by Gen Griffin
Addison shook his head and Ian sighed.
“We've both read everything in the danged file three times. We still don't have the slightest idea why Benjamin Gomez came to Possum Creek or how he had ended up dead,” Ian complained. He was standing in the middle of the room wearing a pair of too-long plaid pajama pants and a t-shirt that said 'Callahan County Fish and Game' on it in bold red letters.
“You planning on working all night?” Perkins eyed Ian scornfully.
“If that's what it takes,” Ian replied briskly, then sighed. “My one and only uniform has about ten pounds of mud caked on right now.”
“What did you go and do that for?” Perkins snorted and reached across the desk to snatch a potato chip out of the open bag Addison had been snacking from.
“Re-investigating the crime scene.” Addison had been reading for so long his eyes were blurring. He leaned back in the desk chair and buried his head in his hands, rubbing his eyes. “We figured since Kerry was the only person who's even seen the place where the body was dumped, maybe we should go have a look for ourselves.”
Perkins snorted, clearly amused. “You're about four days too late for getting any usable evidence. This ain't the movies. Even if you did go out there and discover the killer had been dumb enough to leave his driver’s license, Social Security card and license plate behind, a half decent lawyer would throw it out as evidence. There's too much of a time lag between now and when the body was found.”
Ian sighed. “You're probably right.”
“Probably?” Perkins laughed cruelly and shook his head “Ain't no 'probably' about it. It's the law. Not that you two dumb-asses know anything about the law.”
“Hey,” Addison bristled and Ian's eyes widened.
“Shut-up, cowboy. Everybody in the county knows that all you’re good at is chasing tail. The only reason you're even the game warden is because Frank owed a favor to his sister,” Perkins stared Addison down. “Fortunately for you, son, being the game warden doesn't require any sense or talent. You just have to drive around with a damn spotlight. You catch 95 percent of your criminals red-handed by pure luck. The other five percent just require a little bit of smooth talking, which is all a pretty boy like you is good at anyway.”
“You're full of shit.” Addison had been awake for too many hours to deal with this garbage. Even if some of it might be true.
“This ain't called for,” Ian said, gamely stepping between Addison and Perkins. Perkins laughed in his face.
“You might as well just turn in your temporary badge and leave, pajama boy. If the Sheriff weren’t sleeping with your Momma you wouldn't even be here right now,” Perkins said scornfully.
“I passed my tests,” Ian said angrily.
“Sure you did.” Perkins crunched down on another handful of potato chips. “You're incompetent just the same. Frank Chasson won't hire anyone competent. He wants this department to be a one man show, and he's the man running the show. He ain't going to bring in anyone who could threaten him so he slaps badges on lazy, good for nothing good ole boys like yourselves.”
“What the hell does that make you?” Addison hoped to turn the tables on Perkins unwanted commentary.
“Me?” Perkins laughed again. “The only thing I give a shit about is my pension. I don't give a damn about being a cop. I just want to finish out my twenty-five years so I can pay off the mortgage on my fishing camp. I'm still a better investigator than either of you two are, though.”
“Oh yeah?” Addison was beginning to turn red with anger. His fists were clenched by his side.
“Yeah. I am, and I can prove it,” Perkins gloated.
“Really?” Ian crossed his arms over his slender chest.
“I'd love to hear this.” Addison eyeballed Perkins’ massive pot-belly.
“Alright.” Perkins nodded smugly. “For starters, the only evidence you've got on this murder is a lousy eyewitness account. Eyewitness accounts have been proven 85% unreliable by a group of researchers up at Stanford a few years back, by the way.
You didn't investigate the crime scene and our county coroner is a squeamish funeral director who wouldn't know evidence if it bit him in the ass. Y'all are running all over the fucking county, driving out gallons and gallons of tax-payer paid for fuel when everything y'all need to clear your buddy's name is right here in the office.” Perkins jerked a thumb back towards David and Addison scowled.
“What the hell are you talking about?” Addison asked when it became clear Perkins wasn't going to continue without prompting.
“What evidence you got?” Perkins gestured towards the case file Addison had been reading.
“Kerry's eyewitness account and a printout of every 1980's model Toyota truck in the county,” Addison said warily.
“Every 1980's model Toyota.” Perkins snorted loudly. “How the hell do you know there was a 1980's model Toyota truck at the scene?”
“Kerry saw it,” Ian supplied.
“Right. Kerry saw it.” Perkins threw his hands up in the air and made a gesture of mock surrender as he plucked Kerry's original report off of Addison's desk. “Kerry wears some of the thickest glasses in town, but he saw and recognized an ‘80s model light weight truck on a moonless night from what, 500 or 600 feet?” His eyes scanned the report for the exact distance. “I don't know that I could tell a Toyota from a Nissan in the dark at that distance, how about y'all?”
He waited on Addison and Ian to respond as they exchanged a dumbfounded expression. Addison cursed.
“Hadn't thought about that, had you, cowboy?” Perkins asked smugly. “For that matter, it could have been an S-10 or a Dakota. All those trucks were small and boxy in the ‘80s and early ‘90s. Hell, if you want to go a step further, how do you know that truck came from Callahan County? Fella could have driven in from Baker or Marsden County to dump a body. Anyone think to check for small old pick-ups over there? I bet there are thousands, in between the three counties.”
Ian opened his mouth to say something but Perkins held up one beefy hand. “Hold on, Momma's boy. I ain't finished yet.”
Ian shut his mouth, furious but clearly interested. Perkins had a point.
“For all that matter, boys, how do y'all even know there was a really a truck?”
Addison's eyes widened noticeably. “We've got a body.”
“Sure you do. But you ain't got a truck. Weren't both of y'all out in Johnson's pasture at around the same time Kerry decided to ruin his cruiser's transmission in that swamp mud?”
Addison and Ian both nodded.
“Y'all see a truck?” Perkins asked, speaking slowly as if he were talking to a pair of exceptionally stupid children. They shook their heads.
“Y'all have any proof there was a truck?” Perkins asked. “Y'all have tire tracks? Paint off the vehicle? Anything to prove there ever was a truck?”
Addison was flat out gaping at Perkins. “You're saying he made it up?”
“I'm saying he damned well may have,” Perkins shrugged and continued to stuff his face. “You ain't got no proof of nothing besides a dead body that's already been cut up by a fella who got his mortician's license from an ad at the back of a Small Town Business magazine. For all y'all know, Kerry's your murderer. Y'all sure as hell don't have any proof he ain't.” Perkins shook the report in his hand. “The only evidence y'all have is the dead body of someone who wasn't from here and had no good reason to be here.”
“Does it matter where the dead body came from?” Ian was clearly out of his element.
“If I was you boys,” Perkins ignored Ian and kept talking. “I would bundle all my problems into one neat little package and nail Kerry for the murder. All the evidence you've got points to him and-. What?” He turned to Ian, who looked dismayed.
“We don't have any evidence at all,” Ian said.
“Sure you do. You have a dead body with Kerry Longwood's prints all over it. Kerry ain't got no alibi and neither of y'all saw the mystery truck when you were in Johnson'
s pasture.” Perkins smirked. “Pin it on Kerry and y'all will have solved the case, cleared your buddy of any wrong doings, and Momma's boy here will get to keep his badge by eliminating his competition for the job. How's that for police work, boys? I just solved all your problems without ever leaving the office.”
“I just can't see Kerry as a killer,” Ian said.
“No one is paying you for instincts. You've got evidence. Use it.” Perkins glared at him, seeming angry for the first time.
Addison pulled out a cigarette and stuck the filter in his mouth. He chewed the end of it unhappily. He wished Frank hadn't told him not to smoke in the station. “This ain't right.”
“You wouldn't know right if it bit you on the ass,” Perkins said. “Speaking of incompetent, I'll go ahead and clear up another little mystery for you, while I'm at it.”
“What?” Addison glowered at the poaching report Perkins had plucked off the desk and was currently waving in front of his nose.
“Riley Ramirez is charging folks $50 bucks a pop to keep the game warden occupied on one side of the county while they get an early start on hunting season on the other side of the county. He's got a couple of spotlights with colored tissue paper duct-taped over them. He goes out into the woods and waves 'em around near the house of someone he knows will call the cops out to investigate. Hunters pay him to do it. From what I hear, he's making a nice little profit,” Perkins laughed.
“That son-of-a-no-good-.”Addison's face flushed red with fury.
“Con-artist?” Perkins supplied.
“Just wait until I get my hands around his scrawny neck.” Addison trailed off and began pacing the length of his desk.
Perkins laughed a deep belly laugh that seemed to shake him all the way through his fat jowls. Addison had never disliked Perkins more than he did right now. Perkins set the papers all back down on his desk and began gathering up his things to go out on patrol. Addison noted with scorn that Perkins' things included a fat paperback novel.
“You boys try not to work too hard.” Perkins walked out the door. “I'm looking forward to reading your reports.”
They sat and stared at the door after it closed behind him.
“Jesus Christ.” Ian turned to Addison. “How much of that do you believe?”
“About Riley?” Addison was totally livid. “It's true. I guarantee it. That's just his style. Just wait until I get my hands around his scrawny little throat. He's going to wish he was never even born.”
“I didn't mean Riley. The Riley part, I believe. It's typical. I can't believe we didn't think about Riley.” Ian rubbed his hands together and took a deep breath. “I mean about Kerry.”
Addison stopped pacing for moment and frowned. “I don't really buy Kerry as a killer.”
“Me neither, but?” Ian's forehead was deeply creased by wrinkles and he was looking far older than his 22 years. “He's right about the evidence though.”
Addison's eyebrows shot up.“You think he's good for it?”
Ian swallowed nervously and licked his lips. “I don't think David did it.”
Addison nodded his agreement. “Me neither. It's not his style.”
“It's too sloppy.” Ian ran his tongue across his teeth. He picked up a water bottle off of the desk and downed half of it in one gulp. “I need this job, Addison.”
“I understand that,” Addison said, stepping up behind him.
“No, you don't.” He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stared through the glass door out into the night. “I really really need this job.”
“Man, I know. Kerry's been making a fool of himself on his own though. I'm not sure we'll need to do anything to him. I think he's screwing up on his own enough that, in time, Uncle Frank's going to be able to get rid of him.”
“Katie's pregnant,” Ian whispered.
“Do what?” Addison stared at him in shock.
Ian rubbed his forehead. “We found out last Thursday, but we ain't told anyone yet. Her Momma's gonna have a cow, but we figured if we waited until after I was hired on as an official Callahan County Sheriff's Deputy, it wouldn't be so bad.”
Addison nodded. “That kind of makes sense, I mean. Y'all have been together a long time.”
“We were planning on getting married as soon as I could afford a ring, even before we found out about the, you know.”
“The baby,” Addison filled in the blank and Ian nodded.
“Everything would've worked out just fine, except now there's Kerry. Frank's saying he's better qualified and that he wants to hire me, but he's afraid of getting sued.” Ian turned away and Addison was pretty sure he was trying to hide brimming tears. “Now everything's falling apart. If I don't get this job, I'll have to go back to bagging groceries for $7.50 an hour. You can't support a kid on $7.50 an hour.”
Addison cursed and sank down into his desk chair. His mind was racing. “Look, I'll figure this out. Somehow. We'll take care of it. Have you told Frank yet?”
Ian shook his head no. “He'd tell Momma.”
“You need to tell him. Especially if we're really going to file a report claiming Kerry's our suspect.” Addison scowled at the ceiling. “Fuck. Why can't anything ever be easy?”
Ian was watching him with tears still threatening to spill down his cheeks, a scarce hope in his eyes. “You really think we could?”
“I'm starting to think we may not have a choice,” Addison said grimly. “Look, I sent Cal to go do a little information gathering. I need to talk to him before we do anything, but depending on what he says we'll get this shit taken care of. One way or another.”
“I need to be able to take care of my family,” Ian said. “Katie deserves not to have to worry.”
Addison held up one hand to stop him before he went any further. “We'll get it taken care of, Ian.”
“Do you think Perkins would write the report?” Ian asked him after a moment.
“If it comes down to it, I'll write the report myself,” said Addison.
Chapter 18
“Who did David kill for you?”
Gracie narrowed her eyes at the only man who she had ever loved. “David didn't kill anyone for me.”
“I'm not playing with you, Gracie.” Cal spoke the words through gritted teeth. His thick, dark eyebrows were furrowed tight with annoyance and worry. He was clenching the steering wheel of his truck so tightly that Gracie was starting to think the wheel might actually snap in two before this conversation was over. “I know you're trying to protect him, I can't help unless you tell me the truth about what happened Friday night.”
“I already tried to tell you the truth. You wouldn't listen. Is there even a point in talking to you?” Gracie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. “You keep accusing me of having sex with David.”
“You were naked in his living room,” Cal said. “What else would the two of you have been doing naked in the living room?”
“I was not naked.” Gracie felt incredibly tired and even more incredibly annoyed. “I threw up on my shirt and so I took it off. I was still wearing my bra, my underwear and my skirt.”
“That itty bitty scrap of fabric you had on was not a skirt,” Cal said.
“Yes, it was.”
“No way in hell. Too short.”
“Ugh. You don't get a say in what I wear, Calvin. You broke up with me. I'm free to go out wearing whatever I want. I had a date and the skirt was cute.”
“You went on a date with David?” Cal's skepticism was clear.
“No, you idiot.” Gracie took a deep breath and tried to steel her nerves. “I went on a date with the dead guy.”
Cal stopped short of whatever he'd been about to say. His mouth was hanging slightly open as he visibly tried to process this new bit of information. “You went on a date with the dead guy?”
“He wasn't dead when the date started,” Gracie clarified.
“I wasn't under the impression he had been.” Cal leaned his forehead against the stee
ring wheel. “Gracie, you need to tell me everything that happened. Everything.”
“Why?” Gracie asked. “You're just going to yell at me.”
“I'm trying to help.”
“If you truly wanted to help, you would have listened to what David and I were trying to tell you Friday night. You showed your ass when we tried to talk to you.” Gracie blinked back an unexpected round of tears. “Do you really think any of us wanted this to happen?”
“How the hell am I supposed to know what y'all wanted to happen?” Cal demanded. “Y'all don't tell me anything.”
“You want me to tell you something?” Gracie practically shouted the words at him. “I was scared to death when you saw me Friday night. I was crying. Sex was the last thing on my mind until you put it there. I'd just driven three hours in a stolen car while wondering how long Brett's body could stay in the BMW before it started to smell.”
“What?” Cal frowned at her.
Gracie ignored him and kept talking. “The entire time I was driving home to Possum Creek, I was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to how Brett wound up dead in the backseat of his own car. I kept worrying about what I would tell the cops if I got pulled over. I drove 55 miles an hour the whole way home because I was terrified of being stopped or wrecking. There was so much fog on the road, I could barely see 20 feet in front of the car when I was on highway 14.”
“Gracie-.”
“I was scared, Cal. More scared than I have ever been in my whole life. Brett's body was in the backseat because I wasn't strong enough to lift him into the trunk. The car smelled like blood and vomit. I had to roll all the windows down as far as they would go just so I could breathe.”
“Where was David?” Cal asked. “When you were driving down to Possum Creek with a body in the car, where was David? Why didn't he haul the body?”
“Why are you so fixated on David?” Gracie countered.
