Triple Double. James Lewis
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*****
This writing is dedicated to my parent’s, Jack and Lynn and my Wife of many years Donna.
Acknowledgments
The Author would like to thank, many times over, the following friends that contributed their knowledge to this Mystery.
Terry Rice, a miner’s, miner.
Ariel Mendivil, computer guru and Word pro.
I used the combined knowledge of three different Deputies, Scott Landen, Julie Landen and Randy Wortman. They rescued my, lack of law enforcement rules, so many times, it’s close to a personal embarrassment.
The Bravo award goes to two friends. Frank Guarino and Bob Howard. They knew of my laziness and kept the writing flowing through their many persistent encouragements.
Piercing bright lights. Barely audible mechanical sounds. An odor akin to cleaning fluids. His eyes began to register the light and a strange new environment. First reactions began with a wariness of his surroundings then an inherent alert to be on guard. His eyes hadn’t fully opened, nor had his hearing been tested, for several days and nights. In a coma, his mind was beginning to move forward. But he was still lost in a cloud of confusion for several long seconds. As his eyes began to focus, new questions were coming to fruition. He thought, Am I alone? Are those hospital noises? Abron tried to speak out loud, at least he thought he had. There were more questions. Why can’t I wake up? Where am I? Up to this point in his short life, he had never imagined himself asking that oldest of stunned phrases.
He tried moving his hand to feel skin, but someone or something was holding him down. Both arms and legs seem to have feeling, he thought. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I see? Again, that gnawing thought, Where am I?
“Mr. Kelsey, I can hear you,” said a strange voice. Abron Kelsey—tall, strong, athletic—was a man with a hard face, deep-blue eyes, and brown hair. He was currently lying immobilized and numb in body and mind, trying to listen while searching within the maze of his slowly awakening thought process for answers. He was reclined, immobile, dazed, and in physical and mental pain.
He began to realize that no amount of education or past experience could help him. Abron thought out loud, “Patience. I think that was a voice.” It was unfamiliar. Real or not, his head was splitting with pain—pain so intense he involuntarily yelled then screamed. And then the lights went out.
*****
The call came in from a neighbor just south of what would become a crime scene. It was a report of shots fired at a home nestled up to the shore of Newman Lake, Washington. Deputies Terry Hollander and Mike Gwen were the first investigators on the property. Local law enforcement had cordoned off the driveway moments before they arrived. The neighbors that had reported hearing shots were standing with the police on the graveled dirt road. Newman Lake was surrounded by heavy forestation. Only a couple of roads were paved.
After Gwen and Hollander questioned the neighbors, both went under the tape and approached the breezeway separating house and garage. Detective Gwen was the first to spot the body lying in the kitchen. Both deputies drew their weapons and entered through the unlocked windowed door. Crouching, they slowly cleared the home and met at the body. “Call CSI, ask for Christian and that new guy Kelsey to come ASAP. She’s dead, but I don’t see a gunshot wound.”
After the call, Terry and Mike slipped back out the door into the breezeway. Slowly opening the garage-side door, they were both awestruck with what was hanging in plain sight. A second body, that of a male, was suspended from the rafters by his hands. Blood was everywhere. He had been shot, stabbed, and cut many times. A brand-new white Mercedes was parked to one side of the garage. Sergeant Gwen commented, “No blood splatters on the car. Unusual.” The deputies returned to the road and the police, explaining just enough to warrant a blockage of the property from prying eyes. The sheriff’s department took over and waited for their CSI unit. The deputies again questioned the neighbors, gaining identity of who the house belonged too. Both knew the deceased, if the bodies were those of the homeowners.
Gwen commented to Terry, “I don’t think our department has ever seen anything like this—two prominent lawyers beaten and butchered in their own house.”
Terry added, “Maybe we should sit on it until Saunders gives a go-ahead?” They both agreed. Now the CSI unit would try to piece the puzzle together.
*****
The Bump Inn at Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, was Abron’s and his fellow deputies’ haunt. An occasional beer in hand, case conversations, and stratagems were the norm. Over the state line from Washington, ideas could take many different paths. Work interventions seemed far away. The Bump, a pub and grill, was loud and fun. The posse was, for the most part, invisible. They were quiet and nonoffensive, and no uniforms allowed. Their lack of hairstyle or, for that matter, lack of hair altogether was the only giveaway.