Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1)

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The joint consolidation of the Statenville Police Department with the Brooks County Sheriff's Department was the mastermind of Mayor Nathan Gold. Twelve years ago when he first assumed office in the town without term limits, the word "recession" was rarely uttered, much less the basis for decision-making among local, state and federal governments. But Gold looked like a genius over a decade later. Some called him visionary. Others considered him controlling, which certainly was a by-product of a city-county law enforcement department.

Nevertheless, the consolidation of resources and elimination of needless officers in a town where most people chose to remain in accordance with the law made Gold popular. Under his careful watch, Statenville had thrived - even in the midst of a down economy. Who could argue with his decisions when Statenville's major export business - Cloverdale Industries - was turning the city into a boon town, while neighboring cities in other counties were struggling to survive?

While there was still some debate among locals over the reasons for such a move, Sheriff Hunter Jones wasn't complaining. He enjoyed having more assets and control.

When Cal and Kelly burst through the Brooks County Sheriff's Office, located three storefronts down from the Register, Sheriff Jones didn't flinch. He sat with his dull black boots propped on his desk while giving a wooden toothpick a good workout between his teeth.

Jones deliberately looked the reporters up and down before speaking.

"Soooo, what brings you two cub reporters to my office this early on a Monday morning?" he asked as he leaked a wry smile.

"Sheriff Jones, you know good and well why we're here," Cal shot back, more than willing to dispense with any unnecessary pleasantries.

"You must've heard about the drug overdoses," Jones said, pausing for effect before continuing. "What a shame. I can't believe those boys threw away all that talent for a meth high."

Cal and Kelly looked at one another, both exhaling and relaxing for the first time since they heard the initial report.

"You mean, this isn't some vendetta murder or the work of some serial killer?" Cal asked, secretly hoping that his dreams of a Pulitzer weren't going to disappear due to simple drug usage.

"Do you think I'd still be here if that were true?" Jones fired back. He stood up and began moving toward the office coffee maker located on the vacant receptionist's desk in front of Cal and Kelly.

"Help yourself to the coffee," Jones offered, refilling his coffee mug and waiting for the duo to reply. While the Sherriff returned to his desk, both reporters eyed the small Styrofoam cups next to the dingy coffee pot, then declined the Sherriff's generous offer.

"What about the third murder victim? Who was he?" Cal asked.

"That would be Jim Reid's boy, Devin. And why do you keep using the 'M' word? They all died of a simple drug overdose."

"In a 24-hour period? Doesn't that seem a bit suspicious to you?" Cal questioned again.

"Well, sure it does. But that's why we investigate, little cubbie. Suspicion alone never gets a conviction. We need evidence. And we seem to have it."

Kelly grew tired of listening to Jones dance around the facts.

"You've got to give us more than that," she demanded.

"Well, what do you want to know? I think we all know that we need to be sensitive first and foremost to the families of the deceased. We don't need to make these boys look like a bunch of drug addicts."

It was obvious that Jones wasn't sincerely interested in answering any real questions. But neither Cal nor Kelly protested. The paper adhered to unspoken small town rules such as these.

"What kind of drugs were they using?" Kelly asked, unable to maintain the apparent soft gag order that was being issued by Jones.

"Well, we won't know that until the tox reports come back from Boise. But we found meth at all three scenes."

Jones ascribed to an age-old law enforcement trick: If you're forthcoming about an unusable piece of information, it could stem the tide of uncomfortable questioning. Or at the least it could keep you from appearing like a total jerk when you flat refused to answer a question deemed too invasive. He drummed his fingers on his desk as Cal and Kelly both began scribbling down details in their notebooks.

"But we won't know anything officially for at least two weeks," he said, negating what seemed like a juicy fact seconds ago.

"Got any reports yet?" Cal asked, eyeing two completed forms on the receptionist's desk.

"Nope," Jones lied. "Mercer and Dawkins will be back with full reports later this afternoon. They're still bagging evidence at the Reid place. You can talk to them here, later."

Jones' last sentence was an oblique order. Cal understood Jones didn't want them snooping around the Reid's house and he certainly didn't want them talking to his deputies before he got a chance to filter their conclusions. He wanted to maintain control of the situation.

Kelly saw it as a dare.

"OK, then. Just let us know if you hear anything else," Cal said as he and Kelly turned to leave.

"Will do."

Cal looked back over his shoulder and noticed Jones had plastered himself up against the window, watching them. Cal figured Jones wanted to make sure they didn't get in a car and head straight for the Reid place.

Kelly pulled Cal close, making him forget for a moment that Jones seemed overly interested in making sure this story remained low key.

"I'm parked out back," she whispered. They both were thinking the same thing.