Grime and Punishment (A Harley and Davidson Mystery Book 9)

by Liliana Hart

  “Actually, it does,” Hank said. “We’ve got his entire client list. Money makes people do all kinds of crazy things. Seems like a good place to start. We just need a warrant.”

  “Too bad our IT whiz passed out cold,” James said, chuckling.

  Agatha rolled her eyes, and then took a couple of steps back so she could observe the room as a whole.

  “What are you seeing?” Hank asked her.

  “I think the killer came in through the back door,” she said. “And maybe Grant didn’t hear him approach at all. We won’t know for sure until the coroner arrives and we can get the full picture for cause of death. But my gut says the killer swung from behind with enough force to crush Mr. Grant’s skull. There’s only one arc of blood spatter. Had the killer cocked back for another blow, I think there’d be blood on the ceiling or back across the center of this wall to the right of the desk.”

  Agatha swung her arms as if imitating one blow, and then cocked her arm back as if she was going to take another swing. She pointed with her other hand where the blood would’ve been flung across the ceiling and wall from the murder weapon if the killer struck more than once.

  “What about the body position post-impact?” Hank asked.

  She knew he’d already seen everything she had. Hank was brilliant when it came seeing what other people didn’t see.

  “He took the blow to the back of the head, and logically he should be slumped over the desk. But his foot was caught between the chair and the desk, so his body rebounded off the desk and that’s when he hit the corner of the desk on his way down.”

  “Good work,” Hank told her, and she let out a slow breath. “Why don’t you guys finish processing the scene, and Agatha and I will head out to notify Mrs. Grant of her husband’s death.”

  “That ought to be fun,” Agatha said.

  Chapter Three

  The Grant’s home was about eight miles outside of Rusty Gun. Hank’s initial records check showed that Leland and Evelyn Grant owned twenty acres in the unincorporated portion of Bell County. They had three grown kids and a smattering of grandchildren from the oldest two. Just the initial background check on property and other assets told Hank the Grants were worth a small fortune.

  January in Texas didn’t lend itself to beautiful scenery. The white rail fence that lined their property would’ve been breathtaking in the spring with green grass and horses in the pasture, but for now the grass was brown and the trees were bare, and the white farm house seemed lonely sitting in the middle of so much land.

  The gated entrance was open, and Hank steered the BMW sedan along the winding driveway lined with naked trees until they came to a semi-circle drive in front of the house.

  Agatha’s hands were clasped together in a white-knuckled grasp. She was one of the most empathic and feeling people he’d ever known, but she put all of that energy into her books instead of into other people. It’s why she had few close friends and stayed to herself for the most part. She felt deeply, and he feared if she truly let herself feel the depth of emotions he knew she’d suppressed through the years, she might eventually break.

  Telling someone their loved one was dead never got easier, and that kind of raw grief clung to you long after you left the living behind. He reached over and squeezed her hands gently.

  The house was rather plain—just a white farmhouse with a wraparound porch that had a swing at one end and a couple of rocking chairs at the other. There was a carport housing a Volvo wagon and a smaller car that was hidden beneath a canvas tarpaulin.

  The porch light turned on, and Hank nudged Agatha. “She’s watching from the window. Go ahead and get out so she can see you. It’ll put her at ease to see another woman.”

  Mrs. Grant pushed open the screen door. “Agatha Harley, is that you, dear?”

  “Yes, Mrs. Grant. It’s me. Do you mind if we come in and speak to you for a few minutes?”

  Mrs. Grant touched the pearls at her throat, curiosity etched on her unlined face. Hank knew from the background check that she was a good dozen years younger than her husband, and she carried her age well, but if he weren’t mistaken, she’d had some work done. No one reached her age without showing some lines that only life could bring.

  She was tall and slender, and her clothes were tailored and expensive. She wasn’t dressed like a woman who was spending a leisurely day at home. She looked as if she was about to leave. Her hair was short, chic, and white, and her jewelry was tastefully expensive. She looked like she could give a snowman frostbite.

  “I was just on my way out,” she said, confirming his theory. “But I can spare a few minutes. I’ve heard you’ve made quite a name for yourself, Agatha,” she said, ushering them inside. “Your mother would be truly proud, I’m sure.”

  Agatha thanked her and then they stopped and stared in the large foyer. Hank had never seen anything so white in his life. There was a complete absence of color—from the walls, to the carpets, to the furniture. The glare hurt his eyes.

  “You can leave your shoes here at the door,” she said before leading them into the front sitting room. “You didn’t introduce me to your friend, Agatha, though I can deduce he’s the man you’re living with? There’s been quite a lot of talk about that around town.”

  Agatha’s cheeks pinked with embarrassment, and Hank took a step forward and extended his hand.

  “I’m Sheriff Davidson, ma’am,” he said. “We appreciate your time.”

  She reached up and touched her pearls again, and this time it was nervousness that came across her face instead of curiosity. She was starting to realize something might be wrong.

  “Let’s take a seat, Mrs. Grant,” Agatha said, leading her to a chair, and then she sat on the loveseat adjacent to it. But she didn’t let go of her hand.

  Hank took the seat next to Agatha.

  “What’s this all about?” Mrs. Grant asked. “I’m really quite pressed for time.”

  “We’re here about your husband,” Hank told her.

  “Leland?” she asked. “Well, he’s still at the office. You should try him there. The next four months I’ll hardly see him at all.”

  “I’m sorry to have to tell you that your husband is dead,” he said.

  “What?” she asked, shaking her head. “No, you must be wrong. I’ll just give him a call, and you’ll see.”

  “I’m sorry,” Agatha said. “We’re sure, Mrs. Grant. He’s gone.”

  The icy veneer vanished in an instant and she crumpled into Agatha’s arms. Her sobs were silent, and then she looked up at Hank with tear-drenched eyes.

  “How?” she demanded.

  “We believe someone killed him.”

  “That’s impossible,” she said. “No one would hurt Leland. Everyone loved him.”

  “We’re going to find out who did this to him,” Hank said softly.

  “I have to call the kids,” she said. “They need to know.”

  “Are they close by?” Agatha asked.

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “It’ll take them some time to get here. My oldest is in Amarillo, my daughter is in Houston, and my baby is in Austin. Can you wait here with me? I don’t want to be alone. What if the killer comes here?”

  “I’ll have an officer come out and sit at the house just as a precaution, but we’ve got no reason to think you’re a target. Is there someone we can call for you until your kids arrive?”

  “If you could call our pastor,” she said. “He’s a dear friend.”

  “I’ve got his number,” Agatha said, getting up from the loveseat. “I’ll call him for you.”

  Hank waited until Agatha was across the room before he spoke to Mrs. Grant again. “Did your husband have enemies?”

  “No, of course not. I told you, everyone loved Leland. He was a good man.”

  She straightened her spine, and he recognized the look on her face. She needed someone to blame for what had happened to her husband, but there was something about her Hank didn’t like. H
er shock and grief seemed real, but he had a feeling she’d play the part of widow very well.

  “Pastor’s on his way,” Agatha said, coming back to sit next to her.

  “Thank you, dear,” she said. “We’ll need to make calls. Leland was very prominent in the community. This will affect everyone. Not to mention you’ve got a killer on the loose. This town has gone to hell in a hand basket. It’s your duty to keep citizens safe, Sheriff.”

  Hank didn’t bother to tell her he’d only been sheriff for a few days, and he didn’t ask her if she was planning to run for office, because she sounded like she was reciting her platform.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Hank said. “That’s why we need to get back to work on finding who did this. We don’t believe this was random. A crime of this nature is usually committed by someone the victim knows personally. Maybe a client or someone else he did business with. Did he keep anything valuable in the office?”

  She snorted delicately. “You must be joking. You did see this office, didn’t you?” She shuddered as if Leland had committed the worst sort of offense because of his decorating sense. “He’d never let me set foot in there to help him. I always told him he could’ve been doing big city business if he’d just take it up a notch. Appearances mean a lot when business gets involved. No one wants to let a poor CPA do their taxes. It doesn’t exactly scream of success.”

  “You said you were heading out just before we arrived,” Hank said. “Do you need to cancel your plans?”

  She twisted the large diamond on her finger around nervously and looked over his shoulder out the front window.

  “I suppose so,” she said. “I was waiting on my driver. It’s Tuesday, and I always leave for my home on Tuesdays.”

  “Your home?” Hank asked.

  “My home in Austin,” she said. “I prefer city living, so I spend Tuesday through Friday there every week, and come back for the weekends so Leland and I can attend any events and Sunday service. Like I said, we rarely see each other this time of year anyway. But I usually leave before he gets home from work because Leland has never been fond of the arrangement. But I have to live my life, and Leland is at the age where he doesn’t want to do anything but sit in front of the television when he gets home.”

  Hank raised his brow at that but of information, and he wondered if she had a backup husband waiting for her in Austin now that Leland was dead.

  “You said you have a son in Austin?” Agatha asked.

  “My youngest is still attending the University of Texas, so it’s nice to be close to him if he needs me.”

  “I didn’t realize Bud was still there,” Agatha said. “Is he doing graduate work?”

  Two bright spots of color appeared in her cheeks and she gave Agatha a look that dripped icicles. She was saved from giving an explanation by the knock at the door.

  “Pastor Charles is here,” Hank said, hoping to break the tension. Who knew her son was such a sensitive topic?

  “Please let him in,” Mrs. Grant said, as if she were talking to a servant. “I believe the two of you have delayed finding my husband’s killer long enough.”

  Chapter Four

  Wednesday

  The “Re-Elect Sheriff Coil” campaign signs that had once lined Main Street were disappearing the closer voting day came. Even the sign once posted in the corner of the Kettle Café had been removed. Hank had a feeling that Coil’s rival for sheriff was behind the backhanded campaigning, but there was no way to prove it that he could find.

  Hank knew Coil was hurting, but he didn’t know what to do for him other than let the system work. But he was glad Coil wasn’t hiding away. The best thing he could do was be out and be seen as if nothing were wrong.

  So when Coil called to meet for breakfast, Hank was happy to accept the invitation. As usual, he arrived before Coil and grabbed their favorite booth against the wall across from the service countertop. He ordered his usual of sweet tea and the sunrise platter.

  Agatha was training for a marathon, so she’d left early that morning for a ten-mile run since the wind and dreary skies had cleared up. He’d been working out lately to make sure retirement didn’t catch up with him, but the only way he’d be running anywhere was if someone were chasing him. Maybe not even then. He really hated to run.

  He leaned his head back so it rested at the junction of the wall and the booth and closed his eyes. Coming out of retirement and jumping back into full-time police work was exhausting. He’d retired for a reason, and he missed working cases on his own time and whim.

  He must have relaxed more than he realized because the next thing he heard was Coil calling his name.

  “Morning, Sheriff,” Coil said, chuckling.

  Hank’s eyes snapped open and he sat up in the booth, rubbing the stubble on his cheeks. Had he really dozed off?

  “I was just resting my eyes,” Hank said.

  “Uh, huh,” Coil said, grinning. “Is that drool on your shirt?”

  Hank looked down at his shirt, horrified, and realized Coil was joking. Coil stretched out his long legs and propped an arm over the back of the booth.

  “Please don’t call me sheriff,” Hank said. “I really hate it.”

  “Keeping up appearances, brother. You’ve got the title, and I wouldn’t want anyone else to have it.”

  “Don’t get used to it,” Hank said. “I’m only keeping it warm for you.”

  Coil scoffed and signaled the waitress for his usual black coffee and pancake breakfast. “Hank, things aren’t looking good.”

  “I thought your attorney was handling the appeal?”

  “She is, but every time we make a move for information, someone in Belton puts a block on it. I know the allegations will get cleared up, but the plan is to keep stalling me until after the election.”

  Hank put his tea down without drinking, “Then why don’t we drive over to Belton and figure out who’s holding things up? Maybe teach them a lesson. I miss the old days of cop work.”

  Coil’s mouth twitched, and they waited until the waitress set down Coil’s coffee and breakfast and then went back to the kitchen before speaking again.

  “You and I both know Oddie McElroy is behind this. He’s got so many members of the ethics board under his thumb that even taking him out to the woodshed wouldn’t make a difference.”

  “I still can’t believe they’ve stooped so low,” Hank said. “I’m not naïve, and I know how crooked politics can get, but this is a bit on the criminal side.”

  “Hank, welcome to the dark side of Texas politics. It isn’t the norm, but it happens. I’ve stepped on a few too many toes since taking that oath of office, and memories run deep in the criminal underworld. If I was a betting man, I’d say Oddie was neck deep.”

  “How’s McElroy connected to your undercover days with the Lone Star Rattlers?”

  “Not sure, but that gang is deeply embedded throughout the state. They’ve been known to have political ties. And there’s no telling who knows what and who owes who. Don’t forget the millions of bucks in confederate gold we denied somebody. It wouldn’t surprise me if there’s a connection to Oddie somewhere in there.”

  Hank whistled beneath his breath. “That could be bad.”

  “Tell me about it. My past always seems to haunt me.” Coil’s mouth tightened in a grim line.

  Hank felt for his friend. They all had scars from the job. He knew some of the details, but most of the information remained sealed in classified documents, and the rest was lost in Coil’s memory.

  “Maybe it won’t haunt you if you bring some light to it,” Hank said. “Not all of it. But parts of it. You need to clear your name.”

  Coil sipped his coffee and said, “There was more to that shootout than bad guys trying to put holes in me. It was a coordinated attack that began in a government official’s office long before I crawled out of the dessert with half of my blood spilled along the way.”

  “Then why not expose everything and get it over with?” Hank
asked. “As long as this stays in the dark, you’ll never have peace to live your life the way God intended. Your family deserves that peace too.”

  “I wish I could do that,” Coil said, blowing out a breath. “But my family is the first thing they’d go after.”

  “Who?” Hank demanded.

  Coil clutched his napkin and wiped the corners of his mouth. Hank knew he was avoiding the question. It was killing him to see Coil in so much pain over something done to him for no other reason than his decision to uphold the law. Now the law was failing him.

  “You know I can’t—” Coil said, stopping midsentence as the waitress came back over.

  “Let me give you a refill,” she said, putting a fresh tea in front of Hank and refilling Coil’s coffee cup.

  “We appreciate it,” Coil said, flashing a smile.

  “Sorry to see you in all of this mess, Sheriff,” she said. “But don’t worry, I’ve heard through the grapevine Oddie has his own skeletons.”

  “We all do,” Hank added.

  “Well, you still got my vote,” she said and bustled to the next table.

  “See,” Hank said. “Not everyone has turned their back on you. Don’t give up this fight.”

  “I know,” he agreed. “But there’s more to all of this than just casting votes. This has been hard on my family. I’m not even sure Shelly wants me to continue.”

  Hank raised his brows at that. “If you really don’t want to go through with this, then you need to make a decision. You’ve got people fighting for you, and it’s not right to keep us in the ring if you’ve thrown in the towel.” Hank wadded up a napkin and tossed it on the table. “We love you, and there’s no judgment either way, but you have to want this more than we can want it for you.”

  There was a long, awkward silence. Hank didn’t even notice the crowd noise in the Café. His head hoped Coil would fight for his position, but his heart wanted his friend to have peace.

  “You okay?” Coil finally asked.

  “Just tired,” Hank said, yawning.