The Farmer's Slaughter (A Harley and Davidson Mystery Book 1)

by Liliana Hart

  “I thought they’d be in the prosecutor’s office,” she commented.

  “Do you know how much stuff is stored as evidence? Most cities could take up three or four super Walmarts with stuff. Vehicles, boats…you name it and cops stash it. The prosecutor isn’t going to keep decades of stuff in their fancy office downtown.”

  “But would they really stick it out here?”

  “You’d be surprised. It’s been ten years.”

  He led her up a set of stairs that ran alongside the building. They shimmied around an old balcony and then swung a leg across a gap and into the open window. They both understood the consequences of falling or getting hurt. It would be the fire department’s job to respond. They’d be screwed.

  “Are we breaking and entering?” Agatha looked around once she was on a solid floor.

  “Did you break anything to enter?”

  “I guess it’s all in the interpretation. Let’s look and leave as fast as we can, okay? I’m a writer, not a burglar.”

  “Deal. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to. My allergies are about to start up.”

  “I’m going to start calling you bubble boy,” Agatha said. “This is Texas. Everyone has allergies. Go and get a shot for them like a normal person.”

  “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Where do we start?” She raised her hands.

  “Evidence is usually categorized by year, then month, and finally by date. Let’s start back here.”

  Hank made his way to the far opposite corner of the cluttered upstairs loft. He didn’t know how long they’d been looking when Agatha let out a gasp. She was holding a shoebox-sized plastic container with a faded strip of masking tape that had the date they were looking for labeled on it.

  Hank took the box from her and opened it up. There were miscellaneous bits and pieces from different cases that had been handled that night. But he lifted a manila envelope and felt the chill of excitement pebble on his skin. The envelope was heavy, and he opened it and slid the contents onto a table. It was a pair of single chain handcuffs.

  “I can’t take them with us,” he said. “It’s just not ethical. But at least we know it’s here.”

  “You can’t take them with you,” she said. “It’s that cop in you. But I have no problem taking them with me.”

  Agatha used her shirt to keep from touching the cuffs and slid them back in the envelope. “Let’s go. There’s a good guy rotting in a state penitentiary for nothing. I’m not going to allow that to continue one day longer than it has to.”

  “I’ve never seen this side of you, Aggie.”

  “When it comes to helping the underdog, you better get used to it. I spent my youth afraid because the rules failed to protect me. No more, Hammer’n Hank.”

  Once they returned to the Jeep, she handed him the keys.

  “I’m too jacked up to drive,” she said. “I don’t think I’m cut out for a life of crime.”

  “Jacked up on what, Aggie?”

  “Justice.”

  The two crept back out the way they arrived and headed toward Rusk’s office.

  They called Rusk, who opened the rear door for them. They also saw the Texas Ranger’s vehicle and hoped it was Will.

  “Hey, guys,” Will said.

  “We were just saying how we hoped it was you,” Agatha said. “I can’t take any more surprises today.”

  “That’s a switch. Most people don’t like me being around at all.” He held out an envelope. “I thought I’d give you this in person.”

  Agatha peeled open the envelope and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “The ballistics match,” she told Hank.

  “And ATF confirmed that Tony purchased the weapon at a gun show in Houston the month before he entered the police academy. And, not surprisingly, TCOLE has two years of records with him shooting a qualifying score with that same pistol.”

  “We’ve got a murder weapon,” Hank said. “But we can’t prove it was Tony who pulled the trigger. We’ve got to put Tony in that house with Julie.”

  “Well, we’re back to being screwed then without those handcuffs,” Will grumbled.

  “Oh, what’s this?” Rusk asked, noticing the evidence envelope Agatha had snuck onto her desk. She read the writing on the envelope. “October 29 2010” Then she looked up at them. “What did y’all do?”

  “I just walked,” Agatha said.

  Hank rolled his eyes. “You don’t think one of those honest police detectives planted that in here to help solve the case, do you?” Hank asked, leading her to her answer.

  “Open it,” Agatha begged.

  “If this is what I think it is, we’ve got to return it,” Rusk said.

  “If that’s what I’m sure it is,” Will said, playing along, “And one of those brave cops took the chance to bring it here, then there is no way I’m going to disrespect them and also put their lives in jeopardy by making city officials aware they left it.” Will reached over and ripped the envelope open.

  Hank suddenly felt less horrible about initiating everything. Will was right. Brave people put themselves at risk to help an ex-cop who did nothing more than play high school football get free.

  “It’s a match,” Agatha said, comparing the cuffs to the crime scene photograph.”

  “What now?” Rusk asked.

  “Will, can your people at the lab process these cuffs?” Hank asked. “There may be a latent or partial print. Tony’s would be perfect, but anything would help.”

  “Well, looks like I’m back off to the regional crime lab. It’ll take a bit to process and then search matches. How about we all head out of here and let the good doctor get back to her work.”

  They all headed for the door, and Hank turned back to Anna. “You going to be okay here alone?” Hank asked.

  “I’m fine. No one is going to mess with me. And if they try, I know how to defend myself.” She held up her fists in a fighting stance. “I’m a Philly girl, remember?”

  He hoped she was right.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Friday

  “Y’all two have been mighty scarce,” Coil said. “Thought maybe you’d decided to elope.”

  It was the final Friday in October, and that meant cool weather and hot football rivalries. Rusty Gun had her own 1-A team, and it was the pride of the town.

  “So where do y’all stand right now?” Coil asked.

  “We have the .45 and ballistics to show it’s a match for the weapon that killed Julie McCoy. We have ATF records showing Tony bought that same gun, and Texas State records showing he attended the police academy and qualified with that same gun.”

  “That’s pretty darn good,” Coil said.

  Agatha added. “Unfortunately, we have a weapon transfer form showing Tony gave the pistol to Kip Grogan right after he joined the fire service. And Kip kept it under his control in his command center.”

  “That’s not so good,” Coil said.

  “But, we also have the handcuffs used to lock Julie to the bed while her home was burning. And we have the 911 recording that has Tony and Kip talking about the pistol. So, Tony did know where it was and had access too,” Hank explained.

  Coil stared at them with his mouth open. “You have those handcuffs?”

  “Yep,” Agatha replied.

  “How?” Coil leaned forward. “Do I want to know?”

  “We think one of the detectives working the Chaffe case left it at the coroner’s office for us to discover,” Hank said.

  “Uh-huh,” Coil said, clearly reading between the lines. “What else do you need?”

  “We need to place Tony in the house with Julie. Will is processing the handcuffs for prints, and I’m running down records on those cuffs to show ownership or assignment.”

  “You guys are close,” Coil said. “It’s a heck of a job. But be careful. Tony is going to be desperate, and people get a little crazy around big game nights.”

  “I’ve noticed,” Hank said. />
  “Still no lead on who shot at you?” Coil asked.

  “Not yet, but I’m going to bet ballistics shows it’s the same rifle that killed Chaffe.”

  Hank and Agatha motored back toward Rio Chino for the sixth day in a row. The drive was a good time to brief and discuss investigative tactics, but they were quiet this morning. It had been a long week and they were both physically and emotionally spent. Agatha kept the Jeep at a comfortable speed while Hank fielded a call from Will.

  When he hung up he asked, “You know where Salado is?”

  “Sure. What’s wrong?”

  “We’re meeting Will there.”

  “Why?”

  “They found a print. It matches a guy by the name of Benjamin Guise. He was arrested by Tony for loitering in October 2008. Will ran an arrest records audit and guess what? Tony made one single arrest in his entire career as a cop. Can you imagine? What a wuss. Anyway, that honor goes to Benjamin Guise of Salado, Texas.”

  “Wow,” she said.

  “Wow, indeed. We’re nailing his coffin shut a little at a time.”

  When they got to Salado she pulled the Jeep next to Will’s car in the official police parking lot.

  “Great timing,” Will said.

  “She’s a speeder.”

  “We still wouldn’t be here if Hank was driving,” she teased with Will.

  “Then in that case, I’m glad you were driving. Y’all come on in.”

  They got out of the car and followed Will into the municipal building. He led them into a small interview room. They were introduced to a nice-looking man in an automotive shop uniform. His name tag read Ben. Will asked Ben to recount his arrest story.

  He confirmed it that while he waited outside for friends, that Tony walked up in his police uniform and began harassing him. Ben said Tony was with a woman.

  “Is this the woman?” Ben asked, showing him a picture.

  “Oh, yeah. That’s her,” he said, nodding. “You don’t forget a face like hers. The most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. He was showing off for her big-time. That’s the only reason he arrested me.”

  Tony’s prints had also been on the handcuffs, but cops swapping cuffs wasn’t uncommon. But Ben’s onetime arrest and Tony’s only ever arrest just sealed the deal. It was confrontation time.

  Agatha and Hank agreed to meet Will back at Rusk’s office. Will would need the help of the Texas State attorney general, Ava Grace O’Brien, to make the arrest on a town’s fire chief. Especially since there was a man already convicted of the crime. It was going to be a major headache of paperwork and politics for Will, but they knew he didn’t mind one bit. As long as justice was served.

  Hank called Nick Dewey and let him know what they’d discovered, but warned him against telling Gage or his grandson anything. Nothing was certain, and that was for sure.

  They got in the car and headed back to Rio Chino.

  “Ohmigosh,” she said when they entered town. “Where are we?”

  “I think it’s Rio Chino, but I can’t be sure,” Hank said in disbelief. “I’ve never seen a town this decorated. It’s like Party City threw up.”

  The small town was completely covered in yellow and red, and anything that had a tiger image. The Pumpkin Bowl was just hours away, and they could sense the adrenaline pulsating in the atmosphere. Coil was right, things were different on game night.

  Will’s unit already sat in the rear parking lot of the coroner’s office. Hank ran his knuckles across the top of the hood like Agatha had seen him do often. Will’s car was still warm. Rusk shoved the door open. Her scowl spoke volumes. Agatha noticed a chair knocked over.

  “What’s going on?” she asked, but was afraid to know.

  She saw Will display an outburst that needed no explanation. It was politics at its worst.

  “Talk to me, Will,” Hank said.

  “State’s AG says they would consider moving to drop the conviction on Gage, but they didn’t feel there was enough evidence to charge Tony. They said politically, everyone should be able to swallow at least one man being set free with no admission of prosecutorial errors from the state on McCoy’s conviction.”

  “What?” Agatha asked.

  “Tony remains untouchable,” Rusk said.

  “Well, at least Gage goes free and his son gets his dad back. Right?” Hank said, but Agatha didn’t believe for one second that Hank was satisfied with the decision.

  “Sometimes you have to take what you can get,” Will said, the disappointment evident in his voice. “If it’s all the same to you folks, I’ve got about a month of reports to write up on this. I’m heading back to HQ, and will catch up with y’all Monday.”

  “Thanks, Will,” Agatha said as she hugged him.

  Hank shook his hand and then watched Rusk escort him out.

  “What do we do now?” Agatha asked. She picked up the knocked-over chair and collapsed into it.

  Hank didn’t answer her, but he called Nick and gave him the latest update. As expected, the man was overwhelmed. His grandson’s father would soon be freed, yet his daughter’s killer would remain free. He was furious. And he had every right to be.

  “I’m ready to get out of here,” Agatha said. It was obvious her mood had turned sour fast.

  “Umm, have you seen the streets? We’re not going anywhere. There’s a parade of cars and buses farther than you can see. We might as well head on over to see what’s so great about the Iron Pumpkin game.”

  “You coming, Doc?” Agatha asked.

  “Not in a million years,” she said. “I hate this day with a passion. It’s the same every year. Hopefully this will be my last year here.”

  Hank and Agatha waved goodbye and walked to the stadium. There were tailgating parties going on in the parking lot, and the crowd was unbelievable. They bought tickets and slipped through the horde, grabbing a low corner bench not far from where the fire department and ambulance set up operations. And there in all of his glory was Rio Chino Fire Chief Tony Fletcher.

  “Better get that look off your face,” Hank said. “He’s bound to notice you want to kill him.”

  “You did tell me never to play poker,” she said, looking away from Tony. “Oh look, here comes the band.” Agatha sat up with a little excitement along with more people filing into the stadium.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” a voice came across the loudspeaker. “I’m Principal E.G. Sharp, and I’m with your favorite head football coach, MT ‘Tic’ Tatum.”

  The crowd went nuts. The man was a legend.

  “We’re here to honor the greatest football team that ever played at Rio Chino High School. They’re still known simply as ‘The Team.’”

  Applause exploded as the band whipped them up into a frenzy.

  “I want to honor The Team by bringing the surviving players out to join me, and to honor those who have passed.”

  “Now this is what high school football should be about,” Agatha said. “Respect.”

  She scooted closer to Hank as the brisk night air cooled things off considerably. They listened to the names and the cheers as they assumed family members and grandfathers were being honored.

  “Offensive tackle Blake Smith. Offensive Guard Wilber Martin. Quarterback Emory Harley. Fullback Velton Flowers.”

  “Did he just say Emory Harley?” Agatha asked, feeling the bottom fall out of her stomach.

  “Yes.”

  “That’s my dad. I had no idea. My mom grew up in Rusty Gun, but my dad never talked about where he was from. He’d had a bad childhood, so it was just kind of understood that we didn’t ask him about it.”

  Agatha burst into tears and Hank put his arm around her, pulling her close.

  “Sorry,” she said, wiping her face. “I’m not usually this emotional. I think I’m ready to go home.”

  They walked quietly back to her Jeep. Hank opened the passenger-side door for her, and he drove. She needed the space. Hank eased around poor parking, RV campers, and BBQ pits befor
e he finally found the exit. He stopped suddenly at the wail of sirens. Looking to his left he saw the same fire truck that had been parked at the game following behind Tony in his bright-colored chief’s truck.

  “You curious?” Hank asked.

  “I’ll admit that I am,” she said.

  Hank turned right instead of back to the left and home to Rusty Gun. It wasn’t quite seven o’clock yet, so they had time. The pulsing scream of the engine was easy to follow, and when they clipped about two miles outside of town, he saw what they were responding to. It was a giant ball of fire. It looked like a barn or something like it.

  Hank turned off his headlights and eased up probably closer than he should have. It wasn’t a barn. Agatha looked toward him to say something and saw Hank’s mouth fall open as his expression blanked into horror.

  “Oh, no,” Hank said. “That’s Nick’s helicopter.”

  “You sure?” Agatha questioned. “How do you know it’s his?”

  “Positive. You can still see the logo on the side.”

  The multimillion-dollar state-of-the-art private chopper sat in the middle of a cow pasture in flames.

  “This is my fault. I shouldn’t have told him about Tony getting away with killing Julie. He was probably so upset he lost control.”

  “Speaking of Tony,” Agatha said. “There he goes.”

  The hairs on the nape of his neck stood up and he searched the landscape, looking for what had caused it. “Look,” he said, pointing off to the right. He started to open the car door, helpless to do anything.

  Agatha looked to the right of the burning heap. The violent and vicious fingers of reddish orange flames clawed through the helicopter’s wreckage and licked into the cool of an ink-black night. But the flames exposed a shadow.

  It was Nick. It had to be. And he was squatted on one knee, his hunting rifle raised. He fired one shot while Hank and Agatha watched helplessly. Tony dropped to the ground where he stood.

  Agatha didn’t flinch, and Hank didn’t hold her. There was nothing to say. Hank shifted the Jeep into reverse and drove through the empty field until they were back on the roadway. He turned left and headed for Rusty Gun.