Foehammer - Case File 1

  Chapter 3

  Sharon Morris navigated her Honda Shadow-Spirit 750 into the sheriff's station parking lot with enough speed to leave the scent of burnt rubber in her wake. She jerked her helmet off her head, releasing her short riot of natural curls. Her hair was a mess. That was fine. It matched her mood.

  She stomped into the station. It wasn't any larger than a school room. Seven desks were sprinkled around an imperfect square. Almost all of them were currently occupied by men and women in brown uniforms. All but one. All their eyes were looking at her. Oh, they were pretending real hard not to, but Sharon wasn't stupid. She could see that Maxwell wasn't typing up anything and that Harding was about to pour nearly burnt coffee on his boot. They were all preparing themselves for Deputy Sharon Morris to flip out and do something weird. Well, who gave a damn? Let them watch. Let them wait. She'd show them.

  The front desk was being manned by Tabitha Heartly, round-faced and pretty. She swallowed hard when Sharon charged up and leaned over the fake wood.

  “Is he here?”

  Tabitha nodded, and pointed with one perfectly manicured fingernail. “He's on the phone right now though. Sharon, I...I wouldn't...”

  “Thanks,” Sharon cut her off and walked past the receptionist. When Tabitha's lips quivered in an attempt to call her back, Sharon waved her off with a flip of her dark hand.

  “Don't bother,” she called over her shoulder. “I know the way.”

  A big man stepped in Sharon's path. He wasn't just tall, though he was certainly that. He was big. His brown uniform started off fitting snuggly at the chest and shoulders, and then strained around the third and fourth button in a sorry attempt to hide his ever-growing bulk. His eyes were sunken, and his sallow skin showed how many hours of sleep he had lost.

  “Deputy,” he said in a deep voice, meant to be manly and intimidating. Sharon wasn't impressed. “What are you doing here? It's your day off.”

  Sharon kept her voice as calm and even as she could manage. “Corporal, I was hoping to get a word with Sheriff Miller.”

  “The Sheriff is busy.” He crossed his arms across his chest and tried to look bigger than he already was. She hoped his shirt didn't pop open.

  Yeah, she thought to herself, busy trying to avoid me. She took a long breath and blew it out through her nose. She certainly didn't feel like wasting time with Corporal Keene and his crap today.

  “Pretty sure we have an open door policy around here.”

  “We have a chain of command,” Keene snapped back. “If you got a problem it goes to your immediate supervisor.”

  It was bull, and she knew it. Bishop only had about fifty law enforcement officers to begin with, considering there were only about three thousand citizens. Sure, there was procedure, but it was pretty much a loose interpretation of the rules. Keene was being a jerk, and he was doing it on purpose.

  “Which would be you?” It wasn't exactly news to her, but Keene never really bothered to talk with her. Oh, he loved ordering her about, but he ordered all the deputies like they were his own little army. He had gone out of his way since day one to make her life difficult here at the department.

  He thrust his wobbling chin out. “Yeah.”

  “Fine,” she said with a wave of her hand. “Fine. You want to play it that way? How about you tell me why I had to find out about my cousin's death from Mrs. Haspinaro? I mean, it sure was nice going into her bakery for a cup of coffee and a bear claw and having everyone offering me condolences. That was a great way to hear about Pete.”

  He scoffed, and she could see the mean words written on his face. She knew exactly what he was thinking. Keene was a jerk on the best of days. Today he was an asshole. She couldn't stop herself from poking. A line of red was working its way up his collar and towards his chin.

  “Does that seem funny to you?” she snapped. “Does it seem hilarious to you to go in for breakfast and find out about a death in the family?”

  “It isn't funny when it's family.”

  Everyone in the room went still. You could have heard an ant sliding over a doughnut.

  “What was that?” Her voice was low and even. “You feel like explaining those words to me?”

  She stepped closer, and he flinched. Everyone saw it, and he knew it. The apples of his cheeks went scarlet. His hands clenched at his sides. He was angry now, but only because he was scared. Sharon wondered if people ever got angry when they weren't afraid of something.

  “Back the hell up.”

  “Why?” she motioned at the space between them. It was a decent foot, but she knew it wasn't enough for Keene. A football field wouldn't be enough space for Keene. “You got something to say about me?”

  “Sheriff never should have let you on the force.” It wasn't quite yelling, more like a boom coming from his big belly. His cheeks quivered with it.

  “Why?” she demanded. “Because I'm a woman? You don't seem to have an issue with Pierce, or Carey, or Gellar.”

  “I don't have any problems with women. So long as they do their job.” He said each word through gritted teeth.

  “Is it that I'm black?” she prodded. “I mean, no, that can't be it. You respect the Sheriff, so it can't be that either. So what? What is it?”

  His lips worked, already beginning to form the words. She could see the decision blazing behind his eyes.

  “Corporal,” one of the others said. “Maybe you just ought to...”

  “A freak like you doesn't belong!”

  There, it was said, the big fat ugly truth of it was blurted out for the entire station to hear.

  “Well,” she said lifting her chin. “Now that you've expressed your prejudice to my person I would like to circumnavigate you and speak to your superior officer. That'd be the Sheriff, wouldn't it?”

  “You tricked me.”

  She shrugged one shoulder. “It's basic interrogation, Corporal. Get them mad, and they get honest.”

  He didn't hit her. He wanted to, and they both knew it. She could see the veins in his hands standing out as he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides. He shoved past her and out the door, a cool breeze from outside following in his wake.

  “Morris,” the officer who had stepped up said. “Why'd you have to go and do that?”

  “Because Keene is a bully, Harding,” she said, shoving her hands in her pockets. “And I hate bullies.”

  Harding was a puppy dog, a cute one if Sharon was being honest with herself. They had gone to school together and graduated together, and they had decided to join the department the same year. But they had never really been friends. He looked like a hippie's lost son, with curling hair in a dark shade of red-brown and freckles on his suntanned nose. He was cute, and he was tender-hearted.

  Sharon patted him on the shoulder. “I'm going to go talk to the sheriff.”

  “Hey,” he called. “I'm sorry you found out like you did.”

  “Yeah, me too.” She walked up to the Sheriff's door and gave a knock. She heard him hang up the phone before she opened the door.

  “Got a minute?”

  “I wondered when you were going to show up.”

  Sheriff Octavius Phillips wasn't a big man, but he took up space all the same. His hair was as dark and curly as her own, but an inch or two shorter. Even at the advanced age of fifty-three, he still had the athletic body that had gotten him into college. He crossed his umber fingers in his lap and fixed her with a long stare. “I've been waiting for you to call.”

  She shut the door behind her. “Some things are better handled in person.”

  “I was going to tell you.”

  “When?” she demanded. “After you had brought Lillian in?”

  “I was going to tell you,” he repeated himself. “When we knew something to say.”

  “I'm sorry? But, my cousin and his kids being dead wasn't enough to say?” she heard her voice crack. She kept talking around it. “That my best friend might
have been involved?”

  “Sharon...”

  “Pete's my cousin...god...was my cousin. We grew up together.”

  “I know that.”

  “He beat up Mickey Grune in the seventh grade for me.”

  The Sheriff's lips split into a soft grin. “I know that, too.”

  “So why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you bring me in to help with this?” She threw her arms up in the air and gave them a little wave.

  “Do I need to explain personal bias to you?”

  She snorted. “We live in Bishop, not L.A. There are personal biases for everything we do. Everyone's connected. You're my great uncle. Harding and Keene are related, though I don't even know how.”

  “This is different, Sharon, and you know it.” He motioned to the seat in front of him, and she plopped down.

  “I know it's different. I can help, my...talents.”

  He looked down. “I don't think you want to use that here, Sharon. I really don't. Not just because Pete and you were close, but because you and Lillian were, too.”

  “So what are you going to do?” she demanded. “What's going to happen?”

  “Sharon, I'm handing this case over to someone else.”

  “Someone else? Who?” She surged to her feet again. “Who?”

  “The FBI has a new task force, a Paranormal Crimes Division. It's part of the Act, and...”

  “Are you kidding me?” Sharon snapped. “They don't know her. They don't know him. They are going to make a lot of assumptions.”

  “Like you are?”

  “I'm not making any damn assumptions.”

  “The hell you aren't,” his voice was ice cold. “Do you think she did it?”

  It was on the tip of her tongue to argue, and that's when she knew he was right. She fell back into the seat. “I don't like this.”

  He nodded. “I know, and I understand. But this is how it is, and I think it's the right choice. It's better than letting Keene investigate, isn't it?”

  “I got a report to file on him,” she offered. “He called me a freak.”

  The Sheriff wiped a hand down his wrinkled face. “I think you are trying to kill me.”

  She stood up again, this time without anger. “So what do you want me to do?”

  “Go home. I'll let the investigator who shows up know about you and what you can do, and if they want to bring you in, so be it.”

  “You plan on telling them I'm easy to work with?”

  “Lying to an officer of the law can get you two to ten in prison.”