Silence in West Fork: A small town police procedural set in the American Southwest (The Pegasus Quincy Mystery Series Book 5) Read online

  “My boss,” she gasped. “Jill Rustaine, up there.”

  My fear turned to relief as I realized that the blood covering her was not her own. But that meant nearby, someone was seriously injured.

  “Where, Thorn?”

  She pointed mutely back to where she’d come from and collapsed in heaving sobs.

  A hundred feet farther up the hillside, I found the woman. Her chest and face were covered with blood, her eyes empty and staring. And beside the body lay a bloodied hunting knife.

  I circled carefully around the knife and I checked for a pulse. None. I dialed 911.

  “This is Family Liaison Officer Pegasus Quincy. Patch me through to the sheriff’s office. I’m in West Fork Canyon. We’ve got a murder on our hands.”

  I stared at the bloody body in front of me, torn between two opposing forces. As a law officer, my responsibility was to stay here and secure the scene. But somewhere down there Thorn was shocking out, and Reckless was in the hands of a stranger.

  I surveyed my surroundings. The steep red rock cliff rose behind me, and to either side, heavily wooded areas with creosote and prickly pear created a thick undergrowth. Unlikely there would be anyone casually intruding for a few minutes. I’d have to accept that chance. I dashed down the hill to collect Thorn and Reckless and bring them closer.

  Thorn huddled on the ground weeping. Not good, but also not likely to be acting on her own anytime soon. Farther down the trail, there was no sign of the man in olive green. But Reckless was tied to a branch of a scrub oak tree. When the dog spotted me, he jerked free and covered my face with wet slobbery licks.

  I stopped a jogger on the main trail.

  “There’s been an accident,” I said.

  “What accident? Can I help?”

  No, I thought. And I didn’t need more spectators to make my job harder.

  “Just keep people away and send the cops up there when they arrive.” I affixed a red bandana to a scraggly fir as a marker.

  Then, with Reckless in tow, I returned to Thorn.

  “Thorn, what happened?”

  “Nothing happened!” She shook her head in denial.

  Now was not the time for the snotty-teenager act.

  “Thorn, listen. In a few moments, a bunch of law enforcement people will appear on that trail. There’s a dead body up there, and you’re covered in blood.”

  She hiccupped and swiped a hand across her face.

  “I got lost, and then I heard this noise. Like a bear or a mountain lion.”

  I looked at her doubtfully.

  “I’m not crazy! My dad told me there were still black bears out here.”

  There were predators in these woodlands, only now we faced the worst kind.

  “Then this guy ran by me.”

  “Tall, short?”

  She reflected. “Medium height. White.”

  “Hair color?”

  “Dark? Blond? I don’t know. It happened so fast!”

  “Did he have a beard?” I asked. Could it have been the mountain man who had directed me to the bloody scene?

  Thorn squeezed her eyes shut, trying to recall.

  The problem with eyewitnesses. The trauma she’d experienced would cloud any story she might have to tell. Worse, in spite of my training, I put leading thoughts in her mind.

  “I remember now. He did have a beard,” she said triumphantly. “I think.”

  “Then what?”

  “Well, he left, but I still heard movement up there. I was curious, so I investigated.”

  “And?”

  “And then I saw my boss, Jill Rustaine. She was dead!”

  “How did you know? Did you touch her?”

  “She had this knife sticking out of her chest.” Thorn sniffled. “I went up to her and pulled it out, and this blood dribbled out, and I got it on my hands.”

  She scrubbed at the stains, sobbing uncontrollably.

  “You touched the knife?”

  If she was telling the truth, the blood meant Jill might have been alive when Thorn first reached her, but nearing death. And then she contaminated the scene with her own fingerprints on the murder weapon.

  “What happened to your backpack?” It wasn’t on her now. And technically, it was my backpack, on loan, which meant my property was now evidence in a murder case.

  “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  Thorn leaned over and vomited into the mat of pine needles covering the forest floor, narrowly missing my boot. I shoved the dog leash into her hand.

  “Reckless will protect you,” I said. “Come back up as soon as you can.”

  I scrambled up the hill to the murder scene. The woman still lay sprawled in the same position. I moved to where I’d seen the knife. The leaves were bloody and stained, but the weapon had disappeared. And in plain sight, propped against a tree was Thorn’s missing backpack.

  Had the killer circled back after I’d left?

  I replayed my interactions with the man who had held Reckless. He didn’t seem like a murderer. But I’d been wrong before. Murderers often liked to witness the aftermath of their deeds, one reason why we sent officers to funerals to see who showed up. But for the man to sit there in plain sight and point me toward the murder scene?

  I’d leave that to the investigators to untangle. This wasn’t my problem. The West Fork tributary was located in the county north of my Anasazi County. I was tempted to remove the backpack but hesitated. Better not touch it. I’d caused enough damage already, abandoning the murder scene.

  Surely Thorn was only a casual passerby, not even a witness to the murder of Jill Rustaine. On the other hand, the teen had a troubled and uneven past. There’d been that fight at school which Shepherd said wasn’t her fault. And were there problems at work as well? Could the moody teen have been upset enough to kill her boss?

  I just didn’t know, nor did I want to. But Thorn was in big trouble. And like it or not, I was right in there with her.

  CHAPTER 2

  COOPER DAVIS, the new detective in the small town of Flagstaff, Arizona, slept through his alarm. He’d driven through the night, arriving just as the sun rose over the ponderosa pine trees. He’d hoped to catch a few hours of sleep before reporting to his new job. That didn’t happen.

  Now the cat was yowling in his ear and the clock on the nightstand said nine a.m. He pulled his cellphone off the flat charger and shook it. Dead. Maybe they’d sold him a defective model. He’d read about that. Batteries exploding. He’d seen the pictures. If it was faulty, they’d replace it and give him a new one for the trouble, too. He’d make sure of that.

  He stumbled into the tiny bathroom and splashed water on his face. No coffee, either. The pot was somewhere in the U-Haul trailer parked out back. They better not give him a parking citation, either. He was the Law.

  The view out the tiny living room window centered on a battered dumpster across the parking lot of the complex. Not the life he had envisioned at this point in his life journey. But count on his wife Geneva to make his present existence as miserable as possible.

  Okay, so he’d put his trust in a partner cop that happened to be a little crooked. That was a mistake. But it wasn’t as if he was on the take himself. Fifteen years on the force and they’d terminated him. And now he was starting over, at the very bottom of the detective rank.

  Gen had refused to move. Why trade their luxurious home in West Palm Beach for this Godforsaken outpost of human civilization, she said. Flag, the natives called it. Hopefully, he wouldn’t ever qualify as one of those.

  No, Cooper Davis was civilization bound, just as soon as he made a name for himself here. That shouldn’t take long. By the time they found out about the slightly altered resume, he’d be out of here.

  Sarge nudged his foot. Cats! Always hungry. At least he’d remembered to bring in the litter box and food dishes last night.

  How much food did a cat need? He shook a cupful of kibble in Sarge’s dish. That ought to be enough to hold him. The la
rge gray tomcat was a shelter reject. With that missing eye and the chewed ear, no one would adopt him. But he bonded with Gen right off.

  Cooper had insisted on custody of Sarge when they separated because she wanted the animal. Now, the cat was the only thing linking him to his life-before. Maybe he’d drop him off at a shelter here in Flag. Tell her the beast had gone walkabout.

  Then he noticed the cat sniffed at the dry food and tried to bury it. Cooper dug in the bag of canned stuff for an alternative. Would the cat go for duck feast, or shrimp lobster sauté? He opened both and offered the cat a sniff. Duck it was. He dumped the canful in the dish, gave the tomcat an awkward pat and headed out the door.

  He plugged the phone into his car charger. The damn thing better charge this time or he was calling the company.

  * * *

  The station was already buzzing when Cooper arrived for his orientation with the Chief. She was tall and thin, with black hair cut short. Gen would have liked her. Cooper hated her on sight.

  “You’re late,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am. The power was out in my apartment last night. The alarm didn’t go off.”

  “In the future, set two.”

  Cooper smoothed his thinning sandy hair and sucked his gut in a belt-notch more.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She rustled the papers in front of her.

  “You’ve got excellent recommendations, Davis.”

  Thanks to his buddies on the force. He’d called in every favor he could.

  “But I still don’t have the verbal confirmation from your supervisor.”

  Not surprising, given that Cooper had transposed the numbers on phone and email.

  “I’ll get right on it,” he said.

  “See that you do,” she said. “We had a call a few minutes ago. Are you ready to get started?”

  “Absolutely. You won’t be sorry you hired me.”

  “Make sure of that,” she said.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Cooper scurried out of the office with the note she handed him. West Fork? Where the hell was that?

  * * *

  A half an hour later Cooper jogged down a path in the middle of the woods, out of breath and out of patience. He’d met the forensics team at the West Fork trailhead and led the charge into the canyon. After fifty yards he slowed a bit, and the other men followed his lead.

  They halted at the first creek crossing and stepped back to let him cross first. He didn’t do too bad, he thought, trying to ignore the wet pant leg. Not his fault that third rock shifted. Could have happened to anyone. He slapped at a mosquito.

  “How much farther?” he asked, stopping for a breather. Just a short one.

  “We’re almost there. Around that next bend.”

  There, Cooper found two women and a dog. The older of the two was tall, had to be six feet or so. Long red hair in a braid down her back, a take-charge sort of woman. Gen would have liked her.

  The other was a teenager, dressed all in black. What did they call that? Goth? She had blood smears on her face. Was this the vic? Maybe not. She was still breathing.

  And the dog. Some kind of hound, straining on the leash. Didn’t people train their animals anymore? Cooper stepped back.

  “Control that dog,” he said. “Dispatch said there was a dead woman up here.”

  “Up by the cliff,” the older woman said. “I called it in. I’m Pegasus Quincy. This is my friend, Thorn Malone.”

  Cooper shook her hand. The teenager just stared at him. Right.

  Quincy dug in her pocket for ID. “Look, I’m a family liaison officer with the Anasazi Sheriff’s Department.”

  “Never heard of that position. Just got here from Florida. Where it’s nice and flat. And warm.” He pulled the collar of his jacket closer.

  “I help when families face a tragedy. I liaison with the sheriff’s department.”

  “Oh. Then you’re not even a deputy?” he asked.

  “Not right now. I was, but…”

  “Why don’t you show me this dead body you found,” Cooper said. “Sergeant Riggs can stay with your friend here.”

  He took her arm and pushed her a little in the direction of the piney woods. Time to get this show on the road. The woman jerked back a little.

  “Follow me,” she said.

  They entered a clearing where a dead woman’s body lay crumpled on the ground, red blood darkening the ground in the afternoon sunshine. Some bird screeched in the tree overhead, and Cooper jumped.

  “You take a pulse?” he asked.

  “There was none. She’s dead. But recently. Rigor mortis hasn’t set in yet.”

  “Any sign of a murder weapon?”

  Quincy shifted uneasily and Cooper’s antenna shot up. What was going on here? Was this woman involved in the murder?

  “There was a knife here when I arrived,” she admitted. “I went back to check on Thorn and my dog, and when I returned, it had disappeared.”

  “You left the murder scene unattended, while you went to look for a dog?”

  The woman reddened.

  So now they were missing the murder weapon because of this woman’s lax behavior. Cooper’s opinion of country cops dropped another notch. He pulled a roll of marker tape from his back pocket.

  He liked to mark off a site himself, not trusting others to make a full perimeter. Details. That’s what made a case.

  “Take this end,” he said. “Let’s see if we can protect what’s left of the crime scene.” He didn’t bother to hide his disdain.

  She held the tape while Cooper wound the strand around the nearby trees, making a rough circle. Reaching around a scrub oak tree his fingers caught a piece of prickly pear cactus and he drew back, three large spines lodged in his thumb. He dropped the tape and jerked them out, one by one, wincing. He sucked on his thumb. What was cactus doing in a forest, anyway?

  “You recognize this woman?” he asked Quincy as they completed the barrier circle.

  “Jill Rustaine, CEO of Jil-Clair Industries in Sedona.”

  Cooper whistled.

  “That Rustaine? How do you know her?”

  “I don’t. She was my friend’s daughter’s boss.”

  Again, Quincy looked uneasy. This lady was more involved than she wanted to let on.

  “I take it that would be this kid’s parent. Name?”

  Cooper drew out his book to make a note.

  “Shepherd Malone. He was with the sheriff’s department of Anasazi County. Just retired after thirty years on the force.”

  “Never heard of him.” Probably was an old geezer marking time until he pushed up daisies.

  But Cooper scribbled down the name. A worried helicopter parent could bollix up a simple open-and-shut case. He’d have to short-circuit that or this operation would drag on forever and his transfer back to civilization along with it.

  He cupped his hand around his mouth and bellowed to one of his men.

  “Hey, come up here and watch over the crime scene until the medical examiner arrives.”

  When the officer took his waiting position, Cooper looked pointedly at Quincy, to emphasize that this was how to do it. Her dog growled deep in its throat, and Cooper started. Dogs were noisy and dangerous.

  Quincy grabbed the animal’s lead. They walked back to where the teen sat on the ground, her arms wrapped around her knees, her head down.

  “Stand up, please. Complete name and address?” Cooper asked.

  He held his pencil at the ready. Always take a pencil in the field. Never could tell when a pen might go dry. Be prepared.

  “Hey, take it easy,” the Quincy woman said. “The girl’s just seen a dead body.”

  Cooper stared at her, his chin lowered. Sometimes you had to jerk suspects back to the present. If Quincy was an experienced officer, she’d know that. Obviously, she wasn’t. She was too easy on the girl. And a softhearted cop could be a dead cop.

  He returned his attention to Thorn Malone but deliberately m
ade his tone easier.

  “Why don’t you tell me what happened, in your own words. How did you happen to see the dead body, err, the dead woman, if she was off the trail? What were you doing back there?”

  “I got on the wrong path.” Thorn’s face scrunched up. “And then I saw that, that—”

  She started to cry ugly, hiccupping sobs.

  Cooper waited a moment to prove he was sensitive and then pressed on.

  “Your companion here said there was a knife? Describe that to me.”

  “It was big. With a black handle. Sticking out of her.”

  “It’s not sticking out of her now. What happened to it?” he asked.

  “I pulled it out, and blood gushed everywhere. So I dropped it, I think, and then I screamed, and I ran.”

  “And that’s when I found her,” Quincy said.

  Cooper glared at her. Don’t interrupt the officer in charge. Ever.

  “I’ll get to your story in a minute,” he said.

  “What I have to say is important here.”

  The woman stood her ground. Cooper gave her that. But he couldn’t let the challenge go unanswered. He jabbed a finger in her direction.

  “That girl is a witness to a murder. Hell! She might even have done it herself.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Quincy said. “We both saw someone who might be the murderer.”

  “He was this man dressed in green, with a long white beard,” Thorn chimed in.

  “Right. And next, you’ll be telling me there’s a pot of gold somewhere around here,” Cooper sneered.

  “Do you have to be so rude?” The Quincy woman again.

  Cooper halted for a moment. He wasn’t unpleasant, was he? He gave his head a shake. Irrelevant here, anyway. There was a murder to investigate. His toe scuffled the pine duff as he considered his next question.

  “Where’s the knife then? You throw it in the creek?”

  “No, I didn’t!” Thorn exclaimed.

  Quincy edged between Cooper and Thorn.

  “You’re badgering her.”

  “Maybe I am,” he said. Time to try another tack.

  “You know who this woman’s next-of-kin might be?” he asked.