Open Season Read online

  The summer heat was already broiling, and the humidity was so high the air felt thick and heavy. Daisy lifted her face to the sunshine anyway, as if she needed the light. They didn’t say anything, just waited until Detective Morrison came outside with a quizzical expression on his dark face. “Deputy Sasnett said you brought your dog—” He broke off when he saw the puppy, his expression changing to a grin. “That isn’t a dog. That’s a ball of fluff.”

  Jack offered his hand. “I’m Jack Russo, Hillsboro’s chief. This is Daisy Minor, the witness I told you about. Where she goes, the ball of fluff goes.”

  He shook Jack’s hand, scratched his head, and said, “I’ll be right back.” Five minutes later, having cleared the way, he led Jack, Daisy, and Midas to his office.

  Midas was an angel, sitting on Daisy’s lap while she calmly told the detective what she’d seen Saturday night. Yes, she was certain the man in the middle was the man who had introduced himself to her the week before as Mitchell, and, yes, she was certain that was his photograph in the paper. She described what he’d been wearing, to the best of her memory: jeans, boots, and a light-colored western-style shirt. Detective Morrison quietly passed Jack the crime scene photos. The clothes were dirty, since the body had been buried, but they were as Daisy had described them. That meant Mitchell hadn’t changed clothes from the time Daisy saw him in the Buffalo Club parking lot, which definitely upped the chances that he had been killed that night.

  “Do you want to see them?” Jack asked Daisy.

  She shook her head, and he passed the photos back to Detective Morrison.

  Jack’s cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, looked at the number showing in the window, and said, “It’s the office. I’ll take it outside.”

  He stepped out into the hall before hitting the talk button. “Russo.”

  “Chief, this is Marvin.” Tony Marvin was the first-shift desk sergeant. He sounded uneasy, as if he wasn’t certain he should be calling. “Kendra Owens just called from the library. Jennifer Nolan, the mayor’s wife, called wanting to speak to Miss Minor, and when Kendra told her she wasn’t there, Mrs. Nolan became very agitated. She said Miss Minor’s life was in danger, that she’d overheard the mayor on the phone with a man named Sykes. Mrs. Owens said Mrs. Nolan seemed convinced they intended to kill Miss Minor. Since you had us put that protective detail on Miss Minor’s mother and aunt this morning, I thought you should know about this.”

  The little hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood up. “You’re exactly right, Tony. It’s looking like the mayor’s in trouble up to his ass. Have Mrs. Nolan picked up; take her statement.” He paused, thinking. “Keep her there. Put her in one of the interview rooms and hold her.”

  “Mrs. Nolan, Chief?”

  “Her life could be in danger, too.”

  “You mean this isn’t just a case of Mrs. Nolan hitting the bottle way too early?”

  “I wish it was. Get a deputy out to the Nolan house as fast as possible.”

  “Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. “Uh, what do you want me to do when the mayor hears about this?” Tony said “when,” not “if,” because in a small town there was no “if.”

  “Stall him. Blow him off. Make it sound as if she’s drunk and you don’t believe a word she’s said. I don’t want to spook him until we have her statement.”

  “Okay, Chief.”

  “And don’t put anything on the radio about it; telephone contact only. That’ll buy us some time.”

  Jack disconnected and called Todd, and brought him up to speed. “Jennifer Nolan’s statement will give us reasonable grounds for getting a court order on those phone records, so if you don’t already have them, now we can get them legally. She gave us a name, too: Sykes.”

  “It’s always nice to do it legally,” Todd said dryly.

  “Before, I was just curious and uneasy. It’s different now.” Now that he knew there was a crime involved, everything had to be by the book. He didn’t mind bending the rules—or outright breaking them—when it was personal, but it was more than personal now. He didn’t want this case thrown out of court because of a technicality.

  “I’ll see what I can find on Sykes. If he’s had so much as a speeding ticket, I’ll find him.”

  Jack stepped back into the detective’s office and told them what was going on. Detective Morrison made quick notes, his left hand bent in that peculiar position so many lefties used. “If your mayor was involved with Chad Mitchell, he isn’t particular about his friends. Mitchell was a bottom-feeder; we’ve had him on resisting, possession, attempted rape, theft, B and E. We got him last year on date rape, but the prosecutor couldn’t make it stick. He never did any major time, six months here, a year there.”

  “Possession,” said Jack. “Of what, exactly?”

  Morrison consulted his file. “Marijuana, mostly. A small amount of cocaine. Rohypnol, clonazepam, GHB.”

  “He was big on the date-rape drugs.”

  “How does Mayor Nolan fit in with this?” Daisy asked. “He wasn’t one of the three men I saw with Mitchell, but he has to be involved somehow.”

  “My guess is Sykes was one of the three, though, and Sykes is tied to the mayor in some shady deal they’re working.”

  “That’s the most logical scenario,” said Morrison, getting to his feet. “Miss Minor, you said you saw them briefly, but clearly. I know it’ll take a lot of time, but I’d like you to look at our mug shots, see if you recognize anybody. Don’t guess; be sure, because if you aren’t, the defense lawyer will tear the case apart.”

  Midas had been an angel the whole time, sitting in Daisy’s lap, but when she stood up to follow Detective Morrison, he decided it was time to do some exploring and began wriggling madly in his effort to get down. Daisy set him on his feet, and he immediately made a dive for the detective’s shoes. “Quick, where’s his duck?” she said as she rescued shoelaces, which was more difficult than it should have been because Detective Morrison started laughing and shuffling his feet, sending Midas into a spasm of joy at the new game.

  “Here.” Jack separated the duck from the rest of puppy things he’d brought in with him, and tossed the duck across the floor. Seeing a new target, and one that was evidently running from him, Midas abandoned Morrison’s shoes and bounced after the duck. When he captured the escapee, he gave it a hard shake, then tossed it over his head and pounced again.

  “I’m sorry,” Daisy apologized. “I just got him yesterday, and he’s only six weeks old, so I couldn’t leave him alone, especially not knowing if whoever was looking for me might hurt Midas if he couldn’t find me.”

  “Yes, ma’am, some folks are mean,” the detective agreed. “It’s best to be safe. Tell you what; since you have the puppy, I’ll bring the mug shots in here for you to look at. That way he won’t get too excited, seeing a lot of people at once.”

  “That’s a real good idea,” Jack said, grabbing the duck before Midas could get to it, and tossing it again. His black eyes bright with glee, Midas bounced and pounced, then dragged the duck back to Jack and dropped it at his feet.

  “Well, look at that,” said Morrison, marveling. “Didn’t take him long to catch on, did it?”

  Jack was still throwing the duck when the detective came back, his arms laden with pages of mugshots. Entranced with the game, Midas ignored Morrison’s return.

  Daisy settled at the desk with the photographs in front her, for the first time realizing the enormity of the task. This wasn’t a matter of looking at fifty pictures, or even a few hundred. There had to be thousands of them, and the photographer seemed to be particularly unskilled, because the photographs could scarcely have been more unflattering to the subjects.

  She closed her eyes and pictured the three men she’d seen, then picked out the most distinctive face: long, narrow, with prominent brow ridges. He’d had long, dirty blond hair and long sideburns, a distinctly unappealing style. Hair could be changed, though—she was an expert on that—so she disreg