To the nurse behind the desk, the supervisor said, “Stephanie, page Dr. Zingler, please. See if he’s still in the building. I’m sure the detectives would like to speak to him, as well.” She gave Pescoli a patient but firm smile as she led them into the alcove. “Believe me, we will find out what exactly caused the sheriff’s death.”
Blackwater held a meeting in the conference room, which not only opened from the hallway but from his office as well. Everyone who worked for the department and currently not on the road was required to attend. One person in each department was to man the phones and he expected the meeting to be short, but he owed it to the officers, those who had worked under Dan Grayson, to explain the situation as best he knew it. He stood before the deputies, secretaries, volunteers, detectives, and various officers and met all of their solemn gazes with his own.
“This is a bleak day for the Pinewood County Sheriff’s Department,” he began at the podium. “A difficult time for all of us, most of you more than me, as you had the honor of working with Sheriff Dan Grayson much longer than I did. We all respected him. He was a man who walked tall among men, a fair and just man, a man with a steely determination balanced by his compassion and quick wit. He would want, no, he would expect, all of us to continue working here for the good of Pinewood County, to protect and serve its citizens, and so we shall.
“That doesn’t mean that I, as the acting sheriff, will not expend every effort to find out what happened at the hospital, and if there were extenuating circumstances regarding his death. I promise each and every one of you that the person responsible for sending Dan Grayson to Northern General Hospital will be tried and convicted for his crimes. The district attorney is already updating the charges against the suspect.” He glanced around the room, letting his words settle, then added, “The best way we can honor Dan Grayson’s memory and years of service is to continue with our jobs as officers of the law. Sheriff Grayson would have expected as much, and so do I. We have cases that require our immediate and undivided attention and I expect each and every one of you to give a hundred percent in ferreting out those responsible for the crimes under our jurisdiction and bringing them to justice.”
He paused for effect. “For an as yet undetermined amount of time, I’m lowering all of the building’s flags to half mast. Everyone, please, keep the sheriff’s memory alive by continuing to provide the citizens of Pinewood County with your best service. Thank you.”
He thought about saying more, even including a quick prayer, but decided short and to the point was all that was necessary. Each officer would grieve on his or her own terms. Hopefully, the mee
ting would provide some closure until a funeral could be arranged and business could go on as usual.
It wasn’t that he was just a hard-ass. He believed that the work of the department couldn’t be interrupted for anything, even a commander’s death. He would back off a bit, allow a few tears and conversations, let those who were closest to Grayson have a few days to grab hold of their emotions, but he had a department to run and a sicko on the horizon, if the body discovered on the O’Halleran ranch was any indication.
That case bothered him in its brutality, but he knew that it would also raise the community’s awareness of him as the sheriff. It was an opportunity to show that he was up to the task, and was also a test of his mettle and skills. The Jane Doe whose body had been found in that near-frozen creek could be his ticket to the kind of fame he needed to be elected sheriff.
As he strode to his office, the one so recently occupied by Grayson, he considered that there could be an outside chance that a perfectly sound explanation existed as to why a healthy-looking thirtyish woman had ended up dead in a near-frozen pool of a creek, her ring finger recently severed. Not much of a chance, he thought, but one that had to be explored.
Walking into his office, he ignored the feeling that he was stepping into another man’s boots. More than one, if he were honest with himself. Yes, Grayson had worked here. Yes, he was beloved by the staff and citizens, but he wasn’t the first exalted leader, nor would he be the last. The long row of eight-by-ten photos in the lobby proved the point of how many had gone before Dan Grayson. The empty wall invited those who would follow.
Blackwater settled into a chair that was too big for him in more ways than he wanted to consider. He only hoped that he could finish out Grayson’s term and be elected to sheriff on his own merit, so that one day his own picture would grace the wall of the lobby.
Of course, in order for that to happen, he had to prove himself. Show the citizens of Pinewood County that he was the logical choice for sheriff.
He thought about the detectives on his staff and wondered how long he’d be able to deceive them. Alvarez with her master’s degree in psychology. A beautiful Hispanic woman with jet-black hair, full lips, and dark, suspicious eyes, she did little to enhance her looks, but she took her job seriously. She was dedicated, he’d give her that. A natural Type-A who worked out in the gym, she kept her body tight and her mind sharp, and usually reined in her emotions. Called an “ice princess” or “bitch with a heart of stone” behind her back, she was harder on herself than anyone else was.
Blackwater related to her, knew she was a good cop, and that she played by the rules. With the news about Grayson, she’d fallen completely out of character, though he supposed it was understandable given her staunch belief in him and her loyalty. But she’d defied his orders to join her partner.
That one. Pescoli. She was as out of control as her partner was in. Married a couple times, with kids who gave her fits, she was a wild card. A good cop, yes, but she relied on gut instinct and adrenaline, more than Blackwater liked. He had little doubt that she’d take him on if given half a chance. Wearing one’s emotions on one’s sleeve was never a good idea in his opinion, and for a cop, it was worse.
She was a rogue. Period. Didn’t respect the rules one iota.
He leaned back in his chair and glanced through the door he’d left ajar. Pescoli’s office was just down the hall, which was perfect.
Because he planned to watch her like a hawk.
Chapter 6
“Sheriff Grayson is dead? He . . . he . . . passed away?” Jessica repeated, stunned as she loaded the order for table five—three coffees and a tea—onto her tray in the kitchen of the Midway Diner.
“That’s what everyone’s saying.” Misty, a tall, leggy redhead, frowned down at the platters warming under the lights on the counter ready for pickup. She was at least five foot ten. With her hair twisted into a knot on the top of her head, she probably brushed six feet. “Hey! Armando!” she shouted at the cook manning the grill where burgers and strips of bacon were sizzling. Her lips, colored the exact shade of her hair and fingernails, were pursed in disgust. “I said, ‘no onions’ on one of these burgers.”
“Sì,” he said, pointing to the middle platter. “No onions.”
Misty picked up the top half of the bun and surveyed the patty. “Okay. Sorry. My bad.”
“Sì. Next time, maybe you check first,” Armando grumbled as he plucked one of the dual baskets from the deep fryer and gave the pale French fries within a quick shake before letting the basket descend into the boiling grease again.
Satisfied that her order was complete, Misty picked up the three platters and, as if they’d never been interrupted, went on with her gossiping. “I had two deputies in from the sheriff’s department at table nine earlier today and they were talking all about it. How some of the people on the force are really upset and speculating about what will happen to the department.” She headed for the swinging doors complete with portholes that separated the kitchen from the dining area but kept talking. “Sounded to me that nobody really likes the new guy, but he was promoted from the higher-ups, or something. I couldn’t really hear everything. It was busy and the woman at table eleven was a real piece of work, complaining about every darned thing. Anyway, what I got out of it is that Grayson died. Maybe a heart attack. Maybe not. No one knows.” She pushed the doors open with her shoulder and spun around as she entered the dining area.
Misty was a gossip, one of those people who practically licked her lips when she heard something “juicy” about someone else, and she had no qualms about embellishing that bit of information and passing it quickly along. Jessica had figured that out from the moment she walked through the back door, tied on an apron, introduced herself, and said she was ready to work. She thought back to that first day.
“I’m Misty,” the older woman introduced herself. Smelling of a recent cigarette, she was sorting coffee cups and glassware that had been left in the dishwasher. “You’ll be sorry you ever decided to take a job here, let me tell you. The boss, Nell, is a real piece of work, always thinks the employees are stealing her blind, got her nose in the damn till every hour or so. And Armando can’t cook his way out of a paper bag.”
“I heard that.” The sour-faced cook was slicing onions, working quickly and efficiently with a butcher’s knife not six feet away from where Misty had been complaining.
Jessica, as always, felt her stomach curdle as she caught a glimpse of the long blade glinting under the harsh overhead lights.