Saved By The Sheriff. Cindi MyersЧитать онлайн книгу.
that Lacy didn’t kill him, but I have to bring to justice the person who did.”
* * *
TRAVIS WALKED AWAY from the Milligan home, down the street shaded by tall evergreens and cottonwoods, up a block to Main. He liked that the town of Eagle Mountain—the only incorporated town in Rayford County—was small enough, and the sheriff’s department centrally located enough, that he could walk almost anywhere. A big part of policing in a rural area like this was simply being a presence. Seeing uniforms on the street made people feel safer, and it made troublemakers think twice about acting up.
He passed under the large banner advertising Eagle Mountain Pioneer Days Festival, the biggest tourist attraction of the summer for the little town, with a parade and fireworks, outdoor concerts, crafts booths and anything else the town council could think of that would entertain people and induce them to stay a few days and spend money.
“Sheriff!”
He turned to see Mayor Larry Rowe striding toward him. Solidly built and energetic, Rowe was a relative newcomer to town who, after a year on the county planning committee, had spent a significant amount of money on his campaign for mayor two years ago—unusual in a town where most public officials ran unopposed. “Mayor.” Travis stopped and waited for the older man to catch up.
“Sheriff, I wanted to talk to you about security for the festival,” Rowe said.
“We’ll have plenty of officers patrolling,” Travis said. “I’m putting all of the reserves on duty, and as many of the full-time staff as possible.”
Rowe nodded. “We don’t want any trouble to detract from the festivities.” He stared down the street, in the direction Travis had come. “I understand Lacy Milligan is back in town.”
“Yes, I stopped by to see her.”
“Oh?” The lines on either side of Rowe’s mouth deepened. “How is she?”
“She’s still processing everything that’s happened, I think.”
“I hope she doesn’t have any plans to sue the city,” Rowe said. “I’ll have to consult our attorney, prepare for that possibility.”
“I don’t think she has any plans to sue,” Travis said.
“Do whatever you can to see that she doesn’t. I have to go now. You’ll keep me posted if any problems arise with the Milligans.”
“Yes, sir.”
The mayor moved on, and Travis resumed the walk to his office. Though he didn’t consider Rowe a friend, he appreciated that the mayor rarely involved himself in the operation of the sheriff’s department. Travis was free to do his job as he saw fit.
A ten-minute stroll took Travis back to the office. His office manager, sixty-eight-year-old Adelaide Kinkaid, who refused to even consider retiring—and was sharper than most thirty-year-olds—looked up from her computer screen. “How did it go?” she asked.
“About like I expected.” Travis hung his Stetson on the rack by the door. “She told me I’d ruined her life and tried not to let me see she was crying.” He shrugged. “In her place, I’d probably feel the same way. I guess I’m lucky she didn’t punch me.”
“You’re already beating yourself up enough,” Adelaide said.
“Why are you beating yourself up?” Deputy Gage Walker, Travis’s younger brother, emerged from his office. Taller than Travis by two inches and lighter than him by twenty pounds, Gage looked like the basketball forward he had been in high school, lean and quick.
“I went over to see Lacy Milligan,” Travis said.
Gage’s face sobered. “Ouch! That took guts.”
“It was the least she deserved. Not that she thinks so.”
“You did what you could,” Gage said. “Now the ball is in her court.”
“Not exactly.”
“What do you mean?” Gage asked.
“I mean, I still have to find Andy Stenson’s killer. And doing that will be easier with her help.”
“Wait a minute—you proved she was innocent—but you think she knows something?” Gage asked.
“She can at least walk me through Andy’s records, tell me about his clients. She was his only employee. She may have encountered his murderer, without knowing it.”
“What about Andy’s widow?” Adelaide asked.
“Brenda knows nothing about the business,” Travis said. “She’s told me everything she knows, but it’s not enough. I need Lacy to help me.”
“And I need a million dollars,” Gage said. “But I’m not going to get it.”
Travis moved into his office and dropped into his chair behind his desk, staring at the stack of papers in his inbox, thinking about Lacy. She was the first murderer he had ever arrested—the only one, actually. He was a deputy with only a few years on the force at the time, and murder was a rare crime in Rayford County. Sheriff’s department calls ran more toward theft, vandalism, domestic violence and what he thought of as tourist calls—lost hikers, lost wallets, lost dogs and people who had locked themselves out of their cars.
The murder of young attorney Andy Stenson had been a shock to everyone, but the chief suspect had been pretty clear. Lacy Milligan’s prints had been found on the murder weapon, she had been overheard arguing with Andy that afternoon and someone had seen a woman who matched Lacy’s description—from her build to her dark hair—outside the office shortly before the time of Andy’s death.
Travis hadn’t wanted to believe Lacy was a killer. She had always been the pretty, quiet girl in high school. After she had graduated high school and had gone to work for Andy, Travis had occasionally seen her downtown and they would say hello. He had even thought about asking her out, but had never gotten around to it.
But then Andy had died and the only evidence Travis could find pointed to Lacy. She hadn’t been able to produce anyone who could confirm her alibi—that she had been almost two hours away at her cousin’s basketball game. The cousin hadn’t seen her there, and no one else could remember her being there. And then the prosecutor had discovered funds missing from the law firm’s account, and a deposit in almost the same amount in Lacy’s account.
The jury had deliberated only a few hours before handing down a conviction. Travis had felt sick as he watched the bailiff lead Lacy from court, but he had been convinced he had done his job. He had found a murderer.
And then, only two months ago, he had been whiling away the time online and had come across a video someone had posted of a college basketball game—a game in which a promising young player—now a major NBA star—had made a series of free throws that hinted at his future greatness. Watching the video, Travis had recognized a familiar face on the sidelines. Lacy Milligan—a smiling, carefree Lacy—had stared out at him from the screen. A time stamp on the video corroborated her story of being at her cousin’s game. Further research backed this up. Here was her alibi. When Andy Stenson was stabbed in the heart, Lacy Milligan was two hours away.
From there, the rest of the evidence began to fall apart. Travis hired a former detective to review the case and the detective—who had retired to Eagle Mountain after a storied career with the Los Angeles Police Department—determined that what had looked like missing funds was merely a bookkeeping error, and the deposit in Lacy’s account was, as she had said, the proceeds from the sale of some jewelry she had inherited.
Travis had felt sick over the error. He hadn’t been able to eat or sleep as he worked feverishly to see that the decision in the case was vacated. He also did what he could to publicize his efforts to clear the name of the woman he had wronged. He wanted everyone to know that Lacy was innocent.
Now she was home. He didn’t blame her for hating him, though it hurt to