Page 59 of Head Room (Caught Dead in Wyoming #15)

Mike closed the door to the sheriff’s office behind us. Neither of the men already in the room did anything so overt as lift an eyebrow.

But they might as well have. Their blinks changed cadence.

So there, poker faces.

Mike said hello. No one else did.

We sat and I started.

Telling them what we knew, not how we knew it.

When I finished, Russ Conrad and Shelton looked at us for more beats than seemed reasonable.

Then Conrad reached over, hit a speed dial on his phone and spoke. “Mrs. Martin, will you please ask Jarvis—”

Jarvis Abbott, the county attorney.

“—to join me in my office. Immediately . . . Yes, my office.”

“Russ—”

The sheriff cut across Mike. “We’ll wait for Jarvis. Do this once.”

Mike and I looked at each other. Neither of us had answers.

As far as I could tell, neither Conrad nor Shelton looked at anybody. They had that cop trick of looking at nothing without appearing to be unfocused.

Finally, a knock. Hallelujah.

“Come in.”

Jarvis Abbott was trim — both in physique and grooming, with white hair and a white mustache. He must have been in a hurry, because he hadn’t brought his usual cowboy hat, which made him barely taller than me.

He was a veritable active emotional volcano. He raised one eyebrow.

Conrad said, “KWMT-TV knows the real identity of our job applicant.”

I breathed out through my nose.

Not a surprise that they knew, considering their reaction. Still, confirmation is confirmation.

“For a story—?”

Mike spoke before Jarvis finished. “That remains to be seen. We have an obligation to the community—”

“As do we.”

Jarvis and Mike looked at each other for several beats. Without looking away, the attorney said, “Might as well tell them, Russ.”

The sheriff said, “We are aware of this person’s background. He used a name other than the one under which he was decertified in another state to apply for a position in the Cottonwood County Sheriff’s Department.”

I tried to pin them down. “He faked his ID to apply here?”

“Not entirely,” Russ said. “He used names that are part of his legal identity. However, he had not used those names in the other jurisdiction.”

Click.

I said, “He used a different last name in South Carolina because of the nepotism, because his uncle was the chief.”

Jarvis spoke quickly. “We cannot speculate on why he didn’t use the common combination from his full legal name, but from the public record we can say that he did not do so in that other jurisdiction.”

Public record likely being the National Decertification Index.

“In other words, you might not — probably don’t — have him on the hook for a straightforward charge of lying about his identity. The stronger case for that would be in South Carolina where he didn’t use his legal last name.”

Law enforcement liked the neither confirm nor deny mantra. But the trio’s silence confirmed my statement, even if it was against their will.

They needed Kyle Vaughn Quetcher Moser to pin himself down in order to stop him from ever being in law enforcement again anywhere.

“We determined it would be most beneficial to first confirm the connection and his intention without betraying our knowledge to the man who applied here as Vaughn Moser,” Jasper said.

“Makes sense,” Mike said. “How did you connect this particular applicant with the incidents in South Carolina?”

“A deputy brought the potential concern to our attention.”

“Which deputy?” I asked.

This time their silence didn’t confirm anything. But I was about to use deny as a weapon against them. “You don’t want to give credit to that individual?”

In a grumbling undertone, Russ said, “Go ahead, Wayne.”

I couldn’t tell if the invitation was to let Shelton answer or to make him.

“Alvaro.”

“How did he recognize this guy?”

A precursor growl from Shelton gave me a little thrill. “Podcasts.”

Richard Alvaro had cyber skills. I knew that. But that he watched those kinds of podcasts . . .? I stifled a crow of amusement in front of his chain of command. But wait until I got him alone.

In the meantime, hearing the word on Shelton’s lips made me all giddy.

“What made him interested in this applicant in the first place?” Mike asked.

It was a great question. And the way Mike asked, all casual and one-of-the-guys was masterly.

Russ and Jasper shot looks toward Shelton, then at each other. Shelton looked only at Mike, but either sensed their looks or decided to answer without consultation, much less permission.

“A law enforcement officer mentioned an acquaintance was applying. Alvaro thought there was something off. Pursued it.”

I let him off the hook. For now.

“You — all of you — need another way to snag this guy. Not by his name . . . Fingerprints? The written test? But you’re not trying to catch him cheating.

The interview? Even if you record it, he could plead a slip of the tongue.

Bad with his history, but still . . . You need something more. Something clearer.”

I looked from Jasper to Russ to Shelton.

“Something indisputable. Swearing to his work history, maybe? And even if that’s part of your regular process, perhaps tightening the language, in an effort to ensure this man does not work in law enforcement ever again. Under any name.”

After a beat, Jasper said, “That sounds like a portion of a compelling report for KWMT-TV.”

Mike and I exchanged a look of confirmation. I followed it with a nod for him to respond. He was, after all, the owner.

Plus, the football thing gave him points, which didn’t completely offset the journalist tag for the other three men, but blunted the edge.

“It will be,” he said, “once you’ve pinned down this guy.”

No high fives or — heaven forbid — words, but the three county employees did nod.

Wowsers.

We nodded back.

I resisted requiring blood oaths that they’d tell us immediately.

Only partly because mental math told me that if it took them a little longer, I might be back from our mini-honeymoon to do the story.

The other part was knowing Mike would ensure we got the story.

I truly am becoming laid-back. It can only be Tom’s influence.

Near the door, I turned and stated, “Randy Hollister doesn’t know what his cousin is doing.”

No one answered directly. But the general lifting of the mood, like the first bud of amusement, confirmed it.

“One more thing.” My intro withered that bud. “Has the gun found in the fire at Frank Jardos’ cabin been identified? Linked to him?”

They didn’t look at one another, but there was communication, particularly between the sheriff and Shelton.

This time, the sheriff said, “They’re still working on trying to restore the serial number. But the make and model does not match any guns registered to Sergeant Jardos.”

Left unsaid was that he could have had an unregistered gun.

“Is Frank Jardos telling you anything useful?”

No response.

“Is there any connection between Kyle Vaughn Quetcher Moser and the shooting of Nance?”

No response.

But both non-responses had the flavor of no.