Deadly Circles

⁘Chapter 1⁘

ON THIS DAY THE PALL of death hangs over two different valleys separated by eighteen hundred miles. One a modest, unknown channel drained by a small cool-water stream. The other a magnificent gorge carved by a roaring river separating two states. Both valleys hold the fate of a man tormented by loss and intensifying anger.

***

The E450 Ford ambulance roared along Route 136, the siren wailing in the humid evening air of south-central Nebraska. The EMT plucked a cell phone from her upper vest pocket, flipped it open, and keyed her home phone. Honey, feed the girls. I have an emergency north of Amboy.

Within minutes Amboy appeared. The nearly extinct community consisted of several houses, a National Historic Register round barn, and the skeleton of a late nineteenth-century water mill. The small, muscular woman coaxed the boxy van onto the newly graveled county road curling north.

The radio squawked. Bess, where are you?

In the ambulance.

Don’t be a smart-ass. The sheriff will be there when he can. The click signaled her sister waited.

I’ll relay details when I get there. Bess concentrated on the newly graveled road.

An accident west of town has Kenny and the sheriff tied up.

Thanks … out. Bess cradled the mic.

Bess spurned cautious driving the last mile to Bridge #3. She was familiar with the lanky farmer leaning against the driver’s door of a blue Dodge Ram pickup parked at the bridge southwest of Cowles. She liked Ben Thomsen because he always kept his caring attitude for the county’s low-income families.

Bess shut off the siren and left the lights flashing. She grabbed the mic. Tess, I’m at the Elm Creek Bridge #3. Ben Thomsen is here.

A static-filled reply crackled in the cab. Barely got you, Bess, switch to your cellular.

Okay. Bess took the cell phone from the passenger seat and dialed 911. How’s the reception?

Good. The sheriff is on the other line. I’m gone.

Bess and Tess Hess—gawd, why do parents do that?

Bess slid from the ambulance and stepped into the tranquil setting shadowed by aging cottonwoods. Cicadas buzzed in the quiet evening. Dragonflies darted and hovered and darted through the stream bank vegetation. Where is he, Ben?

About two hundred yards, upstream, Ben responded. His eyes glistened with tears.

Is there access where I can maneuver that beast? Bess pointed to the ambulance.

Above the small west river terrace, the waning sun painted the sky with a wash of pale yellows and reds.

Ben shook his head. I can get there with my pickup. Jason’s dead, Tess."

I’m Bess. She trotted to the ambulance and opened the rear doors.

They toted the gurney to the pickup, securing it behind the cab. One hundred yards east, they crossed over the cattle guard into pastureland, following along a rutted cattle trail. A small, deep pool appeared below the stream terrace. On the shore, a body lay partially covered with an old blanket.

Bess scrambled from the pickup, uncovered the body, checked for life signs, stood, and shook her head. Ben? She broke his stare. Where’d you find him?

I pulled him out of the water. He was face down. Ben choked back a sob. I couldn’t leave him floating …

That’s okay. Bess gently touched his shoulder. She dialed Tess. Any idea how long until the sheriff can get out here?

As dusk settled on Elm Creek, three Department of Justice agents headed for a solid-waste dump found downstream of Cascade Locks, Oregon. They crossed over the Columbia River, using the Bridge of the Gods, oblivious to the gray-winged, white-bodied, California gulls, soaring in the strong wind blowing up the Gorge.

CJ Hand, Tom Thies, and Hal Goodstad intensively worked the solid waste case for ten months. Eventually, Hal uncovered illegal medical waste landfills in Washington and Oregon. They tracked the company, Gorge Garbage Haulers, waste collection patterns for six months. The waste site below Bonneville Dam blared trouble. The company had developed the site in the Oregon forest. Two company buildings occupied an acre below the dump.

The company used metal buildings to house trucks and baled waste. Everything appeared lawful until an employee shot off his mouth in a Stevenson, Washington bar. The high wages raised the agent’s suspicion about the company and the dump content.

From previous haul patterns, the team determined the day and time to search this Oregon site without interference from employees. A Portland Federal judge issued a right of entry warrant for a Friday access to the suspicious dump.

The three were searching the property when a garbage truck pulled in with a foul-smelling load. The driver stopped when he spotted Hal and Tom standing at the gate to the forest road. Tom held up his badge and motioned the driver to roll down his window. Garbage stench wafted toward the two agents, forcing them to breathe shallowly. Gulls screeched overhead, waiting for easy pickings.

From under his lightweight jacket, Tom drew his Glock 22 and aimed it at the driver. When the driver rolled down the window, Tom said, Step out … slowly … hands up and empty.

Hal kept a steady eye on the driver easing from the cab. Hal glanced to his left, where CJ emerged from the dense forest.

CJ moved closer to the truck and crouched out of the passenger’s sight.

Hal moved his gaze back to the cab.

Tom motioned at the driver to step down.

The grimy-clothed man stepped out, keeping both hands raised. He turned his head, spat, and snuck a glance to his right.

The truck’s passenger door flew open. An employee with a silver hard hat, a ponytail spilling from behind, erupted from the cab and swiftly swung a shotgun into position, aiming at Hal. The freshly blued, sawed-off shotgun glinted in the sunlight.

CJ yelled, Hal … gun … get down.

Every movement turned to slow motion, CJ’s instincts taking over. He centered the .40 caliber S&W at the embroidered patch on the worker’s coverall-clad back. Drop it, he yelled.

The shotgun roared the second it came to a nearly flat position, pointing at Hal. Overhead the gulls screamed at the horrible noise.

There was no hesitation. CJ’s pistol bucked lightly, and a bright crimson mist engulfed half the cab. The figure in his sights jerked with the impact and collapsed between the door and the cab frame. The body twitched twice, and the sawed-off shotgun clattered to the ground.

The shot had set off gull screeches and the pitiful truck driver's wails. Agent Hand steadied himself and cautiously moved toward the jackknifed body. Hal, are you okay?

Hal yelled back, Yeah, I think so.

CJ stepped around the door, kicked aside the shotgun, and stared at the hard hat. The ponytail dangled from the hardhat.

Hal came alongside. CJ … thanks, Hal sighed and brushed the dirt off his chest. He looked at the long, slender neck. Oh, God …

CJ gently pulled off the hardhat and brushed away the hair. He stared at a young woman’s lifeless profile. A shudder pulsed over his lean body, and he turned away. Ah-h-h … fuck.

Are you okay? Tom asked CJ.

Hal, damn it, radio the county sheriff and state police, we need them on-site, now. Tom enveloped Hand with his powerful arms.

⁘Chapter 2⁘

SHE STARED AT THE MAN in front of her. Mr. Hand, hello …

CJ Hand looked up at the woman seated behind the large walnut desk. He stared at her, painfully focusing on her face. Sorry, Doctor Andersen, I wandered off.

CJ, we’ve been at this for three months. She leaned back in her dark-brown leather chair. What are you thinking?

I wasn’t thinking; I was rerunning why the hell I did what I did.

Dr. Andersen placed an elbow on the padded armrest, raised a slender hand, rested her chin between thumb and forefinger, and thoughtfully pursed her lips. The hushed sound of traffic filtered into her office at Capitol Way South and 8th Avenue SE. The third-floor office window looking over Capitol Lake framed her delicate features, the water reflecting the blue sky of a beautiful, chilly December afternoon.

I’ve never killed a person before. He looked away from her face and stared at the lake. You know, I was sick, disgusted … but now … angry as hell.

She sat forward, elbows on the desk, chin on folded hands.

I’m ugly, angry. Is that bad?

Dr. Andersen said, What do you think?

From our talks and what I now know about the … dead woman … no.

Are you angry all the time?

No, but when I think about what those people—what they did—

Do you think you need more sessions before I release you? Dr. Anderson glanced at her Catorex gold-plated pendant watch and leaned back.

No, what do you think?

I think our time is up. Sally Andersen was in her early fifties, thin, attractive, and faultlessly dressed; her one-piece dress was open at the collar and hugged her slender figure. CJ, I want us to meet for one more session. I’ll send my final report to the department today.

Same day and time? he asked.

No. His brow knitted. Let’s meet for a seafood dinner at the Andersen houseboat. She jotted the address on the back of her card. Tuesday next week, say about seven? She smiled at how rapidly his frown faded.

I am delighted.

My report will state you’re in a good frame of mind, but … you harbor anger, and you must manage or return for more counseling. She leaned forward again. Is that fair?

He nodded.

***

After nearly ten months, the team closed the Gorge Garbage Hauler case. Then, in the past four months, a co-worker criticized CJ’s work ethic and drinking habits. The hassling intensified to a near frenzy.

Jimmy Stone, a North Cascades CID agent, working out of Olympia, decided Hand would no longer interfere with his giving advice to industries on how to bypass rules with which the industry disagreed. Hand halted two of Stone’s recent cases, and Jimmy received a written reprimand from the Denver administrative staff.

Stone had the last laugh because the new office administrator favored him. Thus, he took every opportunity to make Hand’s life miserable.

Jimmy barged into CJ’s office shortly before noon on a mid-April Friday. Hand, you got your shit together yet? Jimmy grinned. We have a new assignment you might want to take over. This one’s a wimpy case; it has no women to kill.

CJ braced his legs under the desk edge. He stared straight into Jimmy’s eyes. Under his outwardly calm appearance, anger seethed.

Jimmy smirked. Come on, Hand, say something. Are you afraid I’ll get the hot cases? Jimmy leaned over the desk. I can handle the tough ones without shooting women.

CJ rocketed from his chair, swung a right hand from the hip, catching Stone solidly on the jaw. Jimmy toppled backward. CJ came around the desk and yanked the slightly-built man to his feet.

You’re an asshole, Jimmy spat. CJ drew back his right hand. Go ahead and throw the punch, dumb fuck.

CJ’s fist stopped inches from Jimmy’s face. Goodstad had rushed in when he heard the commotion. Hal stood rock-solid, holding CJ’s wrist. CJ, damn it, can’t you see he’s baiting you. Let the creep go.

Jimmy staggered back when Hand released him. He rubbed his jaw, smirked, and walked out.

Decking him was not smart, Hal said.

Yeah, probably not … but it felt good. He rubbed his knuckles.

Hal shook his head and turned away, stopped, and over his shoulder, said, Relax, buddy, or the new manager will have your balls.

Ten minutes later, the phone rang. CJ answered, listened, gently placed the receiver in the cradle, slipped on his anorak, and walked out.

***

Four hours later, Hand sat at his usual spot in the dimly lit bar off Capitol Way North. He was on his third double-shot of Dewar’s scotch and water. The freshly served caramel-colored liquid floated on the water and around the cubes. He stirred the drink with his finger.

CJ, can’t you wait for me to do that, said the attractive barmaid. Dedria’s long, lustrous brown hair pinned back by a small black and silver, orca-shaped clasp, glistened in the dim bar light.

I’m too thirsty.

Perhaps I ought to shut you off, Dedria challenged him.

He looked into her gold-flecked brown eyes. A woman has to do what she has to.

What the hell’s eating you? You’ve been uncivil lately.

Sorry, Dedria. He sipped the scotch. You mix a mean drink.

She smiled at him. You’re lonely?

He pointed at her with his right index finger. You’re interested?

She looked down at his left hand. I see the ring is gone … the divorce final?

Um-hmm, he murmured.

Then … perhaps … Dedria stopped to peer at the man who walked up behind CJ.

The powerfully built man, his face set with determination, said, He couldn’t help you, least of all not today … in his present condition.

In his drunken state, CJ slowly turned on the stool. What the hell are you doing here?

Finding you, Tom said and sat on the high back stool beside CJ. Hal told me about your office tirade. He said you got a dressing down by the new office manager. Not smart, my friend.

Hand slurred, Yeah, yeah … that’s what Hal said. You want a drink, Tom Thies?

Tom nodded.

Bring my friend a Sam Adams Lager. They watched her draw the amber-colored brew and top it with a perfect head.

She set the drink in front of Tom and eyed CJ. Do you want this on your tab?

No, Tom interjected, I’ll get his bill for the day.

Why? CJ slurred.

Because you’re getting shit-faced and are in no condition to notice a good-looking woman’s kindness. Tom smiled at Dedria. If I pay, I’m in control. Come on, big guy, let’s move to a booth.

Dedria brought the drinks from the bar. Thanks, Tom said. She patted his bulging bicep.

What the hell’s going on? Tom asked.

I’m making dumb mistakes, am I not?

No argument from me.

I’m thinking about a six-month leave—I got enough vacation and comp time—maybe resign after that.

Tom sighed, Talk to me. I understand the psychiatrist gave you a clean bill of health.

And more. CJ smiled.

Are you having a go with the Doctor?

CJ nodded. She’s a great lady.

What, Tom said with a grimace.

I said, lady.

What brought on this attitude?

Where do I start, CJ watched Dedria work the bar, … she does have a great smile.

Come on … get on with it.

Okay, I’ll start with the present and work back. CJ downed the drink. First, it’s the crap with Jimmy. He’s walking a fine line and getting away with it. I know he baited me, maybe down deep I wanted a reprimand. The administrator said one more fight with Jimmy, and he would suspend me.

Dedria sidled over to the booth and eyed CJ’s empty glass. Want another?

He shook his head. Let’s have coffee.

She smiled. You got it.

Tom finished his lager. Same for me. They watched her walk away, a gentle sway in her hips. Whew, Tom uttered.

She quickly returned with the coffee. Want something to eat?

No, thanks, Tom said, I’m treating at the Terrace tonight.

Hand looked up at Tom. What’s the occasion?

Nothing special, other than you’ll receive a commendation for protecting your partners. Tom held up his coffee mug. Now, tell me what’s going on.

That incident with the young woman would’ve destroyed me if she’d been clean. The dump we found hit me hard—no respect for life. He stirred a packet of sweetener into the black coffee. When we found the body parts and the bodies … God, if not for Dr. Andersen, I don’t know if I would have survived.

Thies shifted his legs outside the booth and crossed them. You’re okay now, according to her report.

Did you read the report?

Yes, and it was complimentary of your staying with the counseling. Tom grasped his cell phone, checked his stored numbers, keyed one, and pressed send. He sat for a second, waiting for the connection. Hi, I’d like to reserve a table or booth for two at seven o’clock. He waited. Great. Name … Tom Smith. Thanks.

Tom Smith, what’s with the alias?

Smith is much easier to pronounce than Thies. Tom signaled Dedria to bring a full coffee carafe.

Where were we? CJ asked.

You were mentioning the woman, and alluding to her rap sheet, and the bodies.

CJ mindlessly drummed his fingers on the tabletop. Once we started to get the identity on the remains in that mass grave, I stopped feeling guilty. He watched Dedria approach with the carafe. Nice.

Tom said, Too much liquor to notice.

CJ continued. All the bodies in the dump were in some way associated with various crimes. He took the carafe from Dedria; his hand lingered on hers. Thanks.

When she was out of earshot, Tom said, I believe you’re going to have a good time … soon. He moved his mug over for a refill.

Once I learned of all the sick bastards involved in the garbage scheme, my anger soared. I took it out on Stone. He filled both mugs. Jimmy’s a prick who doesn’t give a shit for anything or anyone but himself.

Tom leaned on the tabletop, arms resting comfortably, hands wrapped around the mug. You’re still angry?

No. Punching Jimmy relieved me of the frustration. Nature calls; I’ll be right back.

Tom glanced at his watch; it was nearly five. He scanned the faces in the crowd. The number of attractive females amazed him. He guessed most in the age range of the late 30s to their early 50s. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed CJ stop to visit with Dedria.

He slid back into the booth. I’m in luck. He poured more coffee for Tom and filled his.

Hey, CJ, an attractive blonde said as she passed the booth.

Tom raised his eyebrows.

A secretary with Health and Human Services, CJ said. A weakness of mine—

What, women or blonde women? Tom laughed.

Both.

Tom shook his head and said, Back to the GGH fiasco.

They visited for the next hour about CJ’s anger extending beyond Stone. Tom listened to CJ lament the loss of a wife and daughter because of his neglect and ire.

I’m glad you’re going to survive. Tom finished his coffee.

Thanks, that’s much appreciated. I’ll survive, but—

I’m sure you will buddy … only if you watch yourself. Let’s talk some more and then go have fresh-caught salmon.

From his Toyota, Jimmy Stone watched Tom and CJ. They slid into Tom’s sedan and drove off. One of these days, he’ll get what he deserves, he said to the passenger, right?

⁘Chapter 3⁘

FOUR WEEKS AFTER HIS TALK with Tom, CJ stopped at the administrator’s office to seek leave. A cart full of pilfered boxes, from central printing, sat beside his desk.

Hal found CJ cleaning out his desk. You did it?

CJ looked up. I did.

How long are you gonna be gone?

CJ softly closed the top drawer. Six months at a minimum. The office hum trickled through the open door.

At a minimum, Hal said, how do I take that?

I might not come back.

Damn it, why?

This decision’s best for everyone. He finished cleaning the desktop, stuffed the desktop remnants into the remaining space, slapped on the cover, and taped the box shut. I’m tired of the bureaucratic bull. Twenty years ago, protecting people’s lives was important. Now … it’s swept away with the flick of a wrist. He plopped the sealed box next to several others on the horizontal cart. Got a few minutes to help?

Sure. Hal waited while CJ removed pictures from the wall. My casework is complete.

CJ wrapped each picture with discarded newspaper and tucked them into the empty box.

Can’t talk you out of this? Hal lamented.

C’mon, help me finish loading. CJ popped Hal on the arm and pulled the full cart toward the rear door.

A small U-Haul trailer hitched to his gray Jeep contained all his belongings except for the office possessions. Ten minutes passed while he rearranged the load and stowed the five boxes. Hal parked the cart two spaces from the exit. It hurt to see his partner and buddy, the past three years, leave.

CJ latched and locked the trailer door and turned to Hal. Watch your back. He could see Jimmy peering out a small window.

I will. Where’re you headed?

To the prairie.

That’s a big area, Hal said.

From the doorway, a slight, blonde CID secretary blew Hand a kiss. A wide grin formed deep parenthetical creases in his sandy, short-cropped, bearded face.

Hal turned to see who made CJ smile so nicely. Bet you’ll miss her, Hal said and held out his hand.

Yep, CJ said, and reached into the Jeep, pulled out a package, and handed it to Hal. Store it in your car until after work, and enjoy it at home.

Taken aback, Hal mumbled, I don’t know what to say.

CJ paused to look at Mt. Rainier and slid into the Jeep. Take care, Hal. He waved as he pulled onto the road connecting to I-5.

***

With the light traffic, he made excellent time on the drive to Portland. He turned east onto I-84 bound for Boise, well ahead of his planned schedule.

At Bonneville Dam, he stopped to stretch and check the trailer hitch. The image of the bloodied body hitting the truck door emerged from deep within his memory. A soft moan slipped past his lips.

CJ eyed his camera gear secured on the rear seat. He moved the large camera bag to the front passenger seat and drove away.

He felt a change in his attitude when the arid eastern Oregon land appeared. On his left, wind-whipped whitecaps formed on the Columbia River; on his right, wind turbines towered above sagebrush and bunchgrass-dotted acres. Further east, he eyed the familiar green circles formed by center-pivot irrigation.

A memory emerged when he passed the Umatilla Ordnance Depot. A fleeting image of a slender, brown-haired woman made him sigh. Like the former ammunition depot at Hastings, Nebraska, Umatilla became a Superfund site.

CJ felt his tension draining away. He adjusted the rearview mirror to look at himself—tired, hazel-colored eyes stared back. He swiveled the mirror back in place. He focused on the city of Pendleton, appearing on the horizon.

He ate at the same Pendleton restaurant where he stopped several years past on his drive to Boise for a week of FBI enforcement training. CJ ate a light lunch, checked the trailer hitch, and gassed up at a nearby station before returning to the Interstate.

Boise lay four hours ahead. He set the cruise on seventy and began the ascent into the Blue Mountains, the eight-cylinder Jeep making the mountainous drive simple. He stopped at pullouts to stretch and snap pictures of a coniferous forest threatened by clear-cut forestry.

There was no reason to worry about lodging as he had called ahead to reserve a room at the motel where he stayed during the FBI session. Tomorrow he would stop in Evanston, Wyoming, and the next night at Sidney, Nebraska. The Thomsens expected him around two on Sunday.

In Boise, CJ locked his Jeep and secured the trailer. After registering and settling in, he donned jogging shorts and set off on his regular five-mile run. He selected wide the wide sidewalk paralleling a heavily traveled road. He collected himself under a brilliant blue sky and soft, yellow sunshine flirting with the western hills.

He crossed the busy thoroughfare and entered a new housing area. Few homes occupied oversized lots. A golden retriever started to follow until the owner whistled it back. The dog made him think about the Thomsen family. CJ and Marnie received a Christmas card every year from David and Julie. On every card was a picture of their Golden. There was no card last Christmas.

The sad phone call last week determined the destination that pointed him east toward the prairie. His grad school buddy, David Thomsen, began with reminiscing old times. Finally, David dropped the bomb that his son Jason drowned in a small stream leading to the Republican River. After several painful minutes, David revealed why he wanted and needed CJ’s help.

While rewinding his way toward the busy thoroughfare, he mulled what David described. It didn’t seem a likely conclusion that David laid out, but he promised his friend he would help. He let David know he was on personal leave and would explain why when he arrived.

A jogger, wearing a hooded sweatshirt and heading west, pumped his arm at CJ. He answered the gesture with an arm pump. His thoughts turned to his former family, and abdominal muscles tightened as he thought of uprooting his wife and daughter to take the CID job. He knew he ran from something but had yet to figure out what.

He spent the evening setting up two email accounts, checked on his rooms for the next two nights, and studied Elm Creek using Google Earth. He finished jotting notes in his logbook, tuned in a Colorado Rockies game on the tube, and settled down with a scotch and water. A calm enveloped him. Every mile away from Olympia reduced the pain and exasperation of his job and former family life. He fell into a deep sleep for the first time in months.

***

On the second floor of the L-shaped motel, the arm-pumping jogger sat