by J. R. Adler
“You’re a genius, Barb. Of course. Why would a local go to a tourist attraction?”
“Exactly.” Barbara gave a pleased smile.
“Exactly, what?” Sam asked, entering the room.
His eyes were puffy and red. His skin didn’t have its usual tan color, more like the shade of an eggshell. Sam was clearly nursing a hangover. He held a cup of coffee in his hand and a bagel sandwich in the other.
“We’ve got a lead, thanks to Barbara’s skills.”
Sam sat down, setting his bagel sandwich and coffee on the table. As soon as he was comfortable in his chair, he immediately dove into his food. There was leftover alcohol to be soaked up.
“Let’s hear it,” he said, in between chewing. He couldn’t eat the sandwich fast enough.
Kimberley knew his suffering. She slid the notebook over to Sam. He looked at the open page, his eyes going straight to the highlighted name: “Henry Colton.” He glanced back up at Chief Deputy King while he took another big bite of his sandwich, waiting for an explanation.
“Out of all the names in these notebooks, Henry Colton is the only person that’s a local.” Kimberley’s eyes were wide with excitement.
“So…?” Sam shrugged his shoulders, stuffing the last of his sandwich in his mouth and washing it down with a gulp of coffee.
“What kind of local goes to a tourist attraction in their own town? That’d be like a New Yorker going to Times Square. You just don’t do it.”
Sam leaned back in his chair, putting his hands in front of his face, all of his fingertips touching. He looked at Barbara and then at Kimberley, mulling it over in his mind.
“Bear,” he called over his shoulder.
Seconds later, Deputy Bearfield stood in the doorway. “Yeah, Sheriff.”
“Pull everything we’ve got on Henry Colton. I mean everything.”
“You got it.” Bear nodded and hurried back to his desk.
“Good work, Barbara,” Sam said, leaning forward in his chair. “We need a gal like you on the force.”
Barbara blushed, flicking her hand at him. “Oh, it was nothing.”
“No. It was something. I mean it, Barb, good work.” A look of genuine admiration plastered on his grim and pained face. “You going to eat the rest of that?” Sam pointed at Kimberley’s half-eaten Danish.
She pushed it toward him. “Have at it.”
He ripped off a chunk and tossed it in his mouth.
“Thanks, Detective,” he said.
First names were off the table. Everything seemed to be back to normal, Kimberley thought to herself. There was no awkwardness. They were back to being comrades, work partners.
“Once we have everything we know on Mr. Colton—”
“That’s where I know him from,” Kimberley interrupted, snapping her fingers as if she just snapped the memory back in her brain.
“Know who from?” Sam gave her a quizzical look.
“Henry… Henry Colton. He hit on me at The Trophy Room. He’s a real creep,” Kimberley explained. “I knew that name sounded familiar.”
“Henry Colton is a dickwad. His name stuck out like a mule in a dress,” Barbara said, crossing her arms in front of her chest and twisting up her lips. “When he was a teenager, him and his little goober friend destroyed my flowers in front of my house. Didn’t even apologize or offer to fix them. I could definitely see him doing something like this.”
“Okay…” Sam said carefully. “And Barb here has a personal vendetta against our potential suspect. From deflowering to murder. I suppose I can see the leap, Barb.”
“I’m just saying, character-wise, he doesn’t have any good points,” Barbara said with a nod.
“Duly noted.”
“Well, I guess it wouldn’t hurt to swing by The Trophy Room later then to ask our dear old floral destructor what his interest was in the tour and what his alibi was the night of Hannah’s death,” Kimberley added.
“I reckon you’re right about that.” Sam nodded.
Just after 4 p.m., Sam and Kimberley pulled into the parking lot of The Trophy Room. They knew Henry Colton was inside, starting his daily ritual of getting blackout drunk and attempting to take home a woman.
Kimberley scanned the room, spotting some of the regulars, the gamblers, Ryan the bartender, a couple of bikers, and then there he was—Henry and his friend were at the dartboard drinking pints of Bud Light. She recognized the friend from her first run-in with him. Henry sported his full beard and messy, ash-brown hair. His hair was matted and greasy, and his skin was covered in a patina of farm shit and grime. He clearly hadn’t gone home to shower after his shift.
“There he is.” Kimberley pointed a finger at him.
Sam nodded and they walked in step across the bar over to Henry.
“Chief Deputy King, coming back for a little more?” Henry said with a slimy grin.
He looked over at his friend, waggling his eyebrows and smirking. His friend laughed.
“I’d walk away if I were you.” Sam tightened his jaw, locking eyes with the friend.
The friend coughed awkwardly, grabbed his beer, and walked to the other end of the bar. Another man standing near them quickly cleared out too, leaving Kimberley, Sam, and Henry standing in the corner of the bar alone. The music from the jukebox and the sounds from the gambling machines made their conversation private from everyone else in the bar. Henry’s face turned serious.
“Okay, what’s this about?” He shuffled his feet and fiddled with his fingers like he couldn’t hold still. A tell of a liar.
“Let’s go outside,” Sam said. There was a firmness to his voice that no one could argue with.
Henry’s eyes bounced from Sam to Kimberley and then back to Sam again.
“Or we can haul you down to the station?” Kimberley said, raising her chin.
Henry gave a slight nod and headed toward the door. People stared and whispered as Kimberley and Sam walked behind him like he was a dog on a leash.
Outside, Sam pointed to an empty picnic table at the far end toward the back of the bar. Henry shuffled his feet, kicking up loose rocks as he walked. Sam and Kimberley sat on one side and Henry sat on the other, slightly slumped over.
“So, what’s this about?” he asked again.
Kimberley looked at Sam and then back at Henry. “Do you know Hannah Brown?”
Henry drew his brows together. “Yeah. Went to high school with her. But haven’t talked to her in years.” He scratched the back of his neck. “We were close for a couple years after we graduated. But not once she started dating Tyler. He was her whole life until he split. Then her baby was her whole life, I guess.”
Kimberley let out a deep breath. Everyone in this damn town went to high school together and, apparently, that was their only connection to Hannah.
Before Kimberley could ask another question, Henry was talking again. “I mean, it’s sad what happened to her.” He shrugged his shoulders. “But like I said, I don’t really know her no more.”
“Were you upset that you two weren’t close anymore?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“No, not at all. I’ve got my life and she… had hers.” The corners of his mouth dropped.
Kimberley couldn’t tell if he was sad, dumb or guilty.
“It’s come to our attention that you were on Old Man Kent’s Deer Creek ghost tour a little over five weeks ago,” Kimberley said, raising her shoulders.
“That’s why y’all are asking me about Hannah? Because of a ghost tour?” His brow furrowed.
“That’s correct. Why were you on the ghost tour?” Sam cocked his head.
“I don’t know. Something to do.” He shrugged his shoulders.
“You have any sort of fascination with true crime?” Kimberley asked.
“True crime? Like murders?”
“That would be one example. Sure.”
“Not really. I’ve seen some true-crime docs on Netflix, but that’s about it.” Henry shuffled around on the bench.
<
br /> “So, you’re telling us that you went on that ghost tour alone because it was something to do?” Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Yeah, that’s what I’m telling you.”
“What do you do for a living?” Kimberley asked.
“Farming.”
“So, you regularly use things like machetes, axes, maybe a scythe?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re aware that Hannah was murdered down by Big Deer Creek?” Sam asked.
Henry nodded.
“And she was killed in the exact same way at Katie DeWitt James?” Sam asked, raising an eyebrow.
Henry swallowed hard. Kimberley could see his Adam’s apple move up and down. He looked out at the parking lot and then back at Sam.
“You must be aware. After all, you went on Kent’s ghost tour. The one that tells the story of Katie’s murder.” Kimberley cocked her head.
Henry fiddled with his fingers and bit at the inside of his lower lip. Once again, she couldn’t tell if he was guilty or dumb, like he was still trying to put the pieces together or he had been caught. Stupid and guilty were often confused for one another in this line of work.
“Where were you on September eighth between the hours of two a.m. and four a.m.?” Kimberley asked. The blueness in her eyes intensified as she stared at Henry.
Henry looked up. He started counting on his fingers. One of his eyes closed.
“That was two days ago,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Where were you two days ago between two and four in the morning?”
“Passed out, I’m sure. I work early.” Henry looked at Sam, then at Kimberley, then back at Sam.
“You’re sure?” Kimberley asked.
Henry gave a slight nod. “Yeah, I think so.”
“Was anyone with you? Can anyone verify your whereabouts?” Sam asked.
“I was alone.”
“Where?”
“At home.”
“You live alone?” Sam asked.
Henry nodded.
“No girlfriend. No one slept over?” Kimberley asked.
“No, I was home alone in bed.”
Kimberley looked at Sam. They made eye contact. She slightly shook her head.
“Okay.” Sam stood up from the picnic table, stepping over the bench.
“That’s it?” Henry asked.
“For now. Just… don’t leave town,” Kimberley said. She stood up and stepped over the bench, following Sam back to the vehicle. Another fucking dead end.
Inside the vehicle, Sam turned on the engine, still staring at Henry through the windshield. He stood up and watched Kimberley and Sam until he disappeared inside the bar.
Sam looked over at Kimberley. “What do you think?”
“I can’t tell if he’s dumb or guilty.”
Sam nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. Since he doesn’t have an alibi anyone can verify and the whole tour thing is odd, I’ll have one of the deputies tail him, see if anything comes up.”
“He was probably passed out drunk that night, but it doesn’t hurt to look into it. It’s not like we have anything else to go on currently.” Kimberley looked around; the lone stop-signed intersection in town didn’t even appear to warrant this need as the roads were empty.
The land gave shape to open fields of dirt and sand with random shoots of wheat grass and sorghum fighting a battle to hold root against a mild western wind pushing through. At the edge of the sky, the clouds were rolling up under themselves, the last vestige of sunlight painting the bottoms a pure white, while the tops loomed dark gray as the moon arose. Like a great tug-of-war trying to paint the ends in on each other. This bar seemed like an out-of-place sore on an otherwise untamed and untouched land. This land was unforgiving and prone to the extremes of the elements, the tracks of deer and rabbits and the nests of hawks, liable to be washed away in a violent storm any given day, just like Hannah’s murderer seemed to storm through and remove the traces of her life within an instant, gone the very next, no sign of their coming or going.
“Wanna grab a bite to eat?” Sam asked.
“I never turn down food.” Kimberley nodded.
28
“Here you are. One BLT with fries and one medium rare cheeseburger with fries.” A waitress with a name tag that said “Sandy” placed a plate in front of Kimberley and one in front of Sam. “Anything else I can get you two?” She gave a toothy grin.
“Nope. All good. Thanks, Sandy,” Sam said while picking up his BLT sandwich.
Sandy nodded and walked away. Sam and Kimberley were seated in a booth across from one another in Andrea’s Café, Dead Woman Crossing’s local diner. It had a fifties feel to it with big red cushioned booths, white tables, and black flooring. It appeared to only have a couple employees, the cook and Sandy, the waitress. Kimberley took a big bite of her burger and squirted a pool of ketchup on her plate for her French fries.
“You want some fries with that ketchup?” Sam teased.
Kimberley tilted her head with a slight grin. “Ketchup is its own food group.”
“So how is it? Live up to your New York standards?”
“I mean, it’s no Shake Shack, or an Emily burger, or Raoul’s or Minetta Tavern or—”
“Alright! I get it.” Sam put up his hands.
Kimberley shot him a small smirk. “No, it’s good. A greasy-spoon burger is sometimes just what the doctor ordered.”
“If you say so.” Sam popped a few fries in his mouth, glancing over at Kimberley. “Detective, this case, where’s your head at?”
Kimberley paused her eating and sat up straight in her seat, taking a drink of water to clear her throat.
“I still don’t think it was an outsider.”
“Why?” Sam wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“The scene was too clean. This person knew the area. They knew what they were doing. Her murder was swift. She never saw it coming, and she trusted this person enough to meet them down by a bridge in the middle of the night.”
Sam nodded.
“Then there’s the mysterious unregistered phone number. She talked to that person several times a week for at least a year. Why wasn’t the number saved? Why did they only call each other? No texts. No voicemails. I think that the phone is the key, and I think we’re going about this whole investigation the wrong way.”
“What’s the right way?” Sam cocked his head.
“I think we need to take a step back. Instead of looking for the murderer, let’s look at the victim. Who was Hannah Brown?” Kimberley raised an eyebrow.
Sam scratched his chin, and when he didn’t speak, Kimberley continued.
“What do we know about her? Aside from where she worked and that she was a single mother, we know nothing. Megan said no DNA evidence, so this was planned. Someone she knew did this, but why?”
“Isobel’s father?” Sam said, throwing out a name. “Maybe she wanted child support.”
“Maybe. I’m still trying to gather that information. I contacted Houston Police Department for help locating him. He’s been out on an oil rig in the Gulf the past couple days, but I’m expecting a call from him this afternoon.”
Sam nodded approvingly.
“There’s also her co-workers. I know Bearfield talked to them, but the reports were minimal, more so about her state of mind the day of her murder. We need to find out what they knew about Hannah. I’d like to interview them again.”
Sam nodded again.
“I want to talk to her mom again too. Find out how often she watched Isobel. Did Hannah frequently go out at night? If so, who was she meeting?”
He nodded again.
“And the daycare workers. Perhaps they know something we don’t know about Hannah. She interacted with them several times a week.”
Kimberley was practically manic as she went on and on about all angles of the case. Her excitement couldn’t be contained. She felt like she was herself again, the New York City detective; the one that asked all the questions, even the h
ard ones. The one that looked at a case like it was under a microscope. She knew getting to know Hannah Brown on an intimate level would lead them to the murderer.
Before Sam could speak, Kimberley’s phone rang. She pulled it from her utility belt.
“Chief Deputy King,” she answered.
“Hi, this is Tyler Louis returning your call. I got a voicemail from you the other day and a police officer waiting at my door when I arrived home a few minutes ago, telling me to call you,” he said. His voice was deep.
“Thanks for returning my call.”
“What’s this about?” he asked cutting Kimberley off.
“I’m assuming you haven’t heard the news about Hannah Brown.”
“No. Did something happen to her? Is she alright?” The concern in his voice was evident as he spoke a little louder.
“She’s dead, Tyler. I’m sorry to tell you she was murdered.”
Sam watched Kimberley deliver the news to the man on the other end of the phone. His heart broke a little and the memory of him discovering his deceased child and wife flooded his brain. He had arrived on the scene of the accident not realizing his own family was involved until he stumbled upon their broken bodies, bloody faces and motionless eyes, frozen forever. He blinked a few times, wiping away the memory. He never had control over when those images would appear right in front of him but he had learned how to rid them from his mind.
He focused on Kimberley, her lips moving as she spoke—her eyes darting back and forth, her fingers tapping on the table.
Tyler gasped. “Do you know who did it?”
“Not yet.”
“Well, thank you for letting me know, Chief Deputy King,” he said.
“Can I ask where you were September eighth between the hours of two and four a.m.?” Kimberley asked.
“Wait, what? You think I had something to do with this? Why would I do something like that?”
“I don’t think that, I just need to know where you were is all. Just facilitates us ruling people out. Merely a formality, I’m sure you understand. Plus, it helps get Hannah justice.”
