Jim and Milhouse walked out of the barn. “It’s hard to say what went on here,” Jim said, discouragingly. “Everything’s all trampled down.”
“I’m sorry about that, Sheriff,” Milhouse replied. “But Agent Bradley had us search the barn, then the ambulance drivers had to walk around. You’ll be able to see the area more clearly in the photos.”
“I hope you’re right,” Jim said, then turned his attention to the animals. “Listen, I want you to make arrangements for Buck’s mules. Call some of the ranchers and see if they can hold on to them for a while. Then help the others look for those bullets.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m going over to the hospital and see if Doc Gresham has the autopsy done. Maybe that’ll tell us something.” Jim started to turn to walk away, then stopped and looked at Milhouse. “I want to see you and those photos in my office by five sharp. Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.” Milhouse nodded.
Jim walked up the hill, got into his blazer, and stared down at the cabin. He was baffled. What happened? What could’ve possibly gone wrong? he wondered. Questions poured through his mind as he wished that his lost friend could give him the answers. Maybe he still could, he thought optimistically. After a few moments he started the Blazer, turned it around and drove back up the road.
An hour later, Jim walked through the front door of the County Hospital and up to the receptionist’s desk. “I’d like to see Doctor Gresham, please.”
Before the receptionist could answer him, an elderly gray haired man in a white lab coat emerged from the open door behind her. “Hello, Jim,” he said with a smile. “It’s been a long time.” The two men shook hands.
“Hello, Doc, how are you?”
“I’m fine, but you don’t look so good,” Gresham said with painful concern in his voice.
“I haven’t been getting much sleep. Have you finished with Buck’s autopsy?” Harper asked, changing the subject.
“Yes, my report is complete, however, the photos will be a few more minutes,” came the answer. “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee and relax. I’ll call you when they’re ready.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Jim then turned and walked over to the coffee pot where he pulled a paper cup off the stack.
“Jim,” a familiar voice said from behind him. He turned to see Nikki standing there in her nurse’s uniform. “Are you all right?” she asked with concern. “Doctor Gresham told me about Buck—I’m sorry.”
“I think so, but the shock hasn’t hit me,” and he knew he couldn’t allow it to—not yet. He had to keep it buried, for now, so that he could continue his investigation. Nikki reached for the coffee pot, and filled his cup.
“Well I don’t envy your job. After what I’ve been told, by some of the other nurses, this D.B. Cooper guy is going to be hard to catch.”
“Oh Nikki, not you too!” Jim said in frustration. “Cooper is dead. He drowned in the Cowlitz River when he jumped from that plane.”
“How can you be so sure? No one found any trace of him.”
“Look, Nikki. I was a part of that investigation. It was my first year as Sheriff. If he had survived, I’m certain we would’ve found him.” His voice was calm and confident.
“Okay, Jim. If you say so.” Nikki was not so convinced. Everyone she’d talked to had a story about Cooper and the Feds failure to catch him, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her small town Sheriff wasn’t a little out of his league. “But everyone in town is talking about it.”
“Great!” That’s all I need is for that ghost to come back and haunt me at a time like this,” he thought in frustration.
“Did you tell that DEA guy it wasn’t Cooper?” Nikki asked.
“I tried to straighten him out earlier, but he’s convinced Buck was hiding some sort of drug ring.” Jim shook his head. “Oh, that reminds me.” He took Nikki’s hand and walked her a few paces away from anyone that could possible over hear them. “Have you told anyone that I was out at Buck’s place this morning?” he asked, quietly.
“No, it hasn’t come up. Why?” She answered curiously.
“Agent Bradley found a coffee cup with my finger prints on it. He thinks they belongs to the murderer and said he’ll arrest whoever they belong too.” Jim kept his voice down as he looked around slowly.
“Arrest you?” she said with surprise. “Can he do that?”
“Well, no, he doesn’t have any real evidence. But he could slow me down for a while and I can’t afford that right now.”
“Do you mean you haven’t told them?” she asked sternly.
“No I haven’t, and I don’t want you to say anything either.”
Nikki looked at him in a strange manner. Her lower lip began to quiver and her eyes water. “You can’t ask me to do that, Jim, you know how I feel about lies.”
“It’s not lying. I just need to postpone the truth for a while.”
“It’s the same thing,” she insisted firmly as she pulled her hand out of his, then folded her arms in front of her.
“When this is all over the truth will come out, but I don’t want you to volunteer the information until I’m ready for it.” Jim could see that his words were less than persuasive. “Nikki, you’ve got to believe me.”
“I don’t know what to believe, Jim,” she said as she wiped the tears from her eyes. “All I know is that you were out there about the same time Buck was killed, and now you’re asking me to lie for you.”
“Honey, you’re just going to have to trust me.” Jim pleaded, trying to convince her.
Jim’s words reminded her of the conversation she had with her father. The one where he tried to convince her that he hadn’t been with another woman, and it made her feel insecure and betrayed. She didn’t want to feel that way towards Jim and needed something tangible to grasp onto. “Why can’t you tell them the truth? You’re the Sheriff, they’ll believe you.”
“Nikki, I can’t conduct an effective homicide investigation if I’m under suspicion,” he replied after a moment of awkward silence.
At that moment, Gresham emerged from his office. “Jim, I’m ready.”
“All right, Doc, I’ll be right with you,” Jim replied, then turned his attention back to Nikki. “Listen, why don’t you come by tonight and I’ll explain everything.” He put a hand on her arm to reassure her, but she began to cry.
“I don’t know if I ever want to go to your place again, Jim. I’m not sure if I know you as well as I thought I did.” Nikki pulled away and ran down the hall.
“Nikki!” Jim called after her as he watched her disappear into the lady’s room. After a moment, Jim let out a heavy sigh then slowly turned and walked towards the Doctor.
“Is Miss Taylor all right?” Gresham asked with concern.
“She will be. She’s just upset about Buck.” Jim lied as he walked past Gresham and into the office. The office was different from the sanitized white hallways of the rest of the hospital. The wood paneling on the walls was covered with professional licenses and certificates while the wall behind the desk was a series of shelves filled with medical textbooks.
“Have a seat.” Gresham offered and pointed to the chair in front of the desk. Gresham walked behind the desk and sat down in his chair. He pulled a pair of reading glasses from his shirt pocket, put them on, then opened a folder which was lying on the desk.
Jim pulled the chair up close to the desk and sat off the edge of it. He didn’t like the question but he had to ask. “Doc, did Buck have any traces of drugs in his system?”
“I did a full blood analysis and it came up negative,” Gresham replied. “That is except for some alcohol, but that wasn’t unusual for Buck. I also took a sample of his liver and ran tests on it.” He handed a stack of papers to Jim. “If he had been using drugs, even in small amounts, it would’ve been detected there, but it was negative as well.”
“So that means the drugs weren’t his,”
Jim said as he sat back in the chair and examined the report. Somehow he felt guilty for asking that question in the first place, but he knew it was necessary and was relieved by the answer. “What about the time of death?”
“I put it at about 6 AM.”
Jim nodded. “What about bullets?”
Gresham opened a large envelope on his desk and pulled out a stack of photos. “Buck was killed by two large caliber bullets. Each struck the center of the chest, passed through the heart, then exited through the back.”
“What about bullet fragments?”
Gresham pulled an enlargement of the exit wound from the stack. “Look here. This bullet just passed clean through to the left of the vertebra. This other one, however, crushed the vertebra before exiting the body. If there were bullet fragments, they would be here. I thoroughly searched this area, but found none.”
Jim examined the photos more closely. “Look Doc,” he said as he pointed to the photo. “This one that hit the vertebra, it looks like it was deflected slightly more to the right due to the impact.”
Gresham looked at the photo through his reading glasses and nodded. “Not much, but maybe a little. Is that important?”
“Well it might help me find it if I know which direction it traveled,” Jim replied hopefully, then continued with his questions. “What about the caliber of the bullets?”
“Anywhere from a forty-one to a forty-five,” the doctor answered.
“Can’t you be more specific from the entry wound?” Jim questioned.
“Usually, but not in this case.” Gresham fingered through a stack of photographs then pulled out an enlargement of the chest. “As you can see, the two bullets crushed the sternum moving the bone and tissue around. That makes it impossible to be completely accurate.”
Jim took the photo, sat back in his chair, and examined it closely. It felt strange looking at his friend this way, and he struggled to block out his feelings. He had to keep his mind clear in order to stay objective.
After a few moments Gresham spoke up. “You know, Jim, I’ve known Buck for a long time, but even I think it’s highly suspicious that he would have drugs and be killed by a shooter as accurate as this one. Exactly what was going on out there?” Jim didn’t seem to hear him. “Jim?” Gresham finally said in a loud voice after a moment.
“Huh?” Jim was pulled from deep concentration.
“Do you think this was a professional killing?”
“No, not at all,” Jim said matter of factly. He recalled some of the facts about bullets and killing that he had learned during the war. “A professional wouldn’t have used this type of bullet. You said that there were no fragments—that means the killer used fully jacketed bullets, similar to the type used by the military and law enforcement. They make fairly clean wounds, consistent with what we see here. On impact, they may flatten or mushroom slightly but only a little.
A pro would’ve used a hollow point bullet, which peals back and tends to come apart. It would rip a big hole to ensure a kill. With a hollow point bullet, we would’ve found metal fragments in the wound. Besides, anyone with enough practice can be this accurate at point blank range.”
“He wasn’t standing that close, Jim. In fact, he was quite a ways away.” Gresham replied.
“What?” Jim found that hard to believe.
Gresham pulled another photo from the stack. “Here’s a photo of Buck’s shirt. At point blank range there would’ve been powder burns here.” Gresham indicated an area with the tip of a pencil. “As you can see, there are none.”
Jim stood, picked up the photo and examined it closely. “What about residue?”
“Anywhere out to about six feet I would’ve found powder residue. Even at ten feet I should’ve found something, but all tests came up negative.”
Jim didn’t say anything, but continued to stare at the photo in amazement. Then he picked up the written report from the desk. Gresham knew what he was looking for so he spoke up.
“The center to center distance of the bullets at entry is 2.5 mm or about one inch.” Jim glanced at Gresham with a surprised look, then stared back at the photo without saying anything.
After a long moment, Jim looked at his watch. “Is there anything else, Doc? I told Milhouse I would meet him at five and it looks like I’m late.”
“No, that’s all I’ve got for you.” Gresham collected the photos and began stuffing the stack back into the envelope.
“Can I get copies of those?”
“You can have these,” Gresham replied as he handed the envelope over. “I can make duplicates for my file.”
“Thanks, Doc.” Jim said as he took it.
The two men walked to the office door and out into the hallway. “Good luck, Jim. I hope you find this guy,” Gresham said as they shook hands.
“Thanks again, Doc,” Jim replied, then turned and walked down the hallway. And thank you, Buck, he thought to himself. It wasn’t much, but it was more than he had earlier.
As he got closer to the door he noticed a group of patients and hospital personnel standing around a wall mounted television. The national evening news was on and Jim could hear the commentator speaking.
“We go now live to Morton Washington, where the hunt for D.B. Cooper continues.” Jim stopped and stared at the screen. He immediately recognized the reporter and his guest.