41. The Natives Are Restless
FORTY-ONE
The Natives Are Restless
Harry
“H e’s got bruising around the torso consistent with receiving repeated blows, a particularly nasty one on the back of his thigh, and he took some hits to his genitalia, and as we both know, that would incapacitate even the fittest man,” Theresa said in his ear. “And this gent was far from the fittest man.”
Early that evening, Harry stood in his office, staring unseeing out of his window toward Main Street, and listening to the ME give a preliminary report on Roy Farrell.
“He was dead before the contusions could fully form,” she went on. “But they aren’t older and faded. They were just rising. I haven’t cut him open yet, but from what I’m seeing on a visual inspection, I’m already leaning toward foul play.”
Fucking perfect.
“Gotcha,” Harry replied.
“I’ll dig in now. You’ll have my full report tomorrow.”
Now was late. It was after five o’clock.
He was struggling because he wanted to tell her to go home and let murder wait until tomorrow.
But there was so much riding on this.
For Lillian.
In the end, Harry was powerless to do anything but say, “We’ll run with what you’ve already given us. Go home. We can wait on the full report.”
“Harry, Rus has briefed me on your theory about this, and I know about the cookies. I’m working late tonight,” she retorted.
Christ, but it worked in that moment to be reminded how inherently good most people were when you were faced with someone who seemed to have no soul.
“Owe you one, Theresa.”
“My job, Harry. Talk later.”
“You got it.”
They hung up and Harry continued to stare out the window.
He was unusually antsy, impatient.
He was this because Karl Abernathy was clearly rattled, a man like that rattled was proving beyond messy, and Harry didn’t want anyone else dead.
And he wanted Lillian to know who killed her parents so she could fully close that chapter of her life and get on with it free from the burden of carrying that mystery.
“Harry?”
He turned and saw Megan in his doorway.
He expected this.
In fact, he was surprised it took this long.
“Hey, Megan,” he greeted.
She came in and stopped in front of his desk. “I suspect you know the natives are restless.”
He crossed his arms on his chest and said nothing.
Because…yeah.
To be fair, if he was a civilian, he would be too.
But for fuck’s sake.
“The coven is up in my face about the outing of Dern and Karl Abernathy’s reign of terror,” Megan shared. “I did explain we duly elected a new sheriff some years ago, and he does not run his department in the same manner. They still want heads rolling. As much as part of me understands who they are and why they became what they became, they’re still a serious thorn in my side. But with all honesty, they aren’t the only ones who are super freaking ticked about the stuff that’s surfacing in Misted Pines.”
“Dern is scheduled to return to this station tomorrow at one o’clock with his attorney to answer questions about the complaints lodged today, along with speaking again to the FBI about the murders of the Rainiers. We have accounts of three further abuses of office, and if he knew the fucked-up shit Abernathy was up to, and he didn’t put a stop to it, that’s going to go worse for him. He’s already done time for shit like this, Megan, but make no mistake, when he comes in tomorrow, and after we get whatever we can out of him, I’m gonna charge him for three counts of criminal stalking and harassment.”
She nodded.
“And we are going balls to the wall to find Abernathy,” he told her.
She nodded again.
“If you need to call a town council meeting so people feel they’re informed and we have things in hand, and I have to attend and report, I will, but I won’t like it. It goes without saying, I’m not thrilled about what’s surfacing in Misted Pines either, but unlike them, it’s my job to do something about it. I intend to do that. I need time to do it. But I also have a life.”
Her lips twitched before she said, “I’ll buy you as much time as I can.”
It was Harry who nodded then.
She shifted to leave but turned back. “And I cannot tell you how happy it makes me that you have a life outside this office, Harry.”
Harry pulled in breath through his nose then tipped his head at her.
She smiled fully at him and walked out.
Harry engaged his phone and made a call.
Jess answered after one ring. “We’re on it.”
“Abernathy?” Harry asked.
Polly appeared in his door.
He shook his head at her.
“Yeah,” Jess answered.
“You got anything?” Harry queried, watching Polly walk to his desk to grab a pen and a Post-it pad.
“Nothing so far,” Jess informed him. “But we’re looking. We get anything to feed to you, we’ll do it.”
Polly stuck the Post-it on his desk phone, and it said Line 1 ASAP .
She then turned and walked out.
“Thanks, Jess,” Harry said. “I’ve got another call. If we get anything, you’ll get it. You might hear from me, Rus, Karen or Sean.”
“Got it.”
Harry lowered his voice. “I want him run to ground, Jess.”
“You’re heard, Harry. We’re on it. Later, brother.”
“Later, Jess.”
Harry dropped his phone on his desk, pulled off the Post-it, picked up the receiver of his landline and hit line one.
“Harry Moran,” he answered.
“Sheriff Moran, this is Special Agent Leticia Sanford, Seattle Bureau, FBI.”
Harry felt his brow crease. “What can I do for you, Special Agent Sanford?”
“Got word you were looking for John Berringer, aka Paul Masterson, aka Lucas Harmon, birth name William Anthony Zowkower.”
Harry sat down and focused fully on the call.
“Yeah, I am,” he confirmed. “We have three arrest warrants waiting for his return home.”
“Well, I got three women, two in Seattle, one in Vancouver, who have reported he married them under a false identity, perpetuating the long con, that being him muddling their heads with his dubious charms, after which he robbed them of everything he could lay his hands on. When they were cleaned out, or they got fed up, he vanished. Had no clue who this guy was, until the woman in Vancouver reported her missing, deadbeat husband who also happened to steal a bunch of stuff from her, your office’s preceding and subsequent inquiries about Zowkower, and us putting two and two together and coming up with grift, larceny, identity theft and bigamy.”
Jesus Christ.
So that was what Willie had been up to.
“I’m going to need to punt you to my investigator, Sanford,” Harry told her. “I’m in a relationship with Zowkower’s ex-wife.”
“Interesting,” she muttered.
“Lillian kicked him out fifteen years ago,” he stated stiffly. “After he read the writing on the wall he wasn’t getting back in, she hasn’t spoken to him in all that time. And bigamy would be off the table if the man just let her divorce him way back when she initiated those proceedings.”
“Didn’t mean anything, sheriff. A small town is a small town.”
“It is that.”
“I’d be keen to talk to this guy,” Sanford remarked.
“I would too. We find him, you’ll be my first call,” Harry replied. “You find him, one of those charges is assault. He put a man in the hospital. So I’d appreciate the same.”
“You got it, sheriff. And we’re in the know here in Seattle about what all’s going down there. Good luck with that.”
“Appreciated.”
They rang off and Harry went back to what he’d been doing before Dr. Theresa Pfeiffer called—reading the reports on the complaints lodged that morning—when Rus showed at his door.
Harry’s stomach twisted.
“It’s time,” Rus said.
Fuck.
Harry nodded and picked up his phone. He texted Lillian, not telling her what was about to happen, because he didn’t want her to spend the next ten minutes fretting.
Then he shut down his desk, got up, went to the door, shrugged on his jacket, and he and Rus left the station.