by Blair Howard
Aha, they’ve found the car.
I called him, and they had. They’d discovered the Honda in a pond just off Highway 58, close to the Bradley County line. Well, the pond owner had found it. He’d noticed the roof sticking up above the water and had called the sheriff’s office. They had already hauled it out and it would soon be on its way to Mike Willis. That boy and his team were going be busy.
Still, there was nothing I could do about it right then: the car was on the road and wouldn’t arrive at the garage until sometime after ten. I had other things on my mind, namely faulty alibis.
I hung up the phone and turned to Detective Foote, “What do you have for me, Sarah?”
“I visited both vacant houses yesterday. One of them is a new listing; it’s been vacant for less than a week, so we can cross that one off the list. The other… I think we can cross that one off too. It’s been vacant since June third, but it was locked up tight and there was no sign of forced entry. It was very clean, inside and out. Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. That’s what we do, eliminate the impossible. So, what about the three kids?”
“Ah, now, there we might have something. I talked to all three of them, with their parents present.”
I nodded.
“One of them claimed he hadn’t ridden the walls, as they call it, for more than a month. He’d been grounded for stealing candy from the local supermarket. Another had been there the evening they found Jasmine, but he got scared when the kids started shouting about it, and he ran off before the cops arrived.
“Finally, Martin Stewart admitted that he was there too, but left early, before they found her. He’s a cocky little monster. All snot and bravado. He’s all of four foot six, but he’s got an attitude you wouldn’t believe. If he was there, I doubt we’ll get him to admit it.
“He did have one little nugget for me though. He claims there’s often a man watching them from the rim of the quarry. He claims the man was there that day. I asked him if he would recognize him if he saw him again. He said he wouldn’t, the man was too far away. Again, I’m not sure I believe him, but it’s something, right?”
“Yes, it’s something,” I said, “and I think I know who it was.”
“You do?” she asked, surprised.
“Yes. That would be Russell Hawkins. His property backs onto the quarry, and he watches the kids playing. He told us as much. There’s no access from there, so I’m not sure if it helps. Makes me wonder though: was he up there the night Jasmine’s body was dumped? Did he see it?”
I leaned back in my chair, linked my fingers together at the back of my neck, closed my eyes, and stayed like that until finally, “Sergeant?”
I opened my eyes, “Yes, Sarah. Sorry. I was thinking, trying to figure out what I was going to say to him. Hawkins. His alibi isn’t an alibi.
“John,” I said, as he pulled up a seat and sat down beside Sarah.
“I’ve just come from Mike Willis,” he said. “He asked me to tell you that Jasmine’s car is on its way to the shop and that he’ll get started on it as soon as it arrives. In the meantime, he said to tell you that the lock and chain are clean. Whoever it was must have been wearing gloves. So that’s a bust.”
“That’s a bummer,” I said. “I was hoping we’d have gotten some prints. I wonder where the hell the old chain is. Oh, that reminds me. I need to talk to Mike myself.”
“Hey, Mike,” I said when he picked up. “You have anyone you can spare for an hour, maybe two? No, no. Yes, two would do fine. Have them go search around the quarry gate area with metal detectors. They’ll be looking for another lock and chain. My guess is that whoever put the one I gave you on the gate threw the old one away. It could be as far out as ten or fifteen yards, so have them do a thorough search. Yeah? Cool, thanks, Mike. Oh, and, Mike? I’m sending John Tracy back to you. Yes, use him as you see fit. Okay?” It was, and I hung up the phone.
“Am I being punished, Sergeant?”
“No, you’re not. I’m going back to talk to Hawkins and Joe Thomas. I’m taking Detective Foote with me this time, to get a different perspective on both of them. I don’t want for three of us to go; that would be intimidating. So go give Mike a hand. He probably needs it.”
He shook his head, stood, and reluctantly headed for the door. I sat for a minute, sipping my coffee, and thinking. “C’mon, Sarah. Let’s go. Joe Thomas first, I think, then Mr. Hawkins.”
Chapter 13
I didn’t call ahead. As always, I wanted the element of surprise on my side, and it was. I knew that Joe Thomas worked Saturdays, and so had Wednesdays off instead. Sure enough, he was home alone, Jasmine’s parents being at the Heart Institute having Cletus’ Coumadin levels checked.
Somehow, though, I got the impression that Joe wasn’t surprised to see us. He opened the door, nodded, took a step back, and waved us in. We followed him into the living room where he dumped himself down in a huge easy chair, picked up the TV remote and turned it off.
“So, what d’you want this time?” he asked. The tone was… wary.
I decided to go for the throat, “We checked your alibi, Mr. Thomas, for the night Jasmine was abducted. You don’t have one. What you told me doesn’t hold up. Yes, you bought new boots at Becky’s but their copy of the receipt was timed at six-seventeen.”
“Their register must be wrong,” he said. “I know it was after seven-thirty. It was; it was after seven-thirty, definitely.”
“And you know that, how?”
“I… uh, well, I just know.”
“It couldn’t have been six-thirty? You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m sure. I told ya. It was way later than that.”
“Mr. Thomas,” I said. “You’re either mistaken, or you’re lying. A mistake? Well, we all make them. But if you’re lying—”
“I. Ain’t. Lyin’.”
“So, it was a mistake then?” I watched his eyes. They flickered. He looked away, lowered his chin.
You are lying! What the hell…
“I… I dunno. Maybe—”
“So where were you?”
“SHIT!” he yelled. “I don’t friggin’ know. I was at Becky’s until… hell, that’s all I know.”
I stared at him. He stared back, defiantly. I glanced sideways at Sarah. She looked at me, pursed her lips, then turned to look again at Thomas, as did I.
“Did you kill her, Joe?” I asked, quietly.
He jumped to his feet, “Holy shit! No, I friggin’ didn’t. We told you, Cletus an’ me. We told you who done it. It was him, Hawkins! Go screw with him for Christ’s sake, and leave me be… Okay, that’s it. I’ve had enough of this bullshit. I want you outta here, right now. Go on. Get the hell up and get gone, and don’t come back!”
And so we left him standing at the front door watching us leave. I had the feeling that it wouldn’t be the last we saw of Mr. Joseph Thomas.
“So, Detective,” I said to Sarah, as she turned the cruiser out of the Thomas driveway. “What do you think?”
“He sounds genuine enough, I suppose. Outraged, that’s for sure. I kinda believed him.”
“Kinda? How do you kinda believe someone? You either do or you don’t.”
“Okay,” she said. “I believe him. He was righteously outraged.”
“He was lying,” I said. “All that blustering, it was just a cover up.”
But was it?
There was just that one tell; he could have made a mistake in the timing. It was more than two weeks ago, and who keeps a log of their time?
***
Russell Hawkins was working… if that’s what you can call what he does. He didn’t answer my knock at the front door, so we walked around the house and peered in the windows. We found him in a back room, hammering away at a computer keyboard. I knocked on the window and smiled to myself as the poor man almost came out of his seat, so surprised was he.
“Oh dear,” he said when he opened the sliding glass door, “you startled me!
Please, do come in. I’m working, but I could use a break. Fighting a war in space all by yourself is very tiring, as you can imagine. I always feel totally drained when I finally quit for the day. Now, Sergeant. What is it? What can I do for you? And who is this nice person you have with you? Where is the other nice man? I don’t have too much time, but—”
I interrupted his flow. “This is Detective Foote. We just need a minute to clarify your whereabouts on the evening of the eleventh.”
“Oh... you do? Hmmm. Well, please, sit down. I thought we went through all that. I was at a book signing at Barnes and Noble, at the mall. Did you not check?”
“Yes, Mr. Hawkins. We did. They said that the book signing was on the evening of the sixteenth, the day after you claimed you were there.”
“They did? Hmmm. Let me see…” He opened a drawer, brought out a date book, and started flipping through it. “That would have been Tuesday… Oh! It was Wednesday, Wednesday the 16th! Hah, I could have sworn it was Tuesday. Must be getting old. My memory isn’t what it was… not that it was ever that good, you understand—”
Again, I had to interrupt him, “Yes, yes, of course. So, if you weren’t at B&N, where were you?”
“Where was I…?” He put a finger to his lips and closed his eyes, seemingly deep in thought. Then his eyes snapped open: “I was here. I must have been, because I can’t think of anywhere else I might have been. So, here; I was here, at home.”
“Is there anyone who can corroborate that?” I asked. “Was anyone here with you?”
“Oh no, no, no. I rarely have visitors. I don’t have any friends… well, I do, but just one or two, and rarely do I take to strangers. I did think about trying one of those online dating things, but I’m not a very outgoing person, you see. It’s a lack of confidence, or so my ex-wife would say. But you know what? I don’t believe it. I think I’m quite a confident person. Take my book signings, for instance. I—”
I turned and looked desperately at Sarah. She took the hint. “Mr. Hawkins? Please, sir,” she said. “I’m afraid we’re going to need a little more than that. What did you do that evening? Did you go out at all? If so, where, and did anyone see you?”
“No! No. I did not go out. I stayed in all day… wait. I did go out to the rim of the quarry and watch the children playing, but that was in the early afternoon, when I took a break from my writing. After that, I returned here, to the house and worked on until… oh, I don’t know, five, five-thirty perhaps? Then I had dinner, pizza, I think it was, and a beer… Wait a minute. I ordered the pizza from Luigi’s—they deliver, you know—so there you are, I did have a visitor after all!” he said, triumphantly.
“And what time would that have been?” Sarah asked.
“It must have been close to seven, I suppose. Maybe even a little later. I would have finished work, taken a shower, changed into something comfortable, and then made the call.”
“Well,” she said, “that’s it then. It should be easy to check. I’m sure Luigi’s keeps a record of their deliveries.” She looked at me, quizzically. “Sergeant?”
“Yes,” I said. “I think that should do it.”
I rose to my feet, as did Foote. “Thank you, Mr. Hawkins. We’ll be in touch.”
“Yes, of course. Let me show you out.”
I handed him one of my cards. “No need; we’ll go out the way we came in. If you think of anything, please call me. That has my cell number on it.”
We made our escape.
“Whew,” Sarah said, as she hit the starter. “That boy sure can talk. I think he’s lonely.”
“Yes,” I said, sarcastically. “That’s what he is, lonely, and no frigging wonder with a motor mouth like that. He can’t help that, though. Anyway, other than his mouth, what do you think?”
“Nah,” she said. “He didn’t do it.”
“Oh, and what makes you so sure?”
She shrugged, “I don’t think he has it in him. It’s just a feeling. That’s all.”
Just a feeling? Now, where have I heard that before? I wonder what he’s doing today. Maybe I should give him a call… Nah. Later, perhaps.
She was right, of course. I didn’t think he had it in him either, but that’s what they said about Ted Bundy and John Wayne Gacy. And, boy, were they ever wrong about those two.
I heaved a huge sigh. Sarah turned to look at me, “What was that about?”
“Eh, nothing really. Just a little frustrated. Now I have two suspects, and neither one of them can properly account for their whereabouts, at least not yet. Let’s head back to the office. I need to do some thinking; can you check Hawkins’ alibi, such as it is? Hell, even if he did have pizza delivered at seven, or even seven-thirty, he could still have abducted Jasmine. And Joe Thomas, well…”
She nodded, and turned the cruiser toward Amnicola and home.
Sheesh, home? The station! I need to get a life. What time is it? I looked at my watch. It was almost noon. Maybe I will call Harry. We could have lunch at the Boathouse.
“Hey, Harry. It’s me. You want to do lunch at the Boathouse? You’re at the club. Oh, hell. It must be nice to be unemployed. You what? No, of course not; it’s too far and too late. Tell August hello for me. See you tonight? Okay. Later.”
Sarah looked sideways at me and grinned. “You could always take me instead.”
“Indeed, I could. The Boathouse it is, then.”
Chapter 14
Lunch at the Boathouse is always a good experience, and especially so on a glorious summer day. We managed to snag a table by the window overlooking the river. I ordered a Caesar Salad with iced tea, and so did Sarah. And then, for the first time in three days, during the day, I managed to relax for a few minutes. Unfortunately, my halcyon moment didn’t last long.
Forty-five minutes later I was back at the office staring at my story board. It was pathetic, sadly lacking in detail and direction. Finally, I shook my head and gave up. I sat down at my desk, tapped the space bar on my computer keyboard, and entered my password.
I pulled up the Battery Heights area on Google Maps. It wasn’t a huge area, maybe a little more than a half-mile across in any direction. I changed the view from streets to satellite, then to 3D. That brought up an aerial view of the area, with the quarry set slap bang in the middle. I enlarged the view until the scale was showing one hundred feet to the inch, and then I slowly began to search it, inch by inch. It was a slow process. I’d been at it for almost an hour when I noticed something among the trees behind a small white house on the east side of Bonny Oaks Drive. It was the extreme edge of what I considered to be the area of interest; if I hadn’t been looking for it, I would have missed it.
I enlarged the view slowly until I was seeing twenty feet to the inch at which point the quality of the image dropped off so much that the trees merged into one. I eased back a little. There it was. It wasn’t much, just a small patch of brown amid the trees, maybe six feet by eight. The more I looked at it, the less certain I became as my eyes watered under the strain.
Screw this. I’ll take a break and come back to it.
I went for coffee. I didn’t want it, but it got me away from the screen. When I set the cup down beside the keyboard and looked again at the screen, the brown anomaly popped into focus.
It’s part of a roof.
I enlarged it. It disappeared in a haze of fuzziness. I backed off.
Yes, that’s what it is.
But as far as I could see, there was no access to it. It was perhaps sixty feet from the end of the back yard of the house. I stared at the tiny area for what must have been at least five minutes. I clicked on the house and Google supplied me with the address. I ran that through the system to find out who owned the property and…
Holy Shit. No frigging way.
The hair on the back of my neck prickling, I sat back in my chair, put my hands behind my neck, rolled away from the desk, and stared at the screen.
I. Do. Not. Believe it!
I picked up my
phone and called John Tracy. He was out to lunch, but I told him to drop what he was doing and come pick me up. He told me okay and that he would leave right away. I nodded absently, unaware I was even doing it, and hung up.
I called Mike Willis.
“Hey, Mike. It’s Kate Gazzara. How are you doing with the Honda?”
“It’s slow going, Kate. It was completely flooded, fully immersed in the pond. We need to let it dry out naturally. If we use blowers, we could lose trace evidence. It will probably be tomorrow before we can make start on it.”
“Okay, that I can understand, but what the hell did you do with Tracy?”
“Oh, I kept him busy. He knows his drugs, I’ll say that for him.”
“Well,” I said, “we’ll talk again tomorrow then?”
“Sure, you can call me anytime… actually, how about I call you if I find anything? That way, neither of us will be wasting our time.”
I agreed, hung up, and went back to my computer. The patch of brown—could it really be a roof?—was mesmerizing.
Where the hell is Tracy?
***
It was just after two-thirty when Tracy pulled into the driveway of the Thomas home.
“Stay here,” I told him. “I shouldn’t be but a minute.”
I got out of the car and pushed the doorbell. It was answered by Arlis Thomas.
“Oh, it’s you. Come in. Have you found him?” Her eyes were wet from crying.
“I’m sorry, but no. Not yet. I have a quick question for you, though.”
“Okay?”
“Is your husband home?”
“No. He went to Lowes for some screws.”
I nodded. That suited me fine. “I understand you own a small property on Bonny Oaks, about a mile east. Is that correct?”
She nodded, slowly, “Ye-es. It’s a rental, a little two-bedroom house, but it’s vacant. Has been for more than a year. It needs a lot of work before we can rent it out. Why d’you ask?”
“You never mentioned it; neither one of you.”
She shrugged, “I never even thought about it, and I’m sure Cletus didn’t.”
