Deadly Aim (8 page)

C
allen walked from the entry of the old cannery to the north corner, where he took a left and headed down the hill to the waterfront. He couldn’t say for certain what prompted him to go down to the marina. Maybe he just needed to put some distance between himself and the crime scene—and the media. With two crime scenes to deal with, the place had turned into a three-ring circus.

It could have been nostalgia that brought him to the docks. He’d come here often as a kid and watched as the boats came in with their holds full of salmon to be cleaned, packed, and shipped to distributors. The condemned warehouse had once been a thriving cannery where boats could come right up to the private dock, but the dock was fenced off now to keep the public from injuring themselves on the rotting wood. The place had been empty for over ten years; laws protecting salmon had put a strain on the entire industry.

While he walked toward the water, Callen thought about the deadly force incident. Something about the shooting didn’t ring true, but he couldn’t say why. According to the officers involved, the gunmen had had an arsenal. So what on earth was the boy doing with a toy gun? Regardless of the reports he’d heard, he couldn’t seem to tie the woman he’d seen with the action. Worse, he couldn’t get the image of Angel Delaney out of his head. Sitting
in that patrol car, she’d looked like a kid fresh out of college—her eyes wide and innocent and almost desperate. She wasn’t beautiful like Karen had been, but cute. She had that all-American girl look a guy couldn’t help but appreciate.

He pushed the image of her aside, pulling back into focus the job at hand. He had no time for women. After his wife’s death he’d decided not to get involved seriously with anyone again. He still hadn’t gotten over Karen or the child he’d never know.

Get your act together, Riley
, he chastised.
This is not the time to be licking your wounds. You have a job to do
.

He’d spent hours that day checking out both crime scenes and making sure he had crime lab people working at both locations. With two crime scenes to cover, he’d had to call his supervisor to send out two crime lab crews. Each team was made up of a scientist and a lab tech or assistant. Since the crime lab folks didn’t work weekends, they’d be on overtime.

He’d put the first team from Lincoln City on the officer-involved shooting, and the second from Newport on the pharmacy. While he was waiting for the teams to get there, he questioned the various officers who’d responded to the armed robbery at the pharmacy and the ensuing chase.

The suspects had fled on foot, but Callen suspected they’d had a vehicle waiting for them not far away. Or maybe they had a preplanned meeting place. Which posed another question—what was the kid doing in the warehouse alone while his buddies were hotfooting it to the getaway vehicle?

Maybe the boy hadn’t been alone. And if not, why hadn’t his cohorts moved in to protect him? Had they all gone into the old warehouse and out the other side? With it being a condemned building, all entrances should have been boarded up, but since when did that stop anyone? Maybe they’d escaped by boat. Callen paused to jot the notation down in his notebook. He’d ask the other officers about that possibility and bring it up when he questioned Delaney.

Callen’s gaze wandered over the wharf and bay. Here in the downtown area, rocky cliffs held back the ocean, leaving
a wide opening, about a hundred feet, that served as an entryway into the cove. The cove provided a perfect place for fishermen to moor their boats and bring in their catch for processing.

He wandered down one of the piers, where a man was hosing down his charter boat. Large red letters on the bow read R
EEF
C
HARTERS
. The guy wore a red-and-black flannel shirt with faded jeans and knee-high rubber boots—typical fishing apparel.

“This yours?” Callen asked as he approached the vessel.

Blue eyes warily looked him up and down. “Yep.”

Callen pulled his ID out of his left jacket pocket. “Detective Callen Riley. I’m with the Oregon State Police. We’re investigating a burglary.”

The fisherman glanced at the badge then turned back to his task. A stream of water shot from the nozzle, hitting the deck full force. The wind picked up some of the spray and tossed it in Callen’s direction.

He stepped back.

“Sorry about that.” The fisherman turned the nozzle on the hose to shut it off.

“No problem. Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Nope.”

Despite the man’s lined face, Callen judged him to be in his thirties, already a crusty fisherman.

“Uh—name’s Dean Jenkins.” The fisherman jumped onto the dock, setting it to rocking so hard that Callen had to grab hold of a nearby piling to keep from toppling. He set his legs apart to maintain his balance.

“How long have you been here today?” Callen asked.

“Depends. I came out around 4:00 this morning. Took a couple guys out bottom fishing. We all got our limits and came in. Been in for about an hour.”

“Did you see or hear anything unusual around here this morning?”

Jenkins frowned then turned the nozzle back on, moving the stream of water back and forth across the dock, where the morning’s catch had apparently been gutted and cleaned.

“Nope. Why’re you asking?”

Callen used the back of his arm to wipe perspiration off his forehead. Even though the temperature was only in the high sixties, the sun was baking him through his jacket and sweatshirt.

“There was an armed robbery at the pharmacy up the street around 9:00 this morning.”

“Sorry. We were still out past the breakers then.” Jenkins turned off the water at the spigot and began wrapping the hose in loops around a hook protruding from the piling. “Anybody hurt?”

“Mr. Bergman was injured, and we have one fatality.” Callen withheld the boy’s name and the circumstances.

Jenkins frowned and shook his head. “Too bad. You might want to talk to the guy who owns that rig across the way.” Jenkins pointed to a thirty-foot sailboat on the next dock over. “The owner lives aboard. Fellow by the name of Jake Ensley. Better do it quick though. He’s just passing through on his way to Victoria.”

“Thanks.”

Callen walked back up to the main dock. Coming up the ramp, he noticed what looked like a person lying inside the fence and directly behind the abandoned cannery. His system went on alert. He ducked beside a dumpster, checking the area. From his vantage point, he couldn’t tell if the guy was dead or just sleeping off the remnants of cheap booze.

There didn’t seem to be anyone around, so he hurried back the way he’d come and stopped at the fence. Whoever it was didn’t appear to be moving. Looked like a corpse to him—especially considering the dark stain on the bleached wood next to the body. The stain could be wine, but experience told him otherwise. He had to check it out before calling for another crime lab team.

Using his cell phone, he notified dispatch and asked to be connected with Nick Caldwell. While he waited, he looked for a way around the fence. The only way he could see to get in other than to cut off the lock was to swim.

He told Nick what he’d seen and asked him to bring cutters to deal with the lock. “I don’t see any easy way in here,” he said. “The building is boarded up.”

“Copy,” Nick said. “But we don’t have to go through the gate. Come on up to the front of the cannery. There’s a place on the far west end where the boards are loose that will give us direct access.”

Minutes later the three men squeezed through an opening that should have been boarded up to prevent trespassers from entering a dangerous area.

The rickety dock groaned and swayed with their weight as they walked the twenty or so feet to the body. Nick emerged from the building and joined them.

Callen hunkered down to get a better look. A kid, eighteen maybe. “He’s dead.” He glanced up at the two grim faces.

Nick frowned and motioned toward the body. “The kid looks familiar.”

“Could he be one of the gang members from the pharmacy?” Eric asked. “Maybe we wounded one of them.”

Callen shook his head. “This guy was shot at close range.”

“You can tell that just looking at him?” Eric gave him a skeptical look.

“There’s stippling on his face.” He pointed to the small red dots on the skin. “It’s caused by the powder exploding from the gun barrel in bullet projections and landing on and burning the skin. You only see that in shootings six feet and closer.”

Eric looked impressed. Nick seemed anxious to get moving.

Callen let out a long breath and called his supervisor to okay another lab team. It was going to be a very long day.

A
ngel’s doorbell rang promptly at 6:00. When she opened the door, Brandon was standing there in his charcoal gray suit, looking like the lawyer he was. He had thick, sandy brown hair, gray-blue eyes, and a killer smile. He turned that smile on her now as he handed her a bouquet of roses with baby’s breath and ferns. “Picked these up on my way over.”

Angel’s breath caught as he pulled her into his arms for a kiss. “You look gorgeous,” he said when they came up for air.

“Thanks.” She’d taken pains to wear something feminine. Normally she’d have settled for a casual sweater and khaki pants, but tonight she’d dressed in a sleeveless black dress and topped it with a long-sleeved blouse that shimmered in iridescent shades of purple and teal as she moved. “Why don’t you come in for a minute while I put these in water?” The delicate pink roses were just opening. Soft fragrant petals tickled her nose when she buried her face in the blooms. “This was really nice of you.”

“Perfect roses for a perfect lady.” He came up behind her, and with his hands on her shoulders, nuzzled her neck.

Angel shrugged out of his embrace and set the flowers on the table. “What a line. I’ll bet you say that to all the girls.”

He chuckled. “Only those named Angel. And I only know one Angel.” His arms came round her again, pulling her close and
bending down for another kiss. She stretched up on her toes and wrapped her arms around his neck, thinking how perfectly they fit together, she at five-four and he at five-eleven.

At the moment Angel couldn’t imagine why she and Brandon hadn’t married. She liked being with him. Felt comfortable around him—most of the time.

And he brings me roses
.

He released her and sighed as he checked his watch. “Much as I’d like to just stay here and keep doing what we’re doing, I’m starving.”

“So you’re telling me your stomach takes precedence over me.” She managed a smile.

“You got it.” Brandon turned her around and steered her toward the door.

They were on their way out when Angel’s neighbor, Rob Landis, reached out and snatched up his newspaper. “Hey, guys. How’s it going?” He didn’t seem the least bit embarrassed about being caught in his ribbed tank undershirt and boxer shorts. Turning to Angel, he said, “Saw you on the news tonight. Well, not you, they put a picture up. You, uh... doing okay? I mean, hey, tragic mistake. But the kid was bad news, right?”

Angel wasn’t certain how to respond. She was tempted to walk away without commenting, but that would be rude. Rob and his wife, Brenda, had helped Angel move into her apartment.

“Yeah.” Angel glanced at Brandon. “Terrible mistake. But you do what you have to do. I’ll talk to you later; we’re just going out.”

“Sure. Have fun. Hey, want me to record this stuff for you? It’s not every day you get that kind of news coverage.”

“You don’t have to do that. I’ll catch it later.” Or not. How could the man be so blasé about something so horrendous?

“Okay. Think I’ll record it anyway.”

Brandon took her arm as they walked down the steps. “What’s he talking about?”

“Long story. I’ll tell you later.” As they reached the landing, her heart dropped to the vicinity of her knees. “Oh, no,” she groaned. “I should have known.”

The media had found her.

There were no newspapers or television and radio stations in Sunset Cove. Most of these people had come in from Portland. No doubt the entire state, maybe the entire country, would know about her involvement in Billy’s death after tonight. She hadn’t thought about the far-reaching effects of the shooting until now. She thought seriously about going back inside and curling up under the covers.

Cameras flashed and whirred as Brandon and Angel approached his car. The press had apparently been hanging around the parking lot, waiting for her to appear. Brandon unfortunately had parked his shiny black Lexus beside her Corvette. “We’d like to ask you a few questions,” several reporters asked simultaneously.

“No comment.” Angel flinched when someone stuffed a microphone in her face.

“You killed a child, Ms. Delaney.” The woman’s voice had an accusatory edge. “What do you have to say to his parents?”

The unfair accusation cut deep. Angel stopped and glared at the reporter. “That
child
was a gang member. He had a gun.”