Susan Sleeman - Dead Wrong

“I’ve been there, Kat. Not the being attacked part, but I lost a partner once.”

Her eyes flew up to his, surprise brightening the color. “Really? I hadn’t heard about that.”

“It happened in Salem. Before I moved here.” He looked at her wondering if he should go on. If he did, he’d expose feelings he never shared. Raw feelings that he’d rather keep to himself, but he could help her. “It’s something you never get over. I’m still trying to let it go.”

She peered at him then, her eyes soft. Vulnerable. The emotions from last night were present and vivid on her face.

“Do you feel guilty?” she asked.

Her whisper-soft voice cut into him and once again, he was back there, with Lori the day she’d been shot, stuck in the scene that had replayed in his mind too many times to count. The bright sunshine. The deafening sound of a shotgun as the man bolted out of his house and opened fire. The sticky blood everywhere at once. A bullet slicing into his neck, spinning him to the ground where he was powerless to help Lori—not only his partner but the woman he’d just asked to marry him.

“You know,” Kat added, oblivious to his turmoil. “Guilty, as if you could’ve prevented it from happening?”

“It’s not as if we have any control over what happens.” He stopped, not trusting himself to say anything until he took a few deep breaths. “No matter what I do if God allows people I care about to be hurt, I can’t stop it.” His voice was heavy with sadness, and he saw the same thing on Kat’s face. “I wish I could go back to the days when I believed God heard my prayers.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but sat there as if gathering her thoughts. “It may be hard to see at times, Mitch, but God does listen, and He has a good plan for your life.”

He glanced at her again. “After all you’ve been through and seen on the job, you honestly believe that?”

“I may not like what He allows to happen, but I know He’s there.”

“It would be nice to feel that way. I just can’t,” he said with such finality that she looked away, and he was left with his thoughts again.

Thoughts of his sister, Angie. Every day, he expected to arrive at a homicide scene only to discover she was the victim. He tried not to think about it. Tried, but failed every time he caught a case. Every time he had to inform a victim’s family that their loved one would not be coming home. Every time he worked his leads and brought a killer to justice.

And even times like now, as he parked in front of the Oregon State Police office in St. Helens, he knew when he talked to the officer about Bodig’s death, a part of him could easily slip into questions about why God took Nathan Bodig. Questions that brought no answers.

He turned off the engine and as Kat started to get out, his mind moved to the upcoming meeting. “I’d appreciate it if you’d remember you’re just an observer here. Especially since Franklin’s already proved he plays by the rules.”

“I’ll try,” she said and slipped out of the car.

He followed her into the crisp morning air and paused by the office door to enjoy a rare sun break. As usual for February in Oregon, by the time they came back outside the sun would most likely have retreated behind gray clouds.

He opened the door for Kat and followed her inside where a young clerk escorted them through a bullpen area to a desk in the back. A stout, uniformed male came to his feet, his eyes roving over Kat, then Mitch, taking in details an officer of the law was trained to see.

“Senior Trooper Ed Franklin.” He thrust out a hand.

Mitch offered his business card while completing introductions.

“You didn’t mention Ms. Justice would be accompanying you.” His tone hinted at opposition.

Mitch eyed up the officer with a stare he’d perfected in suspect interrogations. “Is that a problem?”

“No,” he said, though Mitch heard the reluctance in the single word. He sat and gestured toward chairs by his cluttered desk. “So you came to talk about the Bodig fatality.”

Mitch waited for Kat to sit then took the other chair. “I’m interested in hearing how you determined this crash was an accident.”

“First off, a crash like Bodig’s isn’t unusual for that stretch of highway.” Franklin leaned back in his chair and clasped his hands behind his neck. He seemed relaxed but Mitch could see he remained alert. “We’ve covered several fatal accidents in that location. Second, it was a rainy night with slick roads.”

“So you think visibility might’ve been a factor in the crash?” Mitch clarified.

“Could be.” He snapped forward and pulled out a map, pointing to a section of Highway 30. “This is where it happened. Deep ravines line both sides of the road here. It wouldn’t take much of a misstep to turn fatal.”

“Any possibility he was forced off the road?”

“There were no skid marks at the scene. So that would be highly unlikely. But without an eye witness, I can’t be one hundred percent positive.”

“No skid marks?” Kat asked, clearly surprised.

“None.”

Interesting. A lack of skid marks would mean Nathan didn’t apply his brakes to keep from going off the road. But that wasn’t conclusive. His brakes could’ve been cut, or Bodig could have been impaired. Maybe by alcohol or drugs or he fell asleep. “What about Bodig? Did you check him out?”

“We ran down the usual profile. Blood alcohol, tox screen, D.M.V. record. All clean. He made the trip every weekend to visit his fiancée in Astoria. From what she and his sister both said, he’d been burning the candle at both ends. My best guess is that he fell asleep at the wheel.”

“And no unusual findings on the vehicle?”

“Unusual? No. But it was seriously charred.” He shook his head. “Don’t know how long it burned before the fire department arrived on scene. A trucker spotted the wreck and called it in.”

“Do you know what happened to the vehicle after it was released?” Mitch asked, hoping they could get a look at it.

Franklin opened a drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper. He circled something in the middle of the page and slid it across the desk. “This is the tow company we recommend to next of kin. Henry down there is good about helping them dispose of vehicles. You can check with them.”

“Thanks,” Mitch said. “One more thing. Bodig’s cell phone. It was never recovered.”

“His sister said that was odd so we spent extra time looking for it.” He reclined again. “With all the windows shattered in the car, his phone could’ve been ejected and landed anywhere. The brush is too thick to search every inch.”

“But it definitely wasn’t in the car,” Kat added.

He nodded and looked at Mitch. “You mind telling me what this’s all about?”

“We think this may not have been an accident.”

“Suppose you tell me what you’re basing that on.” This time he didn’t mask his defensive tone.

“Relax. It has nothing to do with your investigation. His sister was murdered after she started looking into the accident.”

“Murdered.” Franklin’s feet came to the floor with a loud thud. “Why didn’t you tell me that right up front?”

“I needed to know your mind-set at the time of the investigation. Telling you could’ve changed your perception of things.”

“You think?” He kept shaking his head. “Now I’m wondering if I missed something. How’d the sister die?”

“Injected with propofol.”

“If Bodig had taken propofol, he couldn’t have been driving,” Franklin mumbled to himself then a light-bulb-gone-off look brightened his face. “This’s why you want to see the car. You think it was tampered with.”