image
image
image

Part IV

image

Conspiracy

Chapter Thirty-Five

Stacy took a deep breath outside the door of Shirley’s Cafe, holding the oversized bronze handle, undecided whether to push, pull, or somehow make the door open through sheer force of will. Or run back to her car and get the hell out of there. In the meantime, the noon sun bore down on her long black hair, pulled out of its usual ponytail to flow over her shoulders, a look her mother insisted was both more attractive and more comforting to men. Usually she couldn’t care less about that, but today she was on a mission. And the mission wouldn’t get accomplished by standing here.

She took another deep breath.

Someone appeared on the other side of the glass—a woman pulling two pre-school-aged children toward the exit, one in each hand. She appealed to Stacy with her glance. Stacy pulled the door outward and waited for the young family to pass. The cool air from the restaurant bathed her in the comforting aromas of fried food, salt, and coffee, the three basic ingredients of every good meal at Shirley’s. She swallowed hard and slid inside.

She waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light of the room, especially after the bright sunshine in which she’d just spent several minutes meditating. She spotted him in a booth near the kitchen doors—their booth. The one they’d sat in during their first date in high school, and their first real date after reuniting the year before. She smiled. He even sat on the same side that he always did. That silly, romantic man!

She slid into the booth, interrupting some sort of reverie, as evidenced by his faraway eyes. He snapped to attention and offered a coy smile. “Hey,” Lehigh said. “Good to see you.”

She smiled back, a big one. “Good to see you, too.” She meant it. More than she ever had, or so it seemed. She loved his pensive side, the quiet calm that told her he was somehow figuring things out, thinking big picture in one way or another. So often he seemed to act on impulse, at times with a brashness and confidence that struck many people as cocky. She knew better: his intensity often arose from necessity, from having no other option but the current way forward, and the faster the better. “I’m sorry I’m a few minutes late. I got, um, detained.”

“No problem.” He smiled over her shoulder at a presence she could sense without seeing—the waitress. “We’re going to need a few more minutes,” he said, looking back at her. “Unless you know what you want.”

“Chicken Caesar salad, extra croutons, light on the dressing,” she said, “and a diet cola.”

“Reuben, fries, Dr. Pepper,” he said, his smile changing to one of suppressed laughter.

“What’s so funny?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know why we bother with menus. We always order the same thing.”

She sipped at her water and captured a sliver of ice, crunching it in her teeth. “As your Pappy says, if you’ve got a good thing, why change it?”

“I often wonder that myself.” He got that faraway look in his eyes again.

She drew herself upright, willing herself into a Lehigh-Carter-state of confidence. She didn’t look forward to confronting him, but she felt she had no choice. “I uh, heard you were thinking of making a big change. Did I hear right?”

He frowned at her, his eyebrows diving into a deep valley near the bridge of his nose. “News travels fast.”

“Well, it was kind of on the news. Some of it, anyway. The D.A., the county commission—”

“Yeah. Well, I guess they’ve got plans. Me, I’m still figuring things out. And to make things worse, my lawyer has suddenly gone A.W.O.L.”

“And?”

The waitress returned, chomping on too much gum and smelling of cinnamon. “Here’s your drinks,” she said. “Holler if you need anything else.” She disappeared into the kitchen, but the cinnamon aroma lingered.

She glanced back at Lehigh, who seemed lost in thought. “Stace, I don’t know if this job’s worth the fight anymore,” he said. “I hate it as much as I thought I would, and it seems the rest of the world hates me having it an equal amount.”

Her heart sank. So the rumors were true: he was considering quitting. Time to turn the focus to The Mission.

“I don’t know who you’re talking to,” she said. “Everyone I talk to thinks you’re doing a fine job.”

“Except you.”

She gasped. That stung more than she cared to admit. “Yes, I do,” she said. “Whatever gave you that idea?”

He shrugged again. “The fact that you kicked me out of the house for doing my job and arresting your father,” he said. She started to protest, but he continued on. “I think that’s actually kind of fair,” he said. “I mean, if you were sheriff and you arrested Pappy, I’d probably be mad too. Nobody likes the bearer of bad news.”

Her stomach tightened, boiling in turmoil. Damn him. Why did he have to make this so hard? “Lehigh,” she said, “you’re right that I’m unhappy about that. But I’ve had time to reflect on things, and, well, I have to admit, things kind of looked bad for him. My dad’s no angel, and you have a job to do.”

He blinked, but said nothing.

“I still think he’s innocent,” she said. “But he’s not helping his cause one bit with his silly shenanigans. You’re not the only one who thinks he pulled the trigger.”

“Actually, I don’t think that at all. I’m not sure I ever did.”

She felt her muscles relax, her jaw loosen. When had she started gritting her teeth? A warm feeling passed over her. “So you really do believe.”

He smiled, a wan smile. “I don’t know what I believe, except that this job is ruining my life. Starting with my marriage and family. Weirdos making threats, people burning down my house—and it don’t take a genius to figure out which is more important. Hint: it ain’t the job.”

More warmth. Her stomach felt like jelly. “Lehigh, that’s very sweet. Really. But I don’t think you should quit.”

“Why not?”

Their food arrived amidst a clatter of plates and silverware, refills of water glasses and meaningless platitudes from the waitress. After the intrusion ended—finally—Stacy stole a French fry from Lehigh’s plate and dipped it in ketchup. “Because you’re my father’s best hope,” she said, then hung her head. “I’m sorry. That’s so selfish of me. It’s not just about my father.” She raised her eyes again and met his, staring at her with smoldering intensity. “Lehigh, you’re the best hope for everyone around here. The entire county needs you in this job to stand up to the Elliott Jacksons and Ray Fergusons of the world. To weed out the deputies like DuPont and Bobby Wills, the crooked good-old-boys that make everyone’s lives miserable. Like they used to do to you.” She reached across the table, resisted stealing another French fry, and grasped his wrist. “Please, Lehigh. Stay on the job. Finish the job. The one you set out to do.” She held his gaze in hers, holding back her tears.

“Even though it’s messing up our lives? Our marriage? Your own personal safety?”

She slid her hand down into his palm, intertwining her fingers with his. “I’m a big girl, Lehigh. And right now, I need you to do the big boy’s job of staying on as sheriff. We all do. No matter what that means for us.” She blinked, and the tears fell. Dammit! She glanced around, looking for her napkin, and found it, in Lehigh’s hand, dabbing the tears away from her cheeks. She met his gaze, intending to thank him. But no words would form once she saw his face, and the tears that wet his own cheeks.

“Stacy,” he said in a quiet voice, “I’d rather have you.”

***

image

LONG BEFORE THEY GOT back to eating, their food got cold, or at least Lehigh’s did. Stacy’s chicken Caesar started out cold anyway. They each took a few bites in silence, but he found it difficult to chew and swallow with the giant lump lodged in his throat.

“How will you decide?” she asked at last, a moment before he asked her about the vet clinic, when the silence grew too heavy to bear.

He bit his lip, holding his burger halfway between his plate and mouth. “Desmond Montgomery is taking an informal poll. If six out of ten say stay, I’ll stay.” He took a bite of the cold sandwich and chewed. The cold grease and hardening cheese nearly gagged him.

“You’ll stay if a majority of random strangers ask you to, but not if I do?” Stacy’s fork clattered onto her plate, and she fished it out with a herky-jerky motion and wiped it with her napkin.

“There ain’t six people in this county that’d trust me with their fishing rod, much less with two dozen armed deputies,” he said. “I’m pretty sure I know how this will go.”

“You’re wrong. You’re more popular than you know.”

“Then, I might have to disappoint a few people,” he said. “Because my top priority right now is getting right with you. Which I can’t do while wearing this badge.” He tapped the star pinned to his chest, and thought about ripping it off on the spot. Something—the look on her face, perhaps—stopped him.

“If you quit,” she said, “and let Dwayne Latner win the election, there will never be a fair investigation in this town. It’ll go right back to the bad old days of having people like Buck Summers and Dale DuPont running wild, arresting anyone they don’t like. Is that what you want?”

Lehigh shrugged. “We survived it for thirty-eight years. We can survive it a little longer.”

“My father can’t!” Her shrill cry split the noisy din of the dining room, which went suddenly quiet. She sat still as a statue for several moments, as if she could feel the dozens of eyes in the restaurant boring in on her. She lowered her head and her voice and picked at her salad. “What I mean is...Lehigh, you’re his only hope, and if they can pin a crime like this on a powerful politician like him, what will happen to the rest of us? What hope do we have?”

He shook his head. George damned Lindsey damned McBride. Seemed like all of the trouble in his life stemmed from that man’s presence in his life, one way or the other. “Is this about the little people of the county, or the big cheeses that always stepped on the little people, who happen to be blood relations?” he said through his teeth. “Because I don’t recall George ever doing much of anything for me. Nothing good, anyway.”

“He raised thousands of dollars for your campaign, introduced you to people—”

“For a job I don’t want!” he hissed. “Don’t you get it, Stacy? I don’t want to be sheriff anymore!”

Dammit if it didn’t go quiet just in time for that outburst, too. Well, so what? He meant it. He ate another cold French fry.

“So you’re just going to quit, and let them win?” She jabbed her fork into a pile of lettuce.

“In case you haven’t noticed, they hold all the cards, and all the chips,” Lehigh said. “I’ve got a losing hand, or maybe no hand at all. The game is stacked against me. Why fight it?”

“Because you’re a fighter, Lehigh,” she said. “That’s what I think of when I think of you—a man who fights for what’s right, no matter what the odds and no matter the cost. Or am I wrong about you?”

“I get into too many fights,” he said, but her words stung, for some reason. Damn it!

“You have to keep fighting,” she said. “One more fight, Lehigh. Fight for yourself, fight for my father, fight for whatever reason you can think of. But don’t let those bastards win. Please?”

He stared at her, taking deep breaths, confused. Why couldn’t she see that these fights were destroying them? That he had to stop fighting in order for them to have a chance? He exhaled all of his air, took one more deep breath. “Sometimes the bad guys win, Stacy. That’s just how it is.”

“Lehigh Carter.” She leaned over the table and pointed a finger at his face. “If you quit now—if you leave my father’s fate in their crooked hands—then you’re quitting on me, and quitting on us. And if you quit on me, then we’re done. All. Done.”

She pushed her way out of the booth and ran from the restaurant, brushing away tears.

***

image

LEHIGH SOMEHOW DRAGGED himself back to his office, cursing his situation with every moment of his short drive. Stacy flat-out shocked him with her passionate plea for him to try to carry on the fight. His inability to convince her that the sheriff’s job was the main problem between them—and a very fixable one, with an exit strategy that would make everyone happy—frustrated him. He walked past Julia’s desk in as foul a mood as he’d been in for some time and almost didn’t notice her waving at him.

“Sheriff!” she said in a hoarse whisper. “Ben Wright is asking for you. Wants you to come see him right away.”

“I ain’t got time,” he said, growling. “I gotta go wipe this huge target off my back.”

“It won’t take you long.” She smothered the microphone of her headset with one hand. “He’s in jail.”

“Jail? What the hell for?”

“Dale DuPont booked him last night on a dewey,” she said. “Which I think means driving while under the—”

“I know what it means,” he said. “Where’s Dale now?”

She shrugged. “Back on patrol, I guess.”

He spun on his heel and headed toward the incarceration unit. “Get him back in here. Now!”

He slid his security ID through the scanner and kicked the heavy metal doors as they swung open into the short hallway of jail cells. He ignored the first few inmates, men arrested months before and still awaiting trial, and checked the first cell he last knew to be vacant. Three cowboys he recognized from The Roadhouse jeered back at him, and he moved on, past Paul van Paten, Stacy’s ex-fiancé, and reached the final pair of cells at the end. One was full of brown boxes—he recognized them as archived storage from the case files. He shook his head in dismay. He’d told Roscoe to remove those a week ago.

But that left only one cell.

He turned and spied the white-haired man, seated and bent over on his cot, the former sheriff of Mt. Hood County, Buck Summers. Across the cell, on a bare mattress tucked into a corner, lay the dark, husky form of Ben Wright.

He unlocked the cell door and pulled it shut behind him, per protocol, and grunted a hello to the former sheriff. No response. He touched Ben’s shoulder, then shook him awake.

“Sh-sheriff?” Ben said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I was about to ask you the same question,” Lehigh said. “Want to talk about it?”

“I was walking home from The Roadhouse last night, and—”

“Wait, you said you were walking?” Lehigh sat next to him. “How the heck did you get booked on a dewey, then?”

“A what?” Ben shook his head in confusion. “Mr. Carter, the bank repo’d my car two months ago. I never drive.” He rubbed his head, then screamed in pain. “Dammit! Ow, that hurts!”

“What hurts?”

“My head. Damn, it feels like someone pounded me with a baseball bat.”

Lehigh looked closer at the man’s head, shook his head. “More like a billy club. Okay, Ben, let’s get you out of here.” He helped Ben up, unlocked the cell door, and guided him back to his office.

“Get a medic in here,” he said to Julia as he passed her. He sat Ben in a chair, wet a wad of paper towels he found in his desk, and dabbed at the cut that bled into Ben’s tight curls.

“Do you remember what happened?” he asked.

“Like I said, I was walking home. A cop car screeches to a stop right in front of me, and that DuPont guy gets out, starts giving me grief, saying there had been suspicious activity and what did I know about it.”

“What kind of suspicious activity?”

Ben shook his head. “He didn’t say. Just tried to get me to ‘confess.’ Then another car comes, and stops, and drives kind of into the drainage ditch. On purpose, I think.”

“Why?”

Ben dabbed the makeshift bandage against his head. “What was really weird was, the driver gets out—it’s another deputy. He had three stripes. Name began with a P.”

“Peters?”

“That’s it. Next thing I know, they’re pushing me and yelling at me, like they want me to fight back. They tell me stuff like, ‘You been drinking, boy?’ Which I admit, I had been, but so what?”

“Then they hit you?”

Ben winced and pulled the bandage away from his head. “I guess. Next thing I know, I wake up next to that old white dude.”

“Dammit. Look, Ben, I’m sorry. I’ll make sure there’s an investigation.”

“That’s what the old white dude told me you’d say.”

“The one in the cell with you?” Lehigh fetched him a new wad of wet paper towels.

“Yeah. He’s something else, that guy.” He smiled a little. “He don’t like you much.”

“No, I don’t suppose he does. Let me see that cut.” Lehigh looked closer at the injured area. His stomach heaved a bit. “You’re going to need stitches. Dammit!”

“I’ll be all right. Hey, you’ll want to watch out for that old white dude. He said something about how he was gonna get his last laugh at you.”

“Yeah? How?”

Ben winced again when Lehigh placed some dry towels on the wound. “Said he’s got friends on the force, still working for him.”

Lehigh froze. “Working for him?”

“Yeah. Like, telling him things. When they bring him lunch and stuff.”

Lehigh squatted down to eye level with Ben. “Did he say who they were?”

Ben shook his head. “Naw. But he seems to know everybody here.”

Lehigh shook his head. “That he does, Ben. That he does.”

Chapter Thirty-Six

Lehigh drove Ben to the local ambulatory care clinic, where a doctor sewed up his head wound and checked him for a concussion. He spent the next hour catching up Jim Wadsworth on the new developments over coffee at Dot’s.

“I had all charges dropped against him,” Wadsworth said. “He’s free to go, once they’re done stitching him up.”

All charges?” Lehigh asked. “I thought it was just drunk driving.”

Wadsworth shook his head, a glum expression on his face. “Peters piled on with an assault-against-an-officer and resisting arrest. When I find him, he’s got a lot of explaining to do.”

“Any luck with that?”

Wadsworth shook his head. “Nope. He’s gone AWOL. Wills and Peters, too. Looks like all of them have been in on this thing all along.”

“That explains a lot,” Lehigh said. “I’d been looking for only one culprit. It didn’t occur to me that they’d conspire on this.”

After mapping out a search strategy with Wadsworth, Lehigh swung back by the clinic to drive Ben home. He passed at least two billboards displaying Dwayne Latner’s long, clean-cut face and innocuous slogans like “Experienced and Professional.” He nearly vomited.

“I sure appreciate you guys helping me out,” Ben said once they were back on the road. “I thought I’d be in jail for weeks again.”

“Again?”

Ben nodded. “Last time they kind of forgot about me for a month or so. I lost my job, my apartment—I thought about leaving town. But that’s what they wanted, right? So I stayed. I’m a stubborn old coot, I guess.” He grinned. “Ironic, isn’t it, that they shacked me up with Buck Summers. Which would’ve been fine, if he’d have just let me sleep. But that old fart, all he does is talk, talk, talk.” He laughed to himself and gazed out the window.

“What did he talk about?” Lehigh said. “Anything I should know?”

“He didn’t have anything nice to say about you, if that’s what you mean,” Ben said. “He said you’ve been nothing but a pain in his backside for a year or more now. Him and his friends, that is.”

Lehigh’s ears perked up. “What friends? Any in particular?”

“Well, your father-in-law, for one,” Ben said. “I guess those guys go back a long ways. Ran some campaigns together, stuff like that. But then George went his own way and left Buck behind, kind of a double-cross, according to Buck. But I’m sure this is all old news to you, right?”

Lehigh shook his head in awe. “Actually, no,” he said. “He only recently became my father-in-law, and before that, we almost never talked. He didn’t like me much. In fact, we kind of had a few run-ins of our own.” Anger rose in him, thinking of his burned-down house. He’d never been able to pin it on George, or even his lackeys. For some reason the sheriff had never uncovered any convincing evidence.

For some reason, indeed.

“What else did he say?” Lehigh asked after a few quiet moments. He pulled up and parked in front of Ben’s home, a tiny one-room apartment on the far end of the strip.

“He says you must really got it in for the Rev,” Ben said. “All the hard time you’re giving him.”

I’m giving him?” Lehigh laughed. “I think he’s looking in the wrong end of the telescope.”

“Buck says you’re fighting the Rev hard on this whole Ev Downey thing,” Ben said, his hand resting on the truck’s door latch. “Holding back evidence, stuff like that. It’s why he’s been helping him out, I guess. They’re old pals, so Buck’s using his connections to all the uniforms to leak stuff out to him through his lawyer. He figures the Rev will go easy on him when his case goes to trial. Makes sense to me, you know? But, hey, you’re the sheriff. You’re on top of all this already, right?”

“Right,” Lehigh said, realization dawning. Ben thanked him for the ride and shuffled up the walk to his apartment.

Lehigh sat behind the wheel of the truck, engine off, thinking. Of course Buck was the linchpin behind the whole situation. After everything went south between them, Buck had tried to pin his murder of Jared Barkley on Stacy, who meant the world to George. Of course that didn’t work, and now he took new aim at George himself—leaking information to Ferguson, and working hard to frame George, his old political pal-turned-enemy.

But if George didn’t kill Everett Downey, who did? Buck couldn’t have done it, at least not alone, since he was in jail at the time. But, as Ben had revealed, he still had lots of friends on the outside—and on the inside. All of them had access to guns...and the evidence.

***

image

“HELLO, BUCK.”

The former sheriff took a moment to respond, and Lehigh thought he might be asleep. But the white mane tipped back, moving as slow as a glacier, and his eyes opened to reveal just a sliver of white on each side of his bright blue irises. He stared at Lehigh through the bars, still seated on his cot. He might not have moved since Lehigh released Ben from his cell hours before.

“Carter.” Summers spat the word out like an epithet. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit? Is it dinner time already?”

“Got a question for you.”

Buck sneered and shook his head. “What kind of question? The I-should-get-my-lawyer sort of question, or should-I-draw-to-an-inside-straight sort of question?”

Lehigh smiled. “Maybe a little of both.”

Summers spat for real this time, his effluent landing an inch from the drain in the center of the floor. “Hasn’t anyone taught you how to do this job yet, Carter? Never tell a prisoner he needs his lawyer. Consider that my answer to your inside straight question.” He closed his eyes and lay down on the cot.

Lehigh slid the key into the lock, slid open the door, and stepped inside, locking the door behind him. Buck remained prostate on the bed, seemingly unconcerned. Lehigh sat on the cot across from him. “It ain’t gonna work, Buck.”

Summers turned his head an inch toward Lehigh, his eyes opened to slits again. “What ain’t?”

“You’re not running me out of this job. Not you, not Jackson, not the Rev. I ain’t going anywhere, at least until the voters get their say in November.”

Buck hissed out a laugh between his teeth. “Suit yourself.”

“And as long as I’m here, so are you.”

Buck shrugged. “I’ve reached my peace with that.”

“Have you reached your peace with letting the Rev walk while he sells you down the river for his crimes?” Lehigh held his breath. He had no proof of their collaboration, neither on the leak, nor Downey’s murder, nor any of their past shenanigans against him. But he trusted his gut. Since his chat with Ben earlier that day, his gut had convinced him they all were in cahoots on at least some part of it—and that he knew about the rest.

Buck lay still, as if he’d stopped breathing, for a minute or more. Finally his chest lifted, as if he’d taken a deep, noiseless breath. “You’re fishing,” he said.

“Wish I was,” Lehigh said. “And I wish, both literally and metaphorically, that the fish were biting right about now.”

“Yeah, good luck on that, too.” Buck closed his eyes and folded his hands across his voluminous belly.

“Okay, just thought I’d ask. Personally, it don’t matter to me which one of you goes down for this, as long as someone does. Well, that’s not entirely true. It seems a pity that you’d have to take the fall for a guy as arrogant as Ray Ferguson, who never misses a chance to trash-talk the sheriff’s office. And not just on TV, either. Why, just the other day—”

“I hate that son of a bitch!” Buck bolted upright in his cot, breathing hard, glaring at Lehigh with wide-open eyes. “Him and his Gospel verses, always spouting this holier-than-thou crap. I’ve never seen such a hypocrite!”

Lehigh leaned back, forced by the power of Buck’s anger. He’d hoped to trigger something, but hadn’t prepared himself for this sudden explosion. “What’s that? The Rev’s a church-going man, Buck. My maw tells me he’s in the front pew, every Sunday, and is quite generous with his contributions.”

“Generous to a fault, you mean. With his salary he could buy the damned church and feed half the poor folk in this here county without sacrificing a single steak dinner himself. Church-going man, my eye. He does it for one reason and one reason only: to be seen.” Buck jabbed a thick finger at Lehigh to punctuate his words.

“Huh. I wouldn’t have guessed it. Maw says—”

“Never mind what your foolish maw says! Ferguson’s a liar and a cheating back-stabber, is what he is. Why he—” Buck stopped, as if catching himself, and closed his mouth tight.

“Here’s the thing, Buck,” Lehigh said. “The Rev’s in a position to make other people pay for not only their mistakes, but his own, too. Now, I’m not saying you two have any sort of deal going—I’m not in a position to know. But what I do know is, the Rev always seems to come out of these scrapes looking awfully clean, you know what I’m saying? And the people around him, not so much.” Lehigh stood. “But you, Buck, you’re a man of honor and well-earned pride, and nobody expects you to utter so much as one cross word about your fellow man. No, sir, it’s well-known around here, you’d fall on your sword for your loyal compatriots, even if they wouldn’t do the same for you. In fact, people count on it. I do, anyway.” He edged toward the door and jingled the keys, taking his time putting the key in the slot.

Damn him!” The cot creaked behind Lehigh, and he spun, fearing the worst. But Buck had moved away from him, pacing in the deepest recesses of the cell. “Damn, damn, damn!”

Lehigh let him stew a minute or two, then asked in a soft voice, “When’s the last time the Rev has sent word about your case? Days? Weeks?”

Buck muttered under his breath, then glared at Lehigh. “What has he told you?” he asked in a growl.

“About you? Not much. No, I take that back. He’s never mentioned you once.” Lehigh leaned back against the bars of the cell door. “I’d say you’re not much on his mind, Buck.”

Summers continued pacing and muttering. Lehigh couldn’t make out the words. He tried a different tack. “The Rev’s been depending on your little network to get him information from the deputies—don’t deny it, there’s no point,” Lehigh said as Summers tried to interrupt. “Anyway, so far as I know, it ain’t illegal for you to do that. Them, that’s another matter. And we’ve shut them down, Buck. The flow is stopped. Those three boys are likely to be filling up the next cell before dinnertime, and your ability to feed the Rev what he needs will be all over and done with.”

Buck’s protests faded, and his shoulders sagged. “All three of them?” Sadness tinged the edge of his voice.

“Yep. Party’s over.” Inside, Lehigh celebrated. He’d gambled, revealing that, and he hoped his worries about the leak could end. Of course, he still had no idea where Wills, Peters, and DuPont had gone. Still, he pressed on. “So what’s the Rev gonna do with you when that happens? You think he’ll keep protecting you, once you can’t help him anymore?”

Buck plopped back down onto the bed, defeated. Lehigh waited.

“That son of a bitch,” Buck said. Lehigh said nothing. Waited. Watched his prisoner, hoping. Buck took a deep breath, let it out slowly, drew in another. Repeated that a few times, occasionally clenching and unclenching his fists. Finally he looked up at Lehigh. “All right,” he said.

“All right, what, specifically?” Lehigh asked, in as casual a voice as he could muster.

“All right, I’ll cooperate,” Buck said. “I’ll tell you what I know about the Rev, the leaks, the conspiracy, all of it. I’m not saying I know a lot, but—damn him! I know enough to take him down a notch or two.” He fumed for a moment, then a tiny smile creased his face. “Yeah, I know plenty. I ain’t taking this fall for him.” He pointed again at Lehigh. “I’m gonna need some protection from you. And I need to speak with my lawyer. She’ll know what to do.”

“She?” Lehigh caught his breath. There weren’t many female criminal defense attorneys in the area. “Who’s your lawyer?”

Buck grinned. “You ain’t gonna believe it.”

***

image

BACK IN HIS OFFICE, Lehigh barely had time to sit before his phone buzzed. “Visitors,” Julia said. “Important ones.”

Lehigh sighed. Everyone considered themselves important when meeting with their elected officials. “Send them in.”

The tall, slender frame of Desmond Mitchell appeared at his door. “Greetings, Sheriff,” he said. “I have good news and bad news.”

“Well, even having half the news be good is a welcome change of pace,” Lehigh said, grinning. Then he remembered his wager with the commissioner and his smile faded. “Let’s start with the good news,” he said. “Just in case.”

“I finished my little poll,” Mitchell said. “Unfortunately, I only got around to asking seven people. That’s the bad news.”

Lehigh sank into his chair. “Let me guess. Five of ’em already said no to me staying on.”

“Nope.” Mitchell sat in Lehigh’s guest chair, smiling.

“Then I guess I don’t understand,” Lehigh said. “By the way, I thought my assistant said I had visitors—plural. Where are the others?”

“I thought you should meet the people I spoke with,” the commissioner said. “Come on in, folks!”

A short parade of Clarkesville residents filed in through the door. His old high school teammate, Phil Reardon, entered first. “Hey, Lehigh,” he said. “Nice digs.”

“Thanks,” he said. “So, you were one of the people surveyed?”

“Yup,” Phil said. “I gave you a big thumbs-up.” He stood aside, and a short, older woman scooted in behind him.

“Who’s that behind you—? Dot?” Lehigh stood and his mouth gaped in disbelief. He’d never seen the tiny, bushy-haired matron outside her cafe before.

“Sheriff, if you think you’re going anywhere, you better think twice,” she said. “We need you.”

Shuffling in behind Dot he spied the athletic figure of a young man with short, wavy dark curls. The face and the identity of the man didn’t register at first. Then, suddenly, it did.

“Jackson Pitt?” Lehigh’s voice squeaked in surprise.

“Sheriff,” the young man said, “I’m real sorry for the way I treated you at the hotel. My uncle Elliott put me up to it, and, well, he can be a real jerk sometimes.”

“Your uncle’s not going to be too pleased if he learns you support me,” Lehigh said.

Jackson laughed. “He’s never happy with me. And I’m just fine with that.”

Next to Pitt stood a thin, forty-something woman covered with tattoos and piercings who looked desperate for a smoke. “Name’s Charlotte, but you can call me Charlie,” she said. “I work at Montgomery’s Gentlemen’s Club—Ev Downey’s place. And I tell you what. Every one of the slick son-of-a-so-and-so’s that rant and rave on County Council about closing down our place has been in there getting lap dances at least twice, and some are regulars. And that includes this boy’s uncle.” She put an arm around Jackson. The boy blushed, but didn’t push away her embrace. She sneered. “And that holier-than-thou prosecutor, wagging his finger at everyone else. He’s as sleazy as the next guy.”

The next citizen in the room, a red-haired woman with oversized, blue-framed glasses, wore a low-cut dress that looked straight out of the 1950s. “My name’s Ginger Michaels,” she said. She paused and focused her attention on Lehigh. “Until two days ago, I worked for Ray Ferguson.”

“And now?” Lehigh asked, the hairs on his arm raised.

She shrugged. “I quit. He treated me, and all the women in the D.A.’s office, like sex objects. And his ethics...lower than low. Mr. Carter, I’m here to help you beat him.”

Relief and gratitude washed over Lehigh. “I’m honored to have your support,” he said. “I can’t offer you a job or anything, but—”

“I understand,” she said. “Don’t worry. I’ve got some prospects all lined up. I even have an interview next week with a woman named Samantha Pullen. Do you know her?”

Lehigh grinned. “Well enough to help you with a recommendation,” he said. “She represented me against the county a few months ago.” He turned to Mitchell. “That’s five. You said you had seven. Where are the others?”

A bustle of activity sounded outside the door, and a small group of uniformed deputies filled the room. Ted Roscoe, Jim Wadsworth, Ruby MacArthur, and Martin Lightfoot stood abreast, arm-in-arm, at attention. “We’re here in solidarity with you, Sheriff,” Ruby said, and the others all nodded. “Please stay on and continue the work you’re doing. It’s important!”

Lehigh grinned and shook a finger at Desmond Mitchell. “No fair asking people I hired,” he said. “You can’t exactly call them random citizens.”

“I wasn’t counting them,” Mitchell said. He called out to the hallway. “Doctor?”

County Coroner Herman Doskey shuffled in and pushed between the wall of deputies. “You need to stay on, Carter,” Doskey said. “The truth must come out.”

“Does that mean that what we talked about—”

“Yup,” Doskey said. “And I’ll testify to that, no matter what that means for my retirement.”

Lehigh found it difficult to speak. The group in front of him represented as broad a cross-section of the community as he could imagine, other than Ben Wright, who was probably still recovering from his injuries. Besides Phil Reardon and his deputies, he wouldn’t have considered many of them allies. “Thank you all,” he said, choking on his words. “Your support means the world to me.”

“We’ve got one more, if you’re ready.” Desmond winked at Lehigh. “I saved the best for last.”

“I can’t imagine,” Lehigh said. “This is already a pretty impressive group.”

He looked to the doorway, and the crowd blocking his view parted, just in time to reveal a wiry, silver-haired man in overalls, holding the hand of a tiny stick figure with a halo of gray hair tied back behind her pastel-blue housedress.

“Make that two more,” Desmond said.

“Pappy?” Lehigh’s jaw dropped. “Maw? What are you two doing in downtown Clarkesville?”

“Desmond says you’re thinking about quitting,” Pappy said. Maw’s face twisted like she’d just bitten into a lemon, and she shook her head in disapproval.

“Well, I—”

“Carters don’t quit,” Pappy said, and spit tobacco into the trash can.

Lehigh opened his mouth to reply, but words failed him. Shame washed over him, pressing him into his chair. In all of his deliberations about whether to stay on the job, he’d never considered how it would disappoint his parents. They despised politics and government, and rarely ventured off their own remote property. The idea that they’d even pay attention to something like this came as a complete surprise.

“That’s dirty pool, Desmond, bringing in my parents,” he said.

“I admit, it’s not exactly a random sampling of county voters,” Desmond said with a sly smile. “But they’re the ones that matter most, or ought to. Don’t you agree?”

Lehigh glanced from face to face, settling finally on the hopeful, silent expression on his parents’ faces. He nodded. “They are to me.” He stood and opened his arms wide. “If you’ll have me, folks,” he said, “I guess I’ll stay on and fight the good fight.”

The room erupted into cheers.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lehigh greeted the pretty, blonde-haired attorney with a wary handshake, vowing not to let her bright blue eyes, slender 5’6” frame, and jury-wowing smile overwhelm him as she had the first time they’d met. But Samantha Pullen enveloped his hand in both of hers, smiling ear to ear. “Lehigh, we’re way past formalities, aren’t we?” She pulled him in for a brief hug and whispered, “Surprised?”

“I have to admit, I am,” he said. “When Buck told me he’d switched lawyers, I wasn’t prepared to be talking to the one who kept me out of jail when he was sheriff.”

“Oh, the irony,” she said. “I hope you understand, under the circumstances, I can’t represent you in your obstruction case. But I’m happy to give you a referral.”

He waved her off. “I’ll find someone...if I’m still around on Monday.” He opted not to express his doubts, given the circumstances.

Her jury-wowing smile faded. “Is Detective Wadsworth joining us?”

“Sorry I’m late,” Wadsworth said, entering the meeting room in a frenzied rush. He carried his briefcase in one hand and, in the other, a cardboard take-out tray with three coffees. He handed one to Lehigh and one to Sam. “Greetings, counselor.”

“Detective.” They sat across from him at the black laminate-top table, avoiding eye contact.

Lehigh studied both of them, arms crossed. “Is there something I should know about you two before we begin?”

Wadsworth cleared his throat and glanced at Sam, head bowed. “We’re fine.”

Sam chuckled. “What the detective isn’t telling you, Lehigh, is that we’ve tangled a few times in court before. I’m afraid I may have been a little aggressive cross-examining Mr. Wadsworth on occasion. If I have crossed any lines, Detective, I apologize.”

“No, no.” Wadsworth waved her off. “You’re a strong advocate for your clients. I expect nothing less.” He busied himself with pulling his paperwork out of his briefcase.

“Do either of you mind me taping this conversation?” Sam asked, starting a tape recorder.

“Shouldn’t you ask before you begin recording?” Lehigh was beginning to understand why other lawyers didn’t like arguing cases opposite her.

Sam paused the recorder. “Before we begin,” she said, “I have to say, it’s a bit unusual not to have the prosecutor in the case present for these negotiations. I understand why,” she added before Lehigh could respond, “given the sensitivity of the information he has to share, but we should all understand, your ability to influence the court on my client’s behalf is quite limited.”

“Are you backing out already?” Wadsworth said. “Because I’m okay with letting him rot.”

“No, no,” Sam said. “We’re still willing to discuss a deal with you. But please understand our caution—and hence, this.” She tapped the recorder.

Lehigh nodded and signaled a “cool down” message to Wadsworth. “We’re good with it.”

“Very well,” she said. “My client faces charges of conspiracy, murder one, obstruction of justice, assault, hell, half the penal code. We want all felony charges dropped—”

“Wait, wait,” Wadsworth said. “We don’t even know what you’ve got yet.”

“And you won’t, unless you keep Buck Summers out of prison,” she said. “That’s our bottom line. He can’t end up in a prison yard with the dozens of men he’s helped put away for the past decade or so. You know what would happen to him.”

“Then he’d better have something good and solid,” Wadsworth said. “No con jobs, Counselor!”

“Easy, Jim,” Lehigh said. “Have some coffee.” He uncapped his and waited for the detective to follow suit. Sam did likewise and toasted them before taking a sip.

“Now, why don’t you give us a flavor of what you’ve got,” Lehigh said. “No details, just the fly-over.”

Sam scanned a one-page bullet-point outline in front of her. “We can name the inside leaks, with specifics about who gave what restricted information to whom.” She zeroed her gaze in on Lehigh. “Including certain high-ranking officials in the D.A.’s office.”

“Ferguson himself?”

She smiled. “No names yet, but it reaches that level in the department.”

“What about the case itself?” Wadsworth said. “Downey’s murder. Any dope on that?”

Sam swiveled to face Wadsworth. “My client has been in jail since long before Everett Downey lost his life,” she said, “but, in return for immunity, he’ll testify regarding a conspiracy to suppress and tamper with evidence in the case. It’s all part of the same package.”

“With names?” Lehigh asked. Sam nodded. “Can’t hear that on tape,” Lehigh said with a smile.

Sam chuckled and waved a polished fingernail at him. “You learn fast. Yes, with names. And, gentlemen, it’s not an eyewitness, and it’s not direct evidence at all, but once you hear what he has to say, I believe it will set you on the right path for discovering who’s really guilty of murder in Mt. Hood County.”

“If you know who killed Downey, why haven’t you come forward sooner?” Wadsworth asked, near the point of exploding.

I don’t know who killed him.” Sam sipped her coffee. “My client doesn’t claim to know either. But if you follow the leads he gives you, I have a strong feeling you’ll know very soon.” She paused the recorder. “And gentlemen, it’s not the man Ray Ferguson arrested for the crime. That much I do know.”

Lehigh glanced at Wadsworth, and the two men nodded. He pointed at the recorder, and Sam turned it back on.

“Counselor,” he said, “to the extent this is within my power as sheriff of Mt. Hood County, I think we’ve got a deal.”

***

image

STACY SQUINTED AT HER computer screen, her eyes tired from a full day of catching up on billing and correspondence with her growing clientele of pet lovers in Mt. Hood County. Her head pounded, and she hated to admit it, but her vision had gone a bit blurry lately. She might have to break down and make an appointment for an eye exam.

A knock on her door broke her concentration, and she tore her eyes away. She usually hated interruptions, but a never-ending run of animal emergencies had trained her to prepare for them at any time. Given how her head felt at that moment, she welcomed this one. “Come in,” she called out and clicked Save Transaction on her screen.

The familiar face that entered was not the one she expected. Charlie, the slender forty-something bartender from Downey’s, slipped inside and shut the door behind her. She wore jeans and a conservative blouse that covered most of her tattoos, with a “Carter for Sheriff” button pinned to the lapel. “Nice place you got here,” she said. She smiled and took a seat.

Stacy’s jaw dropped. “What are you doing here?” she stammered after a moment.

“I thought that was you at the club,” Charlie said with an easy grin. “That red wig didn’t fool me one bit. I guess you don’t remember me, do you, Bridget?”

“I don’t understand,” Stacy said. A dizzy wave passed over her and she slumped in her seat.

Charlie chuckled and inspected her long fingernails, painted with intricate and varied designs over a red lacquer base. “I don’t look the same as when we first met sixteen years ago, but you ain’t changed a bit,” she said. “Maybe if I give you a clue. Purple hair, lots of beads, pussycat outfit?”

Stacy gasped. “Kitty?”

Charlie nodded and grinned. “Dropped my stage name when I moved to bartending, of course. That and the hair coloring. And now...” Her voice took on a bitter tone. “Well, I guess I’ll need a whole new gig.”

Stacy’s heart skipped a beat. “Wait. You got fired? After working there, what, fifteen years?”

“Eighteen. And yes, I am now officially unemployed. Without a dime of severance, either!” She grew animated, poking her finger on Stacy’s desk. “But trust me, they’re gonna pay. Are they ever gonna pay.”

“I’m sorry to hear it,” Stacy said, “but I don’t understand why you came here. How can I help you?”

“You can help me by letting me help you,” Charlie said in a quiet voice. “You came in asking around about whether we’d seen your daddy. Oh, cut it out, I knew that’s what you were up to from the first minute you walked in the door. At the time I wanted to protect my job, so I pretended to know nothing. But honey, I ain’t got no job to protect no more, so guess what?”

Stacy’s heart skipped a beat. “You saw him that night?”

“Saw him? Ha! I served him all night long,” Charlie said with a harsh bark of a laugh. “Except for the half-hour or so he went back with—um, are you sure you want to know all the details?”

Stacy swallowed hard, unable to speak. Half of her did want to know, and half wanted to run for the hills. The half that wanted her father out of danger of prison won out. She nodded.

“He had a ‘bonus room’ session with Buttercup, that cute little blonde out of Texas.” Charlie seemed to be enjoying telling this tale a little too much. “Buttercup’s gone now, already back to Abilene for all I know, so good luck finding her. But I know who your daddy is—hell, everybody in this town does—and he was there, all right. From nine o’clock until well after midnight. I cashed him out at 12:45. I remember because he left me a $45 tip. I told him that he could stay until 12:99 if he wanted, but I don’t think he got the joke.”

“And Mr. Downey, when did he leave?” Stacy asked, working hard to take a breath.

“Long time before that,” Charlie said. “Said he had to go meet someone out of town. Something about a deal he was working on.”

Stacy’s heart raced. Finally, a break for her father! If—

“Will–will you testify to this?” Stacy asked.

Charlie shrugged. “Why the hell not? It’s not like I have a job to protect anymore.”

Stacy’s euphoria faded a bit. “Why did they fire you?” she asked in a quiet voice. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

Charlie threw up her hands. “They gave me some dumb reason that didn’t make any sense, saying my till was way off, and accused me of sneaking drinks on the job,” she said, spittle flying. “Which is total crap. I can’t drink—I got kidney problems. And I make plenty enough on tips so I don’t never have to steal. But it don’t help arguing. If they want you gone, you’re gone. They got all threatening, saying they’d press charges, even had that county prosecutor standing there, all threatening and mean. I figure, they go to all that trouble, best if I just walk away, you know what I’m saying?”

“Which prosecutor?” Stacy asked, now on full alert.

“That fella that’s always quoting Bible verses on TV,” Charlie said. “What’s his name?”

“Ray Ferguson?” Stacy asked in a hushed voice.

“That’s him!” Charlie said. “He shows up, and the next thing I know, they’re escorting me out to my car. Them bastards!”

Stacy’s jaw dropped yet again. “Charlie, I’m so sorry. I’m so glad you came here today.”

“Yeah, well, time’s getting short. Couple of those fat deputies came in again, the same ones that were there the night you worked. Started asking if I’d take a punch and pin it on the sheriff.”

“They asked me that, too,” Stacy said. “The night I worked.”

“You should’ve said something to me,” Charlie said. “Anyway, I kicked ’em out, told them never to come back.” She paused. “On second thought, that might’ve been what got me fired. We never eighty-six a paying customer. Yup. That explains it all, now that I think about it.”

“In more ways than you know!” Stacy said. “Will you excuse me a moment? I need to make a phone call.” She had to get word of this to Lehigh—and her father’s lawyers—fast.

***

image

THE MEETING ROOM DOOR opened. Lehigh stood, hat in hand, and counted off the army of lawyers that filed into the room. The Rev led the pack, of course, strutting like a horse that had just won the Kentucky Derby. Flanking him, the two black-suited, closed-mouthed attorneys that always seemed to hover in his shadow kept up their butt-kissing ways. A pair of younger pups, a man and a woman who both looked fresh out of law school, scurried to the far end of the meeting room and set out a series of folders and papers, as if setting up a war room for a big case.

“Sheriff,” Ferguson said, “thank you for reaching out to me today. I hope we can reach a quick resolution on your case. I took the liberty of asking my staff to draw up some paperwork—”

“I ain’t here to cut a deal.” Lehigh waited for surprise and irritation to register on Ferguson’s face, then pointed to the mountain of paperwork in the hands of the young aides, who froze in mid-sort. “I’m afraid you may have wasted their time.”

“I don’t understand,” Ferguson said. “When you asked for the meeting, I understood your intention to be, how was it phrased? An ‘end-game’ of some sort. Did I misunderstand?”

“I was hoping we could find a solution that didn’t involve a formal plea,” Lehigh said. “One that saves face for everyone.” He indicated the array of assistants, both senior and junior, with an open palm. “One that wouldn’t require quite so many staff members to participate...?”

Ferguson sniffed and rubbed his chin. “I see. Well, I don’t see any harm starting with a little informal chat. Ladies and gentlemen?” He nodded toward the door. The attorneys and assistants filed back out of the room, casting suspicious stares at Lehigh. He kept his gaze unfocused, not wanting to give anything away. Not to them. The shock of the “news” he wanted to share had to belong only to Raymond Ferguson.

“Mr. Ferguson,” Lehigh said when they were alone and seated, “I want to be honest with you.” He leaned forward, and Ferguson did the same. Lehigh could feel the excitement emanating from the prosecutor, could hear his quick breaths. “I have to confess, Raymond—can I call you Raymond?—I hate this damned job.” He punctuated his words with a light tap of his open palm on the table.

Ferguson’s lips curled into a brief smile, then he smothered it, putting on an expression of sympathy. “I could tell the stress and frustration have been building lately,” he said. “We in the county have asked quite a bit of you.”

“That’s very gracious of you, Ray.” He expected, and got, a look of pained consternation on Ferguson’s face from the use of his familiar short name. “Before I go further—I hope I can trust you with some rather personal observations?”

After a pause, Ferguson coughed out a reply. “Of course, of course,” he said with too much bluster. “We’re speaking informally here. Off the record, as it were.” Ferguson smiled, his oily pull-one-over-on-the-jury no-teeth smile that Lehigh had never trusted.

Lehigh nodded. “Good, good. Ray, when I signed on to be sheriff, I expected to preside over the usual parade of bar fights and speeding tickets we’ve always found in our quiet little town. I never thought I’d be investigating a murder, of all things. I mean, we hadn’t had one in decades, then suddenly we get two, back to back. Who’d have thunk it?”

“It is unusual,” Ferguson said. “I presume this preamble is leading us somewhere?”

Lehigh sighed, drawing out the moment. He wanted Ferguson overconfident but also impatient. “But then along comes Everett Downey. A successful businessman with many partners, employees, and customers. A man of the community. Suddenly, we find the poor man murdered.”

“I don’t know about him being a ‘poor man’ at all,” Ferguson said. “Not only was he wealthy, but he had made at least one enemy that we can be sure of—the man who killed him.”

“A damned shame,” Lehigh said.

“Well, let’s not go too overboard here,” Ferguson said. “His businesses were not of the kind that build a community. Strip clubs, casinos, fly-by-night hotels—”

“All perfectly legal, whether we like it or not,” Lehigh said. “I mean, I know you wanted me to shut them down, but the man stayed within the law, for the most part.” He paused and looked Ferguson in the eye. “I mean, we never saw any of his dancers abused, or beaten up, or anything.”

Ferguson started, but recovered quickly. “Many in the community—me among them—would have liked you to be far more aggressive in enforcement of the laws he did break,” Ferguson said, and he actually sniffed. Out loud. Lehigh suppressed a laugh.

“Still, he had his friends,” Lehigh said. “Look at all those investors who were lining up to back his new shopping center. A shopping center—a very respectable enterprise, wouldn’t you say?”

“I wish I knew where this was headed,” Ferguson said with an edge in his voice. He fidgeted in his seat and offered Lehigh a nervous smile. “Perhaps you could paint the bigger picture for me? With, shall we say, broader strokes?”

Lehigh drew in a deep breath and let it out quietly. Had he strung Ferguson along enough? The man had almost no patience. He dared not push him too much further. “It’s like this, Ray,” he said. “I’m in your way. Right? We can both agree to that. We can disagree over whether I ought to be, but it’s clear, you’ve got the upper hand, and the people around here are behind you. Am I right?”

A victory smile creased Ferguson’s face. “Well, I have some advantages,” he said. “Experience, legal training, a crack staff. And of course, the evidence is on my side. I’m glad you can now see how this is all going to end.”

“Oh, definitely,” Lehigh said. “And I don’t want to be crushed by it all, you know?”

“Understandably,” Ferguson said, his tone congenial. Downright friendly, even.

“I’ll be frank,” Lehigh said. “I know you’re tired of fighting me. And I’m tired of fighting you. But if I’m going to get out of your way, I’m going to need a soft landing of some kind. You know? Some sort of job to fall into. And I don’t see myself going back to chopping down trees.” He focused on Ferguson’s eyes and got what he wanted: a glimmer of satisfaction. He’d appealed to Ferguson’s prejudices and hit a bullseye.

“I understand,” Ferguson said, “but I’m afraid I don’t have anything appropriate to offer you. You’re not an attorney, after all, and—”

“Oh, I’m not asking you to put me on your payroll,” Lehigh said. “What I would like, though, is to be able to walk out of here with a clean slate. No prosecution hanging over my head, no accusations, no besmirching of my reputation. Folks out in the business world won’t be so keen on hiring me if they think I’m in trouble with the law, you hear what I’m saying?”

Ferguson sat back, as if calculating. “You want me to drop the obstruction charges in exchange for you resigning. Is that it?”

Lehigh smiled. “Sounds like a fair deal to me.”

Ferguson mulled it over a moment, but Lehigh could read victory in his eyes. As he suspected, this had been Ferguson’s objective all along. “Well,” Ferguson said after a moment, “there are some people who might object to you walking away scot-free after all of this. But I’m willing to stand up and take the heat on that, if it clears a path to a more cooperative relationship between our departments.” He stood and extended his hand. “I’ll have my assistants draw up the paperwork.”

Lehigh ignored the offer of the handshake and pushed his chair away from the table. “Send it on over and I’ll have my lawyer give it a read-through,” he said, standing.

“Carter,” Ferguson said, also standing. “Do we have a deal or don’t we?”

Lehigh cocked his head. “Sounds like we do, but the devil’s in the details, ain’t it?” he said. “And like you said, you’ve got all that legal training and experience. So, just to be safe, let’s let my attorney help me sort all that out, shall we?”

“Fair enough,” Ferguson said, deflated. Irritation tinged the edge of his voice. “One more thing, though. What sort of job are you looking to land, once you’re out of office?”

“Well,” Lehigh said, “those investors I mentioned? They’re looking into taking over some of Mr. Downey’s properties. I thought I’d try my hand at doing some development. Sort of as a thank-you for all that Mr. Downey’s done for us.”

Ferguson paled. “You don’t mean—”

“Yes,” Lehigh said, suppressing a haughty laugh. He adjusted his hat and headed for the door, unable to suppress a childish grin. “They want to build a whole string of new strip clubs,” he said, enjoying the shock on Ferguson’s face, “and I’m going to help them.”

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Lehigh hustled out of the county building and headed for his truck. He wished he could have stayed to enjoy Ferguson’s apoplectic reaction more, but he needed to be ready when the Rev responded. He felt some guilt about his fibs, and he was shocked at how easily the prosecutor had swallowed his story about wanting to quit and build a bunch of strip clubs. But if his ploy didn’t work, he might have to quit and find a new job anyway, giving the truth to the fiction after all. Now he had to wait and watch. Where Ferguson went next would tell him all he needed to know about whether or not he was in on the conspiracy, and with whom.

Ferguson did not disappoint. Lehigh had just started the engine when the prosecutor hurried outside, barking something into a cell phone. Moments later his county vehicle sprayed gravel against a half-dozen other cars, and he left a cloud of dust in his wake as he spun onto the highway.

Lehigh followed at a safe distance, allowing a few other vehicles to weave their way between them. Dozens of “Latner for Sheriff” signs filled the grassy median dividing the highway into downtown, and almost as many lay on the ground, as if someone had mowed them down. Like, he mused with a smile, county road crews when they mowed the grass. A few billboards sported Dwayne’s face and campaign slogans, his laconic grin making him look half-stoned. A few lawn signs dotted the parking strip in front of local gas stations and banks. None appeared in the front lawns of private homes. He reminded himself to get his own signs ordered. He’d had no time to campaign since the Downey murder, and he’d lost his two key supporters—Stacy and George McBride—who’d handled things like ads and event scheduling for him.

Ferguson turned onto the main drag into town and parked in the cramped lot of Yang’s, the restaurant where Lehigh had spotted Bobby Wills with Teresa McBride. Lehigh parked in the lot of a strip mall a half-block up the road and sauntered back to the restaurant. He peeked in the back window and spotted Ferguson at a table, still on his cell phone. A moment later, the white-haired balloon-shaped figure of Elliott Jackson slid into the booth across from him. A busboy trudged by with a cart full of dishes and grimaced at two more tables loaded with dirty dishes, one on either side of Ferguson and Jackson.

Lehigh slipped away from the window and found an open door in the rear of the building, revealing a kitchen bustling with energetic busboys, cooks, and dishwashers in T-shirts and white aprons.

“Who’s in charge here?” he asked the first dishwasher, a teen-aged boy with dark hair. The boy pointed to a short, thin Asian man with straight gray-and-black flecked hair, chattering to his assistants in a language Lehigh guessed as being Cantonese. Lehigh strode over to the man and pointed to his badge.

“I need your help,” he said, enunciating each word.

The man frowned at him. “I speak English, sheriff,” he said. “My name’s Bill Yang. What do you want?”

Lehigh reddened and cleared his throat. “I need one of your staff to listen in on one of your customer’s conversations and tell me what they hear.”

“Are you investigating a crime?” Yang asked with awe in his voice and a proud smile forming on his face. “Like on CSI: Miami?”

“Yes, and you’ll have to be very discreet,” Lehigh said. “Preferably the customer shouldn’t realize they’re being overheard. Can you help me out?”

“I can,” said an Asian teenage girl in a white apron. “I always wanted to be a spy!”

Lehigh pulled her aside. “What’s your name?”

“Kim Yang.”

“My granddaughter,” Bill Yang said. “Very smart girl.”

“Kim,” Lehigh said, “there are two men in a booth in the back of the restaurant, in between two dirty tables. Can you take your time clearing the dishes away and report back to me?”

Dāngrán,” she said, and grinned. “That’s Cantonese for ‘Of course.’ Right, Grandpa?”

“Perfect!” Yang said. He turned to Lehigh. “I’m first-generation. My parents immigrated from Guangzhou when I was a kid. I make sure all of my family knows the native language and culture.”

“Can you speak only in Cantonese out there?” Lehigh asked her.

“Enough to fake it,” she said under her grandfather’s reproachful glare.

“Twenty bucks,” the old man said, pointing to himself and to Kim. “Each.”

Lehigh sighed. “Deal.” He’d pay twice that if they could find anything solid on either man.

Kim grinned. “Awesome! I need it for my college fund! I’m going to study criminology.” She grabbed an empty bus cart and disappeared into the dining room.

“Bad guys, eh?” Yang asked while loading two plates with fried wontons. “Is it those guys who say all that crap about you on TV? If you ask me, those guys are the ones we should be putting in jail. Crooked and crazy, every last one of them!”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Lehigh said. “But if you’re asking my opinion, yeah. They’re bad.”

“You go get ’em, sheriff!” the old man said. “I’m voting for you. Throw the rascals out!”

Ten minutes later, Kim returned with a cart laden with dishes. “They’re still talking,” she said. “I left a few dishes behind, so should I—”

“Go!” Yang yelled at her. “Nail those bums!” He grinned at Lehigh. “We’ll earn our twenty bucks,” he said. He offered Lehigh a wonton. “It’s free,” he said. “Try it, you’ll like it.”

“I already do,” Lehigh said with a grin. “I bring my wife here once a month.” He dipped one into a small bowl of sauce the cook slid over to him. His mood dimmed. He hadn’t brought Stacy out to dinner in well over a month. Maybe if he cracked the Downey murder case—

The girl reappeared with a refilled bus cart and started to unload it. “Let someone else do that!” Yang said to her. “Come here and tell us what they said!”

“They said something about stopping a land deal of some kind,” Kim said. “Nightclubs or something.” She turned to Lehigh. “Are you Mr. Carter?”

“I am,” Lehigh said. “Did they mention me?”

Her expression darkened. “Not in a good way,” she said. “Mr. Carter, I think your life is in danger.”

“Did they threaten him?” Yang asked.

She looked back and forth at the two men. “They said, and I quote, they were going to ‘chop you to pieces and feed you to your dogs.’ End quote.”

“Let’s hope they were speaking metaphorically,” Lehigh said with a laugh he didn’t feel. “Did they mention anyone else?”

She nodded. “They said their ‘boys’ would take care of you. I heard a few names. Wills and DuPont. They said you’d be ‘out of their hair’ by Monday. Does that mean what I think it does?”

Lehigh pulled two twenties out of his wallet and set them on the counter. “It means I’ve been blind as a mole, and that they’ve stopped being careful. Thanks for your help.”

The girl eyed the money, then glanced at her boss. Neither took the bills. Finally the old man spoke. “You keep my share of the money, sheriff,” he said. “Put it toward your campaign. Kim, you earned yours. Take it.”

The girl shook her head. “My parents would never let me take that money.” She stared at her shoes.

A waiter scooted into the kitchen and tossed a dollar bill and some loose change into a large open jar on the counter. A hand-written sticky label stuck to the jar read “TIPS—Kitchen staff.” Lehigh stuffed the two twenties into the jar. “After you graduate college,” he said to her with a wink, “look me up. I suspect I’ll be needing some deputies by then.”

“Do you want me to listen some more?” she said, as much to her boss as to Lehigh.

“You stay near them and continue to speak only in Cantonese,” Yang said. He turned to Lehigh. “We’re behind you, sheriff. So is everyone I know. We’re tired of the way things have been done around here. We want you to stay. I understand if you don’t want to, with everything these guys say about you all the time. But I hope you’ll stick it out. I really do.”

Lehigh looked around the kitchen. All of the staff, from busboys to cooks, stopped and watched him, waiting for an answer, it seemed.

His chest swelled with pride—and, at the same time, shame. How could he have ever considered quitting with all of these people depending on him and pulling for him? He owed them at least a fighting chance.

“Of course, I’ll stick it out.” He lowered his voice to a whisper. “But we don’t need to let them know that, do we?”

The grins that graced the faces in the room told him everything he needed to know about whether he’d made the right choice.

***

image

“YOU GOT TO HELP ME, Mr. Ferguson,” the young deputy said, his face a minefield of worry. “The sheriff’s got an all-points bulletin out on Dale and me, and it’s only a matter of time before he—”

“Keep your damned voice down!” Ferguson scanned the area for possible eavesdroppers. He’d agreed to meet with the young fool out of fear that he’d go rogue otherwise and jeopardize everything he’d worked so hard to build, but now he wished he’d kept his distance. They’d met in an old sports bar outside Twin Falls, a place called The Stadium, frequented by ruffians and cowboys who Ferguson doubted would ever recognize him, Wills, or pretty much anyone else from Clarkesville. Given the mid-afternoon hour and the high proportion of empty tables in the place, he felt confident in the privacy of the meeting, but no need to tempt fate.

“Sorry.” Wills sucked down the remaining half of his bottle of light lager beer and wiped foam from his lips. “What are we gonna do, Mr. F? We need a plan!”

“We’ll start with you calling me ‘Mr. Ferguson,’ not ‘Mr. F’ or—worse,” he said with a growl. He sipped on a Diet Coke, or what passed for one at this sleazy establishment. He’d call it a cup of wet ice with brown food coloring. “And of course there’s a plan. You only need to know your part of it. Anything else risks breakdown, and a failure of the entire investigation. That is something we cannot have. Do you understand?”

Bobby sucked at his empty beer bottle and slammed it on the table in frustration. “But things aren’t really going according to plan. It was all supposed to be under cover, but now the sheriff knows everything, and he’s trying to pin it all on me. What am I gonna do?” His voice disintegrated into a pathetic whine and he slouched deep into his seat, near tears.

“We each must be accountable for our own actions, Mr. Wills,” Ferguson said. He knew he sounded condescending, but this nincompoop disgusted him. No—Raymond disgusted himself. He’d picked the wrong man for this job, and for that, he had to hold himself accountable.

But not yet.

“What does that mean?” Wills said, his voice breaking. “Does that mean I’m going to go to prison?”

“If Sheriff Carter gets his way,” Ferguson said. “Is that what you want?”

“But you wouldn’t let them prosecute me, would you?” Bobby said. “I mean, I was trying to help your investigation.”

“I never authorized illegal activity.” Ferguson wagged a finger at the deputy. “If you’ve crossed the line into unlawful interference in an investigation, I’d be powerless to help you. In fact, I’d be duty-bound to ensure that charges were filed.”

“But Reverend—”

How many times have I told you not to call me Reverend?” Ferguson shouted. The few patrons keeping the bar afloat that afternoon turned their heads in his direction, and the low buzz of conversation ebbed. Luckily, country music clanged over the speakers loud enough to blur the specifics of their conversation.

Ferguson ducked his head low and covered the side of his face with one hand. “Now you listen here, Deputy. You’ve put us—especially yourself—in a bad situation. But it doesn’t have to end badly for you. It comes down to who wins: our side, the side of truth and justice, or Sheriff Carter and his secrecy, lies, and cronyism. If Carter wins, we lose. I lose the case, you lose your badge and quite possibly your freedom, and the entire county loses, because the people here will never be able to trust the criminal justice system ever again. Do you want that, Mr. Wills?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Good.” Ferguson relaxed a little and leaned over the table, lowering his voice. “We’re going to have to finish the job we’ve started, and it’s going to take courage, and fortitude, and discipline. But if we prevail—when we prevail—we’ll have restored professionalism to the sheriff’s department in this county, which is essential to maintaining law and order around here.”

“But what about—”

“You’ll have to play your part,” Ferguson said over Bobby’s interruption, “in helping those of us with the higher perspective on these things and trust us to make the right decisions, even when you don’t understand. Are you on board, Deputy? Will you help us remove that scar, that two-bit rogue lumberjack, from the highest seat of law enforcement authority in this County? Will you?”

He sat back, gauging the expression of fear and wonder on the younger man’s face. Had Raymond been convincing, or would the little weakling crumple under pressure?

“I’ll help,” Wills said, his voice a tinny squeak. “I’ll do my part, if you promise to keep me out of prison.”

“If you do your part well,” Ferguson said, “you’ll have no such worries. But if you don’t, there will be nothing I can do to protect you.” He stood and dropped cash on the table for their drinks. He hated paying for the boy’s alcohol, but he’d do it to buy the young fool’s loyalty. He stared down at him, trying not to sneer. “I’ll be in touch with further instructions,” he said in as menacing a tone as he could muster.

He donned his rarely used cowboy hat and left the bar. He had no further use for Wills, but hopefully he’d bought himself some time.

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Lehigh logged in to the secure evidence tracking database, half-expecting his privileges to have been revoked. After a few heart-stopping moments watching the mouse pointer turn into a spinning, half-frozen hourglass on the screen, the system greeted him with a welcome message and a screen full of folders to choose from.

He went first to the forensics file and perused the key facts. A few items stuck out as unresolved. On the top of that list, the footprint in the mud he’d discovered. The forensics team had verified it as a smooth-bottomed shoe, like a dress shoe, size 8½. He then opened a new window and searched the personnel file. Security limited his access to only his own department, but that suited him fine. He wanted to see if any of his own deputies had contaminated the scene, as Ferguson intimated long before, but in this case, with a footprint that Ferguson insisted incriminated McBride. Luckily, since the county provided each deputy with uniforms, the database contained each deputy’s clothing and shoe sizes.

He recalled that besides himself, only Wadsworth, Maddox, Peters, and DuPont had been present on the scene the day that the body had been discovered. None of them wore size 8½ shoes. In fact, only one deputy in the entire department wore that size shoe—Bobby Wills—and Lehigh hadn’t even hired him by then. Strike one.

Next, he checked the analysis of the tire treads. Forensics had verified that the treads matched that of a unique imported tire matching McBride’s vehicle. He’d asked his deputies to track down where McBride had purchased the tires, and to see if they’d sold those tires to anyone else in the area. They’d discovered that the tires came from a specialty shop in Portland, who had sold only four sets of tires matching those specifications in the past ten years. McBride had purchased two of them. Another set went to a customer in southern Oregon. The other, oddly enough, went to another McBride six years before: Henry, the fire chief, who bought them for his daughter, Teresa, the woman dating Bobby Wills. The only other person driving a car big enough to support such tires.

Lehigh shook his head in disbelief. What motive would she or Bobby have had to kill Everett Downey? It didn’t make sense. Strike two.

He kept digging, focusing on his own contributions to the file. The other big clue Lehigh had discovered was George’s cuff link. George had claimed no knowledge of how it got there, and said he’d never been to the scene. In fact, he’d claimed that he’d lost one of them the evening of the fund-raiser and never recovered it. It seemed unlikely that if someone in the McBride household had found it, they’d have planted it at the scene. One of the guests might have, but whom? There were dozens—all friends of McBride, ostensibly. Outside of the guests, the only people present were the hired help and a few deputies.

He froze. Which deputies? He searched his memory. He’d noticed two of them standing guard outside the Great Room, but hadn’t been on the job long enough to know all of them on sight. The party preceded his own hires, which eliminated Bobby Wills, Ruby Mac, Martin Lightfoot, and Donnell Winthrop. He recalled both guards having buzz cuts, but that applied to 80 percent of the remaining staff. The two men were young-ish, one of them athletic, the other kind of round-bodied.

He snapped his fingers. DuPont and Peters, of course. Both of whom had since been detailed to Ferguson’s team, and their tenure dated back to Buck’s hiring days. They could have found it and planted it, or passed it on to someone who did. It was a leap, but not a crazy one.

Still, the question remained: who fired the shot? Someone who shot well, and had access to an as-yet missing 30-30. Not George’s, according to his independent forensics lab, but that didn’t mean George couldn’t have fired a different gun. But so could’ve some else.

He dove back into the files, and scanned the membership list at the Twin Falls Marksmanship Club. Lots of deputies on that list—nearly all, in fact. A few were pretty good shots with a rifle. But not, as it turned out, DuPont or Peters. And Bobby Wills’ shooting was among the worst.

But two other names on the list surprised him. The same names also appeared on the list of finalists in the annual marksmanship competitions from years past. In fact, one of the names appeared as the runner-up in the 2007 rifle competition, the year that George McBride won Best Marksman. The other appeared as the overall winner three times since.

Lehigh leaned back in his chair, pondering this discovery. Everyone made a big deal about how good a shot George McBride had once been. Why, he wondered, had no one ever mentioned that the second- and third-best shots in the county were the county chair, Elliott Jackson, and the assistant district attorney, Raymond Ferguson?

***

image

LEHIGH DROVE INTO THE sunset up Brady Mountain Road, having worked late once again. He noticed a sudden proliferation of “Latner for Sheriff” signs dotting the highway. To take his mind off of it, he tried to piece together a coherent narrative explaining the Downey murder. He knew one thing: George didn’t do it. But without a more convincing suspect, he’d never convince Ferguson to drop the charges, especially with the court date looming.

As was his own. Come Monday, he’d face obstruction charges, and if indicted, he’d be in no position to help George any further. Which meant he’d never win Stacy back. His reputation would be in a shambles, which wouldn’t help him revive his forestry business, either. He could forget about getting his house rebuilt. He wasn’t even sure if he’d get his dogs back, at this point. A shame, after all they’d been through together. The loss of his house, the whole Jared Barkley murder—

Something clicked in his brain. Pieces falling in place that hadn’t seemed to go together before. Something Buck Summers said about not taking the fall for “all of it.” Sam Pullen’s remark about “who’s really guilty of murder in Mt. Hood County.” At the time, he’d assumed she meant the murder of Everett Downey. But maybe not.

Rounding a gentle uphill curve, he spotted a large vehicle on the side of the road, on the gravel parking lot adjacent to a trail head. The trail head, that is, where he’d found George McBride’s cuff link and footprints, leading to the scene of Ev Downey’s murder. And not just any large vehicle. He recognized it from the parking lot of the Chinese restaurant where he’d spotted Bobby Wills with Elliott Jackson’s secretary. A brown Chrysler 300, at least five or six years old.

He parked behind the Chrysler and made a quick phone call. “Mt. Hood County Commission office,” said a female voice. “How can I direct your call?”

“Teresa McBride,” Lehigh said.

“Speaking.”

Lehigh hung up, made sure his sidearm was loaded, and called in to dispatch. “Ted,” he said to Roscoe on recognizing his voice, “has anyone spotted Wills yet?”

“Not yet,” Ted said. “Ruby and Martin are working overtime to track him down, but his trail keeps running cold.”

“Send them out to the trailhead on Brady,” he said. “I think I’ve found him.”

He exited his truck and felt the hood of the Chrysler. Still warm, in spite of being in the shade. Then he noticed the tracks left by the tires. Deep, V-shaped ridges flared out from a half-dozen ribs, more shallow on the side farthest from the highway. Just like the ones he’d spotted when he’d found the cuff link.

Scanning the area, he noticed some trampled grass heading to the lesser-used trail, the one where he’d found the footprint.

Could be hikers. Or not.

He checked out the inside of the Chrysler. Not much. A tube of red lipstick and a package of sugar-free gum in the dash, and some sort of prayer book in the console. Otherwise clean.

Bobby might have abandoned the car there. Might be nowhere in the vicinity. Or, he might be watching nearby.

He considered waiting for Ruby and Martin to show up, decided against it. If Bobby was on the run, he needed to get on his trail right away. If he’d been listening on the radio, he’d know that Lehigh was close, and would only move faster.

Lehigh plunged into the forest, following the path, making as little noise as he could. After a short walk, the trees thinned, allowing him to scan a wide area into the distance, but he found no evidence of anyone ahead of him.

Until he reached the stream.

On the near side of the stream, across from where he’d spotted a footprint weeks ago, he spotted another, nearly identical impression in the mud. A man’s shoe, without doubt. Size 8½, give or take.

Checking the opposite side of the stream, he spotted another print, this one deeper and a mirror image of the first, pooling with groundwater. A one-footed landing by a man who’d jumped across.

Recently, and hadn’t yet returned.

Lehigh pulled out his cell phone and snapped a photo of the footprints. He took a few steps upstream and found a narrower stretch of the stream that he could step across without getting his boots wet. He regained the path and continued into the forest until he neared the clearing. He slowed his pace and hunched low into the brush until he reached the edge.

On the far side of the meadow, a round-shaped man in a beige khaki uniform sat with his back to Lehigh. His right hand rested on the ground, gripping a service revolver.

Lehigh stood, but stayed out of the clearing. “Bobby,” he called out, just loud enough for his voice to carry across the quiet meadow.

Wills started and jerked his head around, as if searching for the source of the voice. “Sh-sheriff?” he said after a moment. “Stay away! I-I’m warning you, I’ll–I’ll–”

“You’ll what? Shoot me? Not from there, you won’t.” Lehigh took a half-step to his side to further mask himself within the brush. “I’ve seen your marksmanship tests. But don’t worry, I ain’t no better.”

Bobby scrambled up to his knees and faced in Lehigh’s general direction. “You here to arrest me? I ain’t going to jail!” Bobby’s voice quavered, as if near tears. He waved the gun around like a crazy man.

“I’m hoping we can talk a bit,” Lehigh said. “Here, downtown, don’t matter. Just got a few questions for you, is all.”

“I ain’t talking to nobody!” Bobby got to his feet, his eyes still darting from one spot to another. His shirt fell open, unbuttoned to the waist, revealing a white T-shirt underneath soaked with sweat around his protruding belly.

“You been talking to folks already, from what I can tell,” Lehigh said, facing off to his right. Sure enough, his voice echoed around the meadow, prompting Bobby to spin and point the gun to his left.

Bobby turned toward Lehigh, appearing to stare right at him. “What things?” he said. He aimed his gun at Lehigh. “You set me up!” he shouted. “You lying, rotten—”

“Easy, boy,” Lehigh said, casting his voice to the left. Wills spun in that direction, gun following. “I know you want justice done, and in a professional way,” Lehigh went on. “And things are all kattywampus lately. I get it.”

Wills spun again, this time away from Lehigh. “Who’s there?” he yelled. “How many people you got here, Sheriff? You here to hunt me down?”

“Nobody,” Lehigh said. “Just me. You probably heard a squirrel, that’s all. Now why don’t we both calm down, put our guns down, and—”

“You got your gun out?” Bobby shouted, spinning again in Lehigh’s direction. “You gonna shoot me? No, uh-uh. I ain’t going down without a fight!” He straightened his gun arm and held it steady with his left hand, aiming what appeared to be a few feet to Lehigh’s left—

And fell in a heap, tackled from behind by a short, stocky blur of beige.

Moments later, a grinning Ruby Mac had Bobby pinned to the ground, her knees on his elbows, with Bobby’s own gun pointed at his face.

Chapter Forty

The gunman ducked down in the brush, alarmed by Bobby shouting about movement in the woods. The last thing he needed was to be discovered by that fool of a sheriff back at the murder scene—or worse, shot by the damn-fool deputy.

He doubted that they knew of his presence there. He’d covered his tracks well—like he did that night. No one ever thought about pointing a finger back at him. Only one living soul knew who pulled the trigger, and soon that number would be down to zero.

Or so he’d planned. But then that hayseed with a badge stumbled onto the scene and put his plans on hold. He’d initially thought to run, but his better nature cautioned him not to panic, and he stayed put, discovering a much better plan: pin it on Lehigh Carter. Carter’s impulsive temper, reckless public tantrums, and bar fights would make him a more than believable culprit. Plus, he had motive: everybody knew of his run-ins with Wills. That good-looking moron of a reporter had made sure of that.

More shouting from the clearing. He lifted his head enough to get a better view, confident that his hunter’s camouflage hat and jacket would keep him invisible to the men in the field. Except now there were two more men—no, scratch that. A man and a woman. The big Indian fellow and that woman deputy Carter had hired. Where had they come from? That complicated things—especially his plan to pin the blame on Carter. It also made movement trickier. One of them would likely hear or see him, and then he’d be done for.

He calmed himself. Time to listen, and adapt.

***

image

“YOU TWO WERE AWFULLY quiet,” Lehigh said to Ruby Mac and Martin Lightfoot once Bobby stopped squirming under Ruby’s pin move. “And fast!”

“I grew up in these woods, hunting rabbits with slingshots.” Martin held his handcuffs at the ready to cuff Bobby. “You learn to run real quiet doing that.”

Lehigh gazed down at Wills and registered the fear in the smaller man’s eyes. “We can talk here, Bobby,” he said, “or we can bring you into the jail cells, where all of the other criminals can hear you. I’m sure Buck Summers and Dale DuPont would love to know who’s selling them out to save his own skin.”

Martin Lightfoot blinked at Lehigh in surprise. “DuPont?” he mouthed at Lehigh. Lehigh gave his head a tiny shake to keep his question muted. He’d gambled by mentioning DuPont, hoping Bobby would bite.

He did. “Has Dale already talked?” Bobby said. “Is that how you found me?” He glanced from face to face. Ruby sneered at him, but said nothing.

Lehigh kept a poker face, but inside he celebrated. Bobby had just confirmed the identity of his accomplice. But he needed more solid evidence—a confession.

Lehigh squatted down next to Ruby so he could get a better look at Bobby while they talked. “Son, I may not be a lifelong cop, but I know not to reveal my sources. And I ain’t gonna squeal on you to your buddies, either, if you cooperate. But you have to help me.” He kept his face impassive, not wanting to give any clues away, waiting for Bobby to give in.

“All right,” Bobby said. “But you’ve gotta help me. The killer, he’s going to try to pin it all on me, I know he is. Help me, Sheriff!” Tears formed at the corners of Bobby’s eyes and crawled down his temples.

Lehigh stood. He decided to believe Bobby, but wanted to take no chances. “Let him up, but cuff him,” Lehigh said.

Ruby got off him and, with Martin’s help, lifted him to a sitting position. Martin cuffed his hands while Ruby Mirandized him.

“Now, you can wait for your lawyer if you want,” Lehigh said, “and face this whole thing alone. Which seems pretty unfair to me, seeing as I can’t imagine you had a personal reason to take out Ev Downey. Or you can help us all out by telling us who else was involved, in which case you’ll probably only be charged as an accessory. Up to you, though. What’s it gonna be, Bobby?”

Bobby rubbed his eyes dry on his shoulders and sniffled. “I didn’t kill nobody,” he said.

“I believe you,” Lehigh said, ignoring Ruby’s snort of derision. “I wouldn’t have hired you as a deputy if I believed you had that in you.”

“I always wanted to be a cop,” Bobby said. “Not just any old cop. I wanted to be the best. But you made it clear I wouldn’t ever be the best in your eyes, Sheriff. Making me work for her.” He shot a glance at Ruby, who grabbed her nightstick.

“Chill, Ruby,” Lehigh said. “Go on, Bobby. Is that where it all started?”

Bobby laughed. “You’re kidding me, right? It all started with the Rev. He got me to apply to be a deputy in the first place. Told me about your recruitment, coached me on my application, what to say. It was all part of his plan.”

“To get rid of me?” Lehigh asked, confident he knew the answer. “Why?”

“Not just to get rid of you as sheriff,” Bobby said. “He really wanted to know what you were up to with the investigation. He knew you’d do everything you could to get your father-in-law off the hook. That’s why he wanted me on the inside.”

“He wanted to plant you on my team so you could leak information?” Lehigh asked.

Bobby surprised him with his response: laughter.

“You don’t think that’s all he cared about?” Wills said. “Leaks? No, sheriff. He wanted protection.”

“I’m not following,” Ruby said.

“Me either,” Martin said. “Protection from who? Us?”

“I think I’m beginning to understand,” Lehigh said. “Bobby, why did you pick this spot to hide out?”

“Hide?” Bobby shook his head. “I wasn’t hiding. I was waiting.”

“Who for?” Martin asked.

“Ev Downey’s killer, of course,” Bobby said.

“We figured that much.” Ruby pushed Bobby to the ground with her nightstick. “What’s his name?”

“Cool your jets with the nightstick, Ruby,” Lehigh said.

“We don’t need to rough Bobby up to get him to tell us,” Martin said. “We’re all friends here. Right, Bobby?”

Bobby glared at Ruby Mac, then Martin, then Lehigh. “I’ve said enough,” he said. “I ain’t helping you no more.”

“You’ll talk, or I’ll take you downtown and beat you up on the courthouse lawn again!” Ruby grabbed him by the lapels and shook him. “Is that better for you? Getting whipped in public by a girl?”

“Stand down, Mac!” Lehigh pulled her off of Bobby and shoved her into Martin’s arms. “Keep her away from him,” he said. “Besides, I already know who it is.”

Bobby sneered at him. “Baloney. You don’t know nothing.”

Martin and Ruby exchanged surprised glances. “You know?” Martin asked. “Who, then?”

“Where were you the night Ev Downey was killed?” Lehigh asked. “Let me guess: right here in the meadow. Am I right?”

Bobby shook his head. “I told you, I didn’t kill nobody!” he shouted. “You can’t pin this on me!”

“No,” Lehigh said, “and I wouldn’t try to. But the district attorney would, wouldn’t he?”

Wills turned white, his mouth dropping open. His gaze shot from Lehigh to the other deputies and back. Then his face crumpled, and the tears poured out of him.

“He says I’m going to prison if I don’t help him pin it on McBride!” he cried. “Says he’ll tell everyone I was here, that the bullets match my gun, the footprint matches my shoe, and I ain’t got no alibi. I’m a goner, that’s what he said! I’m a goner!” He broke down, sobs wracking his body, and slumped sideways onto the ground.

Martin knelt next to Bobby, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Nobody’d believe you’d kill Ev Downey,” Martin said. “What motive would you have?”

“None! I ain’t got no reason to kill Mr. Downey,” Wills said through his tears. “But the Rev says I was a regular at his club. ‘Maybe Downey was blackmailing you,’ says the Rev. ‘Maybe you owe him money.’ He had a thousand reasons, he said.” Wills broke into sobs again.

Martin rested his hand on Bobby’s shoulder again. “It’s all right, Bobby,” he said. “I believe you, no matter what Ferguson or anybody else says.”

Ruby sidled up next to Lehigh. “So, if Bobby didn’t do it, who did?”

“Bobby,” Lehigh said, “what was the reason you came here that night?”

Bobby slowed his crying and managed, with Martin’s help, to sit up again. “Just to keep Downey waiting,” he said, sniffling. “Keep stringing him along so he wouldn’t leave. Make excuses as to why, uh, the person he was meeting was late. That sort of thing.”

“What did you see?” Martin asked in a soft voice, still supporting Bobby with an arm around him.

Bobby shrugged. “Not much. Like I said, at first, he was right here. Then all of a sudden, Mr. Downey fell down. I swear, he fell before I even heard the gunshot. He was bleeding from the leg, real bad. I got scared and ran into the woods.”

“Which direction?” Lehigh kept his voice calm, steady.

Bobby lifted his arm and pointed across the meadow, into the woods. “Over thataway.”

“How far did you get?” Lehigh anticipated Bobby’s answer with a glance toward the spot he’d found the bullets.

“Just–just past the edge of the field, into the trees,” Wills said. “Then I fell down.”

“And where was the gunman at this point?”

Bobby’s tears flowed like faucets again, and his voice sounded pained. “He ran right past me, into the meadow. I was laying there, and then...it was so loud...”

“Another gunshot?” Lehigh said, still in the low, calm voice. Bobby nodded, and broke into sobbing tears again, unable to speak.

“So, you didn’t take the fatal shot?” Lehigh asked him. “The one that hit him in the chest?”

“I didn’t take either shot,” Bobby said. “I was supposed to, but I froze. I–I couldn’t do it.” He ducked his head, fighting tears. “I ain’t no good as a deputy, and I’m even worse as a criminal.”

“Oh, boo hoo,” Ruby said. “Save the crocodile tears for the jury.”

“Hey, Mac, ease up,” Martin said. “The guy’s helping us here.” He gave Bobby a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “What happened next?”

Bobby shut his eyes tight, shaking his head.

“Let me guess,” Lehigh said. “The gunman left the meadow, and walked right past you, didn’t he?” Lehigh asked. “Right where you were laying?”

Bobby nodded. “He laid the gun down right next to me. He used my damned gun to kill him!” Bobby’s sobbing resumed.

“Who did?” Ruby Mac asked. “Who was the shooter?”

Bobby gave Ruby a curious stare, and his tears stopped. “You don’t know?” he asked. “After all this?”

“Tell her, Bobby,” Lehigh said. He knew, but didn’t want to say it out loud. Even now, the shock of it still shook him.

“Tell us!” Martin said. “The suspense is killing me!” He picked Bobby up by the armpits as if righting a fallen chair and set him on his feet in front of the others.

Bobby glanced at each of them in turn, a puzzled frown forming on his face. “Why, it’s the only person who ever needed Ev Downey gone from this county. I mean, we all kind of wanted him gone—me included, even though I went to his clubs all the time—but only one person’s personal ambitions made it absolutely necessary.”

“You mean, George McBride did it after all?” Martin asked.

Bobby laughed. “Don’t be ridiculous. McBride’s an egomaniac, but a total coward. He could never kill anyone. Anyway, he’s retiring from politics, ain’t he?”

“Elliott Jackson?” Ruby Mac asked. “Is he thinking he’d take George’s place in the senate?”

“That idiot?” Bobby said.

Lehigh shook his head. “He loves being the big fish in a small pond, where he can bully everybody. He knows better than to reach for anything higher than the county commission. Go on, Bobby. Name him. Tell me I’m right, as much as I can’t believe it myself.”

Bobby straightened his shoulders and looked Lehigh in the eye. “If I do, will you keep me out of prison?”

Lehigh exhaled through his teeth. “Bobby, I’ll be honest with you. It’s up to the district attorney as to what to charge you with. But I’ll do what I can, and under the circumstances, I think your willingness to testify will go a long way in this case.”

Bobby hung his head, tears flowing again. After several seconds, he lifted his head and gazed into the distant trees across the meadow. “I’ll never forget it,” he said. “It was the worst night of my life.” He shook his head, as if to shake the memory free. “The man who pulled the trigger,” he said, “was none other than Raymond Ferguson.”

Chapter Forty-One

And just like that, Plan C flew out the window, too. Damn that Wills! Damn that idiot-savant sheriff!

Assistant District Attorney Raymond Ferguson retreated into the woods, adding distance and visual interference between himself and the gathering of uniforms in the meadow.

Up until that moment, the deputies had had no clue about what had really happened. The looks on their faces proved it. Now, anything that happened to Wills, they’d trace back to him.

Unless he could break up their party, and somehow isolate Wills and Carter from the other two. Then he could make it look like an accident, or an act of police brutality. As deputy district attorney, he’d have influence, if not outright discretion, over who got charged for what. His boss, the D.A., would certainly believe him over these rubes.

Especially if the two other deputies somehow didn’t make it back either.

He retched at that awful thought, and covered his mouth to mute the sound. He hunched over on the ground and squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the black thoughts out of his mind. The body count was rising. He begged the Lord for forgiveness for even contemplating such thoughts. He’d have to beg much harder later, if he completed the awful deed.

He shook himself, forced his thoughts back to the current problem. Deal with the future later, Father always told him. He had enough problems in the present.

Such as, coming up with a plan to distract them without getting caught.

His stomach calmed, as did his tormented soul, and he crept forward, weapon drawn.

***

image

“FERGUSON?” RUBY MAC charged at Wills. Martin intervened just in time to prevent her from clobbering him. “You idiot!” she said. “Do you really expect us to believe such a desperate lie?”

“Ruby! Back off!” Lehigh grabbed her around the waist, with inches to spare between her swishing nightstick and Bobby’s unprotected face. He finally managed to swing her around and push her back into Martin’s arms. “Now hang onto her this time,” he said with a growl. He lifted Wills to his feet and held on to his arm. “I believe you, Bobby. But we’re going to need proof. You got any?”

Bobby sneered at Ruby Mac. “Yeah, I got proof. In fact, I got something that even The Rev doesn’t know. Heh.” He stood an inch taller, an expression of pride crossing his face and swelling his chest. “And it’s right nearby.”

“Don’t believe him!” Ruby said. “He’s going to lead us into a trap.”

“I have to agree with Ruby,” Martin said. “I mean, look where we are. He’d have no reason not to.”

“The Rev has sold me out,” Wills said. “It’s time to turn the tables. And I have an ace in the hole. Literally!”

“You mean to say,” Lehigh said, “you got something in an actual hole? As in, buried in the ground?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Wills said. “A key, missing piece of evidence. And I’ll bring you to it. But only if you keep me out of prison.”

“What missing evidence?” Martin asked. “The only thing missing so far is the—”

“Murder weapon,” Lehigh said. “Bobby, are you saying you know where the 30-30 that killed Ev Downey is buried?”

Wills looked from face to face and nodded. “Of course I do. It’s my own gun. I had to hide it somewhere. So, we got a deal, or what?”

Lehigh sighed, all out of patience. “Show us where it is first,” he said, “And no tricks. You try anything, and I may not be able to stop Ruby from doing whatever she wants to your face with that nightstick.”

Ruby cast an evil grin at Bobby. “Please double-cross us,” she said. “I could use the exercise.”

“I’ll show you, I’ll show you!” Bobby said. “Just get her away from me!”

“Good choice,” Lehigh said. “Now, which way do we go?”

“East, about two hundred yards,” Wills said. “If you uncuff me—”

“Not so fast,” Lehigh said. “First, you show us where. When I have the weapon in my hands, then we’ll chat about how much I can trust you with your hands free.”

“Not at all, if you ask me,” Ruby said.

Martin shook his head, his expression darkening. “I can’t believe you buried evidence here, of all places. It’s a burial ground, but for people, not murder weapons!”

Bobby’s head drooped.I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Lead us to it,” Lehigh said. He clapped a hand on Martin’s shoulder and met his baleful eyes. “We’ll make this right, I promise,” he said to the deputy.

“Follow me,” Wills said, and trudged away from the setting sun into the forest.

***

image

FERGUSON LOWERED HIS weapon and cursed. That dirty double-crossing Wills! Unless he was bluffing, this was a very bad turn of events. Very, very bad.

He’d had one clear shot at Wills, but he couldn’t take out Bobby without also engaging with Carter and his two deputies. Even on his best day, he couldn’t win a gunfight with three armed cops. And if he failed, he was done for.

He’d have to bide his time. Wait for them to find the treasure, then find a way to separate them. Pick them off one by one. Or maybe just Carter and Wills. He smiled. Yes, that was an even better plan. Get rid of Carter, then blame Wills for killing the local folk hero. An escape gone bad. Then he’d make easy work of connecting him to Downey, since only Wills knew where he’d buried the murder weapon—his own gun, to boot. From what he’d seen, the two deputies would sooner believe that than some crazy story about Ray being a killer.

The four of them disappeared into the woods. Ferguson circumnavigated the perimeter of the meadow, staying out of sight but keeping them within earshot. They weren’t even trying to stay quiet. This would be too easy.

***

image

RUBY FOLLOWED BOBBY down a fading path through the woods, one that hadn’t been used much in recent years by area hikers. Low brush tangled their footsteps and slowed their pace. It took several minutes before Wills announced, “Left, here.”

Ruby grabbed his elbow and pushed Bobby ahead of her. “I can still outrun you, so don’t try anything,” she said. “Just march straight to the spot. You hear?”

“I’m not running,” Bobby said. “I’m telling you, I’m cooperating. No tricks.”

Ruby kept her eye on the center of Bobby’s back, two steps behind him. No way he could fake her out or get away from her. Still, part of her wanted him to try. She’d enjoy smacking that smug smile off his face, along with a few teeth.

Bobby slowed, staring at the right side of the path, and she slowed with him. “We’re getting close,” he said. “It’s just a little bit...here!” He stopped and pointed with his toe. “Right there, between those ferns. I’m sure of it.”

“Stay put.” She circled around him to the spot. Sure enough, the ground had been disturbed there. Where the rest of the forest floor sported a thick bed of evergreen needles and other organic debris, the spot in question had only a thin, haphazard layer, and the soil underneath sagged under her weight. She turned to Bobby. “How deep is it?”

“Three, four feet,” he said. “And it’s covered with rocks.”

“We’re going to need shovels,” she said to Martin and Sheriff Carter, coming toward her from the path.

“I’ve got one in the back of my truck,” Carter said. He turned to leave.

Martin stopped him. “I’ll get it,” he said. “You should stay here with Bobby.” Carter nodded, and Martin hustled off.

Ruby pointed a finger at Bobby’s face. “You’d better not be pulling a fast one here,” she said.

“I swear, I’m not,” Wills said, and his face blanched. Good. She wanted him afraid. She glanced at her boss, who eyed her with amusement. She smiled at him. He was a much better boss than the one she’d had in Wasco County, who spent most of his time trying to keep her “safe,” whatever that meant.

Actually, she knew what it meant. It meant “out of the path to promotion.” Not at all like Lehigh Carter.

Suddenly, a loud Bang! echoed through the woods, shaking her out of her reverie. A gunshot!

“What the hell?” she said. “Martin? Martin?

The sheriff grabbed his radio. “Martin, you all right?” he asked in a calm voice. Like a true leader.

Ruby cursed herself and her immediate emotional outburst. She needed to learn how to keep her cool if she wanted promotional opportunities. They waited for the deputy’s reply. None came.

“His radio must be off,” Lehigh said.

“His radio’s never off,” Ruby said. “This is bad.”

Another loud bang. Definitely a gunshot.

“You want to go find him, or stay with Wills?” Lehigh asked.

She gave it a half-second’s thought. Maybe less. She didn’t trust herself with Bobby, and couldn’t bear the thought of her partner waiting alone for help, bleeding, or worse. “I’ll find Martin,” she said, and tore off through the trees.

***

image

FERGUSON WAITED. THE big Indian had broken into a run right after his first shot, then fell in a heap after the second. That surprised him—he thought he’d missed, which, at this distance and with all of the trees between them, was more likely than not. He debated going to check, to find the body, but hesitated. What if the man was lying in wait, tricking him with an ambush? He crept toward the spot, but dared not lift his head above the brush. He listened. Nothing.

Then, rustling, and footsteps...behind him.

He reacted without thinking, darting to his right, back into a thicket where he couldn’t be seen, a path perpendicular to the straight-line trajectory of the oncoming runner. She emerged from among the trees moments later, running at an Olympic clip. He’d never hit her, not with her running like that, and he dare not reveal his whereabouts. She zipped past him about thirty yards away. If she continued in that direction, she’d veer far from the spot where he’d last seen the big Indian, and run far past him before turning around. If he was unconscious, she’d never find him.

He doubled back in the direction from which she came. Back to where Wills had revealed his buried treasure, and the men he really needed to kill.

***

image

LEHIGH GRABBED BOBBY by the shoulders. “Did you bring friends?” he asked. “Was this all a trap, as Ruby suspected?”

“No, uh-uh,” Bobby said. “Like I said, I was waiting to meet The Rev—”

“Dammit!” Lehigh drew his weapon and clicked off the safety. “You said Ray didn’t know about this spot?”

“Nope,” Bobby said. “He tossed the rifle at me after shooting Downey and told me to get rid of it, where no one could find it. Including him.”

“Plausible deniability, eh? Well, he covered his tracks pretty well,” Lehigh said with disgust. “Especially since he was the one charged with uncovering all the tracks. Dammit. I should have seen this sooner. Tell me something. Why didn’t he have you bury the body with the weapons?”

“I don’t know. He had a plan, he said. That’s all he’d tell me.”

Another shot ricocheted through the woods. Closer.

“I can help fight him, if you take me out of these cuffs,” Wills said.

Lehigh laughed. The kid had nerve. “No way,” he said. “I don’t trust you yet.”

“But if he comes for us, I’m a sitting duck!” Bobby said.

“Better learn to quack, then,” Lehigh said. “And get low.” He listened, hearing only the occasional distant echo of Ruby Mac’s voice, calling for Martin Lightfoot, softer each time. Soon she’d be out of earshot. He tried the radio again. “Martin? Ruby? Someone, get back to me!”

The radio greeted his plea with static.

A twig snapped behind him. He whirled about, and just in time, flattened himself to the ground. A loud report shattered the quiet. To his right, he sensed movement.

Bobby Wills had not been fast enough to the ground. Blood smeared his uniform across the midsection. Shock filled his face, and he sank to his knees.

“Wills!” Lehigh shouted at him. Another loud Bang!, followed by the crunch of a bullet into a tree a foot away. Lehigh sprang to his feet and flattened Bobby to the ground as another shot whizzed past his ear.

“I’m hit, Sheriff,” Bobby said in a weak voice. “I think I’m gonna die.”

“Not on my watch!” Lehigh grabbed Wills and rolled with him into the brush to a downed tree, then lifted the deputy over to the other side. Another shot tore into the downed tree’s trunk, inches from Lehigh’s hip. He turned, saw movement in the woods, and fired. The sound nearly deafened him. But the movement continued, hustling away from them. Lehigh fired again. Another miss.

He did some quick math. He’d fired twice, leaving four shots in his revolver. Ferguson had fired twice at Martin, four times at him and Wills. But how many did his magazine hold? And had he reloaded?

Wills groaned. Lehigh ducked behind the log and tore off his shirt. He opened Bobby’s, nearly vomited at the sight of the all the blood. He pressed his shirt onto Bobby’s wound to staunch the flow. “Hold this,” he said, then remembered he’d cuffed Bobby’s hands behind him. He used Bobby’s belt to secure it, then fumbled for his keys—

“Drop your weapon, Carter,” said a voice.

Lehigh froze, then tilted his head back. Above him, holding some sort of cannon in two steady hands, stood a man in hunter’s fatigues. A man he recognized as Assistant District Attorney Ray Ferguson.

Chapter Forty-Two

Lehigh sat up and held his arm out, dangling the weapon over the downed log. “Raymond,” he said, “this is a big mistake you’re making here.”

Ferguson laughed and ripped the gun out of Lehigh’s hand. “My only mistake was not doing you in months ago,” he said. “Well, to be honest, I made another mistake. I admit it, Carter. I underestimated you.”

“Welcome to the party,” he said. “My own Maw and Pappy are way ahead of you on that one.”

“Get away from Wills,” Ferguson said. “I want you two six feet apart.”

“He’ll bleed to death if I let go of this bandage,” Lehigh said. “I swear, I ain’t gonna try—”

I said get away from him!” Ferguson’s voice trembled, and the force of his rage nearly knocked Lehigh back to the ground. He shook the pistol at him—whether out of nervousness or a desire to intimidate, Lehigh couldn’t tell. Either way, it meant bad news. He slid away from Bobby, hoping his makeshift bandage would hold. But the blood resumed its heavy flow immediately.

“We need to get him to a hospital,” Lehigh said. “You don’t have to—”

“Neither of you are getting anywhere near a hospital.” Ferguson shook his gun once at Lehigh’s face. “Get further away. Over by that tree. Face it, hands on your head. Now!”

Lehigh crawled on his hands and knees toward the tree, searching the horizon for any sign of his deputies. He reached the tree and leaned against it, taking his time, putting one hand on his neck, then the other. With his head bowed, he could see Wills, unconscious against the fallen tree. Ferguson stepped over the log and swore.

“Where are the damned keys to his cuffs?” Ferguson yelled.

“On my belt,” Lehigh said. He hoped Raymond wouldn’t notice the ones on Bobby’s own belt.

He didn’t. Ferguson stepped toward Lehigh. “Very slowly, I want you to give me those keys,” he said.

“Okay.” Lehigh lowered his right hand—

“Left hand, Carter,” Ferguson said. “Keep your shooting hand on your neck.”

Lehigh nodded, raised his right hand to his head, then let his left hand drift down toward his belt. Something moved ahead of him and to his right. He didn’t dare look. He could only hope. He slowed his hand’s descent.

“Hurry up, damn you!”

Ferguson’s shout shook him, and he started. Another explosion burst out of the attorney’s gun, and the tree trunk splintered above his head. Then laughter—Ferguson’s. The crazy fool! Shaking, he grabbed the keys and tossed them onto the ground to his left. Ferguson snatched them and returned to Wills. Moments later he rolled Bobby into a sitting position against the downed log and pressed Lehigh’s weapon into Bobby’s hands.

“End of the road, Carter,” Ferguson said. “Your escaping deputy is going to kill you in cold blood to cover up his murder of Everett Downey. Isn’t that elegant? I think so.”

“Actually, it’s kind of an awkward ending,” Lehigh said. “Seeing as how we haven’t yet dug up the—”

“Shut up!” Ferguson said. “We’re done talking.” He grunted, dragged Bobby closer, then pointed the deputy’s arm toward Lehigh. He wrapped Bobby’s hands around the butt end and aimed—

And fell in a heap onto the ground.

“Got him!” shouted an exuberant Ruby Mac. Grinning, she raised her weapon high: the bloody end of a dirty, round-tipped shovel.

***

image

“YOU COULD’VE JUST SHOT him, you know,” Lehigh said, handing Ruby and Martin a celebratory ginger ale back at the sheriff’s office. “Or, you know, hit him a lot sooner. What were you waiting for?”

Ruby toasted Lehigh, tapped her plastic cup against Martin’s, and sipped the fizzy drink. “I thought it better to keep him alive, so he could confess,” she said. “Besides, I’m a much better shot with a shovel. I never miss when I swing a long stick.”

“It’s true,” Martin said. “She bats cleanup on her over-thirty-five softball team.”

“Over thirty!” Ruby said, glaring at Martin.

“We all get old sometime,” Lightfoot said. His grin turned to a frown a moment later. “Speaking of which, is Bobby Wills going to get any older?” he asked. “He was in pretty bad shape when the medics arrived.”

“No word yet,” Lehigh said. “He’s still in surgery.” The room fell quiet. Lehigh’s stomach churned. He’d put Wills in greater danger by leaving him cuffed. For that matter, he’d pushed Wills deeper into Ferguson’s conspiracy with his suspicions. He’d endangered his deputies, and had his own brush with mortality once again. That had to stop. He raised his own plastic cup. “To getting older,” he said.

“To getting older,” the two deputies said in unison.

“So, boss,” Ruby Mac said, “how’d you know it was Ferguson before Bobby told us?”

Lehigh chuckled. “I didn’t know. I guessed. But I thought it was a pretty good guess. Once Bobby said that he was meeting his co-conspirator right there at the murder scene, it all kind of fell into place—the reason for the leaks, the tampered evidence, all of it. Who else but Ray Ferguson had control of all of that? And why else would they meet there, at the murder scene?”

“What about the fact that the tire tracks at the scene matched George’s car?” Ruby asked. “And how did his cuff link get there?”

“The tire tracks also match the car Bobby was driving—his girlfriend Teresa’s,” Lehigh said. “Which Ferguson knew, but chose not to point out to anyone. And George lost the cuff link a week before, at my fundraiser. He’d hired two off-duty deputies as security—DuPont and Peters. Buck named both as part of Ferguson’s conspiracy. They won’t be deputies much longer.” He sipped the ginger ale, wondering if he’d have any experienced deputies left at year’s end.

“Why Ferguson, though?” Martin asked. “What motive did the deputy district attorney have to kill Everett Downey?”

“It’s like Bobby told us in the clearing,” Lehigh said. “Ev Downey had dirt on everyone, including Ray Ferguson. Ferguson had ambitions for higher office—rumor had it he was lining up a run for state Attorney General. But he wasn’t going to get there unless he could keep Downey quiet.”

“Quiet about what?” Martin asked. “Going to the strip joint? That’s no big deal. Half the guys in town go there.”

“Yeah, but half the guys in town aren’t making public statements about shutting them down,” Ruby said, finishing her ginger ale. “Damned hypocrite.”

“Hypocrisy, unfortunately, isn’t enough to keep politicians from getting elected,” Lehigh said, “nor to motivate them to murder. But criminal activity is. And Downey knew something that few others did that could have kept Ray Ferguson from running for anything—maybe even send him to prison. That’s what scared The Rev into such desperate action.”

“What sort of criminal activity?” Ruby asked.

“When Buck Summers agreed to go state’s evidence in exchange for a deal, he said something that didn’t mean much at the time,” Lehigh said, “but it came back to me later. He said he ‘wouldn’t take the fall for him.’ At first I thought he meant just about the leaks. But he also said he’d talk about ‘the leaks’ and ‘the conspiracy’. Then, his lawyer said Buck would reveal who was really guilty of murder—and didn’t specify which one. When we found Bobby in the field, it occurred to me: Buck was in jail for a very different conspiracy. Only in that moment did I realize how they were tied together.”

“Of course!” Martin said. “How could we have not seen it sooner?”

“What conspiracy is that?” Ruby said. “Remember, I wasn’t around in Buck’s era.”

Lehigh swirled the last drops of soda in his glass and downed them. “Buck’s charged with conspiracy to murder former acting sheriff Jared Barkley,” he said. “And I’ll wager once we interview him, he’ll finger a few more names that we haven’t yet charged. And one of them is Assistant District Attorney Ray Ferguson.”

“If Buck conspired with Ferguson, why’d Downey get plugged instead of him?” Martin asked.

“They were all in it together,” Lehigh said. “Buck and Ray had made a deal that would keep Summers out of prison in exchange for keeping quiet about Ferguson’s role. But Downey remained a loose cannon. The Rev had no leverage over him, but he needed to keep him quiet so he could make a run for attorney general next year.”

“But why now?” Martin asked.

Lehigh shrugged. “I’m making a few leaps of logic here, but I do know a few things. Ferguson visited Downey’s place the same day I did—yes, I went to meet with him about the campaign. Turns out, everybody does. Then George got cold feet and backed out of the shopping center deal, putting Ev in a bind, money-wise. I’m guessing that Downey threatened to withdraw financial support of Ferguson’s campaign unless he let him put in the new strip clubs instead. One thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, Downey’s threatening to reveal all. And that,” he said, shaking his head, “was his fatal mistake.”

Chapter Forty-Three

The office had gone quiet and dark hours before, but Lehigh remained at his desk, preparing the paperwork he needed to charge Ray Ferguson with a multitude of crimes—murder of Ev Downey, destruction of evidence, conspiracy, attempted murder of Bobby, Martin, and himself—he might as well just attach the entire criminal code to his report. Buck, with Sam Pullen negotiating, had agreed to implicate Ferguson in the Barkley murder as well, in exchange for a lighter sentence. Thankfully, they’d found the 30-30 buried right where Bobby had indicated, and ballistics testing confirmed it as the murder weapon. The lab had lifted two sets of prints, one of which matched Ferguson’s, a surprising bit of sloppiness from the normally careful attorney.

Still, Lehigh was no lawyer, and he couldn’t be sure the evidence was enough to convict. Raymond’s boss, the district attorney, would need extensive documentation of the evidence before charging his hard-charging protégé.

He sighed, hit Print, and closed the document. He’d done all he could do, and setting up camp in the dark wouldn’t be much fun. Maybe he should just stay the night and sleep in the office again. The laser printer hummed to life down the hall, and he checked his email one final time.

“I thought I was the only one that worked this late.”

Jim Wadsworth’s ample frame and broad smile filled Lehigh’s view over the top of his computer screen. He sat in Lehigh’s guest chair and his expression changed to a grumpy frown. “I guess overtime is your only option, since you’re doing all the work yourself these days,” Wadsworth said.

“You want to file this report?” Lehigh said with equal mock seriousness. “All yours.”

“No, but I wouldn’t mind being in on the highest-profile collar of the century around here,” Wadsworth said. “On the one day I’m out on traffic patrol, you guys get into a manhunt and shootout in the woods. On second thought—next time, yeah, same thing. Don’t call me,” he said with a laugh.

“I couldn’t have done it without your help,” Lehigh said. “You set Bobby up good. That’s what broke him, and the case.”

“No, Lehigh. You broke the case. And, whether or not the voters around here are smart enough to realize it, the county owes you big time.” Wadsworth extended a hand. “Congratulations, my friend. It’s an honor working for you.”

Lehigh stood and accepted the handshake. “The honor’s all mine, Jim. Speaking of which, how would you like the honor of arresting Ray Ferguson?”

Wadsworth grinned. “You’re too good to me. So, let me return the favor.” He slid a form onto Lehigh’s desk.

“What’s this?” Lehigh asked, scanning the document.

“Your Certification of Eligibility, saying you’re trained and qualified to be elected sheriff,” Wadsworth said. “State requires it. I certified you on everything, but now it needs your signature. It’s due tomorrow, so don’t delay.” He handed Lehigh a pen.

“Lee?”

The two men turned in the direction of the familiar female voice, coming from the hallway. Lehigh’s heart skipped. Stacy hadn’t visited him in his office since his second day on the job, when she helped him settle in. She appeared in the doorway moments later, with worry and weariness occupying her pretty, slender face.

“I’ll grab that report off the printer and head out.” Wadsworth slipped around Stacy and out of the room.

“Stacy, I—”

“Sh.” She ambled around and sat on his desk, her legs dangling inches from his. Silence lingered for a moment. She appeared to be searching for words, and he decided to let her.

“Word on the street is that you’ve arrested Ray Ferguson for Everett Downey’s murder,” she said.

“Dammit, I thought I’d plugged all of our leaks,” Lehigh said with a half-smile. “Anyway, that’s a bit premature, by just a few minutes. And a bit incomplete. He’s also going down with Buck and Paul van Paten for the Jared Barkley murder. When we’re done with him, he’s going to need a lifetime reservation in the state penitentiary, and then some.”

“That’s amazing!” Stacy jumped off the desk and wrapped her arms around him, crushing the air out of his lungs. He didn’t mind, though.

“We haven’t told the D.A. yet, so the charges haven’t been dropped against your father,” he said when he could breathe again. “I expect we’ll be able to take care of that tomorrow.”

“That’s wonderful.” She continued to hold him. He held her, too, and it felt good. He’d missed that feeling.

She took a deep breath, which signaled to him that she had something else to say. With reluctance, he loosened the embrace and gazed into her eyes with an expectant look. She blinked and smiled. “You know me better than I know myself sometimes,” she said.

“I doubt that, but thank you,” he said. “Stacy, this job. It’s been bad for us. I’ve been thinking—”

“Don’t you dare say it.” She pressed an index finger to his lips. “You’re a wonderful sheriff. And we need you. The county needs you—and I need you.” She pressed herself close, holding him tight again. “At first, I thought different. When you arrested my father, I thought you were just out for revenge or something. But I have to admit, it did look pretty bad for him. You were in a tough place. You did your job, with honesty and integrity, no matter where the chips fell. Not many people are capable of that.”

“I hurt you,” he said. “I’m so sorry.”

“I hurt you, too, and I’m sorry,” she said, rocking a bit in his arms. “But you didn’t let it stop you. You kept looking for the truth—and never gave up, even when everyone else, including some very powerful people, didn’t believe you and seemed determined to stop you. You risked a lot.” She pulled back and gave him a wry smile. “Maybe even too much.”

“I risked losing you,” he said. “That was definitely too much.”

Her eyes welled up, and she brushed away the tears threatening to wet her cheeks. “Nobody else believed that my father was innocent. You kept up the fight. It’s because of you he’ll be proven innocent. And you did it, not because he’s my father, but because it was the right thing to do.” She brushed away another tear, but missed the next one, and it trickled down to the smile forming on her lips. “I’m proud of you,” she said.

He pulled her in close again, and the lump in his throat kept him from trying to speak for a long time. When he finally managed words, it came in the form of a question. “So you don’t think I should quit?”

“No.” She shook her head against his shoulder. “Definitely not.”

A warm feeling arose in his chest. She was right: the people in the town looked up to him to stand up to the likes of Ray Ferguson and Elliott Jackson. If he didn’t, no one else would, and he’d suffer as much as they would.

But the work wasn’t done, and it came at a high cost. Continuing meant more long hours, hard fights, and putting up with people like Bruce Bailey smearing his reputation. The thought wearied him. He fought off a yawn—unsuccessfully.

“You must be exhausted,” she said, patting his shoulder.

“I’m ready to sleep standing up right here,” he said. “And I still have a ways to drive, and a tent to pitch, and—”

“A tent?” She pulled back, and her eyes filled with alarm. “You’ve been sleeping in a tent? Where?”

“On my land,” he said. “It’s not so bad, really. Except when Melvin Crabb and his construction crew show up early, and—”

“Lehigh,” she said, “tonight, and from now on, please. Come home, and sleep in our bed.”

He’d never heard such beautiful words in his life.

Chapter Forty-Four

“Any word yet?” Jim Wadsworth asked Lehigh, handing him an open bottle of beer. Lehigh shook his head, having given up long before on trying to shout over the din. The expanse of the Great Room buzzed with loud conversations trying without success to drown out the chipper so-called polling analysis proffered by Bruce Bailey on the 70-inch screen above the luxurious mantel. Despite its size, the television seemed dwarfed by the crystal chandeliers hanging from the high ceilings and marble floor-to-ceiling Roman-style pillars. A guitar band occupied a small elevated stage in one corner, playing classic pop hits, contributing more volume to the chaotic rumble. Dozens of people, maybe hundreds, filled the room. George McBride had insisted on opening the party to “all of the good people who support you,” including people who had never before seen such opulence.

He adjusted his tie and loosened the collar of his shirt. He’d opted to dress in his official uniform for the election night party, and Stacy, after giving up on convincing him to wear a tuxedo, had insisted on at least starching and pressing his uniform for the event. “You have to look good for the cameras,” she’d said. He’d argued that it was impossible, but acquiesced.

She tugged at his elbow and pointed across the room. A cadre of deputies entered, led by Ruby Mac and Martin Lightfoot, and the room parted like the Red Sea as they made a beeline for Lehigh. “We just came from the county elections office,” Ruby shouted into his ear. “They’re predicting a record turnout!”

“That’s good for us, right?” Stacy asked.

Lehigh shrugged. “Bruce Bailey’s polls had it too close to call yesterday,” he said. “With all the money behind Dwayne’s campaign, they could be buying a huge get-out-the-vote effort. I heard they had fifty people knocking on doors.”

“They knocked on mine,” said a voice behind him. “And I threw them off my porch, physically!”

Lehigh turned to identify the speaker, and received a big hug from Phil Reardon, his old high-school pal. “I went and knocked on every door in my neighborhood after that,” he said. “I made sure everyone knew to vote for you. And most said they would.”

Behind Phil, the tiny, bushy-haired figure of Dot wandered by, her eyes glued to the elaborate designs on the cathedral ceilings. She spotted Lehigh and rushed over to shake his hand. “I told everyone who came into my shop to vote for you or I’d burn their eggs,” she said. “Business has never been better!”

“Neither have the eggs,” said a familiar voice.

Lehigh turned, not believing his ears. A moment later, he couldn’t believe his eyes. The wiry frame of a silver-haired man in baggy overalls and a red flannel shirt stood next to a short, stick-figured woman with a halo of white hair.

“Pappy? Maw? What are you doing here?” Lehigh’s breath left him. He wondered if his heart would start beating again.

“You invited us,” Pappy said. “You said there’d be dinner.”

“I’ll show them to the food,” Stacy said with a grin, hooking their arms and walking them toward the buffet table.

Lehigh spotted Ben Wright roaming the hall by himself and made his way over to him. “I appreciate you being here,” he said, shaking Ben’s hand.

“I appreciate you being sheriff,” Ben said. “Rumor had it you were on your way out the door. I’m glad to see you sticking it out. We need someone in there willing to fight the real crooks.” He waved at the TV, now depicting mugshots of Ray Ferguson, Buck Summers, and Paul van Paten with the caption, “Notable Arrests by Sheriff Carter.”

“Hear, hear!” exclaimed a small gathering of townspeople nearby, led by the plump figure he recognized as his regular waitress at Shirley’s Cafe. “Lock ’em up!” shouted another, and the group burst into nervous laughter.

The ballroom doors opened again, and the slender frame of Donnell Winthrop backed into the room. He turned, and Lehigh spotted the reason for his awkward entrance. In front of him, grinning in his wheelchair, sat Bobby Wills. Donnell rolled him over to Lehigh.

“Look who got out of the hospital today!” Donnell said, beaming. “Into my custody.”

“Technically, isn’t he supposed to go to jail now?” Stacy asked.

“We’re on our way,” Donnell said with a grin. “But I thought we’d stop for a bite to eat and a little celebration first. Tell ’em who you voted for, Bobby.”

Wills blushed and extended a hand to Lehigh. “It may be the last time I get to vote in a while,” he said. “And I know it doesn’t get me out of any of the trouble I’ve caused. But you earned my vote, even if you do put me in jail.”

Bruce Bailey’s face appeared again on the TV screen, and voices across the room shushed each other. “They have the results of the race!” someone shouted, and the room quieted. Someone found a remote and turned up the volume on the television.

“Polls have closed in Mt. Hood County, and we have early returns and a projected winner in the sheriff’s race,” Bailey said, his face giving away nothing.

“That’s not good,” Lehigh said.

“Early returns means the big money wins,” someone behind him said in a dull voice.

“Shush!” Lehigh recognized Stacy’s voice admonishing the nay-sayer, and a moment later she wrapped her arms around him. “Let’s go up front,” she said. “People want to see you.” She pointed to a raised platform where her father had gathered local notables for the cameras. Next to him, Desmond Mitchell smiled and fist-pumped, then waved him up.

“Let’s wait until we hear some numbers first,” Lehigh said. Knots formed in his stomach. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to see on the screen. Part of him wanted to go back to logging and forestry, but another part wanted vindication for the work he’d done for the people in the room around him. He closed his eyes, holding Stacy close to him.

“Unofficial returns indicate,” Bailey said, “and our exit polls confirm, a commanding lead in the sheriff’s race for—”

Lehigh couldn’t hear the end of Bailey’s announcement, because the room erupted in a roar of shouting and table-pounding. They sounded mad. Dangerous, even. “I don’t believe it!” someone said, a voice that sounded like Phil’s. Stacy squeezed him and kissed him in a comforting way. He sighed, holding her tight, not wanting to open his eyes to see the result.

So, this is how it would end. He’d served his community as interim sheriff for a few months and would gracefully give way to the new incumbent, elected by the people. He knew Dwayne to be a fool, but the public loved electing fools, and he needn’t be bitter about it. No, he’d work as diligently for Dwayne’s transition as he had as acting sheriff, and then go back to tending his forest and selling logs to lumber mills. No indignity in any of that.

“Speech!” someone shouted, someone that sounded a lot like George McBride. “Where’s our man? Let’s hear a few words from Lehigh!”

Lehigh shook his head, burying his face in Stacy’s soft hair. “Tell me I don’t have to go up there and give a concession speech already,” he said. He’d prepared one, of course—if one could call a half-dozen thank-yous jotted on an index card a speech. He’d not even gotten around to preparing a victory speech. Why bother?

“What are you talking about?” Stacy shook him by the shoulders. “Lehigh, open your eyes! Look at the screen!”

He did, and couldn’t believe what he saw. In large block letters on the screen, he read:

Precincts reporting: 31%

* Carter 74%

Latner 24%

Other  2%

* Projected winner:  Lehigh Carter

“Other?” he said, dumbfounded.

“You won, Lehigh!” Stacy said. “Big time! Look at that! Listen to this crowd. The people love you!”

He gazed around the room, dazed. Happy faces smiled back at him, and someone started a chant: “Le-high! Le-high! Le-high!”

Pappy appeared out of nowhere, wiping barbecue sauce from his lips and grinning. He extended his hand for a shake. “Congratulations, son,” Pappy said. “I’m proud of you. Aren’t you glad you didn’t quit?”

“I won?” Lehigh said. “How the hell did that happen?”

The screen image changed to show Ray Ferguson in handcuffs at the county courthouse, captioned “Earlier today.” Stacy pointed at the screen. “That’s how, Lehigh,” she said. “Now, get up there and give us a victory speech!”