Dead Shot (A Cal Murphy Thriller Book 1) Page 5

  Cal looked at the tag on the body’s toe. It read “Cody Murray.” Not that Cal needed to read it. He had spent plenty of time in one-on-one interviews with Cody during football season – and baseball season, too. His face seemed immune to the disfigurement but his chiseled body was barely recognizable.

  As Cal edged closer to the examination table, he gasped at Cody’s body in its mutilated shape. The mountain lion rumor seemed unlikely when compared to the cuts and gashes etched deep into the quarterback’s skin. If anyone who originated such a rumor had actually seen Cody’s body in this state, Cal figured the rumor would have been more sensational, like the Statenville Sasquatch.

  Long grooves one to two inches deep crisscrossed Cody’s upper body. A simple swipe wasn’t enough. The perpetrator’s nails had to gouge a new rut in his skin.

  On Cody’s legs, the cuts were vertical.

  “I can’t imagine a drug overdose doing this to you,” Cal said to Cody’s dead body.

  Cal spent a few more seconds inspecting the body, struggling to come up with any plausible theory. He pulled out his iPhone and began taking photos. Then he took some video. No one would believe it if the told them.

  That’s when he saw the remaining two bodies. He snapped more photos of their mangled torsos, unable to formulate any ideas as to what could have caused such an apparently painful death.

  Cal quietly exited the room, careful not to tip off Kevin to the fact that someone had seen his precious bodies. Cal snuck out a side door and was sitting in Kelly’s car when she came out the front door.

  She climbed in and inserted her key in the ignition and stopped.

  Before she could ask Cal about what information he gathered, a note stuck between her windshield and driver’s side wiper flapped in the wind.

  She got out of the car and grabbed the note. She shuddered as she read it.

  Watch yourself … or you might end up like those boys

  “What is it?” Cal asked.

  “Somebody doesn’t like what we’re doing.”

  “They need to take a number.”

  “But this is a threat, Cal.”

  “Let me see that.” Cal grabbed the note, read it, and handed it back to Kelly. “I get threats all the time. Nothing ever happens. Somebody is trying to intimidate us to stop. If they want to stop us, there’s only one way.”

  “Well, you must’ve seen something in there that convinced you it’s worth the risk. What did you see?”

  “I have no idea. I’ve never seen anything like it in my life. I just have a hard time believing that a drug overdose caused those wounds.”

  Cal began flipping through the pictures and video he took on his iPhone. He showed Kelly the most graphic one causing her to almost lose control of the car. Kelly gasped in horror before Cal continued.

  “I’m sure someone can tell us what happened to these boys. But we don’t have a lot of time. Once their bodies are cremated, we’ll never have a chance to document anything. Other than these pictures, any investigation would stop with Kevin’s word.”

  “Cremated?”

  “Yep. I saw a sheet in the lab that said all three bodies were slated for cremation on Friday.”

  “OK, now we know how much time we have to get to the bottom of this.”

  Kelly pulled onto the highway in the direction of The Register’s office.

  CHAPTER 16

  WHEN CAL TURNED ON his phone in the exam room he noticed one missed call from Guy. After he showed Kelly the pictures, he saw a notification for three new voicemails awaiting him, presumably all from Guy. He flipped through the pictures again.

  Both were silent for the first few minutes of the ride, mulling over the day’s events and trying to make sense of them.

  Questions mounted in Cal’s head. Was a serial killer on the loose? Was there something in the water? Could there be a real Statenville Sasquatch? Did those boys simply kill themselves in a bizarre way? Or did they belong to a cult and take their devotion too far one day? He barely had time to consider a theory or an idea before he had to draw a more definitive conclusion and move on to the next one.

  It gave Cal a new appreciation for those days when his biggest assignment was taking grip-and-grin photos at the latest service club meeting. Covering these three bizarre deaths was like living in an episode of the X-Files. He glanced at Kelly… she had begun to remind him of Scully. Then he snapped back to reality. Maybe they were murders. Maybe they were accidents. Maybe no one would ever know. Cal was determined to uncover the truth.

  Guy’s mug shot replaced the photo of Cody Murray’s body on the screen of Cal’s iPhone. The phone kept buzzing, but Cal remained frozen.

  “Kelly, it’s the boss. What do you suggest that I tell him?” Cal asked.

  “Tell him the truth.”

  “Are you nuts? Have you seen what kind of mood he’s in today? We’ll be not-so-suspicious deaths four and five if we do that.”

  “And you think lying now only to get found out later is better? You know he’ll find out Cal… sooner or later. The man has eyes and ears everywhere.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  “Look, just don’t tell him about your photos. Don’t tell anyone, OK? It’s for your own good. Just think of those photos as your insurance.

  The phone quit buzzing. Their conversation prevented Cal from answering until he knew they were on the same page about their story.

  He dialed Guy’s number.

  “Where have you been?! I told you to come straight back to the office. That was over an hour ago!”

  “Sorry, boss. We had to pay a little visit to the coroner.”

  “The coroner? Who do you guys think you are? Starsky and Hutch? It’s not your job to investigate a murder — it’s just your job to report it.”

  “I understand, boss. But almost no one has been giving us straight answers today.”

  “That’s because you’re acting like a gumshoe cop instead of a journalist! Did you ever think about that, boy wonder?”

  Kelly stomped on the gas pedal.

  Cal knew what she was doing. He mouthed a “thank you” to her while continuing to cringe from the verbal tirade Guy was on. Guy was never this cruel in person and Cal was eager to get back in order to stop this nonsense.

  ***

  Trailing about one hundred yards behind Kelly’s car was the F-250. The driver carefully calculated where he would make his move.

  But there wasn’t a chance just yet. Kelly was driving through a main road that led back to downtown. All the local businesses on either side of the road made it very difficult to fulfill his mission.

  He eased off the gas. He knew where they were going. Tonight would give him a better chance. He would finish his assignment then.

  CHAPTER 17

  WHEN CAL AND KELLY returned to The Register, the newsroom was still full of faithful staff, preparing as much of the paper as they could for that week’s edition slated to go to press Tuesday night. Cal’s deadline was more than 24 hours away, but he still needed to do some of his other mundane duties before he called it a day.

  Cal could sense Guy’s growing angst as the day progressed, but by 5:30 in the evening, angst had given way to dirty office politics and the abuse of power. By the way Guy was acting on the phone, Cal guessed Guy hadn’t even stepped outside The Register’s office all day for anything other than a smoke break. But Cal never would’ve guessed what came out of Guys’ mouth next.

  “I hope you’ve got something for a reaction piece cause this is all you’re writing, understand?” Guy bellowed from behind his desk.

  A reaction piece? In the journalism world, a reaction piece is slightly above a man-on-the-street poll. It’s a story that just about any numbskull can write without screwing up. You talk to people about a certain topic or issue or event. You quote them. They are the story. The “reporter” more or less transcribed an interview. Even a high school intern could do it.

  With that re-assignment, Cal’s spi
rit was crushed. Pulitzer award-winning story? Gone. Strong article for the clip file? Doubtful. Cal’s Monday started with so much promise, but hope for a positive conclusion was fleeting faster than William Hung’s 15 minutes of fame.

  He almost took it without a word. Almost.

  “Seriously, Guy? A reaction piece? I’ve been tracking down this story all day long and there’s more to it than three teens overdosing on drugs—that much I’m sure of.”

  “In case you’ve forgotten, this is Mayberry, not New York City. Sensationalizing the unfortunate death of these kids is not something that people here want to read. So, unless you’ve got something other than the off-the-record whispers and innuendos you mentioned earlier, I’m not interested.”

  “But, boss—”

  “Are you that slow, Cal? We’re not doing a triple deck murder story headline, especially when there wasn’t a murder. Now go get me a cutline for that board of education meeting you covered last Thursday and get out of here.”

  The problem with protesting one of Guy’s decisions in The Register’s tiny office was that everyone heard him dressing you down. Cal took Guy’s rare tirades better than most, a sure sign that he might make it at a large daily metro. But today wasn’t one of those days. Cal left Guy’s office red-faced, thoroughly eviscerated professionally.

  Cal began wondering what happened to Guy. Was that serious newspaper editor once known as Guy Thompson really left for dead in Utah? As a newspaper man, there wasn’t one ounce of curious intrigue into the previous 24 hours’ strange happenings? Cal had more questions than answers at this point, but he found it odd that his editor was more concerned with his whereabouts than his findings.

  Cal sat down at his desk and obliged Guy. He pounded out the cutline and filed it. He spent the next hour working on some re-writes Terry requested for Wednesday’s edition. Most days, Cal didn’t mind Terry’s editing, but Cal was in a mood, thanks to Guy. Must he make my report on the Rotary Club meeting sound like an act from a Shakespeare play?

  “Thy edits are complete, my Lordship,” Cal said to Terry in a mocking tone.

  Terry furrowed his brow and squinted. The context of Cal’s medieval language was obviously lost on him. He grunted a “thanks” and looked back at his computer screen. But such interactions weren’t unusual for The Register newsroom, known for attracting more oddball personalities than a traveling circus.

  By 6:30, Cal began gathering his notes and stuffing them into his briefcase, willing to follow up with some phone calls from home. He hoped to bring something substantial into the office to change Guy’s mind.

  He glanced back at Kelly, who was preparing to leave as well. At least the day wasn’t a total waste. Spending it with her and all her spunk made everything else palatable.

  Cal broke the silence.

  “Ready to do it again tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Today was fun, wasn’t it? But I don’t see how tomorrow could be any more interesting than today.”

  Cal then noticed Kelly sliding a small piece of paper with a note scrawled on it.

  “Call my cell when you get in your car.”

  Cal slid the note off her desk and into his pocket. Maybe I won’t be making some extra phone calls tonight.

  The two walked in silence through the alley and into the employee parking lot located behind The Register’s office building.

  Cal threw his briefcase on the passenger side floorboard and pulled out his cell phone. He dialed Kelly’s number.

  “OK, so we know some crazy stuff is going on and Guy is acting weird, right?” Kelly began.

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Well, get this. I went to the break room to buy a soda and I saw the door to the outside was cracked. I went over to shut it when I heard Guy talking on his cell phone in a hushed voice.”

  “What did he say?”

  “I didn’t catch the whole thing, but I did hear him say, ‘Don’t worry. I’ve got those two under control.’”

  “You think he was talking about us?”

  “Who else would he be talking about?”

  “It could be two of anything that he has under control.”

  “Yeah, but saying that and talking in a hushed tone so no one could hear him? Plus he was on his personal cell phone standing outside. It was not typical behavior for Guy.”

  “That might explain why he’s been acting the way he has toward us. He certainly seems hell-bent on helping us avoid proper treatment of this story.”

  “Well, something is up and I don’t like it. I’m starting to get a strange feeling about this whole thing, like we’re rattling the closet door to some big skeletons. And I feel uneasy about what might happen to us.”

  “Seriously? Are you scared, Kelly?”

  “A little, maybe. I sure would like to have a drink and throw darts at The Mill about right now. You up for joining me?”

  Whoa! Is Kelly asking me out on a date? It sure sounds like it.

  “Uh, sure. I want to run home and change first and then I’ll meet you there in say, 30 minutes?”

  “Sounds like a date.”

  Sounds like a date, indeed! Cal thought.

  Cal and Kelly headed home in opposite directions to prepare for a rare post-work rendezvous. That is if Cal meeting Kelly once at the gas station McDonald’s near the I-84 exit one night counted as a rendezvous. Otherwise, it was a first.

  The F-250 followed Cal.

  CHAPTER 18

  AS DUSK BEGAN TO settle on the Idaho farm country, Cal turned on his headlights. He was lost in thought over the day’s events and the new possibilities for the night. Then he remembered something he had hoped to extract from his busy brain before the evening was over.

  Earlier in the afternoon, Cal had received a call from Josh. But with all that was going on, Cal didn’t really have time to hear about how Josh’s fantasy league baseball team was crushing his. Josh seemed to win their league almost every year, while Cal’s team was mathematically eliminated by mid-June. He called his team “Cal’s Cubs.”

  Josh’s message oddly enough wasn’t a gloating message regarding fantasy sports, but instead contained details regarding his flight information on Friday. Cal saved the message. He didn’t feel like testing his multi-tasking skills: typing on his iPhone while driving.

  He put the phone down and began to mentally catalog the scant information he had gathered throughout the day. He entered a winding mile stretch of road about two miles from his apartment. That’s when he felt the first collision.

  Bam!

  Cal’s car lurched forward. So did Cal.

  “What the—”

  Cal turned around again to see a truck’s headlights roaring toward the back of his car. The truck slammed his car again and he lurched forward, bracing for the next hit.

  Bam!

  Chrome bumper met flimsy metal. This time Cal’s car suffered a bigger blow. His Civic began spinning across the road. Cal was helpless. The steering wheel. The brakes. Nothing was his friend at the moment.

  The car spun around five times before slowing down and straightening out—just in time to go careening down a shallow embankment and into a patch of woods by the Snake River.

  Rock. Tree. Boulder. Tree. Shallow stream. Tree. Rock. Rock. Tree. Bushes.

  Cal’s car was playing chicken with the woods—and winning. No amount of strength exerted on the steering wheel would have made a difference at this point anyway. The wheels bounced the car as it gained speed.

  Instead of wondering why someone would do this to him, Cal spent most of his time worrying about when his car might come to a stop. And his condition – and the car’s – once it did.

  Then he didn’t have to wonder.

  Thud!

  Cal’s car came to a complete stop. One seemingly unstoppable object met an unforgiving one. Cal’s car was on the losing end.

  Steam hissed from the front of his Civic. Mangled metal took the place of a functioning engine. Wedged between two pine trees, the car was s
tuck. The headlights served as obscure beacons in the dense woods.

  Cal’s head rested motionless on the airbag. The rest of his body didn’t move either.

  CHAPTER 19

  NATHAN GOLD SHIFTED IN his leather reading chair. The dark oak walls with a custom-built bookcase encircled his study. They contained an extensive collection of rare books and literary masterpieces, all well worn. It was clear Gold was more interested in creating a suitable home for literature than he was for demonstrating opulence in his Tudor-style mansion. Extravagant pleasures could be found elsewhere in the house.

  But tonight he wasn’t thinking about his books—he was thinking about his town. Like the safe haven he constructed for each shelved piece of art in his library, Statenville had been effectively cocooned through careful planning. And Gold enjoyed it. Just like he enjoyed reading John Milton’s Paradise Lost. But tonight his thoughts were distant, his gaze vacant.

  His own paradise was teetering on vanishing at the hands of a pesky reporter bent on pulling back Oz’s curtain. Only he didn’t know he was in Oz. Gold knew that Cal didn’t see Statenville as a final resting place for his career. Outsiders working at The Register rarely did. Statenville was a blinking yellow light along a two-lane road to somewhere else. It was a cup of coffee.

  But as the day’s events unfolded, Gold grew leery of a foreigner mucking about in a family matter. Gold’s son had died—and he was struggling to suppress the grief he felt. He had to. There was more at stake than the personal embarrassment of his son overdosing on drugs and the paper etching it into town lore on microfilm. Statenville was at stake.

  Cal had no idea what he was doing, but it made no difference to Gold. As the mayor of Statenville, Gold prided himself on his moral and ethical conduct. But it was easy to justify a temporary restraining order on such morals and ethics when your way of life is being threatened. Gold knew it would be a tough decision to make, but it was for the good of the whole. At least that’s what he told himself.