Bitter Past

by Caroline Fardig

  Beck’s assistant came into the lab, seeming surprised that I was there. She was a pretty woman—tall, blonde, and younger than I was—but chose to hide her features beneath big glasses, a messy ponytail, and an oversized lab coat. I didn’t blame her. Being one of a very few women in the Sheriff’s station, it was sometimes better to be thought of as “one of the guys.”

  She said, “Um…hi. I don’t think we’ve officially met. I’m Amanda Carmack.”

  “I guess we haven’t. I’m Ellie Matthews.” I got up to shake her hand.

  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  She acted somewhat standoffish, but who knew what Beck Durant or anyone else had told her about me. I knew nothing about her, but I had taken a look at some of her work with the fingerprints on my case. I thought she seemed thorough and knowledgeable.

  I smiled, hoping to put her at ease. “Well, don’t believe everything you hear. Beck and I never really saw eye-to-eye on much of anything. I thought he should work harder, and he didn’t agree. And I’m known to have screaming matches with Sterling. He doesn’t care for me much either.”

  Smiling, she said, “Beck doesn’t see eye-to-eye with anyone. We should get along just fine.” She came over to stand beside me. “Nice shoeprint. Did you use Bromophenol Blue?”

  “Yes, the print was barely noticeable at the scene, but Baxter picked it up. I was happy he did, because it turned out to be a great print, and it’s a visual match to the print on the side of the chair we think was pushed out from under the victim.”

  Amanda frowned. “That scene sounded awful. Honestly, I was happy not to work that case. One young person in a week is too much for me.”

  Nodding, I said, “I know. This job can be rough.” I hesitated. “I know Beck isn’t too good with conversation, so if you need someone to talk to sometime, you’re always welcome to call me.”

  “Thanks. I may take you up on that,” she said, smiling. “I’m still working on examining fingerprints and entering them into AFIS. Is there any other evidence that’s a higher priority?”

  “Probably not. We still have the trace we picked up in the vacuum, but as dirty as that apartment was, I don’t think we’re going to find anything telling in it. There’s also some clothing that was on the floor in the area of the struggle, but it presents a similar problem. I’ve got a broken fingernail, but Dr. Berg already got scrapings from the nine other fingernails on the victim, so it’s hardly worth worrying about. The fingerprints are our best lead.”

  “I’ll get right on them, then.”

  Baxter came into the lab. “Hey, Tyler Harris is here. You ready?”

  Shrugging out of my lab coat, I grumbled, “I’m never ready to see him. He gives me the creeps. I always feel like I need a shower after talking to him.”

  He chuckled all the way down to the conference room. Instead of putting Tyler in a typical interrogation room, Baxter was smart and had him in a more comfortable, civilized space. Tyler wouldn’t know what hit him.

  “Thanks again for coming in, Mr. Harris,” Baxter said, placing a document in front of Tyler. “I know you’re a busy man and your time is important, so we’ll try to keep this short.”

  Tyler puffed out his tiny chest, beaming at the fake compliment. “Yes, time is money to a guy like me.” He turned to me and purred, “What a nice surprise, Ellie. You can’t stay away from me, can you, darling?”

  Choking back the urge to vomit, I flicked my eyes at Baxter. He was biting his lip, trying not to laugh. I said to Tyler, “On a normal day I can. But when you lie to an officer of the law, you suddenly become quite interesting to me.”

  “What?” he said, his voice going up an octave. Clearing his throat, he continued in a condescending tone, “Why are you even here? I thought you were just a teacher now.”

  “I’m consulting on a related case.”

  Baxter said, “Before we get into that, Mr. Harris, I want to make sure you’re happy with the statement you originally gave me. You see, we checked the traffic cam footage from in front of Morris Powell’s campaign headquarters, and you didn’t go there after you left the fundraiser at your parents’ house. Care to tell us where you really were?”

  Squirming in his seat, Tyler crossed his legs. “I was there. Maybe you had the wrong camera.”

  Baxter produced a photograph of a downtown street and pointed to one of the buildings. “Is this Powell’s office?”

  After hesitating, Tyler replied, “Yes.”

  “No one went in or out of this building during the timeframe you said you were there. Why did you lie to me?”

  “Detective, I work with the government, not against it.” He smiled, but his eyes seemed frightened.

  Baxter stared him down. After a minute or so, Tyler started fidgeting. Baxter kept staring until Tyler offered the first word.

  “What about…what about the back entrance? Did you check that?” Tyler’s hand trembled as he tried to place it nonchalantly on his knee.

  Shaking his head, Baxter said, “Cut the crap. There is no back entrance. If you sign this statement as it stands now and it’s used in a trial, you can be prosecuted for perjury.”

  “I think I may need to call my lawyer…”

  I jumped in, my tone firm. “No, Tyler, what you need to do is be a man and tell the truth. Where did you go after you left the party?”

  “Why does it matter so much?” he cried.

  Baxter walked over and stood beside him, arms crossed. “Because if you can’t give us an alibi, we might have to make you a person of interest in a murder.” He could be intimidating when he wanted to be.

  “Murder?” Tyler gasped. “Who?”

  “Vasti Marais,” Baxter said.

  Tyler’s jaw dropped open. “My cousin killed her! Why would you think I had anything to do with it?”

  “We found your fingerprint on a discarded cartridge casing at the scene of the murder,” said Baxter.

  “What? How?” Tyler sputtered.

  “I think you should be telling us how your fingerprint got on that casing.”

  “I can’t imagine how… Wait. I use my uncle’s rifles when our family goes hunting together. I’m sure my fingerprints are all over the rifles and gear we brought with us the last time—which would include extra ammunition we brought but didn’t use.”

  “When was your last trip?” Baxter asked.

  “About a month ago.”

  “Have you used any of your uncle’s firearms since then? Or have you ever given your uncle’s firearms to anyone else to use?”

  “No, the only time I ever touch them is when we go on our hunting trips. Uncle George always brings the guns and ammunition for everyone.” He shook his head. “I have no reason to want that girl dead. Besides the fingerprint, why would you even consider me?”

  I said, “Several reasons. According to you, you’re a fantastic shot with a rifle. As a family member, it wouldn’t be difficult for you to gain access to your uncle’s guns. You and your cousin don’t seem to get along too well. You were the one who told him to run, which made him look guilty. And as an added bonus, the backlash from this whole thing is hurting George Cooper’s chances of winning the Senate seat, if he can even continue with his campaign at all.” I smirked at him. “Tyler, can you tell me who might profit from that?”

  As realization dawned on him, his eyes grew wide. “Oh, no. I see where you’re going with this, and I didn’t do it. I swear. I promise!”

  “We’re going to need more than the promise of someone who works in politics,” said Baxter. He leaned down to eye level with Tyler. “Where were you? Tell us, or we tell the media you’re a person of interest. I can’t imagine your boss will be too pleased.”

  Tyler looked like he was going to be sick. “I can’t tell you… It will ruin me.”

  I joked, “What, were you at a pro-abortion rally or an ACLU meeting? Even for a Republican, that would be better than committing murder.”

  Hanging his head, Tyler admitted, �
��I was…with my…girlfriend.”

  “See? That wasn’t so hard.” Baxter slid a notepad and a pen toward him. “Now if you’ll give us her name and contact information, we’ll verify your alibi.”

  Tyler jotted down the information and sank back in his chair. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed. “Can I go now?”

  “Not yet. What’s your shoe size, Tyler?” I asked, looking down at his feet. They couldn’t have been bigger than a ten.

  “Nine, why?”

  “Just checking.” Tyler’s tiny feet couldn’t have made the print on the chair or the pizza box from the crime scene. “And while we’re at it, will you agree to giving a DNA sample? We want to be able to rule you out—since you swear you’re innocent.”

  He wiped a hand down his face. “Whatever. Anything to end this nightmare.”

  I got out a swab and took the sample from inside his cheek, not at all surprised that he’d caved so easily. It had been clear from the moment I met him that the bravado he projected was fake. “Out of curiosity, do you know Eli Vanover?”

  “Who?” Tyler asked, perplexed.

  Baxter had a thoughtful look in his eye. “Let’s talk about your boss for a moment, Tyler. How far would he go to win this election?”

  “Morris is a great guy. If you’re trying to imply that he would kill someone to get ahead, you’re completely off base. He’s a decorated Gulf War veteran, he’s on the board of several charities, and he coaches his daughter’s soccer team. The man is a saint, not a murderer.” He frowned. “If you want to talk dirty politics, try my uncle.”

  “Are you saying you think Mayor Cooper would stoop to something like murder?” I asked. “Why would he kill a person with his own firearm if he planned to pin it on someone else?”

  “He’s not the sharpest tool in the shed.” Tyler shook his head. “You’re obviously not aware of how little use he has for his son, are you?”

  “I’m starting to get the idea.”

  “Thanks for your time, Mr. Harris,” Baxter said, opening the door. “You might want to stay close in case your alibi doesn’t check out.”

  Tyler pushed himself up out of his chair. “It’ll check out. But please, can I count on your discretion? I gave you what you wanted, and I’d like for my private life to remain private.”

  Baxter replied, “I don’t see a reason that this information should become public. Take care, Mr. Harris.” After Tyler left the room, Baxter closed the door behind him and asked me, “What’s your take on that weasel? Think he’s telling the truth?”

  “I think so. Once he knew we had him, he dropped his elite asshole persona. He didn’t even hit on me on his way out.”

  “I agree. Next, I want to check out his boss. If you go with me, you can get some samples from his rock yard to test against the evidence we found at Eli Vanover’s crime scene.” Glancing at the name Tyler had written down, he added, “On the way, we can run down Harris’s girlfriend, Ginger.”

  “Ginger? Is he dating someone’s grandma?”

  He laughed. “More likely she’s someone’s wife—someone with the connections to make sure he never works in this town again.”

  “Hmm. He seemed almost frightened to tell us about her. Old lady name aside, I’m thinking she could be some well-connected person’s daughter. Just barely legal or even underage.”

  “Care to make it interesting?”

  “Are you suggesting a bet, Detective?” I asked.

  “Sure. Loser buys drinks at O’Loughlin’s tonight after work.”

  “Deal.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “What do you think about George Cooper?” Baxter asked me on the drive to Powell Stone Supply.

  “As a suspect or as a father?” I replied.

  “Either. Both.”

  “Well, he’s a sucky father, that’s for sure. At the first mention of his son’s involvement in the Marais murder, he ran the other way. Cooper said himself that he wouldn’t be surprised if his dad disowned him over it.”

  “Cooper’s mommy showed up to visit him in jail, but daddy didn’t. I’d say that sent a pretty clear message.”

  “No shit. You know, now that I think about that particular conversation I had with Cooper, I remember him mentioning to me that Vasti told him she’d had an affair with his father also.”

  “Damn, that girl got around,” Baxter said.

  “He didn’t believe her, though. He thought she made it up to hurt him.”

  “Every good lie has a grain of truth in it.”

  I raised one eyebrow at him. “Did you get that out of a fortune cookie?”

  Chuckling, he said, “Haven’t you ever noticed that anytime someone is accused of cheating, it eventually turns out to be true? People are horrible at keeping secrets. More often than not, one of the parties involved can’t stay the hell quiet. And it’s never the one with the most to lose.”

  “I suppose you’re right.”

  Baxter grinned. “Of course I am. Anyway, George Cooper has always seemed shady to me, and if he and Vasti Marais had an affair, it means he lied to me about not knowing her on the day we confiscated the rifle from his house. That’s a red flag.”

  “Does that mean you’d consider hauling him in?”

  “Maybe, but not just yet. A man like him isn’t going to stand for someone questioning his innocence, so I can’t fish around with him like we did with Tyler. If we bring George Cooper in, even for an interview, I want to have enough to hold him. I’d need to be able to place him at the scene, but what’s to say he didn’t have someone do his dirty work for him? That’s even harder to prove. I doubt if we’d get a second chance, as powerful as he is. He could have my badge with one phone call.”

  “Yikes. Well, if you do decide to go after him, make sure it’s Sterling’s name on the paperwork.”

  Baxter smiled as he pulled into Powell Stone Supply. “I’ll do that. Now, this guy Powell, he’s a nobody. I think he used to be on the Hendricks County Council, but aside from that, he has no political clout at all. I don’t mind rattling his cage.”

  Powell Stone Supply was in a huge industrial lot on the northwest side of Indianapolis. We parked beside a trailer that had an office sign over the door. The lot was lined with piles of all different kinds of bulk landscape rock and gravel separated by short stalls constructed of concrete block. Forming a crooked wall of sorts down the middle of the lot was bundle upon bundle of large landscape stones piled high on wooden pallets and bound together with wire, stacked three to four bundles high. Burly men driving forklifts and tractors were hard at work loading waiting trucks.

  Upon entering the office, Baxter and I were greeted by a pleasant middle-aged woman. “Hello. How can we help you today?” she asked. I noticed that the nameplate on her desk read Victoria Powell and assumed she must be Mrs. Morris Powell.

  Baxter flashed his badge. “I’m Detective Nick Baxter and this is Ellie Matthews. We’re with the Hamilton County Sheriff’s Department. We’d like to speak to Morris Powell.”

  Mrs. Powell smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “He’s in a meeting right now.”

  “Mind if we take a look around the lot while we’re waiting?”

  “Um…sure. May I ask what you’re looking for?” she asked, unease evident in her demeanor.

  “Rocks,” I said.

  We left Mrs. Powell somewhat dumbfounded and went back outside. After retrieving my camera and a couple of pill bottles from my kit, we went in search of blue glass and pea gravel. Once we got a ways into the lot, I became increasingly aware of how precarious the stacked bundles of huge stones looked as they loomed several feet above my head. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea to traipse around this place without wearing hard hats. Luckily for us, we didn’t have to venture too far to find what we needed. The fifth concrete stall was full of pea gravel, and in the next stall there was a big pile of the blue glass.

  I studied the ground under my feet and snapped several photos. The entir
e lot’s base layer was crushed limestone. Landscape rock littered the area in front of the stalls, presumably having been dragged out or spilled during loading.

  I had to raise my voice to be heard over the humming truck and tractor motors. “Anyone walking around in this area would have a combination of limestone, blue glass, and pea gravel on his shoes. Our killer has been here.”

  “Maybe.”

  “But how do we know if he’s an employee or a customer?”

  “Or if he’s a she?”

  “Seriously? ‘She’ would have to be an Amazon with a women’s size fourteen foot to fit into a men’s twelve boot. And she’d have to be able to strangle someone nearly to death with her bare hands.”

  A smile played at his lips. “I thought you told me your friend Dr. Alessi could have done it.”

  “If we’re sure it’s the same killer for both murders, then no, it’s not her.” I frowned. “But if it isn’t the same killer, I still wouldn’t put it past Gianna to get rid of the girl who stole her boyfriend and then pin her crime on him. She’s evil. She’s always trying to get people into trouble, especially me.”

  Grinning full on now, he said, “People either love you or they hate you, don’t they?”

  “Hey, I’m straightforward, I don’t put up with bullshit, and I don’t apologize for it. If people have a problem with that, they can go to hell,” I huffed, crouching down to take a couple of closer shots of the rocks. When I got up, I saw a man in a suit approaching us. I recognized him from his campaign ads: Morris Powell.

  Walking toward us with a smile plastered on his face, Powell said, “What can I do for my local law enforcement officials on this fine day?” He extended a hand to Baxter and gave him an enthusiastic handshake. “Morris Powell.” Turning to me, he shook my hand as well. He had that fake, larger-than-life politician quality to him that made my skin crawl. His smile was too big, his hair was too perfect, and his eye contact too invasive. I was sure he and his flunky Tyler got along perfectly.

  “Detective Nick Baxter, and this is Ellie Matthews. We need to ask you a few questions,” replied Baxter.