The Hen of the Baskervilles (15 page)

“Chief's on his way.” Vern pulled out a flashlight, knelt on the other side of the body, and focused the beam on Brett's face.

“What's going on here?” came a voice from the fog on the Midway side. He had the twang of a local. Another Shiffley?

“Crime scene,” Vern snapped. “Stay clear.”

“If it's a crime scene, I'll take over.”

A figure appeared. Not a Shiffley. He was too short and wide, more the hulking bearlike shape of a high school football player gone sedentary. He wasn't wearing a uniform, but he was flashing a badge.

“We're already on it,” Vern said.

“And now I'm here,” the new arrival said. “Deputy Plunkett, Clay County Sheriff's Department.”

“We were here first.” Vern stood up, looming over his counterpart. “Deputy Shiffley, Caerphilly Sheriff's Department.”

“Body's in Clay County,” Plunkett said.

“Parts of it,” Vern said.

“Looks like he was shot in the head,” Plunkett said. “And the head's in Clay County.”

“Yeah, but his feet are in Caerphilly. Far as I can see, he must have been standing on them when he was shot. In Caerphilly County.”

“But he landed in Clay County.”

“Only the top half of him,” Vern said. “A little less than half, actually. If you draw a line through the gate it would hit him midway between the waist and the shoulders.”

“But he was shot in the head,” Plunkett said.

“By someone in Caerphilly County, by the look of it.”

“How do you figure that?” Plunkett asked.

“Shot's in the middle of his forehead,” Vern pointed out.

Plunkett squatted down to look at the body, grunting as he did.

“Shot probably knocked him on his back like that,” Vern went on. “Had to have been from our side of the fence.”

“He could have staggered and turned around before he went down,” Plunkett said. “For that matter, how do I know you didn't turn him over? To check his vitals or give him CPR or some such nonsense.”

“We haven't moved him,” the other Shiffley said. “He was lying just like this, and we could see it was no use giving CPR.”

“So you say.” Plunkett crossed his arms and planted his feet as if to suggest he could stand there all night to argue about it.

It was like listening to Jamie and Josh argue. At least with them you could blame it on the terrible twos. I was opening my mouth to say so when another figure appeared out of the fog on the Clay County side. A short, very stout figure that I recognized, after a second or two, as the sheriff of Clay County. Damn.

“What's going on here?” he asked.

“Body in our county—” Plunkett began.

“Partly in your county—” Vern corrected.

“And they're trying to assert jurisdiction,” Plunkett went on.

“Well, that's a load of—cow manure.” The sheriff glanced at me in time to soften what might otherwise have been a saltier statement. “Plunkett, go get a board or something so we can haul him off.”

“Haul him off?” I repeated. “Without having the medical examiner certify his death? Without having a crime scene crew look for evidence? Without doing any of the things you need to do to catch who killed him?”

I stopped short of what I really wanted to say, which was “How stupid are you, anyway?” He probably guessed I was thinking it.

“We do things our own way in Clay County, young lady,” the sheriff said. “Don't you worry your pretty little head.”

“Over here in Caerphilly County, we do things the right way,” I said.

“And most of him's in Caerphilly County,” Vern put in.

“Head's in our county,” Plunkett said.

“Never mind what county which parts of him are where,” I said. “The whole of him's on my fairgrounds, and I'm asserting jurisdiction.”

They all blinked and looked at me in surprise. I was a little surprised myself at what I'd just said.

“Your fairgrounds?” the sheriff echoed.

“Jurisdiction?” the Clay County deputy scoffed.

“As assistant director of the Un-fair, I'm ordering you to leave that body alone until Chief Burke gets here and we can work out an appropriate solution to the jurisdictional issues.”

“You may be assistant director of the fair, little lady,” the sheriff said. “But I don't see how that gives you any jurisdiction over my body.”

“I have jurisdiction over the fair,” I said. “And while I don't know precisely how long it would take to pack up every single booth and ride on the Midway and move them across the line to Caerphilly—”

“We could manage it in five, six hours, tops.” One of the Shiffleys. “Have it done by the time the fair opens if we start now.”

“I'm sure it can be done rather easily,” I finished. “And if you insist on touching that body or doing anything else before Chief Burke gets here, I'll have it done. And you can say good-bye to all the really big sales tax revenue from the weekend.”

The sheriff blinked. I'd only met him a few times before, but I'd figured out rather easily that he hadn't gotten his job with his brains, his charm, or his knowledge of law enforcement techniques. But he was street smart enough to realize I was serious, and afraid I had the power to do it.

“I'm sure once Chief Burke gets here he'll agree with me on this situation,” he said, finally.

“We'll ask the chief when he gets here,” I said.

“Ask me what?”

We all turned to see Chief Burke standing behind us. For all I knew, he could have been standing there for a while.

“Sheriff here wants to haul the body away,” Vern said.

The chief squatted down near the body.

“Has a doctor certified the death?” he asked.

“‘Certified'?” the sheriff said. “No need to certify—it's obvious he's stone-cold dead.”

Chief Burke ignored him.

“No, sir,” Vern said.

“Has either county's medical examiner inspected the body to give us a preliminary cause of death?” the chief asked.

Vern shook his head.

“Has a forensic team examined the crime scene?”

Vern shook his head again.

“Then moving the body is premature, don't you agree, Sheriff Dingle?”

“We need to get him out of here before a whole lot of people show up to gawk,” the sheriff protested.

“I think our officers can handle crowd control,” the chief said. “At least I know mine can. If we each deploy a few officers to set up a perimeter on our respective sides of the fence, we should have no interference from gawkers.”

“Fine,” the sheriff said. “Go take care of that, Billy.”

“Yes, sir.” Plunkett answered briskly enough, but he continued to stand at his boss's side.

“And then once you've done all your newfangled things, I'll have my officers take him down to the Clay County Morgue,” the sheriff went on.

I stood by for a few minutes, fuming, as Chief Burke and the sheriff carried on the same argument Vern and Plunkett had. And the chief wasn't making any more headway than Vern had. I finally got fed up. Should I play the Midway card again? Actually, I had a better idea.

“Chief,” I said, “may I talk to you for just a moment?”

The look he gave me was pure frustration, and I could tell he was counting to ten before telling me, as politely as possible, to stay out of this. Then I saw his expression soften a little. I hoped that meant he realized I was trying to help.

“Yes?” he said. He took a couple of steps away from the sheriff. I walked over to his side. I glanced at the sheriff and plucked the chief by the sleeve to pull him another step or two away.

“Let them have it, Chief,” I said in a stage whisper, as if trying not to let anyone else hear.

“I beg your pardon?” He was also stage-whispering. And I could tell he was about a hair's breadth away from a furious bellow.

“The investigation. Let them have it. Remember what happened last time?”

“Last time?” he repeated. He was frowning again, but sounded more puzzled than angry.

“The last time we had a homicide case.”

Now he looked purely puzzled.

“The expense!” I said, out of the corner of my mouth. “You know what it did to the county budget. All those expensive tests the state crime lab insisted on running—on our tab. And then the trial! How much did that set the county back? We're still digging ourselves out of that hole.”

I shook my head as if still appalled at the price of justice.

“What's this now?” the sheriff asked.

I saw the chief's mouth quirk into a quick smile, and he took a few seconds to put a serious look back on his face before turning to answer the sheriff.

“Ms. Langslow is pointing out that a high-profile murder case can be a substantial drain on a county's resources,” the chief said.

“We've had a few murders in our time, little lady,” the Sheriff said. “Didn't cost that much.”

“Were they local murders?” I said. “Or murders of wealthy, well-known people from outside the county? Did they take place during an event already crawling with reporters? Did you have a trial that lasted weeks and weeks?”

I hoped he wouldn't realize that I was exaggerating both Brett's reputation and the level of press coverage the fair had achieved so far. He blinked a couple of times. Then the deputy whispered something in his ear. The two of them took a few steps away, turned their back on us, and held a truly whispered conversation. Unlike me, they weren't trying to be overheard. Then they turned back to us with wide mud-eating grins on their faces.

“I think we can work this out, Chief,” the sheriff said. “Seeing as how Caerphilly is the larger county—not to mention the more ef
flu
ent—I could see my way clear to letting you take the lead on this investigation. On one condition.”

“And that would be?” The chief didn't look like a man willing to grant conditions, but just the fact that he answered was progress.

“I'd want you to include a representative from Clay County on your investigationary team,” the sheriff said. “I'll assign Deputy Plunkett here to do that.”

“Not to interfere, of course.” Plunkett gave us an oily smile. “Just to keep what lawyers would call a ‘watching brief.'”

The chief hesitated for a few moments, studying Plunkett. I could tell he didn't like the idea. I suspected Plunkett was the sheriff's right-hand man—maybe even the brains of the department. I wouldn't want to bet on him sticking to a watching brief if he saw a way to put one over on Caerphilly. But I decided if it were my case, I'd probably want Plunkett where I could keep an eye on him, not running around by himself. I could almost see the moment when the chief decided the same thing.

“That would be acceptable,” he said. “Provided the deputy is willing to stick to being an observer, without interfering in any way with the conduct of our case.”

He didn't emphasize the “our,” but it was there.

“Long as Plunkett can report back to me about anything he observes that he thinks I'd like to know about.” The sheriff looked pleased with himself.

The chief nodded tightly.

“Then we have ourselves a deal,” the sheriff said. “If y'all aren't letting me work the case, I'm going to go back to my bed.” He turned to Plunkett. “He needs some manpower from us, you help him out, now, you hear?”

Plunkett nodded.

The sheriff turned and ambled away with more speed and less noise than you'd have expected from someone of his age and size.

Chief Burke watched him as the sheriff slowly disappeared into the fog. He didn't look as happy as I thought he would.

 

Chapter 18

When Sheriff Dingle was completely out of sight, the chief appeared to rouse himself from thought and turned briskly back to the rest of us.

“Vern,” he said. “Get that perimeter going. Coordinate with Deputy Plunkett on the other side of the fence.”

“Yes, sir.” Vern glanced at Plunkett, then stepped a few paces away and took out his cell phone. Plunkett smirked a bit, but pulled out his cell phone.

“Meg, Michael's gone to fetch your father. Is there any chance that your cousin Horace is in town for the fair?” the chief asked.

“How come her family all get called to the crime scene?” Plunkett asked.

“Dr. Langslow is the local medical examiner.” The chief's tone was so even that an outsider like Plunkett probably had no idea how ticked off he was. “And Horace Hollingsworth is a highly experienced crime scene examiner who does forensic work for us under a longstanding arrangement with the York County Sheriff's Department. We are fortunate that his family ties to some of our citizens give us access to a forensic investigator of his caliber.”

Plunkett shrugged elaborately and turned back to his cell phone.

“Horace is in town.” I was already pulling out my phone. “I'll round him up.”

The chief nodded.

“Debbie Ann,” he said into his phone. “Call everyone back on duty. With my apologies, but we've got a murder here.”

I had reached Horace's voice mail and left a message to call me back as soon as possible.

“I understand the deceased was one of the exhibitors?”

“Yes and no,” I said. “His soon-to-be-ex-wife is an exhibitor. Molly Riordan of Leaping Goat Farm in the vendors' barn. And his new girlfriend, Genette Sedgewick, has a booth in the wine pavilion.”

“Lordy,” he said. “Any idea where either of them would be?”

“Not really,” I said. “If I were looking for Genette, I'd start with the Caerphilly Inn. It might be up to her standards.”

The chief blinked slightly. The Caerphilly Inn was a five-star hotel, with prices to match.

Just then my cell phone rang.

“Do you realize what time it is?” Horace said, when I answered. Evidently he hadn't really listened to my message.