by Liliana Hart
Grime And Punishment (Book9)
A Harley and Davidson Mystery
Liliana Hart
Louis Scott
To Dave and Ashley - We treasure your friendship, and are so privileged to have you in our lives.
Contents
Other Books In Series
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Epilogue
Sneak Peek: Blazing Saddles
A Look Ahead
You make a big difference
Also by Liliana Hart
Also by Louis Scott
About Liliana Hart
About Louis Scott
Copyright © 2019 by Liliana Hart & Scott Silverii
All rights reserved.
Published by 7th Press
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
The Harley and Davidson Mystery Series
The Farmer’s Slaughter
A Tisket a Casket
I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus
Get Your Murder Running
Deceased and Desist
Malice in Wonderland
Tequila Mockingbird
Gone With the Sin
Chapter One
Tuesday
January blew into Rusty Gun with brutal winds that had Texans everywhere scrambling to find heavy coats. The cold wouldn’t last long, but it felt like an eternity to those who weren’t used to it. However, the cold went unnoticed inside Grant’s CPA office.
Deputy Jimmie James hooked his thumbs in his duty belt and rocked back on his heels as he stared down at the body of Leland Grant. There were going to be a lot of disappointed people come tax time.
“You want I should call the coroner’s office to pick up the body, Sheriff?” James asked.
Coil nodded his head out of habit, and James flushed scarlet.
“Uhh,” James said. “I meant Sheriff Davidson.”
“You’re right,” Coil said, his face grim. “I don’t belong here.” He stood and moved to walk past them and Agatha reached out a hand to stop him.
“Coil,” she said. But he left out the back door and shut it behind him.
“Let him go, Aggie,” Hank said softly.
“Sorry, Sir,” James said. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“It is what it is,” Hank said. “It’s the price of politics. Coil would want us to focus on the job and not his campaign. Or the troubles following him.”
Leland Grant’s office was an old three room house that had been remodeled and converted into office space. Walls had been knocked down so it was mostly one large area with an executive desk and two leather chairs in front. A leather couch rested against the wall, next to a table cluttered with Field and Stream magazines. The gas floor heater was lit, and the room was overly warm.
Leland had been the only CPA in Rusty Gun for the last thirty years.
“Excuse me?” Sergeant Joe Springer said. “Sheriff Davidson?”
Hank just barely kept himself from rolling his eyes. He hated being called Sheriff. As far as he was concerned, Coil was still the sheriff, but everyone had to follow protocol by the book or things could go south fast for Coil.
Springer might be Hank’s least favorite person in all of Rusty Gun, which was saying something. He didn’t think anyone could ever get under his skin more than Heather Cartwright, but Springer managed to take the top spot.
Springer wasn’t exactly the quintessential image of someone who was chosen to protect and serve. He was slightly overweight, and his uniform always looked rumpled. His skin was pale and doughy with carrot-orange hair and freckles across the bridge of his nose. The chip on his shoulder was as wide as Texas with an attitude that made Hank want to give him a right cross square in the jaw.
“What?” Hank asked tersely.
Springer fidgeted from foot to foot. “Well, since I’m officially the highest ranking certified law enforcement official on scene, I think this should be my investigation.”
There was a snort from Karl Johnson, and Jimmie James was staring intently at a speck of dust, shaking his head.
“And while I appreciate how you’re filling in for Sheriff Coil,” Springer said. “You are just filling in. And it’s been a long time since you’ve been in the field.”
Everyone in the room seemed to be holding their breath, and Hank felt his blood pressure skyrocket so he could feel the pulse pounding behind his eyes.
“Have you ever investigated a death?” Hank asked.
“No, Sir.”
“Springer, have you even seen a dead body before?”
“Sergeant,” he said.
“I beg your pardon?” Hank asked.
“You should address me as Sergeant Springer,” he said, his face flaming red. “It’s my rank.”
“We’re standing over a dead body, Sergeant Springer,” Hank said. “Why don’t you get the stick out of your—”
Agatha coughed loudly several times and pounded her chest, and Hank cut his eyes in her direction.
“—behind,” he finished lamely. “So we can close this out and give the family of the victim some peace.”
“I want this case,” Springer said, stiffening his spine, and pointing his chin defiantly.
Hank had to hand it to him, it took some guts to stand up to someone as intimidating as Hank. That didn’t make him like Springer any more, but it gave him something to think about. It also made him realize that even though he didn’t want to be sheriff, he was the sheriff, at least until Coil came back. Unless he asserted his authority, the deputies under his command would run all over him. Springer was being disrespectful and trying to assert his dominance at the same time.
“All right,” Hank said, nodding. “Sergeant Springer wants to run point on this investigation. I’m going to let him.”
“What?” James asked, sputtering.
“Well you heard Springer just like the rest of us,” Hank said, looking at James as if he was a nitwit. “He told us plain as day he’s the highest ranking real deputy on scene, and I’m clearly too much of a moron since I retired to know what the heck I’m doing. I should probably just mosey on back to the office and have some coffee and donuts and prop my feet up while the real cops handle things.”
Springer drained of all color, and Hank nodded in approval. Maybe he wasn’t as big of a fool as he originally thought.
“But Sheriff,” Karl said. “This is Mr. Grant. Everybody loves him. This is no time to let Springer play cop.”
“That’s Sergeant Springer,” Springer said.
“Up yours,” Karl said, fists clinching at his sides.
“I’m writing you up for insubordination.”
Karl snorted. “Yeah, right. That would actually require you to work, you fat lump of—”
“Enough,” Hank barked. “Karl, he does have rank. Don’t let me hear you be disrespectful again.”
“Yes, Sir,” Karl said through gritted teeth.
“Sergeant Springer,” Hank said. “The case is yours.”
“Thank y
ou, Sheriff,” he said, smirking.
“If you screw it up, you’re fired,” Hank said. “And since you’re obviously more qualified than any of the rest of us to work this case, you can do it on your own. Let’s go.”
Hank didn’t look to see if the others followed him outside and into the cold, but he could hear their footsteps shuffling behind him. He took a last look at a wide-eyed and panic stricken Springer just before he shut the door with a snap.
He tugged the collar of his wool coat up around his neck to ward off the wind, but the cold felt good against his face. Things had gotten a little too hot inside.
“Umm…Hank,” Agatha said, and motioned for him to come to her so they were away from the others.
“Yes?” he asked, but he had a feeling he knew what was coming.
“What’s wrong with you?” she asked. “There’s a dead man in that building who deserves more respect than you teaching an idiot a life lesson by jeopardizing a possible murder investigation.”
Hanks eyes narrowed. “You think Mr. Grant was murdered?”
“You taught me to start off with the assumption that a death is a murder until we’re able to prove otherwise, or walk it backward to accidental or natural death.”
“Good job,” he said. “You were listening. I can get justice for Mr. Grant and teach an idiot a life lesson at the same time. If I don’t assert my authority now, I won’t have any of their respect while I hold down the job for Coil.”
“So this was a test?” she asked, looking confused. “Men are weird.”
Hank looked down at his watch. “Everyone needed a break from in there. Springer is going to have to learn what teamwork is. He doesn’t have the skills or experience to tie his shoelaces on his own, much less run a murder investigation.”
“How in the world did he become a Sergeant?” Agatha asked.
“That’s a very good question,” Hank said.
“I don’t mean to interrupt, boss,” Karl said. “But how long are we going to spend teaching that fool a lesson? It’s cold out here.”
Agatha rolled her eyes. “Good grief. Is there some man signal I missed since the rest of you knew what the heck was going on in there? Maybe if y’all would start thinking with what’s between your ears instead of what’s between your legs, things wouldn’t get so heated so fast.”
Hank snorted out a laugh, but it didn’t last long. A frown marred his face and he stared at the team standing around him he was now supposed to lead.
“You’re worried about Coil,” Agatha said, picking up on his mood.
“Yeah, to say the least,” he said, nodding.
“Me too,” she said. “But Coil is a big boy, and you’re the one who said he’d want us focused on Mr. Grant’s death.”
“You’re right,” he said, letting out a slow breath. His blood pressure was almost back to normal. “Let’s go rescue the sergeant and figure out what happened to Mr. Grant.”
Hank nodded to the others that they could go back inside, and he followed behind them. The heat had exacerbated the scent of death, and the smell clung to the inside of his nostrils and choked its way down his throat.
“Uh, Sheriff,” Karl called out. “You probably want to get in here.”
Something in Karl’s voice had him hurrying to the area where they’d found the body.
All he could see was the soles of black police boots, the heels almost touching as they splayed out into a V. Sergeant Springer was passed out cold, his face paler than usual while beads of sweat clung to his upper lip.
“Good grief,” Hank said, borrowing one of Agatha’s favorite sayings.
“Should we wake him?” Karl asked.
“How about we throw him in a body bag?” James asked.
“I’ll start digging the hole,” Karl piped in, and the two of them started laughing, making jokes at Springer’s expense.
Agatha knelt next to Springer and gently shook him, slapping him on the cheek a couple of times until he started to stir. Springer whined and curled into the fetal position.
“Come on, man,” Hank said. “Have some self-respect.”
Springer’s eyes popped open and landed on Hank’s. “Am I fired?”
“It depends on whether or not you did any damage to the scene,” Hank answered. “We’ll have a discussion about your future in law enforcement in my office tomorrow.”
Springer nodded, and Karl reached down to help him to his feet.
“And don’t worry, Springer,” Hank said. “My entire career of working crime scenes came back to me in a flash while I was out in the alley. It looks like I’ll be useful on this case after all.”
Chapter Two
Agatha watched Sergeant Springer’s patrol car pass by and let out a sigh of relief. She didn’t like confrontation. And if she were being honest, she didn’t like seeing Hank in this position. He was different. Harder. Less compromising. He was unlike the Hank she’d come to know and love over the past couple of years. But she understood why he had to be that way.
Since she was being so honest with herself, she wasn’t completely comfortable with her new role as acting detective. She and Hank had been working together and solving crimes, first in an unofficial capacity with the sheriff’s office, and then as paid consultants. But pinning on the shield, even temporarily, was a bigger responsibility than she was ready to accept. She was a crime writer for Pete’s sake. What was she doing standing over a fresh body? She had a book to finish and research to do.
“Umm, hello? Detective Harley?” James called out.
She had no idea how long he’d been trying to get her attention. She blew out a breath and tried to focus. She really needed Coil’s suspension to be lifted. Stupid ethics violations.
“Right,” she said, clapping her hands together. “Have you called the coroner yet?”
“I can do that now,” James said. “By the time they get here, we’ll have everything processed.”
Agatha nodded and pulled a pair of Latex gloves out of her back pocket. Karl was already taking photographs of the body at every angle, but nothing up close yet. Death’s reality was starting to weigh on her. She’d had training in forensics in her life before she decided to be a writer, and she’d solved real crimes previously. She could do this.
She approached Mr. Grant’s body. He was elderly, probably close to seventy, but up until his death he’d been a vibrant member of the community. He and his wife had moved to Rusty Gun long before she’d been born, and they had grown children, though she couldn’t remember how many. She had a tendency to hole up in her house and not get too involved in what was happening in the community, though all she had to do was ask her best friend Heather if she wanted an update on all the gossip. However, she couldn’t remember any particularly juicy bits of gossip about the Grants. There must have been something, because Leland Grant had died a violent death.
The body was on the floor to the right side of the desk. The leather executive chair had toppled backward to the left of the desk. The carpet was old and worn in the main walkways, but it was difficult to see blood on the navy shag.
“Man, this place is stuck in the eighties,” Agatha said. “Wood-panel walls and shag carpeting?”
“Men don’t like change,” Hank said. “They tend to stick with what they start with. Though if he’s married I’m surprised his wife didn’t make the changes for him. That’s usually what it takes.”
“Hmm,” Agatha said, and then she whispered under her breath, “Good to know.”
There was blood spatter across the front of Grant’s blue Oxford shirt, and there were similar blood stains across his pressed khakis. One of his leather loafers was missing, and she scanned the area before she noticed it was wedged between a leg of the desk and his chair.
There was trauma to the side of his head, and it looked as if he’d struck the corner of his desk. There was blood and what looked like hair and flesh on the sharp edge.
“What do you think?” Hank asked.
“Misdirection spray,” she said.
“My thought too,” he said, nodding.
“What’s misdirection spray?” Karl asked.
“Pretend the scene is undisturbed,” Agatha said. “Mr. Grant is sitting at his desk doing whatever it is he does. Now look where the chair is compared the blood spatter on the front of his clothing compared to the blood and other DNA on the corner of the desk. It wasn’t him hitting his head against the desk that killed him. There’s high velocity spatter across the front of his clothes, and the only thing that could make that pattern is if he was struck by something hard and fast. The blood spatter traveled in the same direction as the weapon was swung.”
“We need to find out if Grant had any enemies,” Hank said. “I’ve only met him a couple of times, but he seemed friendly enough.”
“Yeah, that’s my impression too,” she said. “He’s a deacon at the Methodist church and he’s a member of the Rotary Club. His wife is part of the Ladies’ League, but she’s not as involved in the community as her husband. She spends a lot of her time in Austin. I think they have a home there too.”
Hank raised his brows at that. “I guess the CPA business does pretty well.”
“No question about that,” Agatha said. “They live outside the city limits on a big stretch of land in a farm house. Heather said she heard he was a real tightwad with his money, but everything they have is quality and well maintained. I was under the impression that was the reason Mrs. Grant spends so much time in Austin. I’m guessing things are a little upper scale there.”
“That doesn’t really leave us with a list of his enemies,” James said.
