Murder Casts the Ballot: Jake and Emma Mysteries, #5

By Linda Crowder

Jealousy, hatred and domestic terrorism -- how can one little primary in one little town pack such a big punch? By the time election day comes, there may be more than one body on this ballot.

Jake Rand is running for County Attorney in Casper, Wyoming, but someone seems determined to keep him out of office. There's only a week before voters head to the polls, and it's shaping up to be a very bad one. Protesters, punches, stabbings and shootings - politics isn't just personal in Casper, it's downright deadly!

It isn't long before the police make an arrest, but Jake isn't sure they've got the right man. He wants to win the election, but sending an innocent man to prison isn't part of his campaign plan.

Fifth book in The Jake and Emma Mystery Series. Previously released as Body on the Ballot.

• Language: English
• Publisher: 307 Publishing LLC
• Release date: Dec 15, 2016
• ISBN: 9781540181510

Linda Crowder

Linda Crowder is best known for her mysteries. The Jake and Emma Mystery series is set in Casper, Wyoming and features two accidental detectives. The Caribou King Mysteries, published by Cozy Cat Press, is set in the mythical cruise ship town of Coho Bay, Alaska. Linda lives in the shadow of Casper Mountain with her husband and an ever-changing number of dogs, cats and wandering bunnies.

Book preview

Linda Crowder

© 2016 Linda Crowder

First Edition

© 2016 Second Edition

Brought to you by 307 Publishing LLC

Cover Art by Victorine Lieske

All Rights Reserved Including:

The right of reproduction in any form, or by any mechanical or electronic means including photocopying or recording, or by any information storage or retrieval system, in whole or in part in any form and in any case not without the written permission of the author and publisher.

This work is fictional. Any resemblance to any human being, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

to contact the author, visit www.lindajcrowder.com

Chapter One

He caught the rifle with one hand and hefted it, looking through the rudimentary scope. Do you think I should do a test fire?

Why?

Sight it in.

What’s to sight? You point and shoot.

He lowered the rifle and looked at his friend with a sour eye. You don’t hunt, do you?

Fine. Sight in, but watch it. We don’t have so much ammo we can waste it shooting up trees.

I thought you were going to get more.

He shrugged. I got busy.

What if we run out?

We’ve got plenty as long as you don’t blow through too much.

He fired, missing high with the first shot. The next two drilled a small branch, breaking it off. He lowered the rifle and smiled, but it wasn’t an attractive smile.

His friend was impressed. Awesome, man. Where’d you learn to shoot like that?

Used to go varmint hunting with my grandpa.

Well then, let’s go hunt us some varmints!

MY OPPONENT TELLS YOU he believes in justice. Ladies and gentlemen, we all believe in justice, or we wouldn’t be here. My opponent tells you we need new blood in the county attorney’s office, trying to tar me with someone else’s corruption. Let me ask, are you responsible for the misdeeds of people because you work in the same building?

Jake Rand watched Clint Taylor scan the audience. There was a smattering of laughter. It was a safe bet most people could think of a coworker or two for whose actions they didn’t want to be blamed. He’d argued enough cases against Taylor to know his tactics. Lob a few easy ones at the jury to get them on your side, then go for the ace. It was effective enough. Jake was glad juvenile cases rarely went to trial. Judges were harder for the assistant county attorney to manipulate with empty oratory. He wondered what Taylor’s ace would be today. During the campaign, the man had never ceased to amaze him with his ability to turn social media lies into loosely veiled accusations, lending credibility to the fabrications and in turn, inspiring more on-line insanity. The local media seemed to hang on Taylor’s every word, and Jake supposed he couldn’t blame them. The inflammatory tone of the man’s speeches sold papers.

What my opponent conveniently forgets to mention is that I’m not the only one who’s been standing around the water cooler with criminals. Jake Rand has been up to his eyeballs with every murder that’s taken place in Natrona County over the past year. A rumble spread through the room as Taylor readied his shot. Don’t you think it’s more than a little strange? Every time the police show up to investigate a murder, they find him standing over the body.

The red light glowed atop the television crew’s camera as the rumble became a roar, swelling along with Jake’s temper. He struggled to keep his expression neutral but sought Emma’s eyes in the audience. Hers echoed the storm welling inside him.

Standing over the body! His wife whispered to her best friend, Kristy, who was sitting beside her in the front row of the Civic Auditorium. Somebody dumped a body on our fence line. What’d he expect us to do? Step over that poor woman and leave her there to be picked up like she was so much trash?

I know, Kristy whispered back. And the body at the museum. He makes it sound like Jake had a smoking gun in his hand. There was a whole group of men with him when he found that man.

What a snake.

And you tried to fix me up with him.

I’m glad you had the good sense not to listen, Emma replied, never taking her eyes off Jake.

Kristy squeezed Matt Joyner’s hand as he leaned over to see what the two women were whispering about. Jake watched her put her lips next to his ear and whisper something as Taylor’s slanderous speech continued. He knew both women well enough to be sure they’d been saying what he’d been thinking.

Taylor surveyed the crowd with a twitch of a smile. Jake had seen that smile before, right before the prosecutor pounced on some unsuspecting witness. After a few moments, Taylor raised his hands to quiet the rumbling. I’m not saying my opponent walked on the wrong side of the law. A pregnant pause said that was exactly what Taylor would like the good citizens of Natrona County to believe. All I’m saying is, do we want a county attorney who thinks he’s Sherlock Holmes? Or do we want the police to do their job and our county attorney to do his? Taylor’s voice built in volume and intensity as he neared the end of his prepared remarks. Let the police catch the criminals, then I’ll prosecute the guilty to the full extent of the law! When you step into the ballot box, think long and hard about what kind of man you want for this job. Then cast your vote for Clint Taylor!

He stepped out from behind the podium to thunderous applause. He walked to the front of the stage to shake hands and, in Jake’s opinion, milk the response. He wondered what Taylor was thinking with this new attack. Earlier in the campaign, he’d accused Jake of being soft on crime because he was a public defender. Jake had overcome this by citing his cooperation with the police to bring down the Casper crime boss. Now it seemed Taylor was either accusing him of actually being the crime boss or, at best, a vigilante. It was an interesting strategy, leaving his claim so vague he could play both ends against the middle.

Darcy Edwards, president of the Casper chapter of Citizens for Fair Elections, put her hand on Taylor’s shoulder and spoke to him quietly. He straightened, waved at the crowd, and ambled back to his chair on the other side of the stage from where Jake sat. His back to the audience, Taylor flashed Jake a smile having none of the amiability he’d shown the audience. It reminded Jake of a cat looking at a mouse he’s about to dispatch. His hand itched to knock the grin off the man’s face, but he knew better than to lose his cool. It was exactly the reaction he knew Taylor hoped to provoke, but he was not going to hand victory to him so easily.

A movement above and behind Taylor caught Jake’s eye. Detective Mortimer Brugnick, who’d been filling in for Matt while he’d been on medical leave, winked at Jake. Morty was stationed at the far end of the stage, wearing a uniform made bulky by a bulletproof vest. There had been a few threats of violence and smatterings of protests leading up to this debate, so the organizers had requested Casper police provide security. Senior Officer Luis Altrez stood behind and to the left of Jake, two well-armed bookends. He thought they were being overly cautious. A few signs and a burning trash can didn’t spell violence to him, but then he wasn’t responsible for the safety of two hundred or more audience members.

Edwards waited patiently at the podium for the crowd to turn their attention to her. Jake had been afraid the weather would keep voters at home this January afternoon, but nearly every seat was filled. He knew many of them, some well, some less so. Emma had Matt and Kristy on one side of her and Grace and Jeb on the other. Dr. Grace Russell, an internationally acclaimed criminologist, had been a second mother to Emma when she’d been putting in the supervised hours to earn her therapist’s license in California. The woman, now in her seventies, had come for a visit in July after a long estrangement. When Grace mentioned she was dying from breast cancer, Emma had invited her to extend her stay indefinitely. Jeb Cannon was a best-selling suspense author who’d urged Jake and Emma to help him solve a decades-old case, one of the murders to which Taylor had been referring. The look on Jeb’s face would have been at home on any of the heroes he wrote about, right before the character delivered a knock-out blow to the villain.

Steeled by the unspoken support of his friends, Jake walked slowly to the podium, wondering if he should stick to his prepared remarks or address Taylor’s. He adjusted the microphone to accommodate his height and began to speak. I want to thank you for coming out on such a cold Saturday, and I hope you’ll go away feeling we’ve given you something more valuable than hot air. There was enough laughter for Jake to relax a bit. You know I’m not a politician. At that, there was applause. I don’t know how to twist a fact to make it say something it’s not. The fact is, I’ve been involved in a few murder investigations, but here comes the twist. I didn’t get involved because I wanted to play detective or because I thought the police couldn’t do the job. Let me assure you, there’ve been a few times my clients have wished the police didn’t do quite the excellent job they do.

There was more laughter, and Jake smiled as he considered his next words. There’s no how-to book for being a great county attorney. You follow the law, so it helps to be a competent attorney and I will stipulate to the fact that Clint Taylor is a perfectly able attorney. So am I, but you also interpret the law, because legislators can’t anticipate every possible situation. Clint’s right when he tells you to consider what type of person you elect, because a county attorney uses judgment to enforce the law as fairly and impartially as possible. As a voter, you’re charged with examining a candidate’s character. What a man does when everything is routine is one thing, but it’s what he does when it isn’t that tells you what kind of man he is. No speech he makes during a campaign can tell you who he is when nobody is around to see him.

Jake leaned his arm onto the podium and looked at the audience as though drawing them into his confidence. If Taylor could draw on his skill as a closer, so could he. Clint told you I did the wrong thing, getting involved in those investigations. It wasn’t what he would have done. Well, you know what? I hope for his sake, he never has to find out. I hope no one ever murders a woman and dumps her body on his property. I hope he never finds himself facing down her killer only to be saved by the grace of God. I hope none of the situations that have been thrust upon me ever happen to Taylor.

He looked at faces grown serious, almost somber, and he knew he’d reached them. I’m not going to apologize for getting involved in those investigations. Do you want to know what kind of man I am? I’m the kind of man who won’t run from a fight, but I won’t go looking for it either. I’m the kind of man who won’t stand by while a young woman lies in a Jane Doe grave for thirty years, unidentified, unmourned, and unavenged because getting involved isn’t the politically prudent thing to do. The hall erupted into applause and shouts of support.

Jeb Cannon, who had stumbled across the body of Jane Doe as a teen and whose insistence had drawn Jake and Emma into her case, stood up and shouted, Here, here!

Jake gave them time to settle before he spoke again, only this time his tone was light. I guess I’m the kind of man who cares about things a little more than maybe I should. It might be easier to do what’s politically correct, but that’s not who I am. I can promise you only one thing. I will analyze every case on its own merit and take the action I believe will achieve justice for both the victim and the accused. If that’s the kind of man you want to be your next county attorney, then I hope I can count on your vote next week.

A number of people jumped to their feet, and the applause was deafening. Emma’s radiant smile told him he’d hit the right note. Behind him, he could hear his campaign manager, Ron Kenworthy, cheering and stomping his feet. He didn’t bother to look at Taylor, though he could imagine the attorney’s turbulent expression. He tucked his unused note cards into his jacket pocket and stepped back, determined to do his own share of milking the applause.

The doors at the back of the auditorium banged open. Jake looked up as two men, masked and armed with high-powered rifles, burst into the room. Without a moment to process what was happening, the shooting started, and something slammed into his chest, knocking him onto his back. Pandemonium hit the auditorium with the force of a tsunami. He heard screams, shouts, and the sound of chairs flipping over and running feet as audience members made a break for the side door. Over the shooting he heard shouts from the police officers who poured into the hall, and there were more shots, louder than before. Then the auditorium went black.

EMMA STOOD APPLAUDING, beaming at her husband’s success and basking in the congratulatory words and pats on her back and shoulders from the people sitting behind her. Jake had taken Taylor’s ridiculous accusations and turned them into a badge of honor. She hugged Kristy and kissed Grace on the cheek as she began to make her way to the stage.

When the gunmen burst into the room, Matt grabbed her and pulled her to the floor beside Kristy, covering them both with his own body. She heard the screams and then the shouts of policemen, whose instructions the gunmen seemed to ignore because the shooting continued. In a state of horror and fear, to Emma the attack seemed to go on for hours. In reality, it was over in a matter of minutes. The shooting stopped. A few moments later she heard Officer Altrez say it was safe to get up, and Matt released his hold on her. Frightened survivors struggled to their feet all around her. There were tears and hugs as people discovered their companions unharmed, but Emma cared only what was happening to Jake. She bolted up the steps leading onto the stage and found him crumpled on the floor behind the podium. As her heart lurched, she screamed. She kept screaming when she saw the bright red stain spreading across his chest and threw herself onto the floor beside him. Jake! Oh God, Jake, no, no, no!

Chapter Two

Emma shook Jake, begging him to wake up, until he stirred beneath her. I’m okay, Em, he said, feebly trying to push her arms away.

Jake’s been shot! Somebody help us!

He tried to sit up, shaking his head, a dazed look in his eyes, and Emma cradled him against her. What happened? Was I shot? Something hit me. It doesn’t feel like... but... He fingered his red-stained shirt.

She ran her hand across his chest, red oozing between her fingers, but there was something wrong about the blood. Your shirt isn’t torn. I... it doesn’t look like blood. I think it’s... oh my gosh, I think it’s paint.

Paint? Jake took inventory of his red-soaked torso. It can’t be.

Are you hurt? Jeb crouched beside them on the floor.

They were shooting paint. Emma was still rocking Jake back and forth, crying softly into the side of his head in both shock and relief so her words were muffled.

Paint? asked Jeb.

Seems to be, confirmed Matt, joining them. Though my guys didn’t know that when they responded. One of the gunmen turned on our officers when they came in. They didn’t know it was a paintball rifle.

Oh no. Is he dead? asked Kristy, who stood a little way apart.

Nah. Hit him in the shoulder. Thank God for my officers they didn’t kill the little idiot. Lucky for the other one he threw his gun down.

How crazy do you get? asked Jake, pulling away from Emma. I’m fine, Em, really.

Emma’s arms dropped to her side, and she sat back on her heels. Her blouse was covered in red paint, and she stared at the paint on her hands. Those didn’t sound like toys.

This new breed of paintball guns aren’t what I’d call toys, explained Matt. Police have all kinds of problems with them because they’re manufactured to be realistic. They’re built with neon-colored tips, but people pop them off. They say the neon ruins the fun.

That’s the stupidest thing I ever heard, said Jake. What were they thinking, scaring us all half to death like that?

Matt! The detective turned to see Officer Altrez waving at him from the other side of the stage. Emma’s blood chilled when she saw the look on the policeman’s face. With trepidation, she watched Matt walk over to him.

Maybe Taylor fell off the stage, suggested Jeb, a wry smile dancing across his lips.

No such luck, I’m sure. Jake grimaced as he unbuttoned his shirt to see several angry red marks where paintballs had hit him. He poked at them gingerly. That’s gonna bruise.

Emma looked toward where Taylor had been sitting. Policemen had formed a circle at the far end of the stage. Behind them, folding metal chairs had been knocked down and scattered in the scramble for cover. She heard a siren outside, and a few seconds later an ambulance crew entered through the side door and climbed onto the stage. The crowd parted long enough for her to see a man in a police uniform being lifted onto a stretcher. The faces she could see looked grim, then the circle closed again. A few minutes later, she heard the ambulance pull away.

When she looked back at Jake, his face had hardened into stone. Grace, standing behind Jeb, frowned. Kristy looked positively ashen, and Emma could guess what was running through her head. Kristy fought a daily battle with the fear that comes with loving a police detective. A Casper policewoman had been killed in the line of duty last year, and Matt was only now going back on active duty. Kristy’s lips were tight, her arms wrapped around her waist, and her eyes dark and shielded.

The officers broke ranks and dispersed through the room, notebooks ready, speaking with what few onlookers hadn’t already left the auditorium. Matt returned, his shoulders slumped. He held out his hand to Kristy, who wrapped her arms around his waist. Emma watched the couple with growing unease, waiting for the bomb to drop.

Who? Jake asked when Matt finally looked up.

Morty. Matt’s voice faltered. Kristy tightened her arm around him and laid her head against his chest. Shot, he added when he could speak, and not by any damn paintball.

Is it... bad? Emma knew the answer from the look on Matt’s face.

He looked down at Kristy. I need to get to work, love.

Do you want me to leave my car for you?

I’ll have one of the guys run me home when we’re done here. His eyes glistened with tears Emma knew he would not shed. Like many who dealt with crisis on a daily basis, he would bury his emotion in his work. He looked up at his