Red Dog Saloon (11 page)

Smiling
with a sense of pride that the sheriff appreciated his detective work, Kendal
explained.

“Hey,
it’s not that hard nowadays,” Kendal admitted. “You can find almost anyone on
the Internet.”

“Still,
that’s pretty good detective work,” Sam noted.

“She
had a Facebook account, sheriff,” Kendal confessed. “Most people have them. I
just did a search and it gave me about a couple of hundred Gina Porters. Then I
narrowed it down and there it was under the subject heading of education. She
went to school at Castle County High School. Then I simply started cross-referencing
what I got there and came up with an address over in Shelby.”

“Have
you tried to make contact yet?” Sam asked.

“Nope,
I thought you’d want the honors since you’re the one who developed all of
this,” Kendal replied. "I couldn’t find a phone number, just an address.
As for Facebook, her page has been dormant for over a year.”

“Well,
this is more than we had half an hour ago,” Sam said. “I think I’m going to take
a drive up to Shelby. While I’m gone see if you can get with our contact at the
DEA and see if they’ll go along with our plans for Rhody.”

“Will
do sheriff,” Kendal replied. “Let me know what you find out up there. I’m
curious.”

With
address in hand, Sam wasted no time getting in his car and pointing it in the
direction of Shelby. He was possibly two hours away from busting the case wide
open, either that or finding out he was working on a dead end. He realized he
was in a race against time since he kind of doubted the killer would sportingly
wait until his return to Castle County to take his next victim.

“We
can’t just walk him out of here like 'Weekend at Bernie’s',” Mayor Glenn
Satterfield pointed out.

He
and Bart stood looking at their friend’s corpse as it hung
nicely in the closet like a suit of clothes.

“We’re
going to have to be patient,” Bart declared. “We’re going to have to wait until
tonight after city hall is closed. Then, we can sneak him out and get rid of
the body.”

Glenn
questioned the feasibility of Bart’s plan. He wasn't comfortable with disposing
of a body like a hit man getting rid of the evidence. However, he knew he
couldn't afford the suspicion that would come with him contacting police about
their grisly discovery.

“But
we’re in the middle of downtown Easton,” Glenn pointed out as he walked over to
his office window which overlooked the hamlet. “What are you going to do, just
throw him over your shoulder and stroll out the front door?”

Bart
gave his slender friend an irritated look, assuring him his plan was doable.

“Trust
me on this,” Bart said. “You just need to make sure the cleaning woman don’t
come in here and find our friend hanging in the closet. If that happens, well,
you’re on your own.”

“Oh,
thanks for the support,” Glenn retorted.

The
worried politician flopped down in his chair and ran his hands through his
perfectly groomed head of hair.

“Hey,
I’m going to help you get rid of a body so don’t be giving me grief,” Bart shot
back.

His
next words surprised even his longtime friend.

“It
isn’t like it’s the first time I’ve done something like this," Bart darkly
revealed.

Choosing
not to pursue the meaning of Bart’s reference, Glenn moved on to the next
problem on his agenda - a problem that rivaled even the body in his closet.

“We
have another problem,” Glenn pointed out. “And this one may not be so easy to
solve.”

“Yes,
I know, Rhody Turner,” Bart said. “The sheriff was bragging about that to me
before I came over here.”

“I
don’t guess I need to tell you what it means if he talks,” Glenn said. “The
police chief is asking my blessing in a plea deal for him in return for his
cooperation in the murders. I don’t have any option but to give it my stamp of
approval otherwise eyebrows will be raised. Plus, if word got out I impeded the
biggest murder investigation in the history of Castle County, well, it wouldn’t
be very good come election time later this year.”

Bart
realized he had resources that could help get rid of the problem if Rhody were
on the street. However, given the fact he was locked up tight in the county
jail, the potential snitch would be hard to get to. That didn’t mean the
situation was impossible. It was just more difficult.

“So
do you think he’ll talk?” Glenn asked in a worried tone as he incessantly flicked
the end of his pen.

“Think?”
Bart replied indignantly. “I know he will. He’d sell out his own mother for a
deal.”

“Well,
we can’t have that,” Glenn said as he stood back up and walked over to look out
the window.

Glenn’s
words were an understatement. If Rhody were to reveal everything he knew he,
the mayor and everyone else involved back then would be exposed. It would be
only a matter of time until all of them were rounded up once the ugly truth was
known. Rhody couldn’t be allowed to talk. If he did, they would be joining him
on the other side of the jail bars.

“I
may have an idea of how we can keep our old friend quiet,” Bart revealed as a
far-fetched idea struck him. “It may be our only chance.”

“Well,
don’t keep me in the dark,” Glenn eagerly urged. “How do you propose to get to
Rhody while he’s locked away in the county jail? The sheriff already knows he
can help him so he’s not about to let him go waltzing out the front door.”

“You
leave that part to me, just make sure you don’t give authorization for the deal
until the end of the day. By then the federal offices will be closed,” Bart
replied. “As for what I have in mind, well, the less you know the better.”

Again
the darkness of Bart’s reference kept Glenn from asking about further details.
He still had plausible deniability.

“You
just make sure no one comes into this office,” Bart ordered. “And turn down the
heat in here. A little ice wouldn’t hurt either. And for crying out loud, make
sure that closet door stays closed.”

Agreeing
to meet back at city hall after dark, Bart left to put his plan into action
while Glenn sat in for a long day at his office with his dead friend.

Sam
attacked the roads to Shelby, not shy about using his lights and siren to
shorten his trip. He realized daylight was limited, especially if he were to
spend four hours on the road going back and forth. He had to minimize his drive
time given the fact there was no reason to believe the killer wouldn’t be on
the prowl again. Plus, in the back of his mind, Sam believed there were more
members of the old gang than the ones he knew about. That meant there were
potential victims who weren’t even on his radar. For some reason, Sam had the
feeling that the killer was saving the best for last, that being none other
than Bart Foster.

He
pulled into Shelby in less than ninety minutes, something Sam suspected was a
record drive time from Easton. The sheriff plugged the address to Gina’s last
known location into his GPS as he reached Shelby. Slowing his pace as he wound
through the streets of the small city, Sam found himself in a nice section of
town. The well-manicured sidewalks and tree-lined streets gave the neighborhood
a friendly feel.

The
lawman looked at his GPS after a few minutes in the small town and realized he
was almost upon his destination. The last known address for Gina Porter
lie around the next turn. Just then the snow began to fall, the forecasted
winter storm moving in sooner than expected. If forecasters were right, the entire
portion of the state would be under several inches of snow in the next couple
of days.

The
target on his GPS revealing he was at his destination, Sam turned into the
drive and was met by a gate guarding the entrance, its grand arch announcing he
had just arrived at Shelby Mental Health Institute.

What
the …” Sam muttered to himself as he drove up the drive to the large
modern-looking building. “This can’t be right.”

Perhaps
the usually reliable Kendal Parks was wrong for once. After all, no one is perfect.
Sam double checked the address his detective had written down to confirm he was
at the right location.

“I
came this far,” Sam muttered to himself as he parked his car and headed inside.

The
facility, much to his surprise, had an inviting atmosphere. Skylights and
plants inside the building combined to give it an open, airy feel. It wasn’t
like any mental institution he had visited before. The dankness he anticipated
was replaced by a well-lit entry parlor painted in light colors. Employees wore
khaki pants and blue shirts instead of the antiseptic hospital white he
expected.

“May
I help you officer?” came the pleasant voice of a young woman who sat smiling
at him behind the front desk.

“I
sure hope so,” Sam responded, just then remembering he was wearing his badge on
his belt but was otherwise dressed in civilian clothes as he often did while on
duty. “I’m looking for a woman and all I have is an address that led me here.”

“What
is the woman’s name?” the receptionist asked.

“It’s
Gina Porter,” Sam replied.

The
name had an immediate impact on the young lady. Her friendly tone turned
serious. She looked as if she'd seen a ghost.

“Did
you say Gina Porter?” the woman asked.

“Yes,
Gina Porter,” Sam clarified. “Is there something wrong?”

Holding
up a finger asking him to wait, the woman picked up the phone, placing one hand
over the receiver so Sam couldn’t hear what she was saying. Moments later she
hung up.

“Officer,
if you don’t mind you’ll need to speak with our facility administrator,” the
woman said. “She’ll be with you in just one moment.”

Sam
waited in the lobby for about a minute before he saw a well-dressed,
middle-aged woman emerge from the back office area. She paused to
speak with the receptionist who pointed toward him. The woman then walked over.

“Hello
officer, I’m Agnes Marks, administrator here at SMHI,” the woman said,
extending her hand.

“Hi,
I’m Sheriff Sam Delaney from over in Castle County,” Sam replied. “I’m looking
for a woman named Gina Porter.”

“Step
into my office if you would, sheriff,” the woman said in a low voice.

Entering
the administrator’s office, Sam took a seat as the woman closed the door behind
them.

“I
take it I’m in the right place,” Sam spoke up.

He
already realized something was amiss. The mere mention of Gina Porter’s name
seemed to have upset the apple cart.

“Yes,
I guess you could say that,” Agnes said as she took her seat behind her desk.

“So
what do I need to do to speak with Miss Porter?” Sam asked. “It’s a matter of
official business for a case I’m working on.”

“I’m
afraid that won’t be possible, sheriff,” Agnes replied.

“And
why is that?” Sam countered. "I could get a warrant."

“Because
Gina Porter has been deceased for nearly three months,” Agnes replied.

“Dead?”
Sam repeated in disbelief.

He
was crestfallen. His trail had just dried up.

“Yes,
she passed away quite suddenly,” Agnes confirmed.

“So
she was a patient here?” Sam asked.

“For
about four years,” Agnes replied. “Until the time of her death.”

He
rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on. The frustration of the dead
end was driving up his blood pressure.

“Can
you tell me what she was here for?” Sam asked.

“I’m
sorry but that’s confidential,” Agnes apologized. “You’ll need a warrant for
that. We have HIPAA to deal with so I can’t release that kind of information. I
hope you understand my situation.”

“Okay,
can you tell me what she died of, or is that secret too?” Sam asked.

He
was a bit irritated by the administrator not providing the reason for her
stay. She was dead for crying out loud. She didn’t need privacy anymore
when it came to her medical condition.

“That’s
a matter of public record, written right on her death certificate. I can help
you with that,” Agnes retorted. “The cause of her death was suicide.”

“She
killed herself?” Sam confirmed. “I mean, she did it here?”

“Unfortunately,
yes,” Agnes replied soberly. “We pride ourselves on protecting our patients
both from harm from without and within.”

“Do
you mind me asking how she did it?” Sam inquired.

Pausing
as if to decide whether to share the information, the administrator leaned
toward the lawman.

“Well,
I’m not sure I’m really supposed to tell this so keep it between us,” Agnes
warned. “She slit her own throat.”

“Do
you know why she did it?” Sam asked.

“I’ve
said too much already,” Agnes replied. “If you want anything else you’ll need
to get a warrant.”

“I
understand,” Sam replied. “I may just do that.”

Again
leaning across her desk, Agnes spoke in a low voice.

“I
would suggest you do,” Agnes said.

Her
eyes darted about as if she feared someone might be listening. Something about
their conversation was making the administrator very nervous.

“You’ll
find her records ... enlightening,” she noted.

Sam
thanked Agnes for her help and made a beeline for the courthouse. The fact she
had stopped just short of outright urging him to check the late Gina Porter’s
clinical records intrigued the lawman. She wanted to tell him more. He could
sense it.

His
quick trip to the courthouse was to no avail as the only judge was already gone
for the afternoon, his request for a warrant for the medical records delayed
until the next day. He resolved to return to swear out the warrant and even
spend the day if need be.

For
now he would head back to Castle County. With any luck he would be sitting down
with Rhody Turner soon to hear his version of the events of twenty years ago.