Lori Armstrong - Mercy Kill

How well I knew that about Mr. Coffee Connoisseur. “So have you heard about Pete’s new venture? Enticing the masses in Eagle Ridge to buy four-dollar cups of coffee?”

“I imagine that we, in the sheriff’s department, won’t have a choice but to patronize it. Can’t be accused of showing favoritism.” She kept her eyes on mine. “I have a package for you. When the coast is clear, I’ll slide it under the table.”

“Okay.” I watched Mitzi duck down beneath the hostess stand. “All clear.”

With stealth I admired, Kiki passed it to me, while nonchalantly sipping her coffee. My fingers briefly grazed the edges of a manila envelope before I secured it in my trusty wonder bag. “What is it?”

“Is Mitzi hovering anywhere nearby?”

“No. She’s wiping tables.”

“She’s got hawklike hearing. I swear she’s Dawson’s best source in this town. I debated coming in here or bringing it to you later.”

“How’d you know where I was?”

Kiki quirked a brow. “Dawson’s web of spies. How do you think he tracked you to the bank parking lot so fast after you left Pete’s?”

Damn.

“Besides, I thought you’d want to see this right away. It’s the coroner’s report on Jason Hawley.” Kiki leaned forward. “And the list of Jason’s personal effects.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“Wasn’t easy. It came yesterday, and the boss immediately locked it in his desk.”

I frowned. “Is that standard procedure?”

“No. Which is why I know something is up. He didn’t show it to Jazinski or me. And neither of us was allowed to catalog the contents of the victim’s vehicle or the motel room.”

A small sheriff’s department meant all employees, from the deputies to the office support staff, knew damn near everything that went on in the county office. So why wasn’t Dawson sharing with his coworkers?

Maybe because he suspects those coworkers are leaking information about an open case to his competition.

“Why are you telling me this?”

Kiki removed her hat and raked a hand through her hair. “As a candidate for sheriff, you should be in the loop on current cases. Plus, I think you actually care about catching whoever killed Jason Hawley. Dawson doesn’t seem to have the level of dedication you do. Which bugs the crap out of me and is also why I’m backing you.”

“I appreciate it, but does Dawson know you’re supporting me?”

“No. He never would’ve left me alone at the station today.” Her nose wrinkled. “At least Jolene was working and not Jilly.”

“Jilly?”

“The receptionist who fancies herself a supermodel?”

Ah. Robo-Barbie. “Who hired jiggly Jilly?”

“Who do you think?”

Dawson. Typical he’d chosen a hot chickie to play fetch and carry for him. “How’d you find out about the report?”

“Claire Montague dropped it off personally.” Kiki scowled. “Stupid woman was all puffed up like a peahen, bragging that her instructions were to give it only to Dawson. That’s not all she wanted to give him, if you get my drift.”

A burst of jealousy flared inside me. “Is he interested in her?”

“Not in the slightest. When Dawson left to go home for lunch, I snuck into his office and copied the file.”

“Did you have a chance to look at it?”

“Only to see a bunch of medical gibberish. You’ll have to do some research to decipher it, which is why I wanted to give it to you as soon as possible.”

“Thank you.”

Mitzi delivered my food. The mix of fried onions, melted cheese, tangy horseradish sauce, and toasted bread smelled heavenly, but I’d lost my appetite. All I wanted was to hole up in my office at the ranch and dissect the reports.

Kiki stood. “I’ll let you enjoy your lunch.”

I didn’t linger after the plates were cleared.

As I zipped toward home, I tried to stop obsessing about what information the reports held and took a moment to enjoy the drive. Even my dirty windshield couldn’t mask the sky’s brilliance. Cloudless. Vast. An intense shade of blue that straddled the color spectrum between turquoise and sapphire.

Few artists had captured the magnificence of a spring sky. Plenty of talented hands showcased the bleak winter sky. Or the hazy, hot, dry hues of a stormy summer sky. Or the color-leached tones of an autumn sky. Spring was so transitory in western South Dakota it almost wasn’t a season. Which is why it’d always been my favorite time of year.

Shoonga bounded across the yard to greet me. Nothing like a dog’s slobbering, barking, yipping as the ultimate welcome home.

Jake’s head was buried in the engine compartment of the farmhand. Inside, Sophie sat at the kitchen table doing word searches as she hardboiled eggs. Hope watched TV, Joy asleep at her breast. Just a typical day at the ranch.

I locked myself in Dad’s office. While I waited for the computer to boot up, I rifled through the stack of bills, intending to divide them in the order they needed to be paid, when I remembered book work was no longer my domain. I did a quick tally:

Not doing ranch books.

Not helping with the cattle.

Not doing domestic chores.

Wow. I was getting to be as useless as teats on a bull around here.

Not entirely useless. You cough up cash out of your retirement pay every month for operating expenses.

That thought was even more depressing. Had I really become the type of hobby rancher I loathed? And would I feel guiltier if I was elected sheriff?

Did your dad feel guilty?

Good question.

I opened the manila envelope and slid the papers out, shuffling until I found Jason’s personal effects. The lists were separated into three categories: body, vehicle, and motel room.

Items listed found on and around the victim’s body:

Clothing:

Brown leather jacket

Jeans

Long-sleeved dress shirt

T-shirt

Briefs

Socks

White athletic shoes

Black leather belt

Loose change in front right pocket

Noticeably absent: any type of wallet or identification.

I checked off the items, one by one. Another item was noticeably absent. J-Hawk’s knife, which he claimed he never was without. He’d had it in Clementine’s because he’d been waving it around like a madman. Maybe it was on another list. I kept looking.

Items listed found in victim’s vehicle:

Vehicle registration

Proof of insurance

Manufacturer’s manual

South Dakota map

Cell phone and charger

Two boxes of folders filled with Titan Oil information

Four empty cans Red Bull energy drink

Twelve protein bar wrappers

Two pairs sunglasses

Three ball caps

Winter jacket

Windshield scraper

Leather gloves

Rubber boots

Duffel bag contents:

Athletic shorts

Sweatpants

Two T-shirts

Socks

Athletic shoes

Deodorant

iPod

Three water bottles

Four protein bars

Forty (40) unopened pill containers of prescription-brand OxyContin.

Holy crap. Forty? No wonder Dawson had spelled it out and listed it numerically. Be easy to assume a mistake had been made in the cataloguing.

My question? Why did Jason have that much OxyContin in his possession? Was working for Titan Oil that stressful?

I went back over the list. No mention of the knife. Anywhere. Something was wrong here. I scanned the next header.