Page 69 of South of Nowhere (Colter Shaw #5)

69.

That Debi Starr and TC McGuire had acted alone in Theo Gabris’s takedown had indeed ruffled some feathers, just as she’d predicted.

Colter Shaw, Starr and Han Tolifson were in the office of Olechu County Sheriff James Barrett, who looked to be around forty-five.

Also present was County Supervisor Prescott Moore. Dorion had described him as “pudgy,” but that had been based on a video call, and Shaw knew the camera fattened you up some. He didn’t look too bad in person.

As for Barrett, he was as stiff and scrubbed as his uniform.

This was not a criticism. Law enforcers who were part robot were among the most efficient. Shaw tended to be suspicious of the absent-minded, the grinners, the backslappers and the whiners who wore badges.

“You were a bit huffy earlier, Officer Starr.” Prescott now fixed her with a look.

“And I apologize. But we were under fire.”

“Understood. I suppose.”

The sheriff took over. “And regarding your takedown of Gabris, we could have liaised.” His back was perfectly perpendicular to the floor.

She said, “Thought about everything and decided we needed to move fast. Only had minutes to act.”

Tolifson added, “It was with my okay.” The man was full-on police chief now. Two nine-millimeter magazines on his left hip, both loaded. Forest green uniform, Sam Browne belt and all the accessories one would need to arrest a vehicle full of uncooperatives.

Moore asked, “What was the big hurry?”

Starr said firmly, “We had a reasonable belief that the person behind the Hinowah levee collapse and the related murder of Gerard Redding was in possession of a burner phone he used to communicate with the deceased suspect, Waylon Foley.”

For a law enforcement newbie, Debi Starr had certainly mastered formal cop-speak.

She continued, as if testifying in court, “We kept Foley’s death out of the press, and so it was likely Gabris hadn’t yet disposed of the burner he used to communicate with Foley. We planned to call the last outgoing number on Foley’s phone; whoever answered was probably the boss who’d masterminded the plan. Mr. Shaw’s theory was that Gabris was the most likely candidate. We followed him to a restaurant, called the number, and it paid off. His phone rang.”

Barrett had only four items on his desk. A laptop. A pad of yellow paper. A mechanical pencil. And a mug of coffee printed with a slogan: World’s Greatest Dad on one side; World’s Greatest Sheriff on the other.

“You had other suspects?”

“GraphSet Chips and Olechu Springs.”

“Never liked anybody connected with them,” Barrett muttered. “Outsiders. And exploiters.”

Starr looked at Moore. “To be honest, sir, we did have a few suspicions about you.”

“ Me? ”

“Mr. Shaw’s sister found somebody had been in your house recently. We wondered if there was a reason you might want it destroyed, after your wife’s passing. My sympathies, by the way.”

“Thank you,” he said dubiously. “You thought I might…have had something to do with her death.”

“Not really.”

Hardly a phrase to take the sting out of being offended by the tacit accusation.

“Who was in the house, do you know?”

“Josh, our teenage son. It’s the reason I haven’t sold the place. He can’t let go of his mother. Someday he’ll move on.” The supervisor gave a faint laugh. “And if I was a suspect, I’m surprised you didn’t wonder about my business—I wanted to destroy the records in my mortgage brokerage company because I’d been, I don’t know, laundering money or skimming clients’ funds.”

Starr said, “Oh, that was part of it too, sir.” A nod to Shaw.

He said, “But I had my private eye in Washington, D.C., do a deep dive into your business. It was legit.”

There was very little that the beautiful and stern Mack McKenzie could not find when she put her mind to it.

The supervisor’s laugh this time was of astonishment.

Now Barrett picked up the pencil and in precise handwriting recorded the details of the takedown, as Starr recited them. Finally he finished.

“All right, Officer Starr, and Mayor or Chief. And you…” He looked at Shaw briefly then continued, “How’d you end up with Gabris?”

It was Shaw who answered. “Officer Starr and I were looking at the map of where the river was in relation to the bottling plant, and we noticed something else. Railroad tracks. I had driven my dirt bike here to meet with Gabris yesterday. I rode over some tracks—you steer a bike differently when you cross rails, so I was aware of them. The only railroad around here—running straight to his development from Hinowah. On the map, I followed the line north. They were the same tracks I’d seen beside a pond at the foot of Copper Peak, filling up with the runoff from the levee spillway. There was a freight train stopped there. The tanker cars had an oil company logo on the side but—”

Barrett squinted as he took in the ingenuity of the idea. “The cars were empty, and the crews were pumping the water into them.”

“That’s right. I remembered seeing well-drilling crews in Gabris’s development. And a farmer in Hinowah had just told me about the difficulty of finding groundwater around here. The drilling was going deeper and deeper and a lot of times coming up short. Gabris could hardly sell houses without inspectors reporting a good water supply. And the farmer? She told me you can pump surplus water into the aquifers to store it for dry seasons.”

Prescott Moore said, “Gabris hired Foley to blow the levee and divert the water to the pond. The tankers would suck it up and then pump it into the ground underneath the development.”

Shaw nodded.

Starr added, “Explains why the sand for the sandbagging got to Hinowah so fast. Gabris had it sitting in his construction site, ready to go.”

The sheriff asked, “Wouldn’t he know there wasn’t enough water on the land before he decided to put a development there?”

Debi Starr said, “Sure he would. That’s why he could buy the land so cheap. He built multimillion-dollar houses, and when they sold he’d take the profits and skip the country before the water dried up. His companies’ve built other developments in California and Arizona. All in arid locations.”

Barrett jotted. “I’ll have my counterparts down there look at the situation. Maybe he’s stealing water in other places too to fill up those aquifers.”

When the meeting concluded, hands were shaken and cards exchanged. Shaw, Starr and Tolifson left the sheriff’s office.

As Starr continued to the Public Safety pickup and Tolifson started for his private SUV, Shaw stopped him. “Can I talk to you for a minute.”

“Sure.”

Shaw asked, “You’re in the process of filling the police chief’s job, right?”

“Oh.” The non sequitur surprised him. “Well, correct. But I’ll tell you, I’ve decided to pin this old thing on permanently.” He tapped his chest, where the badge sat on the uniform blouse under his jacket. “I had some doubts at first. But, you know, sir. It feels good. And the six-gun isn’t bad either. After what happened at the command post, I learned my lesson. Won’t ever forget those bullets again. And no more fiddling. I know I have to bone up on the law some too, but I’m a whiz at Roberts Rules of Order and the Hinowah Muni Code. I’m sure it’s a pretty short jump from there to the California Penal Code.”

Shaw was looking at the low soupy bed of the Never Summer. And damn if he didn’t spot a side-by-side refrigerator-freezer half buried in the muck.

He turned to Tolifson. “Don’t.”

The man blinked.

“Don’t take the job.”

“What’re you talking about?”

“I’ve worked with law all over the country. Police chiefs, detectives, patrol. It’s not you, Mayor.”

He looked indignant. “I can learn.”

“The technical aspects, sure. But there’s instinct and intuition. Things I can’t really describe, but you know it when you see it.”

“I might disagree with that, sir.”

Shaw steamed ahead. “You’ve got somebody in the department right now’s perfect for the job.”

A knowing smile. “Debi. I get it. You’ve enjoyed working with her. She’s cute, she’s funny, she’s a whiz with the coffee. And a hard worker. You want to help her out.”

His words riled. The inappropriate cute and coffee , of course. But it was also the man’s utter misunderstanding that Debi Starr was not a woman who needed any helping out whatsoever.

“She’s a natural.”

“And you can tell.”

“That’s right.”

Tolifson muttered, “She’s a third-grade teacher who’s taking a joyride at wearing a badge.”

“She’s a cop who happened to spend a little time teaching grade school.”

No smiles now. “We could debate this forever.”

Shaw gazed at him levelly. “Han, I’ve been attacked with a shovel, been shot at and nearly drowned. My sister’s associate got shot. She was nearly killed too. And she and I saved Nowhere from Noah’s flood. Her fee and my reward? Those normally would cost a quarter million dollars and you’re not being charged one penny. You’re a good mayor, I can see that. People like you and respect you, and you stood up today when the town needed you. Stick with what you’re good at.”

His eyes on the trickling river.

Shaw could read his face. The debate.

Finally, a sigh.

“All right, Mr. Shaw. All right…”

He unenthusiastically reached out and shook Shaw’s hand.

The men parted ways. As Shaw walked to the bike, his phone chimed. A text from Dorion:

Problem. Tony’s camera caught a blue SUV, Oregon plates, driving to and from Compound. He went to check. Mary Dove left a note on door. She was expecting a delivery. She said please redeliver. And gave the address of motel she booked here. If it was Margaret and she saw it, she’s on the way to Hinowah. We’re at Mrs. Petaluma’s.

He replied.

Leaving now.