The Night Is Watching (4 page)

She laughed softly. “Convenient where they placed the Old Jail. Right next to the Gilded Lily...”

“Within shouting distance,” he agreed.

“And across the street from the saloon.”

“Either way, you could walk prisoners into a cell within a few hundred feet,” he said. He glanced at her. “You’re from Texas?”

“Yes,” she said. “San Antonio,” she added. “Though I did work with different agencies around the state until I joined Logan’s Krewe.”

“You always wanted to be an artist?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I was always drawing,” she said.

They’d reached the sheriff’s office. He pulled into the lot in front.

The office wasn’t really that small—not when you considered the size of the town. The building had been constructed in the 1930s by someone who’d evidently been to Toledo, Spain, and fallen in love with the medieval architecture. There was a tower on either front corner, and the roof was tile while the exterior was brick. The parking lot held room for at least twenty cars—someone had been optimistic about the growth of Lily. To the left, where the offices were located, were a bank, a coffee house, a Mexican restaurant and an Italian restaurant. To the right was an Asian restaurant and a Brazilian steak house, along with the area’s mall—an enclosure of about eight shops. Lily could proudly say that there were three national chain stores among them.

The biggest excitement in town had occurred when they’d acquired one of the country’s largest burger chains, which had chosen to locate in the mall. Keeping offices in old adobe homes or the occasional professional building were a few lawyers, accountants, doctors and decorators. The high school was just half a mile back toward the old town.

“Not such a small place,” she said cheerfully as he parked and they exited the car.

“Small enough that the skull should have been sent to a lab,” Sloan murmured.

He realized that his antagonism toward her became apparent with his careless words when she made a barely perceptible movement, stiffening. She stood by the car, looking at him, and he saw the hardness that came into her eyes.

“I’m really proficient at what I do, Sheriff. You don’t need to worry that my work will be lacking in any way.”

He could have said something to try to smooth her ruffled feathers; he didn’t. He just shrugged. “Since this isn’t a new murder, I’m sure your work will be more than sufficient.”

He felt the chill of her eyes. “Sheriff, I will certainly try very hard to do work that’s sufficient.”

He hadn’t meant to make matters worse. On the other hand, he could hardly have been more rude. Once again, an explanation or an apology might seem lame, so he indicated the door and said, “That didn’t come out the way I meant it. I’m sure you’re excellent at what you do. Come in and meet the staff—all two of the rest of our day crew.”

She turned, not waiting for him, and entered through the front door.

Deputy Betty Ivy was on duty at the desk when they came in. Again, someone had been overoptimistic about the growth of Lily. There were three offices for senior law officials, but since they only had six law officials all told—three on days, three at night, reduced to two at various hours to avoid overtime—one office was usually empty. Betty often manned the front desk during the day. Lamont Atkins, an easygoing man in his mid-forties who managed to maintain more control with a quiet voice than any swaggering might accomplish, also worked the day shift. Lamont started his day by touring around in town; he liked to show that the sheriff’s department was ever-vigilant. Chet Morgan rounded out his day crew.

As they walked in, Jane Everett breezed right up and introduced herself to Betty with professional charm before Sloan could make the introductions. From his office behind the entry, Chet Morgan rose and came out to join them by the front desk, grinning and friendly as he met Jane.

“We’ve set up the skull in the interrogation room,” Betty said, standing. “I’ve got a scanner in there, camera connected to the computer, sketch pad... I’ve watched a few forensic programs, so I thought you might want to take a lot of pictures and do whatever you do to get that 3-D image thing going. I mean, the computer has a camera, but I wasn’t sure how you’d move it around to get the right angles, so...well, anything you need, we’ll do our best to get for you.”

“That’s perfect, thank you. Actually, more than perfect. I have my own instruments for measurements. I’ll probably do what I call an imagination sketch today—just what I see from the skull,” Jane told her. “It’s late, and I’ve come in from the D.C. area, so I’m little travel-weary. Tomorrow, I’ll start with the measurements.”

“I’m intrigued to see your work!” Betty said enthusiastically.

Betty was a good woman—and a good deputy. When he’d come back to Lily, Sloan had been surprised that she hadn’t wanted the job of sheriff herself. A widow with two grown children, she’d worked for the department most of her adult life. But she hadn’t wanted the responsibility of being sheriff. She had iron-gray hair, cheerful blue eyes and a way of handling the occasional drunk or kid working on a misspent youth with unshakeable stoicism and a calm demeanor. She had the ability to convince both drunks and adolescents that they weren’t going anywhere—they’d pay the price for their transgressions before a judge and no fast-talking lawyer was getting them out of the clink that night. Sloan had told her that being sheriff of Lily wasn’t really a matter of heavy responsibility but Betty had said, “Oh, Sloan, small towns can still have big problems. I like being a deputy. You run for sheriff. I’ll vote for you!”

“Ms. Everett—Agent Everett!” Chet said, quickly correcting himself. “Anything you need, you let me know!”

Chet was only twenty-six. He was staring at Jane Everett as if Marilyn Monroe had risen from the grave and floated into their offices. He was as good and solid a deputy as Betty, just...young. Tall, a bit awkward, Chet had served in the military as a sharpshooter before returning to Lily—and a parade in his honor. Lily was small; the return of a serviceman was an occasion to be celebrated.

“Agent, come with me, if you will,” Sloan said. “I’ll show you your workroom. And the skull.”

“Well, show her the kitchen and where to find coffee, too, huh?” Betty said, frowning at Sloan before turning to smile at Jane again. “We’ve got sodas, coffee, snacks, you name it. Kitchen’s the first door on the left down that hall and you help yourself to anything. Oh, and you have an intercom in there. If you need me for anything, just push the button and call me.”

Jane thanked Betty and Chet and followed Sloan down the hall. He opened the door to Interrogation Room A. They also had Interrogation Rooms B and C, but they’d never actually used A to interrogate anyone, much less B or C.

He opened the door and turned on the lights. There was a desk with a computer and they’d also set up a graphic arts easel with a large sketch pad for their guest. As she’d said, Betty had supplied their guest with a camera, computer, scanner, tracing paper, “tissue markers,” wire and mortician’s wax. The skull itself had been set in the middle of a conference table in the center of the room; it was on a stand, minus the wig and with a few adjustments. Sloan hadn’t known much about reconstructing a lifelike image from a skull, but Betty had done some research and had some help from a professor friend in Tucson. The skull had been angled to the best of the professor’s ability at a “Frankfurt plane,” or the anatomical position of the skull as it naturally sat on the body.

The jawbone, disarticulated, lay in front of it, just as it had when it was found.

Jane seemed to have eyes for nothing but the skull. She walked right up to it, studied it for a moment and then picked up the jaw, testing the jagged lines that connected it.

“The M.E. was right,” she murmured. “It’s very old.” She glanced at Sloan. “If this was someone who’d died more recently, the structure would have more integrity. The years gone by create these soft spots. If you pressed too hard along one of these lines, it could just fall apart. I would agree that it’s the skull of a woman—probably in her late twenties or early thirties, judging by the fusion of the bones. She took good care of her teeth, since there’s very little decay.”

For a moment, she closed her eyes. She seemed to be in a trance; she looked like a medium standing there, as if she could communicate with the bone.

Irritated, he cleared his throat.

“Can I get you anything?” he asked her.

She turned to look at him, and she seemed equally irritated. “Sheriff, you are, after all, the
sheriff.
A very busy man. I’m sure I can find my own way around the office. I’ll help myself to coffee...if you don’t mind.”

“We change to the night crew at five,” he told her. “Please wrap up your work for the day by then. I’ll get you back to the Gilded Lily and then pick you up in the morning, about 8:00 a.m.—if that works for you.”

She nodded. “Yes, that’s fine.”

He left her and returned to his office, the one directly behind Betty’s desk. There were several folders waiting for him. He picked up the first—the arrest report for Arty Johnson. Arty was an old-timer with a penchant for drinking too much. He’d wind up banned from the Gilded Lily and the saloon, but he was really a decent guy, and he’d quickly work his way back into the good graces of the management. Last week, Arty had gotten a little carried away and joined the cast onstage at the Gilded Lily. Henri Coque, incensed at the time, had demanded that he be arrested. Arty had slept it off in one of the five cells, and then Sloan had driven him home. Arty had rued his behavior all the way.

He set the file aside. Hopefully, Henri wouldn’t press charges.

He picked up the next file, shaking his head. Jimmy Hough, local high-school senior and football star, was in the cells now. His father owned a beefalo farm; the meat hadn’t become as popular in the east as they’d expected, but Caleb Hough still made a fortune selling his hybrid meat. Jimmy had taken his father’s Maserati out for a spin and crashed into Connie Larson’s Honda. When he was picked up, he’d been as high as a kite—not even Lily, Arizona, escaped the drugs that continued to ravage schools.

Logan decided this was a good time to type up reports.

An hour passed as he dealt with paperwork. Then he became aware of a commotion out front. He looked up. Caleb Hough was accosting Betty, reaming her out for putting his son’s future at risk.

Sloan got up and went out to meet the big man. Caleb wore his wealth as if it were clothing. Maybe that was what happened to self-made men, at least in areas like this, where the population was sparse.

“Trent!” Hough bellowed as Sloan walked out. “You had the audacity to order your deputy McArthur to keep my kid in jail overnight. It was just a fender bender! Jimmy has a future—he’s a star! He’s being scouted by colleges across the country. If my boy has a record—”

“Hough, I had my deputy keep your boy in here when he was picked up because he was three sheets to the wind. I would think you’d want him learning something about accountability. No, he’s not a bad kid, and I don’t want to see him with a record. I didn’t just throw him in and forget him, either. I asked Doc Levin in to check on him. I also had a good conversation with him and with Connie Larson. Jimmy didn’t leave the scene, and he was concerned about hitting Connie. I kept him overnight because, for one, he needed to sober up. Two, he needed a lesson. I let him out this morning, since Connie doesn’t want charges pressed and there were no witnesses, and I believe that he’s a good kid. However...he knows I’m watching him now, even if you aren’t. I warned him that if he takes one step in the wrong direction, I’ll throw the book at him. He’s charged with careless driving. Now, get the hell out of here before I charge
you
with something.”

Hough scowled at him furiously. “Who do you think you’re talking to? Who do you think you are, putting in your two cents on how to raise my boy?”

“He won’t be a boy in a year, Caleb. He’ll be of legal age—and if he doesn’t learn his lessons now, he’ll face some real problems.”

“This isn’t the end of this!” Hough warned him.

“Let’s hope it is. For your son’s sake,” Sloan told him.

Hough seemed about to explode. But he turned on his heel and stalked out. Sloan followed him to the door and saw Jimmy Hough standing in front, looking as if he wanted to crawl into a hole. His father walked up to him and slammed the back of his head. Sloan reached for the door but felt Betty’s hand on his arm.

“Let it go. The kid’s okay. Maybe he’ll survive the old man,” she said quietly.

He nodded and went back to his office. Betty followed him. “He is pretty powerful, you know, with all his money. Maybe you don’t want to be enemies.”

“If money can buy this office, Betty, I don’t want it,” Sloan said.

“He’s going to cause you trouble.”

“I should have charged the kid with a DUI,” Sloan muttered. “I didn’t because Jimmy was so remorseful and no one was hurt—and because I figured he did deserve a second chance.”

“And there were no witnesses,” Betty reminded him. “And Connie’s not going to file charges.”

As they spoke, the door opened and he saw that Declan McCarthy, his senior-ranking night deputy, had arrived. It was time for the shift change.

He shoved his folders into a desk drawer, anxious to leave. “Let’s call it a day, Betty. Declan is here.”

Declan came in cheerfully. He’d started off working as an officer in Detroit. He frequently said that he found Lily, Arizona, to be like a little piece of hot, dry heaven.

Betty went out to report on the day, but there wasn’t much. Sloan closed his computer and went to retrieve Jane Everett.

He knocked on the door before opening it. She was sitting in front of the easel and had just finished a drawing.

Sloan paused, staring at the rendering she’d done. It was only a sketch, but she’d done a remarkable job of capturing
life.
The woman on the page seemed vibrant—on the verge of speaking. Jane had her hair tucked in a bun, a few tendrils escaping to fall over her forehead. She wore a secretive smile as if she held some tidbit of information that she
might
be convinced to share with others.