Page 5 of Every Deadly Suspicion

She knew what he was asking. Scott was seriously hurt; this crash would be investigated by the NTSB. If Scott didn’t make it, the plane and all of its parts would be considered evidence.

“If you have to move the wreckage to make it safe, move it,” she said.

Stokes nodded and instructed his men. His radio crackled, and he held it to his ear. He then walked to where Hanna stood, keeping his voice low. “Chief, Buckley didn’t make it. They tried to revive him, but he flatlined.”

“Thanks.” Hanna’s heart fell as hope was dashed.

Sergeant Asa Parker and Officer Jenna Cash, Hanna’s day-shift people, had just arrived. From the radio she knew some county deputies were also on the way. All personnel were needed. Since this was a fatal crash now, the scene needed to be kept secure until federal investigators arrived. Dry Oaks had one investigator, Terry Holmes, and he would be called out as well.

The Buckleys were a wealthy and influential family in Dry Oaks, indeed in all of Tuolumne County. If something was amiss in the crash, Hanna wanted to know.

“Secure the scene,” Hanna told her officers. “Jenna, move your patrol vehicle to the north end of the debris field, tape off the area. I can see gawkers already walking through debris.”

“On it.” Jenna turned and jogged to her car.

Hanna turned to Asa and pointed to the people approaching the main wreckage. “Tape this off now so we get as little contamination as possible.”

A county deputy joined them. Hanna acknowledged him with a nod. “I’m not sure how long it’ll take the NTSB to respond. Every bit of the wreckage is evidence. Secure it all.” She sighed. “This will be a long day.”

“You got it, Chief.”

Commotion to the left of the field caught her eye. Marcus Marshall appeared, walking up the field along the debris path. Hanna groaned inwardly. She’d known Marcus since she was inthe first grade. Back then he confused her; now he simply irritated her. In the ensuing years, he’d hopped from job to job in Dry Oaks, from newspapers to radio stations to a local news feed. At one time he’d aspired to become a bestselling author. Despite three self-published books, his aspirations had never been achieved.

Currently he wrote a crime blog, assisted at the local paper, and usually drove law enforcement crazy by following the scanner and trying to get a “scoop.” A tall man, he stood out in a crowd. Over the years, he’d lost most of his hair, save for a long gray braid that went halfway down his back. He held up his phone, recording the activity, no doubt. He’d want gory pictures for sure. She was glad Scott was no longer on-scene.

“Chief, can I get a statement?” Marcus yelled.

Asa took off across the field to intercept him before he encroached any more on the scene around the main wreckage.

Hanna ignored Marcus and turned to speak to Jared, but he was gone. Sadness bit with sharp teeth, bringing on a sigh of loss. Was it for Scott or for Jared?

There was no time to ponder the question. She’d have to try and get to Everett, Scott’s father, before Marcus or any news media did, and tell him what had happened. The bright spring day had suddenly turned very dark.

CHAPTER 2

DRIVING TO THEBUCKLEY HOMEalways made Hanna think of Hearst Castle. The home was not a castle, but it was at the highest point in Dry Oaks, and the road that took you there wound up an incline like a grand drive. The Buckleys were, in a way, Dry Oaks royalty. Their home occupied a historical spot where a high-producing gold mine once stood, and a marker at the beginning of the drive explained the significance.

Beecher’s Mine, like most mines during the California gold rush, had burned brightly for a short time, enough to build a thriving town in the area, and then thinned out. About two hundred acres of Buckley land was originally a claim mined by Dale Beecher.

When Beecher’s Mine went bust, Everett Buckley’s great-grandfather purchased the mine and surrounding acres for pennies on the dollar. The family became the backbone of Dry Oaks. Because they stayed, invested in real estate, and helped preserve local mining history, the town did not dry up like other mining towns did. Why Dry Oaks hadn’t been named Buckley, she didn’t know.

Hanna turned right onto the drive and headed toward the main residence. While she loved her job, she hated death notifications. She’d had to do them too many times in her career to suit her.

She approached the gate, which was a mile and a half before the residence, and was surprised to find it crowded with workmen. Then she remembered that Scott was into the latest technology. Everything at the entry was to be upgraded, with underground electrical wire and digital cable. The Buckley compound would likely be the most technologically advanced property in the county. Well, at least in Dry Oaks.

Cameras and smart technology were the order of the day here. Along with heavy-duty gates and fencing. One of the workmen pointed to the right. “You can use the access road there. It’s rough and winding, but you have a four-wheel.”

Hanna nodded. They’d removed a portion of the fencing off to the side of the entry gate. She turned right and clicked on her four-wheel. She doubted she could outrun the telephone and fully expected that by the time she got to the house, Everett would already know about his son’s death.

The old rutted road wound up the hill, with tall pine trees standing sentry on either side. It was no problem for her vehicle. The driveway eventually cut to the left, and as Hanna reached the top of the hill, the house came into view on her right.

The main residence was a sprawling ranch-style log home with a wraparound porch boasting a view of the valley below. Built over the site of the main mine, it had a beautiful rustic, historic look to it, but the residence was equipped with alarms for fire and earthquake safety, and even had a fully equipped panic room in case of an emergency.

Across the parking area from the front of the house was a large barn and stable area including an exercise ring. Everett and several of his nephews raised champion quarter horses.

Hanna spied Everett at the rail of the exercise ring, watching his great-grandson Braden taking a riding lesson. Standingnext to Everett was Grover, his right-hand man, and Timmons, his ranch foreman. From their smiles and joviality, Hanna guessed no one had answered a phone call about Scott’s accident. Scott’s mother had passed just after Hanna graduated from high school, and Everett never remarried. Hanna hated to be the bearer of more bad news to the man.

Where was Chase? Scott’s younger brother had been seriously injured the year Hanna was born and seemed to live in the background. Though Everett and Scott always took the lead and the limelight, she’d heard through the grapevine that the horse ranch was Chase’s responsibility.

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