THE LAST MILE OF MERCY
An Original Suspense Novel
The first thing Deputy Eli Mercer noticed was the sound.
It was not the engine of the excavator, though that machine was loud enough to rattle the windows of the old feed store across County Road 8. It was not the crack of the tow chain tightening around the front axle of the automobile. It was the small, dry click of a camera shutter.
Someone was taking pictures.
Eli turned toward the sound and saw a woman standing beside a black county SUV, her phone held at eye level. She wore a cream-colored coat that looked too expensive for the muddy shoulder of a rural road. Her hair was pinned in a smooth knot, and her expression suggested that the destruction unfolding in front of her was not an accident or even a spectacle. It was an appointment she intended to keep.
“Get the angle where the hood folds,” she told the man beside her. “I want the whole thing documented.”
The man lowered his camera. “You got it, Ms. Vale.”
The automobile was a 1967 Ford Mustang fastback, dark green beneath a skin of dust, with a narrow white stripe running along its flanks. Its chrome had dulled, one headlamp was clouded, and the passenger-side window had been replaced with a sheet of clear plastic. Yet even from twenty yards away, Eli could see that it had been loved. The steering wheel was polished where a driver's hands had rested for years. A little brass compass was fixed to the dashboard. On the rearview mirror hung a faded blue ribbon.
The excavator operator raised one hand, waiting for permission.
The woman in the cream coat gave him a crisp nod.
“Hold on,” Eli called.
The operator released the controls. The excavator's bucket hovered above the Mustang like a metal jaw.
Eli crossed the gravel shoulder, boots sinking into wet earth. “Who authorized this?”
“I did,” the woman said.
“That isn't what I asked.”
Her eyes moved over his uniform, pausing at the badge. “I'm Eleanor Vale. The property is part of the Vale development parcel. The vehicle is abandoned, illegally stored, and scheduled for removal.”
“It's on private land?”
“Private land under a purchase agreement.”
“Then why is the county involved?”
A flicker of irritation crossed her face. “Because the vehicle is an environmental hazard, Deputy. The tank may be leaking. The structure is unstable. We have permits.”
Eli looked at the Mustang again. “Do you have an order to destroy it?”
“We have authority to clear the site.”
“That's not the same thing.”
Eleanor's smile was thin. “I don't believe I asked for a legal seminar.”
The man with the camera shifted uneasily. The excavator operator looked from Eleanor to Eli, plainly wishing he were somewhere else.
Eli keyed his radio. “Dispatch, this is Mercer. I need a unit supervisor at County Road 8, old Bell property. Possible civil dispute involving destruction of personal property.”
Eleanor gave a quiet laugh. “You can call whoever you like. The work is proceeding.”
“No, ma'am. It isn't.”
He stepped between the machine and the car.
For a moment, no one moved. Then a second vehicle came up the road, tires hissing through the rain. A county sedan stopped behind the SUV. Sergeant Naomi Price climbed out, buttoning her jacket as she approached.
“What have we got?” she asked.
“Ms. Vale says she has authority to crush the Mustang. I haven't seen an order identifying the vehicle or its owner.”
Eleanor handed her a thick folder. “Everything is in there.”
Naomi did not take it immediately. “Who owns the car?”
“The owner is deceased, as far as anyone knows.”
“As far as anyone knows?”
“The property has been vacant for years. The family abandoned it.”
Eli glanced at the car's dashboard. A small envelope had been tucked beneath the brass compass. He could not read the writing from where he stood, but he could see that the paper was clean and dry, protected from the weather.
“Did anyone attempt to contact the registered owner?” Naomi asked.
Eleanor's patience thinned. “The vehicle is not registered to the parcel. It is an obstruction. The county has already approved removal.”
“Then showing us the approval should be easy,” Naomi said.
Eleanor opened the folder and began sorting papers with quick, practiced movements. Eli watched her hands. They were steady, but the corners of the documents trembled in the wind.
The radio crackled.
“Sergeant Price, dispatch. Sheriff is en route. Also, be advised: we received a call from a state investigator asking whether units are at the Bell property.”
Naomi looked up. “A state investigator?”