“You’re not including yourself in your suggested plan,” Rachel said. “Any reason for that?”
“Because I don’t want to put any of you into a compromised situation.”
Nikkie walked close to Derek, looked him in the eyes, and said, “What are you thinking?”
“Be nice to know what those two are burning back there, wouldn’t it? Be even nicer if we could take possession of anything not burned up already.”
“I don’t want to hear anymore,” Rachel said. “If you really want to stand here on the road, waiting for the brothers to drive back down their private driveway so you can ask them what they burned, then I can’t stop you. In fact, I’m out of my jurisdiction as it is.” Rachel jiggled the car keys in her hands. “Come on, ladies. Let’s fill up and get some food for the drive home. We should be back in about an hour, Derek. Think that’s okay for you?”
“I hear fast food places down south aren’t as fast as they are up north. Better plan on an hour and a half.”
There weren’t enough trees or shrubs to ensure he’d have a place to hide in case a car, or a specific truck, worked its way down the pitted, hard-packed dirt driveway, but Derek wasn’t worried about hiding. If the brothers came tooling down the driveway, saw him and decided to dish out the type of hospitality southern Alabamans like to show trespassers, he was ready to demonstrate some of the self-defense hospitalities the Army had drilled into him. He was angry; not only at the two brothers but also about feeling that his client was in trouble. With Brian Hilton denying her alibi and with any potential physical evidence, which would have proven that Jessica was with Hilton in his lodge probably reduced to ashes, Derek was struggling to come up with a logical next move in the investigation.
As he walked on the left hand side of the driveway towards the rising black smoke, he admitted he was acting without any real plan. When he reached the end of the driveway, saw what the brothers were burning, what was he going to do? “Piss on the fire and hope to save one of the couch pillows?” Or maybe he’d discover the brothers overlooked the mattress and he’d be able to sneak into the truck and haul the mattress out to the road where Rachel would be more than happy to tie it onto the roof of her car. The truth was, he wasn’t expecting to see anything at the end of the driveway and he wasn’t expecting to do anything, either. He just didn’t think he could sit in a car with his client for five hours after not trying to do anything.
For Derek, not trying was worse than failing miserably. To fail, you had to at least try.
He saw a ramshackle house—single story, weathered with a deeply sagging roof—as he turned what he assumed was the final turn of the driveway. The yard surrounding the house had that “run to riot” appearance often seen at places where homeowners stopped caring. The condition of the house suggested it hadn’t seen a resident in quite a long time.
Off to his right, Derek saw two things that piqued his interest. The first was a pile of new lumber, enough two-by-fours and four-by-fours to frame a new house. The lumber was stacked neatly, covered with a series of patched-together blue tarps.
“Renovations or a new build?” Derek thought.
The second thing Derek noticed was what the lumber was placed next to. A newly constructed steel pole barn. Had to be at least forty-by-eighty. Fifteen foot, double garage doors, gleaming in white facing directly at the run down house. On the side of the pole barn facing away from the house, was an entry door. Derek made his way to the door.
The door was opened. Inside, a long stretch of overhead lights in three rows ran the length of the pole barn. The middle strip of lights was turned on; giving Derek enough light to visually inventory the inside of the barn. He walked inside, grateful to be out of potential view of the brothers. He stood looking around the pole barn and wishing he had more time to explore what was inside. He moved back towards the door. He noticed a key ring hanging from a rusty nail to the left of the door. On the ring were two keys. Both looked the same and both looked like keys used to open doors. Long, squared at the end. Deep channel running up the middle. He peered out through the door, saw the brothers busily emptying the back of the moving truck. He grabbed the key ring and worked one of the keys free. He stuck it in his pocket, just in case.
He stepped out of the barn, after checking to make sure no one was keeping an eye on the open door, then slipped back into the cover of the trees.
Parked behind the neglected ranch home, off to the left, was the moving truck. It was parked facing the driveway, meaning the lift gate was closest to a pile of burning debris. The flames weren’t very high, he judged them to be reaching no more than eight feet above the pile of mostly charred and reduced to ash pile of fuel, but the smoke billowing out from the pyre was as black as death. It coiled up in a lazy cyclone.
The two brothers were standing with their backs towards Derek. Both were simply watching the fire as if at a backyard bonfire and the contents on the fire were nothing more than some pine logs felled the previous season. He wondered if the brothers knew the importance of the furniture they had assembled into a pile, soaked with gasoline and set a match to. If they did, and if Hilton turned out to be guilty in Sam Gracers’ murder, they’d both be looking at prison time for obstruction of justice.
But they probably had no idea. Hilton most likely hired them to deliver furniture he had purchased from a Dothan area furniture store, far enough away from Tallahassee so as to not raise any future suspicions, and haul away the old furniture. Derek imagined the brothers calling Hilton, or whomever Hilton had hired to make the furniture purchase and to hire the brothers for a day’s labor, and telling him about the two cops and three other people parked outside the house where they had parked the moving truck. The brothers were probably offered an extra few thousand to make sure the furniture was destroyed well ahead of the feds coming through with the warrant.
“Just two good ole’ boys making a living,” he thought as he started backing his way towards the road. “Probably made more money in one day than they had in any month of their lives up to today.” But Derek knew that wasn’t the case. He knew, based on what he’d seen in the pole barn that he’d cross paths with the brothers again before he closed the Jessica Gracers case.
He was back at the end of the driveway thirty minutes into the ninety minutes he told Detective Gonzales he needed.
“You don’t look like someone who accomplished anything exciting,” Rachel Gonzales said as Derek sat in the passenger’s seat beside her.
“Couch, mattress and box spring, a load of sheets, pillows, towels and two area rugs; all burned. All soon to be nothing but a pile of ashes.”
“Son of a bitch,” Nikkie scowled from the backseat. “I thought we had Hilton dead to rights.”
“Man like that,” Derek said, “a millionaire with enough people willing to kiss his ass for the chance at earning favor with him, is one tough SOB to have nailed so easily. I should have gone up to the lodge alone. Shouldn’t have told anyone. Just me, a camera and a way to collect evidence.”
“And then every last piece of evidence you may have found would have been inadmissible in court,” Rachel said. “He had too much time to clean out the lodge. Way too much time. Nothing we could have or should have done differently.”
The way Rachel was talking, the words she was using and her obvious interest in Brian Hilton told Derek he had been spot on with his initial impression of her. She may not yet fully believe in Jessica’s innocence; there were still too many open questions, but it was clear she wasn’t dismissing Jessica’s alibi and Hilton’s possible involvement. And after Rachel asked a question to Jessica about what, if anything, happened during her and Brian’s drive back from the lodge, Derek’s remaining doubts about Rachel evaporated.
“We made one stop,” Jessica answered Rachel. “I didn’t notice it at first, but Brian started getting nervous about a green SUV he believed was following us. I remember he kept looking in his rear view mirror, like he saw something he couldn’t quite
understand. After a while, maybe fifteen minutes, his body language changed. He seemed nervous, stiff. I asked him if something was wrong. He told me, in a very calm voice, that he thought we were being followed. I looked in the side mirror and did see an SUV behind us, but I have no idea how long it had been there.”
“Did you notice the plates?” Rachel asked.
“No. Looking at license plates isn’t in my normal list of things to do.”
“So, what happened?” Rachel was pressing Jessica. She seemed anxiously hopeful Jessica’s story provided a clue. Something she could use to further solidify her belief of Jessica’s innocence.
“Brian kept driving for another twenty minutes or so, and kept looking in the mirror. I was getting very nervous, more for him than for me. He had more to lose than I did. After a while, he saw a convenience store up ahead. He pulled around to the side, kept the car running. He got out of the car and walked around to the front of the store. He was gone maybe five or six minutes. When he came back, he seemed much more relaxed. He sat down, told me his paranoia must have gotten the better of him. He said the SUV did pull into the same convenience store as we did, but the driver was a man he’d never seen before. He said the SUV driver pulled up to the pump, filled up and left without giving Brian a single glance.”
“So, that was it?” Rachel asked, her voice dripping with obvious disappointment and, perhaps, a trace of contempt.
“I guess so. He did suggest that I use the bathroom to freshen up a bit.”
“You walked into the store?” Derek said. “If so, there’ll be security footage.”
Jessica sighed. “No, not into the store. The bathrooms were on the side of the store. Almost right in front of where he parked. I just ran in quickly while he did something with my phone.”
“What do you mean? He did what with your phone?” Rachel was back to being anxious.
“Well, he said I should wipe out my history from my…I don’t know…my location tracker, I think? Does that make sense?”
Nikkie jumped into the conversation.
“Where was your phone? In your purse or on your body?”
“In my purse.”
“Did he know that?”
“I guess so. He picked it up from the backseat, told me it would only take a few minutes to clean out my phone. He bet me he’d be done with my phone before I was done in the bathroom.”
“And I bet when you got back into the car, your purse was sitting on the backseat again.” It wasn’t a question Nikkie presented.
“Yes. Why?”
Rachel glanced at Derek first, then, using the rear view mirror, shot Nikkie a knowing smile.
“Because, if everything you told us so far is the truth,” Rachel said to Jessica, “Hilton swapped the gun he gave you at the lodge with your real gun. The one he borrowed from you the first day he went for his run. The gun that killed your husband. He made the switch back when you were in the bathroom.”
“And I bet the driver of the green SUV was following you two,” Nikkie offered. “Except he wasn’t following you to catch you and Brian doing something you shouldn’t have been doing”
“Timeline all fits now” Derek said. “If the driver of the green SUV did give Hilton your actual gun, the murder weapon, then it puts Hilton front and center in this murder investigation.”
It was clear Jessica was struggling wrapping her head around everything being said in the car. She was tired, scared about her future, grieving for her husband and probably a bit heartbroken over Brian Hilton.
“So, Brian borrows my gun when he goes for a run on Saturday. But the gun he gives back to me after his run wasn’t really mine?”
“How close did you inspect the gun when he returned it to you?” Derek asked.
“Not at all. Just had Brian put it back in my purse. I never use the thing. I only carry it when I remember to. Haven’t even fired it in at least a year.”
“Rachel,” Derek said as he turned slightly to face Detective Gonzales, “Jessica’s gun? Locked in the evidence room, I assume?”
“Has to be. This really isn’t my case, so I didn’t witness it being logged, tagged and locked away. But that’s the only place it could be.”
“We need Maryanne to have the gun inspected for prints. Probably a long shot. But if Hilton or whoever did the shooting left a print on the gun, Jessica’s alibi gets a whole lot stronger.”
The car was silent for a long stretch of highway. The bag of Taco Bell sat near Derek’s feet; growing cold and filling the car with a smell only greasy fast food can generate. A few times, Nikkie asked a few questions to Jessica about any other place she and Brian had gotten together.
“Any place besides a hotel or public place. Your house? His house? An apartment you may have? Anywhere?”
“Hotels, for the most part. Really, only hotels till he suggested he go to his lodge last weekend. Never in my or his house.”
“You said you two had sex on the way up to the lodge,” Nikkie’s voice revealed her excitement. “You two repeat that event on the drive back from the lodge?”
“Doesn’t matter if they did,” Derek said, knowing the track Nikkie was taking. “We’d need a warrant to inspect his car.”
“Meaning he’d have time to arrange a fiery accident with his car.” Jessica sounded defeated. As if the walls of whichever prison she was likely to be sent to were beginning to close in around her.
Derek reached down, opened the Taco Bell bag, pulled out a taco and took a bite that made half the taco disappear.
“If the gun was wiped of prints, we may need to turn our attention away from Hilton. Unless you all can come up with another avenue of approach, he’s a dead end.”
“Won’t the fact he borrowed my gun prove anything?”
“Circumstantial, at best,” Nikkie said. “With Hilton denying every part of your alibi, him borrowing your gun would be a matter of he said, she said.”
Derek, who finished his first taco and was ready to attack the second, said, “And, no offense, but people are less likely to believe the word of someone accused of murder than they are some rich, white guy.”
“Then…if the gun was wiped clean…what defense do I have?”
“That’s why you’re paying Nikkie and me. To find your defense. We’re not going to create one out of thin air, but, if you’re innocent, we’ll find your defense. Honestly, I’m not holding out any hope that we’ll find any other prints on your gun but yours. And I didn’t think we’d find anything at the lodge, either.”
“Then why the hell did we waste an entire day driving there? You could have been investigating other things.”
“Two reasons,” Derek said. “One, there’s nothing else to investigate on your case, yet. Two, I needed to make Brian Hilton sweat a little. Turns out, he sweated a whole lot. He’s nervous as shit, right now. That’s for damn sure. And nervous people sometimes make mistakes. Nervous people who are guilty of murder always make mistakes.”
Jessica said, “You think he’s sweating? Are you kidding me? He denies everything, gets rid of any trace of me being at his lodge and probably has the best lawyers in the country on retainer, just waiting to jump into action. He’s not one to sweat; he’s one who prepares. And why the hell do you keep saying ‘if’ I’m innocent? If you think I killed Sam, then I don’t need your services a second longer.” Her anger was building slowly, like a steam engine, the pressure was rising. “As a matter of fact, you said to me over dinner yesterday that I killed my husband. You said I may not have pulled the trigger, but that I killed him.” The pressure had reached the point of explosion. Jessica was yelling at Derek in a high-pitched, hatred and anger driven voice. “So, once and for all, do you think I killed Sam or not? If you do, then you’re fired. If not, then, for God’s sake, stop suggesting I may not be innocent.”
Derek was quiet for several seconds. The air in the car was charged with nervous energy, as Rachel and Nikkie waited with their emotions held in abeyance for Derek’s rep
ly.
“You said Sam’s and Brian’s boss, FJ, ran a tight ship, right?”
Derek’s response was unexpected, causing Jessica to swallow her anger and force herself to think outside of her raging anger.
“Yes. Very tight. As far as I know. I only heard him speak a couple of times and neither Sam or Brian talked about him much.”
“But you knew enough, or at least you believe you knew enough, to say Brian’s position would be in jeopardy if FJ found out about the affair you and Brian were having?”
“Yes. I don’t understand where you’re going with this.”
“You knew having an affair with Brian put him in a compromised situation. Probably put your husband in a potentially tough spot as well. But you had the affair anyway, didn’t you?”
“That’s…It’s not like I planned to fall for Brian. Sam and I…our marriage was, I don’t know…falling apart. Slowly. Painfully. I felt so lonely. The thing with Brian just happened.”
“Lot of people in the world. Lots of men. Most of who don’t work for this FJ guy, but you chose one of the seven people in the world who do work for him. You chose to put Brian and your husband at risk. You said Sam reacted pretty emotionally when he heard about a guy who FJ fired was found murdered. Don’t you think your husband may have been wondering if FJ was somehow involved in that guy’s death?”
Jessica’s anger was melting into humiliation. Into a deeper sense of guilt.
“I’m sure he was,” she said in low, weak voice.
“You probably wondered about it as well. You saw how Sam responded. That had an effect on you. You don’t trust FJ and probably think he’s capable of almost anything. So, you asked me what I think. I’m gonna tell you. You didn’t murder your husband, but your affair with Brian did.”
Chapter 15
Brian Hilton went to bed a little after eleven the night before Jessica Gracers team of investigators went up to his lodge. He figured he wouldn’t be able to get much sleep. The DA, Julia Steinberg, had stopped by around eight that evening, telling him a judge had issued a warrant for the search of his lodge and for the collection and seizure of evidence. He had thanked her; almost dismissing any concern of the news she delivered, then, as soon as the DA was pulling her car out of his driveway, he went to work.
Deathly Reminders: a Derek Cole Thriller (Derek Cole Suspense Thrillers Book 6) Page 11
