The older cop grimaced. “Damned dark. I couldn’t do anything, the light was so bad. And I walked around with my flashlight on like an idiot, advertising exactly where I was.”
“You’re lucky he missed his shot.”
“I’m certain that the bike motor came from the direction where we found the casing. I assume he’s the one who shot at me. I guess someone else could have been on foot and taken a shot, but they haven’t found evidence of another person besides our dead guy. County’s trying to follow the dirt bike tracks, but the ground’s awfully hard. And of course the lack of light isn’t helping.”
“They’ll have better luck when the sun comes up,” Royce added.
“Has anyone recognized the body yet?” Truman asked.
“No,” answered Ben. “I took another gander at him a while ago. He looks slightly familiar, but I can’t place him.” He took another bite of the bar. “I can’t remember everyone I met over the years.”
“I don’t expect you to.” Truman looked to Royce. “Did you look?”
“Don’t know him. We checked for ID and there’s nothing in his pockets. Hopefully his fingerprints will tell us who he is.”
“Guess I’ll give it a shot.” Truman doubted he could recognize the man. He had been in Eagle’s Nest for only eight months. He’d worked hard to know the people, but if Ben and Royce didn’t recognize the guy, there was little chance Truman would.
He strode over to the corpse.
A female evidence tech smiled at him and politely but firmly pointed at a spot of ground. “Please stand over there.” Truman stepped carefully and watched for a few moments as she continued to photograph the corpse. He squatted and made his own visual assessment. He agreed with Ben’s estimate of the man’s being in his sixties. He had to be nearly 350 pounds. His graying beard was at least three inches past his chin, and his hair was plastered across his forehead and looked as if it had needed a cut and wash several weeks ago. His eyes were open and growing opaque. Truman took a long look at the deep cut in his neck and tucked away any thoughts about the terror that must have run through the man’s head as he realized what was happening to him.
Who’d you piss off?
The victim wore heavy work boots and jeans with dirt stains on the knees. His coat had seen better days, but it was thick and heavy to combat the cold. Truman spotted his faded John Deere cap a few feet away.
He didn’t know the man.
“Good morning, Chief.” Dr. Natasha Lockhart had arrived. Her tiny form was overwhelmed by her thick red coat and scarf. He noticed she wore beige scrubs tucked into her fleece-lined snow boots.
“Not the greatest morning, Dr. Lockhart.” He’d met the ME a few times. She was smart, quick, and competent.
“I’m pretty certain I’ve asked you to call me Natasha,” she said as she pulled on her gloves.
“Natasha.” She had. Every time.
He watched her do a rapid physical exam of the victim and talk in low tones to the evidence tech with the camera. Her hands moved quickly over the body. The evidence tech helped her roll the man to his side, and she scanned his back. “Your man found him just after four this morning?” she asked Truman.
“Yes. He said he was still bleeding at the time.”
“Nothing he could have done.”
“He knows.” Truman eyed the neck wound. No one could survive that.
“I saw Mercy a few weeks ago,” Natasha said conversationally. “I wasn’t surprised to hear she’d moved to the area permanently.”
“You weren’t?” Most people were shocked Mercy had left the big city.
Natasha gave him an appraising look, and he felt like a cut of beef in the butcher’s case. “Nope. Didn’t surprise me one bit.”
She winked at him and his face heated.
He and Mercy had tried to keep their relationship quiet. Sort of. His men knew they were together, and most of her coworkers knew she was involved with him, but since her initial case in Central Oregon, their jobs hadn’t crossed again until now.
It felt odd. As if he had a poorly kept secret.
Natasha stood and stretched her back. “Not much I can do here. I’ll try to get to him today.”
“I have a pretty good idea of how he died,” said Truman. “What I want to know is who he is.”
“I’ll print him immediately and send them to you so you can get that ball rolling.”
Truman knew running fingerprints wasn’t the magic people saw on TV. Sometimes law enforcement got lucky with the first huge database they searched, but with no idea of where the victim had come from, they might have to search a few others. Assuming the man had been printed in the past.
But Truman believed violence beget violence, and judging by this man’s manner of death, he’d associated with violence before.
SIX
“Hey, Mercy! Welcome back!”
Mercy’s attitude improved at the sound of Lucas’s heartfelt welcome as she stepped inside the Eagle’s Nest police station. She’d grown fond of Truman’s police department manager. The giant young man had a gift for organization and telling people what to do. “Thanks, Lucas. Is your boss here?”
His grin widened. “He’s in the back. He’s moving a bit slow this morning. I did make him change his clothes once I got a whiff of him. He’s been wearing the same thing since that big fire.”
So much for Truman following her advice.
She’d checked in at her own office first thing and then driven to the scene where Ben Cooley had been shot at. The body had been taken to the morgue by the time she arrived, but a small crime scene crew and the fire marshal were still present. She’d asked Bill Trek if this fire had any similarities to the fire at which the deputies had been shot. His answer hadn’t been helpful. According to his nose, they’d used the same accelerant as in that fire, but that’s where the similarities ended. This one was simply too small and had been put out too early to be compared with the other.
But someone had shot a weapon at both fires.
Mercy was relieved that Cooley hadn’t been hurt and was determined to find the shooters. A resident had called Truman to say a fire had been started on his property last week and he’d gotten a look at the culprits before chasing them off and putting out the fire himself. She and Truman had agreed to meet him at the Eagle’s Nest station.
Lucas scowled at the clock. “Your witness hasn’t shown up yet. Clyde Jenkins said he’d be in by now. I’ll give him another ten minutes and then call him. He’s not known for being prompt.”
“What do you know about him?” She didn’t recognize the name from when she’d lived in Eagle’s Nest years before.
Lucas brushed his hair out of his eyes and tapped the keyboard on his desk. “He was charged once for disturbing the peace. I remember when that happened. He’d fired his gun in the air to get rid of some religious people who knocked on his door. Said he’d told them to leave and they were too slow to get off his property. They filed charges and somehow he ended up only pleading guilty to the disturbing-the-peace charge. I imagine the original charge was something worse. He’s sixty-five and lives alone on three acres east of town. Comes to town and hangs around with the old-timers at the feed store or the John Deere dealership. Seems pleasant enough.”
Lucas stood up from his desk and walked over to the printer. He moved awkwardly, and Mercy gaped at the giant boot over a cast on his foot. “Is that broken? What did you do?”
“It’s nothing, but yes, it’s broken.”