by Deanna King
“You get anything off the shoes?” Jack got back to business.
“We didn’t find any blood on her husband’s shoes, not a speck, just dirt, and nothing usable. He could have hit her, but no item in the room had any blood on it. On the other hand, the killer was someone else, which to me is the obvious conclusion, but you fellas will have to confirm that. I did do tox screens but won’t have ‘em back for a few days. As soon as the reports are in, I’ll call you.”
Bennie had been a wealth of information. It was all fishy, the way Sean had reacted, and Jack got a gut feeling. They needed to search the pool house, two bullets…yeah, they needed to get into that pool house. Tonight they would both be digging in the trash, hoping to find any kind of clue.
“Got your booties and gloves, Jack? Here’s a mask. We don’t want to inhale trash odor. No telling what’s in these bags.”
“You take a bag, and I’ll take a bag. Cripes, the boy has both of them stuffed, no telling what we’ll find.”
“Let’s dump, I’m not digging, what ‘dya say?” Lucky had no desire to stick half his body into these large nasty trash bags.
“Sounds like a plan, there’s a broom in the corner. Whatever is left we’ll bag and take it to the dumpster.”
The bags were the large contractor bags stuffed full. Papers from his company, Red Hawk Tel Com, along with gross items Dawson Luck pointed out from the bathroom—“ladies trash” he called it.
Jack sifted through gross trash. Under the piles of paper trash, he found a pair of men’s white sneakers, the kind you wore on a boat, the kind that slipped on your feet with no laces. They were tatty and worn, and they were wet. He held one up, and he sniffed it. Bleach, he smelled bleach.
“Here, what do you smell, Lucky?” He held one up under his partner’s nose. Dawson sniffed.
“Smells like a cover-up or an attempt. I smell bleach, Jack-Oh.”
Man, he was Jack Rabbit, Jack in the Beanstalk, Jack-o-Lantern, Jumping Jack Flash, Jack-Oh, and Jack Sprat, and that was all okay. He was not a ‘Tall Drink of Water,’ that was where he drew the line.
“Hand me that evidence bag, gonna bag ‘em for Bennie.” He was elated with this find, but he wanted more. “Keep digging, we don’t quit till we get to the bottom of this heap of shit.”
Lookie here, Jack, a pair of ragtag jeans rolled up with large rubber bands.”
He slipped off the rubber bands and found a wet orange T-shirt rolled up inside the top of the jeans. “He must’ve dumped these in last, they were underneath a pile of wet papers, and other shit I won’t mention.”
Jack reached over and took the wet T-shirt. “It seems he tried to rinse them out, I hate to say it, but that looks like blood.”
“Here, I’ll bag the shirt and the jeans and you pack the shoes, Jack.”
“That boy is looking more and more like our suspect. He could claim he found them dead. He got upset getting blood on him, and he was nervous, so he left. That was how he got his clothes tainted. He could play that angle. We need a motive, and we hafta find the gun.” Jack took stock of all the trash scattered on the floor.
“So, we keep digging through the rest of this pigsty,” Lucky said. He started sifting through papers. About ten minutes had passed, he whistled, and Jack looked up.
“What, you find gold over there?”
“No, but damn near, it’s a trust form, the kind you fill out and have signed to withdraw money. It isn’t signed, it’s just filled out. Take a gander at the amount in the far right column.”
“Now there are, I would venture to say, three million motives for murder, you agree, pard?”
Lucky turned his lips downward. “Uh-huh, and I’ve seen murder done for twenty bucks, stinks, huh?”
“Like this godawful trash. Keep looking, the more we find, the more we have and the more solid of a case, if that pans out.”
They had shoes that smelled like bleach, wet jeans and T-shirt, with possible blood, and the form for the early extraction of funds. What was missing was a gun or witnesses that put Sean at the scene. He lived in the house too, that would explain his prints or other DNA. Other than the trust fund monies, no other motive jumped out. But three million was more than enough motive for any cop to investigate.
“I think we’ve dug enough, let’s get this garbage bagged back up and go get a beer, you game?” Jack got the broom and pushed the trash into a pile that they could bag up and dump.
“Sure, why not. Got a place in mind? I’ll call the wife and let her know.”
“It’s too early to go to the Fifth Amendment, they don’t open until ten o’clock. How about Proof’s Rooftop Lounge or Frank’s Backyard, both have decent food. We can have a beer, or I know you like Jack and Coke and both are close so won’t have far to drive. You choose, Luck, I’m fine with wherever we go.”
“Frank’s, I like the burgers. One coney didn’t fill this boy up, and a burger and beer would hit the spot. Hey? Why doesn’t anyone ever call you Jack and Coke?” He smarted off.
They sat at Frank’s Backyard up to 11:30 drinking a few beers and eating. They both knew the consequences of drinking and driving and decided to eat a decent meal and nurse a couple of beers.
Jack was replete when he dropped into bed. He needed to hit the department’s gym soon. Not that he worried about staying in shape, but he knew that age was a factor and he was not going to end up like the paunchy front desk sargent, Cal Wickers. The man had been on the force for nearly twenty-five years, and he could not outrun one of the ocean’s manatees known as the sea cow. Wickers rather looked like the manatees with his huge paunch and a slick bald head, and he had a nice word for everyone he met.
At six one and two hundred ten pounds, Jack was a clean-shaven man with dark eyes and a boyish grin that gave a tiny hint to small dimples on both cheeks. As to why he had no woman in his life, he knew it was the job and the complications his job instigated. He had a few ongoing relationships in the past, but the job got in the way because he was driven. Most women would not take a backseat to his occupation. He was all right with this. One day the right woman for him would come along, he hoped before he was fifty. In the back of his mind, he had figured the right woman might be in law enforcement or in the legal trade, or an attorney; she would understand him much better than the regular female did. Gretchen popped into his head. A detective and a gorgeous bartender, somewhere there was a joke, but he could not think of one right now.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jack was getting out of his truck when Lucky pulled in and parked beside him.
“Morning, Dawson, how are ya?”
His voice in sleep mode, he yawned. “Dang tired, wife wanted to hear all about it, and then, you know.” He blushed.
Jack knew all right, he knew that Dawson Luck was a blessed man and he hoped one day to be as blessed. From his mouth to God’s ear, he thought.
“Let’s go up, I’ll get the reports to the captain and grab a cup of joe before we strike out, okay?” Dawson stifled a yawn.
“Yup, coffee is necessary today.”
They hit the break room first, headed to the pot of coffee that was blackest and smelled burnt, brewed by the night shift; it would be strong.
Reports in a nice neat, tidy stack on Captain Davis Yao’s desk, they headed to the courthouse to get the warrants. They both knew there was a chance that whatever judge had the warrants might want to talk to them first.
“Been a while since I’ve seen ya, Detective West, you fine hunk of a man.”
Jack blushed. Mava always had that effect on him even though the woman was nearing sixty, but you would not know it unless she told ya. She was tall and lithe, with a massive head
of hair and a sparkle in her eyes that had not died, fortunately for her husband. She would have chased him, had she been twenty-five years younger and single.
She’d let that slip out one day, embarrassing him to death.
“Hey, Mava, how are you?”
“Since I’ve had a chance to see you, I am wonderful. Detective Luck, nice to see you too, how are ya’ll?”
Pleasantries out of the way, Dawson Luck was all business.
“Mava, I faxed over some warrants last night, did you get them this morning?”
“Yes, I did, and Judge Wolff has them. He’s in chambers. You want to see if he is accepting visitors?” She winked at Jack.
“Uh, yes, ma’am, if you would that would be mighty fine.” Jack winked back and gave her his best dazzling smile. It was Mava’s turn to blush and giggle.
In a matter of ten minutes, they were in Judge Wolff’s chambers discussing warrants, and Jack briefed the judge on the situation.
Wolff had been a judge in Houston for over twenty years. Most considered him a fair man. He had been a bang-up lawyer in his day, and his private practice flourished back in the late sixties up until the late nineties. Then he ran for placement as a judge and won, then remained steadfast winning each judicial election consecutively.
Jack and Judge Wolff did not always see eye to eye. As a beat cop, there were rumors about the judge being unfaithful to his wife and being corrupt. Overall, since Jack had been a detective, he had no problems with Judge Wolff, and scoffed at the rumors, taking them as being rumors and nothing more.
“You think this Sean Stegwig looks good for the murders, Jack?” Judge Wolff read over the search warrant.
“Judge, this kid, Sean Stegwig, has about three million motives for being the doer. I dropped off the tennis shoes, wet T-shirt, and jeans that we found in his trash to the M.E., I’m telling you, he’s going to find blood on them and not the kid’s blood either. The kid didn’t even ask what happened, how they died, nothing, not any damn questions. He faked his emotions, I’ve seen enough to know. The first thing he did ask was should he contact the attorney about the will and life insurance policies and a red flag went up.”
“No gun, no prints, no witnesses. Jack, you know how hard cases like that are. I understand that there were two shots to the man, it very well could’ve been an intruder. Before I sign the warrants, what’s your probable cause?”
“Three million reasons, that’s my PC. Judge, the dead woman, the person who did her was angry, very angry, kicked her ribs in, so it was personal, not a random intruder, and I would stake my badge on it.”
Jack was passionate, and his tone reflected that. Judge Wolff looked up. Lucky knew not to get in the middle. He had been there before. It was not an enjoyable place to be standing in-between Jack and any judge when Jack was in full swing and excited.
“I’m sorry, Judge,” he apologized.
“Jack, I know you. Known you for over fifteen years, and when you get excited you’re passionate. I also know that for the most part, ninety percent of the time you get it right with the occasional hiccup here and there. I realize there are two bullets, but the gun is missing. Find the gun, Jack, that’s imperative. My job is to make sure we are all doing our jobs and in a legal manner. I do not have to tell you the consequences of getting it wrong, now do I?”
“No, I understand.”
“With that being stated, I am going to sign this search warrant and there better be good news afterward. Get with the M.E., rush those shoes, jeans, and T-shirt, find her blood, Jack, and that gives it all a whole new spin, you got me?”
“Thanks, Judge, and yes, I’ll call the M.E. on the way out and have him rush it as much as he can. I’m telling you, I feel it here,”—he pointed to his gut—“and here”—he pointed to his heart.
“Yeah,” the judge said, “when I feel things there it means I am either hungry or I have heartburn. Now get out of my chambers, I have work to do.” The judge had his own problems to deal with.
Back in the truck in less than three minutes, without a word Dawson Luck picked up his own cell and punched in the medical examiner’s number. “Hey, Bennie, this is Dawson, yeah, we’re both good. Listen, I am calling to see if you can put a rush on the tennis shoes, jeans, and T-shirt. Yeah, call us, either of us, thanks, man.”
“So?” Jack asked, as he focused on the road.
“He’s on it, soon as he finishes up on a victim brought in from last night, 7-11 caught a new case. A store manager at Quickie Mart got popped, hafta’ ask ‘em about it later.”
Jack punched in Cassandra Sparrow’s cell.
“Hey, Cass, it’s West, is the crime scene over in Glen Cove still taped off? Yeah? Sure, thanks.”
“What did Cass say?”
“The daughter, Shayla Stegwig Burdett, is at the house. She got here from Dallas yesterday afternoon. She called the department, she wanted to remove the crime scene tape, it was upsetting her. Cass got the call from her. She had left her card with the housekeeper who showed up at the house. Nice lady, that Beatrice Gonzales, she had her husband drive her over to help the son but was happy to see the daughter there instead.”
It was 10:15. “You ready to get this one solved, cuz I have that feeling?”
“Yeppers, partner, let’s get this done.”
. . .
Once a neighborhood was marred with a heinous crime such as this, it never felt the same. People were fearful, somber, and overall distrusting of everyone. Jack felt the ambiance as he drove into the neighborhood. It was a ghost town. No one was active, and not even a dog yipped. Dawson Luck felt it too.
“Sad that such an affluent community had to go through this type of criminality, isn’t it?”
“Sad any neighborhood has to go through it, but I suppose you’re right, they don’t get this type of issue often, not like the people in lower-income families do. Hell, these people have a chance…on the other side of the tracks, many lives are doomed, being poor can cost you your life in one way or another. Gangs, drugs, and some people have no blessed chance to get out of the hood.”
His mind went to the victim of his cold case. She had been poor and alone, and she had ended up dead.
Knocking on the door, a woman answered, her eyes red and swollen, and her face blotchy from crying.
“Mrs. Burdett, Shayla Burdett?”
“I-I-I’m sorry, this is a bad time and I am not interested in a sales pitch, and I have no comment for you if you are a reporter.”
Well, shit and shinola, this was the second time in a matter of days that he had been mistaken for a salesman, now a reporter. What was it, should he get a different haircut? Crap, most of the time he got made.
“No, ma’am, I’m Detective Jack West, this is Detective Dawson Luck, and we’re from the Hou—”
She interrupted him rushing her words. “Yes, please come in.” She sniffed and opened the door. Peering out, she looked left and right, then shut the door, and locked it. Jack watched as her hands trembled.
“I…I’m sorry it has been very frightful here, and I’m…” She raised her palms, knowing that both detectives needed no further explanation.
“Let’s go into the kitchen please, it is the most cheerful room in the house right now if you want to look at it that way.”
“Ma’am, first…” Jack began. “We’re very sorry for your loss, and we know how hard it is right now, we want to speak with you but,” he held up the search warrant, “we have a search warrant for the pool house.”
“I’m not sure I understand. Weren’t the police already here once when they found m-m-my parents? Didn’t you get everything you n-n-needed then?”
She broke out with fresh tears, and Lucky led her to a chair.
“Ma’am, we do apologize. Yes, we were here.”
She blew her nose and wiped her eyes.
“Do you know where your brother Sean is?”
“He went to his skanky office, and on a day I need him here. You’d think he’d put his damn work on hold at least until we bury them. I don’t understand him one iota.”
Her disapproval was obvious, and her tears were replaced with anger, anger that she was alone when she needed her brother. “He hasn’t lifted a finger to call anyone to make any arrangements. I’m doing it all alone.” She wiped away a straggler tear.
“Did he say when he would be home?” Lucky threw in.
“When he got ‘damn well ready to be here,’ his words exactly, I quote.” Her hostility shot out, her nostrils flared. She was furious. Sean laid it at her feet, to shoulder the burden alone.
“Mrs. Burdett, can you tell us about your mother and father, their relationship with each other, with Sean,” Jack asked then added, “and with you?”
“Why? Why do you need to know about our relationships with each other?”
“Trying to get some facts straight, Mrs. Burdett, if we know everything, even things you think wouldn’t matter, we can see a bigger picture of what may have occurred.” Jack was not going to explain what he was fishing for; that would come later.
“Sure, but please call me Shayla. Mrs. Burdett is my mother-in-law.” A hint of bitterness slipped into her voice.
“Okay, Shayla. Can you tell us about your parents and their relationship?”
“I’m sure they were great together, in the beginning, you know, young love. Then they started a family, my father began his investment career and did well, more often than not, he made money. My mother came from old money, and I think he resented her for that later on in their lives.”
She hesitated for a minute. “I guess it doesn’t matter now that they are both gone. My father drank, oh, at first not that bad, but it developed into a nasty situation over the years.”
