Killer in the Mist

By J. E. Sterken

Deputy Cody McMaster has spent nine years in the quiet Rooptown Sheriff Department--until a shooting happens in his jurisdiction. A veteran and high school friend is shot on a hunting trip, and Cody has to find his killer. The widow is suspicious while a budding romance with a possible suspect enters into the mix. Cody's friendships in high school become suspects, witnesses, and victims. He has to interview upstanding citizens although they have been friends their entire lives. He won't stop until he finds the perpetrator of a string of violent crimes his department has never seen before. The small mountain-ranch community is unsettled and demanding answers. Who are the suspects, and who is the next victim?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781684985654

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Preface

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-3-

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Acknowledgments

About the Author

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Killer in the Mist

J. E. Sterken

Copyright © 2023 J. E. Sterken

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2023

ISBN 978-1-68498-564-7 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-68498-565-4 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book was correct at press time, the author and publisher do not assume and hereby disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

Adherence to all applicable laws and regulations, including international, federal, state, and local governing professional licensing, business practices, advertising, and all other aspects of doing business in the US, Canada, or any other jurisdiction is the sole responsibility of the reader and consumer.

Neither the author nor the publisher assumes any responsibility or liability whatsoever on behalf of the consumer or reader of this material. Any per­ceived slight of any individual or organization is purely unintentional.

The resources in this book are provided for informational purposes only and should not be used to replace the specialized training and professional judgment of a health care or mental health care professional.

Neither the author nor the publisher can be held responsible for the use of the information provided within this book. Please always consult a trained professional before making any decision regarding treatment of yourself or others.

In memory of my parents, who gave me a life that only few children are privileged to experience

Life around the world in the military!

Home of the Free

Because of the Brave

A story is like rain.

It starts with a splash,

wanders to a river. The river flows until it finds a waterfall,

where it fills the pool below and then overflows through an outlet.

It then rushes to the ocean—where it reveals all.

—J.E. Sterken

Preface

Life in a small Sierra Nevada community like Rooptown can be quite mundane until a disturbed individual decides to wreak havoc. There are more ways than one to seek revenge on the people who changed your future existence. This story is about a series of crimes that shock the residents and awaken the awareness of their lives in a rural farming and ranching county.

A sociopath is one who sees others as impersonal objects to be manipulated to fulfill their own narcissistic needs without any regard for the hurtful consequences of their selfish actions.

—Dr. R. Alan Woods, Sin City's most prolific criminal

-1-

Theodore Grammer's body slid slowly down the rough bark of a blood-spattered pine tree. Blood sprayed into the puzzled bark of the massive Jeffrey pine, the most common tree found in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. The bullet had passed through Ted's right thigh, clipping the femoral artery. Piercing a large vital artery was not part of the shooter's plan, but now blood was being lost at a rate fast enough to render Ted unconscious within minutes.

Death was inevitable.

His rifle lay loaded beside him. He had dropped it only moments before when he reached for the wound. As he attempted to grab a handkerchief inside his breast pocket, the blood drained so quickly that his vision blurred, and he could not complete the task. His camouflaged hunting pants were now soaked through, completely red as if the right side belonged to a bright pair of disco jeans.

A flash of bright light preceded the narrowing of Ted's vision. He tried desperately to see if anyone was coming, but all he saw was the waving of oak leaves on the trees directly in front of him. The morning mist distorted what little vision remained as his peripheral vision faded to a smoky cloud of fuzzy shapes and colors. He felt as if he'd entered an empty long train tunnel as his heart began racing to avoid the inescapable. He wanted to run from the emptiness, but he gradually collapsed into total darkness.

His head fell limp while his chin rested on his chest, and his eyes closed, never to open again. His mind rushed backward. He thought of Mandy's sweet face, her smile, her amber hair, and that sensual touch. Now even the vision of her began to fade. Sorrow struck him like a hammer thumping his chest while his thoughts grayed. Ted's masculine face drooped as the blood continued to pour from the gaping wound. His eyes flickered just slightly and then closed slowly, all evidence of pain drained from his face while his expression became lifeless. He felt as if his soul was seeping from his pores; he knew he was about to die. He caught a glimpse of Mandy's face with her hair gleaming in the bright light of his fading vision; his wife would miss him. His partially exsanguinated body hit the ground with a thud as he slipped into unconsciousness.

He was dying, and no one was going to stop it.

Ted and three of his best friends from school, ones he had known his whole life, had been planning this hunting trip for months. They hadn't gotten together in years, not since Ted left for the army after their high school graduation. He simply had to go on this trip, for he considered himself the best man suited to lead their week-long hunting expedition.

Being a newlywed, Ted had waited until after his first anniversary to let the honeymoon period subside before leaving his new bride to spend a week away with his buddies. He couldn't bear to leave her alone, not even now. But he had promised the guys. He knew he really should get out with the fellas from time to time, but that thought didn't make leaving her any easier. He loved her more deeply than he could explain.

These four men made camp at the edge of Lassen Volcanic Park in a spot they had previously inhabited during their summer vacations while on school breaks. The firepit was still intact, surrounded by large stones they had each gathered to make the necessary protection and support for the outdoor grill. The ground was still smooth and covered with leaves and pine needles where their tents were to be placed. Even the privy still stood hidden in a grouping of brush and trees away from the center of camp. They pitched their tents, set up camp, and began to start a small fire to reminisce around before darkness enveloped them.

They had been out hunting for three days without a trace of deer and even less of any larger prey. The rain pelted their canvas tents overnight, leaving a fresh scent and a light morning mist, extinguishing all remnants of the fire they were enjoying only hours before. Without even stopping to make coffee or breakfast, the hunt was on. By now, impatience had gotten the better of them, so they split up to roust something from the underbrush. They were going to make something happen today, come hell or high water.

Dressed in camouflage, Anthony Kroger, Tony to his friends, pushed his tent flap aside and stood beside the drenched campfire; kicking the damp coals aside, he was eager to hunt and more determined to shed blood. He was a slender man, much taller than the others. His long legs and agile frame had made him a high school track star. He was well-known at that time for his spectacular records in basketball and track. Except for his unusual height, he was fairly nondescript—straight brown hair, brown eyes, athletic dark tan, average build, and typical features of an indigenous American Indian.

Tony's eyes were partially hidden behind amber shooting glasses, and his long, straight hair hung visibly beneath the brim of his well-worn hunting cap. An old Winchester .30-06 rifle, an inheritance from his grandfather and passed down from his father when he was just a boy, was slung over his left shoulder by a leather strap. He had excitedly looked forward to this trip. He was thankful for time alone with the guys. He hankered for stories of school days, prior trips with his friends, and a chance to return home with a manly trophy. Today he felt prepared for anything with a large hunting knife on his right hip and a waist pack containing his outdoor essentials: ammunition, toilet paper, bug spray, Band-Aids, and such. But it's not possible to prepare for everything.

Each man, wearing an orange protective hunting cap, which kept them from being mistakenly confused as formidable moving targets, sported camouflage to begin the search. The early-morning forest was virtually silent, except for a few chirping birds near the tops of the tallest trees. Little noise was being made aside from the rustling of leaves and quick crunches of twigs scattered excessively on the forest floor as the men walked quietly through dense shrubbery.

Creeping in a northerly line through the thickening underbrush, the hunters crept cautiously and diligently onward. The cool, moist September morning produced small dew drops, which began collecting on their caps and shoulders, making their clothing wet, feeling to them as if it was still raining. Separating themselves by several yards in each direction, they encircled an area near Yellow Creek that was sure to be a hiding place for resting quarry. Ted flanked from the west and Jon from the east while Tony and Simon stayed between the two. Deer often bedded down in the foot-tall grass that grew where the spring waters that fed the creek seeped through the ground. Each man, carrying his own .30-06 hunting rifle, knew full well that this was the best weapon for their purpose. With fingers placed beside the trigger, an intense effort to hone in on the slightest of movements had them wishing for some kind of prey to appear so that shots could be fired.

The brush thinned as they walked forward. Then they closed in on the grassy meadow area where the creek became visible despite the drizzly mist. The creek bed was littered with small rocks but nothing large enough to make more than a trickling sound as they approached. The open space stopped each man in his tracks. They stood in silence. A deep sense of concentration flowed between them, almost like telepathy, everyone wanting desperately to sneak up on a deer and claim that first prize.

Ted, an experienced hunter, had moved forward of the line hoping to see where a scuffling noise was coming from. Simon and Tony stood rigid in the bushes with just a glimpse of the creek. All at once, they heard two bucks sparring at the edge of the water. After all, it was the rut season when two males would spar for the female. Their fighting antlers made loud cracking sounds about a hundred yards away. Three shots were fired almost simultaneously; they must have all heard the fighting bucks and seen the movement at the same time. Bullets started flying. The resonance of a rifle echoed through the misty morning air. The faint smell of gunpowder wafted through the mist.

The sight, followed by gunfire, had startled the bucks; within seconds, they vaulted over a large fallen tree and disappeared into a thicket of willows near the edge of the stream. Evidently everyone had missed. Stillness returned. Silence surrounded them once again. Each man stood quiet and still, rifles in hand, eyes scanning through their scopes in hopes of getting a bead on the newly found deer.

The shortest man of the group, Simon Calderon, thought of himself as the best shot on the west side of the Mississippi though his friends didn't agree with his claim. He hadn't been officially invited on the trip. But he had overheard Ted's conversation with Tony a few weeks earlier at the Wagon Wheel Bar and then conveniently invited himself. He had married first out of the four men and had children almost instantly. He was desperate to get away from his emotional wife and his three girls, ranging in ages from two to nine. His domestic life had become apparent with his expanding waistline and overwhelming lack of manly bonding. But right now, he was more determined to use this year's deer tag and prove himself worthy of future man trips.

Simon stepped atop a large log to get a better view. He didn't see either of the bucks nearby, so he began searching the distant area with his rifle scope. His panning stopped in an instant, and he stood motionless watching an orange hat drop slowly below his distended view.

He broke the silence and whispered, Tony, is that you?

No reply.

With more questions, he tried to be acknowledged. What are you doing over there? Did you see something? Do you know what direction they ran?

Tony heard his muffled voice. He called back, spoken from a different direction, What do you mean, Simon? You gotta shut up. I'm over here looking for that damn buck.

Simon glanced quickly in the opposite direction of the hat that he had sighted and heard Tony's voice behind him. He caught a glimpse of Tony's head and quickly turned back to the hat, once again looking over his rifle barrel.

Ted, where are you? Simon said softly, trying to ascertain who was under that dropping hat, which had now disappeared from the view of his scope.

He waited a few seconds for Ted's reply, still watching for even the slightest of movements anywhere in the distance.

No reply this time either.

Jonathan, is that you?

I'm here on your right. Jonathan waved his hand slightly. Keep your voice down, Simon. You'll scare them away. Where did he go? Now shut up, you guys, or we'll never sneak up on anything.

Ted? Simon summoned his friend again.

Still no answer came. Simon stood in silence once more. His stocky frame, sporting broad shoulders, and his marital potbelly cast a distinctive silhouette in the early-morning sunlight. In the silence, he then heard a faint gasp for air come from the direction of the disappearing hat; it sounded like a desperate attempt to answer his call. He started running, panting almost instantly because he had taken a desk job over two years ago and was noticeably out of shape. He headed toward the lost hunting cap. Tony caught his movement and joined him out of curiosity.

Jonathan called back, Where are you going, Simon? What's your rush? Keep the noise down. Did anyone hit one of the deer?

No one answered.

Simon stopped abruptly as if he had run into a brick wall; then Tony, the long-legged sprinter of the group, ran into his back. They both stood staring down at Ted's limp body. A light, almost-invisible steam rose from the warm deep-scarlet pool that filled the area between his legs. The scent of fresh blood permeated the area, where the now-saturated, unable-to-drain soil had just begun coagulating.

Jonathan was just behind them now. He took one quick look at the blood on Ted's pants and dropped to his knees to apply pressure to the wound.

He screamed at Simon, Give me your belt for a tourniquet and get me a towel! Something! We have to keep pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

He reached for the entry wound, and blood began trickling slowly through his fingers as he applied pressure with his bare hands.

Simon grabbed at his backpack. Fumbling with desperation, he threw it to the ground and ripped open the zipper. He searched frantically and came up with his favorite worn-out T-shirt and then tossed it at Jonathan. He couldn't think about what shirt it was at a time like this. He knew from the amount of blood that his friend was dying before his eyes.

Tony stood staring down at the body in awe.

Tony, hey, Tony, get a grip, man! Run to the truck. Find our location and call 911. And get Life Flight out here now! Jonathan cried out as he took control, knowing that Tony was the fastest runner among them.

Tony, who was providing the group's transportation, stood staring at his longtime friend. He had the largest vehicle and knew his way around the woods fairly well. He seemed to be able to find his direction even in the worst of winter storms. Being born with an internal beacon, he seemed to hone in on the smell of the wind or the direction of the sun and could always find his bearings. It was as if his native blood, though long since thinned by many mixed generations, was lending him support as he tracked his way through life. No one understood his unique ability, but they were all glad to have him along on their hunting expeditions.

Tony had been in a mild shock, almost a trance, until he heard his name yelled twice. He flinched, blinked his eyes, and focused on Jonathan, then turned with a quick jerk and ran for the truck. It was about a half-mile away from them, but he knew he had to get to the GPS to find their location. It had better be fast. He bolted with all the energy he could muster, his long legs working frantically like a long-distance runner to traverse the half-mile to the truck, praying the entire way that he would have a cell signal when he arrived at the vehicle.

Simon quickly knelt beside Jonathan, his shaking hand feeling for a pulse on Ted's cool neck. His eyes were closed, his body limp, and the pulses of his heart so faint that it barely could be found.

Simon touched Jonathan's shoulder and paused to get his attention. He panicked as his voice cracked. I don't feel a pulse, Jon. Oh god! I can't feel anything. I think he's gone.

Jonathan stared at Ted in disbelief. No! he shouted.

He took hold of the loose ends of the T-shirt and tied it tightly above the wound, then grabbed Simon's hand to continue pressure.

He stared wide-eyed at the body, and he yelled out, We gotta try…something! Try CPR.

He paused, gawking in disbelief, and then leaned over, almost touching Ted's face, listening and feeling for signs of breathing. Nothing. He opened Ted's mouth and gave him two deep breaths of air to fill his lungs. Then he placed his hands on Ted's chest and began compressions.

He stopped, not knowing if he was doing the right thing, as he heard Simon chime out, Don't stop! Do it again. Press on his chest again. You have to keep trying. We have to keep him alive until the EMTs arrive.

Simon felt Ted's neck again. He searched anxiously, but by then, the faint heartbeat had stopped.

Nothing. There's no pulse. I don't think we can save him. What the hell happened here, Jon? His eyes glazed, and he shouted, "What the fuck happened here?"

He slumped over, almost in tears, and placed his hand on Jonathan's shoulder again as if to tell him he had done all he could to save their buddy. Jon continued CPR, unable to acknowledge the loss. His childhood friend could not be gone.

Tony had run back with a cell phone in hand, his breathing rapid and labored.

He gasped for a long breath of air and said, I called 911. They're sending out an ambulance and the sheriff ASAP. I gotta run back to the truck and meet them there. They'll never find us out here.

His sense of direction really was impeccable. He had returned in a flash, but even a flash wasn't quick enough.

Jonathan's head rose from the bowed position that he had taken over the body only moments before. Reality had hit like a slap in the face, and he had finally stopped CPR when Simon neglected to find a pulse again and he felt no breathing.

He spoke with hesitation and resonance, Tony, it's too late. His voice cracked as he tried to swallow a lump in his throat. It's too late for an ambulance. Even Life Flight won't help now. I'm afraid we've lost him. There's nothing left that we can do for him.

Simon shook his head from side to side in a definite no as Tony looked to him for confirmation.

Tony's face sank. As tears glazed his eyes, he screamed, "What the! How the hell could this have happened?"

The three men looked at each other with unbelievable anguish.

After pausing for a brief moment, Tony exhaled softly with grief in his voice. I still have to go meet the ambulance. He let his head droop down in sadness as he slowly walked away. I'll be back when they get here.

Jonathan placed his hands on the blood-soaked shirt, then sat back on his heels. He wiped away all signs of tears and wrapped both arms around Ted's lifeless body. He shook nervously and began to rock slowly, back and forth, back and forth. He continued to embrace the body, wishing with an intense desire for a miracle while trying to mentally will life back into the now-unresponsive corpse.

He quietly repeated to himself as though saying it out loud would make it so, No…no…no. Ted, come back to us. No…you can't be gone…no.

-2-

Tony met the ambulance and sheriff at his truck and escorted th em to the coordinates he had conveyed during his 911 call. The medics rushed to the scene and checked Ted's vitals. Jonathan had to be coaxed to let go of Ted before the paramedic could finish his assessment. The other medic spoke calmly until she convinced Jon to let go of the body so they could lay Ted down and complete their review. They determined there was nothing they could do to save him now. Sheriff Sam Smallwood declared the area a crime scene and radioed his office for a coroner, who arrived much later after the request was received from the sheriff's dispatcher.

When the coroner determined that there were no signs of life, Ted was declared dead and placed on a military-style stretcher. Although reachable through a meandering pathway, the rescue litter was needed to traverse the uneven ground with Ted's lifeless body on board. After the trek to the scene and