Sanctuary Lost WITSEC Town Series Book 1 (11 page)

“What evidence?”

John counted to ten.
It’s not his fault
he’s never done this before.
“I’m waiting for her clothes. That
will be huge, if we can get DNA from the killer. A drop of blood or
a hair sample isn’t all that likely but it could give us his or her
identity. We have her shoes. Once we find the murder weapon, we can
check that for prints. We also need to find the location the murder
took place. Since there was no blood on the wall and little blood
had pooled around her, it’s reasonable to surmise that wasn’t where
she was killed. In a town this size, we should be able to do that
by process of elimination assuming she wasn’t killed in someone’s
home. We can’t just go barging in.”

“Actually, we can. It’s a stipulation of our
positions and the fact residents are in the witness protection
program, even the people born here. In the event of extenuating
circumstances we can force entry.”

“Did Sheriff Chandler ever have to do
that?”

“Just once. That was when the Fuller kid
committed suicide. I was in junior high but I heard all about
it.”

“What was he like? I mean, what kind of a
sheriff was Chandler?”

Deputy Palmer leaned back in his chair. “He
wasn’t bad. Gruff sometimes, but his leg bothered him in the
winter. He’d been here since the town opened, like I said. I don’t
know how he got the assignment or if he was in WITSEC too. He never
told me. Anyway, Chandler made me learn all the rules and put me
through all these tests and stuff he said I had to do, so I could
become a deputy, you know? It wasn’t all that fun, but I wanted
this job so I did it.”

“You should be proud. You’ve held the fort
down since he got sick, right?”

The guy nodded. John wasn’t convinced Palmer
was even a halfway decent cop, except in a town like this where
nothing much happened. But he’d still worn the uniform through the
previous sheriff getting a terminal diagnosis. He might not be the
biggest proponent for something like Battle Night, which John had
actually thought was fun. But Chandler had clearly seen something
worth something in the kid.

For the time being, John was willing to coach
him along. These were evidently unprecedented circumstances if
there’d never been a murder in Sanctuary’s history. It was so far
from John’s experience of the world that a crime level this low was
almost unreal. It would take some getting used to, for sure. In
fact, this whole town was like a foreign country.

John’s satellite phone rang.

“Sheriff—”

“A homicide? What are you doing to my
town?”

“Grant—”

“No, I don’t want to hear your excuses. Fix
this, John. These people are supposed to feel safe. I promised them
that.”

John leaned back in his chair and grinned.
“Did you give me this job so you can yell at the sheriff of
Sanctuary without remorse because I’m your kid brother?”

“No, I gave you this job because Alphonz made
bail. He lasted three seconds before he was blown up on the front
step of the courthouse in Montgomery.” Grant huffed. “Alabama, for
goodness sake. No one was even supposed to know he was there. Now I
wake up to murder in my town.”

John pressed his lips together. “Were you
going to tell me that, or just mention it in my Christmas
card?”

“John—”

“Have you ever actually been here?”

“That’s not the point.”

John swallowed the laughter. “Dude, calm down
or you’ll need an aspirin. I can handle this if you can get my
evidence tested for DNA.”

“Get it on Monday’s transport. Mark it up
with the orange stickers in your safe. I’ll get it sent to a lab.
But the likelihood is it’s gonna take weeks, at least. No one’s
gonna take a rush job, even if it is from me. Labs are way too
territorial. They always give preference to the local guys they
know and they’re always backlogged.”

“So I have to solve this myself.”

“The old fashioned way.” Grant said it like
it was a terrible affliction.

The bell over the door jangled and Harriet
Fenton pushed her way in.

“Gotta go.” John hung up.

Her face was all blotched and puffy. John
held back the grimace and stood. “How can I help you, Mrs.
Fenton?”

She stood straight and lifted her chin. “I
know who killed Betty.”

John managed four hours in bed but he barely
slept. Harriet’s declaration had left him sleepless.

Andra Caleri killed her.

When he got up, the words were still ringing
in his head along with all the questions. Matthias had left him a
note explaining what time church started, so John walked over to
the Meeting House.

The air outside was clean and the sky a clear
blue that made him wish he’d unearthed his sunglasses even though
it was fall. Inside, folding chairs had been set out in rows. At
the front of the room there was a podium and a guy tuning a
guitar—the farmer, Dan Walden.

John searched the gathered crowd for Pat and
found him with Olympia’s family, one hand grasping Matthias’s
sleeve.

“Dad!” Pat ran for him and John crouched,
receiving the now familiar tackle of a long absence.

John waited until Pat looked at him. “How’d
you sleep?”

“Dad, Reuben has a Wii. He said I can come
over and play whenever I want!”

Matthias strode over, hauling a boy on each
of his shoulders. They were younger than Pat, four or five maybe.
Twins, their features were similar but not identical. Both of them
had dark hair, light blue eyes and a lighter skin tone than the
bulk of Olympia’s family had.

“This is Reuben and Simeon. They’re twin
hooligans who’ll probably completely corrupt Pat’s sweet nature and
turn him into a troublemaker.” Matthias laughed and the boys joined
in but not because they got the joke. He swung them around, making
the boys squeal.

“Thanks for the tip.”

Matthias looked like he wanted to say more,
but made his way back to the rest of his family instead.

“Want to sit with us, Dad?”

“Sure.” John let Pat pull him all the way to
the front of the room, where Olympia’s family took up a whole row
on the right side.

Father Wilson stepped up to the podium in his
minister’s shirt and collar. Black pants and dirty sneakers
completed his outfit. “Welcome.” He smiled wide, his attention
settling on John for a moment since he was likely the only person
everyone didn’t know.

John nodded but his head was too full of what
had happened to concentrate on announcements.

Andra killed her.

How Harriet had been so certain, John wasn’t
clear on. When he’d asked her about it, she’d just said, “She hated
Betty.” As though dislike was a good enough reason to stab someone
six times. It wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, but Andra
did not seem like the type.

They stood to sing. John didn’t know any of
the songs and they weren’t the hymns he’d heard as a kid. He’d have
to see where the evidence led; interview anyone who might have been
around at the time other than the two young guys who found Betty’s
body.

Palmer had been adamant Harriet wouldn’t lie
and they should go rouse Andra out of bed. The deputy was a little
too exuberant—probably because he’d only wanted to finish the
investigation and get home to bed. Like you could solve a homicide
in four hours.

John figured he’d likely spend the bulk of
the month he was in Sanctuary occupied with this case. Hopefully it
would be solvable but without the knife and with him having no
access to testing equipment, that wasn’t looking good.

They sat and Father Wilson spoke. His
gravelly voice smoothed out until the words sounded like poetry;
praising God even when he was surrounded by the enemy. John had
never felt the need to appeal to a higher power when he was in the
thick of something—like being tied to that chair awaiting Alphonz.
The idea was interesting, even if it wasn’t something he’d tend to
do. Who wanted to admit they were helpless?

They stood again, while Father Wilson prayed
and then dismissed everyone for coffee and treats.

Pat yelled, “Awesome!” The crowd rippled with
laughter as they stood and dissipated.

John’s attention caught on the back of the
room. Andra sat by herself in the back row. He knew the minute she
saw him because she got up and left.

John turned to Pat. “Go with Matthias. I’ll
be back in a minute.” He rushed out, but she was two buildings down
already. He ran and was about to call out when she spun around.
John pulled up. “Not staying for treats?”

She didn’t cower or respond. She just lifted
her chin. “I didn’t expect you to be at church. I imagine you had a
long night.”

“You heard about Betty Collins?”

Andra’s face didn’t give away anything. “Word
spreads. Even to my corner of town.”

“Anything you’d like to tell me about
that?”

“About my corner of town?”

John shook his head. “No, about Mrs.
Collins.”

“Why would I have anything to say? She stayed
away from me and I returned the favor. I spoke to her the first day
I arrived, ten years ago next month. We’ve never had a single
conversation since. But there are a lot of people I never speak to.
I don’t come into town much.”

“And yet I’ve seen you three times in as many
days.”

Her lips twitched. “Extenuating
circumstances.”

“So that was you, last night in the barn?
Team C?”

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking
about.” But her eyes said different.

“It would be better if you just told me. That
way I can account for your whereabouts for at least part of last
night. And if you told me where you went after the barn and whether
you met up with anyone else, I’ll be able to get started working
out who was where while the homicide took place.”

“So I’m a suspect?” Something flashed in her
eyes. It could have been guilt, but there was so much genuine
surprise he couldn’t be sure. Was it surprise he’d spoken with her
so quickly, or surprise that he’d think it in the first place?

“If there’s someone who can confirm where you
were and what you were doing between nine-thirty and ten-thirty,
I’ll need to speak with them.”

She frowned. “I didn’t see anyone else after
the barn. When I got to the rendezvous point for team C—which was
actually just myself and Nadia Marie—she wasn’t there. She didn’t
show up until a while after.”

“I need to know where Nadia Marie lives so I
can talk with her.”

“Am I seriously a suspect?” Andra’s attention
drifted behind him.

John turned to see people exiting the Meeting
House. Most had on jeans, and more than a few folks wore working
clothes. Bikers. Families. None of them were dressed up. Apparently
not feeling the need to impress—which had seemed to him as a kid
more important than what was being learned at church. It hadn’t
mattered if John was listening or not, just that he was quiet. It
didn’t mean these people were more or less earnest in their
beliefs, just that they didn’t feel the need to put on airs.

“So? Am I?”

John looked at her face. What her molasses
eyes hid wasn’t discernible. But she didn’t disguise the fact she
was hiding something. It was obvious just looking at her. Andra
wouldn’t be the kind of person who gave easily. Whatever experience
she’d had in the past meant she’d withdrawn from people. Whether it
was for her sake or theirs, was a different question.

“I can’t comment on an ongoing
investigation.” The words came out with little thought.

So much of what he knew about investigating
was ingrained in him, but was it the real him? John didn’t even
know, outside of wearing a badge, what kind of a person he was.
He’d lived and breathed cases and operations for so long he needed
time to just be…himself. Too bad he wasn’t likely to get that
conducting a murder investigation.

“Where is your place?” He grinned. “You know,
in case I have any follow up questions.” She was a mystery. But he
fully intended to solve it.

“You don’t find me. I’ll come to you.”

“And you’ll know when I need to speak to
you?”

She backed up a step, slipping from the grasp
of his attention. “Just mention it in town. It’ll get around.”

Right. “I don’t play things that way.”

“Too bad.” She smiled. “Because they’re my
rules.”

John shook his head as she walked away, but
he was smiling.

Nothing about this was going to be easy but
for the first time he felt the rush of a challenge that didn’t
require him to forfeit his life in the process. There were a
handful of reasons why staying might prove more interesting. At
least more interesting than leaving town at the end of the month
and turning down the job. Andra was, without doubt, one of those
interesting reasons.

“Dad!” Pat ran over.

John swung him up before the tackle and
settled his son on his hip. “What’s up bud?”

“Um…”

John walked back inside the Meeting House,
where Olympia stood in the center of her family. She spread her
arms wide. “What’ll it be?”

“They want to know if we’ll come for lunch!”
Pat’s eyes were wide, like he’d been offered a trip to Disneyland.
The kid clearly didn’t know what genuine cause for excitement was.
Too bad John couldn’t take him out of town for a weekend. Not for a
while at least.

Olympia nodded, so John rubbed his stomach.
“Lunch? I don’t know. I was planning a feast of frog’s legs and
monkey poop.”

“Eew!” Reuben and Simeon joined in with Pat
and then dropped to roll on the floor, pretending to throw up.

“Real food for lunch sounds great.”

They turned for the door as a group when the
mayor flung it open, nearly hitting one of the boys. His face was
flushed, like he’d run all the way there.

John set Pat down. “Let’s go somewhere and
talk.”