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GORDON HUSTLED TO HIS office and grabbed the receiver. “Mrs. McKenna. This is Gordon. What can I do for you?”
“I managed an early appointment for Ike today. Just overnight, he’s forgotten we no longer have a dog, and he couldn’t remember whether he’d had breakfast or brushed his teeth. The neurologist ran extensive tests and discovered a brain tumor. Symptoms often mimic dementia. There will be additional tests, and we’ll determine a course of treatment once he gets the results.”
From the shaky timbre of her voice, she was having trouble holding herself together. “I’m so sorry.”
A deep intake of breath. “Magda is going to put together a statement that Ike will be taking some personal time off, and Jeremiah Illingsworth will serve as interim mayor. She will include a clause saying Ike requests no major changes to personnel or the budget be made until after the election in November. I hope this gives you a little peace of mind.”
Gordon knew all too well that when it came to politics, requests had little meaning. He envisioned a meeting with Illingsworth, most likely after tomorrow’s council meeting.
“If there’s anything I can do,” Gordon said. Empty words, but sometimes platitudes were all he had at his disposal.
“Keep Mapleton safe,” she said. “A public statement will be issued later today, which should come out in the Mapleton Weekly on Friday.”
“If you want, I can make sure it’s added to our city website,” Gordon said. “Just email me the text once you’ve finished, and I’ll get it to the webmaster.”
“I will. For now, I’d like everything to be viewed as temporary where the public is concerned.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll ask Magda to keep you informed of anything that impacts your duties. I suggest you bring your admin into the loop.” Her tone was stronger, as if now that she’d made the decision, she was going to step in and make sure things were done right.
“I appreciate your help, and rest assured, Laurie is the epitome of discretion. Right now, you need to concentrate on taking care of your husband.”
Gordon disconnected. Although he didn’t know Mrs. McKenna well—their interactions had been primarily during official functions or formal social events—his heart ached for her.
He spent several moments with memories of his parents before going to the briefing room, where he stared at the meager notations on the whiteboard, but his mind was elsewhere. He stopped at Laurie’s desk on his way to his office. “Is my request for a report comprehensible to everyone on the town council giving you trouble?”
She smiled up at him. “Not at all, Chief. I have a draft of the layout. Is this close to what you had in mind?” She scooted her chair back so he could see her computer screen.
He gave a low whistle. “Have I ever told you how much I appreciate your talents?”
She replied with her stock, “Not often enough.”
“Seriously, Laurie, this will knock their socks off.”
“I’ll have it finished in under an hour.”
“Fantastic. First, I need you in my office for a moment, please.”
Behind closed doors, Gordon relayed a condensed version of what Mrs. McKenna had said. “Doesn’t leave this office yet.”
Her expression was a mixture of shock and sorrow. “Understood, Chief. I’ll do whatever you need.”
“I’m sure Magda will keep you apprised of any changes.”
Gordon left her to her work. Since his brain insisted on devoting itself to the case, he’d dig deeper into Hayden Johnston’s background. Thirty-five-years old, single, one older sibling. Moved into the trailer park four years ago. Business wasn’t booming, but enough to get by. Seemed to be living well within his means.
A simple internet search brought up numerous articles and pictures. Gordon was scrolling through them when Solomon called to say he was on his way to the station. “Johnston has agreed to come in on his own. He’s following me.”
“Makes things easier,” Gordon said. “I’ll meet you in Interview.” He resumed his searches until Solomon alerted him he had Johnston in the room.
“On my way,” Gordon replied. “I found something interesting.”
Solomon waited outside the station’s sole interview room, and Gordon joined him.
“What did you find?” Solomon asked.
Gordon attempted to mimic Solomon’s eyebrow waggle. “Guess whose big sister is a Realtor? Hint. His nickname is a very large member of the deer family. With huge antlers, if you need a bigger clue.”
“Gee, I might need another hint.” Solomon rubbed his chin. “Wait. Could it be ... a moose?”
“Yep, and she works for one of the branches of the company Johnston claimed to work for.”
“You think she’s complicit?” Solomon asked.
Gordon frowned. “It’s a branch way the hell out near the Kansas border. I called her, and she denied having clients looking for homes in Mapleton, checked the records—it’s a two-person office—and nobody has ever shown the property. Hayden Johnston is her brother, but she’s never heard of Mark Simpson.”
“Let’s go in.” Solomon opened the door. “You can be the nice guy.”
They moved into the room and Gordon took a position leaning against the wall. Solomon sat at the small wooden table covered with stains, scratches, and gouges accumulated over the years.
Once they were settled, Gordon moved closer, placed the water bottle he’d brought in the center of the table. “Mr. Johnston. I’m Chief Gordon Hepler. Help yourself to a drink if you get thirsty. If you need to use the restroom, let us know. The door’s not locked, so there’s nothing requiring you to stay.”
“I’m fine. Glad to help. You can call me Moose.”
“All right, Moose. Let’s cut the formalities.” Solomon dictated time, place, and who was in the room into his recorder and set it in the middle of the table. “The sooner you answer our questions, the sooner you can go.”
“Sure. Whatever.”
“When’s the last time you talked to your sister?” Solomon asked.
Moose’s eyes rounded. “Huh?”
“Not a hard question,” Solomon said.
“I thought this was about Dorian Fowler. My sister? Guess it’s been months—maybe last February for her birthday. We don’t talk much. She keeps trying to get me to sell real estate with her. Not a job I could get behind. Easier to avoid talking so she doesn’t nag.”
“I understand Dorian Fowler worked for you from time to time. Is that correct?”
Moose nodded, and Solomon reminded him to verbalize his answers for the recording.
“Correct,” Moose said. “Dorian Fowler worked for me now and then.”
“What did he do when he worked for you?”
“Whatever I told him to. Mowing, trimming, weeding, planting. He knew the drill.”
“Was he a willing worker, or did he object to any of the tasks you set for him?”
“Wasn’t big on fertilizing, but nah, he was a dependable grunt.”
To Gordon, aside from the brief hesitation when Solomon had asked about the sister, Moose’s responses were rapid and pat. As if he’d rehearsed them. Gordon moved away from the wall, closer to the table. “You get along with everyone in the trailer park?”
Moose’s head jerked around, as if he’d just remembered Gordon was in the room. “Sure. You know, we’re like our own little city. Family.”
“Families fight from time to time,” Solomon said. “It’s normal. What about your neighbor, Mrs. Pinchon? You get along with her? She’s got a daughter, I understand. Can’t recall the name.”
“Krystal.”
“Right. Good looking, too.”
Moose shrugged, but a red flush spread across his neck. Gordon’s radar gave a quiet ping. He returned to his spot against the wall. Solomon had picked up the ball and Gordon trusted him to run with it. From his pocket, his cell vibrated. A text from Laurie.
Asel is on the phone.
“Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I have to deal with something.”
Solomon picked up the recorder, noted Gordon was leaving.
In his office, Gordon grabbed the phone. “Hepler. Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not to worry,” Asel said. “Best estimate of TOD is between twenty-three hundred hours on Saturday and zero five hundred on Sunday, taking into account the ambient temperature in the house and the estimated quantity of ice in the tub. COD was a severe blow to the abdomen resulting in internal bleeding. Interesting bruise pattern, though.”
“Interesting how?” Gordon asked.
“Looks like he was jammed with a rake—not the flimsy leaf kind, but a sturdy one that’s a cross between a rake and a hoe.”
“Thanks.” Gordon hung up and started working on a warrant for Johnston’s trailer and his vehicles, sending a quick text to Solomon to relay what Asel had said. Once he had the affidavit completed and submitted, there wasn’t a lot they could do—legally, anyway—except wait.
Laurie let him know she’d finished his report and had emailed it to him for approval. “Jeremiah Illingsworth wants to see you tomorrow morning, same time as your original meeting with the mayor. I’ve made the change on your calendar.”
“Got it, thanks.” He opened the report file, told her it was fantastic, and had her print enough copies for everyone who’d be at the meeting tomorrow. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
He felt her smile over the phone. “Good,” she said.
He was about to return to interrogation when Laurie buzzed him again. “You have a call from a Lieutenant Oscar Lamar in Evergreen.”