Wounded Badge Vista Page 9

  “Impressive.” Royce studied the car for IDing. She examined the video. “Can you freeze it here.” Squinting, she scrutinized the license plate. The driver was undoubtedly an experience criminal, she thought. “She’s muddied up the plates. Forensics will work on pulling up the ident, but it looks botched.”

  Fast forwarding the store’s interior film, Royce saw the woman. Her face was beautiful. But she was no blonde. And her brunette wig was ill-fitting, and very nearly bizarre looking on her. Trying for unidentifiable facial recognition, the woman had worn a great deal of makeup. Royce could only come up with the fact that she looked like dozens of strippers and prostitutes in Vegas. The Barbie Doll features, large breasts, and thin, tall body. Probably, a very plain young man like Kirk would find her attractive.

  Virginia’s laugh escaped. “To me, she looks a little trollop-ish. Painted face. And the wig is over the top. I’m thinking she’s got bleached blonde under that sable wig.”

  “Forensics will pull up a better photo. But she looks like hundreds of other women.” Royce shrugged. “Did you see any rings, or jewelry?”

  “Nothing. She smokes like a chimney. Oh, and her nails are long, probably fake, and brightly painted.”

  “What was her voice like?” the sheriff questioned.

  “I’d say it similar to a high school floozy. The gal is probably late twenties, but she put ‘like’ in nearly every sentence. I’d say she’s between fifteen and thirty. Walked with a strut, swinging it.”

  “Could you pull me a copy of her order?”

  “Sure,” Virginia ran list of the cigarettes, assortment of foods, she’d purchased. “She smoked…”

  “She didn’t want to run out.” Royce saw a carton listed.

  “Oh, before I forget, the smoking. When she came in, she was smoking. I told her we don’t allow smoking, and I put an ashtray on the counter. She squashed her cigarette out in the ashtray.” Virginia pointed to the ashtray and commented, “I didn’t move it. In case she left fingerprints. DNA. I watch TV shows about catching criminals. And here’s the empty package she threw down.”

  “Great work, Virginia.” Royce took out evidence bags from her pocket. She put on a latex glove. Carefully, she put the cigarette package in one bag, and the ashtray in another. She lifted the cigarette and placed into a small container. The tip was smeared with thick scarlet lipstick.” Royce chuckled. “She certainly isn’t frightened of bright lipstick.”

  Virginia giggled. “She was overdone. But I think she was camouflaging her identity with cosmetics.”

  “You’re a wonderful detective, Virginia. “If you see her again, or can think of anything else, just let us know immediately.”

  “I wonder if she’s the woman that was with Kirk Dillard? Kirk’s been in here a few times. Gas and usually a soft drink. Do you think Kirk might be the guy who shot Nick?”

  “Could be, so don’t call attention to yourself. If she was with the shooter, she might be dangerous. I just question if she was the type a young kid like Kirk would date?”

  “I’m guessing he wouldn’t take her home to his mother. But ‘date’ – any guy would. She looked like she’d been around.”

  “Do you know Kirk well?”

  “He drinks Coke. And purchases trail mix. Quiet.” As they walked to the door, Virginia added, “He doesn’t look like a guy causing trouble. But then sometimes the quiet people snap.”

  Royce tipped her hat. Unfortunately, anyone can snap.

  ***

  Royce dropped the evidence: cigarette butt, ashtray, and crunched empty packet off at Forensics. This was the first legitimate clue in the case.

  Needing a few minutes to clear her mind, Royce entered Molly’s Pantry for a cup of coffee and a cinnamon roll. Nadine and Gwen were at the counter chatting with Molly.

  “News?” Gwen asked.

  “Could be. Keep it confidential. Middle of the night – early morning, a woman stopped in at the Drop-On Buy and used Kirk’s credit card. The surveillance photos are being refined. I don’t want to release the information until we’re sure that the photos could help. Then, if so, we’ll release the photos and see if we get ID hits. Until then, we’ve got DNA and prints that we’ll be running. Trying to locate her that way.”

  Molly refilled Gwen and Nadine’s coffee, and poured a cup for Royce. “Bev said that Nick has some improvement. In and out of consciousness.”

  “Mom, he’s got to live. And be okay. Those poor kids.”

  Molly looked away. “Hertha is concerned about the family, too. She’s been so skittish about it. She’s probably worried about you now that you’ve got your family.”

  “We’ll all be fine, Mom.” Royce could see that Nadine and Gwen traded glances. They knew about Hertha’s DNA hunt for the man that fathered her. It was obvious that Molly didn’t know. And obvious also to Royce, that her mother shouldn’t know. “You worry too much, Mom.”

  Nadine calmly said, “We’re keeping everything as easy going as we can. For the kid’s sake.”

  ‘Bev is considering getting a dog. Maybe a service dog. Or even an attack dog. One that’s trained,” Royce disclosed.

  “Royce, that’s quite a range service and attack,” Molly said. She wiped down the counter, as she chatted. “Those kids would sure love a dog. Why they’re tickled pink when they visit your kids.” She paused, considering, “A service or an attack dog, huh?”

  Royce shook her head, “Admittedly the middle is best. But trained dogs learn easily, so it would work well for the family. If they can be trained for one thing, they are usually well-behaved. I’ve put a call out with a K-9 training unit to find the right dog. And Hertha was going to check with the dog breeders she knows.”

  Gwen said, “I think that would help the children.”

  Nadine added, “When a new dog or cat comes into the house, it always helps everyone.”

  Royce wanted it to help Nick.

  ***

  Royce spent time at her desk. She fielded calls about possible sightings of the truck and Kirk. As she awaited the photos, she put a call into Sam. They chatted, and when Forensics finished with the most distinguishable image of the woman, Royce e-mailed it to Sam. Royce and Sam together studied the woman.

  The woman’s face was beauty pageant gorgeous. But not easily identified. There were minor blurs, and the woman definitely attempted to disguise her face. The wig was pulled tightly enough to the edges of her face to hide her hair color.

  On a conference call with Sam and Forensics, Royce asked them to overlay the brunette wig with blonde-light color over the original image. When they sent it back to Royce, she studied it. Then Royce okayed it, asking that both photos go out on deputy and media posts. The two ‘mugshots’, and information also were to be on the BOLO flyers that would be circulated. All updates would be immediately sent out to enforcement and media at the same time.

  Sam and Royce continued the conversation. He joked, “In the tape she looks like she’s playing a scene. Hey, we don’t know her name, and we’ve been referring to her a ‘hot’ woman. Now we need to give her a more suitable name?”

  “Go for it, Deputy Sunshine,” Royce said with a chuckle.

  “Since she’s obviously an impersonator of some kind, let’s call her the Mimic Maiden.” Royce covered her eyes, and bent over laughing. “Sam, that’s perfection. She is hereby known as Mimic Maiden.”

  Royce continued chuckling for the remainder of the afternoon. Royce was deluged with tips – some recognizing the blonde, others the brunette version. By late afternoon, she’d heard from Molly. Royce’s mother gave her the messaged that Plato wanted to meet her at the usual place. The usual place to meet her Confidential Informant was the alley in back of Molly’s Pantry.

  Hurrying across the street, sheriff and deputy Chance saw Plato coming toward her. “What have you got?” Royce asked.

  “Bell Ringer has a new singer, and you told me I should let you know if anyone new in town was a showin’ up.”

&nbs
p; “What do you know about him?” Royce frowned.

  “Been here a couple days. His name is Richard. He plays the piano. Middle aged. Seems like a good fella. Got him a real good kinda laugh. Ladies like him ‘cause he’s got that kinda charm, and still rugged. Tickles those ivories mighty good. He’s British.”

  “Thanks, Plato. I’ll get over there later.” She took a copy of the wanted poster from her pocket. “Have you seen this woman?”

  “Can’t say as I have. Mighty good lookin’ woman, but I think a better fit for her is up at Crystal. We’re a little town. Timber City is way too ‘Western’ to interest her. If you get my meaning.” His eyebrows bobbed. “She’s more a little bit rock and roll.”

  Royce grinned. “Keep a look out, partner. In case she becomes a little bit country.”

  Royce and Chance returned to the Sheriff’s Office. She slipped a butterscotch candy into her mouth. She realized that Plato would not be happy if he were asked to work surveillance in Crystal. He was not in the least rock and roll oriented.

  She muttered, under her breathe, “Plenty amazing. Mimic Maiden is a little bit rock and roll.”

  ***

  So far, the Mimic Maiden appeared not to exist, beyond her surveillance tape performance. There were no strikes from the fingerprint database. From the photograph alone, there was no sheet on her. And no DNA profile. The sheriff worked until nearly seven, then went home for a quick dinner with Hertha and the children. She relished the time at home. There was so little of it. Hertha understood, and the kids were great about it. But Royce wondered if it hurt them. She knew that she would need to be making a visit across the street. Her C.I. had given her a lead. She’d promised to chase the lead.

  She would check on the Bell Ringer’s new piano player, and pass a few flyers out. Faye would undoubtedly have a couple of them posted. She was good about that. The community always rallied. Royce was proud of having the support of the community. The assistance given, often made the difference.

  “Hey, Royce, let’s move to the back.” Faye pulled two beers out of the cooler. “Grab the back booth.”

  When they were seated, Royce asked, “What do you have?”

  “I’m not sure. Probably isn’t much of a lead. This afternoon there were a few of the regulars in. Bar was pretty empty. Voices carry. One of the guys said something about Nick. All of a sudden Bart Newton began trashing Nick.”

  “His problem with Nick was a long time ago.” Royce was bewildered. “It was a rumor from years ago that Nick was seeing Bart’s wife. Right?”

  “Nick’s wild playboy years. I don’t think anyone knew for sure. It was way before Beverly.”

  Royce rubbed her forehead. “As I recall, Nick met Mrs. Newton when he was called for a domestic assault. At that time, Mary kept herself up and was attractive. Their fights were usually because Bart was claiming Mary was cheating. Bart was often drunk, and belligerent. And the story was that he’s a wife-beater. I do know I took him in a few times. And Nick rounded him up and tossed him in jail more than I did. Mary, wasn’t that her name?”

  “Mary. Yes, Mary Newton. She was being flirty, or so the story went from Bart’s side. Nick was the handsome young deputy who saved her. The story also went that she seduced Nick. Anyway, Bart didn’t like getting jailed. He claimed that Nick threw him in jail, then bedded Mary.”

  “I’d heard that, and began sending a different deputy out on the call to the Newton home. I talked with Nick, and he claimed he hadn’t touched her. And Faye, not to unfairly exonerate Nick, but we didn’t have time back there for an affair, dalliance, or a quickie.”

  Royce recalled warning him off from a ‘separated’ shop owner named Polly. Nick had fessed up, giving Royce the honest truth and he vowed to stop immediately. If he had intimacy with Mary, he would have told her. He wouldn’t have lied to Royce.

  “Well, bringin’ us up to date. Bart began loudmouthin’ and claiming he wanted to see Nick dead. I went over and challenged him, saying that it was just his booze talking. But Royce, he was seething. He talked awful, saying he hoped Nick died. That’s when the customers got up and pulled him outside. The bar patrons were pissed off, ‘cause everyone likes Nick.”

  “Thanks for letting me know. I’ll pay Bart a visit. And you’ve got a new piano player?”

  “A nice guy from Nottingham, England. You know, Nottingham Forest. Jokes and enjoys life. From what I can tell, he’s a genuinely nice fella. An ex-soccer player. Tickles those ivories like you’ve never heard before. He’ll be here at nine. Sometimes he stops by for the early afternoon crowd.”

  “Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow, and check him out.”

  Royce had left Chance behind to play with the children, and as a guard. Royce missed her. When walking across Main Street, Royce felt an overwhelming sadness. She’d hoped to hear that Nick had improved throughout the day. But all she knew was that Nick was still fighting for his life. Still mostly unconscious, and still barely waking from time to time. Royce wondered what he might be thinking. She wished for him to know that she was doing everything she could to find the man that tried to kill him.

  Wanting a restful night, Royce inherently knew that tomorrow would be another full day. And as Gran often said, no shillyshallying around.

  Chapter 7

  Numerous leads were being called in. The locals were not at all familiar with this woman. Royce would check out as many of the leads as she could. She appreciated every tip called in.

  But it was very early, and she wanted – for some perverse reason – to awaken Bart Newton. She wouldn’t mind if he might be suffering from a hangover. She faced an alcohol-fueled rage. But that would give her a drunk and disorderly charge to take Bart in. And that might save Mary a beating.

  She banged on the Newton’s storm door with great vigor. When Mary threw back the door, she greeted Royce. “Is this about the ruckus that my old man made at Bell Ringer?”

  Mary Newton was in her mid-forties, a few years older than Nick. Bart Newton was nearing sixty, and if he wasn’t much of a catch for a nice-looking woman fifteen years ago, he was less appealing now. Royce recalled wondering why Mary put up with her husband’s battering her. But she would bail him out, and each time she did, it made both Royce and Nick sad, and angry.

  The last decade and a half had prematurely aged them both. He was large, and strong, but now was stooped and the splash or two of bourbon was not only behind his words, but behind what muscle tone he had left. He was still a block of a man. An angry man. Mary was emotionally battered. He’d split her lip a few times, and blackened her eyes. Her face was now showing the history of those beatings.

  “Mary, I know over the past couple years there haven’t been as many assault charges, domestic abuse calls. But there was that disturbance last night at the bar. Bart’s hatred of Nick came out at a very bad time. It wasn’t wise of him.”

  “He’s sorry about it now,” she made excuses. She flinched. “Nick and I never did anything, but Bart is convinced we did. What he said about Nick was awful. I know that he said he wanted Nick to die. And how he would kill him.”

  “Threatening a deputy. Mary, you know he’s in big trouble.” Royce wanted to take Bart in and frighten him. That was an option she would perhaps select later. Now, it was searching out a killer. “If he ever threatens Nick, or any deputy, I’ll have him in prison.”

  Mary looked away, and her eyes filled. “Maybe I’ll leave him. He’s against Nick. And the undersheriff never did anything but try to help me. To be nice because he felt sorry for me.”

  “Nick has a fine wife. A wonderful family. You can’t imagine the expression in his children’s eyes. The sparkle has gone out. They love their father. And he’s in a hospital bed fighting for his family, his friends, and his community.”

  “I was off of work the morning Nick was shot. And Bart hadn’t been called in to work, so he was at home. With me.”

  “Do you have firearms here?”

  “He’s got two rifles and
a handgun.”

  “I want to see them.”

  She paused.

  “I can stand here until I get a search warrant. And you know I could charge you with hindrance. It will only take a minute.” Royce pulled out her radio.

  “If he wakes up, he’ll be mad.”

  Royce’s voice was angry, and authoritative. “I’m infuriated now.” She lifted her radio to speak. “What’s it going to be?”

  “He keeps them in the mudroom.” Mary motioned for Royce to follow her. The long guns were on the wall. The handgun was in a holster.

  Royce removed it from the holster. She examined it. It hadn’t been fired in weeks, Royce guessed after sniffing the gun. “If my spouse had the temper management problem, and the alcohol problem that your spouse has, I would dispose of all guns in the house. Bart Newton should never again be packing heat. And if I catch him intoxicated and carrying. I’ll arrest him.”

  “It isn’t as easy as you say. I can’t control him.”

  “I’ve got an undersheriff in the hospital unable to move. Ask him how easy it is to be shot.”

  “Bart’s been to all the programs, but nothing helps.”

  “If he shot Nick, Bart will need more help than he’s ever needed. And I can promise nothing will help him.” Royce retuned the pistol to its holster. She wasn’t convinced that Bart didn’t have a spare firearm hidden.

  ***

  Royce walked away, back to her vehicle. Chance was glad to see her. Royce glanced down at the long list of sighting. Releasing the photos of Mimic Maiden had brought in multiple leads. Deputies were fitting them in their schedules in order of recency, and in between their daily calls. Fresh leads were checked out first.

  Royce drove to the main highway. When she saw Gold Dust Road, she pulling over onto the gravel trail. Royce wanted to allow Chance to take what the kids called, her ‘wee-wee’ break. She saw Wyatt setting up his portable sluicing plant at the side of the creek. She parked on an apron side road. When she and Chance got out, Chance ran to greet Gus.