Indivisible (2 page)

Annoyed when Piper tapped once more, Tia opened the door less magnanimously.

“Oh … my … gosh.” Piper all but quivered. “Who is he?”

“Jonah Westfall.”

Piper searched her face. “What—did he arrest you or something?”

“Don’t be silly.” No surprise Piper had picked up on it. His mere presence had curdled her mood.

“There are cute guys in town, but he’s smokin’.”

No way was she having this discussion. “Does Sarge know you’re out here? I can’t give you the room for free, so I suggest you don’t get fired.” Tia started back to her candles.

“Oh, he threatens, but he won’t do it.”

“I wouldn’t be too sure. Sarge has never allowed anyone in his kitchen before.”

“I know.” Piper followed her. “He’s told me about a thousand times. But about Jonah—”

“I have four orders to fill before I open shop.”

“Come on, Tia. Tell me.”

Tia felt the tapers, then lowered and lifted them once more. “This is a delicate process.” One she had done so often she could do it comatose. A bachelor of science and a master’s degree, and here she was dipping candles.

Piper watched, then surveyed the workshop as she always did, her gaze roving over the shelves of glass bottles with herbs in oils, dried fruits and berries, blocks of wax and bolts of wick. “This is great. You must love what you do.”

“I enjoy it. I wouldn’t say love.”

“Well, what do you love?” Piper peaked her eyebrows like an imp. “A certain rugged lawman?”

Once again it surprised her how freely Piper barged in. They’d known each other what, three weeks? “You’ve gone from silly to ridiculous.”

Piper leaned her palms on the table. “Why? Is he married?”

Tia slid her a dark glance. “Did he look married?”

“Good point.”

Tia straightened. “Now I need to work. And you need to get back before Sarge declares you AWOL.”

“I’m going.” Piper pressed open the back door but called, “To be continued.”

“Or not,” Tia called after her.

Two

In the arithmetic of love, one plus one equals everything, and two minus one equals nothing.

—MIGNON MCLAUGHLIN

B
reathing through his mouth, Jonah deposited the plastic-wrapped animals into the back of his Bronco. Department of Wildlife dealt with off-season poaching and protected species. Raccoons were neither, and if he’d left them, coyotes or cougars would have made quick work of them. Lucky the girl had seen them as soon as she had.

He closed the hatch and entered the side of the municipal building that was the police station. They had one interrogation room, one holding cell used only until they had enough staff to transport a detainee, no forensic lab, and the morgue was in the funeral home. Serious felonies went to the county court. Critical evidence, to the state lab. He had no critical evidence. He wasn’t even sure he had a crime.

Passing reception and dispatch, he waved to Ruth, whose narrow head and slender shoulders bloomed into doughy arms and bosom, as though someone had mismatched her body parts. He found Adam Moser writing reports in the cubicle he shared with a second scheduled officer. With a force of five officers plus him, at least one position short in his opinion, they juggled twelve-hour shifts with additional hours on call and still had all the night and some day shifts with single coverage.

The top of Moser’s head looked like a polished brown river rock rimmed by a dense black moss with flecks of silver. His long brown neck met straight shoulders, crisply uniformed. His handwriting looked typed. With features more Denzel Washington than Tyler Perry, Moser had it all together.

“Hey, Moser.” Jonah gave him a nod.

“Morning, Chief.”

“You get anything unusual last night?”

Moser pursed his lips. “Pretty much the norm.”

“Nothing about kids playing at cult stuff?”

Moser frowned. “No. Why?”

Jonah told him about the raccoons.

“Two raccoons tear each other up, and why is that our concern?” Moser asked in his measured elocution.

“Because they were connected.”

“Tied up?”

“No.” Jonah had squatted down and inspected the carnage at closer range than he would have liked. “The animals were sewn together.”

“Sewn? With what?”

“Some kind of thread. Through skin and muscle.”

“How’d they manage that on two live raccoons?”

Jonah shrugged. “Must have knocked them out. Then they woke up and went crazy, tearing themselves apart. I have them in the back of my Bronco if you want to see.”

“I’m good.” Moser shifted in his chair.

“I’m running them by the vet.”

“Clinic’s open again?”

“As of last month.”

“I gotta get Marlene down for her shots.”

Jonah nodded, unsure Moser had quite grasped the implications of the raccoon thing. People who made animals suffer didn’t usually stop there.

He rolled down his windows and drove with as much wind in his face as he could manage while approximating the speed limits to the animal hospital at the outskirts of Redford. He had only heard last week that someone new had opened up, and he hoped they’d make a go of it. Not all the local population was as assiduous about pet care as Moser. Even those who didn’t go in for torture.

He braked for a car pulling out of the clinic driveway and turned in. He’d be glad to get the rank package out of his vehicle. No receptionist manned the front desk. The vet would be lucky to cover costs without paying another wage.

He touched the bell on the counter, and a blond woman came out of the back room. Early to midthirties. Average height, decent looks. She appeared to have some kind of hip injury that caused an uneven gait, but she gave him a level appraisal.

“Can I help you?”

The name tag on her white coat read DR. LIZ RAINER. “I’m Police Chief Jonah Westfall. I was hoping you could have a look at something, but maybe …”

“Your horse threw a shoe?”

He pulled a smile. “Actually, my Bronco’s got tires.”

“Is something injured?”

“It’s a little past doctoring. And it’s … gruesome.”

She drew herself up. “I’m assuming we’re not talking human.”

“No, I have a coroner for those deaths.”

“Okay then.” She came through the gate. “Show me.” She preceded him out to his vehicle.

“You may want to hold your breath. They didn’t die fast.” He opened up the back, then, giving her a warning glance, tore open the garbage bag. The smell was a force, excrement and gore. He should have pulled the bag out of the car first. But he didn’t want her to have to bend to the ground to examine them. “Can you tell me what you see?”

She pressed her lips together, more sadness than repulsion in her eyes. “The damage seems to be to their sides.”

“Look closer. Where the fur is shaved. Sorry. If you don’t mind.”

“Stitching?” She looked up. Her right eye twitched. “Not a natural predator.”

He understood the effort it took her to stay calm. “Have you seen much cult activity with animals?”

“Not really.”

“But you’d know what to look for?”

“I wouldn’t look for stitching.”

He nodded. “That’s what I thought too. Well, thanks. What do I owe you?”

She shrugged. “Consider it a service, and pass the word that I’m here.”

“I told an officer this morning. He’ll be by with his pug, Marlene.”

Back inside, Liz watched the police chief drive away. He’d seemed sensitive and trustworthy beneath his startling good looks. Most people would not get past the surface, but she always looked inside, searching for the best—and the worst. It was inside that mattered, the substance of a person.

“He’s nice.”

Though quiet as a ghost, Lucy seldom caught her by surprise, their bond so tight she sensed her before hearing her. Liz nodded without looking away from the window. Lucy was never fooled by appearances. The chief had substance.

“Would you like to meet him?” Liz murmured.

“Don’t tease.”

“Really.” She watched the Bronco stop at the street, then pull out. She’d recognized in Chief Westfall an acquaintance with grief, lodged in the faint lines around his eyes, the creases beside his mouth. Maybe he would understand. “I think you could.”

“Not like this. No one should see me like this.” The pitch of Lucy’s voice rose. “And I’m afraid. So afraid.”

“You don’t have to be.” She turned at her soft crying. “It’s all right.”

“No,” Lucy wailed. “How can it be?”

She hated it when Lucy cried, the way it tugged as though the sorrow lodged inside her as well. “Do you trust me?”

Lucy sniffed. “How can I not trust my own sister?”

How indeed?
Raw emotion caught her. “You know I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She waited, but Lucy didn’t answer.

Jonah drove with all the windows open to the office and left them open in the lot even though he’d recently cautioned Officer Sue Donnelly not to leave her vehicle unsecured. The smell would be deterrent enough for any thief. He went inside, and Ruth put a hand to her nose.

“Not to be rude, Jonah—”

“I know.”

“Moser’s on the clock. Why don’t you go home and shower?”

He had intended to type his report while the details were fresh, but, as with the smell, he doubted they’d fade anytime soon. He turned around and drove home. The shower took the smell out of his skin and hair but didn’t help much with the residual in his sinuses. He changed into a spare uniform and went back to the office.

Ruth sighed with relief as he approached, ending with a giggle.

“Yeah, yeah. Next time I’ll let you all handle it.”

“I must have heard Moser wrong,” she called after him. “I thought he said the raccoons were sewn together.”

He entered the office without answering. He’d like to keep that quiet for a while and figured there was at least a ten percent chance he could. He filled in the report and filed it in open cases, animal cruelty—the closest classification he could make.

After he brought his computer out of hibernation, he scoured all the local incidents involving animals, widening his region to include not just the county but adjoining counties as well. The incidents he found involved baiting or neglect. Unlicensed or out-of-season hunting. One wrongful butchering. None mentioned joining.

It could be nothing more than a sick prank, and he’d ignore it except for the eerie nature of the deed. Animal cruelty could indicate dangerous pathologies, and in this there had been intent and premeditation. There’d been surgical prep. The person who did this had not merely intended the creatures to fight but to tear their own flesh apart. He would have the thread analyzed and receive results in a month or two.

He looked up when Moser came in.

“Just letting you know I’m going home.”

That time already? No wonder his back felt petrified. As chief, he made his own schedule but often worked longer hours than the others. Determining the direction and strategic mission of the department, managing his people, coordinating assets, and allocating resources kept him plenty busy, but he still maintained hands-on interaction with his officers and the people they protected. He stayed abreast of serious crimes and handled many of them himself.

The raccoon thing was just weird enough to warrant his attention before passing it off. And it took his mind off the rest. The day was almost over, and it wouldn’t be back for another year. His hands clenched. His nostrils flared. Not now.

He forced his focus back to the research, but there wasn’t that much more he could learn, so he locked up and drove slowly through Old Town. The shops were closed up for the night, but he saw lights at the Half Moon. He parked and stared a long moment, then made his way around to the back and rapped his knuckles on the door. He heard shuffling, then her voice.

“Who is it?”

At least she was cautious.

“Me.”

“Could you be more specific?”

“Open up, Tia.”

She cracked open the door, frowning. “What?”

“Can I talk to you?”

“As Police Chief?”

“Partly.”

She pressed her forehead to the door and pulled it open, the epitome of reluctance. A lambent glow from a dozen candles honeyed her mahogany hair and olive skin. Dark brows arched over onyx eyes, reflecting the flames.

He said, “I don’t think you should be working past dark.”

Her eyes narrowed. “You’re giving me a curfew?”

“I just don’t think you should stay here after dark and walk home alone.”

“Why not?”

Because someone had ceremoniously slaughtered animals on her walking path? “I saw something that concerns me.”

“Something …”

He shook his head. “I’d rather not go into it.”

“Look, Jonah—”

“I’m just saying don’t be out alone right now.”

“But you’re not saying why.” She braced her hands on her hips. Even with her small frame and stature, no one could mistake her strength. “If you won’t give me more than your opinion, I can’t make an informed decision.”

“You could trust my opinion.”

She tipped her head back, forking both hands into her lion’s mane, and scrutinized him. “You look awful.”

“Yeah, well.” She knew what day it was. Because he’d kept up a good professional front, no one else had noticed, at least not commented. But this was Tia, who never withheld comment. “I’ll walk you home if you’re ready.”

“I’m doing my accounting.”

“You can do it in the daylight.”

Again the hands to the hips. “Tell me why you’re worried.”

“Can’t you ever just take advice?” He matched her glare, then backed down. He was probably blowing it out of proportion. Seeing her this morning had kept her too near the surface, a bad idea on any day. A worse one today. “Fine. Lock the door behind me.”

“Of course.” Just enough barb to make it sting.

He drove home to his cabin tucked away from both the new, sprawling mansions and the little, old Victorians like Tia’s. He removed his jacket and weapon belt, locked his sidearm and backup in the gun safe, then opened the collar of his shirt and entered the den. From the corner shelf he took the bottle of Maker’s Mark and rubbed its dustless surface.