Chapter 8

Lincoln Steele had never heard of Blood Gorge, but assumed it was a large town because the sheriff was located there. A big mistake. Larger than Cactus Point, it still wasn’t much of a town. It just happened to be situated in a central area to all the small towns in that part of uninhabited Arizona.

Perched in his car outside the sheriff’s office, Steele lifted his pants leg and unstrapped the ankle holster. He locked the gun in the glove compartment. Anyone could carry a concealed weapon in Arizona, but wearing it into a police station was a bit too much. He felt naked without it, though.

Steele entered the small building and walked up to the front desk. “I’d like to see Sheriff Millwater.”

The officer eyed Steele from his chair. The buttons on his shirt threatened to pop as they strained to keep the shirt closed around his round belly. “What’s your business?”

“The Cactus Point High School shooting.”

The officer jumped to his feet and leaned forward with his hands flat on the desk. “What about it?”

“I have some questions.”

“Reporter?”

“Private investigator.”

“Who the fuck hired you?”

“That’s not relevant. Now can I see the sheriff?”

The policeman’s eyebrows furrowed. He glared at Steele and then yelled over his shoulder, “Jack, a private dick wants to talk to you.”

A stocky man emerged from the only office. His barrel chest strained the starched white shirt and his thick salt-and-pepper mustache covered his entire upper lip and then some. Steele wondered if he tasted his breakfast all day. He walked up to Steele.

“I’m Deputy Sheriff Millwater.”

“Oh, Buck said you were the sheriff.”

“People call me that, but there’s only one sheriff in the county. He’s in Bisbee. He’s an elected official, I’m not. I like it that way. What can I do for you?”

“Is there someplace we can talk?”

“Sure. My office. Follow me.”

The deputy sheriff led Steele to his office. Millwater took the seat behind the gray metal desk and Steele plopped down in a visitor chair across from him. The deputy sheriff shoved stacks of papers to the side and swung his legs up, dropping his heels in the cleared space with a loud thump and crossed his ankles. Steele stared at the worn soles and pointy toes of his shiny black cowboy boots.

“You ain’t from Cactus Point,” the deputy sheriff said.

“No. I was asked by an old friend to find out what happened at the high school.”

“Pete Bargas went fuckin’ crazy and shot a bunch of kids and two teachers and then himself.”

“That’s what it looks like.”

“That’s what fuckin’ happened.”

“Maybe you’re right.”

“Maybe? Who the fu—? Look,” the deputy sheriff jabbed a finger at Steele, “if Buck hadn’t sent you we wouldn’t be talking right now. Didn’t he tell you what happened? He was the first one in. He found the killer’s body.”

“Alleged killer.”

The deputy sheriff dropped his feet to the floor and sat up straight. He slapped the desktop with both palms. “You fuckin’ planning on making trouble?”

“Just looking for answers.”

The deputy sheriff sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “What kind of answers?”

“Don’t know yet. For example, if Pete didn’t do it, then who did?”

“Bingo! It was him. We have witnesses. And his body with the gun.”

“Well, if that’s true, there’s another question to be answered. Why did he do it?”

“How you gonna figure that out? There was no fuckin’ note and nothing on his laptop. We’ll never know why that screwed up kid did it. Do you even have police training?”

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Ex cop?”

“Ex military.”

“What branch?”

“That’s classified.”

The deputy sheriff’s eyes widened and he rubbed his palms together. “What do you wanna know?”

“I’d like a copy of the police report.”

“You got it.”

“Are there photos of the crime scene?”

“Some. They’re with the report.”

“Can I have copies of them too?”

“Sure.”

“And the autopsy report?”

The deputy sheriff twirled his thick mustache while staring at Steele. “There was no autopsy.”

“Why not?”

“He shot himself. What would an autopsy tell us?”

“If he was high on something. Or had a brain tumor. Who knows? Something to explain his behavior. That’s why an autopsy is performed.”

“We’re just simple folks in these parts. We don’t have no fuckin’ big budget or fancy forensic doctors at our disposal.”

The deputy sheriff crossed his arms again.

Steele stood up. “Thank you for your time. If you can make me the copies I’ll be on my way.”