Page 23 of Once Marked
The chief’s hand ran through thinning hair—a gesture of exasperation and inevitability that spoke volumes about the difficulty of his job in this unruly community.“Questioning Callahan won’t be straightforward.He’s slippery, and you can bet he’ll be tipped off the moment we make a move.”
Ann Marie chimed in, “Sheriff Beeler mentioned a previous arrest for stalking?”
Thorne’s nod was slow, pained.“Yeah, that was a few years back.”His expression darkened as if recalling a particularly troublesome memory.“A tourist filed a complaint after he wouldn’t stop harassing her.We arrested him, but...”He let out a breath that carried with it the burden of unresolved justice.“But he got off with a fine and mandatory counseling.His lawyer argued it was all a misunderstanding.”
“Sounds like he’s good at playing the system,” Riley mused, her thoughts tracing the outlines of a man adept at manipulation.
Thorne grunted in agreement, his jaw setting in a hard line.“Too good.”The room seemed to settle into a quiet understanding, a shared recognition that they were dealing with someone who had learned to play just along the edge of the law—perhaps until now.
“Who represented him?”Riley inquired, knowing that the answer might shed light on how Callahan managed to evade more serious consequences.
“Local attorney named Stuart Ludwig,” Thorne replied, his disdain apparent.“A real sleaze, an ambulance chaser.But not a guy to be underestimated.He knows everyone and everything about this town.Makes it his business to keep it that way.”
“Now that we know that Callahan sent those emails, we’ve got enough on him to bring him in.”
“Well, then, I’d say it’s high time we did just that,” the police chief declared.He got to his feet, his hand resting on the holster at his hip as he added, “But be aware that Callahan’s not going to come quietly.He’s got a network of supporters all over town.If they even get a hint that something’s coming down, they might try to warn him or even help him evade arrest.”
His words were heavy with the kind of weary resignation that came from years of fighting and often losing battles within his own jurisdiction.Yet, there was still a fire behind those piercing blue eyes—a steadfast determination that Riley recognized.
“I think the four of us should be able to handle it,” Thorne added, patting the sidearm as if to reassure himself.
Riley felt the weight of her own weapon against her side, a familiar comfort.
They all got into Sheriff Beeler’s cruiser, and he drove them toward the marina.Men who were clustered on street corners paused mid-conversation, their attention shifting to follow the passing police vehicle, then turned away just as Riley tried to meet their gaze.
The sheer masculinity of the place was jarring.It was as if the town itself was an embodiment of the outdated beliefs that seemed to permeate its very foundations—a stark reminder of why they were here.But something didn’t fit for Riley.Her mind circled back to an earlier hunch, the incongruous thought that amidst this bastion of testosterone—that the killer might be a woman.
Sheriff Beeler guided the cruiser into a parking spot across from Callahan’s Boat Repair.The building, like an old sailor, bore the scars of countless storms, its sign bleached by relentless sun and lashed by salty winds.
The door creaked open to reveal a spartan interior where the smell of varnish was strong enough to taste.Several men looked up from their tasks, hands stilling on sandpaper and wrenches.Their gazes lingered not with curiosity, but with a silent challenge.Riley acknowledged them with a nod, alert to every shift in their body language.
They continued on into front office, where a pair of weathered locals sat hunched over a game of dominoes.The clack of ivory tiles punctuated the tense silence that descended as Riley and her companions entered.
“Two FBI Agents are here to ask a few questions,” Thorne announced.The two men offered no greeting, their focus returning to the game as if the intrusion was nothing more than a passing annoyance.
Thorne made the introductions.“These are Agents Paige and Esmer, FBI,” he stated, “You might have met Sheriff Beeler before.Agents, this is Amos Dunkelberg and Art Butler.”
Dunkelberg, a man whose skin was tanned by years under a merciless sun, leaned back in his chair, his lips twitching into a half-smile.Art Butler casually flicked a domino onto the table.
“FBI, huh?”Amos drawled, his voice slow and thick.Then he placed another domino, the click echoing mockingly in the tight space.There was a story behind those eyes, Riley thought—a narrative spun from many such encounters.
“Just what’s your business?”Art chimed in, his tone matching his companion’s.
“We’re here to have a word with Marcus.”
“Well, ain’t that interesting,” Art said, sliding a domino into position.
“Sure is, Amos,” Amos said.
“Don’t suppose you know where the boss is, do ya?”Art asked.
“Can’t say that I do,” Amos responded, stroking his chin as though deep in thought.“How ‘bout you?”
“Nope, no idea,” Art replied with a shrug.
Chief Thorne’s hand clamp onto Art Butler’s grimy collar and hauled the man to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor with a grating.
“Listen here,” Thorne growled, his face mere inches from Art’s, eyes boring into the man with an intensity that could scorch.“We’re not playing games.Where’s Callahan?”
