The sheriff looked at her with a squint. He obviously knew she was looking for something in particular she hadn’t revealed.
“There’s a missing boy back in Grimstad, an African American. He had a distinctive scar.”
“Ah,” he said, handing over the entire file.
As she riffled through it the deputy stuck his head in.
The sheriff said, “Go down to True Value and buy some furnace filters we can use as sifting screens. You know, for dirt.”
The deputy and sheriff got in a short discussion about what that meant until Verplank was able to convey what he wanted.
“Meet us out at the Wilson place where we found the victim,” he said.
Then to Cassie, “Are you finding what you’re looking for?”
She shook her head and closed the folder. “No. The incident report said he had a surgical scar on his lower left ankle. I was hoping for a clear shot of his ankles or lower legs that are close enough to see a scar. We could show it to the father of the missing boy.”
The only close photos she’d seen of the victim’s legs were at the wrong angle. The legs had been turned in and the ankles were in shadow.
“Sorry,” the sheriff said. “If I’d had any idea…”
“Could you check with DCI?” she asked. “Can you ask them to send us a good photo of the scar?”
“First thing tomorrow,” he said ruefully. “They’re state employees. They go home at five.”
“Also, please ask them to send the DNA results to…” Her voice trailed off.
“To where?” the sheriff asked.
To where? She couldn’t have them sent to the Bakken County Sheriff’s Department where she no longer worked, where they’d likely be mishandled or relegated to the bottom of a pile.
Maybe Minneapolis, where Raheem’s father was located? But that would mean asking Clyde Johnson to produce materials that might contain his son’s DNA. It would be traumatic. And she wasn’t yet prepared to make that request of him. Not until she had more to go on.
“I’m not sure yet,” she confessed. “I’m at a real loss here doing this as a private citizen. Let me think on it. But please ask them to be prepared to send the DNA results … somewhere.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
THE SUN BALLOONED OVER the flat western horizon. As deep shadows formed in the furrows from the setting sun and the deputy palmed loose dirt onto the screen and sifted it, Cassie studied the location. From Verplank’s detailed description, she could imagine where a vehicle had been on the road and in her mind she could see the victim running across the field to where they where now.
There were no ranch houses or structures in sight. It was unlikely anyone could have seen what happened that day unless they were driving along the highway at just the right time. The sheriff confirmed that no one had reported seeing anything unusual on the highway that day.
Cassie and the sheriff designated a twenty-foot grid around where the body had been found. On his hands and knees, the deputy sifted through the churned-up dirt with the screen.
The temperature cooled down quickly and within a half-hour they were working in the dark. Verplank turned on his flashlight and the deputy strapped on a headlamp. Cassie’s job was to hold out an open large evidence bag so the deputy could pour in whatever was caught in the screen.
She observed carefully what he came up with. It wasn’t unique for the most part: rocks too large to fall through the screen, bits of plastic that might have been out there for years, spent .22 casings, a Copenhagen chewing tobacco lid. But they did find some tiny slivers of black plastic—it looked like vinyl—and a couple of small metal pieces.
She plucked one of the metal parts out of the bag and asked the sheriff to illuminate it in the palm of her hand with his flashlight. It had a green color and small wires, like spider legs, extended out from it.
“What do you think this is?” she asked.
“Don’t know for sure but it kind of looks like a part of a circuit board. Like maybe it was from a cell phone, radio, or walkie talkie.”
“That’s interesting, don’t you think?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ll send this into DCI for analysis.”
“So maybe it wasn’t a rocket or grenade,” she speculated. “Maybe there was a bomb of some kind attached to his neck. That would explain the close-contact burns. Whoever did this to him didn’t shoot him from a distance. He sent the victim running and triggered the explosives by remote control.”
“I never even considered that,” the sheriff said. “But what kind of person could do such a thing?”
It was a question she was asking herself. She couldn’t help but think of the last situation she’d been in that involved explosives.
But where that thought took her was a whole other place.
* * *
“ONE MORE THING,” she said to the sheriff as they drove back toward Ekalaka in the dark. “Are there any closed-circuit cameras in town that might have seen the victim or whoever drove him here?”
“There are a few cameras around,” he said. “Nothing like in the cities, though. We’ve got them inside the bank, at the convenience stores, all the ATMs of course. But it isn’t like London or New York. The likelihood of finding whoever did this on video is remote at best. Plus, the DCI team checked the few cameras we had and they didn’t find anything worthwhile.”
She thought about that and said, “I was just speculating.”
“Speculating is okay. That’s what we do. Your speculation of screening that field might lead to something even though it might shoot my RPG theory to hell,” he said with a grin. “So where can I drop you off?”
“My car,” she said.
“I can recommend a motel if you’re staying the night. You’ve got all of two choices.”
She laughed. “I hadn’t even planned that far ahead. I guess I thought I’d be driving back tonight.”
“That’s a long drive,” he said.
She thought about the journey back to Grimstad and something struck her.
“That gas station before you get to Grimstad—I stopped before I met you today.”
“Yes?” he said, not understanding where she was going.
“It’s the only place to get gas between Baker and here. When I turned in I was literally running on fumes.”
“Okay.”
“What if the killer was in the same situation? If he was on the same route? Wouldn’t it be more likely he’d stop outside of town at a place like that than risk being seen in Ekalaka?”
The sheriff nodded and said, “Assuming he came that way, I guess. And not from the south.”
“Even then he wouldn’t want to risk being seen in the middle of town, right?”
“I’ll play along,” he said. “What are you getting at?”
“Let’s drive out there and talk to the man in the wheelchair. That place has old-fashioned pumps so you have to go inside personally to pay. Maybe the owner remembers someone coming in that day.”
“Worth a shot.” Verplank sighed and said, “Kirkbride was right. You are a bulldog.”
“He said that?”
“It was a compliment.”
* * *
THE A-FRAME GAS STATION was dark in front when Sheriff Verplank pulled off the highway onto the gravel lot.
“Closed,” Cassie said with a sigh.
“He lives in back of the place,” Verplank said. “I’ll roust him.”
“Should we do that?” she asked. “It can probably wait until tomorrow.”
“My cousin owns this place,” he said grimly. “His name is Bodeen Verplank. He’s a creepy little pervert if you want to know the truth. About fifteen years ago I responded to a Peeping Tom call in town and when I got there the son of a bitch took a shot at me and took off running so I returned fire and hit him in the spine. Turned out it was my cousin. He’s been in a wheelchair ever since. I wish my aim would have been better because to this day I don’t like him.”
“Still…”
The sheriff reached down and turned on his flashing lights. The front of the gas station erupted in revolving blue and orange beams. Then he triggered his siren and made two loud blasts of sound.
WHOOP! WHOOP!
“That ought to get his attention,” the sheriff said, baring his teeth.
Cassie sat tight.
Finally, lights came on in the front of the station and she caught a glimpse of Bodeen’s head as he propelled himself in his chair from his living quarters in the back to the front of the store.
“Here he comes,” the sheriff said as he opened his door. Cassie did the same. She stayed a step behind him as he clamped on his wide-brimmed hat and approached the front of the station.
The door cracked a few inches. The sheriff shot his arm out and wedged it into the opening to prevent it from closing again.
“Bodeen, you little reprobate, let us in.”
The door swung fully open and the owner filled the threshold. Bodeen glared up at the sheriff with undisguised hatred until his eyes slid off and found Cassie.
“Who is she and why are you here?” Bodeen asked.
“That’s Cassie Dewell and we’re working on a case. Now roll yourself back so we can come in.”
Bodeen thrust out his jaw. “I don’t have to do that if I don’t want to. And you know it.”
Cassie knew he was right. “Sheriff…”
“Damn you, Bodeen,” Bebe Verplank said as he lifted up his right boot and placed it on the front of the wheelchair seat between Bodeen’s legs and pushed it back hard. The chair rolled back into the store.
“Come on in,” he said to Cassie over his shoulder.
* * *
AFTER THEY CLOSED THE DOOR behind them, the sheriff crossed his arms across his chest and tilted his head to the side as he and his cousin began an epic stare-down. Cassie stood helplessly near the counter. It was obvious there were years of history on display.
At about half a minute, Bodeen broke. “What now?” he asked, resigned.
“I thought you’d tell me.”
Bodeen looked away.
Cassie had no idea what was going on. She edged behind the counter so she could be further away from them if a fight broke out.
“I been good,” Bodeen said. “I kept my nose clean.”
“First time ever, then.”
“Really, man. You’ve got no right to come here and harass me.”
“Did you get those pumps adjusted like I told you to? Are they honest pumps?”
“They’re honest, Bebe. I don’t overcharge anyone anymore.”
“Are you still buying weed from the Sorensons? I can smell it in here.”
So could Cassie.
“Medical marijuana is legal and you know it, Bebe.”
“And you’ve got a card to prove it you can show me?”
“I’m gonna get one,” Bodeen said. “I promise.”
The sheriff looked over his shoulder at Cassie and winked. He was enjoying himself.
She wasn’t and he could tell that.
“Okay, enough foolishness,” he said to Bodeen. “We need to know if you remember any particular customers you might have had about a month ago. Late in the night on September fifteenth or early the next morning September sixteenth. I assume you were working on those days.”
Cassie saw panic on Bodeen’s face. He said, “Man, how do you expect me to remember that far back? What is this, anyhow?”
She wondered that herself. She knew what she’d been doing those days only because they were among the most traumatic days of her life.
“Think, cousin,” the sheriff said. “For once, think.
“Tuesday the fifteenth through the twenty-second,” the sheriff said. “Who bought gas from you?”
“How can I possibly remember?”
“Don’t you keep records?”
“We’re an all-cash business, Bebe. I don’t take no credit cards so there ain’t any receipts.”
Embarrassed for Bodeen, she looked down. It was obvious Bodeen had no memory of those dates or of any customers on those dates.
And there it was: a small computer monitor tucked away up under the counter where it couldn’t be seen by a customer on the other side.
“Maybe it’s on his security camera,” Cassie interjected from behind the counter. “There’s a monitor back here.”
Verplank put his hands on his hips and leaned toward his cousin. “You have a camera?”
“No!” Bodeen shouted. He raised both hands toward his cousin as if to ward him off if he attacked. Then: “The camera don’t even work.”
“Which is it, Bodeen?” the sheriff asked. “You don’t have one or it doesn’t work?”
“Both,” Bodeen cried. He dropped his hands to the rims of his chair and tried furiously to get around the sheriff to where Cassie was behind the counter. The sheriff stepped to the side and blocked Bodeen’s path.
“What have you got back there, cousin?”
“Nothing. Now go away and leave me alone.”
Cassie found the power button on the monitor and turned it on. It took a moment to warm up. While it did she looked up to see Bodeen’s face twisted up with rage.
“Get that bitch out of my store!” he screamed. “She’s got no right to be here.”
Again he was correct, she thought. But she was in Sheriff Verplank’s county and she deferred to his judgment.
Then the monitor lightened to blue and the forms it showed came into focus.
It was a view from above looking down. She could see a sink, a stall, a toilet inside the stall, and the top of a sanitary napkin dispenser.
“You bastard,” she said to Bodeen. Then to the sheriff, “He’s got a camera in the ceiling of the women’s bathroom.”
“I told you he was a pervert,” Sheriff Verplank said.
* * *
BODEEN SAT SLUMPED OVER with his head in his hands as Cassie tapped the keyboard of the monitor to zoom in and out. It was aimed squarely at the toilet seat.
“You’re sick,” she said.
He mewled.
Then she noticed a series of icons on the bottom of the screen and she clicked one with the mouse. It was a video folder.
When it opened she could see at least twenty-five video files. She chose the most recent file and clicked on it and watched herself enter the bathroom, put aside the key, take off her coat, and enter the stall.
Cassie watched no more.
“You sick bastard,” she said again. “I’m on this, Sheriff.”
Sheriff Verplank bent over Bodeen and asked, “Where’s the hard drive?”
“Please, leave me alone. I never touched any of them.”
“Where is the hard drive?”
“Under the desk,” Bodeen said through wails.
Cassie turned and saw it down there. Two blinking green lights in the dark.
“Now, Bodeen,” the sheriff said, “I’m going to take that with me. Then I’m going to go into the women’s bathroom and tear that camera out of the ceiling. You aren’t ever going to use it again.
“Then I’m going to come back here tomorrow and arrest you. That gives you a little time to call your lawyer and get your affairs in order. You’re going to Deer Lodge for a few years.”
She could barely hear Bodeen as he spoke and cried at the same time, but she got the gist of it. The sheriff, Bodeen was saying, had no reason or right to come into his gas station and search, much less remove anything.
For the third time, Bodeen was legally on track.
But Sheriff Verplank said to Bodeen, “I’ve got every right in the world, cousin. It’s called probable cause. Cassie here told me she had a very strange feeling when she went into the women’s bathroom today. She said she felt she was being spied on. Turns out, she was right.”
Cassie mouthed “What?” to the sheriff, and he winked at her to play along.
Bodeen bent further over in his chair and wept.
To Cassie, the sheriff said, “How about you unhook all that equipment and I’ll go pull that camera from the bathroom. We’ll take it all with us.”
She nodded in agreement and the sheriff grabbed the key to the women’s and went out the door.
* * *
WHILE SHE BENT UNDER the desk she could hear Bodeen’s wheels rolling slowly across the floor toward her. She paused and reached inside her purse and gripped the handle of the Glock inside.
“What do you want?” she asked him. She used her flat cop voice.
“I don’t want to go back to prison. I hate Deer Lodge.”
“You’ll have to talk to the sheriff about that.”
“He don’t have any right to take all my equipment without no warrant. Those cameras are expensive.”
She unplugged the server and it wound down into silence. It was warm to the touch and she picked it up and placed it on the desk. Then something struck her and she slowly turned around and leaned over the counter at Bodeen.
“Cameras?” she asked. “You said cameras. Is there more than one?”
He looked up blankly. Then, “Yeah. There’s two.”
“Where is the other one? In the men’s?”
“Shit no,” he said, offended. “I ain’t queer.”
Then he nodded toward the front of the station and raised his eyes to indicate where it was.
“It’s out front under the eave where it’s hard to see from the pumps. It’s there so I can get the license plates in case somebody fills up and don’t pay me. Drive-aways are a real problem. Of course, our great sheriff could care less about real crime like that—crime against small business owners trying to make a living. Not when he can spend his time abusing his cousin—”
“Stop,” she commanded.
He shut up and looked like he was about to cry again.
“Do you have video records of all of your customers on this server?”
He nodded.
“How far back does it go?”
He shrugged, “Maybe a couple months. I don’t look unless I have a drive-away. I haven’t had any for—”
“Stop.”
CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN
WHILE SHERIFF VERPLANK took a call from his wife in his office, Cassie set up the computer and monitor from the A-frame on an empty desk in the squad room. She appreciated him giving her such free rein when she knew he could have easily asserted his authority over the chain of custody of the evidence and sent her away.