Chapter 1
Whitman County Sheriff Tom Jessup turned off US-195 at the small town of Steptoe to head eastbound onto WA-23. Earlier in the day, light snow had fallen. Only a smattering remained alongside the shoulder of the road. The pavement itself was wet but clear. As the miles passed, his mind wandered.
The bottom of his fist lightly tapped the steering wheel.
Yesterday had been Valentine’s Day—a holiday Jessup hadn’t celebrated for eight years, not since Mia’s death. Her diagnosis had been a surprise. How quickly it took her was an even bigger shock.
Mia passed during their son’s sophomore year of high school. With each passing day, it seemed William pulled further away from Jessup. Whenever he reached out for his son, Will pulled away faster. If Jessup gave him space, he continued to slip away, albeit slower. He ran away for three days when Jessup suggested they go to a counselor. He didn’t suggest that again.
What should have brought them closer only drove them further apart. He knew Will blamed him for his mother’s death. It was irrational and immature, but the boy’s mother had died. Jessup didn’t know how to reach his son, so he kept quiet, hoping that someday Will would come around and realize his anger was misdirected.
They had developed an uneasy peace until Will graduated and went to Washington State University, twenty minutes south of their hometown. Although they had continued to reside together in the same house, they rarely spoke to each other.
When he finished college, Will moved to New York and had yet to return to Colfax. Jessup’s only contact with his son was the occasional stilted phone call, and an annual Christmas card signed only Love, Will.
A couple of miles from the town of St. John, Jessup cleared his mind and focused on the reason he was there. His office had been notified of a dead body. He wasn’t usually the first to respond to these types of calls. However, his deputies were busy, so he accepted the responsibility this morning. Truth be told, Jessup liked taking calls and getting out of the office. Being sheriff was a great responsibility that he still enjoyed, but he missed the day-to-day life of a deputy.
He drove through the small, picturesque town and made a left turn on Park Street. He continued southbound through the neighborhoods until he arrived at the last house on the block. St. John had less than six hundred residents, so it only took a few minutes to get where he was headed.
Even though it sat on a couple of acres, the house was located only a hundred feet from the street. The property abutted neighboring farmland.
A dented blue Chevy truck was in the driveway, light exhaust pumping from its tailpipe. Jessup pulled in behind the truck, blocking it in. He climbed out and walked up to the driver’s window.
An older man was asleep behind the wheel.
With the back of his bare knuckles, Jessup rapped lightly on the window.
The man started, then studied Jessup. He blinked several times until he nodded and rolled down his window. “Mornin’, Sheriff.”
“You call this in?”
“Yes, sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Bernie Henderson, but my mother and the church call me Bernard.”
Jessup jotted the name in his notebook. “Mr. Henderson, how did you discover the deceased?”
“Oh, me and Renny, we been friends for ages. We meet every mornin’ at the St. John Inn. For coffee and whatnot. Have been for years. When he didn’t show today and didn’t call, well, I figured somethin’ mighta been wrong.”
“You went inside?”
Henderson nodded. “We walk into each other’s places all the time. Nobody locks their houses around here, Sheriff. You know how it is.”
“Touch anything?”
“Only him. I shook him to see if I could wake him. When I realized he was… well, I called you.”
“Did you use a cell phone or the house phone?”
“The house phone. Don’t have a cell.”
“Is the house still unlocked?”
“Yes.”
“Wait here,” Jessup said and patted the side of the truck.
He walked to the house, pausing near the door to let his eyes sweep over the exterior of the light blue home. It was large, one of the biggest he remembered seeing in his previous times through St. John. However, it would be considered rather ordinary in a city like Spokane.
He opened the house and stepped in. The sheriff paused again, letting his eyes scan the living room. He then proceeded slowly through each room, deliberately taking care to notice anything that might be out of place. When he made it to the rear bedroom, he moved inside.
Renard Andrew Smith lay alone in a queen-size bed. Sixty-six years old, according to the information Jessup had pulled from the DMV before leaving his office.
The sheriff leaned over the man and carefully examined his face and eyes. He looked for signs of an assault around his face and neck. He didn’t notice anything that would indicate foul play.
He stood and walked through the house again. Nothing seemed out of place. He slowly examined each room, looking for anything that might lead one to suspect unnatural causes. Twenty minutes later, Jessup stepped back on the small concrete porch.
Bernie Henderson stood outside his truck, smoking a cigarette. Jessup walked over to him.
“Was Smith married?”
“Was, but he hadn’t been for more than a decade. She got her divorce and ran off to Hawaii. Can you believe that? She wanted a life that Renny had no interest in living.” He thought for a moment. “Actually, I think she just wanted a life without Renny.”
“How about a girlfriend?”
“Me?”
Jessup stared at him.
Henderson shook his head. “Well, of course, not me. Sorry, don’t know what I was thinking, Sheriff. No, Renny didn’t have a woman. He became quite sore toward the opposite sex. Who can blame him after what his wife did? He sort of figured all women would do the same thing to him. Renny was an acquired taste anyway, the kind most women ain’t going to stick around to develop.”
“Acquired taste, how?”
“He was quiet. Didn’t talk much. Kept to hisself.”
“What about children?”
“He had a son. Died in a boatin’ accident while in high school out on Rock Lake. Real tragedy. That’s what eventually did in his marriage, you ask me.”
A quick thought of his son, William, flashed through Jessup’s mind. He pushed it away and asked, “What about parents? They still alive? Or siblings?”
“Parents are long dead. I know that as Renny talked about it once around Christmas. He never said much beyond that. As for siblings, I don’t think so, at least he never mentioned any. Renny wasn’t the type of man you pried into, understand? We never tried the cards, but I’m bettin’ he would have been a helluva poker player.”
“Health issues?”
“He had a heart attack a few years back. He tried to take care of hisself after that. Go for daily walks. Eat right, mostly. That sort of thing. He even worked out every day with those ladies on the videotapes. You know what I’m talkin’ about? I’d come into the house, and he’d be gruntin’ and groanin’ on the floor, just to keep the ticker in shape. I guess it didn’t do him a whole lotta good in the end, huh?”
Jessup glanced back to the house and was quiet for a minute.
Henderson interrupted his thoughts to ask, “Want me to hang out here some more, Sheriff?”
Jessup turned back to him and said, “I think I’ve got what I need.”
He shook Henderson’s hand and then walked to his truck. He backed it out of the way so the older man could remove his vehicle from the driveway. Jessup then picked up the radio microphone and keyed it.
“Autumn,” he said. They didn’t have the formality that he had observed while a member of the Spokane Police Department.
A moment later, a female voice came over the radio. “Hey, Sheriff.”
The snow began to fall lightly again.
“I’m in St. John,” he said. “Call the medical examiner. Ask him to head this direction.”
