Circle of Influence (A Zoe Chambers Mystery) (3 page)

Pete scanned the computer screen through his reading glasses. After fixing two typos, he clicked
print.
The HP all-in-one whirred into action. Ordinarily, his secretary would type up the affidavit requesting an arrest warrant. But considering that his secretary, Sylvia Bassi, was also the arrestee, having her do the paperwork might be a little crass.

While he waited for the pages to print, he whipped off the readers and poured the dregs from the coffee maker into his monster-sized mug. Sipping the bitter, hours-old brew, he renewed his silent wish for a Starbucks to open in Dillard. Or even Phillipsburg, two miles away.

The bells on the police station’s front door jingled. Pete checked his watch. Five after eleven at night. Expecting a resident with a dire emergency and an aversion to telephones, he stood and stretched. Before he made it to his door, Sylvia appeared. Fat snowflakes nestled in her gray hair, melting into droplets glittering in the overhead fluorescent lighting.

“I saw the lights on,” she said. “What are you doing here so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“Yeah, but I asked first. Your insomnia kicking up again?”

“It takes an insomniac to know one.”

Sylvia nodded at the coffee cup in his hand. “Maybe, but I can’t blame caffeine. That stuff doesn’t help, you know.”

Pete set the mug down and side-stepped to the printer. He hoped to appear nonchalant as he scooped the pages from its tray.

The carefree attitude didn’t work. “Is that for Judge Mitchell?” 

He hated this whole ordeal. He hated that he had to put Sylvia through what was obviously nothing more than a waste of time. He hated that he had to kiss that son-of-a-bitch Jerry McBirney’s ass. And while he was running over his personal hate list in his head, he decided to add that he just plain hated Jerry McBirney.

“It is, isn’t it? And it’s about me.” Sylvia heaved a massive sigh and moved to her desk caressing its old oak surface with her fingers. “I know I shouldn’t be here, seeing as I’ve been fired.”

“McBirney made the motion. I didn’t hear it pass.”

“It did. After we left. Ted phoned and told me. They called the meeting back to order. Then Matt Doaks seconded the motion. His and McBirney’s votes overrode Howard’s dissension. You know, I used to like that Doaks kid.”

Pete smiled. Matt Doaks was a long way from being a kid. But Pete, at forty-five, had ten years on the guy, and Sylvia still called
him
a kid, too. “Don’t worry about it. McBirney’s just trying to throw his weight around. Give it a few days and I’m sure this will all go away.”

“Like it did when he got involved with your Marcy?”

Ouch.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Pete waved her off. He had plenty of reasons to despise Jerry McBirney. Granted, the fact that the guy was now married to Pete’s ex ranked pretty high.

“You know, Pete, I used to think the worst day I’d ever had on this job was way back when the township’s receipts went missing. But this definitely beats all.” Sylvia’s voice cracked. “I’ll get Ted to help me pack up my things tomorrow.”

“I’d rather you didn’t. These charges will never stick. McBirney’s just making noise.”

“But I don’t know if I want to work in this township anymore.” Tears welled in her eyes. “Things have changed so much in the last few months, and I don’t see them getting better anytime soon.”

Pete wished he could argue with her, but he knew how she felt. Only he wasn’t about to give that bastard McBirney what he wanted. Not without a fight. As if that had made any difference before.

“Ted is in a fury over all this,” Sylvia said. “He’s been in a foul mood a lot lately what with the kids being typical teenagers and all. Now this business with my job and stealing township property…I’ve never seen him so angry. And that crack he made in front of you was…well…”

“Stupid,” Pete finished for her with a grin. How many times had he heard someone say they wished someone else dead? “But understandable considering the circumstances.”

The phone on Sylvia’s desk rang. She reached for it and then hesitated. “Oh. I guess I shouldn’t answer that.”

“Sylvia, get the damned phone.”

A smile flashed across her face, and she picked up the receiver. “Vance Township Police Department.”

Pete watched as she said “Uh-huh” a couple of times before picking up her pen. “How long has it been there? Uh-huh. No, no, Joe, you’re absolutely right. Something needs to be done. Uh-huh. Yes, I’ll send somebody out there right away. Uh-huh. Thanks, Joe.” She hung up. “That was Joe Mendez.”

“Let me guess. Someone’s stuck out in the game lands by his property again.”

“You got it. He says he doesn’t see anyone around, so they likely got out and started hiking. But with the weather as bad as it is…”

“Yeah. We might have someone wandering around lost in the snow in the middle of the night.” Pete reached for his jacket hanging on the coat tree in the corner.

“Don’t you want me to radio Seth?”

“He’s already working a traffic accident out on Babcock Road.”

“How about Kevin?”

“Home with the flu. It’s all right. I’ll check it out.”

Sylvia wiggled out of her long wool coat and tossed it onto the peg Pete’s jacket had just vacated. Then she slid into her chair. Pete almost told her to go home, but changed his mind. If McBirney had his way, this might be the last evening of overtime the two of them put in together.

In the two and a half hours that Pete had been inside, the snow showers had turned into a blizzard. He grabbed a broom and swept almost four inches of white stuff from the black and white SUV the township had recently purchased, secondhand, for him. At least it started when he finally dug his way inside. That was never a given with the old Crown Victoria he’d been driving since he left his job as a homicide detective in Pittsburgh eight years ago, and moved here.

Either the snow plows hadn’t been out yet or the snow was keeping ahead of them, because the roads were covered. Tire tracks indicated a few brave souls were out and about. But Pete didn’t see another vehicle as he drove through town and out into the dark country night.

At least the need to focus on his driving kept his mind from wandering to Sylvia. Or McBirney. Or Ted. Or Marcy. If Route 15 was this treacherous, he knew better than to tackle the back roads. So he took the longer way around to the new highway. The one with the confusing signage. He understood why so many people, unfamiliar with the newly completed expanse of road, mistakenly took the wrong exit. It was clearly marked “Phillipsburg.” And while it was true that one could eventually arrive there by taking that road, it required traveling some rather rugged dirt roads through the state game lands.

Pete doubted anything shy of the most serious four-wheel-drive vehicles could manage that trip that night. And he really hoped whoever had made the wrong turn was not wandering around in the dark, snowy woods.

It occurred to Pete that the call had come from Joe Mendez and not from the stranded motorist’s own cell phone. Maybe their phone’s battery was dead.

The exit loomed ahead. Pete eased off the gas and coasted around the loop of the ramp, steering gingerly to keep his vehicle on the road. Had there been tire tracks here earlier, the snow had since filled them in. He was only about three hundred feet off the ramp when his headlights flashed off a car sitting next to the dirt road, tipping precariously toward the passenger side. Stuck in a ditch. And covered in snow.

Pete parked several car-lengths behind the stranded vehicle and hit it with his spotting light, illuminating the license plate.

Something wasn’t right. This was not the car of someone who didn’t know the area. The vanity plate read BIGJMC.

What the hell was Jerry McBirney doing out here on a night like this?

Pete grabbed his flashlight and climbed out of the SUV. Ankle deep in snow, he approached the car, shining the flashlight into the interior with his left hand while his right hand rested on his sidearm. The beam revealed an empty backseat. The passenger seat likewise appeared vacant. But a dark figure sat behind the wheel. Keeping his breath slow and even, Pete stepped up to the driver’s side window, swiped it clear, and shined his light through it.

After all these years as a cop, dead bodies still made his stomach knot.

“Damn it, Ted,” he muttered.

THREE

The wind had picked up. The cold penetrated Zoe’s bomber jacket, bit at her cheeks and fingers, and numbed her toes. Adrenalin kept a person warm for only so long under these conditions.

“I don’t need an ambulance.” Their patient hiccupped between sobs and held a gob of 2x2 gauze squares to her bloody nose. “My husband is gonna kill me.” Her car faced eastbound on southbound Babcock Road. The vehicle’s front end was mashed from an encounter with a tree. And from the extent of damage, Zoe guessed the driver had gone way over any sensible speed on the snow-coated roads.

“Miss, I have to recommend that you see a doctor,” Earl said. “Your nose is likely broken.”

The woman drew the gauze away from her face. She blanched at the sight of blood and dissolved into another round of hysterical weeping.

A contingent of volunteer firefighters attempted to clean up the debris scattered across the snowy road. Zoe noticed Ted wasn’t with them.

Officer Seth Metzger approached, fumbling to slip his cell phone into his pocket with fingers buried in bulky gloves. “Mrs. Lyle? I just spoke to your husband. He’s on his way to pick you up. That is if you’re sure you don’t want the paramedics to take you to the hospital.”

“I’m sure.”

“You can sit in the back of the squad car if you want. To keep warm.”

Mrs. Lyle shivered. “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Seth shrugged and trudged away.

“We’ll need you to sign this.” Zoe held out the aluminum clipboard and a pen to the woman.

She shook her head. “I’m not signing anything. My husband’s always pointing out those commercials where the lawyers say—”

“Miss, it only states you’re refusing treatment,” Earl said. “You either sign it, or you get in the ambulance and let us take you to the hospital.”

Mrs. Lyle looked around, as if searching for legal advice in the blizzard. Sniffling, she accepted the clipboard and scrawled an illegible signature with a trembling hand before returning it to Zoe.

“You must be freezing. Maybe you ought to take Officer Metzger up on his offer.”

The woman’s cheeks glowed pink in the emergency lighting. She gave her head another shake, pressed the gauze to her face, and picked her way through the snow and the ice, toward the wreckage of her car.

Zoe handed the blood-smudged report to Earl. “Do you get the feeling there’s a story there?”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to hear it. Let’s get out of here. My feet are frozen.”

Mine, too, Zoe thought. “I’ll go tell Seth we’re leaving.”

“Meet you in the unit.”

Zoe patted her gloved hands together as if that might help. She scuffed through the snow toward the police officer, who was lighting another flare to replace one that had burnt down.

“Hey, Zoe.” Seth gave her a grin. “Can’t you and Earl charm that poor girl into taking a ride in your nice warm ambulance?”

“She seems more concerned about how her husband’s going to react. There’s nothing else we can do here, so we’re pulling out.”

“I’ll stick around until this mess is cleaned up.” Seth’s cell phone rang. “With the looks of the weather, I’ll probably see you again before the night’s over.”

“Wouldn’t doubt it.” Zoe left him digging for his phone.

When she climbed into the passenger seat, Earl was scribbling notes on the call report. Zoe unclipped the mic from the dashboard. “Control, this is Medic Three. Show us back in service.”

“Copy that, Medic Three. Your time is twenty-three forty-one,” responded the voice from the Emergency Operations Center.

Earl heaved a growling sigh. “Damn it. It’s almost midnight already. I was hoping to get some sleep.”

Zoe clipped the mic back in place. “Well, if our local residents are smart and stay home, we might have a quiet night from here on.”

Someone thumped on the driver’s side window. Earl flinched. “Shit. Now what?” He rolled it down.

Seth stood there, a grim look on his face. “Chief just called. He wants us all to meet him at the game lands exit on new Route 33 for a DOA. He said not to put it over the air, so you might want to phone it in to the EOC.”

“Gotcha. See you there.” Earl rolled the window up and glared at Zoe. “You just had to jinx it, didn’t you?”

“Me? You were the one wishing for sleep.” She dug her phone from one of the pockets in her cargo pants and called the dispatcher to report their status.

“I wonder why the chief doesn’t want this going over the air,” Earl said.

She wondered the same thing.

The ambulance’s headlights glared off the wall of white snow blowing sideways across the road in front of them. High beams only made it worse. Zoe clutched at the armrest, knowing that Earl was making an educated guess as to where the edge of the road was. Thank goodness for tire chains.

“At least the victim’s already dead,” he said. “We don’t have to worry about being in a rush.”

“That’s the exit everyone’s been complaining about.”

“Yeah. If someone got lost out in the game lands and died of exposure in this weather, there could be a lawsuit in the making. Might be what it takes to get those signs changed.”

Zoe thought of old Joe Mendez at the next supervisors’ meeting. He would be wagging his finger at everyone now, saying, “I told you so.”

But mostly she was thinking of the call ahead. She had taken on the duties of deputy coroner three years ago. What she’d imagined would be an intriguing job involving sleuthing and mystery-solving instead mostly involved calling the official time of death for elderly or drunk corpses discovered days after the fact. Monongahela County Coroner Franklin Marshall always made it a point to show up in person for all the interesting cases. This time she figured she’d have to pronounce a lost stranger dead. Cause of death: hypothermia. Manner of death: accidental.

A trip that should have taken ten minutes took over half an hour. As Earl wheeled the unit around the exit ramp, Zoe spotted the amber lights of a PennDOT salt truck beside the red and blue flashing lights of Pete’s vehicle. The headlamps of both vehicles were aimed in the same direction, away from the ambulance’s approach. Strategically placed flares provided additional illumination.

Earl parked alongside the idling yellow dump truck, adding yet another set of headlights to the scene. “At least we won’t get stuck trying to get out.”

Zoe phoned the EOC dispatcher before climbing out of the ambulance and following her partner toward the scene.