The Blind Trust: The 509 Crime Stories, #3

By Colin Conway

A SENSATIONAL MYSTERY THAT WILL KEEP YOU TURNING THE PAGES!

 

Sheriff Tom Jessup works to keep his county nice and safe. Unfortunately, things aren't staying that way.

 

A questionable death in Whitman County takes Jessup out of jurisdiction to Spokane, Washington. He's following family blood, and it's led him to a double murder.

 

The Spokane Police Department has their best team on the case, but they've just hit a roadblock. This leads them to a man neither trust. He's a questionably motivated officer who answers only to himself.

 

Meanwhile, Jessup struggles to connect additional cases across county lines.

 

As the deaths continue to mount, the four investigators race in opposite directions, each hunting a killer in their own way. Will they find him before he strikes again?

 

Or will distance and department politics let a killer escape?

 

The Blind Trust is the third book in the 509 Crime Stories, a series of novels set in Eastern Washington with revolving lead characters. If you like police procedurals filled with compelling personalities, you'll love this story.

 

Scroll up and join the excitement by grabbing THE BLIND TRUST today!

 

Praise for the 509 Crime Stories:

 

★★★★★ "This has been such a great series, and I very much recommend it."
★★★★★ "Great characters and story. I just bought his next one."
★★★★★ "The cops are real and compelling…"
★★★★★ "…a great read, with great characters, and always an interesting storyline!"
★★★★★ "A great series that leaves one looking forward to more books to come."
★★★★★ "Stumbled across the series and I've read six in a row now."
★★★★★ "I'm happy reading Colin Conway's work, easy reads without wasting words. Always a winner."

 

ADDITIONAL SERIES BY COLIN CONWAY
The John Cutler Mysteries – hard-hitting private detective stories
The Flip-Flop Detective – light-hearted amateur sleuth mysteries
The Cozy Up series – not your grandma's cozies
The Charlie-316 series – political/criminal thrillers
The 509 Crime Stories – fast-paced police procedurals

• Language: English
• Publisher: High Speed Creative, LLC
• Release date: Oct 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393433606

Book preview

What is the 509?

Separated by the Cascade Range, Washington State is divided into two distinctly different climates and cultures.

The western side of the Cascades is home to Seattle, its 34 inches of annual rainfall, and the incredibly weird and smelly Gum Wall. Most of the state’s wealth and political power are concentrated in and around this enormous city. The residents of this area know the prosperity that has come from being the home of Microsoft, Amazon, Boeing, and Starbucks.

To the east of the Cascade Mountains lies nearly two-thirds of the entire state, a lot of which is used for agriculture. Washington State leads the nation in producing apples, it is the second-largest potato grower, and it’s the fourth for providing wheat.

This eastern part of the state can enjoy more than 170 days of sunshine each year, which is important when there are more than 200 lakes nearby. However, the beautiful summers are offset by harsh winters, with average snowfall reaching 47 inches and the average high hovering around 37°.

While five telephone area codes provide service to the westside, only 509 covers everything east of the Cascades, a staggering twenty-one counties.

Of these, Spokane County is the largest with an estimated population of 506,000.

For Jason.

Gone too early.

And if a house be divided against itself, that house cannot stand.

The Blind Trust

PART I

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.

Chapter 2

A couple of hours later when he returned to Colfax, Jessup parked his truck outside the sheriff’s office, which was housed in the same building as the county jail. The Colfax Police Department sat kitty-corner to their building.

Along with protecting the county, the sheriff’s office was responsible for overseeing the jail. On most days, the jail population was in the low thirties, but some days it could climb to over fifty. He had a staff of deputies and supervisors who ran the jail, for which he was thankful. That was not where his heart lay, though. He had been a patrol officer with the Spokane Police Department before returning to his childhood home to join their department. He had moved to a smaller department for Mia. It wasn’t his dream, but he was happy to do it. Everything was worth it when done for her.

Morning, boss.

Deputy Rodney Howard held the door for him as he entered the sheriff’s office. Howard and Jessup were the same age and had attended high school together. It made Jessup happy to be working with his high school friend.

Outside of the jail staff, the sheriff’s office was a small team, made up of him and several deputies like Howard. He patted his deputy’s shoulder as he walked past him into the office.

The furniture was dated, some of it as far back as the 1960s. It could all use replacing, but money was a perpetual issue, and the limited budget for equipment always needed to be spent on keeping up with the latest upgrades in technology, not the latest in fashion. Therefore, the gray gunmetal desks would last well past Jessup’s tenure, however long that would be.

Good morning, kiddo, Jessup said as he approached Autumn Summers.

Autumn was the department’s go-to problem solver—receptionist, administrative assistant, social media expert, and web page manager. For Jessup, she was also his primary connection to William. The two had been friends in school, and she still kept tabs on him. How she did it, he never really knew, but she was always good for a recent update from him that let Jessup feel like he still had some understanding of his son’s life.

It’s almost noon, Sheriff.

Then technically, it’s still morning, he said, walking into his own office. He dropped into his chair and looked up just as Rodney Howard walked in.

Was it bad?

What?

The DB?

The dead body?

Yeah, the DB.

You’re watching too much TV again.

You knew what I meant.

Jessup shook his head. Might have been a heart attack. Won’t know for sure until after the autopsy.

I would have taken it, you know?

I know, the sheriff said. It wasn’t a big deal.

The Fables’ garage had been burglarized, and they wanted someone to come out to take pictures.

It’s okay, Rod. You were busy, so I took it.

But you’re the sheriff.

I’m still a duly commissioned peace officer in the State of Washington.

Yeah, but you’re… the sheriff.

Do I look old and frail?

Can I answer that? Autumn yelled from outside his office.

Jessup ignored her and stared at his deputy. He still liked handling cases. That’s why he became a police officer and then a deputy. He wasn’t going to stop just because he had the political and administrative responsibilities of being the sheriff.

Finally, Howard said, I get it, and wandered back to his desk.

Jessup turned his attention to the papers in front of him.

Chapter 3

After work, Jessup remained in his uniform and drove over to his childhood home to visit his parents. They lived on South Lake Street with a view of the main drag through town.

It never occurred to Jessup while growing up that there was no lake to be found nearby. The street was only eight blocks long, so someone would think a city founder could have picked a more creative name for the road. There wasn’t even a lake within the city limits. The Palouse River flowed through town and forked off, creating a smaller cousin, the South Fork Palouse River, but there was no lake.

He bounded the steps and opened the door. His mother, Vera, was in the kitchen chopping carrots on a white cutting board. She looked over her shoulder as he entered.

You’re in time for dinner, she said with a smile.

Not staying, Mom. Wanted to check in on you guys, then go home and shower.

I can make a plate of something for you.

Jessup kissed her on the cheek as she continued to work through the last of the carrots. "I’m fine, Mom. Truly. Where’s Pop?

In the back, fiddling with something.

Jessup found his father, Dwight, near the woodpile. What are you doing?

Hmm? Dwight said and turned to him.

What are you doing, Pop?

Came out for some wood.

Then, you decided to stay out in the chill?

I didn’t forget what I was doin’ if that’s what you’re thinkin’.

I just came out to see you.

Uh-huh, his father mumbled.

So, what were you doing?

Thinkin’.

About?

Can’t a man have a private thought without his family always buzzin’ around his beeswax?

Jessup smiled and put his hand on his father’s shoulder. Okay, Pop. I’ll leave you to your thoughts.

Dwight’s face relaxed then. I guess I was thinkin’ about time.

Time?

Yeah, time. I’m seventy-two, you know?

I know.

Yesterday, I was twenty-one. How the hell did this happen?

Jessup furrowed his brow and studied his father.

Don’t look at me like that. I know I was seventy-two yesterday as well, dummy, I was speakin’ metaphorically. At least, I think that’s what I was doin’. That’s the right word, right? Metaphorically?

I’m not tracking, Jessup said.

This is what I was thinkin’. Yesterday, I went to bed. I was twenty-one years old. I was freshly married. We didn’t know we were going to have a baby yet. That’s you, by the way. We had just bought this house. My whole life was ahead of me. The world was my oyster. I wake up today and find myself standin’ in front of this woodpile, wondering how many years I got left—wondering where my whole life went. How did it happen so fast? How did it happen without me realizing it was happenin’?

That’s how life goes, Pop. To each of us.

I remember twenty-one so vividly, the sights, the smells. I remember painting each of those rooms with your mother. Your mother. Oh, Tommy, she was a sight. I love her so much. Even to this day, I would be lost without her, but back then, your mother could enter a room and take my breath away. Sophia Loren couldn’t hold a candle to her.

His father fell silent then and stared off into the distance. Jessup watched him. He’d never seen his father this way before.

Where did all the time go? he asked as his eyes dropped to the woodpile.

Jessup put his arm around his father’s shoulders and said, I love you, Pop.

The older man nodded and softly said, I love you, too, bub. He wrapped an arm around his son’s waist and patted him. Let’s get this wood inside. Your mother’s probably gettin’ cold by now.

Chapter 4

A couple of days later, Lawrence Inklebarger walked into Sheriff Jessup’s office and dropped a manila folder on his desk. The heavy-set man wore a slightly wrinkled gray suit with a freshly pressed white shirt. He lowered himself into the seat across from Jessup.

You all right, Larry?

Inklebarger rubbed his legs. My knees are killing me, Sheriff.

What’s this? Jessup asked, putting a finger on the manila folder.

The gray-haired man lifted his chin and said, The autopsy for Renard Smith.

Jessup picked it up and fanned the pages of it.

"I’ll give you the Reader’s Digest version, Inklebarger said. He had a history of heart disease. I confirmed with his doctor that he’d had a heart attack ten years ago. However, again according to his doctor, he’d been working on his health ever since. He wasn’t perfect but pretty good for a man of his age."

Cause of death?

Same as always. His heart stopped.

Jessup dropped the folder on his desk and watched the medical examiner.

The older man shrugged. Was trying for levity.

Yeah.

Hmm. Anyway, the only thing slightly out of the ordinary was some ocular petechial hemorrhaging.

Jessup’s eyes narrowed in concern. Suffocation?

That is a sign of suffocation, yes, but it’s also consistent with a heart attack.

He was on his back, the sheriff said. Pretty difficult to accidentally suffocate in that position.

True. But a pretty normal position to find a heart attack victim.

Did he aspirate at all?

Inklebarger shook his head, his jowls swaying. Nope. Mouth and throat were clear. He gave Jessup a half shrug. If it wasn’t natural, maybe someone covered his face with something.

Jessup picked up the report and started to read it carefully. Inklebarger took that as his cue for dismissal.

When the examiner left, Jessup turned to his computer and called up the folder of photos from Renard Smith’s bedroom. He’d taken them before the removal of the body.

He looked at the pillow next to Smith. It was smooth. That didn’t mean anything, Jessup reminded himself. Maybe he didn’t disturb it while he slept.

Even so, he wanted to take a closer look at it.

If this wasn’t a heart attack, and it was suffocation, why did it have to be that pillow? Couldn’t it have been something else, anything else?

Chapter 5

Jessup pulled into town and was about to pass the St. John Inn when he noticed a familiar pickup parked in front. He slammed his brakes and turned his truck into the tiny lot in front of the building.

He had planned to head to Smith’s house first and examine the bedroom, but there would be time for that. He got the house key from the evidence locker, so he could let himself in whenever he arrived.

Several people were inside the café when he entered. They all turned his way with expectant faces. When they realized who he was, their looks turned to suspicion. A county sheriff coming into a small town often meant bad news for someone.

Jessup made eye contact with Bernie Henderson and nodded. He walked over and extended his hand. Henderson shook it.

Got a minute for a few follow-up questions, Mr. Henderson?

O’ course, Sheriff, he said and motioned for him to sit at his table.

A waitress walked over. Morning, Sheriff. Cup of coffee or something to eat?

Jessup smiled politely. No, thanks.

She nodded and walked away.

Would anyone want to harm Mr. Smith?

Renny? Not a chance. He was salt of the earth. He kept to hisself, but people generally liked him enough to say hi to.

He never mentioned any trouble then?

Henderson frowned. You suspectin’ somethin’?

Jessup tapped the table. Not sure. Following up mostly.

Henderson sipped his coffee and watched the sheriff.

He ever talk about a will? Jessup asked.

Not that I remember, no. If he had one, you’d want to talk with that legal beagle, Earl Kelly. He handled all of Renny’s affairs.

Is he in town?

Henderson chuckled. Everyone who matters is in this town. He’s a couple blocks down the street.

Jessup left his truck parked and walked two blocks to the Law Office of Earl Kelly. When he stepped inside, he saw it was a one-room affair. A silver-haired gentleman walked out of the restroom. He wore a blue sweater, khaki pants, and brown New Balance hiking shoes. He had a ruddy complexion and a clean-shaven face. He stopped when he saw Jessup’s uniform.

Is everything okay?

Earl Kelly?

Yes, the attorney said, drawing out the word, suspicion growing on his face.

I’d like to ask you some questions about a client of yours. Renard Smith.

Kelly breathed a sigh of relief. I thought you were here to deliver bad news.

Beyond Mr. Smith?

The older man waved his hand and walked toward his desk. Well, yes, of course, but I already knew about that. I meant personally. I have a wife and children, Sheriff. Grandchildren, too. When a man in uniform walks in, you expect the worst. Kelly sat in his swivel chair and asked, What can I do you for?

Did Mr. Smith have a will?

He did, yes.

Who were the beneficiaries?