Reclaim My Life (2 page)

Pretending kept her alive.

Deputy Jamie Peterson leaned against the fender of Wil’s Jeep Grand Cherokee. “It’s Doc Hodges, the missing vet.”

Wil tossed the white sack onto his vehicle’s passenger seat. Cathleen Hodges had opened the town’s first veterinary practice more than a year earlier. She’d been reported missing over the Labor Day weekend. Wil figured she’d turn up sooner or later. Drake Springs was hardly a hotbed of kidnappings. “Did she show up?”

“You could say that.” Jamie’s usually full lips thinned. “Her body washed up at ol’ man Reesor’s dock.”

Body?
“Did she drown, you think?”

“Not unless she survived the bullet in her brain. Plus, there’s no sign of her vehicle.”

“Did you call Jacksonville?” he asked, referring to the medical examiner’s office that covered Foster County.

“Not yet. I wanted you to know first.”

“Did Brady stay behind with the body?” Wil had only twenty full-time deputies, eight of whom were off duty.

“Yes. He’s securing the scene—what there is to secure. We each took photos.” She pulled a cell phone off a clip on her belt. “You want me to call in the others?”

Wil shook his head. It wasn’t as if the county was large enough to have a homicide division. Or any division. His small force worked in shifts to patrol and answer calls. After yesterday’s hectic influx of college students, he opted to let them rest. “We’ll work with the scheduled force for now.”

She shrugged. “Reesor pulled the body out, so I don’t know how much he contaminated any forensic evidence.”

“How’s the old guy holding up?” Wil worried about the town’s octogenarian fisherman more than forensics.

“Pretty shook, if you ask me. He wasn’t expecting a homicide.”

“Who
was?”
Wil had been sheriff for almost two years, and this was Foster County’s first murder in a decade or more. “I need you and Brady to keep the scene secure for the evidence team, then conduct a knock-and-talk. See if we can find a witness or build a timeline.”

“Knock-and-talk? All we have is old man Reesor.”

“I want every homeowner along that section of the river questioned, Jamie. Somebody might have seen or heard something that didn’t seem reportable at the time.” Wil suppressed a sigh. They had a slim chance of finding evidence involving a floater, but he couldn’t afford to overlook any opportunity to find a clue.

“What about the state guys?” she asked, referring to the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. “Won’t they have to be involved?”

“Definitely.” Tiny Foster County had no crime laboratory or medical examiner. “I’ll call the ME and FDLE and meet you back at Reesor’s dock. I need that missing person report.”

Jamie nodded. “I’ll have it for you when you get there.”

She left Wil standing in front of the diner. Dread settled over him. He had his first homicide as sheriff. True, he’d been lucky his term’s first year, but this was Foster County, not Duval County, where he’d spent too many years as a detective. Drake Springs was his retreat, his home again after many years, the tiny part of Florida few knew about or paid attention to. The proverbial Main Street, U.S.A.

Or did such a place exist anymore?

His cinnamon twist forgotten, Wil tossed the coffee cup into the trash and then jumped in the Jeep. The sheriff’s office was one block behind the courthouse on Court Street, walking distance from Boyd’s Diner. Much as he’d like to make the calls from his own desk, he vetoed the idea and drove directly to Gabe Reesor’s place on the river. Talking on a cell phone while driving was a safety hazard he’d warned others about, but today he’d make an exception and multitask. He needed to be at the crime scene without delay.

At the Alibi Bar, located right at the “City Limits” sign, Main Street narrowed to a two-lane county road. Thick growths of blackjack oaks blocked the morning sun to form a tunnel of shade along the blacktop. Wil made his calls, thankful for speed-dialing and no traffic, while racing toward Reesor’s. Slowing for the turnoff, which was little more than two tire tracks in the dirt, Wil saw movement in his rearview mirror. Another vehicle closed in on him. Painted cream and black, the Chevy Blazer sported a blue and red light bar on its roof.

What the hell—?

Just his luck to have Adam Gillespie, Drake Springs’s police chief, arrive at the scene. Never mind that it wasn’t within Adam’s jurisdiction. Adding to Wil’s frustration, Adam’s mother, who owned the town’s newspaper, thought nothing of pumping Adam for details to spice up the
Drake Springs Democrat
. How had Adam found out about the homicide so quickly? Wil would just as soon have his prostate checked than field questions from his adversary.

Adam had opposed Wil in the election, though Wil doubted he really wanted the job. Drake Springs had hired the police chief with a decent salary and benefits, whereas the county sheriff’s position was political. Job security was in the hands of the voters every four years. But what did he know about Adam’s motives? The grudge between them predated the sheriff’s race by decades.

Ignoring Adam’s arrival, Wil bolted from his Jeep. He slowed at the steep incline of Reesor’s boat ramp, where he spotted his two deputies. Jamie Peterson, the younger of the two, stood to the side as if avoiding contact with the corpse. Probably was, not that he blamed her. New to law enforcement, Jamie had never worked a homicide until today. Brady Newcomb, a four-year veteran with Foster County’s sheriff’s office, stood at the dock with his roll of yellow crime scene tape, which he’d strung generously through the palmettos and pines.

Because of the summer’s drought, the water level in the Suwannee River had dropped so low that the end of the ramp jutted over the water instead of under it. Elderly Gabe Reesor sat in a webbed lawn chair in the shade of a nearby oak, protected from the sight of the dead woman by the wooden dock that bordered the boat ramp. At the edge of the cement lay the body of Cathleen Hodges, hardly recognizable. Wil stooped for a closer look.

Twigs and debris tangled with Cathleen’s long, brown hair. Her once-olive skin was bleached white, her mahogany eyes missing from their sockets, no doubt victims of Florida’s waterfowl population. Bloated and grotesque, she bore little resemblance to the thirty-something veterinarian who’d opened her practice last year. Without touching the corpse, Wil couldn’t be sure but guessed rigor mortis had already set in. She’d been reported missing Monday after having last been seen Friday. She may have been dead for days.

Just as Jamie said, a small bullet hole punctured the deceased’s temple. From Wil’s experience, he figured twenty-two caliber at close range. Who had shot Cathleen Hodges and why? Did Foster County harbor a killer, or was he an outsider? From behind Wil a shadow fell, shading him and the corpse from the morning summer sun. Without turning to look, he knew it was Adam.

“Gunshot wound to the temple.” Adam Gillespie’s voice boomed with authority. “So this was no drowning.”

“We’ll know more after the postmortem.” Wil stood but didn’t turn to face Adam. Instead, he addressed Brady and Jamie. “The ME’s office is sending someone now. Should be here in an hour.”

“Did you talk to Reesor?” Adam asked. “I understand he discovered the body.”

Wil turned to face him. “As you’re well aware, I just got here. I’m handling the crime scene, so you can relax and go back to your own jurisdiction.”

“My family still owns land out here.” He gestured to the opposite bank of the Suwannee. “I have a personal interest.”

“Interest doesn’t include investigating a crime in the county.”

Adam’s mouth widened into a friendly grin, one Wil knew was meant for his audience’s benefit, not his. “Now, no need to be territorial, Sheriff Drake. I’m here to lend my assistance. Your force isn’t equipped to handle a homicide investigation.”

“Neither is yours, Chief Gillespie, which is why we have FDLE.” Wil didn’t want to antagonize Adam further, so he softened his tone. “Seriously, I do appreciate your offer to help.”

Adam nodded. “Call if you need me.”

Wil watched Adam retreat up the ramp. Brady ran a hand through his thick salt-and-pepper hair and moved closer to Wil. “I know we’re supposed to be on the same team, Sheriff, but I don’t trust him.”

Wil couldn’t afford to let a personal feud interfere with the job. “You can trust him, Brady. He’s a good lawman. He just doesn’t like me.”

Brady snorted. “I’d say the feeling is mutual.”

The origins of the hostility between the Drakes and the Gillespies had been clouded by the years and the gossip to the extent that Wil couldn’t have explained them if he wanted to—which he didn’t, and certainly not to members of his force. No point in fueling rumors. “I don’t dislike Chief Gillespie.”

“I heard you dated his sister.”

He’d dated both sisters, not that he’d discuss that with Brady or anyone. “That was high school, a long time ago.”

Something in his tone must have alerted Brady that the subject was closed, because he wisely changed the subject. “I took Mr. Reesor’s statement, but do you want to question him, too?”

“I’ll talk to him.”

Jamie pulled folded paper from her breast pocket. “Here’s a copy of the missing persons report on the victim.”

“Thanks. Did you know her?”

Jamie shrugged. “Sure. She neutered and declawed Chigger, my kitten. How about you?”

“I talked to her a couple of times. She gave Sophie her rabies shot last month.”

Actually, Cathleen Hodges had flirted with Wil, but he wasn’t going to mention that to his deputy. Cathleen had certainly been attractive, although the image of her bloated corpse now superseded his memory of her.

Wil stepped into the shade of a clump of crepe myrtles and took a moment to scan the printout. He came to the names of those who’d last seen Cathleen Hodges before her disappearance. She’d had dinner with three friends at the Hurricane Lantern, Drake Springs’s only decent tavern, and was last seen pulling out of the parking lot. No one reported seeing her after that, but someone had seen her. And that someone had murdered her.

Kris Knight, one of the friends who’d last seen her, filed the missing persons report after Cathleen Hodges had missed a breakfast meeting, failed to answer her telephone all weekend, and hadn’t shown up at her veterinary practice yesterday. Miss Knight taught English at Foster County High School. Wil had met the woman and knew a little about her. She wasn’t his type, so he hadn’t followed up their few conversations with a date. Oh, she had the looks: tall, thin and willowy frame, long brown hair, lush eyelashes that framed brown eyes. Her eyes reminded him of Elizabeth’s, the color of fine bourbon, hidden behind glasses that—

Whoa, Wil
. Unfortunately, too many things reminded him of Elizabeth Stevens. She seemed to lurk at the edges of his mind on a regular basis, sidetracking his thoughts. Giving himself a mental shake, he turned his attention once more to the report. As if conjured up from his imagination, the name Elizabeth Stevens appeared with the names of the women last seen with Cathleen Hodges. Elizabeth was the newcomer in Drake Springs who interested him most and whom he knew the least. For whatever reason, she kept her distance.

The deceased’s third dinner companion was Sunny Davis, an attractive blonde who seemed to be the only one of the quartet who was married. Her husband, Ian Davis, ran information systems for the college. All four women were fairly new to the area, which was why Wil made a point to learn what he could about each one. None of the three women seemed a likely murder suspect, but he’d have to question each of them.

Wil strolled over to where Gabe Reesor sat. He saw no reason to question the older man. He had an hour to kill before either FDLE or the medical examiner would arrive, though, and he wanted to see for himself that the old guy wasn’t distressed by the morning’s discovery. If only Wil could say the same for himself.

Reesor lived in a single-wide mobile home on stilts located a few yards from his boat ramp and dock. A lifetime spent on the river had leathered the fisherman’s already dark skin. Cataracts clouded his eyes, but his other senses seemed sharp as ever. Thin and wiry, he got around better than some men decades younger. He’d supplied Boyd’s Diner and Miller’s IGA Market with fresh fish until he’d retired last year.

“H’lo, Wil.” Reesor straightened in his chair at Wil’s approach. “Sheriff Drake, I mean.”

Wil squeezed the man’s shoulder. “Mr. Gabe, you’ve called me ‘Wil’ all my life. No need to change that just because I won an election.”

Reesor’s dark face split into a grin, revealing a few gaps from missing teeth. “Yeah, I used to chase you young daredevils outta my cave, especially that little sister of yours. Ain’t seen her in years, though. Where’s she been?”

Wil hadn’t seen much of his sister, either. “Taylor travels the country taking photographs, mostly for spelunking magazines, travel journals and such.”

Reesor’s smile disappeared. “I expect you want to talk to me ‘bout finding that body.”

“No need. You already gave your statement to Deputy Newcomb.” Wil gave Reesor’s shoulder another squeeze. “Heck of a way to start your morning, though, isn’t it?”