Death Scent Page 2

  One of these days he was going to break some heads. What was so hard about using the new computer system? It certainly was more trustworthy than the radio with all the dropouts in the county. So were cell phones, now …though, admittedly, not so much where he was headed. Heck, nothing but smoke signals worked up there unless you got up on a ridge.

  Neither Dispatch nor his deputies were compliant with his new directive, though. They just didn’t get it, that ears were listening and knew the ten codes. Or they didn’t want to get it, maybe. All of them were his dad’s hand-picked men and women—good officers, but stubborn, too.

  His irritation began evaporating. It wasn’t that big a deal, really. Not much happened here—not usually. A few lost hikers and hunters, bar fights, vehicle mishaps—that sort of thing. Rarely did they get a homicide.

  Landon wondered what had happened this time. Was it really a homicide? He would have been told if it was a knife or gunshot victim. So, it’s probably an accident, not homicide. Probably due to a fall. …But the south slope of Long Peak wasn’t that steep or treacherous, except near the Upper and Lower Long Cliff Falls and The Cliffs of Long, not like the north side.

  He sighed. There was still some snow and ice up there, though, especially ice, despite an unusually warm end of March and first week in April with the flooding that brought. And it was rocky up on Long Peak and still way below freezing at night.

  An early season hiker slipping on creek ice? Cracked their skull open was his guess. Still, his sixth sense told him he needed help on this one. Better call now while he still had bars.

  Touching a button on his steering wheel, he tried Boise and Nampa first because that was the best expediency, then, on their begging off, made a call to Crime Scene Investigator Wilber Schmidt up in Coeur d’Alene.

  *

  Lawyers had never been high on Jessie’s preferred list of people with whom to associate until her father’s spoke to her on speakerphone. The man quizzed her about what she’d told the 9-1-1 operator, then he told her exactly what she had to do—lock down everything. “It won’t stop them if they have a warrant, but you don’t have to make it easy for them.”

  Should the sheriff request access to viewing the originals, she was to comply. She was not, under any circumstances, to allow anyone to remove her property, “not without a warrant.” Instead, she was to burn a copy of the material to a thumb drive and allow the officer to take that copy. Only. And she was to admit nothing. “Stick to the facts that are public record—what you told the 9-1-1 operator. Meanwhile, I know the judge who the sheriff usually taps for warrants. I’ll give him a call. I’m going to make this a little harder for them.”

  Jessie did as she’d been instructed, her dad watching from the doorway of her office as six of her seven dogs lay variously placed in the large room, watching them both. Except for Acer. He stuck like glue to Jessie’s left knee.

  Done cabling her laptop to the desk and locking up the drones and all her external drives, she turned to her dad. “That’s the best I can do,” she said.

  Oli nodded. “Let’s go let your grandparents know what’s coming down.”

  Six dogs stood up. Acer’s ears snapped forward. “Platz.” she said. All seven lay down.

  “Best bring your dogs to the house, Jessie. Just in case the sheriff comes barreling in here.”

  All seven dogs stood up, again.

  “Okay.”

  *

  “It’s Sue Bigsby. I recognize her,” Captain Barry Olmstead told Reid when he got there. Seeing the body, Landon recognized her, too, even though she was face down on the snow and rocks, her pink-and-white dyed hair fallen over her face.

  “She works …worked morning shift at The Club Café,” Barry added. “She’s been dead a bit, though. Cold. No rigor mortis. Got photos, already. Medical Examiner is on his way.”

  “We’re not moving that body, yet. Cancel the ME until tomorrow. I’ve got Wilbur flying in from Coeur d’Alene,” Landon growled.

  “You did call, then.”

  “Yep. Flying himself in. Boise and Nampa are too buried in work.”

  “Not surprised. It’s a mess down there.”

  Landon grunted. Yeah, he watched the news, too.

  “Glad it’s Wilber,” Barry came back.

  “Yeah.”

  “Perimeter is set up, not that we need one way up here with the mountain goats.”

  “Grizzlies, too,” Red Wheeler muttered.

  “There’s that, yeah,” Barry admitted. “Called in some reserve deputies to man it, but, since you brought Red, I’d like him here to supervise. Don’t get many like this in our neck of the woods. We’re all kind of green at things like this.”

  “You’re right.”

  “What now?”

  “Barry, I want you to head into town to get me the search warrant I’ve ordered from Judge Peterson.”

  Red frowned. “Who’s the warrant for?”

  “One Jessica Marie Anderson.”

  Red looked surprised. “The dog girl?”

  Sheriff Landon Reid drove a look at him. “Why do you call her that?”

  “She’s an Anderson, was in my graduating class, and everyone called her that.”

  Irritation rose again. “I know who she is. I was in high school, too, remember?” Nobody would forget look-alike twins with platinum blonde hair—Can you say white?—one of them always in your face and the other one always trying to dodge you. “What I asked is why you called her ‘the dog girl’. It sounds …rude.”

  Shrugging, Red said, “It’s just something we called Jessie as kids because of her dad and granddad, and because, well, she was always the winner in 4H—best in dog obedience, in agility, in utility—you name it.”

  “Hmmph. Wasn’t in 4H myself,” Landon muttered.

  “Yeah. I know. You were all FFA and high school rodeo.” Then, “I was in high school, too, remember?”

  Reid took the chide. He deserved it.

  Barry Olmstead was back snapping more pictures around the body. “Barry? Give that over to Red here to finish up. I need you to get going. I want to secure whatever evidence the woman has before she has time for second thoughts. I’ll meet you at the Andersons.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Back in his unit, Landon was amazed to find that both the onboard computer and his phone had signal. Look at that. Way up here. That was new. Maybe the county commissioners had made an impact with the telecommunications company, after all. Reid sat pondering that miracle as Barry turned around, then headed down the mountain. His computer came to life moments later, and what came through was his requested background check on Miss Jessica Marie Anderson. That it had come in this fast meant that it was already in the system, so she was either a felon—not according to her driver’s license application—or had applied recently for some job that called for one.

  He paused the feed and started reading. Shook his head and decided to wait till the full background check loaded into the machine. When it was finally done, he paged through the pertinents, scanning the highlights. Seven minutes later, satisfied that he knew enough, he headed down the mountain toward the turnoff to the Anderson place.

  He clocked the miles. He clocked the time it took to make the drive. And he thought.

  This woman—someone he vividly remembered from his junior and senior years in high school—was now a full-fledged and certified criminal science investigator or CSI. She had been a sworn officer with the Blaine County Sheriff’s Office, had been injured in the line of duty, and left the force—Post Traumatic Stress Disorder—PTSD—they said. She was now domiciled at her family’s place.

  He shook his head. He would have never, ever guessed Jessica Anderson to have gone into law enforcement—never in a million years. She just wasn’t the type. Yet, there it was on his screen.

  He hissed a whistle through his teeth. Never in a million years! Something’s off.

  ***

  4 – Idaho Code

  Keeping one eye
on the drive, her dogs stationed around her, Jessie began to relate what was happening to her grandparents. She blessed the fact that her dad broke in and did most of the explaining when her granddad’s face turned into a storm. At that, Acer stiffened, and Jessie reached a hand down to touch his ruff. He relaxed a bit, but, throughout the rest of the discussion, as her Granddad Darby kept his eyes glued on her, a frown crinkling his brow, Acer kept his attention focused on Darby. She kept telling herself to breathe as Darby’s eyes kept staring. She kept stroking Acer’s ruff.

  “I think someone’s coming up the drive,” Jessie’s soft-voiced grandmother, Ana-Mari, said.

  Her dad stood up. So did Jessie and her pack. “Let’s get this over with.” He glanced around the table. “After, we’re all going out to dinner at The Hereford. That okay with you, Mom?”

  “Yes,” Ana-Mari replied, her warm hazel eyes smiling. “We’ve not started preparing anything for dinner, yet.”

  “Good. The Hereford it is, then.”

  Outside, an SUV with the word ‘SHERIFF’ painted on its side pulled into the working dog building’s diagonal parking area, idled for a moment, then went still. A man about as tall as her dad, but a little lankier, got out. He was wearing a white Stetson, or, more correctly, a silver one. That hat has to be at least a 100x. How many beaver gave their lives for that vanity? And then there were his boots, also top of the line.

  With a start, when her eyes finally settled on his face—a pockmarked face she recognized—she realized she knew him …had had a crush on him in high school, just like everybody else. She backed a step. Her dogs, almost as one, rose from sitting to standing as Jessie felt her dad’s hand touch her back. “It’s okay, Jessie,” Oli said softly.

  “Good afternoon. I’m Sheriff Landon Reid.”

  Like I don’t know that already.

  The man eyed her. The dogs eyed him. Jessie held her breath, but there was no recognition there, and Jessica blessed the fact that she’d been far beneath his sights in high school—a nobody to a somebody. It was something she’d been just as glad of then as she was now. “You’re Miss Jessica Anderson?” he asked.

  “Yes-ss—.” Of habit, Jessie’d almost said ‘sir’, but she caught herself. She was a civilian, and that distinction, especially now, needed to be maintained. Knowing how law enforcement worked, she had no doubt that Landon Reid already had secured a background check on her. He already knew all about her. Probably her whole family.

  “Do you have I.D.?”

  “Yes, sir.” And, there it was, that ingrained habit. So much for maintaining autonomy.

  “May I see it?”

  Jessie nodded. Dogs trailing, she retrieved her wallet from her Suburban, opened it, pulled out her driver’s license, and handed it to him.

  He glanced at it, glanced at her, grunted, then handed it back. “And you called 9-1-1 about finding a dead body near Long Creek?”

  “No. Through my drones’ feeds, I viewed a prone body laying on the bank of Long Creek on National Forest land about two-point-two miles north by northeast of this property’s northwest section corner.”

  “Did you attempt to communicate with the victim or go to the victim’s location?”

  “No. I didn’t know the person was a victim when my drone picked them up on its feed. They could have been asleep. But I also didn’t know if maybe they were hurt or dead. I dialed 9-1-1.”

  “Why didn’t you attempt to go and check?”

  “Because the location is remote, and it would take about forty-five minutes to reach that position by road or horseback from here, which I know from experience is out of cell range. Further,” and, again, Jessie had to stop herself from saying ‘sir’, “I was instructed to stay on the phone by the 9-1-1 operator.”

  During the whole exchange, the dogs’ and her dad’s heads tracked from one speaker—the sheriff—to the other—her. If the situation hadn’t been so serious, it would have been something Jessie would have loved to video.

  At her last response, Sheriff Reid grunted and tapped something down on his phone. “Do you still have those drone feeds?”

  “Yes.”

  “May I see them?”

  “Yes.” Jessie handed him the thumb drive.

  “I’d like to see the originals, please.”

  Jessie eyed her dad. He nodded. “Okay. This way,” and, as a unit, they all headed toward her building, her pack splitting up to do escort, flanking, and rear guard duty. Luckily, the sheriff didn’t seem to even notice. But Jessie and her dad both did. Jessie saw Oli smile his secret, gleeful smirk.

  Inside her office, she saw Reid eye her drones, now locked away in a glass-faced cabinet. Here it comes.

  “Are those your drones?”

  “They are.” She asked the dogs to park themselves on the far side of the room. All but Acer complied. Acer was having none of it. He stayed nailed to her side.

  Sitting down at her desk and logging into her laptop, Jessie brought up the drone feeds—both of them—then got up. “There you go, Sheriff. Just hit the enter key, and they’ll play.”

  Jessie motioned her dad to sit down in the only other chair, then pulled up a piece of floor for herself, sitting herself cross-legged in a position where she could watch the computer screen, too, Acer sitting, not downing, beside her. And she felt suddenly exposed without all her dogs coming to snuggle in beside her. On a whim, she signaled, and, quietly, all of them came and surrounded her—her warm, furred family.

  By the time she felt safe, Reid was already deep into the logs that mapped computer activity. That surprised her. He was computer savvy. But not that computer savvy, it seemed. He needed her help to get back to the drone recordings. She verbally talked him through it, unwilling to leave the happy comfort provided by her canine buddies.

  The sheriff watched the entirety of the two drone feeds, her dad pulling his chair closer to watch them, too—thirty minutes for one, and thirty-two for the other one. By the time the videos were finally over, Jessie’s butt was numb from sitting still on the cold, hard floor. I should get carpet. This isn’t comfortable for the dogs, either. Or maybe just some more dog rugs. It was something to think about.

  Reid glanced her way for just a moment, then closed out the windows on the screen and sat back. His hand fingered the cable lock on the laptop. Then, he chuckled. Jessie found the sound ominous. So did the dogs. All of them sat up, and Jessie whispered to them for calm.

  Outside, her dad’s dogs went off, and Reid swiveled the chair as Jessie’s father began to rise. “That’s just one of my deputies bringing a search warrant,” Reid said. He grinned as he said it, and that disturbed her. Abruptly, he turned his face back to Jessie. “I have a question for you, Miss Anderson, one which I don’t expect you to answer, but here it is: Were you subpoenaed for deposition and/or as a witness—a hostile witness, if necessary—what would your answer be under oath to the question: Did you, a CSI, certified by the ICSIA and the state of Colorado, suspect that your UAS units had recorded a fresh murder scene along with the possible perpetrator fleeing that scene today, Tuesday, April 7th, this year, between the hours of nine and ten in the morning, and, if you did so suspect, did you report this suspicion to the appropriate authorities? I’m referring, of course, to Idaho’s Failure to Report law, Idaho Code Section 19-4301A.”

  Jessie felt her face go hot. Her dad saw it. So did the sheriff. She didn’t answer. All dogs were on their feet, their focus on Sheriff Reid, and not in a good way.

  *

  Surrounded by her canine pack, her copies of the search warrant and a receipt of her property in hand, Jessie watched the two S.O. rigs depart. Oddly, all her property had been handled by the sheriff and put into his unit. He wouldn’t allow his captain to help. At least she thought it odd until she read, word by word, the actual warrant and note from the judge that was attached. Then she understood. Her dad’s lawyer had come through as promised.

  When the sheriff’s rigs finally disappeared from sight, her laptop
, her four external drives, and two quadcopters with them, her dad blew out a breath. “Jessie, I think you need to tell me all of what’s going on.”

  Yeah, she did.

  “…And if I need to get you a good defense attorney.”

  Probably.

  ***

  5 – Assessments

  Jessie’s granddad was not in a good mood. He made that clear at breakfast. He considered the confiscation of Jessie’s property not just an outrage, but grand larceny. “And, as for you, young lady,” he said, jabbing his fork at her, his eyes nailing hers, “you need to stick to working dogs, not those newfangled contraptions that put you in this pickle.”

  “No, Granddad.” Jessie rarely would argue with her granddad, but, knowing him well, she wasn’t going to let this escalate to one of his ultimatums. Her dad, sitting across from her, ducked his head, his attention moving pointedly to his plate. But his secret smile crept its way to his lips as her granddad exploded.

  “What do you mean, ‘no’?!” And Jessie swore that, if sparks could ignite from Darby’s eyes, they would have. “If you hadn’t flown those contraptions, none of this would have happened, and you wouldn’t be out thousands upon thousands of dollars.”

  Jessie saw her gram give her a tiny downward head cue, then a little smile. She got the message. Go softly. He means to protect me. And she took the cue. “I want to do search and rescue, Granddad. And I want to do it the best way possible. That means using drones combined with dogs.”

  “No, it doesn’t! Dogs do just fine all by themselves.”

  It was an old argument. It was a good argument, too. But Jessie wanted better for every life involved—the victims and the searchers, including dogs when they were employed. The recent loss of a National Guard helicopter and its crew out searching for lost skiers was a case in point. Drones did it safer and cheaper.

  “Finding dead bodies shouldn’t wind up with private property confiscated. It’s un-American, I tell you!” Darby snapped. “Next time, you just fly those bugs onward and ignore something like that that’s going to get you in Dutch with the sheriff. Heck, I know Landon Reid and his dad and his granddad. I can’t believe a Reid would do this to an Idaho citizen.”