Free Birdy Waterman 01 - The Bone Box by Gregg Olsen

Detective Derby found it.”

C HAPTER T EN
    Jim Derby’s house commanded the edge of a hill overlooking the Strait of Juan de Fuca, an always choppy passage that divides Washington from British Columbia. It was a big house with shingled siding and a river rock chimney. Atop its second story was a widow’s walk framed by ornate ironwork. It was the kind of place that drive-bys admire and covet.
    Pitched in the front yard was a campaign sign as big as a car: THE DERBY WINNER YOU WANT.
    Birdy parked and walked up the long cobblestone path. She wondered how a sheriff could afford such a place. A congressman, yes. They had a zillion ways to earn a fortune through sweetheart deals made when their constituents were home dealing with the real-life problems of their respective districts.
    She knocked and Jim Derby opened the door.
    “What do you want?” he asked, clearly not happy to see her. “It’s late.”
    “I think you know why I’m here, Sheriff.” Her tone was flat, without emotion. Her eyes stared hard at him. He had to know why she was there. It wasn’t a social call.
    “It sounds like you’re threatening me,” he said.
    Witch hazel scented the air.
    “Are you going to invite me in or are we going to have this conversation out here where the neighbors might hear?” she asked, refusing to yield to fear.
    Jim Derby looked warily over the hedge next door. A light beamed from the porch.
    “Come in,” he said.
    “Who’s there?” a woman’s voice called as Birdy followed the sheriff into a living room that had been turned into campaign central. Mailers, bumper stickers, and yard signs blanketed the coffee table, the sofa, and a credenza that ran the length of a bay window that overlooked the Strait.
    “No one, Lydia,” he said calling into the hallway. “Just a staffer.”
    “All right then,” she said.
    He turned back to Birdy. “My wife doesn’t need to hear this. I made a few phone calls after you left. I know what you’re up to. I just don’t know why. I’m guessing that someone from the other side is trying to smear me. I get it. That happens. Don’t be used. Despite Tommy being a family member, you and I are on the same team.”
    “Are we? My team doesn’t frame people for murders they didn’t commit.”
    “You better back off, Ms. Waterman,” he said.
    “Doctor,” she shot back.
    He looked flustered, maybe for the first time ever. “Fine, Doctor, back off. No one framed anyone. Are you working for the Democrats or not? Is this about hurting my chances for reelection?”
    “No,” she said. “But it does give me a little bit of comfort knowing that what you did to my cousin and Anna Jo will stop you from winning the derby, as you like to call it.”
    “Just wait a second. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
    “I found out that Anna Jo was seeing someone. Someone she didn’t want her parents to know about. It was you, wasn’t it?”
    Derby took a step backward, but said nothing.
    Birdy pressed on. “It wasn’t that Anna Jo was embarrassed about who she was seeing. It was the other person—you—who was embarrassed about seeing her, a Makah girl. She meant nothing to you. She was trash to you, wasn’t she?”
    “I want you to leave,” he said. “I will call my deputies and have them pick you up for threatening an officer.”
    Birdy gripped her keys. She’d planned on jabbing them in his eyes if he got violent with her. Instead, he was cowering behind the shields of the men and women who worked for him. Probably like he’d always done. Like he did to Patricia Stanton. “Fine,” she said. “People like you ruin the law for everyone who actually gives a damn. You killed her and you set up Tommy.”
    “Get out!” he said, his voice rising to flat-out anger.
    Again, Birdy felt her keys.
    “Wait,” came the woman’s voice from the other room.
    Birdy spun around and faced Lydia H. Derby, the woman who graced every campaign poster; the woman her husband wore