Clean Lines (Cedar Tree #4) (6 page)

"Doing alright. The surgeon will be in in the morning to assess him and we'll take it from there. I'm still waiting on the lab work to come back, but he already confirmed what he took, so it's almost a moot point. I'm just at a loss where to go from here."

"Wanna tell me what you were referring to earlier? The advice you were talking about?"

I peek over at Fox, who appears to be sleeping deeply and pull my legs under my body, settling deeper in the chair.

"Fox went to live with his dad when he didn't like the rules I expected him to follow. James was a shit husband but hadn't been a bad father, and I knew any judge would've given a fifteen year old kid the option.”

I continue giving Joe as much background as I can before outlining the events since Fox has been back. When I tell him about my conversation with James’ partner, Joe interrupts. "Did you tell him where you were?”

I shake my head. "No, something felt off so I told him I would get in touch with the Phoenix PD, but they are writing it off; saying he appears to have left voluntarily and the break-in looked to have occurred after. I've called them a few times since, but am getting nowhere. Then last week, Fox asked about his dad and wanted to try and contact a buddy in the neighborhood. I finally told him what his dad had said to say; that he had been heard...whatever the hell that means. He turned white as a ghost and if he wasn’t speaking to me before, he surely isn't speaking to me now. I can’t get a damn thing out of him. Now this. I'm at a loss. I know something is going on, something that started in Phoenix and has to do with James, but I can't get to the bottom of it."

I'm surprised to find Joe handing a box of tissues over, and only now discover tears falling down my chin.
Great.
Second time in one day I let my emotions show in front of this man. Almost angry, though mostly with myself, I snatch a handful and wipe my face.

"What's your husband's full name," he asks curtly.

My eyes shoot up at the short tone and I instantly bristle. "It's James Thomas Miller and he's my ex-husband. We've been divorced for nearly four and a half years now."

"Point taken," he says, lowering his eyes for a moment, before refocusing on mine. "And I will have a look if I can find out anything, but you and I, we really need to have a long overdue talk about some persistent misunderstandings. Ones that I have been trying to clear up for years, but have never been given a chance to. If nothing else, I want us to be able to work together, be real and straight with each other, and not hide behind snide innuendos and bitter retorts. All based on false impressions and misinformation."

Now it's my turn to lower my eyes, embarrassed, because I'm the one who refused to listen to any explanations for years. I haven't wanted to listen to anyone, too hurt by what seemed so obvious to me at the time. It’s clear to me from the edge to Joe’s voice and the hurt evident in his eyes that I’ve been unfair to him.

"You're right. Long overdue and I'm sorry for my part in that."

Joe blows out a puff of air before making a valiant attempt to smile at me.

"Get some sleep. We're both exhausted. I'll be in touch, okay?"

I simply nod as he returns the stool, and gives my shoulder a squeeze on his way out the door.

Damn
.

"D
rew! Can you come in here?"

"Sheriff?"

As one of my youngest deputies, Drew Carmel for some reason hasn't been able to bring himself to call me by my first name yet, even though I make a point of it every time he calls me 'sir' or 'Sheriff.' I'm not big on adhering to the strict and out-dated hierarchical protocols, especially since we have a small crew and work closely together both outside and within the confines of our offices.

"Joe please, Drew," I remind him once again. "Have you had a chance to run that name through the system again? James Thomas Miller?"

"This morning, Sir." He blushes when he sees me flinch at the '
Sir
.' "Sorry"

"No problem. Hard habit to break, I know."

"Anything?"

"Nothing. No flags, no tags, no call outs, nothing."

"Damn. 'Kay, thanks."

Since leaving Naomi sitting by her son's hospital bed in the dark a few days ago, I've been trying to get some information for her on the boy's father, but so far I've come up empty. From what I can tell there is no active missing person's case, and the only thing open is a breaking and entering at his address in Phoenix. Not something that generally has particularly high priority in the busy Phoenix police district. This morning I put in a search with the Maricopa County Court Docket for any cases that list Miller as the representing attorney for the last year. Not sure what I'm hoping to find, but there may be something that sends up a flag. Being a criminal attorney is sure to have ruffled some feathers over the years, and it won't hurt to see if anything bears looking into.

I was back in the hospital the day after I picked up Fox and brought him in to check in, but when I popped my head in, the surgeon was with them discussing the surgery Fox apparently was going to need, so I couldn’t go in. Not my business. Instead I picked up a copy of the lab results at the nurse's station, left a message for Naomi that I'd been by and headed out.

The toxicology report shows only minute traces of meth in his system, meaning he likely barely took a hit. Just like he said. Thank God for that. But his alcohol levels had been far above the legal limit. I'm torn. Part of me wants to back off and call it lesson learned, given that the kid likely will have a lengthy reminder of his fuck up, and if it wasn't for the chat I had with Michael Vincent, the second boy we picked up that night, I might let it go at that.

Michael's involvement makes the whole thing a bit more complicated, though. Not only was he the one who brought the kid with the meth, but before I'd even gotten back to the station that night, his father was already raising a stink in my office. Young Michael turns out to be the son of Les Vincent, chairman of the Montezuma County Board and technically my boss.

When Frank left mid-term last year, the board appointed me Sheriff on an interim basis, to serve out his term until the next election. A local business man, Les has many years on the board and a fair amount of clout in the community, and I have no doubt he could make things difficult for me. Something he doesn't hesitate to point out the moment I walk in.

I fucking hate politics and I don’t waste any time letting Les know I’m doing the job he appointed me to do—no more—no less—and that he’s welcome to sit in while I ask his son a few questions.

Unfortunately, Michael isn't very forthcoming with information. Claims he didn't know the kid's name, only that he met him at the arcade earlier in the week and they struck up a conversation. It stinks to high heaven, but with Les looming in the room, there’s little I can do to push for more, and I end up releasing the boy to his father's care, letting him know I'll be in touch to follow up. Something I aim to do soon.

Sick of being cooped up inside, I grab my hat and make for the door, when Carol stops me.

"Sheriff, call on line two."

Instead of walking back to my office, I grab the phone on the front desk.

"Morris."

"Sheriff Morris, this is Deb Blake. I'm a clerk at the Maricopa County Court. I understand you were interested in the listings of attorney James Miller on our docket?"

"Yes, I am."

"Sir, he was recently replaced on all active docket listings by one of his associates. A Mr. Frank Bancroft is now acting defense attorney on all open cases."

I take a minute to process before asking, "Can you tell me what the last case was Miller saw through trial?" I figure perhaps not a current case, but a prior one that hadn't worked out so well and left a disgruntled defendant, could have put Miller in the situation he appears to be in now.

I realize I'm grasping at straws until I hear the clerk's sharp intake of breath.

"Oh my, I didn't realize that was his."

"What's that?" I prompt.

"Sorry... A month and a half ago a key witness for the DA's office was found dead. He was scheduled to testify in court the next day in the murder trial of Tad Jackson. James Miller is Mr. Jackson's defense attorney. It caused a lot of unrest in the community, especially since just a week or two after that, following numerous attempts to delay by the District Attorney, Mr. Jackson was acquitted by a jury of his peers. What should have been an ironclad case became nothing but a collection of circumstantial evidence without the witness account to tie it all together. I can't believe I didn't place Mr. Miller's name sooner."

The clerk's chatty personality supplies me with some very interesting information. Judging by the timeline and the events, this may well have something to do with James' disappearance; voluntary or not.

I ask Deb if she can send over summaries of the court transcripts and thank her for the call, noting her name for future reference. It never hurts to make new friends in useful places.

"Carol, keep an eye out for a package from Maricopa County. It's personal. Just plop it in my office, will you?"

"Sure thing, Joe."

On my way out the door I wave at the almost seventy-year-old woman who's been running this office and the dispatch since I was in diapers. Carol has survived eight sheriffs and will most likely survive me as well. Her coffee is like engine oil, and will strip your eyelids off your eyes in a heartbeat thus serving its purpose, or so she says, and her grit and wisdom is unequalled. I love that woman. She makes coming into work every day that much better.

Dean Edwards offered me to scrub in on Fox's surgery, but I declined. In hindsight, the OR might've been less unnerving than the waiting room was. A humbling experience to say the least, to experience events on this side of the fence.

Half an hour into what was supposed to be at least a two-hour wait, I find myself too restless to stick around any longer and wander off to find some action in the ER, letting the nurse know where I'm off too and leaving my pager number.

It's been three days since Joe brought Fox in and the poor kid has been in agony the whole time.  Dean showed up early the next morning and confirmed my suspicions that surgery would be necessary to stabilize his wrist, which appears to be broken in two different places, but was hesitant to schedule him any sooner than today because of his tox screens. With the residual effects of alcohol and meth in his system, he didn't want to subject him to anesthesia to soon, and opted to instead keep him hospitalized, and his system flushed with fluids before taking him to the OR this morning. Fox hasn't said much, except to apologize once again; this time I let him. He still won't open up about Phoenix, stubbornly turning his head whenever I bring it up, which is about every time he asks whether I've heard any news on his dad. Whatever happened is eating at him. Big time.

No word from Joe either, other than a message that he'd been by to pick up the lab report on Fox. I have to admit, I'm disappointed. I thought for sure we'd maybe turned a corner. Friendship sounded better than the cold war we'd been waging the past few years. Although it would be difficult keeping this damn persistent attraction to him under wraps, which had not waned one bit, not even when I hated his guts.

I swallow down the bitter edge of disappointment just as I turn the corner into the Emergency Room and bump right into the object of my musings.

"Joe..." escapes me, rather breathlessly, followed immediately by a betraying blush I can feel burning on my cheeks.

Joe holds me steady by the shoulders as he takes in my flushed face with a hint of a smile.

"Hey Doc, I was just coming to look for you." His deep rumble washes over me like a soothing balm.

"You were?"

"Heard from Stacy that Fox just went in for surgery. I'm sorry. I wanted to come by earlier, but got caught up with a phone call."

He rests his hand on my shoulder and the heat it generates radiates all the way through my body and sends an involuntary shiver down my spine.
Oh damn, Naomi. How inappropriate!

"Were you on your way somewhere or can we sit down? I'd like to know about Fox and I have some stuff to share with you too."

"I was gonna kill some time in the ER but I have nowhere to be. I hate to say it, but how about a coffee at the cafeteria? Not my favorite place but I need to stick close by in case..."

"No need to explain. Let's go."

With his hand finding its way from my shoulder to the small of my back in one long stroke, setting off even more inappropriate bodily reactions, Joe guides me in the right direction.

On my second cup of coffee while toying with the remnants of my appropriately named 'Morning-glory' muffin, since it was starting to wreak havoc on my stomach, I try to tie in what Joe tells me with what I already know.

"So you're thinking that this murder trial James was working on may have somehow been the
'trouble'
he was referring to?"

"Look, I'm just guessing here, and I might know more once I've had a chance to look over the transcripts. But it seems highly coincidental that a high-profile murder trial, which goes completely off the rails after the suspicious death of a key witness, and the disappearance of the accused's defense attorney within days of the resulting acquittal, would not be connected somehow." Joe regards me carefully, gauging my reaction. I simply nod. Having him confirm my suspicions makes me feel better, even if he just painted a disturbing picture.