Finally some progress.
Delighted, Mercy hung up the phone in her office. Until this moment it had felt as if the Hartlage case had completely stalled, but that phone call had breathed new life into the case.
“Lunch?” Truman appeared at her door with a large paper sack.
Three good things in a row: new evidence, lunch delivery, and Truman.
“Absolutely.” Mercy cleared an area on her desk.
“Why are you beaming?” he asked as he handed her a spinach salad. He looked as tired as she felt after their long night at the Jorgensens’.
“Because I just heard from Dr. Harper. She found a dentist who had Corrine and Richard Hartlage as patients.”
“Nice!” Truman pulled up a chair and opened his steak sandwich. “Are they emailing the films?”
“That’s the one bad thing. They don’t have digital films, but the office is making copies and overnighting them.” She took a bite of strawberries and spinach. “I’m getting spoiled. I expect instant delivery these days.”
“I thought most offices had gone to digital films,” he commented.
“They have. But this office is in Burns.”
“Oh,” Truman said with understanding. Burns was a tiny remote city in eastern Oregon. Everything moved slower in that rural half of the state. “You told me she’d called every dentist around here. What made her look for a dentist in Burns?”
“Because two years ago, the Hartlages moved here from Portland. Do you know how many dentist offices there are in Portland? Poor Dr. Harper didn’t even know where to start calling. I dug a little deeper. Ten years ago they lived in Burns. I figured she’d have better luck pinpointing a dentist in a town of less than three thousand.”
“But the films will be ten years old—or older. Will they be helpful?”
“I asked the same question. Dr. Harper said she can definitely use them to determine if these skulls are the Hartlages.”
“Impressive,” admitted Truman as he popped the last part of one half of his sandwich in his mouth. Mercy looked down at her giant salad. She’d eaten two bites.
“Was the brother-in-law a patient too?” asked Truman.
“No,” Mercy said, stabbing her fork into a strawberry. “I don’t know if I’ll ever find his dental records—we haven’t even found his name—and we need to know who the Asian skull belongs to. With the skull we found yesterday we’ve got the right number of Caucasian skulls to match the Hartlage adults, so the Asian one is a big mystery.”
“And they’re still searching the area, right? Hopefully they don’t find more victims.”
“Amen.” They ate in companionable silence for a few moments. “Did you get any sleep?” she asked him.
Truman crumpled up the paper from his finished sandwich. “A few hours.”
“Same.”
“I got a call from your contractor. He said you didn’t call him back.”
“Oh, crap. I forgot.” Mercy’s brain scrambled to recall the message her contractor had left on her voice mail regarding the construction of her new cabin.
“He said the parts for the photovoltaic system will be here in four weeks.” Truman leaned forward, catching her gaze. “You didn’t tell me you were going with that power system again.”
“I made a decision.” Warning bells went off in her head at his quiet tone. She shoved a huge bite of spinach leaves in her mouth.
He pressed his lips together. “You know best what you need done up there, but that’s the fourth big decision that you have left me out of. I felt completely out of the loop when he talked to me about the system as if I knew everything about it.”
His words were gentle, but she knew she’d hurt him. She set down her fork. “I’m sorry. Sometimes I forget that you’re in this with me.”
“You forget?” He looked stunned.
Open mouth, insert foot. “What I mean is that the cabin has been my baby for years. I’m not accustomed to discussing it with anyone. It’s a habit. I’m on automatic pilot when it comes to dealing with it.”
He nodded but didn’t look convinced.
She reached across the desk and took his hand. “I love you. This is our project. I’ll try harder to include you.”
“I haven’t paid for any of the construction yet.” His eyes narrowed. “How much have you paid out?”
“It doesn’t matter—”
“Yes, it does. You just said this is our project. That means I contribute.”
Pride and independence rose within her. Plus she made more money than the small-town police chief. “I’m using the insurance payout.”
“But you had to meet the deductible.”
“I used the money I was saving for a down payment on a new house.”
“Mercy . . .” Disappointment filled his face.
He has pride too.
“When the insurance money runs out, we’ll divide everything, okay?” His obvious hurt stung deep in her heart. She’d made two big blunders and not even noticed. This relationship stuff is hard. I need to share the pain-in-the-butt and expensive stuff too . . . not just the happy stuff.
She’d been on her own for a long time. The routines and decisions that felt perfectly normal to her felt exclusionary to Truman.
“Okay,” he said, standing up and collecting the garbage from their lunch. “I need to get back to work.”
I didn’t convince him.
She’d have to show him she meant it.
“I do too.” She came around the desk and kissed him goodbye.
I will try harder.
It was nearly midnight when Truman’s officer Samuel Robb woke him up with a call to come to a scene. It took Truman a full ten seconds to connect faces to the names Samuel stated.
The Moody brothers.
Ryan Moody had returned to the home he shared with his brother, Clint, and found a lot of blood in Clint’s bedroom. Clint Moody was missing. Samuel had already checked with the local hospital and clinics to see if Clint had come in as a patient. No luck.
On the drive over, Truman wondered if one of the brothers had finally been pushed over the edge, lost his temper, and done away with the other.
The Moodys lived in an older Eagle’s Nest neighborhood. The homes sat on large lots with the garages behind the houses. The road was gravel, and Truman’s headlights shone on dented and crooked mailboxes along the street. He pictured teens cruising along the street with a baseball bat, trying to knock the boxes from their posts. As a teen Truman had hung with friends who’d played mailbox baseball, but he’d never taken the bat. He’d laughed along with them but passed on destruction of property, knowing his uncle would hang him if he was caught. Looking back now, he knew the cops would have arrested him for simply being in the car, not caring that he claimed he’d never touched the bat.
Truman parked next to Samuel’s patrol vehicle and spotted his distinctive silhouette in the front door of the Moody home—the cop’s slightly spread legs, his crossed arms, and his buzz-cut head. He was reliable, sharp, and physically fit. The only one of his officers who checked all three boxes. Truman felt secure when Samuel backed him up.
Truman met Samuel on the small concrete porch. “What do we have?”
“Ryan is a mess,” said Samuel, “and Clint’s truck is gone.”
“Ryan doesn’t believe he drove somewhere?”
“With the amount of blood in the home, the only place I would drive is to the hospital.”
“Maybe he drove off the road if he’s severely injured.”
“I put out a BOLO on his truck. It’s a ten-year-old Ford Ranger. Black.”
Truman stepped closer and lowered his voice. “I broke up a bar fight between these guys the other day. Could Ryan have hurt his brother?”
Samuel pressed his lips into a line as he considered. “Ryan’s a big guy. Physically he could do it. But if he’s acting about being upset, he’s got me fooled. I got in fights with my brothers all the time. Doesn’t mean I’d really hurt them.”
He knew Samuel had good instincts, but all of them had been conned before. Truman would make up his own mind. “Show me the way.”
Inside the small house, Ryan sat on the couch with his head in his hands, staring at his feet. He didn’t look up at Truman, and Samuel gave a jerk of his head for Truman to follow him. He’d talk to Ryan in a few minutes. Obviously the man wasn’t interested in speaking at the moment.
They stopped at the first bedroom. The king-size bed nearly filled the entire room. A flat-screen TV hung on the wall, and several game consoles sat on a small table beneath it. A sheet hung over the window, and a curtain and two pairs of dirty jeans lay on the floor.
Blood had soaked into the pillow and splattered on the wall. The heavier spots still glistened with moisture.
“Jesus.” Someone had been brutally beaten. Recently. “Did you see any blood on Ryan or his clothes?”
“No. And I checked the sinks and showers. All dry. No wet towels in the laundry. If he did this, he cleaned up somewhere else.”
The covers were shoved back, and more blood smeared the sheets. “I don’t see any heavy bloodstains or trails on the carpet,” Truman said. “A little spatter here and there.”
“I noticed that too. I’m sure county will spray it and check for blood.”
Truman squatted and studied the carpet. “It’s not wet. No one cleaned up the rug. Is there blood elsewhere in the house?”
“I’ve done a quick search and didn’t see anything.” Samuel gestured at the bed. “With an injury like that, I’d expect blood trails. There’s nothing.”
Truman pulled the flashlight off his belt and shone it under the bed. Dust bunnies, dirty Kleenex, and a paper plate holding several old pizza crusts. A small white object caught his eye. “Samuel, get a photo of this.”
Samuel took a picture of the mess under the bed with his department cell phone, and then Truman used a pen to move the white object closer.
It was small and pointy, with blood covering two-thirds of an end. A tooth.
“One of his teeth was knocked out,” said Samuel. “No question this guy was seriously injured.”
Truman imagined the tooth arcing through the air to land on the floor and then accidentally being kicked under the bed by the attacker. “Have you found a weapon?”
“No. But I haven’t searched outside yet. County is sending an evidence team.”
“Good call.” Truman stood and stared at the pillow, a suspicion simmering in his thoughts, thinking of Mercy’s current cases. “This blood pattern reminds me of a case Mercy is working on.” A stomach-lurching notion struck him. “Any kids live here? Does either man have kids?”
“Ryan said just the two of them live here. I guess their kids could live somewhere else.”
“I’d like to talk to Ryan now.”
This time Ryan looked up when Truman stepped into the living room, recognition flashing in his eyes. After Ryan and Clint had sobered up in the Eagle’s Nest holding cells, Truman had let them go after a stern lecture that he didn’t want to see them again for beating up on each other.
And here they were . . . well, one of them.
Ryan’s eyes were red, and he wiped his nose. He wore jeans, work boots, and a John Deere cap. He stood as Truman approached. Truman noted his fingernails were dark around all the edges, but it was the deep stain that comes from years of grimy physical work. His hands and knuckles had scabbed abrasions that Truman recalled being fresh on the night of the bar fight. He also had a colorful bruise on his cheekbone and a healing split lip from that night.
Truman didn’t see any new injuries.
“Before we start, do you or your brother have kids?”
Ryan stared, a confused look on his face. “No. Why?”
“Just checking.” Truman gestured for him to sit back down, and took a seat in a chair facing him. Samuel stood in his usual pose with his arms crossed. “What happened when you got home?”
Ryan cleared his throat. “Nothing happened. I pulled up around nine and was a little surprised that Clint’s truck wasn’t here because I know he has to get up early, but I didn’t think much of it. I’d been home for a good two hours before I noticed the blood in his room. I’d left the light on in the bathroom across the hall and caught the stain on his sheets out of the corner of my eye.” He took a shuddering breath.
“Did you touch anything in the room?”
“Only the light switch.”
“What did you do next?”
“I checked all the other rooms and then called you guys. While I was waiting I called the hospital. No one under his name had been admitted.”
“No John Does in the hospital either, and I checked all the emergency clinics,” added Samuel.
“Is anything missing?” asked Truman.
Ryan wiped under his nose with the back of his hand. “The only things worth stealing are the TVs and game systems. Everything is still here.”
“No guns? Cash?”
“Guns are in a safe. I noticed it was locked, but I didn’t look inside.”
“Let’s check.”
He and Samuel trailed Ryan to the other bedroom, where a large gun safe took up most of the closet. Samuel gave him a pair of gloves to do the combination lock. Ryan spun the dial and seconds later opened the heavy door. Truman spotted three rifles and six lockboxes that he assumed held handguns. Ryan checked each box as Truman watched over his shoulder. Every weapon was present.
Back in the living room, the men took up their previous places. “What’s your brother do? Has he had any angry encounters recently?”
“Walker’s Lumberyard?”
“Yeah, he’s been there about five years. He hasn’t mentioned any arguments recently.”
“Where do you work at?”
“I’m a plumber for Dawson’s Plumbing. I usually work an eleven-to-eight shift.”
“Do you know of anyone who had it in for your brother? What about bar fights?”
“Clint didn’t have any enemies. He was easygoing. If there were bar fights—well, except for the one you broke up—I haven’t heard of anything recent.”
In his time as a cop, Truman had always heard that the victim had no enemies. Everybody always loved the missing person.
Later the truth would come out.
“I’m going to take a look outside around the house,” Truman stated. Ryan simply nodded, his gaze back on his feet.
Truman signaled for Samuel to stay inside and keep an eye on Ryan. Outdoors he stood on the porch for a long moment. The gravel road had streetlights, but the closest one was in front of the house to the left. Trees and bushes blocked any views of the Moody home from the right and left neighbors. But the home across the street stared directly at the Moody house. Lights were on inside and out, and the curtains moved as he watched. Truman hoped the brothers had a nosy neighbor.
He did a quick circuit around the home and the garage behind it, sweeping the ground with his flashlight. He peered through the side door window into the small garage and learned why the brothers parked out front. The garage was packed with junk. Still wearing his gloves, Truman tried the handle and discovered it was unlocked. He stepped inside, smelling mildew and motor oil but nothing worse. There were mattresses, old dressers, tons of stacked boxes, dusty ten-speed bikes, and a motorcycle. He checked every place he thought a body could be hidden. The evidence team would be more thorough. He backed out and shut the door, resuming his lap around the house.
Out front he shone his flashlight in the old Ford Explorer, which he assumed belonged to Ryan.
Did the attacker take Clint’s truck? If not, where is the attacker’s vehicle?
Either the attacker had arrived on foot, or he wasn’t alone.
Could Clint have driven away?
Truman seriously doubted it, judging from the blood in the room.
The Deschutes County evidence team arrived, and Truman gave some brief instructions before turning them over to Samuel. He knew giving the case to a Deschutes County detective was an option. Not yet. At the moment it was simply a missing persons case.
He strode across the gravel street to see who was still up.
“I don’t sleep much anymore,” Sally Kantor told Truman.
She’d insisted on serving him a cup of instant coffee and set out a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Truman took one cookie to be polite. After the first bite, he knew he’d have to exercise self-control not to eat the rest of the cookies. They sat in her living room, which had a large window that faced the Moody house. Her old TV was on a table next to the window, and Sally sat in a recliner that faced the TV and window. Next to her was an end table loaded with novels, crossword puzzle books, and knitting supplies. A bed pillow and comforter were squeezed in the recliner with her. It was her spot.
She was a petite woman with a small hump at the top of her spine, and she wore a pink quilted satin robe that zipped up the front. Her pink embroidered slippers reminded him of ones his grandmother had worn. She’d proudly told him she was eighty-four years young, and she moved with an energy that surprised him. Her curly gray hair was short and neat, and her smile compassionate. She’d opened the door before he knocked, stating that she’d watched him walk across the street. Curiosity and excitement had danced in her dark-blue eyes as she welcomed him into her home.
“I usually knit late in the evenings. It doesn’t take much thought, and the rhythm helps my brain slow down. When I’m tired I turn off the light, pull up my blanket, and sleep right here.” She clapped her hands twice and the light went out. She immediately clapped again to bring it back on. She wore a wide grin when Truman was able to see her again. “I know my Clapper is corny, but it’s one of my favorite things,” she admitted.
As a child he’d been fascinated with the product.
“But you’re not here to have coffee and cookies with an old woman. What happened across the street? I’ve been watching since the first police vehicle pulled up with its lights flashing.”
“Do you know the Moody brothers?” Truman asked before taking another bite of heaven.
“Of course. Clint and Ryan. I can always count on them when I need a bit of muscle to move something around here. Polite boys.”
“Did you see either one of them today?”
“I saw Ryan get home from work a few hours ago. Clint’s pickup was there earlier today. He gets off work at the lumberyard around three, I believe. I didn’t actually see him, just his vehicle.”
“Did you see any other vehicles over there?”
She frowned at him. “What happened? Did someone break in? I’ve always been a little nervous living here by myself, but I’ve got Betty Lou in case someone tries something.” She spread open her bag of yarn and knitting needles, tipping it toward Truman to expose a revolver nestled among the skeins of yarn. “I know my way around a gun.”
Of course she does.
“There was an unfamiliar pickup at the home earlier today,” she continued, setting the bag aside. “I saw two men get out and head toward the house, but I didn’t think anything of it.”
“What time was this?”
She tapped her lips with one finger as she thought. “Well, I’d already watched the local news, which finished at five thirty . . . I’d say they showed up around six.”
“Did you see them leave?”
“No. I made my dinner and cleaned up the kitchen. When I came out the driveway was empty. No vehicles at all.”
“How long do you think you were in the kitchen?”
“Maybe a half hour.”
“Did you get a good look at the two men?”
She cocked her head. “Not really. It was raining and getting dark. But my impression was that they fit in with Ryan and Clint. You know, solid, hardworking men. Jeans, boots, caps. I saw them as two friends coming to visit.”
Like every other man in Eagle’s Nest.
Truman made a notation about the clothing on his pad. “What color was the truck?”
Sally grimaced. “A dark color. I don’t know if it was dark green, blue, or black. I know it wasn’t white or any pale color. And don’t bother to ask me the make. I don’t pay attention to stuff like that.”
Truman tried a different approach. “Would you say it was identical to the truck Clint drives?”
She thought hard. “No. It was different somehow. I only saw it from the back. They’d already parked next to Clint’s truck when I looked up, but the back of the truck wasn’t the same as Clint’s.”
Congratulations. I eliminated one specific year and make of truck.
“Were either of the men heavyset?”
Sally shook her head.
“Would you say they moved like young men? No slow steps of an older man?”
“Not old. Are you going to tell me what happened over there or not?” Impatience colored her tone.
Truman put away his notebook. “We don’t know. Clint is missing and there’s quite a bit of blood in the home.”
“Oh, my!” Sally touched her hand to her chest. “That poor boy. Such a nice man.”
“The brothers get along as far as you know?”
“For the most part. Whenever they were in my home, they were gentlemen. But I’ve heard a few shouting arguments. And my hearing isn’t the best, so they must have been loud for me to hear them all the way across the street. But who doesn’t have those?”
“You never saw them or heard about them hitting each other?”
“Oh, Lord no. Do you think Ryan did something to Clint?” She asked. Her thin eyebrows shot up. “That’s ridiculous. They’re brothers.”
So were Cain and Abel.
Apparently Sally hadn’t heard about the recent bar fight between the brothers. Truman handed her a business card. “You’ve been very helpful. Call me if you see the truck again or remember anything unusual from across the street.”
“Are you going to find Clint?”
“That’s the plan.”
“They’re good boys,” she repeated, but uncertainty shone for the first time in her eyes. “I hope nothing horrible has happened.”
“You and me both.”