“What about anything on him? You said you didn’t see a knife, but did he have anything else in his hands? Any kind of weapon? A stick? A gun? A cell phone? Did you notice anything at all?”
“No.”
“No, as in, he didn’t have a weapon, or you didn’t notice one?”
“I didn’t see a weapon.” For the first time, she paused, looking up in deep thought. “That’s weird, right? That he didn’t have a weapon?”
“You’re only assuming he didn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t he have used it, then?” Her eyes rounded. “Do you think he intended to abduct me?”
“You tell me.”
Her back straightened, this new line of thinking obviously spinning her wheels. “I don’t know…”
I sat back, contemplating my next question.
“Did you notice if your attacker had a limp?”
“A limp?”
“Yes.”
“No, not that I noticed.”
“Are you sure? Maybe you subconsciously noticed while he was running up? Or maybe he favored a right or left leg during the attack?”
She shook her head.
“Okay. Same questions for this third mystery person now. The person who threw you to the ground and killed your attacker. You’re sure you didn’t get a look at him or her?”
“I’m positive. Trust me, I’d be drawing you a picture if I did.”
“Did you notice anything about the person? Clothes, hat or no hat, weapon, tattoos, skin color, hair color, anything?”
“No. I’m sorry.”
“Limp?”
“No.”
“Like a ghost, then.”
Her gaze leveled mine. “Yes.”
“The bare finger on your left hand suggests you’re not married, is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“Boyfriend?”
“No.”
“Since when?”
“Since a long time.”
“Friends with benefits?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Everything’s my business right now. Take some time thinking about your former lovers and let me know if you think any of them might fit this bill. Assuming there are some, of course.”
Those eyes squinted.
“Are you an only child?”
“Yes.”
“Parents?”
“My dad lives in Dallas. My mom is no longer with us.”
“I’d appreciate his contact information and the contact info for the dog breeder you visited earlier today.”
“Why? To determine if I’m telling the truth?”
“Your attack ended in a man’s death. It’s my job to gather everything I can surrounding the incident, including the whereabouts of everyone involved.”
“Fine.”
“Thank you for your cooperation.”
“Thank you for toning down your smartassery.”
I pulled my card from my pocket and tossed it across the table. “If you think of anything else, give me a call. Day or night.”
She slid the card into one of the many hidden pockets in those leggings. “When do I get my gun back?”
“It’ll be awhile.” I stood. “Do you have a ride back to your car?”
“I’ll take care of it.”
“I’ll take you.” I turned and made my way to the door. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Colson slid out of the observation room as I stepped into the hall and pulled the door closed. He jerked his chin and I followed him into his office, where he closed the door behind us.
“How much did you catch?” I asked.
He drug his fingers through his hair. “Everything, and not damn enough.”
“Agreed.”
His phone rang. He silenced it, lingering on the blinking red light a moment before shaking his head. “Shit never sleeps. Never fucking sleeps. What are your initial thoughts?”
“Do you have old man Erickson’s interview notes?”
“Yeah.” Colson picked up his notebook and tossed it into my hands.
I flipped through the pages. “Jesus, dude, did you sleep through handwriting in school? How the fuck is anyone supposed to read this shit?”
He snatched it back. “What do you need to know? You’re such an asshole.”
“Did Erickson mention anything about seeing a third person?”
“No.”
“He said he only saw Sunny and Julian?”
“Right.”
“Did he say specifically that he saw Sunny Harper shoot Julian in the head?”
Colson skimmed his notes. “Yes.”
“Impossible.”
“Why?”
“The attack happened between lampposts. I couldn’t even make out her face, or hell, the fact that she was a woman, when I rushed the scene. There’s no way in hell he actually saw her face, or anything more than two dark silhouettes. He’s just assuming.”
“Then you’re assuming that when Erickson said he saw Sunny with Julian in a bear hold before shooting him, that it wasn’t Sunny. It was the third person?”
“According to Sunny, she was on the ground at that moment.”
“If she’s telling the truth.”
“We need to follow up with Erickson. Ask him specifically. We also need to have ballistics check the pin markings on the casing I found to see if it matches Sunny’s gun. If the markings do match then that means Julian was shot by her gun and that she’s lying. If the markings don’t match, it confirms a third player.”
Colson nodded, scribbled on the pad.
I began pacing. “This wasn’t a mugging gone bad. Her attacker didn’t ask for any personal items, didn’t take the key from her pocket, nothing. She said he didn’t even speak.”
“Personal, then?”
“Possibly, but she says she doesn’t know him. Or it could be some cracked out drug addict tripping his balls off.”
“What about the abduction theory?”
“Eighty percent of women who are abducted are taken by someone they know.”
“Good point. What else do we know about her right now? Other than her ability to get out of speeding tickets.”
“I’ve got Darby looking into her now, Google, social media, any records, anything. And I’m going to sync up with the dog breeder she said she visited. Try to get some more insight on her and confirm she was where she said she was, and ask if they noticed anyone following her.”
Colson fisted his hands on his hips. “Okay. Two scenarios as of right now, then. One: this woman—what do you think she is? A buck ten?—is able to hold off an attacker twice her size until her guardian angel shows up and kills the guy for her. Or, two, the crazy bitch is lying and she killed the guy, and there is no third guy. She could know Griggs and is lying. He could be an ex-lover or some shit.”
“Okay, going with your option one, then, Sunny Harper is an innocent victim in a shitty attack. She’s banged up, which can confirm that story. Check that box. It is also plausible that a woman of her size could hold off an attacker if it’s true that she’s skilled in Krav Maga, which I’ll verify. Considering the physicality of it, it is also plausible that in the scuffle she dropped her gun, leaving her defenseless and allowing this third mystery person to shoot. The smoke clears and she’s staring down the barrel of Erickson’s pistol, and freezes. Then we show up.”
“Hell of a woman, Jagg.” It wasn’t a compliment. “Ever met a woman who checks all those boxes?”
No, was the undeniable answer to that question. Assault victims rarely fought back, and it was even rarer for them to overpower their attacker. And none carried a gun like that.
“Something just doesn’t feel right.” Colson picked up a stress ball from his desk. “The only thing we have to go on right now is her story and Erickson’s eye witness account, which are different.” He began pacing. “Self-defense is understandable and forgivable. So if she is making up this third mystery person, why? She has to know we’d write it off as sel
f-defense and be done with it. Why make that up?”
“Killing a man fucks with your head. If she is lying, it’s probably because she’s scared she’d get pinned with murder or something.”
“Then someone needs to convince her that’s not the case so she’ll admit to lying about the third person and we can close the book before the entire town goes apeshit about this. God, I hate this already.” Colson ran his fingers through his hair again. “I’ll call old man Erickson at dawn and verify his statement. And I’ll also have Darby pull the street cams for the hours surrounding the attack. See what vehicles passed by the park.”
“Have him look for a blue, four door sedan.”
“Wait.” Colson turned to me. “You think Sunny’s attacker could be the Black Bandit? The same guy you think killed Seagrave?”
“It’s a possibility. Too much violence in such a short amount of time. We have to consider that it could all be connected.”
Colson paused, blinking, assessing. “Did I mention I hate this already?”
A knock sounded at the door.
“What?” Colson snapped.
Darby walked in, his skin an almost iridescent pale. The kid needed food and water to replace the amount he’d vomited at the scene, and maybe a valium to go with it.
“Got more information on the victim.” His eyes were wide, way too hyper for the moment. My senses went on alert.
“Julian Griggs is the pastor’s son.”
“What?” Colson’s voice raised an octave.
“Yep. Works full-time at the local Baptist church. Runs the kid program and the soup kitchen.”
Colson’s neck snapped to me. “Did you recognize him?”
I shook my head. Half the kid’s face had been blown off… and I wasn’t exactly a regular at church.
“Me, either. Shit. I didn’t even put it together when we read his name from his driver’s license. Shit, fuck, shit.”
Darby handed Colson a photo of a smiling kid surrounded by a bunch of gleeful children. “That’s Julian on his mission trip to South America last month. He just got back. Printed it from a newspaper article.”
Colson’s mouth dropped. “The pastor’s son was just shot in the head in the park. This is going to hit the fucking fan.”
Darby nodded, but the rookie had no idea how bad it was going to get. Pastor Griggs had been the lead pastor in Berry Springs since the seventies. Smart, respected, and had dunked more local citizens than the city pool.
“Does Julian have a rap sheet?” I asked.
Darby shook his head.
Of course he didn’t. Of course the kid was going to be a model citizen who would never attack a woman jogging in the middle of the night.
Yeah, shit was going to hit the fan, alright. Not just because the town angel had just been shot through the eye, but because Berry Springs was going to want someone’s head for it.
And I had feeling that head came with long, dark curls.
11
Jagg
“I’ve got to call the chief.” Colson said. “He’ll want to make this call personally. He knows the pastor. Hell, I think Pastor Griggs baptized the chief’s kids. He’ll probably come up here. Dammit.” He reached for his phone.
“Darby.” I jerked my chin to the door.
Colson was already dialing the chief when Darby and I stepped into the hallway.
“I got everything else you asked—”
“Not here, kid.”
The station was a flurry of chatter and whispers, sudden overachievers swinging by the station at five in the morning. I had no doubt everyone in town would know about the “Slaying in the Park,” by daybreak.
I led Darby down to the hallway, past the conference room, glancing in to make sure Sunny Harper hadn’t popped the window locks and escaped, because, for some reason, I knew she was capable of it.
The woman hadn’t moved a muscle. Same spot, same alert, rod-straight posture, same sharp, controlled expression on her face. To any bystander, Sunny looked calm, complacent almost. But the extra frizz in her hair suggested she’d run her hands through her curls many times since I’d left. Nervous energy.
Our eyes met.
Her head didn’t move, neck didn’t move, she just watched me pass by like one of those creepy paintings you were sure were staring into your soul.
Jesus, this woman.
I led Darby into the observation room, then clicked the door closed.
“Go.” I crossed my arms over my chest and faced him, keeping Sunny in my peripheral.
He fumbled with the papers he was carrying, a slight tremble in his hands.
“Uh. Yes. Okay—”
“Darby.”
He looked up.
“Take a deep breath. Calm yourself. You are stressing me the fuck out.”
He took a shaky deep breath, then another. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I know you just saw your first dead guy. Accept it, get over it, and focus. It happens. Control yourself. Now. Go.”
“Okay.” Another breath. “So I dug up everything I could on Miss Harper.”
“Yes. Go.”
Fuck.
“Do you want her background first or—”
“Background.”
“Okay. Miss Harper is a twenty-eight year old—”
“Dog trainer who’s social media is comprised primarily of work-related posts. It appears that Miss Harper is an introvert, has no friends or social life, and is a hermit on all counts…”
“You got all that from one ten minute interview?”
“Comes with experience. Deeper, I need deeper, Darby.”
“Okay, so yes, you’re right on all counts. The woman appears to be a hermit. She started an LLC for her dog training company a few months ago. Runs it by herself. Other than social media posts about that, there are a few posts about wine and that’s it. She likes wine.”
“What kind?”
“Uh, reds. Bordeauxs.”
“Okay, go on.”
“No obvious men, or women, for that matter, in her life”—my brain momentarily short circuited. Did Darby think she was gay? Was she a lesbian? No. No way. … What the hell did I care, anyway?—“and, like I said, no besties or book club pics. By all accounts, Sunny appears to be a dog-loving homebody who likes good wine, which isn’t surprising considering who her dad is.”
“Who’s her dad?”
Darby’s eyes flashed with victory. “Ah, so you don’t know everything about Sunny Harper. Interesting…”
“Darby,” I growled between my teeth.
“Sunny is the daughter of the one and only Arlo Harper, multi-millionaire real estate mogul born and raised in good ol’ Berry Springs.”
My brows arched. I knew the name. Everyone in the tri-state area knew the name Arlo Harper. The man started his own construction business when he was just nineteen, and in two decades, owned half of the surrounding counties. Years later, he moved to Dallas where he tripled his net worth. There wasn’t a county line you could cross without going onto one of his properties.
Sunny Harper was a rich girl.
A very rich girl.
I had a thing about rich people. Call it a chip on my shoulder from growing up dirt poor but I never got along with them, their type. Not much set me off more than entitlement. Spoiled brats who had doors open for them simply because of their last names, not because of busting through it with grit and determination. Brats who thought they owned the world and everyone in it. I’d broken my fair share of rich kids’ noses and didn’t regret a single one.
Darby continued, “Appears Arlo’s had some run ins with the law over the last few years in Dallas.”
“Yeah?”
He handed me a police report with DPD stamped on the letterhead—Dallas Police Department—for a DUI. “There’s another DUI after that one, and one drunk and disorderly.”
I hmphed.
“Guy got off, of course.”
Of course he did. Rich fuckers. Money always t
alked, but not from Sunny’s lips, apparently.
I kicked myself for not connecting the dots, but nothing about this woman screamed heiress to a real estate fortune. I was pretty good at pegging rich girls but the thought hadn’t even popped into my head with Sunny. Not only were her jogging clothes faded and mis-matched, they didn’t appear to be designer, either. You know, like Nike or Adidas. Her right running shoe had a hole at the tip, her nail polish chipped on each finger. No diamond studs in her ears, no jewelry, no perfectly quaffed mane of highlighted hair—quite the contrary there, in fact. Her hair was long, wild, a horse’s mane blowing in the wind. Nothing—not a single thing—about her suggested she had more than a few hundos sitting in the bank.
Considering her daddy’s obvious business acumen, you’d figure she would have had the wits to demand a lawyer. Or at least throw her daddy’s name around while I was pinning her to the ground. Why hadn’t the woman mentioned him? Or demanded one of her daddy’s lawyers?
Nothing about Sunny Harper made sense.
… Until it suddenly did.
“And then there’s this.” Darby handed me another DPD police report.
I had a slow, gradual reaction as I read the report. First, shock, then a clenching gut, then heat prickling my skin all the way from my toes to the tops of my ears, then finally, a rush of white-hot rage.
That protectiveness.
“She almost died.”
His words barely registered through the thudding of my heart.
I held up the single piece of paper. “Is this all you got on it?” My voice was sharp, clipped. No way to hide that.
He nodded. “I spoke with someone at the department. They just sent that over.”
“At Dallas PD? When? Now?”
“Yeah. I got ahold of a fellow rookie working the nightshift. Turns out we both like video games. Anyway, he pulled the full file, which has the medical report and everything. The responding officer to the attack is his mentor. They’d even discussed the case as a training exercise.”
“What did he say?”
“Basically, Sunny’s cracked-out boyfriend almost beat her to death in some sort of jealous rage after her twenty-first birthday party. Beat her with a baseball bat, slammed her head against a bathroom mirror then threw her down the stairs.”
Jagger (Steele Shadows Investigations) Page 9
