Deadly Places: A Mapleton Mystery Novella

A Mapleton Novella

Terry Odell

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

Ed Solomon swung his department SUV into the lot behind the Mapleton, Colorado police station. As he’d done every morning for the past ten days, he paused, stared at the sign reserving the slot for the Chief of Police, then pulled into the vacant space to the right.

As far as Ed was concerned, Gordon Hepler was still the Chief, and that spot would be waiting for him until he returned.

And he’d damn well better return. Dealing with Chief Stuff was a pain in the ass.

Ed stepped out of the SUV, shivered as the early-morning air grabbed him through his uniform shirt, and gazed at the gray clouds rolling in over the mountains. He made a mental note to bring his winter boots to the office tomorrow, and hoped the snow would hold off until after Halloween.

After Ed’s first week as Mapleton’s reluctant Acting Chief of Police, he’d stopped walking the length of the building to the staff entrance and begun using the door to Gordon’s private office. He refused to think of it as his own office, but his cubicle in the workroom had become buried in paperwork by his third day in his new position. Temporary position. Plus, it seemed silly to make Laurie, Gordon’s admin, come hunting for him.

In Gordon’s office, phone conversations were private, Ed had convenient access to the filing cabinets, and there were fewer distractions. About the only change Ed had made was to brew full-strength coffee instead of the Chief’s decaf in Gordon’s personal coffeepot.

Smiling at the cardboard skeleton enhanced with a police cap and badge decorating the Chief’s door, Ed let himself in. Laurie appeared in the inner doorway between his office and her workspace just beyond. She held a manila file folder, which he knew contained the night reports in one hand, and a red file folder in the other.

Ed’s heart rate jacked up a bit. Red folders meant something requiring immediate attention. Of course, that included reports the mayor needed—or thought he needed—ASAP. Most of those were routine and merely played into the mayor’s ego trips. Ed followed the
if you do it right away, they’ll know how long it really takes rule
, so he never turned those around too quickly.

“Good morning, Acting Chief,” Laurie said.

As he’d done every day since Gordon had left, Ed tapped his uniform nametag—which did
not
say Chief—and returned her greeting with, “Just plain Officer Solomon,” and reached for the red folder.

She rolled her eyes, as she always did at his response, and handed it over.

“What is it?” he asked.

“No idea. It was on my desk. Anything in red comes straight to you.”

“Can’t be too important if Dispatch didn’t call me.” Ed tried to keep the disappointment out of his voice. Quiet was good for Mapleton. But it also meant his officers could handle everything, leaving Ed with the mounds of paperwork that came with the position. Temporary position.

“Have you heard anything from the Chief?” Ed asked. Mayor McKenna had put Gordon on a sixty-day probation after claiming the Chief had violated some imagined mayoral directive. Even when the mayor had been proven wrong and had offered to rescind the probationary period, Gordon had walked. Where to Ed wasn’t sure.

But he’d be back, even if Ed had to track him down and drag him by the scruff of his neck.

Laurie shook her head. “Nothing. You know I’d let you know if I had.”

Unless Gordon had sworn her to secrecy. Laurie worked for the office, not the man, but Ed knew she wouldn’t betray a trust. She went on to tell him his morning was clear, reminded him he had a meeting with a reporter from the
Mapleton Weekly
at two, and left him to his Chief Stuff.

Ed stared at the red folder. Priority, or save it until after going through the night reports?

Curiosity won out, and he lowered a hip to his desk and opened the folder.

Inside, was a sealed envelope with Ed’s name on it. Computer generated. An attached yellow sticky note written in Officer Lloyd Titchener’s neat hand said,
Found this on my desk at 0417
.

Ed pondered that for a moment. If it had come through normal channels, it would have been dropped at the front desk, and the night receptionist would have fielded it to Laurie. No civilians should be able to get into the rear offices. Ergo, it probably came from someone on the inside. But why leave it on Titch’s desk? Anyone on the inside knew where Ed’s desk was now.

Or had Titch taken over Ed’s vacated desk? No, not Titch. The man wrote the book on
by the book
.

He picked up the red folder and strolled to Laurie’s desk.

“You need something, sir?”

Ed waved the folder. “You said this was on your desk this morning.”

“That’s right.” She tapped her inbox. “Right here. I assumed the night duty officer left it with his night reports. It’s standard.” She flushed almost the same color as the file folder he held. “But you know that. I didn’t mean to imply—”

“I got it, Laurie. I may be the longest-serving officer in the department, but I’m not the Chief. It’s easy enough to assume I’m the new kid—which I am, when it comes to some of this damn Chief Stuff.”

“So, what was in it?” she asked. “Anything I can do to help? And it’s not because I don’t think you know what you’re doing. It’s—”

Ed raised his palms. “We both know you keep everything running in this office. Never apologize for trying to do your job. Or offering suggestions.” He took the envelope out of the folder, and dropped it in front of Laurie. “I’m trying to figure out how this got onto Titch’s desk at four in the morning.” He led her through his thought process.

Laurie opened the file drawer in her desk and pulled out her copy of the duty roster. “Irv was on reception last night. He shouldn’t have let anyone through, but if it was someone he knew—”

Irv, a retired cop, now a civilian volunteer, needed to feel useful, and Ed didn’t want to be the one to take away a job that gave a semblance of meaning to the man’s life. But, unfortunately, Ed could see Irv letting himself be schmoozed into opening the door.

“You know,” Laurie said, “it’s possible Irv put it on Titch’s desk without telling him.”

“Of course. That makes perfect sense. I’ll talk to them when they get here.”

“You’re hearing hoofbeats and hoping for zebras again, aren’t you?” Laurie asked. “I know you love your puzzles, but around here, Shetland ponies are more like it.” She stared at her keyboard, then met his gaze, a slight twinkle in her eyes. A welcome peek at the pre-Acting Chief Laurie, the one who’d been comfortable teasing him. “But that’s something else you already know. If I might make a suggestion, why don’t you open the envelope?”

“Now why didn’t I think of that? That’s why you get the big bucks. Next on my list.” Ed ambled to his office and slit the envelope open. Dusting it for prints would have been going a little too far into zebra land.

Inside was a single sheet of paper. Zebra land or not, Ed grabbed a pair of gloves from the box in the credenza and snapped them on before extracting the page.

Centered on the page, printed by computer, was a lone URL. Ed turned the page over. Blank. Flipped to the first side again, as if something more might have appeared. Nope. What the—?

Ed took the sheet of paper and made a copy, then put the original back into the envelope, then placed the envelope into the red folder, all the while wondering who sent it, why, and how it got into the station. Some kind of joke? There’d been a few immediately after Gordon had left, all good-natured, but nothing recent. Ed had done—was still doing—his best to keep everything running the way it had under Gordon, down to taking over the Chief’s favorite task of covering the elementary school crosswalk every morning. He glanced at his watch. Time either to check out the website or review the night reports before he’d have to leave. The URL had been shortened, so there was no way to guess where it went.

Deciding to get the Chief Stuff out of the way, Ed set his copy of the mystery sheet aside and opened the night reports folder. Drumming his fingers on the desk, he flipped through them quickly, scanning for anything requiring special attention.

The usual barking dogs, a few overly rowdy patrons at Finnegan’s. He paused at a complaint about a missing downspout. Per the report, the complainant had been vociferous and antagonistic. No suspects, but Officer Gaubatz had promised to keep an eye out to appease the woman.

The only other issue was a loud party when a group of teens took advantage of a friend’s parents being out of town. Officer Jost reported beer cans on the premises and had informed the kids he’d be talking to all their parents, which ended the party in a hurry. He’d suggested they might want to volunteer to pick up trash on the high school campus. Nothing like setting an example. Mapleton philosophy, established under Chief Dixon, Gordon’s predecessor, was that training ’em while they were young saved a lot of trouble down the line.

The party and downspout reports had come in two hours apart. Ed wondered whether Gaubatz and Jost had made a connection between mildly inebriated teens and the missing downspout. Then again, the homes were in totally different neighborhoods, and stealing downspouts didn’t seem to be a typical teenage prank. Maybe on Halloween night, but that was several weeks away. Apparently Dispatch hadn’t made a connection, because neither officer had been notified about the other’s calls. Ed made a note to follow up with both officers as well as Dispatch.

The long-awaited vehicle computer system might help coordinate calls like these. Ordering them with the grant monies Gordon had applied for and received was one task Ed had been happy to take over. And if they arrived before Halloween, that would be a boon, given the holiday was historically one of the biggest nights for nuisance calls in Mapleton.

The sheet with the mysterious URL tempted him like the anticipation of cake and ice cream at a birthday party. However, dessert came last. Ed headed to the elementary school.

The city workforce was busy embellishing the town square with straw bales, scarecrows, pumpkins, and gravestones.

As he chatted with the kids and moms, he hoped a friendly cop presence might divert some of them from the
party when the cat’s away
path. Or stealing downspouts, although he still had his doubts about that one. Today’s main topic had been Halloween costumes. He reminded everyone there were safety kits at the station, and mentioned the police department would be participating in the Mapleton Main Street Trick or Treat Parade.

“Be sure to stop by and show me your costumes,” he said. Three kids, one a pixie-faced little girl, said they were going as police officers, filling Ed with a sense of pride that he—or Gordon—might have played some part in their decisions.

His duty done, Ed returned to his desk with an inner glow. Deciding to become a cop hadn’t been a waste of time. That glow ignited into a hot flame when he plugged the URL into his computer.

An obituary page from a Cleveland area paper popped up. Ed scanned the names, wondering why someone would have gone to all the trouble of sneaking the link into the department. When a familiar name caught his eye, he exited the site, then switched to his laptop and logged into the account he’d established in conjunction with his Deadbeat Dad Killer investigation.

Al Cardona was a name he’d been watching, a man who’d been picked up numerous times for neglecting to pay his court-ordered child support. Ed pulled up his file, and although he wouldn’t have expected two men on his list to have died in the Cleveland area in the same week, he compared his names to those on the website. No, Cardona’s was the only match.

Ed clicked open the obituary.

Not much there. Died unexpectedly at the age of forty-seven, left behind a wife and two children. Ed checked his notes. The wife and two kids weren’t the ones on his list. New wife, new kids to support, kiss off the first one—no, two? No mention of previous marriages. Or whether the new kids were his, or if they’d come with the new wife.

Did wives one and two have anything to do with the untimely demise of Al Cardona? Ed checked the date. Funeral was three days ago.

Ever since Gordon had vacationed at a Colorado B and B last winter and met Paula Brassington, Ed had been following her travel blog,
Paula’s Places
. Ed’s theory, that there was someone—or a group of someones—killing deadbeat dads, was tied to Paula. While she and Gordon were at the B and B, there’d been a highway incident where a pickup truck driver had been shot. To date, there had been no progress made on finding the killer.

What Ed had discovered was a number of these deaths happened to deadbeat dads in places Paula’s blog had featured. Coincidence? Ed hated coincidences.

On a whim, Ed called Tyler Colfax, a homicide detective with the county.

“Need my help, Solomon?” Colfax answered.

Ed bit back a retort. You’d think he’d be used to the man’s constant ribbing by now. “As a matter of fact, yes. What do you know about Al Cardona?” He would have preferred to be sitting across the desk from the detective, but had to settle for listening for any tells in the man’s voice.

“Nothing. Should I?” Colfax’s response was immediate and contained no hint he’d been the one to drop into the station last night. Nobody would have questioned his presence.

“Might be related to the Deadbeat Dad Killer case,” Ed said.

“You still have that stick up your ass? I thought we’d written off the guy Gordon took out. How is the Chief, anyway? Still tucked away with his cute blonde?”

“He’s not required to check in with me.” Ed didn’t hide his irritation. “And if he and Angie are
tucked away
, more power to him. He deserves some R and R.”

“No offense meant. I only hope he’s not going all macho and refusing to talk about what happened.”

“I’m sure Angie’s taking care of him. But I called about a possible Deadbeat Dad killing.” Ed explained the mysterious message, and the obituary.

“You’re saying someone knows what you’re doing?” Colfax said.

“It’s not a secret around here, although I’m not broadcasting it. People are aware of my theory, although I haven’t mentioned my attempts to slither into the good graces of
Paula’s Places
to anyone but you and Gordon.”

Colfax chuckled. “Good graces of
Paula’s Places
. Who knew you were a poet?”

Ed clenched his teeth. Colfax, despite his irritating habit of playing the
Mapleton’s a hick town
card, was a top-notch detective, and Ed knew the digs were all superficial. Didn’t mean it didn’t bug the hell out of him, though. And as
Acting
Chief, Ed didn’t feel comfortable throwing digs back at him.

“Did your geeks get anything on a code phrase for Paula Brassington’s blog?” Ed asked.

“You still think there’s a secret password that will let you into a theoretical assassination ring?”

“Yes, I still do.” When Ed had used a fake name to subscribe to Paula’s newsletter, and requested that
Paula’s Places
visit Manitou Springs, he’d received an email with a standard form to fill out. However, one field asked who had told him about the newsletter. Ed was convinced a specific name or phrase would separate the run of the mill newsletter subscriber from the few people who wanted a deadbeat dad taken out. At the time, Colfax had believed there might be a hint of substance to Ed’s theory and set some of his computer techs to the task.

Because they hadn’t been able to crack the system, Ed had abandoned his initial attempt, but had worked with the County geeks to set up a new identity, and had started over using the same phrasing, but with a request the blog do an article on Leadville.

“It takes creative cyber hacking,” Colfax said. “If your theory holds, then these people are all using public computers or spoofed addresses, or countless other workarounds. If Paula Brassington
is
an assassin, she’s been smart enough to cover her ass. Otherwise, the geeks would have found cyber footprints. Or, and this is where my personal feelings lean, you’re looking for ghosts.”

“Zebras,” Ed muttered.

“I didn’t catch that.”

“Nothing,” Ed said. “Will you have the geeks let me know as soon as they find something?”

“
If
would be a better word choice. But yes, as long as there’s a connection—and it’s a thin one, believe me—to the death of Franklin Fitzgerald, yeah, I can justify some computer time for you.”

Franklin Fitzgerald had been found in his car in the parking lot at the Red Rocks Amphitheater. At first it appeared to be a suicide, but it had turned out to be a homicide, and since Fitzgerald had three ex-wives and five kids between them, and hadn’t paid a penny in child support in years, he fit Ed’s pattern. And, since the amphitheater was inside the county line, it fell under Colfax’s jurisdiction.

“Appreciate it.” Ed paused, then continued with his own style of baiting Colfax. “Now, for the record, were you in Mapleton in the wee hours of the morning. Around oh four hundred?”

“What? Oh, your mysterious envelope. You accusing me of playing games, Solomon?”

“I don’t know, Detective. You have an alibi?”

A pause. Then a snort. “You’re getting good. Almost had me going. What do you need from County on that one? Your Cardona guy’s from Cleveland.”

“Grafton, technically. And if my theory is right, there should be a
Paula’s Places
blog about the town, or one nearby, in about three weeks, if this
is
a deadbeat dad killing. Has the earmarks. But with your vast experience and much farther-reaching contacts than a mere small town police force can muster, I thought you might put out some feelers. Find out the cause of death, see if it matches any of the other Deadbeat Dads.”

“No need to butter me up,” Colfax said. “Al Cardona of Grafton, Ohio. I know a couple guys in Shaker Heights. Not exactly next door to Grafton, but I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks.”

“One last thing. My guys aren’t sleeping on the job, are they?”

In addition to his Chief Stuff, Ed felt obligated to be on the streets, but a few hours a shift was all he had time for. The mayor hadn’t wanted to add new hires, so the county had provided deputies to take up the slack. “They’re doing fine. I won’t be surprised if they apply for jobs here.”

Colfax snorted. “I hope they haven’t forgotten their real cop skills when they come back.”

Ed disconnected and wondered why Colfax had to play his little games. Why not cut to the chase from the get go? He sighed. That was the man’s MO, and Ed was learning to deal with it.

He started a pot of the pumpkin spice coffee his wife had given him. The aromas of pumpkin, cinnamon, and whatever else went into the blend filled the office. “You can get the sludge in the break room anytime you want it,” she’d said. “As long as you have a private pot, why not enjoy something different?”

“The guys will think I’m a wimp,” he’d protested. But he
liked
the seasonal flavors, and none of the officers would dare tease him. Not to his face, anyway.

See, there is a perk to all this Chief Stuff.

He sipped that first, fresh-out-of-the-pot cup of coffee. Finnegan’s would have its seasonal pumpkin spice ale by now, and Ed thought about brainstorming his case there with a couple of the crew after end of shift. However, aside from those initial jokes when Ed had been thrust into Gordon’s position, there’d been a subtle but noticeable difference in attitude. Nobody called him Ed, or Solomon now. It was always Chief, or Sir. The breakroom grew quiet when he entered, and backs straightened when he walked into the workroom. It was
him
and
us
, and although Ed understood the need for the hierarchy, there was still a niggling discomfort he might never fit in the same way again, once the real Chief came back and Ed could resume being a regular cop.

Suck it up and get to work
.