by Blair Howard
“Of course. Ask away, Sergeant, ask away.”
“How well did you know Jasmine Thomas, Mr. Hawkins?”
“Oh, very well, very well indeed. We were friends, you know. Of course, I’ve known her since the day she was born—well, not quite, but you know what I mean. Over the past couple of years, we became very close. We used to talk together often. Mostly over a cup of coffee at Starbucks, or in the mall.”
“Did you ever ask her out?”
“Out… on a date? Good God, no, she was half my age! Besides…”
“Besides what?”
“Well, she wasn’t exactly my… type?” He raised his eyebrows expectantly.
I waited.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Sergeant. I’m gay.”
I looked at Tracy. His face was a mask.
“I see,” I said. “I understand you’re a writer, Mr. Hawkins.” He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, I continued. “So, I assume you work here. Do you remember what you were doing the evening Jasmine was abducted? That was the evening of the eleventh.”
It was a bit brutal, but efficient. I knew that each question, closed or open, would solicit a long and rambling answer. And I wasn’t disappointed.
“Hmmm, the eleventh, now let me think,” he put a finger to his lips and closed his eyes. “The eleventh, the eleventh… ah yes, I was out. I was at Barnes and Noble, at Hamilton Place Mall. I had a book signing for my latest novel, The Rimworld Wars. I remember because it went quite well. I write science fiction, you know. There was quite a crowd. Not as many as I would have liked, but very gratifying just the same. I signed… oh, I don’t know, fifty or sixty books perhaps. And—”
“And what time would that have been?” I asked, dreading the answer.
“Well, I was invited to be there a little early, to get things set up, you know.”
I looked at Tracy. He had a glazed look in his eye, but he also had a slight smile on his lips. He didn’t look over, but I knew it was for me.
“So that took about thirty minutes, which would have made the time… ummm, seven o’clock?” Hawkins didn’t wait for an answer. “Yes, seven. I signed books until about eight-thirty… I think that was about it. Anyway, I know I was out of there by nine. So, six-thirty until nine.”
Finally. Oh my God.
My head was spinning. I looked at Tracy, silently pleading. “Detective. Is there anything you’d like to ask Mr. Hawkins?” I said, hopefully.
He cut me a sharp look. By now I think he’d gotten the message, and the question wasn’t a rhetorical one.
“What time did you return home, Mr. Hawkins?” he asked.
I cringed, but I was glad to let Tracy have his head. Hawkins claimed he was home by ten that night, having stopped at Carrabba’s for a quick meal. By the time he finished answering that question we knew more about that restaurant than did its owners. My God, how that man could talk, and all in a sing-song droning voice that grated on the teeth worse than fingernails on a chalkboard.
And so it went, for maybe another fifteen minutes. By the time Tracy and I had both had enough, we knew he probably wasn’t a suspect. Hell, if he had killed her, he needn’t have strangled her; he could have talked her to death.
And so, I looked at my watch, made my excuses, and we left him at the door staring after us as we drove away. And then I had a thought. How the hell I’d forgotten, I don’t know, but I needed to take a look at the forest behind his house.
“We have to go back,” I told Tracy.
“What for? He sure as hell didn’t kill her.”
“Probably not, but we need to see what access he has to the quarry—it’s just behind his property.”
So I made the turn onto Bonny Oaks, then made a U-turn and returned to the Hawkins residence. Reluctantly, I pushed the doorbell and waited. He opened the door and looked out at me, surprised, eyebrows raised in question.
“Yes?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Hawkins. I need to take a quick look out back. Do you mind?”
“Oh, because of the quarry? Of course. I’ll come with you.”
“No! No, that’s okay. Detective Tracy and I need to do this alone, if you don’t mind.”
“Of course,” he said, worriedly, “but if you need anything—”
“I’ll be sure to get with you. Which way…?”
“Go to the left side of the house,” he pointed, “then go ‘round the back and across the gardens. There’s a path through the trees. You’ll see it.”
A path through the trees…
I looked at Tracy. He smiled back at me. I knew just what was going through his mind, because it was going through mine: a path through the trees would provide Hawkins with access to the quarry, and the dump site. If that were so, it would put a whole new light on things.
The walk was easy enough. The path was wide… well, not wide, but there was room enough to push a good size wheelbarrow, for example. It meandered for some hundred and fifty feet from the gardens to the edge of the quarry. As we approached, my heart began to race; it was looking good. Then… nah. The path ended at the edge of a steep drop of at least fifty feet, and there was no way down. Neither was there a path to the left or right around the rim. It was a dead end, no pun intended. If Hawkins killed Jasmine, he didn’t transport her to the dump site via that route.
“Find what you were looking for?” Hawkins was standing at his back door as we emerged from the trees. “If you were looking for a way down into the quarry, all you had to do was ask and I would have told you; there’s no access. I think there may have been, some time back, when they were digging down there, but not now. It’s a fun place to go and sit, though. You know, when the kids are down there doing their tricks, and oh my, can they do some tricks. I don’t know how they do it. It looks so dangerous. But it’s quite entertaining. Do you know, those kids can ride their bikes up the slope to the point where it’s almost vertical? Then they fall back down, but they somehow manage to twist in the air and land on their wheels, amazing.”
We both stared at him. I know my mouth was open, but I didn’t dare look at Tracy.
“Well, that’s very interesting,” I said, walking quickly toward the driveway at the side of the house. “We’ll be in touch. Thank you for your time.” I couldn’t get the hell out of there quick enough. By the time we got back in the cruiser, Tracy was laughing like a fool.
“Don’t worry,” I said, grinning at him. “You can handle him all by yourself next time, if there is a next time.”
“Yeah, right. He didn’t do it. He doesn’t have what it takes. Besides, he has an alibi. She went missing around seven or seven-thirty, and we know where he was from then all the way to ten o’clock.”
“Well, we know what he said, but we still have to check it out. Can you handle that one, Detective?”
“Me? Sure. I can do that.” He looked at his watch. It was just after five o’clock. “You want me to do it today? I can. I don’t have anything going this evening.”
“Yes, why don’t you do that? I’ll drop you off at the station and then I’m heading home. I have plans for this evening.”
“Hot date?” he asked.
“None of your damn business,” I said.
I wasn’t about to tell him that I did have a date, with Harry. But hot? Well… it could be, but first the man had to buy me a decent meal. I was starving, and a damn burger wasn’t going to get it. I was in the mood for a steak, rare and juicy, with beaucoup French fries and a decent bottle of wine.
It was just after six that afternoon when I finally left the department and called Harry.
“Hey!” he said, “where the hell are you? Dinner’s ready, and spoiling.”
“Oh, hell, Harry. I need to go home first. I need a shower in the worst way. I’ve just gotten out of the forest. God only knows what I’ve picked up in there.”
“You can shower here. I’ll put the food in the warmer. I have a nice bottle—well three actually—of Riesling in the cooler. C’mo
n.”
That was all it took, so I did.
Chapter 11
Harry was outside on the patio when I arrived. He was sipping on a large glass of that fancy scotch he loves so much, but I was pleased to see the open bottle of wine in the ice bucket.
“Hey,” he said, looking round as I slid open the glass doors. “You have a good day?”
I didn’t answer, and he sat and watched as I poured a brimming glass of wine and dumped myself down in the wicker chair beside him.
“I take it that’s a no.”
“Ah, it wasn’t so bad. We got a lot done, I think. Still no clue who killed the girl. The prime suspect has a solid alibi, so that screwed things up. The man’s a writer, and he may be an idiot, but he claims he was signing books at Barnes and Noble, for Pete’s sake. I have Tracy checking it out, but that’s pretty damn solid… I can’t believe it was random, Harry, that someone simply snatched her off the street.”
“But you can’t rule that out, right?”
I pondered that for a minute. “No, I can’t, and if that’s what happened, and if it’s a one off, I’m not going to find him. You know how it is: no connection, no motive… That type of crime is almost impossible to solve.”
He nodded, sipped on his scotch, and stared out over the river. There was a light breeze blowing across the water, raising small waves. The sun was still high but casting shadows on the water, turning it into a vast undulating creature, benign then, but during bad weather it could turn into a beast. I saw none of that. All I could see was the bloated body on Doc Sheddon’s autopsy table.
“You’re sure the family is clean?” he asked without taking his eyes off the river.
“As sure as I can be without any evidence to suggest otherwise.”
He nodded. “Alibis?”
I shrugged. “The girl’s parents are not persons of interest. Cletus’ brother? It hardly seems likely but, whatever, Tracy is out checking his alibi too. I told him to call me if he found anything. I half-way hope to hell he doesn’t; then again… it’s my first case, and I need to wrap it up, fast.”
“If it was random, you’re screwed,” he said thoughtfully. “But you know, I got to thinking: the gate…”
“Yes, what about it?”
“It was locked, yes?”
“Ye-es...?
“So what happened to the lock?”
I stared at him, not quite comprehending, then the light went on.
“Oh shit, Harry. How stupid can I be?”
“I need to talk to Tom O’Mally. He was first officer on the scene. Damn, damn, damn!”
I looked at my watch. It was just after seven-thirty. If he was working second shift he’d be on duty. I needed his cell number. I called Charlie Peck.
“Captain? Kate Gazzara. I need to talk to Tom O’Mally; would you have him call me? You have my number? As soon as he can. Please. Thank you.”
It wasn’t five minutes later when O’Mally called. I was waiting, tapping my fingers against my glass. I snatched up my phone and flipped the lock screen.
“Hey, Tom, thanks for calling back. Question: you had to use bolt cutters to open the quarry gate, right?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“The chain and the lock aren’t in evidence. You didn’t bring them in from the site?”
“Oh shit! No, Sergeant. I didn’t think any more about them. I was too involved in what was going on at the quarry.”
“Okay. Think back: what did you do with the lock and chain?”
“Ummm, well, nothing. I cut the shackle and tossed them to one side, in the grass beside the gate. If nobody’s picked them up, they should still be there.”
“Okay, fine. Now listen to me, Tom. This is important. Did you handle them?”
“Well yeah, but only to grab the chain and pull it off the gate.”
“So your prints will be on it?”
“Naw… I was wearing standard issue Tac gloves, I always wear ‘em when I’m on patrol.”
Whew! Thank you, God.
“Okay, Tom, thanks. I’ll go out there and see if I can find it.”
“You want me to go? I can.”
“No. That’s okay. I’ll do it. Thanks, Tom.” I disconnected, laid the phone down on the table and looked at Harry.
“Damn it! I should have remembered that chain. And Tom should have known better.”
He shrugged, “We all screw up from time to time.”
“Yes, but—”
“Go take your shower. I’ll come with you. Dinner can wait. You’ll have to drive, though.” He held up his now-empty glass for me to see, and grinned. I looked at my own glass. Fortunately, it was still half full. I’d be okay, I hoped.
I told him screw the shower, I’d take that when we got back.
The drive from Lakeshore to the quarry took less than fifteen minutes; we arrived at the gate just a few minutes after eight. It was still quite light, so we had no trouble finding the chain and lock. It was in deep grass beside the left-hand post, sun glinting off the shiny finish. I donned a pair of latex gloves from the trunk of my car and gingerly picked them up. I held them up for Harry to see, smiling at my find. I slipped them into a paper evidence bag, signed off on it, and had Harry witness my signature.
“Okay,” I said, brightly. “Let’s go home. I need a shower and something to eat—”
“Whoa. Hold on a minute. You’re forgetting something.”
“I am? What?”
“Come on now, Kate. How long have you been doing this? Think about it…”
I thought, but my mind was blank. I stared at him, slowly shaking my head.
“How long has this quarry been shut down?”
“I dunno exactly. A long time, years.”
“The chain, Kate, and the lock. They’re brand new.”
And then I got it, “Oh, shit. The killer brought the new lock with him. He got in the same way we did: he just cut the old one off.”
He smiled, and nodded, “Maybe that’s around here somewhere too.”
“Harry. I’m not doing too well, am I?”
He laughed. “Give yourself a break, Kate. This is your first case on your own. It’s going to take time. You’ll get there.”
“Maybe,” I said, moving the long grass around with my feet.
Jeez, I hope there are no chiggers.
“No maybe about it,” he said, joining me.
We searched the immediate area around the gate, and many yards beyond, but we found nothing other than a few empty Coke cans.
“I’d say our boy took it with him,” Harry said eventually. “But just to be sure, first thing tomorrow, you might want to get a team out here with metal detectors. It’s almost too dark to see anything now, so I suggest we go home and relax. You want to?”
I did. I could drop the lock and chain off with Mike Willis in the morning.
The evening was pleasant. The food, though a little stale by the time we got to it, was wonderful. But I couldn’t really relax; I just kept wondering if I was up to the job. The chain? The fact that I didn’t even think about it? That was a fundamental mistake, one that Harry never would have made… as he proved by reminding me of it.
“You’re quiet,” he said, as we sat together watching the lights from the Thrasher Bridge reflecting off the river. “What are you thinking about?”
“I’m thinking I can’t afford to keep screwing this investigation up. That chain thing,” I shook my head, frustrated. “Unforgivable. And I have only two suspects, neither of them viable—”
And smack me in the mouth if, right at that very moment, my phone didn’t ring. I looked at the screen, flipped. “Hello, John. What is it?”
I listened, I nodded, I listened some more, shaking my head. “No way,” I said. I looked at my watch. It was already after ten, and all I had on was one of Harry’s tees over my panties.
“John, what the hell have you been doing all night? It’s almost ten-thirty… Okay, never mind. Look, it’s late, and I�
��m bushed. I can’t think straight. I’ll talk to you in the morning.” And I hung up on him.
“Damn it!” I said, more to myself than to Harry.
“Bad news, I take it?”
“No, good news, actually. Hawkins doesn’t have an alibi after all, and Joe Thomas’ is so full of holes it’s not even funny.”
“Hawkins wasn’t at B&N?”
“Oh, he was there all right, just not on that day. Jeez, Harry. I still don’t think it was him. Maybe he just made a mistake, got confused about the days.”
“What about Thomas?”
“He said he was at Becky’s buying new boots and didn’t leave until seven-thirty, or thereabouts. But Tracy checked with them: their receipt is time-stamped at six-seventeen. So, either he’s lying or he made a mistake too. I don’t see it, Harry. Not either one of them.”
“Don’t overthink it, Kate. Most killers just aren’t that smart.”
“I know that!” My frustration was showing. “But I don’t even have a crime scene, much less a viable suspect. What the hell do I do now?”
“One step at a time, Kate. Go talk to the suspects. You need an answer on the alibis. Are they lying, or did they just make mistakes? Talk to your people. You need to find the crime scene, and that second lock and chain.”
Chapter 12
The first thing I did when I entered the PD building the following morning was hand the lock and chain in to Mike Willis. The second was to tear John Tracy a new one for not calling me earlier with the news about Hawkins’ alibi. Having done that, I felt a little guilty. Even if he had called, I wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it: I was out searching the quarry gate area. Still, he should have called.
Next, I put in a call to get Jasmine’s phone records. I didn’t have her phone, but her records? Yes, I could get those.
Might as well see who she talked to that night, and when.
“Hey, Sergeant. Good morning.”
I turned and saw Sarah Foote walking across the room toward me.
“Hey, Sarah. Have a seat; I just need a minute to check my messages.” There were several, but only one grabbed my attention: Sheriff Crupp wanted me to call ASAP.
