19. Messed-up Ways
NINETEEN
Messed-up Ways
Harry
I t was a haul to Dern’s remote, tiny A-frame in the pines two counties away.
So when they parked outside of it, the first thing Harry did was pull out his phone and text Lillian.
Hanging in there?
“I think he likes you,” Rus noted.
Harry looked to Rus, then he followed the direction of Rus’s attention and saw, on the small front deck of the A-frame, Dern was now standing there, the barrel of a shotgun resting on his shoulder, in his other hand, the lead attached to the collar of a rottweiler.
Rus didn’t like to carry a gun, but he’d been doing this for a while, so he didn’t leave the station without one, at least one in his vehicle.
This meant when he got out of their cruiser, he swung his gun belt on.
Harry unsnapped the strap on his weapon before he got out, and he kept his hand resting on the butt as he waited for Rus to join him, and he kept it there as they started up the walk.
The dog barked and strained the leash.
Dern shouted, “You’re trespassing!”
Both the men stopped five feet from the foot of the steps to the deck.
“Can have a chat here or can take you to the station. We don’t have Uber in MP yet. Jerry’s still running his taxi service, though, gotta say, it’d probably be a helluva fare to get back,” Harry said.
“You got no cause to take me to the station,” Dern retorted.
“How sure are you about that?” Harry asked.
His dog was strong and raring to take a bite out of Harry and Rus. So much so, he pulled Dern a good foot toward the edge of the deck before Dern again gained control over him.
“Not feeling you have control over that animal and are clearly using him as a threat. It would haunt me to my dying day if I had to shoot your dog, but I will, you don’t put him inside,” Harry warned. “And leave your shotgun in there when you do.”
“Got nothin’ to say to you,” Dern returned.
“Okay then, let me tell you, we’re looking at murder and you’re indicated. So, now you know why we’re here, you gonna stick with that?”
The color fled Dern’s face.
Harry kept at him. “Now, I don’t think you pulled any of the triggers, but I do think it wouldn’t be tough to find my way to believing you were an accessory or aided and abetted, either before or after the fact…” he paused for effect, “on all three.”
When Harry said “three,” Dern started looking sick.
This, unfortunately, could mean anything.
Harry had cleaned house when he took over. That meant he gave the officers on staff the opportunity to pull their shit tight or get out. Some left. Some Harry knew were useless, so he found reasons to let them go.
Some of them, Harry also knew, were still close to Dern.
Therefore, Harry had no doubt Dern knew they were looking at his cases. He had no doubt Dern would know they’d find something. And he had no doubt, as a former cop, that the time Dern did in prison was probably not very fun.
He could just be tweaked about anything that even hinted at a road back there.
Or he could be involved in one—or three—murders, and he knew it.
“So I suggest you put your fucking dog in your house, leave the gun in there too, and have a chat with me and my detective,” Harry concluded.
Dern, being Dern, wasted a good minute of their time by having a staring contest with Harry.
This pissed him off, because he’d felt his phone vibrate, so he knew Lillian had replied, and he didn’t want to be standing there for an hour having a staring contest. He wanted to get this done so he could read and reply to it.
Dern finally turned and moved to the door of his house.
Harry pulled out his phone and checked his texts.
Yeah, honey. Want anything special for dinner? She asked.
We’ll do that farro thing , he replied.
He was able to read her OK before Dern returned.
Harry shoved his phone back in his pocket.
Rus muttered, “She good?” under his breath.
Harry nodded, his attention on Dern.
Dern led with, “I see you’re trumping up more charges like landing my ass in prison and taking my office wasn’t enough for you.”
He and Rus discussed this on the long ride out there.
They decided not to let the Rainier situation slip, because Rus’s poking around might have been reported to Gerald and Michelle Dietrich, and they were already spooked enough, but they still had ties to MP. He didn’t need them to vanish.
So they decided on Ballard and to leave Dern guessing about the rest.
“You wanna tell me why you didn’t assign Muggsy Ballard’s case to me or Roy?”
“Who?” Dern demanded.
“Roy, your other detective. Remember him?”
“No, I remember Roy. Of course I remember Roy,” Dern spat. “What’s the case?”
“Muggsy Ballard. Given name Clifford,” Harry told him.
“No clue who that is,” Dern replied.
“Suicide,” Rus chimed in. “Who somehow got the shit kicked out of him before he allegedly blew his own brains out.”
“And no GSR test was ordered,” Harry added.
“And no friend or family member noted suicidal tendencies, ideations or depression,” Rus put in. “Though the case file says they did.”
“But the dead guy had a dream to get rich fast, and he dealt with some shady characters to do it,” Harry said. “In fact, at the time he died, he was waiting for a deal to make good that he was sure would get him a house on the lake.”
“Right, that loser,” Dern muttered.
Both men on his walk shifted with annoyed agitation.
“Roy had a full plate,” Dern stated. “He did the legwork, asked me to tie up loose ends and put it to bed. Only reason why I was the investigator on record.”
This was news, and not how Harry remembered it.
It was also suspicious, and bottom line suspect police work. You investigated a case, you signed your fucking name to it.
But like Polly said, all sorts of shit went down at the station that they hid from Harry. The two camps were staunchly divided by then. Half the deputies didn’t talk to the other half. Roy, for instance, on the regular avoided Harry like he was contagious.
“What loose ends did you tie up?” Rus asked.
“Fuck if I know,” Dern replied. “That was years ago.” His gaze narrowed on Harry. “But Roy was a good cop, one who didn’t deserve to lose his job. Probably just had to look it over before I signed off.”
Roy was a lazy ass who would never pass a physical, if Dern did what Harry did and made his deputies, even his investigators, pass one once a year.
This was eventually how Harry was able to get rid of him. The man refused to give up his daily burgers and malts from The Double D, and as such, couldn’t run around the high school track without doubling over halfway. Harry gave him an extra three months to get in some semblance of shape and try again, but he’d failed again.
Roy had gone so far as to take it to the union, arguing an investigator didn’t need to pass a fitness exam.
Since it was policy, and he was given three months before the first exam, and another three months to try to pass the second, he’d lost his appeal.
That said, Dern was also a lazy ass, so it wouldn’t surprise him at all if Dern didn’t even read the report before he signed off on it and filed it away, leaving a mother and a bunch of friends with no answers as to the death of someone they cared about.
“Ballard’s mother seemed to make herself pretty clear when she confronted you about the results of your investigation,” Rus pointed out.
“Doesn’t say a lot about her, she let her son get to that point,” Dern retorted. “They act out like that when they know they got some blame. And at least I ”—he shot a shitty look at Harry—“went to bat for my boy and didn’t let some hysterical woman sway me into questioning his abilities.”
Harry didn’t rise to the bait.
“What else you got?” Dern sneered.
“We’re not at liberty to discuss an active murder investigation,” Harry told him, and Dern tried to hold the sneer, but the color was not returning to his face. “Though, I wouldn’t go anywhere.”
“You had something on me, you wouldn’t waste a trip out here to chat ,” Dern spewed. “You’d haul me in. So I know you got dick.”
Harry took one step forward, and talking low, his gaze fastened on his ex-boss, he said, “No, Leland. We’ve found countless cases of shoddy police work, which, fortunately for you, we can’t do anything about. We’ve also got fifteen cases you need to be really, really worried about, because the first two we reopened put your ass in a sling. So I reckon the next thirteen aren’t gonna go much better for you.”
Harry indicated where he was standing with a flick of his hand and finished.
“Consider this me scratching at the last dregs of respect I had for you, not that there was much to begin with. Get in touch with your attorneys, because this is the most comfortable chat you’re likely going to have with me.”
“Fuck you, Moran,” Dern clipped.
“Always a pleasure,” Harry replied.
He turned, caught Rus’s gaze, and they walked back to the cruiser.
They got in, and after Harry re-snapped the strap on his weapon, he pulled out his phone.
Are we good with wine? He sent to Lillian.
She and her women had gone through three bottles the night before.
He hit the button to fire up the engine and took one last look at Dern’s small A-frame.
The man had been married twice, and one of the many pluses of living in a small town was that word got around about men like Dern, so most of the women in town knew to keep well away. This being why he only had the two ex-wives.
Dern had been found guilty of misappropriation of funds by a public official, and eight counts of gross misdemeanor. The judge had been kind in sentencing, but not with the fines. Dern had to pay forty-five grand in fines, on top of legal fees, all this on top of losing his employment.
Harry knew it cleaned him out. Dern leaving MP wasn’t just about him tucking tail and running. He’d had to sell his house to cover his financial liabilities.
He was alone. Disgraced. And if not broke, close to it. Too old to be a cop, too publicly corrupt to run for sheriff in another county.
“Cautionary tale,” Rus said.
“Too right,” Harry agreed.
“That’s the first time I met that guy, and from what I’d heard, I knew he was an ass, but, Jesus. He exceeded expectations.”
“Yep,” Harry agreed again.
“You knew him, your take on that?” Rus asked.
“He knows he left behind a load of dirt. He just doesn’t know if we have enough to bury him with it.” Rus made no response, so Harry queried, “Your take not knowing him?”
“Tweaked right the fuck out.”
“Mm-hmm,” Harry hummed.
His phone vibed and he looked down at it.
I’ll get some in , came from Lillian.
I’ll get some , he returned.
Then he put the cruiser in gear and reversed out of Dern’s drive.
His phone vibed when he stopped to switch to drive.
I’m getting it or I’m forcing you to eat a brownie after dinner .
He smiled.
You win , he shot off before he switched gears and set them on their way.
“Shit works out in really fucking messed-up ways,” Rus remarked.
Harry glanced at him. “What do you mean?”
“I came to town because a young woman was brutally murdered. I stayed in town because, regardless of that, it’s a great place to live. And, not incidentally in the slightest, I fell in love with this beautiful woman you all kept hidden up in your forest on the side of a mountain. Something I should thank you all for, since it meant when I found her, I could claim her.”
Harry chuckled.
Rus went on, “You met Lillian because her parents were murdered. And now you’re smiling at some text on your phone, and I’ve never seen you smile at your phone. So like I said, shit works out in fucked-up ways.”
“Not sure it does everywhere, but that seems to be the case in MP.”
“Absolutely.”
Yeah.
Absolutely.
Rus pulled out his own phone, probably to text Cin.
And Harry drove them back to Misted Pines.