Terry Odell - Mapleton 02 - Deadly Bones (26 page)

“He’ll be wearing a suit,” she’d said. “The coat will show him you take your job seriously, without looking like you’re trying to be his equal.”

“I could wear my uniform.”

“No, he knows you only wear it for official occasions. That might send the wrong message.”

“You know, that’s worse than politics.” But he shrugged into the garment all the same.

She smiled and straightened his collar. “With the mayor, everything is politics. Play his game. If he’s happy, you’ll be happy. Or happier, anyway.”

“Did I ever tell you—”

She cut him off. “Not nearly often enough.”

Showtime.

Gordon twisted the knob and stepped onto the plush carpet. This time, he paused at the receptionist’s desk. “I have an appointment.”

“Have a seat. He’ll be with you shortly.”

Ah, so the mayor was getting back at him for not dropping everything as soon as he got the summons. Gordon plopped himself into one of the leather chairs against the wall. He wished he’d brought something to do. Something to keep busy, but, more importantly, to show the mayor that he didn’t have time to twiddle his thumbs. He pressed a hand to his belly. He wished he’d had time to stop for lunch. He’d missed his usual ten o’clock Daily Bread cinnamon roll, too. And Angie.

He pulled out his phone, tempted to call, just to touch base. But she’d be working, and that’s what he was supposed to be doing, too. Knowing how much the mayor disapproved of interruptions during private meetings, Gordon silenced the ringer. He pretended to be engrossed in checking messages as he tried to come up with connections between the bones, Rose and Sam, Doc Evans, and Roger, Suben and Clark. If there were any, they were damned elusive. He wondered how Colfax was doing.

“You can go in now.” The receptionist’s voice broke into his thoughts. She stood and opened the door to the mayor’s private office.

Gordon clipped the phone to his belt, rose, and went to meet his fate.

The mayor had a phone to his ear, but wasn’t saying anything. Gordon wondered if there was actually someone on the other end, or if it was all part of the man’s “keep him waiting” game. After a gruff thank you into the receiver, the mayor replaced the handset and narrowed his eyes in Gordon’s direction. “Sit. Please.”

Gordon sat.

Silence stretched out for several long seconds. Laurie’s words echoed in Gordon’s head.
Play the game.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Gordon said. That was enough. He wasn’t going as far as thanking the man for adjusting his schedule.

The mayor walked his fingers down a stack of file folders, stopping at one near the top and sliding it from the pile. He set it in front of him and fixed his gaze on Gordon for an uncomfortable moment, as if saying,
I’ll bet you’re dying to know what’s in here.
Slowly, he opened the folder and removed a sheet of paper. He lifted it, almost taunting Gordon with whatever it had to say. He leaned across the desk. “What are you doing about this surge of home invasions?”

Gordon’s jaw went slack. “Sir?”

The mayor flapped the paper. “There were five of them the other night. I repeat, what are you doing about it?” His gaze bored into Gordon, almost burning a hole in the wall behind him. “Or are you too busy trying to turn some buried bones into a high-profile case to get your name in the paper?”

Clearly, the mayor was projecting his own agenda here, because being in the limelight was so far down Gordon’s list of personal goals it wasn’t even on the page. He clenched and unclenched his fists before speaking. “Sir, I don’t understand. There were no home invasions. We had some broken windows, but no homes were entered.”

Gordon eyed the scanner on the mayor’s credenza. Off. Did he have another one at home, Gordon wondered again. Because those calls came through in the wee hours, and Gordon didn’t get the impression the mayor was a man who stayed up all night listening to sleepy Mapleton police radio traffic. Then again, maybe he was an insomniac who used the scanner to put him to sleep.

Or had someone told the mayor what had gone down? Did he have people monitoring scanners and reporting to him? Gordon’s stomach turned over. Did he have someone inside his force feeding the mayor information? Connie? No way.

Irv? He had firsthand knowledge of everything when he was on duty. One of the duty officers? The officers left their night reports with the duty officer, who made copies for Laurie and left them on her desk, where she turned them over to him each morning.

Who’d been duty officer that night? Gordon refused to consider the possibility that he would be sending copies to the mayor. But these reports weren’t kept under lock and key. Anyone with access to the station could have seen them. Hell, he didn’t know exactly what the mayor had. Waving a piece of paper wasn’t the same as flaunting copies of reports. A quick phone call or email could have passed the pertinent information on.

Gordon refused to confront the mayor with questions. He’d ferret things out himself. Meeting the mayor’s gaze, Gordon said, “With all due respect, Sir, I have one of my best officers looking into these incidents. It doesn’t seem to be anything more harmful than some joy-riding kids, but I can assure you, when we find out who’s responsible, we will take the appropriate actions.”

Gordon tried not to choke when he realized he’d given a speech worthy of the mayor. Lots of words, no substance.

“See to it that you do,” the mayor said. He tilted his wrist and shoved up a cuff, revealing a very slim gold watch.

Gordon gripped the arms of the chair in a move to rise, but before he could, the mayor pulled several more sheets of paper from the file folder. The mayor’s smile was as insincere as any Gordon had ever seen.

The mayor settled into his chair, steepling his fingers in front of him. “As long as you’re here, let’s go over these spreadsheets. I have a few suggestions for you.” The mayor shoved one sheet across the table, keeping the other. “Here’s a copy.”

Time stopped, although Gordon was aware of the ticking of a grandfather clock across the room, and the drumming in his ears. The mayor droned on. Gordon tuned him out, nodding and agreeing at occasional intervals, hoping they were appropriately timed. Sounds of tires on asphalt carried in on a stiff breeze billowed the curtains at the open window. The phone in the outer office rang from time to time. At some point, sirens
whooped
in the distance. The grandfather clock chimed two. Then, almost mid-sentence, the mayor stood and offered his hand. “Thanks again for coming. I’m sure you’ll find my suggestions will streamline your budget.”

And he was dismissed. Gordon accepted the mayor’s hand, still confused about the lack of mention of the bones. Or did the mayor understand he had no jurisdiction, influence, or any kind of control over the Sheriff’s Department, unlike the Mapleton Police Department? No matter. Gordon was out of here. He folded the mayor’s spreadsheet and promised to study it in more depth. Shoving it into his coat pocket, he left the office feeling as if he’d finished a marathon.

A pastry pick-me-up at Daily Bread? Tempting as it was, he’d already lost an hour, not counting the time he’d spent at the hospital. Too bad Angie’s
feelings
didn’t carry over into sensing his blood sugar drops. Wouldn’t it be nice to have her deliver a cinnamon roll at his slightest craving. He was tempted to call and order a sandwich. No. He had work to do, and Angie did, too. Tonight, maybe.

He strolled along the path between City Hall and the police station, each step washing away a bit more of the mayor-induced fatigue. The short walk in the stiff breeze revived him, and he took the stairs up to the station two at a time.

He stopped at the break room for coffee and a sugar hit from the vending machine before heading for his office. Munching on a peanut butter cup, he passed by Laurie’s desk. She had the box of photos on the floor beside her desk, and stacks of envelopes covered the desktop.

“Progress?” he asked.

She gave him a quizzical look. “Almost done, Chief. But I thought you’d be at the fire.”

Gordon almost choked on the cloying peanut butter. “Fire?”

“I texted you,” she said. “You didn’t get it?”

Gordon pulled out his phone. “I thought I’d set it to vibrate. I guess I shut down all notifications.” Vanity be damned. He was definitely going to have to get some readers. “Tell me about the fire. Where is it? Who’s on scene? Anyone hurt?”

Laurie lifted her brows and tapped her chest. “Me. Admin.” She gestured toward the hallway. “Connie. Dispatch.” She pointed at him. “You. Stressed.”

Gordon almost laughed. “Right.” He swallowed the second piece of candy and washed it down with too-hot coffee as he hurried to Dispatch, his mind racing. The sirens he’d heard at the mayor’s office. How bad was it? “Connie. Talk to me.”

“Fire in the woods near Aspen Lake. Two engines dispatched, paramedics, plus two of our units—McDermott and Titchener. No containment yet. No homes under immediate threat, but the winds are picking up, and they’ve ordered evacuation for homes on the east side of the lake.”

“Support if we need it?” Gordon asked. Mapleton, as well as most of the neighboring towns, relied on volunteer firefighters.

“All of Mapleton’s been called out to the firehouse. Other departments are on standby.”

Despite the recent rain, the summer had been unusually dry, which meant wildfires would spread—well, like wildfire.

Once Gordon felt confident that Connie, as always, had done everything right, the location registered. East side of Aspen Lake. The woods.
The bones
.

“How did it start?” he asked. Because there hadn’t been any lightning, and the area was primarily residential, so campfires were unlikely. Smoldering cigarette butts, either from hikers or someone driving by and tossing one out the window would be enough.

“Too early to tell,” Connie said. “Priority one is getting it out.”

“Carry on.” Gordon hurried back to his office, where Colfax had the phone’s handset tucked between chin and shoulder while he clicked the mouse and tapped the keyboard.

Colfax hung up, clicked a few keys and lifted his gaze. “Guess you heard about the excitement.”

“What the
hell
happened? This can’t be a coincidence.” Gordon suddenly remembered the county forensics teams working the bone site. “Your men? Are they all right?”

“One’s being treated for smoke inhalation, another one for minor burns. Otherwise, they’re fine. They did what they could, but unfortunately, they don’t carry fire extinguishers in their forensics field kits.”

“Was the point of origin the bone site?” Although with six forensic analysts right there, an arsonist sneaking in didn’t seem possible. Unless one—or more—of the analysts started it. Which also didn’t seem possible. If they wanted to sabotage the site, all they’d have to do would be move the bones and falsify their findings.

“No, by the time they saw it approaching, it was too far gone. Hope you don’t mind, but I’ve designated your station as Incident Command. County’s sending up a mobile unit, and you’ve already got a first class dispatcher.”

“Whatever you need.” He wished he could see for himself, but he had work to do. Sometimes it sucked being the chief.

“The forensics team said it looked like the fire was coming from the direction of Aspen Lake,” Colfax said.

Aspen Lake. Votes for the wayward cigarette. Kids hung there. Swimming, running—or indulging in a little touchy-feely. Smoking and drinking were common enough among the high school set. Wildfires in Colorado were a given during the summer. But having one in Mapleton right now was too damn convenient.

Gordon sank into his visitor’s chair. “This is starting to suck.” He tried to visualize the topography, got up and went for his map to make sure. He put a finger on Aspen Lake, then dragged it along the map. “Fires don’t follow roads. It’s not even a mile between Aspen Lake and the bone site.”

“And tons of dry timber after near-drought conditions for the past two years. Could get messy.” Colfax leaned back and adjusted the volume on the radio.

Gordon shrugged out of his sport coat and stared at the white board. He picked up a marker and wrote FIRE in bold caps. Below that, he wrote ARSON? He stepped back. “Motives?”

“Destroy the bone site,” Colfax said, and Gordon wrote it on the board. He also added FIREBUG although neither man thought that one was near the top of the list.

“Isn’t it risky to set a fire some distance away from what you want to destroy?” Gordon asked.

“Agreed, but it conceals the obvious motive. And if they know how fires spread, that might lessen the risk.”

Gordon paced the small space, thinking out loud. “If the bones were the target, how could they be sure the fire would reach the site—and since the bones were in an excavated area, there’s less of a chance they’d catch. And even if they did, burning them wouldn’t destroy them.”

“Right,” Colfax said. “So what other reason could there be for setting the fire? What was the result?”

Gordon mulled it over. “The forensics team left.”

“Leaving the site unattended,” Colfax said.

“But they’re risking their lives going into a fire scene.”

“Maybe they didn’t think the fire would spread that quickly. Or maybe they’re experienced in dealing with fire.”

Gordon shook his head. “You mean firefighters set it? That’s nuts.”

“Just laying out possibilities.”

“If everything’s related, we should be looking for a common denominator.” Gordon flipped the board over and drew three columns on the back side. He wrote BONES above one, KRETZERS on another and DOC EVANS on the third. Under the Kretzer column, he wrote
Roger, Suben & Clark.
“Did your guy get anything from his chat with Roger Ignatius?”

Colfax consulted a sheet of paper. “Not a whole lot. Spent a lot of time extolling the success of the corporation. How they all made fortunes in real estate.”

“What did he say about the land they sold to the Kretzers? Who did it belong to before they bought it?” Gordon asked.

“Land developer, but he doesn’t remember the name. In the beginning, that was Roger and company’s basic plan of action. Buy big parcels of land, then divide them into smaller parcels and turn them over. Kind of like house flipping, but without the houses. Doesn’t make sense that they’d have sold a plot of land if they’d buried bodies there. Asel said the bones had been there thirty to forty years, right?”