Part 9 (1/2)
”I know that's what you think, but his death was ruled a suicide.” There it was. The bone of contention.
”He wouldn't do that to . . . to the girls,” she insisted, then more softly, ”or to me.”
”We know who killed the sheriff,” Pescoli reminded the distraught woman seated on the edge of one of the visitors chairs positioned near her desk. The detective's gaze moved to that of Cade Grayson to include him in the conversation. ”There's no argument. That man's behind bars. He'll be prosecuted and convicted.”
”Are you sure?” Hattie asked.
Dear Jesus, yes! I saw Dan go down, I witnessed him take the bullets. And I was there when the son of a b.i.t.c.h who killed him was arrested. I almost lost my own d.a.m.n life to that psycho. Though her emotions were roiling, she managed to keep her voice calm. ”Of course.”
Hattie squeezed her eyes shut and held up her hands, fingers spread wide as if she knew she'd stepped over the line. ”Yes, I know that you got Dan's killer, but you told me you'd look into Bart's death again. Reopen the case.” Blinking rapidly, she swiped under her eyes with a finger.
Pescoli located a box of tissues under an unruly stack of papers. Nudging it around two near-empty cups of decaf to the far side of the desk, she said to Cade, ”You think someone killed Bart, too?”
”Don't know.” His jaw slid to one side and Pescoli remembered that Cade had been the unlucky person who had found his brother's body hanging from a crossbeam in the barn.
”Could be.” A couple years younger, Cade looked a bit like Dan with his long, lean body, square jaw, and intense eyes. The Grayson genes were strong enough that a family resemblance was noticeable, though he was a couple inches shorter than the sheriff had been, and, from all reports, a lot more of a h.e.l.lion in his youth. He'd ridden the rodeo circuit, only recently returning to Grizzly Falls. ”Bart was having his problems,” Cade said, his gaze drifting to Hattie for a second. ”We all know that.”
Hattie's face grew more ashen.
”But she's right,” Cade said, hitching his chin toward his ex-sister-in-law. ”Bart loved those girls and it seems unlikely that he would take himself out, denying McKenzie and Mallory from knowing their dad.”
Pescoli felt trapped. ”Look, I said I'd look through the files, and I will. But I didn't mention reopening the case.”
”Semantics,” Hattie said.
”More than that. A major difference.” Pescoli wanted to make certain they understood her position.
”Just, please.” Hattie swallowed and plucked a tissue from the box to wipe her eyes. Too late. Mascara was already beginning to streak her cheeks. Clearing her throat and standing, she said, ”I know you were a good friend to Dan, and your partner Selena . . . she and Dan were close.”
Pescoli waved a dismissive hand indicating that she didn't understand but accepted Alvarez's romantic fantasies about their boss.
”Dan would want whoever killed Bart to be brought to justice,” Hattie said determinedly.
That much was true. Pescoli reminded, ”If he was murdered, but-”
”He was murdered!” Hattie leaned over the edge of the desk so that she could meet the doubt in Pescoli's gaze with her own conviction.
Pescoli rose from her chair and said firmly, ”We don't know that.”
”That's because when he died, everyone just a.s.sumed the worst,” Hattie stated. ”So, you're right, we don't know, but it's your job to find out.”
”His death was investigated at the time. Even his brother-”
”Dan was never satisfied about the outcome,” Cade put in, straightening. They were all standing in the room, regarding each other tensely.
Hattie lifted her chin. ”If it makes you feel any better, Detective, don't do this for me. Do it for Dan.” With that she walked away, her sharp footsteps echoing along the hallway.
Cade said, ”She's serious about this, you know. And Dan wasn't happy with the outcome of the investigation, though, of course, he wasn't sheriff at the time. I know you weren't involved then, either, but if you've got the time, I'd appreciate it.”
Something in his eyes reminded Pescoli of his older brother. For a second, she imagined the sheriff standing in front of her. But then Cade squared his hat onto his head and followed after Hattie.
Pescoli looked at the case files stacked on the corner of her desk. Deeter Clemson's fall to his death, Jimbo and Gail Amstead's domestic violence case where each had ended up in the hospital, Ralph Haskins's suicide, as well as the new, deceased Jane Doe. Throw her personal life into the mix, and she really didn't have time to dig into a long-closed suicide just because the ex-wife and beneficiary of the life insurance policy wanted her to. As Pescoli understood it, the insurance company had balked at paying the benefits to Hattie and her twin daughters as it was determined that Bart had taken his own life.
Pescoli really shouldn't bother with Bart Grayson's death. The case had been investigated and closed, but Hattie's final words echoed through her mind. If it makes you feel any better, Detective, don't do this for me. Do it for Dan.
”Oh, h.e.l.l,” she muttered and knew that she'd dig through the case file. Just a cursory look, then maybe her guilty conscience would be a.s.suaged.
Then again, probably not.
Ryder ga.s.sed up his truck at a station-convenience store with the unlikely name of Corky's Gas and Go. Sounds bad any way you cut it, he thought as he replaced the nozzle and, hands deep in his pockets, dodged a minivan and a Prius parked beneath the broad canopy covering several pumps. A fuel truck had pulled around back, ready to refill the underground tanks, and a woman in a long coat and boots nearly ran him down as she pushed open the gla.s.s door to the market about the time he was walking in.
”Watch where you're going,” she said as she hurried outside.
Ignoring her, he walked past her to where the heater was cranked to the max, a wall of hot air meeting him as he strode down the aisles to the back case and grabbed a beer and a couple bottles of water as the H20 that flowed from the tap of his room at the River View wasn't exactly pristine.
A girl in her early twenties was manning the register in a tank top; it was that warm inside. ”Hire anyone yet?” he asked, motioning toward the HELP WANTED poster taped to the gla.s.s just inside the door.
”Nuh-uh. Don't think so.” She rang up his purchases. ”You get gas?”
”Pump six. Any applicants?”
”Corky, he's the owner, just put up the sign this mornin'. It's still pretty early.”
”What's it for?”
”You interested?”
”Maybe.”
”Well, you have to take a drug test and submit to a background check.” She rolled her eyes, indicating that was a pain. ”Then, you start helping out at the pumps. Some people don't like to pump their own, y'know?” Another eye roll. ”Corky's a stickler,” she said.
Ryder decided Anne-Marie wouldn't take a chance on a background check. No, she'd find a job where the owners of the establishment weren't as conscientious as Corky.
Of course, there was always Grayson.
Ryder could go right to the source.
But he didn't want to spook her and there was more than a little bad blood between Cade and himself. And there was that little problem about Cade just losing his brother. The man might be hair-trigger touchy and who knew how it would go down if Ryder just showed up and Grayson was harboring Anne-Marie. If she caught wind that he was on to her, no doubt she'd bolt again.
For now, Ryder needed the element of surprise, so he had to be careful.
He bought a couple maps of the area that he'd study then keep in his truck, as the Internet service was often spotty, especially when he was driving in the hills. Besides, sometimes he got a better feel for the land with an old fas.h.i.+oned map rather than wireless Internet service. Climbing into his truck, he drove through town again.
Three times already he thought he'd caught a glimpse of Anne-Marie in the small town, and three times he'd been wrong. He'd gone through Craigslist, the want ads, and any Internet Web site that listed houses, rooms, and apartments to rent. He'd scoured through ads from a few weeks earlier, but had come up with nothing. At the same time, he'd gone through the motions of checking listings for job opportunities, marking off those that he thought would require background checks.
In the past, he'd always been one step and three or four weeks behind her, nipping at her heels, only to reach the town in which she'd landed to realize, after a week or two, that she'd taken off again. It always took a while to discover her next move.