Free Avenging Angel by Rex Burns

not at all, because response by the dentists was strictly voluntary, and some didn’t feel like wasting their time. “Mueller had no known connections with the Mormons or any other church group,” Wager told Max. “And the method wasn’t the same.”
    “How’s that?”
    “He was shot in the back of the head instead of the chest. He wasn’t robbed. He was known. He was left in his home.”
    After a pause Max asked, “So the only real similarity is that sketch?” Then, “What about the slug? Ballistics finally matched the two from Denver and Pueblo—their report came in today: same weapon.”
    “They can’t find a slug.” Wager dropped his voice, glad for the brief spurt of radio traffic that drew the girl’s ears away from him as she responded to a deputy’s query. “The training out here is amateur—almost as bad as the rent-a-cops.”
    “The sheriffs office doesn’t have a detective?”
    “Hell, no. The county can’t afford one. I don’t even know if his deputies are certified.”
    “Was the trip a waste then?”
    Wager didn’t know that either. “We found out about these avenging angels. Maybe something will come out of that.”
    “I hope so … but it’s a hell of a long drive just for that. Listen, I’ll see what I can turn up when I go in tonight. You driving back tomorrow?”
    “No reason not to.”
    “Okay, I’ll see you tomorrow night.” Max added, “Kolagny’s settling for a reduced plea on the barbed-wire killing.” His voice masked his disgust; only the fact that he mentioned it told Wager his disappointment.
    “What the hell for?”
    “He thinks he’ll have trouble with intent. The defense is claiming they only wanted to scare Ellison, not kill him.”
    “They made threats!”
    “They claim they didn’t.” Wager heard a shrug in Max’s voice. “It’s their word against Linton’s, Kolagny says, and he wants a sure thing. What the hell, he’s the prosecutor. And a sure thing makes the stats look better. Say, Gabe, can I tell Polly you’ll be coming to the barbecue?”
    “I—ah—haven’t asked Jo yet. I’ll ask her when I get back.”
    “Sure, Gabe. See you tomorrow.”
    Damn Prosecuting Attorney Kolagny and damn the barbecue. He hung up the telephone and, without seeing, gazed at the closed door of the sheriff’s private office. What Max said was true: the only real similarity between Mueller’s shooting and those in Denver and Pueblo was the angel drawing. But it was also the only tie they had to anything at all, and even if it made no sense it was better than nothing. Maybe. He hoped it was better than nothing.
    At the edge of his hearing the radio popped and Deputy Yates voiced a message for the highway patrol: “I got a 10-50, a pickup rolled into the barrow, mile eighteen, state highway 173. No injuries.”
    “Ten-four,” said the daughter-in-law. “I’ll tell him.”
    Wager waited as she dialed the CHP frequency and relayed the message to a laconic voice somewhere in the dark. Then, the excitement over, she logged the calls and turned back to her National Enquirer with a glance at Wager to see if he had noticed how efficient she was.
    “Is your husband with the sheriff’s office too?”
    She nodded. “He’s a jailer. We got it fixed so we work the same shifts. No kids yet.” She smiled.
    If the county commissioners didn’t mind the nepotism Wager wasn’t going to sweat it. There were few jobs to be had in this corner of the state anyway, and fewer still that brought in any kind of hard cash. Apparently Tice, like everyone else, grabbed for that stray dollar with both hands and with those of all his relatives, and no one thought the worse of him for it. In fact, if he didn’t grab, they’d probably think him a damned fool and not worth voting for in the next election.
    “Any other relatives working for the sheriff?”
    “Sure—his wife fills in here on weekends, and his other boy’s the animal control officer.” She grew suddenly