The temperature cooled down quickly and within a half-hour they were working in the dark. Verplank turned on his flashlight and the deputy strapped on a headlamp. Cassie’s job was to hold out an open large evidence bag so the deputy could pour in whatever was caught in the screen.
She observed carefully what he came up with. It wasn’t unique for the most part: rocks too large to fall through the screen, bits of plastic that might have been out there for years, spent .22 casings, a Copenhagen chewing tobacco lid. But they did find some tiny slivers of black plastic—it looked like vinyl—and a couple of small metal pieces.
She plucked one of the metal parts out of the bag and asked the sheriff to illuminate it in the palm of her hand with his flashlight. It had a green color and small wires, like spider legs, extended out from it.
“What do you think this is?” she asked.
“Don’t know for sure but it kind of looks like a part of a circuit board. Like maybe it was from a cell phone, radio, or walkie talkie.”
“That’s interesting, don’t you think?” she asked.
He nodded. “I’ll send this into DCI for analysis.”
“So maybe it wasn’t a rocket or grenade,” she speculated. “Maybe there was a bomb of some kind attached to his neck. That would explain the close-contact burns. Whoever did this to him didn’t shoot him from a distance. He sent the victim running and triggered the explosives by remote control.”
“I never even considered that,” the sheriff said. “But what kind of person could do such a thing?”
It was a question she was asking herself. She couldn’t help but think of the last situation she’d been in that involved explosives.
But where that thought took her was a whole other place.
*
“ONE MORE THING,” she said to the sheriff as they drove back toward Ekalaka in the dark. “Are there any closed-circuit cameras in town that might have seen the victim or whoever drove him here?”
“There are a few cameras around,” he said. “Nothing like in the cities, though. We’ve got them inside the bank, at the convenience stores, all the ATMs of course. But it isn’t like London or New York. The likelihood of finding whoever did this on video is remote at best. Plus, the DCI team checked the few cameras we had and they didn’t find anything worthwhile.”
She thought about that and said, “I was just speculating.”
“Speculating is okay. That’s what we do. Your speculation of screening that field might lead to something even though it might shoot my RPG theory to hell,” he said with a grin. “So where can I drop you off?”
“My car,” she said.
“I can recommend a motel if you’re staying the night. You’ve got all of two choices.”
She laughed. “I hadn’t even planned that far ahead. I guess I thought I’d be driving back tonight.”
“That’s a long drive,” he said.
She thought about the journey back to Grimstad and something struck her.
“That gas station before you get to Grimstad—I stopped before I met you today.”
“Yes?” he said, not understanding where she was going.
“It’s the only place to get gas between Baker and here. When I turned in I was literally running on fumes.”
“Okay.”
“What if the killer was in the same situation? If he was on the same route? Wouldn’t it be more likely he’d stop outside of town at a place like that than risk being seen in Ekalaka?”
The sheriff nodded and said, “Assuming he came that way, I guess. And not from the south.”
“Even then he wouldn’t want to risk being seen in the middle of town, right?”
“I’ll play along,” he said. “What are you getting at?”
“Let’s drive out there and talk to the man in the wheelchair. That place has old-fashioned pumps so you have to go inside personally to pay. Maybe the owner remembers someone coming in that day.”
“Worth a shot.” Verplank sighed and said, “Kirkbride was right. You are a bulldog.”
“He said that?”
“It was a compliment.”
*
THE A-FRAME GAS STATION was dark in front when Sheriff Verplank pulled off the highway onto the gravel lot.
“Closed,” Cassie said with a sigh.
“He lives in back of the place,” Verplank said. “I’ll roust him.”
“Should we do that?” she asked. “It can probably wait until tomorrow.”
“My cousin owns this place,” he said grimly. “His name is Bodeen Verplank. He’s a creepy little pervert if you want to know the truth. About fifteen years ago I responded to a Peeping Tom call in town and when I got there the son of a bitch took a shot at me and took off running so I returned fire and hit him in the spine. Turned out it was my cousin. He’s been in a wheelchair ever since. I wish my aim would have been better because to this day I don’t like him.”
“Still…”
The sheriff reached down and turned on his flashing lights. The front of the gas station erupted in revolving blue and orange beams. Then he triggered his siren and made two loud blasts of sound.
WHOOP! WHOOP!
“That ought to get his attention,” the sheriff said, baring his teeth.
Cassie sat tight.
Finally, lights came on in the front of the station and she caught a glimpse of Bodeen’s head as he propelled himself in his chair from his living quarters in the back to the front of the store.
“Here he comes,” the sheriff said as he opened his door. Cassie did the same. She stayed a step behind him as he clamped on his wide-brimmed hat and approached the front of the station.
The door cracked a few inches. The sheriff shot his arm out and wedged it into the opening to prevent it from closing again.
“Bodeen, you little reprobate, let us in.”
The door swung fully open and the owner filled the threshold. Bodeen glared up at the sheriff with undisguised hatred until his eyes slid off and found Cassie.
“Who is she and why are you here?” Bodeen asked.
“That’s Cassie Dewell and we’re working on a case. Now roll yourself back so we can come in.”
Bodeen thrust out his jaw. “I don’t have to do that if I don’t want to. And you know it.”
Cassie knew he was right. “Sheriff…”
“Damn you, Bodeen,” Bebe Verplank said as he lifted up his right boot and placed it on the front of the wheelchair seat between Bodeen’s legs and pushed it back hard. The chair rolled back into the store.
“Come on in,” he said to Cassie over his shoulder.
*
AFTER THEY CLOSED THE DOOR behind them, the sheriff crossed his arms across his chest and tilted his head to the side as he and his cousin began an epic stare-down. Cassie stood helplessly near the counter. It was obvious there were years of history on display.
At about half a minute, Bodeen broke. “What now?” he asked, resigned.
“I thought you’d tell me.”
Bodeen looked away.
Cassie had no idea what was going on. She edged behind the counter so she could be further away from them if a fight broke out.
“I been good,” Bodeen said. “I kept my nose clean.”
“First time ever, then.”
“Really, man. You’ve got no right to come here and harass me.”
“Did you get those pumps adjusted like I told you to? Are they honest pumps?”
“They’re honest, Bebe. I don’t overcharge anyone anymore.”
“Are you still buying weed from the Sorensons? I can smell it in here.”
So could Cassie.