With that, Mullins took one step back from the squad car and let the rifle barrel drop. “I thought they said this monster murdered the children.”
“Benjamin and Sybille, but not Jeremy,” I said.
Mullins shook his head. “Those two beautiful kids, good kids. Anna was a wonderful woman. And my Laurel. My sweet, innocent Laurel.” He paused, choking up. “But Jeremy, you’re not lying to me, he’s okay?”
“In Naomi’s arms as we speak, most likely being cuddled and cooed to,” I said. “I promise you.”
That seemed to change things for Mullins. I figured he didn’t care what happened to him when he thought they were both dead, but now he had second thoughts. Maybe he saw there was something that made it worth not throwing his job away, something to fight for. “You going to stand back now and let us do our jobs the right way?” I asked.
Mullins agreed with a jerk of his head.
“I’m going to talk to Carl,” Max said. “Clara, cover me. You two stay here.”
“You be careful, Max,” Mullins growled, again pointing at the house. “That man… he’s a killer. Don’t trust him.”
Max gave Mullins a sympathetic look, and then took a few steps out into the open, walking around Mullins’ squad toward the trailer. “Carl Shipley, can you hear me?” he shouted. “This is Chief Deputy Max Anderson. I have Police Chief Clara Jefferies with me. We need to talk to you.”
The voice that came from the trailer was surly, condescending, and I thought I heard fear hidden deep within it. Maybe Mullins’ threats had hit their mark. “Did that deranged cop put his rifle away?” Carl asked.
Mullins stared at the trailer door, and I saw his rifle edging higher, on its way to his initial position. I put my hand on top of the barrel. At first, Mullins resisted, but then he allowed me to gradually push it down until the barrel pointed at the ground. “Give it to me,” I ordered. Mullins held tight but shrank back, as I said, “I’m sorry about Laurel. If it’s Carl, we’ll get him. But right now, give me your weapon.”
“You better keep your eyes on that man,” Mullins warned. “You and Max can’t trust him.”
“We’ll watch him,” I said. “Now, give me your rifle.”
Mullins hesitated, but then handed it over. I put my gun in my holster and held the rifle up, aimed it at the door. When I did, Mullins turned away from me, I hoped satisfied that we were in control. He again glued his attention on the trailer.
“Detective Mullins has relinquished his rifle,” Max said. “Now it’s your turn. Carl, if you’re holding a weapon, put it down. Come out slow and easy, hands in the air.”
“I don’t have any gun. I know the damn drill,” Carl shouted. I felt a bit of surprise that he’d volunteer the next bit of information. “Shit, I’ve done this before.”
“Then you ought to be good at it,” Max called out. “Follow instructions and come out here. We need to talk to you.”
For a moment, silence, then the thin metal door cracked open. The man who stood in the doorway was a big, bulky guy with messy dark brown hair and a broad face, a high forehead and a stunted chin. His heavy work boots rattled the trailer’s tinny drop-down steps as he made his way to the ground, hands empty and held high.
The moment Carl’s feet touched earth, Mullins rushed forward.
“Detective Mullins, stop!” I shouted. Max and I ran after him, but not quickly enough. Mullins, a foot or so shorter, gripped Carl by the collar of his plaid flannel shirt and started twisting it as if to strangle him. Carl grabbed at Mullins’ hands, attempting to peel them off, but Mullins was surprisingly strong. I held the rifle on the two of them and ordered, “Detective Mullins, move back!”
Mullins had a death lock on that shirt collar, tightening it like a noose, while Carl took one of his massive hands and pulled it back, preparing to deliver a blow to Mullins’ face. I shouted again. “Carl, stop. Don’t hit him! Mullins, damn it, I ordered you to move back!”
Carl appeared ready to strike, but Mullins finally did as I instructed and let go. He looked as if something deep inside him had taken control, something that wanted more than anything to kill the man before him. But he did as I’d demanded and took two steps back. “Goddamn it, Chief, this guy killed my daughter, I’m telling you. Killed my Laurel.”
Carl was coughing and pulling his shirt down, straightening his collar, the color of his face starting to slowly return to normal. A deadpan look on his face, Carl said, “Laurel’s dead?”
“Hands up, Carl,” I ordered. “Get them back up.”
“What about the others?” His voice hoarse from the choking, he appeared stunned but slowly raised his hands above his head. “Jacob? Anna? The kids? Are they okay?”
“Where were you this morning?” I asked.
“Here at the trailer,” he said. “I was just getting up when this—”
“Anyone see you here? Anyone here with you?” Max asked.
Carl appeared confused, looked from one to the other of us. “Shit, no. I live here alone. You think I did this?”
That, apparently, was more than Mullins could tolerate, because he jumped forward, tackled Carl, and they fell to the ground. I held the rifle on them, while Max shouted at the top of his lungs, “Mullins, get the hell off that man!”
They rolled, Mullins on top. Carl on top. Another turn around, one up, the other down, and Max put his boot on Mullins’ leg and pushed hard, until he screamed.
“Damn it!” Max shouted. “Mullins, cut it—”
It happened in a single heartbeat. Carl’s hand came up holding a 9mm, one I surmised Mullins must have had tucked into his pants or a hidden holster. In a split-second, single move, Carl pointed the gun at Mullins’ head. Max and I aimed our weapons at Carl, ready to shoot, but only if we had to. “Now whoa, there,” Carl said. “I’m not the bad guy here. He attacked me.”
“Put the gun on the ground and we’ll talk,” I said. “Now!”
Carl kept the handgun where he had it, pointed straight at my lead detective’s cranium. In response, all the blood appeared to drain from Mullins’ face, turning everything but that scar of his to ash.
“Shit, I…” Carl started, but then he stopped. He looked at the two of us. “I’m not getting a fair shake here. Not with my history. Not with this crazy-as-a-loon cop convinced I did it.”
“Didn’t you do it?” I asked.
“Hell, no!” he shouted. “I didn’t do shit. I was home sleeping. I told you.”
“Well, if you didn’t do it, you don’t have anything to worry about,” I said. “Let Detective Mullins go. Put down the gun. We’ll talk and clear this up.”
“Damn it, I…” Carl started. Then, it appeared, he’d made up his mind. “You two put your guns down, and then we’ll talk.”
“Not until you let the detective go and put your gun down,” Max said, his voice steel. “That’s the only way this works.”
“Hell, you think I’m a fool?” Carl yelled. “I told you to put your guns down, and when you do, I’ll let him go.”
“We’re not putting anything down,” I said. “Let. Him. Go.”
Carl had the handgun pressed so tight against Mullins’ skull it must have hurt. I bit the inside of my lip and tasted something metallic—blood. I couldn’t take my eyes off Carl to look at Max, but I sensed that he was creeping farther to the right. Carl swiveled to get a better look at Max. “Stay where you are or I’ll shoot the man,” he threatened. “Move back, closer to the chief!”
Max did as Carl said and inched toward me. We both still had our firearms aimed at the men on the ground. I noticed Mullins’ hand tremble.
“We’re going to get up now, this guy and me, and when we’re standing, we’ll talk about this,” Carl said. “You two okay with that?”
In truth, we didn’t have a lot of good options. “Yeah,” I said. “We’re okay with that.”
Max and I backed up a couple of feet to give them room, and Carl lumbered up, his left hand pulling Mullins along with h
im by his collar, his right hand holding the gun’s barrel in place. Once they made it up, we all stared at each other, except for Mullins, who kept his eyes focused on the ground. Carl kept low, trying to shelter behind his shorter hostage. Max and I had our guns pointed but had no opportunity to shoot without most likely killing both of them. Plus, this seemed like a situation we could talk to a conclusion.
“Now what?” I asked. “You ready to put that gun down so we can clear this up?”
“You gonna arrest me for holding this guy hostage?” he asked. “He jumped me. You both saw it. But I know how you cops stick together. How’s this gonna come down?”
Mullins’ face pinched tight, displeased I knew, when I answered, “No. The detective didn’t follow procedures. He was out of line. We won’t pursue you for fighting him off.”
Max looked over at me, questioning.
Carl stared at both of us, unsure. “This wouldn’t be the first time I’ve been lied to by a cop.”
“I’m not lying,” I countered. “We will not arrest you for assaulting a police officer. Detective Mullins made the first move.”
I sensed that Carl weighed his choices. Should he run, take Mullins with him as his hostage? Should he believe me and drop the gun? Maybe he thought he could kill Max and me, then shoot Mullins and escape?
“I’ve got priors,” Carl said. “I want you to know that, so if it figures in you can tell me now.”
“What kind of priors?” I asked.
Carl focused on me. “Lots of juvie stuff, nothing big. But I beat up a guy pretty bad. Bar fight. Put him in the hospital.”
“Assault?” I asked.
“Yeah, that’s what they called it at first, but they whittled it down to a lesser charge. I only served six months.”
I kept quiet. I could feel Max beside me, the tension radiating off all four of us. The sun had made its way higher than the treetops and I felt it on my back. “The guy must not have been hurt too bad,” I said.
“I got him good,” Carl said. “But the DA figured out that the other guy provoked the fight, so they went light on me. We were both drunk and in sorry moods.”
I nodded. “Okay, if everything you’ve told me is true, we won’t pursue charges for the altercation with Detective Mullins, if, right now, you let him go and drop that gun.”
Carl kept his eyes on me and his left hand, which had been clenched in a death grip on Mullins, opened up. Mullins gulped hard and darted away, until he stood at my right. As ordered, Carl lowered his arms. We watched for any sign he could rear up at us, any indication he might shoot. That didn’t happen. Instead, he crouched down and placed the gun on the dirt. Once he did, he stood again and followed instructions, hands up in the air.
Max grabbed the gun, and Mullins shouted, “Now you’re done, you SOB.” His face flushed so red it seemed to swell with anger as he shouted, “You’re going down for this, for all of it!”
I turned to Mullins and ordered, “Cool it. This part of it is done.”
“Chief, I…” he started. I shot him a look that warned I’d heard enough. He moved back, irritated.
“We’re going to take you to the station,” I said to Carl.
“You promised—”
“We’re not booking you for what happened between you and the detective. I’m keeping my word. But we need to talk to you about Jacob Johansson and his family,” I said. “We have four murders to solve.”
Nine
Max offered to drive Carl Shipley to the police station, and I ordered Mullins to report there and sit tight, to not interact with anyone but Max until we had time to talk. I had to drive back to the bison ranch to collect Naomi. Despite her turndown, I intended to get a statement out of her.
When I arrived, I had to park on the road. The forensic folks had expanded the crime scene, and yellow and black tape hung all the way back to the end of the driveway, encircling the family van Naomi arrived in. I could tell she was agitated as soon as I saw her. She rushed me, baby Jeremy in her arms, as I climbed out of the Suburban.
“Clara, they won’t let me take the van,” she said. “How will I get to my hives? And Ardeth needs it to do the family grocery shopping. By now, she’s screaming to the heavens about me. You know how your mother gets when she’s angry.” Naomi wasn’t exaggerating; my mother, Ardeth, was the first of father’s wives and as such had a tight grip on all that went on in the family. She was such a stubborn woman, such a strong force, that in my months home, even I’d been unable to buck her. Despite my attempts, she’d successfully kept me at arm’s length from my family. Yet while I understood, even identified with Naomi’s angst, I couldn’t let anyone, not even Mother, prevent me from getting what I needed.
“Mother Naomi,” I said, trying to calm her. “I’ll do something for you. But you need to do something for me.”
She gave me a twisted frown that signaled that her suspicions were building. “Do what for you?” she asked.
“You need to come to the station and give an official statement,” I said. “I’ll call my mother and explain the situation. When we’re done, I’ll drive you back here and get them to release the van, so you can drive it home.”
“No,” she said, as if that ended the matter. “I won’t do that. I won’t give an interview. I told you everything.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
She gave me a confused glance. “What do you mean, how do I know?”
“How do you know what I’ll ask?” I said. “Don’t you want to help find the person who murdered Laurel? Anna and her children?”
Naomi muttered something I couldn’t hear most of, nothing except my name, which wasn’t said in the kindest tone. I let her sputter, and eventually she turned to me. “Before we leave here, I need to know that when you bring me back, I’ll be able to take the van. Or I won’t go.”
“What will you do?” I asked, wanting to make sure that she understood she had little choice. “As far as I know the family just has that one vehicle. You don’t have a cell phone, and the Johanssons’ house is a crime scene. They won’t let you inside to use the kitchen phone again. Who will come for you? How will you get the van?”
Naomi glared at me. I nearly smiled thinking of the days I’d quaked under that look. But I simply waited, expressionless, until she said, “All right, Clara. If I must, I’ll go with you. Just make sure I can get the van later. Or your mother will wake the dead with her fury.”
Agreeing, I left Naomi and walked over to talk to Lieutenant Mueller. When I pulled him to the side and explained the situation, he offered to let us take the van right then if we wanted, but I stopped him. “No, keep it where it is for now. We’ll be back in a few hours,” I said. “But first, I’m going in the house to get a few things for the baby.”
“Sure, but be careful,” he said. “You know the drill.”
I nodded, then I waved at Naomi and shouted, “Everything’s all set. I’ll get Jeremy’s supplies. Be right back.”
As I walked past the bodies, I saw that Doc had Benjamin and Sybille in body bags, and he and one of his assistants had a third laid out next to Anna. I thought of what Carl had said, that she was a good woman. I looked at the small figures of the two children encased in black vinyl. This was the kind of case that strains the heart. The kind that can turn a cop inside out trying to solve it. I thought about Carl at the station house, waiting to be interviewed. Mullins insisted that Carl was the killer, but was he?
Inside the house, the blood on the kitchen floor marked where the medics had worked on Jacob. I walked to the side. The white refrigerator had sooty fingerprint dust all over it. I thought about opening it to look for formula, but then remembered that Laurel was breastfeeding and didn’t have a pump, since that’s why Naomi was here. It seemed unlikely that Laurel had formula for the baby. Rather than take a chance that the fingerprinting wasn’t done and I’d contaminate the area, I decided to send someone to the grocery store.
Skirting around the blood, I spotted
a yellow marker under the breakfast table a dozen feet away. I hunched down and saw a knife with a curved, bloodstained blade under the table, the kind used to gut deer during hunting season. The second murder weapon? How strange. The gun was outside. Neither of the weapons had been removed from the scene. The killer didn’t take either one with him. I wondered if he brought the weapons, or if whoever had done this found the gun and knife at the house.
Then I noticed a couple of markers that appeared to designate nothing in particular. They sat on the floor between the blood pool and the knife. I crouched farther down and looked back at where Jacob had been found. That was when I noticed something on the floor: a few faint streaks of blood.
As I got up, Stef walked in with one of the CSI techs.
“What do you make of those?” I asked. They both shot me questioning looks. “The blood smears you marked.”
“Oh, those,” the tech said. He nodded at Stef. “You want to tell her?”
“Yeah. If it’s okay with you?” she asked. The guy nodded and Stef grinned. “Well, Chief, what we think is that Jacob and his assailant wrestled some, and that they ended up down on the floor, and that’s when he cut Jacob’s throat. The reason is that if Jacob had been standing when it happened, we would expect to see round drops of blood somewhere on the floor, the type that form when liquid, in this case blood, falls straight down from an elevated position. There aren’t any.”
“Interesting,” I said, seeing the excitement in her eyes. I, of course, knew all of this. I’ve been on my fair share of murder scenes. But I wanted to give Stef an opportunity to explain it, to be able to display all she’d learned. “Go on.”
“Well, then, once the attacker finished with Jacob, it looks like he threw the knife under the table. It skidded across the floor leaving those bloodstains.”
At that, Stef flung out her right arm, as if she’d thrown away the knife.
I thought about what that might mean. “So, you’re suggesting that the killer was most likely a man and someone powerfully built? Jacob’s a big guy. He wouldn’t be easy to overpower.”
Her Final Prayer: A totally gripping and heart-stopping crime thriller (Detective Clara Jefferies Book 2) Page 6
