Justice for Katie (A Jake and Emma Mystery Book 3) Page 2

  "I know you don't," said Jake, "but you caused the damage to those cars and it's only right that you should make it up to the owners."

  "You're my lawyer. You're supposed to get me out of this!"

  Jake shook his head. "My responsibility is to you, Austin, but also to justice. You've admitted shooting the BB gun..."

  "At squirrels!" interrupted Austin. "I didn't mean to hit those cars."

  "Then you should have stopped shooting after you hit the first window!" said his father. "I'll see that he earns the money, Mr. Rand. It might take him awhile, but he'll get it done."

  Austin slumped back in his chair and Jake resisted the urge to smile. "It's the right thing to do," he told Austin. "If you agree to this deal, you'll be on unsupervised probation until the restitution is paid in full."

  "What if I don't agree?" said Austin.

  "He agrees," said his father. "There's still enough summer left for you to make a dent in that restitution by mowing lawns, Austin."

  Austin started to protest but his father held up his hand. "And when winter gets here, you'll be shoveling snow."

  Austin stuck his chin out defiantly. "What if I don't? You can't make me."

  "Actually, he can," interrupted Jake. "I have been working with this judge a long time and he doesn't have patience for people who don't complete restitution. All it will take is a phone call from your father and you'll find yourself on supervised probation."

  "So what?" said Austin, though he sounded a little less sure of himself.

  "So that means you meet with a probation officer every week. They'll come to school and meet your teachers. They'll pull you out of class if you're being disruptive. When you get a job they'll meet with your boss. They'll stop by your work, your school and your home unannounced to make sure you're where you're supposed to be. If you think your parents are too strict, just wait until you meet any of our juvenile probation officers. If you still refuse to comply, the court has more aggressive ways to compel you."

  Jake watched Austin's face as his words sunk in. "Trust me. This is a minor incident. You don't want to blow it into a major problem that will stick with you for years to come. Just do what your dad said. Mow lawns, shovel sidewalks, rake some leaves in between. You'll get that restitution paid off in no time."

  Jake waited. Austin looked at him, then at his father. Then he sighed. "Fine. Whatever."

  Austin's father stood up and Jake stood to shake his hand. "I'll have Clint Taylor draw up the paperwork and I'll bring it by the house for you and Austin to sign. Give me a call if you think of anything more."

  "Thank you, Mr. Rand. Come on, Austin. I'll drop you off at school on my way back to work."

  "Do I have to? There's only two periods left," said Austin.

  "Yes, you have to! Maybe that court order should say something about going to school too."

  Jake smiled. "Perfect attendance is a standard part of juvenile probation."

  "What if I'm sick?"

  "Better have a doctor's note."

  "Ah, man!" complained Austin. He was still complaining as he trailed down the hall behind his father.

  Jake called the County Attorney's office. "Taylor here," the prosecutor answered.

  "Clint, it's Jake Rand." He concentrated on keeping his voice neutral. He didn't like the man, though if pressed for a reason he couldn't put it into words. There was something about him that always left Jake feeling the need to wash his hands. That Taylor had an unspoken agenda was clear. What that agenda might be, Jake didn't want to know. "I just met with Austin and his father. They've agreed Austin will pay restitution. Dad wants school attendance spelled out in the order."

  "Sure. I'll get that over to you by the end of the week."

  "Sounds good." Before Jake could end the call, Taylor changed the subject.

  "I'm glad you called, Jake. I've been wanting to talk to you about an opening coming up in the County Attorney's office."

  Jake cringed but kept his voice professional. "You going somewhere?"

  "Heck no," he laughed. "Unless I decide to run for County Attorney myself one of these days."

  Heaven help us, thought Jake. "Who is leaving then?"

  "Carolyn Maxwell. She's finally retiring, the old battle axe."

  "Carolyn is a fine attorney," Jake bristled. Chalk up another reason not to like Taylor, he thought. Aloud, he continued, "She'll be missed."

  "Oh absolutely. She had a great run. What has it been - 40 years?"

  "Something like that. I seem to remember her telling me once that she came straight out of law school into the County Attorney's office. When is she leaving?"

  "End of the year is when it's official though thankfully the old bat has enough vacation time she'll be out of our hair the end of the month. That's what I wanted to talk to you about. They won't start the search for another couple of months, but if you're interested, I'll put in a good word for you with the boss."

  Jake knew many attorneys who would jump at the chance to join the County Attorney's office. He was sure there would be stiff competition when the opening was posted and an insider recommendation could go far to getting him the job. It was a generous offer. So generous, Jake wondered what was in it for Taylor. "It's tempting, but I'm happy doing what I'm doing now."

  "Just think about it. Talk it over with Emma and if you change your mind, shoot me a copy of your resume and I'll do the rest."

  Jake was finally able to hang up. Aside from the fact that he mistrusted Taylor's motives in offering to recommend him, an ACA job held real appeal. Carolyn Maxwell was senior. She handled all the major crimes that came into the office. One of the juniors would surely be promoted into that slot. Perhaps Taylor fancied it for himself, though he didn't have seniority. If Taylor did move up, that would at least get him out of juvenile justice.

  Would he want to be a prosecutor instead of a defense attorney? Jake liked working directly with his young clients and their parents. He loved acting as the voice for children in child protective services cases. As a prosecutor, his role would be very different. On the other hand, a prosecutor who cared more about justice than making a name for himself might do a lot of good for children and families in Natrona County.

  Jake stared out his window. This office wasn't as nice as the one he would have if he were an ACA. They were located in the newly built County building across the street from the courthouse downtown. Their offices were sleek and modern, with the requisite public art that the City required of every new building project.

  He occupied what had once been the grand home of an early Casper oil baron, now converted clumsily into offices. It was too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter, but hand-carved trim work, a stained glass transom over his door and wood floors worn thin by generations of occupants gave it character.

  As an ACA, Jake would have an administrative assistant to help with the endless paperwork. He envied Emma being able to afford to hire Kristy. Everyone assumed attorneys made money hand over fist, and he had when his practice had focused on wealthy ranchers arguing over water rights and oil leases. Since shifting his focus to family law, Jake was happier but the drop in income had been substantial. Maybe he and Emma should talk about combining offices and sharing both Kristy's services and her salary.

  There were more considerations. As an employee of the County, Jake would have health insurance, paid holidays, vacations and sick leave. Neither he nor Emma enjoyed any of these benefits in private practice. They always had to work twice as hard before and after their vacations to make up for the loss of billable hours while they were gone. Heck, not having to pay his own health insurance premiums would mean thousands of dollars every year.

  He would also have office politics that changed whenever a new County Attorney was elected. He would have to take whatever cases Bill Blakely, the current County Attorney, assigned him. As low man on the totem pole, he'd probably get stuck handling arraignments and drunk drivers.

  He shuddered. There were drawba
cks to going it alone, but moving to the County Attorney's office didn't appeal to him either. He decided he would put in a good word on Taylor's behalf to Blakely when the time came to consider Carolyn's replacement. If Taylor took over major crimes, Jake wouldn't have to deal with him anymore.

  ***

  Detective Matt Joyner had been called to a break-in of a storage locker on the west side of town. As the senior detective on the force, Matt would not ordinarily be called out for a petty break-in but his junior was on vacation and it was all hands on board. He'd been afraid he might have to cancel his date with Kristy, but there hadn't been much for him to do. Even the facility's security cameras turned out to be fake.

  "We never had a break-in before," the manager explained. "The alarm service was costing me a fortune so I canceled it and bought a set of these dummy cams. They work real good. See, a light comes on and the camera moves just like the real thing only I don't have to pay anybody to monitor them. Smart, huh?"

  "Real smart," agreed Matt, "unless you need to catch a burglar. I don't envy you trying to explain to your customers that the 24-hour monitored surveillance you charge extra for isn't real."

  The manager's face paled. "You ain't gonna tell them, are you?"

  "I suspect this customer will figure it out."

  Matt left the manager in the office and joined Officer Miller at the unit. "Bolt cutters," said Miller, pointing at the lock that was hanging open.

  "Think the thief knew about the bogus cameras?" asked Matt.

  The officer frowned. "Yeah, ain't that a kicker? My wife's brother has a locker here. I already called her to tell him to come over and pull his stuff out."

  Matt nodded and looked at the 10 x 10 locker. The entire contents of his apartment wouldn't fill up this space, he thought. The locker was overflowing with what looked to him like the contents of a failed yard sale. Boxes had been cut open and the contents dumped on the ground. Bags filled with clothes were tossed haphazardly and particle board furniture was overturned and broken.

  "Why would anyone pay money to store this junk?"

  Miller laughed. "You should see the locker my brother-in-law has. When he got married, his wife wanted to throw away all his old furniture so he set it up in his locker. Throws parties for UW games right there in his storage locker."

  "You're kidding."

  "Nope." Miller put a hand on his chest. "You're looking at the grill-master. Bobby brings the beer, I handle the brats and the other guys bring chips or ice."

  Matt laughed, shaking his head. "Unbelievable." He looked at his watch. "When's the owner getting here?"

  "Said he'd be here as soon as he could get the horses fed."

  "You mind waiting for him?"

  "Got a hot date?"

  Matt smiled. "As a matter of fact, I do."

  "Go on then. I'll hang out here and see if he thinks anything's missing."

  "How he'll know in all this junk..."

  "One man's junk is another man's treasure," observed the officer.

  Matt drove back to the police station and left his car in the lot. Kristy's office was only a few blocks away and it was simpler to walk than to try to find parking downtown. The dog days of August were in full force and he said a silent thanks for air conditioning when he arrived.

  "You're late," said Kristy when he came in. "I was beginning to think you were stuck working again."

  "Almost." He pulled Kristy into his arms for a welcome kiss. "But I managed to wriggle out of it. Rank has its privileges."

  "I'm glad you're here. It takes some getting used to, you know, being with someone who's always on call."

  "It's a lot to ask. I guess it's one of the reasons I never got married. I never thought it was fair to put someone through the hours and the worry of being a policeman's wife."

  "Most of the force is married, aren't they?" Kristy locked the office door as they left.

  "True, and every cop will tell you. The worst thing in the world is to look into the eyes of a cop's wife and tell her he isn't coming home. Thank God that doesn't happen often. Even once is too many."

  "Yes, thank God Casper doesn't have that kind of violence very often." Both were thinking of an officer who was killed recently in the line of duty, a rarity for Casper.

  As Matt and Kristy reached the restaurant, the line of diners stretched out the door and onto the sidewalk. "I don't know why the whole town has to go to lunch at noon," said Kristy, resigning herself to a long wait.

  Matt made his way through the crowd, greeting friends as he went, pulling Kristy behind him. When he reached the hostess she smiled and pulled out two menus. "Right this way," she said and they followed her to a table set for two.

  Settling into their seats, Kristy smiled at Matt. "Police seating! How could I forget? That, I could get used to."

  "It has its drawbacks. I don't know how many meals I left sitting on the table when my radio went off back in my days on patrol. At least now, I usually get to finish my food."

  "Ah, the perks of the job," observed Kristy, opening her own menu.

  As if on cue, Matt's cell phone chirped. He read the text message and looked up at Kristy. "Could you order me a Reuben?"

  "To go?"

  "Yeah, might be safer." He took his phone and walked to the kitchen in the back, wending his way through wait staff and kitchen crew. He waved at the owner, who was helping dish salads, and found a quiet spot in the alley. Leaning against the building, he placed his call.

  "Miller," came the answer from the officer Matt had left at the scene of the storage unit break-in.

  "It's Joyner. What's up?"

  "You'll never guess who this locker belongs to. Jeb Cannon!"

  "The writer?"

  "None other." Jeb Cannon lived in a secluded house tucked into a wooded area on Casper Mountain. His thrillers made him a well known and wealthy man. "He's got 40 acres up there. Why doesn't he just stick his junk in his barn like everybody else?"

  "Because my barn is full of horses and chickens," came a man's voice, low and steady, a hint of humor at Matt's expense.

  "Mr. Cannon, hello sir. Sorry. I didn't realize Officer Miller had given you the phone."

  "That's quite all right, Detective. I hear much more interesting things if people don't know I'm listening."

  Matt was glad he hadn't said what he'd really been thinking about the contents of the locker. "Were you able to determine whether anything was missing?

  "It's the strangest thing. This locker holds memorabilia from my writing. You see, Detective, I get inspiration from tangible things. When I describe a character, I like to physically see the clothes - study how they move."

  "Okay," said Matt, his dubious tone making the author laugh.

  "I know. It's a peculiar trait, but there it is. When I finish a book, I just chuck the props in here. I keep meaning to clean it out but there always seems to be something more interesting to do."

  "You said there was something missing?"

  "Oh yes." Cannon's voice grew thoughtful. "I grew up on a ranch outside of Newcastle. When I was fifteen, my father found the body of a woman when we were riding fence line along the state highway. She'd been dead a few months. It wasn't a pretty sight. My father told me not to look and sent me back to the house to call the Sheriff, but you know teenagers. Of course I looked when I brought the Sheriff and Coroner back with me."

  Matt waited while Cannon gathered his thoughts. "It made a deep impression on me. They never identified her or found her killer. When I set out to write my first novel, I found this young woman haunting my imagination. I've been trying to write her story for thirty years, but I never seem to get it right."

  "And the item that was stolen?" asked Matt.

  "My research. I read everything I could about her case. I had copies of the police report and the autopsy. I combed the missing persons reports of Wyoming and surrounding states of the time, trying to find out who she really was."

  "Did you have any luck?"

&nbs
p; "No. It was as if she just appeared in that field from out of nowhere. How does that happen, Detective? How does a young woman vanish and have nobody miss her?"

  "Probably her folks thought she'd run off with someone. Didn't report it because they didn't think of her as being missing, just gone."

  "Yes, that was my thinking as well. At least, that's where I was going with the book but my notes and the draft are gone."

  "The thief must have recognized your name on something in the locker. He took the draft because he thought it would be worth something to a collector."

  "That's the most logical conclusion. Still..." His voice trailed off and Matt waited impatiently for Cannon to finish his thought. Glancing at his watch, he wondered whether Kristy would be waiting for him when this call finally ended. Maybe it wasn't fair to ask her to take a back seat to his job, but he'd always poured himself into his work, body and soul, and he wasn't sure how to balance that with the demands of a relationship. He hoped he'd figure it out before she got tired of waiting for him.

  "I did an interview a few months back, one of those puff pieces publishers make you do." Matt forced his attention back to the call. "The reporter asked me about my writing process and I talked about this locker. I didn't say where it was, of course, just that I have a storage locker with all the knickknacks of books that were and are still to come. The article came out a few weeks ago."

  "You think someone saw the article and tracked down your locker?"

  "I know it sounds crazy. I wouldn't use it in my books because no one would believe it, but that's where my mind went when I realized what was stolen. Her box was in the locker because I'd given up trying to write her story. I told the reporter I was planning to take another stab at it as soon as I finished the book I'm working on now."

  "I still think it's more likely the thief thought he'd hit the jackpot when he realized it was your locker. Is there a black market for this kind of thing?"

  "If I'd already written the book, the draft might have some value to a collector but as it is, I can't imagine it would be worth stealing."