Silver's Bones (2 page)

“Can you tell me
when
I might get my machine back? I've got other jobs I can do,” Russ said.

“Should be by the end of today,” she said.

“Do I need to stop the load of rock from being delivered this afternoon?” Russ asked.

“Yes, in case we need to dig up the yard,” Troy said. “Wouldn't want to have to move rock to do it.”

Adriana cringed. Troy noticed it as well because he put his hand on her arm and said, “Your retaining wall and new lawn are going to be on hold only for a few days.”

That was a bold-faced lie. This could take several days and there wasn't much we could do about it.

Russ and his crew took off with the other equipment. Del left in his truck.

The sheriff said, “Someone from the BCA should be here within an hour. So until then, we secure the area with crime scene tape and wait.”

“I'll get the tape,” Troy said.

“Thank you, and be thinking how large we need to set the scene, okay, Troy?” she said.

He gave her a dirty look, shook his head, and walked off. It was curious how careful she was with Troy despite his obvious resentment. She'd run against him in the special election and the margin of victory was narrow, so she must have recognized his influence in the department. Right away, she told him she'd like to promote him to sergeant. Hadn't happened yet, but if it did, he would officially be my boss.
Yippee all the way to hell.

I wasn't surprised when he lost his bid for sheriff because he sat back on his heels looking like a good ol' boy, while Patrice campaigned vigorously against business as usual, promising to be tough on crime—and the budget. The
Birch County Register
quoted her as saying: “It's time the Birch County Sheriff's Department drops the Mayberry RFD's mentality.” For a bright woman with masters degrees in both law enforcement and business adminis­tra­tion, that was a stupid thing to say. I hadn't made up my mind about her yet. My wife, Shannon, liked her. She said women have to work harder to prove their authority. Maybe so, but Patrice made it worse by forcing changes too quickly.

Adriana whispered to me, “What did she mean, ‘how large the scene will be'?”

“We make it bigger than we think it needs to be,” I said. “Hey, you don't have to stick around.”

“I couldn't concentrate with all this going on. I called in.”

“Suit yourself.”

“I have to run an errand, though, but I'll be back.”

“Sure, whatever.”

She walked off toward her house and it wasn't long before I got a text from Shannon. My wife worked patrol, days, seven to five.

Shannon: “Miss me?”

Me: “I do. And Honolulu 2.”

Shannon: “LOL You're a poet. Meet for lunch?”

Me: “Can't. Big case. Skeletal remains found at Emmaline.”

Shannon: “OMG—where?”

Me: “Ronson Development”

Shannon: “Wow. Keep me posted. R u tired?”

Me: “My butt's dragging. You?”

Shannon: “Same. Aloha XXOO”

Me: “Aloha XXOO”

Did I just do that? Text Xs and Os like a little girl? Next thing you know I'll be drawing hearts and shit.
I cleared the history. A second later I had to ask myself why I'd omitted
whose
property the remains were on. I'd tell her next chance I got.

 

Chapter 2

T
he temperature had already climbed into the upper eighties, and the humidity was high. The black uniform made the skin on my back feel as if an iron was being held to it. Black uniforms—that was another sore spot Sheriff Clinton created. Her first order of business was to announce deputies had three months to change over from tan to the new black
she'd
selected—investigators included, and we'd always been allowed to wear civilian clothing. So, I sat back and watched the predictable pissin' and moanin', and refused to get sucked into the dogfight . . . because, hey, I picked my battles and tried to keep my mind open and my mouth shut—well, most of the time, anyway.

After spraying on insect repellent, Troy and I worked together to mark off the large scene with the yellow crime scene tape. He slapped a mosquito on his arm. “My sweat's washing off the bug spray, and I don't give a shit, I'm putting on the white shirt in my car. Wearing black in summer is fucking stupid,” Troy muttered. Sweat had pooled in his cleft chin.

“Especially if you're outside working in the fucking heat,” I said.

He lifted his brows and nodded, surprised I'd agreed with him. Why wouldn't I? We were raining sweat.

 

 

By the time we finished
and returned to Adriana's yard, our two Birch County Crime Lab technicians, Katherine Abbott and Les Ruper, had arrived. They had joined Sheriff Clinton by the gravesite.

Adriana appeared out of the lower level patio door. She was a head turner in anything she wore, but she hit the sexy-as-hell mark with the white short-shorts and hot pink tank top she had on. As she walked over to the group, a breathy “wow” escaped Troy's lips.

She said, “I've made some refreshments for you. Go right through the patio doors in the lower level. There's also a restroom for your use.”

“Thank you, Ms. Valero. We might as well get out of the heat while we wait for the big guns to get here,” Sheriff Clinton said.

As I went in through the patio door into Adriana's family room, the hit of cool air was a welcome relief. Unexpectedly, a snarling, growling, large animal bounded into the room.
Jesus!
Everyone froze. It was a young, harlequin Great Dane. She grabbed it by the collar.

“New watchdog?” I asked.

“Tino, no!” snapped Adriana. “Down.”

The dog sat. She tried to force him to lie down but he was steadfast in his “sit.”

“Yes. His name is Valentino . . . Tino for short. We're working on a few commands.”

“Friendly enough to pet?” I asked.

She nodded. “He's a real sweetheart. He won't hurt anyone.”

As I bent over to pet him, his tail thumped on the floor. “What a nice boy you are,” I said.

Everyone seemed to relax when they realized they weren't going to get mauled by this giant beast.

“How old?” I asked, as I scratched behind his ears.

“Eight months. A friend decided he was too big for her condo, so I said I'd take him.”

“Nice dog,” I said. “When I was young, a neighbor had one—a fawn color. His name was Igor.”

“Yes, you told me you always wanted one after that.” She smiled at me and I instantly felt uncomfortable with the old familiarity. I got up and stepped away.

Everyone had taken off their shoes and made their way to the table Adriana had set up with coffee, raised sugared doughnuts, and a pitcher of ice water. First thing I did was down two glasses of water, then ate a doughnut. They were crispy on the outside, soft in the middle, just how I like them.

“I would have bought cinnamon rolls from the Sportsman, but they were out,” Adriana said to me, which made me even more uncomfortable.

“Oh, don't. Please,” I said.

When Patrice asked if she could have a tour of the house, Adriana said she'd be happy to. I had thought it would be weird and inappropriate to ask, but since I wanted to see it too, I tagged along with the others.

The design was pretty much the dream house we had talked about building together: all wood and windows with a beautiful fieldstone fireplace. As everyone followed the short-shorts and tank top, Adriana offered a history of the property she said she'd learned from her neighbor, Madison Mitchell, a great-granddaughter of Hubert Ronson.

“In 1921, Hubert purchased this square mile for hunting and fishing and built the log lodge to the west. He later donated and sold the southern sections of the property after the original owner was killed in that area.”

Troy and I exchanged glances. We had just investigated two homicides on the south shore last fall.

“So is Madison living there now?” Sheriff Clinton asked.

“Yes, after Del did the remodeling, Maddie fell in love with the place and decided to live here permanently. She realized she could operate her online jewelry business just as easily from Prairie Falls. Then she and her brother sold off the remainder of the property to Del, who sectioned off the land into four lots. First he built the Campbell's home to the east, then this one. The buyers backed out on my house after the murders last fall,” she said. “And because of it, I got quite the deal.”

“The deal just happened to include skeletal remains,” Troy chuckled. He waved his fingers in the air as he said, “Woo-ooo.”

“What was that supposed to be? A ghost?” Adriana said as she punched him in the arm—the reaction seemed intimate. “You sound more like a woo-woo girl.”

Everyone laughed, but this was probably anything but funny to her because she believed in spirits and haunted houses scared her. That's why she favored new construction.

“How long has Maddie been living here?” I asked.

“She moved here in May.”

“We'll want to talk to her. Can you let her know we'll stop by?”

“Sure.”

After the tour and everyone had their fill of doughnuts and coffee, they headed back outside to wait for BRO. I stayed behind.

“Are you doing okay?” I asked.

“Great.” She smiled, but I could see the uneasiness in her eyes.

“You should know this investigation will take some time. You might want to get out of here—go visit your mom in Minneapolis, or take a vacation.”

“I'll be fine. I think it will be interesting to watch.”

“Interesting but slow.”

As I turned to head outdoors she said, “So, I guess congratulations are in order. I'm sure you and Shannon will be very happy.”

I stopped. “Uh, thanks.”

“It didn't surprise me, you know.”

“No?”

“There was always sexual tension between you . . .”

“Oh, let's not go there.”

I could hear a helicopter overhead so I quickly thanked her again and retreated to join the others on the patio.

“What'd she say?” Troy asked.

“She said she likes to watch what's going on.”

 

 

The chopper circled overhead
and
then flew out of view. Deputy Austin Spanney, a.k.a. “Spanky,” radioed Patrice to inform her that BRO was about to land in the clearing across the county road, and they'd be over soon. Five minutes later, Leslie Rouch and a man who looked to be in his sixties walked toward us. I had worked with Leslie on the Kohler/Peterson murders last fall and found her to be very competent and professional. We were lucky to have her assigned to the investigation.

I introduced Leslie to Sheriff Clinton and Leslie, in turn, introduced Dr. Norman Edgerton as a forensic pathologist. “Norman is the best we have, and will be in on the case,” she added.

“Leslie's experienced in unsolved case work, so she'll be invaluable to you,” Edgerton said.

“That's a given,” I said.

“Well, shall we see what we have here?” Dr. Edgerton asked.

Sheriff Clinton showed the two to the site. While Leslie photographed the scene, Dr. Edgerton opened a large bag and removed a small tool that looked like a dental pick and a small brush and started carefully removing the dirt around the skull and visible bone. Within minutes, Edgerton said, “The skull is definitely human. We could use some expert help with excavation and identification. Call St. Paul, Leslie.”

Leslie nodded and walked away to make the call. With the call completed, she came back and told us the BCA in St. Paul recommended Dr. Jennifer Kennedy, a forensic anthropologist from the University of Minnesota. One quick phone call and Dr. Kennedy was on her way.

Meanwhile, Dr. Edgerton supervised the transfer of the Bobcat's contents onto a small tarp. After several more photos, the area was covered with a large, white, floorless tent to protect it from the elements. While we waited for Dr. Kennedy's arrival, Troy and I began the systematic process of searching the area for evidence with the help of deputies Greg Woods and John Odell, who'd been involved in the Kohler/Peterson cases the previous fall.

Troy wanted the east side of the residence, most likely because the bouquet had been found there, and took Odell with him. Woods and I took the west side. Both deputies were good cops, family men. Odell was short and stocky and a real talker. Being an avid fisherman, he talked constantly about lures, rod and reels, and the best fishing spots. Woods was tall and lean, and the kind of guy who didn't jump right into a conversation; you had to stop talking and wait. That's how I found out his son was autistic and he had a 1959 Corvette he took to car shows.

We crisscrossed the area in a grid, using a metal detector. So far we had found and documented a couple old bottle caps, beer cans, a red-and-white bobber, and a plastic bread bag. None were of any use, but nevertheless, we bagged and documented the items. We'd only covered a small area by noon when the sheriff radioed us back in.

Adriana was serving lunch in her family room downstairs. She had set up a portable table with a pyramid of assorted sandwiches, chips, a basket of fruit, a plate of cookies, soft drinks, water, and coffee.

“Thank you, Ms. Valero. You certainly didn't have to do this,” the sheriff said as she walked in.

“I wanted to, and please, call me Adriana.”

“Well, I'll cover the cost,” Sheriff Clinton said, “and from now on we'll do food runs. There's a cooler full of bottled water. Everyone needs to stay hydrated.”

“This looks wonderful,” Leslie said.

As the crew expressed gratitude to Adriana, they filled their plates and went out to the patio to eat. I think Tino intimidated a few folks. Troy and I were last in line.

Adriana said, “Cal, I called Maddie Mitchell. She says she'll be home all afternoon.”

I thanked her, filled my plate and joined the others, but Troy lingered inside. That no good dog was hitting on her.
Good luck with that one.
Sometimes I thought his practice of going after women I had relationships with was solely to get to me.

During lunch, the sheriff conducted a short meeting. She said she was assigning two deputies to guard and patrol the development around the clock. She ordered a roadblock on Ronson Road, and only residents or those with official IDs would be allowed to come and go. She asked me to inform the other residents before I went back out searching the scene. The sheriff also said she'd notified Russ he could retrieve the Bobcat—he arrived before we finished eating.

 

 

After lunch, I walked down
to see Ms. Mitchell. Her residence was a beautiful log lodge. It took a minute before a cute, petite blonde answered the door.

She looked up at me and smiled. “Hi. You must be Cal. Adriana said you were big—like six-foot-five or something?”

I laughed. “Yes, I'm Cal Sheehan, nice to meet you . . . and I'm only six-three.”

“Only?” She smiled and put her hand out for me to shake, “Maddie Mitchell. Come in.”

As we walked through a hall with large bedrooms on each side, she said, “She also mentioned you were very handsome.”

I felt myself blush. “Did she? Well, now you'll never trust her judgment again.”

She giggled. “Oh, the modest type.”

And married
.

She looked up at me. “No, she was definitely right.”

I gave her a faint smile as we moved to the main living space, and open floor plan with kitchen and living room combined. The kitchen, placed back against the bedroom wall, was equipped with high-end stainless steel appliances, cherry cabinets and granite countertops.

“This is nice. I like the interior with the log walls. Del remodeled my house in town, as well.”

“Oh? Is it similar to Adriana's?”

“No, since it's an early nineteen-hundreds home, I wanted to stay with the architecture of that era. The kitchen is modern though, much like yours.”

“Oh, I'm surprised. Adriana said
her
place was
your
dream house.”

“She told you a lot, didn't she?”

“Oh, I'm making you uncomfortable. Sorry.” She faced her work corner. “Please don't mind the mess. I make my jewelry in this space.”

I didn't see a mess. She worked on a large wooden table where she had organized rows of several plastic trays filled with beads, metal doodads, and chains. Her tools were placed in a neat row. The two-foot high shelves on adjacent walls were stacked with several plastic storage containers.

“Adriana said you have an online business?”

“Yes, Check out my site. It's called Madison's Jewelry. Not very imagin­ative, I know, but when people search for
jewelry
I want my page to pop up
.
”

“I'll take a look at it.”

“I could design something special for your new wife.”

So she
did
know I was married. “I may take you up on that.”

I walked over to the large set of windows overlooking the lake. We stepped through the door leading out to a large open porch stretching the length of the cabin, stained the same dark color as the exterior logs. It was an idyllic scene: mallards paddling by, the sky blue water shimmering in the sunlight like crystals, loons volleying their eerie calls.