Clint Wolf Boxed Set: Books 16 - 18

by BJ Bourg

  “He’s alone,” I said over my shoulder to Amy. Indicating the interior of the house, I asked Dwight if there were any guns inside.

  “No, sir.” He shook his head nervously from side to side. “I don’t own any guns. I can’t afford it.”

  “Do you mind if we search your house?”

  “Um, I…I don’t have any guns. I swear on my mom’s head.” He shifted his feet and a bead of sweat broke out on his forehead. “You can search all you want. I’ve got nothing.”

  I waved for Amy and Baylor to toss the place. As they began searching, I asked Dwight if he was ready to talk.

  “I…I don’t know nothing.”

  “This is serious business, Dwight,” I said slowly, trying to remain patient. Amy and Baylor were making quick work of the small place. “We’re not talking burglary or robbery—we’re talking the murder of two police officers. I need to know what you know. If more people are murdered, it could be on you.”

  “I don’t know nothing.” Dwight’s face was ashen and he was sweating profusely now. “I don’t know nothing about the murder of no cops…um, police officers.”

  “There’s nothing here,” Amy said when they had finished searching. “The house is clean.”

  “Do you mind coming down to the police department with us?” I asked. “I’d like to show you something.”

  “What…um, what do you want to show me?” He licked his lips. “Why do I have to come down to the police station?”

  I didn’t have a warrant for his arrest and I didn’t have enough evidence to obtain one, so I couldn’t force him to come with me. “I’m asking you nicely to come with us,” I said. “Are you saying you won’t come down and answer a few questions? Do you have something to hide?”

  “No, I…I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  While all of his verbal cues were indicating that he didn’t know anything about the murder, his nonverbal cues were screaming that he did.

  “So, then, does that mean you’re willing to come down and answer a few questions?” He hesitated ever so slightly, so I quickly said, “It won’t take long. As soon as we’re done, I’ll bring you right back home.”

  “Okay, I guess.”

  “Change your pants and lock up on your way out,” I said quickly before he could change his mind. “You wouldn’t want someone breaking into your house while you’re gone.”

  Dwight nodded and I waited while he entered the bathroom and changed his pants. When he reappeared, we followed Amy and Baylor out the door. I waited on the porch for Dwight to lock up while Amy and Baylor headed for the driveway. I figured they were thinking what I was thinking, and my guess was confirmed when they stopped near the Trans Am.

  As soon as Dwight descended the steps and reached the driveway, I indicated the Trans Am. “Hey, before we head to the station, do you mind if we have a look inside?”

  “I mean, I guess so.” He waved his key chain in the air. “You don’t need these, because it’s already unlocked.”

  I stood near Dwight while Amy opened the driver’s door and Baylor entered from the passenger’s side. With flashlights in hand, they began searching the seats, the floorboard, and the dash. They had searched for about ten minutes without finding anything, and I was starting to think the car was also clean when Amy asked me to join her near the front windshield.

  While her voice had remained as cool as that of a poker player’s, I detected a hint of excitement in her tone.

  I could see Dwight studying us carefully as I approached Amy. He squinted and tried to see what Amy pointed at, but it was too dark and he was too far away.

  “There’s a spent 5.56 shell casing trapped under the windshield wiper,” Amy said softly. “You were right—the phone number and oil leak were not coincidences. This car was definitely involved with the murders.”

  I considered the location of the shell casing and the scene in Buckheed County. Daryl’s car would’ve been behind the Trans Am and most M-16s and AR-15s kick the spent casings out the right side of the rifle. For the shell casing to end up on the front windshield, the shooter had to have been standing on the passenger side of the Trans Am and shooting toward the back of the vehicle, which meant the driver didn’t shoot Daryl—the passenger did. If we could identify the driver and passenger who were in his car, we could identify the actual shooter in Daryl’s murder. Of course, this all hinged on us getting a match between the spent casing Amy had just found and the ones from the Buckheed County crime scene.

  I turned toward Dwight. His expression was one of curiosity. He didn’t appear nervous or panicked—just curious as to what we had found.

  “And I think you’re right, too,” I said. “I don’t think Dwight was involved directly.”

  “Then how do we explain the evidence pointing toward him?” Amy asked. “It’s pretty damning at this point—especially if this casing matches the ones from one or more of the crime scenes.”

  “I think he loaned his car to someone and they committed the murders.” My eyes met Dwight’s and I gave him a nod and a smile to make him think everything was okay. “I just need him to tell us who it was.”

  Amy nodded and indicated the casing. “Want me to get this to Tracy this evening? I can call her and see if she can do the comparison on the spot.” She glanced at her watch. “If I leave now, I can be there within the hour.”

  “That’s a good idea,” I said. “If it comes back a match, we can get a warrant and impound the car. It’ll also give me some leverage if Dwight refuses to talk.”

  While Amy set out with Baylor to recover the shell casing, I stepped aside and called Lou. I couldn’t see him or his officers, but I knew they were out there somewhere watching us.

  “Hey, Lou, can you maintain surveillance on the house and car?” I asked in a low voice, while also keeping an eye on Dwight. For all I knew, he might very well have been one of the killers. It could be that he was as good an actor as Amy, and he would be the one taking the Emmy. “We found a spent 5.56 shell casing under the wiper and Amy’s off to have it analyzed. If it matches, I want you to impound the car.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Lou said.

  “Keep your eyes peeled,” I continued. “The killers used Dwight’s car once, and they might want to use it again.”

  “We’ll be ready for them—don’t you worry about that.” The tone of his voice did worry me, but not because I thought he would be too lax.

  “Look, if someone shows up, don’t move in,” I said. “Just keep an eye on them and report back. If they leave, put a tail on them, but don’t make contact unless they force the issue.”

  There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and I knew Lou didn’t agree with me. He wanted to bring an end to this as quickly as I did, and the idea of not taking action went against the grain with him.

  “At the moment, we don’t even know who we’re hunting, which makes this especially dangerous for our officers,” I explained. “If someone did show up, you couldn’t just start shooting. For all you know, it could be some innocent friend of his, rather than the killers. Whatever happens, you’d have to make contact and identify them before taking any action. No problem if it’s an innocent, but if it happens to be the killers, they could start blasting while you’re trying to ask questions. I’ll try to get more information out of Dwight, but until we identify the killers, we’re flying in fog and we’ve got zero visibility.”

  Lou was quiet for a long moment. Finally, he took a deep breath and exhaled forcefully.

  “Ten-four,” he said begrudgingly. “But if our paths cross and I confirm they’re the killers, things are gonna get real ugly real fast.”

  “I don’t doubt it.”

  CHAPTER 42

  It was almost eight in the evening at the Mechant Loup Police Department and I had been interviewing Dwight Bell for over an hour. I was not making any progress. The most he would tell me was that he had loaned his car to someone, he had gotten it back, and he would be killed if he said anythi
ng more. Even the prospect of being tied to a capital murder case and receiving the death penalty for his role in the killings wasn’t enough to motivate him into giving up whoever it was who had used his car.

  “If I did get convicted of murder and sentenced to death,” he had said earlier, “I would get to live for about twenty years before they executed me. If I rat, I’ll be dead by next week.”

  My repeated guarantees to protect him had done nothing to ease his mind.

  Now, after trying a dozen techniques to get the truth out of him, I was about to try a different approach when a soft knock at the door interrupted me.

  I paused and glanced toward the noise. Before standing, I asked Dwight if he wanted anything to eat or drink.

  “Nah, I’m good,” he said.

  I slipped out of the interview room and found Karla McBride standing just outside the door holding a piece of paper. Karla was the dispatcher who worked the night shift. She brushed back her short blonde hair and handed the paper to me.

  “Tracy Dinger called from the crime lab.” She kept her voice low so Dwight couldn’t hear our conversation. “She’s got the results for you on the shell casing Amy dropped off earlier.”

  “Did she say what they were?” I asked.

  “No.”

  I nodded and followed her into the dispatcher’s station. Keeping an eye on the hallway that led to the interview rooms, I called Tracy on my cell phone.

  “Clint, it matches,” she said immediately when she answered. “This casing matches the casings from Buckheed, Georgia, one set of casings from the Waxtuygi murder, and one set of casings from Jenny’s murder.”

  I pursed my lips and sighed heavily. This was it. We’d found a real connection. After thanking her and ending the call, I turned to Karla. “Where’s Amy?”

  “Last I heard, she was leaving La Mort, and that was twenty minutes ago.”

  I nodded and headed back to the interview room. Dwight looked up curiously, but didn’t say anything. I took my seat and flipped through my notes, letting the tension in the room build.

  “Are you sure someone used your car?” I finally asked.

  “Yes, I already told you that,” said an exhausted Dwight. “It was the last week of October. I didn’t get my car back until Sunday morning.”

  “You’ve been saying that over and over for the past hour,” I said slowly. “But I’m starting to wonder if maybe you were the one driving your car when Deputy Daryl Winston was murdered.”

  “Was that the one from Georgia?” Dwight asked.

  I nodded.

  “Then definitely not.” He sounded sure of himself. “I’ve never even been to Georgia.”

  “Well, your Trans Am has certainly been there.” I turned my phone to show him a picture I’d taken of the spent shell casing under the wiper of his car. “You see this shell casing?”

  He stared blankly and nodded slowly, as though expecting some bad news.

  “It matches the casings that were recovered at the murder scene in Georgia.” I leaned back in my chair. “You refuse to give up the name of the person who borrowed your car—even though you could be facing the death penalty—so I’m left to believe you must’ve been the driver. Hell, you might’ve even been the murderer.”

  “No, I swear!” Sweat was starting to form on Dwight’s brow again. “I had nothing to do with no murders, especially a cop murder. I would never be stupid enough to shoot at a cop.”

  “Then why won’t you tell me who borrowed your car?” I pressed.

  “Because I’ll be next.” He swallowed hard, as though there was a lump in his throat. “They’ll hunt me down and kill me. If the cops aren’t safe, then what chances do you think I have? I don’t know how to defend myself. I don’t even own a gun.”

  I nodded slowly, studying the man’s face. I was inclined to believe him when he said he’d never been to Georgia, but what if he’d taken up with the killer in Louisiana? I figured it was possible that Daryl’s killer exited the driver’s door, ran to the passenger side, and then opened fire.

  “The Trans Am belongs to me now,” I said suddenly, pausing to send a text message to Lou Baker, asking him to impound it. “I’ll be impounding it as evidence. Cases like this, they could take up to two years to get to trial, and then there’s the appeals process.” I shrugged. “It could be five years before you take possession of your car again—that is, if you’re not incarcerated yourself.”

  His shoulders sank. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope,” I said flatly. “Your car was used during the commission of a murder of a police officer. You’ll be lucky if you ever see it again.”

  “My dad bought me that car when I was sixteen!” Dwight began to panic. “It’s the only thing I own. I’ve got nothing else.”

  “What about your house?” I asked.

  “I’m renting.” He shook his head. “I can’t afford to own a house. I can barely buy food. I lost my job at the mill and—”

  “Look, I understand you’ve fallen on hard times,” I said, interrupting him. “Maybe I’ll be able to put you in touch with someone who can help you get back on your feet. There’re a few churches and other charitable organizations that work with people such as yourself—someone who’s able-bodied and willing to work—but they won’t be able to help you if you’re in prison.”

  “But I didn’t do nothing, so how can I go to prison?”

  “You’re either a principal or an accessory after the fact to capital murder,” I explained. “At first, it was only speculation, but I now have all the proof I need to link you to the crimes. If you don’t cooperate, I’m left to think you’re involved.”

  “There’s a third option,” Dwight said heatedly, his chin trembling.

  “And what’s that?” I asked.

  “I’m scared to death because I was threatened.” He wiped a tear that slid down his left cheek. “Did you stop to consider that? Have you ever had to live in constant fear, not knowing if today was the day they’d stop trusting you and murder you like they murdered those cops?”

  I leaned forward and stabbed the desk with an index finger. “As God is my witness, I’ll keep you safe,” I said. “I’ve got a safe house where no one will be able to get to you.”

  “Are you talking about your domestic violence house?” His voice dripped with skepticism. “I saw the news about how three men attacked your wife and the lady in that house. I’m not interested in that kind of protection.”

  I frowned deeply. Of course he knew about Susan and the battered women’s shelter she used to run coming under attack—everyone did. The incident had made national news and rocked our town to its core.

  “Look, if you tell us who we’re dealing with, we can devise a plan to keep you safe.” I waved a hand. “The stuff that happened out at the shelter was a surprise attack. We didn’t know it was coming. But if you tell us who we’re dealing with, we’ll be prepared.” I paused, but he didn’t speak, so I continued. “Just tell me who we’re dealing with and tell me where to find them.”

  Dwight remained silent as he stared at a spot on the desk that separated us. He didn’t move except to blink, and those were few and far between.

  The silence was growing loud when there was another knock at the door. Groaning inwardly, I made my way into the hallway and found Karla standing there with another piece of paper in her hand.

  “Um, I’m sorry for interrupting,” she said, “but this sounded important.”

  “What is it?” I tried not to sound frustrated.

  “We received a call from the Amarillo Police Department asking us to conduct a welfare check on a young couple who are here celebrating their anniversary.” Karla took a breath before continuing. “The family says they lost contact with them last night, which they say is odd. They usually hear from them at least twice a day. They’re worried.”

  “Okay,” I said, wondering why this was important enough to interrupt my interview. “What do you need from me?”

  �
��Well, this couple was supposed to be staying at a campground, and I know you were searching campgrounds earlier in the day.” She shifted her feet. “I’m sorry if I’m just being paranoid, but what if something happened to them like what happened to Chad Pierce?”

  “Good point.” I nodded thoughtfully. “What campground are they supposed to be visiting?”

  “Otter’s Tail.”

  My brow furrowed. “Did they give you the names of the couple?”

  “Yeah.” She glanced down at the paper. “Their names are Nicky and Regina Hines.”

  “We spoke to them earlier today.” I reached for the paper. “They were fine when we saw them this morning, but call it in anyway. Have someone go check it out. Make sure Regina contacts her mother.”

  “I’m one step ahead of you,” she said with a smug smile. “I called it in right away and Susan’s already en route to the campground.”

  “Not alone, right?” I quickly asked—just in case something nefarious was happening out there in the swamps.

  “Oh, no,” Karla said quickly. “Takecia’s with her and they’ve got SWAT officers from the sheriff’s office with them.”

  I nodded in relief and was about to head back to the interview room when Amy’s voice came through the base station in the radio room.

  “It’s Code Four, Headquarters,” she said smoothly. “We’ve located them on the highway, heading north. They’re safe. We’re attempting to make contact now.”

  I sighed heavily, glad to know Amy was on her way back to Mechant Loup, and smiled down at Karla. “I guess you worried for nothing.”

  She winced. “Does that mean I bothered you for nothing?”

  I smiled and told her it was no bother and that it was better to be safe anyway. I then entered the interview room again and tossed the paper down on the desk.

  “Where were we?” I asked Dwight as I dropped the paper Karla had given me on the desk. His eyes shifted slightly to glance at it.