The stress and concern in the Eagle’s Nest Police Department were palpable.
When Mercy had stepped through the door, the four men inside had turned toward her as one.
Royce Gibson had immediately hugged her, and the young cop had whispered in her ear, “Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” as his voice cracked.
Ben Cooley patted her on the back, a grandfatherly look on his face that made her want to curl up in his lap and hide.
Samuel was his usual resolute self, standing strong, his arms crossed on his chest, determination filling his gaze. No hugs; that wasn’t his style. Lucas was working the phone and held up a hand to her as he spoke into his headset.
This is Truman’s family.
She’d locked her emotions behind a tiny door deep in her mind during the drive to Eagle’s Nest, but being among these concerned men who loved their boss nearly broke that door down. Her eyes burned, and she struggled to stay in control.
“We’ve got county and state on board. County offered a detective, and he should be here soon,” Samuel stated. His tone told her the experienced cop had taken the lead among the men. “All their patrols are keeping an eye out for Truman’s vehicle. I suspect he went off the road.” The other men looked to him and nodded hopefully. “We’ve all been driving the roads for a few hours, and we’ll get back out there, but we wanted to be here when you arrived.”
Samuel’s face blurred in her vision.
“Thank you,” she choked out. “You guys are too kind.”
Lucas got up from his desk. The young man slipped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. It was like being hugged by a huge bodybuilder. Lucas planted a kiss on her temple. “The two of you matter to us,” he said hoarsely. “He’ll turn up.”
She wouldn’t lose hope.
And she refused to think about her last discussion with Truman. When she learned she’d disappointed him by forgetting to include him in the cabin decisions.
I’m so sorry, Truman.
“I want to see the scene.” Mercy felt as if she could verify Truman’s blood by looking at it. He’s a physical part of me.
Stupid thought.
“How about photos?” Ben suggested.
“To start with,” she said reluctantly, wondering if the men were protecting her from seeing something. “Did you go in his house?”
“I did,” said Ben. “Everything looks perfectly normal—no blood inside. No evidence that he hurt himself in the house or cleaned up a cut in the sinks or shower. His cat was acting weird, though . . . it was like she knew something was up. I fed her.”
She followed Ben to a computer screen. The photos were already up. She studied each one. Ben was right. The blood was on the driver’s side of where Truman usually parked. She zoomed in on the largest pool of blood, taking heart because it wasn’t big enough to indicate someone had bled out. In fact, if the spots had fully dried, no one would have noticed them unless they specifically looked.
She focused on the big spot, her mind probing for Truman as if she could mentally speak with him.
Truman?
No one answered.
I’d know deep inside if something horrible had happened, right?
“What’s he worked on in the last twenty-four hours?” she asked, keeping her thoughts from spinning off into drain-circling pessimism. Focus.
“Last night he and I responded to a missing persons case,” Samuel told her. “Clint Moody, age twenty-eight. His brother found blood in his bed and couldn’t locate Clint or his vehicle. He’s still missing.”
Mercy stared at him, her heart sinking. “Like Truman? Blood left behind and a missing vehicle?”
Samuel scowled. “There are similarities. Truman had told me he’d originally wondered if Clint’s case was related to yours. He said the patterning of the blood left behind in the bedroom resembled your cases. But this wasn’t a family, no body was left behind . . . and the vehicle was missing.”
“Truman didn’t tell me about that case.” He didn’t have a chance to.
“Ryan Moody, Clint’s brother, came in this morning. Said Truman had set up the time to talk to him about his brother,” added Lucas. “He waited around awhile and I finally told him I’d have Truman call to reschedule.”
“How was Ryan?” Samuel asked. “He was a mess last night.”
“He said he didn’t sleep at all last night. His eyes looked like it.”
“Did you contact Truman to tell him Ryan was waiting?” Mercy asked.
“I shot him a text and then forgot about it,” said Lucas. “I checked it later and it didn’t indicate it’d been read.”
Same with my texts to Truman. “What time did you text him?”
“Nine-oh-seven.”
“His phone was probably off by then.”
“We checked with our wireless provider. Truman hasn’t used his phone at all today.”
That’s not good.
Mercy sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s start a timeline.” Ben nodded and headed to the back of the building. He returned a minute later with a large whiteboard and marker.
“What else has he handled? What did he do today?” Mercy asked, looking from man to man.
“He was here by seven,” Lucas told her. “He was in his office most of the morning and then said he was going to talk to Nick Walker at the lumberyard. He left around eight thirty.”
“I talked to Nick,” said Ben. “He said Truman wasn’t there more than ten minutes.” Ben made notes on the board.
“What time was he supposed to talk with Ryan Moody?” she asked Lucas.
“Nine.”
“Was Ryan on time?”
“Yes.”
“Where did Truman go earlier in the day yesterday?”
Lucas sat back down at his computer and tapped the keys. “Domestic dispute call. The Dalrymples.” The other three officers sighed and nodded. “A monthly occurrence. Usually whoever responds just talks to them for a while and they cool down. He also issued two speeding tickets—Neil Herrera and Gordon Pittman.”
“Can you follow up on the tickets, Royce?” Mercy asked. The young cop nodded. “And Ben on the Dalrymples?”
“I already went to the Dalrymples’,” said Samuel. “They said Truman did the usual. Put them in different rooms and talked with them. Said he was there about a half hour. I gathered they’re both pretty fond of Truman. Said he’s always patient.”
Mercy looked at Lucas to indicate he should continue. “Minnie Neal reported her lawn mower had been stolen,” he said.
“It’s been raining for weeks,” Mercy pointed out. “She wanted to mow?”
“Beats me,” said Lucas. “In Truman’s report it says she noticed her shed door was ajar and that appeared to be the only thing missing. She acknowledged it could have happened months ago.”
“Ben?” Mercy asked.
“I’ll talk to Minnie,” he agreed.
“That’s it for yesterday,” said Lucas. “Pretty normal day except for the Moody case.”
“Two missing vehicles. Two missing men,” stated Mercy. “Let’s focus there,” she said.
The door opened, and Deschutes County Detective Evan Bolton stepped inside, brushing the rain off his sleeves.
Goose bumps rose on Mercy’s arms as she remembered her previous thought about Bolton being the Angel of Death.
No.
Ben and Royce left to check on their assigned people and resume searching for Truman’s Tahoe. Mercy and Samuel brought Bolton up to speed.
This additional set of sympathetic male eyes was about to push her over the edge. She steeled her core and concentrated on covering every angle.
No case tunnel vision allowed.
“What about that letter he received from the sovereign citizen?” Mercy asked. “He sent me a copy, but I haven’t looked at it yet. He told me that supposedly that guy is selling the diplomatic licenses. Has anything else come of that?”
Lucas scratched his head as he exchanged a glance with Samuel. Both shook their heads. “Not that we’ve heard of.”
Mercy told him about the letter demanding $3 million and then described the fake diplomatic licenses and license plates.
“You know,” Samuel said, “Truman broke up a bar fight between the Moody brothers a few days ago. One of them had one of those stupid licenses—I don’t remember which brother.”
“I’ll check,” said Lucas.
Mercy’s spine tingled as she felt a few pieces of the case fall into place. “That can’t be a coincidence. One of those brothers and Truman both missing.”
“Clint Moody was the brother with the fake ID, according to Truman’s report,” said Lucas. “Truman mentions in his report that someone in the bar told him Joshua Forbes was making them. The sovereign citizen who sent Truman the letter.”
Mercy and Bolton looked at each other, agreement flowing between them. “Did Truman get too close to something?” Bolton asked. “Where’s Joshua Forbes right now?”
“In the county jail,” reported Lucas. “Truman and Royce went to his arraignment two days ago.”
“I’ll call and get us in to see him tonight,” said Bolton, pulling out his phone and stepping away from the group.
“Where do you want me?” asked Samuel.
“Scouring the roads for Truman’s Tahoe and Clint Moody’s vehicle.”
Samuel gave her a casual salute and disappeared out the door.
He’s a good officer. Respectful and dependable. She hadn’t missed the concern for Truman in his eyes, despite his stiff stance. It was the most emotion she’d ever seen in the tough cop.
“Joshua Forbes got out on bail today,” stated Bolton as he returned.
“What time?”
“Noonish.”
“Too late to have anything to do with Truman’s disappearance—assuming something happened to him before he was scheduled to meet with Ryan Moody at nine.”
“Never assume,” Bolton recited.
“I try not to.”
“I have Joshua Forbes’s address.”
“What are we waiting for?”