage control.’”
John strode to the two men who’d found the body. “Masks off boys. Tell me your names.”
“I’m Sam. This is Bill.” They were both spindly. Their revealed faces were dotted with acne and the smeared remnants of their team letter.
John indicated Bill with his finger. “Stay here while I talk with Sam.”
The kid nodded, relieved. John walked with Sam until they were several feet away. “Talk me through what happened, how you found the body.”
“We just came around the corner and there she was.” He sucked in a breath. “We’d been around this way twenty minutes before and nothing. This time, there she was. Just lying there. You don’t see stuff like that outside of the movies.”
“Did you see anyone else in the area?”
“I dunno. It was dark.”
John gave him a minute. “But?”
“Maybe I saw something.”
“Care to share?”
“It might’ve been a woman. I’m not sure.” He sniffed. “Small enough to be a girl. But she was in all black and her hair was in a cap or something or short, because it wasn’t long that I could see.”
John made a note in his book. “What was she doing?”
“Running.”
He glanced up. “Where were you and where was she?”
“Over there.” The kid pointed to the corner at the end of the street behind John. “She was up there but she ducked between Elmer’s—that’s the hardware store—and the mayor’s office. She was bookin’ it.”
“In a hurry?”
“That’s what I said.”
“Did you touch the body at all or move anything?”
“Eew. No way!” The kid paled. “I just told Bill to stay here and I ran to the command center.”
“Okay. If you think of anything else, you know where to find me.”
The kid nodded and then scurried off up the street, leaving John to speak with Bill. Something made them seem younger and John feel old. Technically he was old enough to be their father. But only if you fudged the numbers a little.
When he was done with the second interview, the mayor rushed over. “Enough of this standing around. My wife is lying over there and what are you doing? Moseying around like the new sheriff in town and chatting.”
“Mr. Collins, I’m very sorry for your loss.” John paused. “This is not a process you want to rush. Investigating takes time. If you want answers to what happened to your wife, then I need you to let me do a thorough job, not a half-baked attempt that doesn’t get to the bottom of it.” He let that sink in. “I’m going to need you to walk me through your itinerary for the evening.”
His mouth gaped. “I’m not some kind of criminal.”
“I need to establish a timeline of your wife’s whereabouts for this evening. When was the last time you saw her?”
“At dinner. I didn’t stay long.” He sucked in a choppy breath. “I was in my library by eight. I’m working on a proposal I’m establishing for town expansion as well as a way to generate revenue that will mean we’ll be able to rely less on outside supplies.”
John spoke, just to get the mayor to stop talking about his expansion project. “Did anyone come over, or did your wife go out at all? Did any calls come in?”
“I was on the phone between eight forty-five and nine oh-five.” The way he said it indicated he wasn’t going to share the subject of the call, or who in town it was with. At least not without a considerable amount of pressure. “I don’t know what my wife was doing.”
“Is there anyone who might’ve wanted to harm your wife?”
“What? No. Betty was loved.”
Right. “This might be my second day here but I understand the responsibilities of this job. I’m going to find out what happened to your wife and if this truly was a murder, then the person who committed this crime will be brought to justice.”
Beyond the mayor, Harriet stood with a balled up tissue pressed to her face. Her eyes were wide and she looked like she wanted to say something.
The doctor waved to get his attention. “Sheriff?”
He would have to find time to talk with her later.
John thanked the mayor and jogged back to where the doctor crouched beside Mrs. Collins. “Yes?”
Deputy Palmer sprinted up to them, red faced and breathing heavy like he’d run all the way across town. “Good-ness. Was this a hit and run? Who did it?”
“That’s what we’re going to find out.”
Palmer swallowed, his eyes on the body. “I don’t have to touch her, do I?”
John glanced down. The man’s shirt was misaligned, buttoned in a hurry, and his hair was ruffled. “Why don’t you go to the office and get us some coffee?”
“Right.” Palmer blinked and looked at John, his face balmy. “Was it a hit and run?”
“Since she was stabbed six times, I’m going with no.” Doctor Fenton turned to John. “And she’s been dead less than an hour.”
John looked at his watch. 10:30.p.m. That meant she was killed shortly after John saw the flag taken.
“No-o,” Palmer sputtered. “She wasn’t murdered.”
John eyed him. “And you know this because…”
“There’s no murder in Sanctuary.”
“Since when?”
Palmer blinked. “No, I mean ever. Not once in the history of this town has there been a…murder. ” His head shifted side to side fast enough John got dizzy just watching.
“Calm down, Deputy.”
“Do marshals investigate…this type of thing?” Palmer motioned to the body. “Have you even done this before?”
“I’ve been involved with several, just never took the lead.”
“I don’t even…I can’t…”
John crouched. The wounds were all located in the victim’s abdomen. Palmer shifted behind him and wretched. John lifted his eyes to the heavens and beseeched whoever was up there that Palmer hadn’t just destroyed perfectly good evidence.
It was going to be a long night.
**
Hours later, John hauled the duffel bag of evidence collecting equipment into the sheriff’s office. An elderly man whose skin closely resembled a mummy sat in John’s chair, arms folded across his chest. He might have been dead, except for the drool running from the corner of his white, handlebar moustache. The superior court justice looked smaller in real life, swallowed up by John’s predecessor’s chair. He still looked like a mouse, just an elderly one.
John locked the evidence in the safe, piling the paper bags and containers on the shelf above the guns he’d decided to store there. He had no idea where Palmer kept his. The coffee pot was half full but cold, so he nuked some in his kitchen. Matthias popped up on the couch but John waved him back down and he was snoring again within seconds.
John sat in Palmer’s chair and got the initial paperwork done on his tablet. He emailed his brother a preliminary report that would be fun breakfast reading for him. Then he shook the old man awake.
“Ha…what?” The old man smacked his lips and blinked up at John. “The new sheriff, I presume.”
“Yeah and you’re in my chair.” The old man’s laughter sounded like a monkey screeching. John turned away to hide his grimace, dragged Palmer’s chair over and sat facing him. “John Mason.”
“Justice Anthony Simmons.” The old man’s gray bush eyebrows twitched. “Any relation of Grant Mason?”
“The director of the marshals is my brother.” John linked his fingers on his stomach.
“Director Mason allowed me to maintain my authority, but only within city limits. I have the power to grant a warrant for arrest, contingent on the requisite evidence being in place. Among a few minor things, such as my vote on the city council, that is the bulk of the reach of my position here. With the exception of being able to perform weddings.”
Simmons continued, “We do not hold hearings in town. You make the arrest and they’re detained here, under guard, until they can be taken out of town in the custody of the marshals. They are then transferred to Boise where they will be remanded without bail until their hearing—that’s part of the agreement each of us made. If the outcome of the hearing is a conviction, they are given a new WITSEC identity and serve their sentence in the federal prison of the director’s choice. If they’re acquitted, they come home or they can get transferred somewhere else. Depends on the circumstances.”
John’s brain spun. Since it was almost four in the morning he settled on the last thing that crossed his mind. “How do you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Live this life. Give up what you had for…this?”
The old man shifted in his chair. “All that power and position exchanged for what essentially amounts to impotence?” He huffed but there was no humor there. “I’m an old man, Sheriff. I’d achieved the highest position I could. You could say it was stolen from me but then there would be little left for me except bitterness. In this life, in this town, I have my wife, my granddaughter and my great granddaughter here. I see my family every day, all of them. We live a quiet life, closer than we ever would in Washington D.C. with cell phones and busy lives.
“If my great granddaughter grows up and wants to leave, go to college, that is her choice. I’ll likely be dead by then, so I doubt I will care overly much.” He grinned, a face-full of dentures.
John smiled. “No, I don’t suppose you will.”
“You have your boy with you?” He glanced around like it was brunch and they were having coffee, not the middle of the night. “I thought I heard that.”
“You did. Patrick, he’s eight. It’s been a while since we saw each other. My last undercover assignment ran long, but I’m hoping we can build a life here. If we decide Sanctuary is where we want to live.”
“Some of the locals call it death valley.” The old man’s wrinkled face shifted with the force of his expression. “Why not? We all come here to die.”
He shifted and stood, rising to a full five feet in his shoes. “Well, the wife would be mad if I was remiss in telling you she wants you and Pat over for dinner some time. She’ll try and set you up with our granddaughter Cassie, since she feels Gracie needs a father figure in her life. Like I’m chopped liver or something. Anyway, I’ll expect to see you at dinner soon.”
“Yes, sir.” What else did you say when it was a Supreme Court Justice asking? “Soon as the case is wrapped up I’ll be sure to take you up on the offer. I’m not much of a cook.”
The old man’s eyes narrowed. “My Cassie makes a delicious meatloaf.”
“I’m sure she does, sir. I’ll look forward to it.” John opened the door for him.
“Thank you for calling for me.” The old man grinned. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in months.”
“Happy to oblige.”
He disappeared, the monkey screech laugh echoing in his wake.
Palmer stuck his head in the back door. “Is he gone?” He glanced around, strode in and blew out a breath. “Phew, I though the old man would never leave.”
“Is there a problem between you and Justice Simmons?”
Palmer shook his head. “He’s hardly anything special anymore. Just an old man wishing for the good old days.”
Yeah, that was exactly what John had gotten from him. He nearly rolled his eyes. “Where have you been anyway?”
Palmer took his coat off. “What are you, my mother?”
No, but I am your boss. John sat at his desk and gathered his papers. “Did you find the murder weapon?”
“No, and now I smell like trash since I had to search through every single bag.”
“You know, in some places that job would be a rite of passage for a cop.” John grinned, not the slightest bit remorseful. “You can take a shower later. Right now we have work to do.”
“It won’t keep until tomorrow?”
“Welcome to real police work. It doesn’t respect the boundaries of the nine-to-five existence you’ve been living.” John sighed. “Look, it’s late. I’m tired, you’re tired. Why not just write up what needs writing up and then head home. I’ll work figuring out what needs doing with the evidence.”
“What evidence?”
John counted to ten. It’s not his fault he’s never done this before. “I’m waiting for her clothes. That will be huge, if we can get DNA from the killer. A drop of blood or a hair sample isn’t all that likely but it could give us his or her identity. We have her shoes. Once we find the murder weapon, we can check that for prints. We also need to find the location the murder took place. Since there was no blood on the wall and little blood had pooled around her, it’s reasonable to surmise that wasn’t where she was killed. In a town this size, we should be able to do that by process of elimination assuming she wasn’t killed in someone’s home. We can’t just go barging in.”
“Actually, we can. It’s a stipulation of our positions and the fact residents are in the witness protection program, even the people born here. In the event of extenuating circumstances we can force entry.”
“Did Sheriff Chandler ever have to do that?”
“Just once. That was when the Fuller kid committed suicide. I was in junior high but I heard all about it.”
“What was he like? I mean, what kind of a sheriff was Chandler?”
Deputy Palmer leaned back in his chair. “He wasn’t bad. Gruff sometimes, but his leg bothered him in the winter. He’d been here since the town opened, like I said. I don’t know how he got the assignment or if he was in WITSEC too. He never told me. Anyway, Chandler made me learn all the rules and put me through all these tests and stuff he said I had to do, so I could become a deputy, you know? It wasn’t all that fun, but I wanted this job so I did it.”
“You should be proud. You’ve held the fort down since he got sick, right?”
The guy nodded. John wasn’t convinced Palmer was even a halfway decent cop, except in a town like this where nothing much happened. But he’d still worn the uniform through the previous sheriff getting a terminal diagnosis. He might not be the biggest proponent for something like Battle Night, which John had actually thought was fun. But Chandler had clearly seen something worth something in the kid.
For the time being, John was willing to coach him along. These were evidently unprecedented circumstances if there’d never been a murder in Sanctuary’s history. It was so far from John’s experience of the world that a crime level this low was almost unreal. It would take some getting used to, for sure. In fact, this whole town was like a foreign country.
John’s satellite phone rang.
“Sheriff—”
“A homicide? What are you doing to my town?”
“Grant—”
“No, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Fix this, John. These people are supposed to feel safe. I promised them that.”
John leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Did you give me this job so you can yell at the sheriff of Sanctuary without remorse because I’m your kid brother?”
“No, I gave you this job because Alphonz made bail. He lasted three seconds before he was blown up on the front step of the courthouse in Montgomery.” Grant huffed. “Alabama, for goodness sake. No one was even supposed to know he was there. Now I wake up to murder in my town.”
John pressed his lips together. “Were you going to tell me that, or just mention it in my Christmas card?”
“John—”
“Have you ever actually been here?”
“That’s not the point.”
John swallowed the laughter. “Dude, calm down or you’ll need an aspirin. I can handle this if you can get my evidence tested for DNA.”
“Get it on Monday’s transport. Mark it up with the orange stickers in your safe. I’ll get it sent to a lab. But the likelihood is it’s gonna take weeks, at least. No one’s gonna take a rush job, even if it is from me. Labs are way too territorial. They always give preference to the local guys they know and they’re always backlogged.”
“So I have to solve this myself.”
“The old fashioned way.” Grant said it like it was a terrible affliction.
The bell over the door jangled and Harriet Fenton pushed her way in.
“Gotta go.” John hung up.
Her face was all blotched and puffy. John held back the grimace and stood. “How can I help you, Mrs. Fenton?”
She stood straight and lifted her chin. “I know who killed Betty.”