WEDNESDAY, 9:33 A.M.
BRIDGER COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE
Sheriff Taggart hadn’t answered Heath’s calls. Detective Moffett either. He wanted to know what was going on with the murder investigation. Heath was worried about Harper. He’d come in to see the sheriff in person.
At the kitchen in the county offices, Heath poured congealed coffee into a mug and then poured it right back out into the sink. He wished someone around here knew how to make a decent cup of coffee. I guess that’s going to have to be me.
Might as well make it while he waited on Taggart to give him the time of day.
Maybe he was only a reserve deputy and didn’t rank for his own cubbyhole with a desk, but he had all the same powers as a full-time paid deputy—same training too. The only difference was that Heath didn’t work full-time and wasn’t paid for hours he was required to work. Honestly, he liked it this way. He could assist when needed, and his attention could remain focused on the ranch. It was the best of both worlds.
He would need to keep reminding himself of that.
He stood back and waited for the coffee to brew. The sheriff still hadn’t assigned him the mailbox investigation yet. That made him antsy. He needed to be working on something in the department if he wanted to find out more about what was going on with Harper’s case.
All he needed was five minutes of Taggart’s time to get things moving.
He thought the sheriff would have the courtesy to give him that. Then again, the guy was busier than usual. Wyoming wasn’t a state filled with too much crime. Horse abuse, lost hikers, road closures. But in the last year, this region of the state had faced a few challenges.
A murder two nights ago, and now another mailbox bomb. Taggart had been appointed to serve as sheriff last year and would soon face elections. He needed to prove himself capable of the job. He didn’t want to call in the US Postal Inspection Service or the FBI to find some foolish kids who needed redirection. Heath wouldn’t want to be in Taggart’s shoes.
“Heath?” Jasmine Dylan, one of the office assistants, stuck her head through the kitchen door. “Sheriff says you can go on back to his office.”
Without his coffee, he walked through while she waited for him and then leaned in.
“He’s not in a good mood,” she said.
“No, I wouldn’t think so.”
She ushered him into Taggart’s office.
The sheriff stared at his computer but spared Heath a glance. “You have three minutes, McKade.”
Maybe this was the worst possible time for Heath to bring it up. It certainly wouldn’t get Taggart’s full attention. And in light of recent developments, it wasn’t important, but he was using this as his excuse to see the sheriff. Heath hesitated. How did he make this concise?
“Well? You’re down to two minutes and thirty seconds.”
Heath thrust the toxicology report in front of Taggart. “This.”
“Before he died, the last sheriff told me that my father wasn’t drunk. The accident that killed the senator’s family wasn’t his fault.”
Taggart rose slowly and stared at the report.
“At first I was denied the report,” Heath said. “Which makes no sense. I threatened with a lawyer. I had been planning to try again since I’m a deputy now, but then I got this in the mail. It confirms that he was drunk and conflicts with what I was told.”
Taggart’s brow furrowed. “What are you asking me to do with this?”
“I want to know how and why my father took the blame for that accident. I don’t think he was drunk. I think someone doctored this report. I want an investigation into this.”
“Can I ask you why it’s so important now? Since your dad died, you’ve created the Emerald M Guest Ranch. People have forgotten your father’s legacy of drunkenness. But you could be dragging it all out again. Do you really want that?”
Why was Taggart stalling? Heath liked the guy and didn’t want to believe he was involved or had anything to hide. But then again, he once made the mistake of trusting too much and received a bullet in the gut. Heath leaned in and pressed his fists against Taggart’s desk. “I want to know why my father took the blame. I’m trying to do the right thing by bringing this to your attention.”
“Did you ever stop to think that the person who shot you and then told you this information thought you were dying and wanted to ease your mind about your father, so he lied to you?”
“To ease his own conscience.” Heath had been trying to find and save a friend when he’d been shot and left for dead. “I’ve considered that, yes. But I can’t let it go. I’m letting you know that I’m digging into this—officially or unofficially, take your pick. Did I make a mistake in coming to you with this because you might not like what I find?”
“Are you threatening me, McKade?”
Heath eased back and crossed his arms. “No. I’m giving you the facts.”
The sheriff eyed him as if he considered that he might have made a mistake in coming to Heath to ask him to be a reserve deputy. Which brought to mind his question—why hadn’t Taggart called him into action? He had wanted Heath full-time, but Heath’s heart was in his ranch. Taggart had needed his help and now he wasn’t using it.
The sheriff lifted the report and read it again. Then he looked up at Heath. “I know you have trust issues, and I know why. But I’m asking you to trust me on this. Let me do it. I’ll see what I can find out. But I’m going to need you to be patient.”
“Why do you want to do it? Seems like it’s beneath you. Why not send a deputy—that would be me—to look into things?”
“You’re too close to it, that’s why. If you don’t like what I find out, then you can investigate. Are we good?”
Heath crossed his arms. Could he trust Taggart with this? He’d had his back on numerous occasions. He couldn’t hold everyone else responsible for one man’s actions. “For now, we’re good. Don’t make me wait too long for answers.”
“While I’d like to jump right on this, we have mailboxes to safeguard. Kayakers to find. Oh yeah, and there’s a killer out there, if Ms. Reynolds can be believed.”
“Oh, come on. What does she have to do to convince you?”
“It’s not about her convincing me. We can’t do anything without information. Once we’ve finished a thorough search today, if there are no clues to follow, no evidence of the crime, then I’ll leave the file open. That’s all I can do.” Taggart scratched his jaw. “Listen, Heath, we’ve been through a lot together. You should know that I did some checking into her background. I called the PD in St. Louis to see if they could give me any information. This is confidential. Between you and me. I shouldn’t tell you this, but Harper Reynolds has PTSD. Survivor’s guilt. More specifically, homicide survivor’s guilt.”
“If you called the PD in St. Louis, then you know she was a crime scene photographer. PTSD is not unusual for police officers, first responders, or crime scene photographers. Those who deal with acts of violence. So what’s the big deal?”
Taggart shrugged. “She took an indefinite medical leave.”
“None of this means she didn’t witness a murder.”
“I’m not so sure about that. The PTSD could cause her to have hallucinations. Maybe what she thinks she saw wasn’t real. I’m telling you this to warn you that you shouldn’t get tangled up in it.”
Heath had thought the same thing, but then Taggart called him to the scene, and now he couldn’t walk away like he’d intended. “I’m disappointed in you, Taggart, for not believing her.”
“I was told that she was the best they’d had, but then she had to take a medical leave because she couldn’t handle the sight of blood or documenting the evidence left behind by violent crimes. Imagine that, McKade. A crime scene photographer who can’t do her job. Now here she is in my county and she comes up with a story about a murder. Here in Jackson Hole, we arrest people for DUI or abusing animals. That kind of thing.” He blew out a long breath. “We don’t see a lot of murders. I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but you can see my struggle.”
“Not a lot of murders, huh? Marilee Clemmons comes to mind. I could name a few others if you’d like.” Heath and his family had almost been murdered in the fall. Then there was the man who killed three people in the park last year. But he wouldn’t bring that up. “We could have a killer out there, Sheriff. You don’t want to be the man who didn’t listen to a witness and let him get away.”
Taggart studied Heath for a few seconds, then said, “Point taken.” Someone knocked on the sheriff’s office door, then opened it without waiting. Jasmine eyed Heath, then spoke to Taggart. “I got that information you were waiting for.”
Sheriff Taggart stood. “You’ve gone over your three minutes anyway, McKade. I’m going to call you up to assist soon. Today probably. I haven’t decided where to put you. But this is fair warning. Get your Emerald M business in order.” Taggart headed out the door as though he’d leave Heath standing in his office.
Instead, Heath followed him out. He wanted to ask about the sketch artist for Harper. Taggart quickly got involved in a heated discussion with Jasmine and Meghan, the IT girl, as they marched down the hall, and Heath was on his own. He felt like he was the only one on Harper’s side. For all their sakes, he sure hoped evidence came to light soon.
After what Harper had been through, he hated that she’d had to witness a murder. She had to be feeling alone in all this.
He wished he could figure out a way to reassure her.
When they were kids, he’d been the one who was alone. He was alone in shielding his younger brothers as much as possible from their angry father and his parents’ broken marriage. He was alone in defending his mother. He hadn’t protected her at all, and she died because of him. And the man his father became after that—sometimes Heath thought he was responsible for creating that monster.