The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4

by Dustin Stevens

  “That’s what I told them,” Drake said. “Pointed out it had been eleven years since the incident.”

  Tyce raised his eyebrows. Shifted his weight back in the seat. Stared past Drake and Kade towards the door, almost daring someone to walk past.

  “I was in high school when that happened. Barely even remember it.”

  He turned to face forward. “My mom and her sister aren’t that close. Mom never really cared for the guy she married, the way he took her off to Seattle, limited their interaction.”

  Again he paused. Pushed out a loud breath. “Long story short, my aunt is loaded. They’re venture capitalists. Yeah, they lost some money, but it was barely even a dent to them. Definitely not the sort of thing I’d be out to avenge over a decade later.”

  For the first time all morning Drake actually found himself hoping Taggert was listening. That he would hear what Tyce was saying and go do his job.

  That he would understand how flimsy his entire case really was.

  “Do you have contact information?” Drake said. Looked up. “Obviously we believe you, but we have to speak with her directly.”

  “Right,” Tyce agreed. Nodded. “I don’t have it. Talk to Kara though. If it’s not at the house my mom can provide it.”

  “Okay,” Drake said. Finished writing down what Tyce had said. Drew a hard line beneath it to demarcate a clean break.

  “How about Wylie Dern or Sharon Stump?” Drake asked. “Any dealings with them? Lingering animosities? Anything?”

  Tyce pulled his brow in tight. Shifted his gaze to the wall above Drake and Kade. Moved his lips imperceptibly for a moment.

  “I’ve heard the name Wylie Dern,” he said. “Never had any dealings with him, just one of those ‘so-and-so said this’ type of things.”

  “Mhmm,” Drake said. Continued writing.

  “Can’t say I’ve ever known a Sharon Stump. Who are they?”

  “They both are employed at the Koenig place,” Drake said. “One does the indoor, one handles the outdoor chores.”

  “Ah,” Tyce said. Rocked his head back just slightly. “Sorry.”

  It was a flash of the old Tyce Drake remembered. The kind of person that would apologize for something that was in no way his fault.

  Under different circumstances it might have made him smile.

  “How about Koenig himself?” Drake asked.

  “Definitely not,” Tyce said. Answered quickly. Gave the impression he’d spent the night wrestling with the question. “Rumors are all I’ve got on that one.”

  “Such as?” Drake prodded. Knew there probably wouldn’t be much of substance there. Decided to tease it out a bit just in case.

  Raising his hand, Tyce extended his thumb. “Rides in a wheelchair at all times.”

  Pushed out his index finger. “Has a gigantic house he’s barely ever in.”

  Moved to the middle digit. “Meaner than an old grizzly.”

  Drake had been right. Nothing of substance. More confirmation of the same rumors he’d found online.

  “Okay,” Drake said. Finished up his notes. Looked at Tyce. “I’m sure there will be more to come up as we dig around, but right now I think that will get us started.”

  There was no response from Tyce. He simply sat and stared. Waited for Drake to continue.

  “I’ll follow up for the arson investigator and medical examiner reports. We’ll speak to your aunt and Koenig’s employees.”

  “Any idea how long this might take?” Tyce asked.

  A day ago Drake would have been reasonably certain it would be quick. There wasn’t enough to support bringing charges or taking it to a grand jury. Even someone as self-conceited as Poe would realize that.

  Dismiss everything. Send Tyce home to his wife.

  Now things were different. A murder charge, no matter how unsubstantiated, took things into a different stratosphere.

  “Honestly?” Drake asked. Managed a tiny sigh. “No. As you said earlier, this entire thing is preposterous. There’s no way to tell how far out they’ll try to drag it.”

  Drake knew it wasn’t what Tyce wanted to hear.

  Knew he had to say it anyway.

  “It’s just...” Tyce said. Stopped himself short. Stared hard at Drake.

  In that instant Drake knew everything the man was trying to say. About the lack of funding he had. About the need to return to work.

  About not wanting to go to jail or worse for a crime he didn’t commit.

  “I know,” Drake said. Glanced to Kade. “We know. Like I said, we have four days to get this figured out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Competition.

  Rivalry.

  Two opposing forces fighting for supremacy.

  On one side of Taggert’s thoughts was a sense of elation. As much as he liked to play the entire situation as a pain in the ass, this was exciting.

  In twenty years he could count the number of murder investigations on two hands. It was true the crime rate for Butte was much higher than the rest of the state. That still meant it lagged behind the national average.

  Of the violent crimes that took place, murder was certainly not at the top of the list. Among those that did occur, the majority were basic crimes of passion. Enraged spouses. Jilted lovers.

  This, though, was something much different. It was the first case in ages that had started to ignite the same spark that first sent him into law enforcement years ago.

  No small part of that spark was also the second emotion roiling through him.

  Dislike. Distaste. Disdain.

  All of it aimed at Drake Bell. At the insinuation the young punk had made that he wasn’t doing his job as a detective.

  As much as he would have liked a deeper investigation, relished digging around in the seedy underbelly of his town, there was no need to. Every bit of evidence pointed at Tyce Riggins. It did originally when the crime was arson. Remained so as the offense escalated to murder.

  All he had to do now was nail down a few final points to confirm it.

  For the first time in months Foye remained completely silent as they pulled up in front of the medical examiner’s office. As much as the events had seemed to reawaken something within Taggert, the opposite had occurred for the younger man.

  He had retreated back into himself. Gone very quiet. Little by little lost any of the previous hubris that had made him so insufferable.

  Taggert couldn’t help but think maybe there was hope for him after all as they parked outside the medical examiner’s office. Climbed out.

  Neither bothered to replace their hats on their head as they strode across the small blacktop parking lot. Stepped inside a building of rough white brick with the titleSilver Bow County Medical Examiner’s Office along the outside in silver letters.

  A whiff of formaldehyde crossed Taggert’s nostrils as he stepped through the front door. Passed under the fans blowing heated air down from the ceiling in the buffer zone. Made his way through a second door into the building.

  A moment later Foye appeared beside him, both stopping to survey their surroundings.

  Long and narrow, Taggert knew from previous experience that the building was parsed into two sections. The front half was open. Contained a handful of desks he’d never seen more than a single person use at a time. Had a front counter running most of the way across.

  In the back were the offices for the examiners. The morgue where autopsies were performed and bodies were kept.

  Striding up to the counter, Taggert slapped at the silver bell sitting atop it. Winced as the shrill bell echoed through his ears. Waited as the sound of footsteps approached. A single woman emerged from the back end of the building.

  Peggy Dowdy was someone Taggert had encountered frequently in his time on the force. One of the few people in the county with more seniority than him in the system, she insisted on calling every man she countered son.

  Every female hon.

  Dressed in a wool skirt and sweate
r befitting her last name, she passed through the thin walkway between the desks. Stopped halfway back and waved a hand towards herself.

  “Come on back, son. Doc’s waiting for you.”

  Glancing to Foye, Taggert moved to the end of the counter. Stepped around it. Followed Dowdy to the doorway separating the two halves.

  Once there she stopped and held it open. Squeezed her body to the side for them to pass. The amount of physical contact that happened while doing so was more than Taggert preferred, though he said nothing.

  Once they were through Dowdy pulled the door closed from the other side. Instantly most sound fell away. The ambient temperature dropped fifteen degrees.

  A new smell became very apparent.

  Boots echoing loud off the tile, Taggert walked between a pair of offices. Both small. Both with paperwork piled onto every horizontal surface.

  Didn’t bother to glance back at Foye. Pushed right through a pair of double doors and into the lab.

  Nearly as big as the entire front space, the room stretched roughly thirty feet square. One wall was lined with stainless steel wash basins. Opposite it, a row of matching gurneys. Along the back wall were a dozen drawers, all large enough to slide a body through. In the middle of the room a table had been positioned beneath a bright overhead light. On it rested a middle aged man, a bulbous stomach protruding upward.

  Beside him stood Dr. Curt Perry, just finishing the last few sutures to close the oversized Y cleaved into the man’s chest.

  For a moment Taggert felt a spur of relief that the body being examined wasn’t Koenig, having no desire to see that grizzled mess of burned flesh again.

  Just as fast, it passed.

  “Doctor Perry,” Taggert said. Left Foye by the door. Stepped a few paces into the room.

  Felt the same scent grow stronger, tickling his nose.

  “Detective,” Perry said. Nodded. Glanced to Foye by the door. “Detective.”

  Taggert didn’t bother to turn and look at Foye. If there was a response in any way, he didn’t hear it.

  “I hope you don’t mind speaking while I finish this up,” Perry said, continuing to apply the stitches.

  The two had been introduced ten years earlier, Perry arriving fresh out of med school. A non-traditional student, he waited until a bit later in life to attend and was now well into his mid-forties.

  Dressed in a blue surgical apron and matching scrub cap, most of his features were covered. Thick glasses and a sandy brown beard were all that could be seen.

  “Not at all,” Taggert replied. “I got your message earlier. You’ve already taken a look at Mr. Koenig?”

  At the mention of the name Perry stopped what he was doing, his hands lowering by his side. He fixed his gaze on Taggert.

  The simple movement did enough to relay whatever was hidden beneath his attire.

  “If you could call it that,” he said. No small amount of sorrow in his tone. “By the time we got him scraped away from the floorboards and untangled from his wheelchair, there wasn’t a whole lot left.”

  An involuntary wince came from Taggert, the skin around his eyes tightening. “I bet.”

  “No, you don’t,” Perry said. Held his gaze a moment. Let it be known the statement was not condemning.

  The scene was truly that horrific.

  “Wes Koenig was not a large man anyway,” he said. “His rapidly advancing age and his condition had withered away most of his mass. Before the fire I wouldn’t have placed him much above one hundred pounds, if even that. After the fire though...”

  The mental image of what Sharp had shown him flashed through Taggert’s mind. Brought back the wince to his face.

  “Point being,” Perry said. Snapped Taggert’s attention back to him. “The body was too decimated for traditional identification methods. Fingerprints were destroyed. Apparently he wore dentures because the mass of blackened goo inside his mouth was inconsistent with anything else I’ve ever seen.”

  A tiny pang pushed through Taggert’s stomach. Getting a firm confirmation on identity was the big piece of information he was hoping to secure.

  After that he could treat it entirely as a murder investigation.

  Perhaps even get his picture on the evening news.

  “So that’s it?” Taggert asked. “Nothing else?”

  “Actually, no,” Perry said. Twisted his head. “This time his poor health worked in our favor. I found what remained of a pacemaker in his chest. I pulled the serial number from it, which will be in the national depository.”

  “Oh?” Taggert asked. Felt the pang subside. Optimism flood back in.

  “I pushed out the ID request on it an hour ago,” Perry said. “Might not be until tomorrow morning, but the moment I hear something, you’ll hear something.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Zero for three.

  That was what Drake and Kade were able to cobble together on their first pass through the list.

  Mildred Hubble didn’t answer her phone. Had not yet responded to a message asking that she get back to them.

  Susan Stump was en route back from Philadelphia at the request of local law enforcement. Would have a few minutes to sit down with them the next day.

  Made it clear she didn’t know how much she could offer to the discussion.

  Wylie Dern too begged off until the morrow. His sudden state of unemployment had caused him to accept a request to help move cattle for the day.

  He would be glad to meet them for breakfast in the morning.

  Unable to nail down any potential witnesses in the short term, Drake turned to the institutional side. Started right at the top. Put in a call to Waylon Sharp at the fire department.

  After much hemming and hawing, a meeting had been set.

  “What do we know about this guy?” Kade asked. Twisted his head beneath the visor in the front of the truck. Stared up at the Butte Fire Department.

  Two stories tall, it was square, uniform in shape. Even rows of windows lined both floors. Gave it the appearance of an old time school house.

  Out front a flag pole stood in a flower bed, the plants pulled up for winter. The stars and stripes hung limp in the afternoon air.

  Standing beside the station building was a second structure. Built after the main unit, it was constructed of corrugated metal. Resembled a distended Quonset hut. Painted red with a single white roll top door on one end.

  Inside sat a pair of fire engines, their headlights and front grilles polished clean.

  “Same as you,” Drake said. “Met him for the first time this morning. Barely said a word.”

  “Right,” Kade said. Nodded in agreement. “I don’t know that I could identify his voice right now even if I heard it.”

  Drake pushed out a long breath. Took up his bag from the seat between them.

  “Should be fun.”

  Both doors moaned in protest as they climbed out. Slammed them shut. Waited for a car to pass before crossing the street and approaching the front door.

  Outside the garage a pair of firefighters in black pants and fleeces stepped out and glanced over at them. Said nothing. Returned back inside.

  “Well, that was subtle,” Kade said.

  Drake grunted in agreement. Reached the front door and pulled it open. Allowed Kade to enter before passing inside.

  The interior was arranged much the way the exterior would indicate. A hallway stretched straight ahead from the front door. Offices lined either side. Appeared to be converted classrooms.

  At the far end the space opened up. A large living area with couches and a television could be seen. A few firefighters were strewn about.

  Among them was Waylon Sharp.

  He was standing perpendicular to them in conversation with a woman in jeans and a sweatshirt. At the same time they shifted their attention towards the front door. Saw Drake and Kade.

  Turned and gave each other a grim look.

  Without finishing the conversation Sharp peeled himself away. S
trode straight for them. Made a hard right into the first office without addressing them in any way.

  Pausing a moment, Drake turned to Kade. Shrugged.

  “Shall we?” Kade said. Started forward. Followed Sharp into his office.

  By the time they arrived he was already seated behind his desk. Upper body leaned forward. Fingers laced atop it.

  The sport coat from that morning was gone. The sleeves on his shirt had been rolled up. Otherwise he appeared exactly as he had seven hours before.

  Still without being addressed, Drake and Kade moved to the chairs on the opposite side of the desk. Lowered themselves into them.

  Stared back at Sharp.

  Almost completely void of life, there was precious little else in the office to look at.

  “Thank you for meeting with us,” Drake said. Did not in the least bit feel thankful. Knew it was the right place to begin if they had any chance of getting useful information from the meeting.

  The comment seemed to break Sharp’s veneer just a tiny bit.

  “Yeah,” he replied. Nothing more.

  “I understand the arson investigation report is now complete?” Drake said. Decided to start there.

  Hopefully make the encounter as short as possible.

  Sharp stared at him a long moment. Sighed loudly. Shifted in his seat and turned to the left.

  Pushed a thin brown folder across the desk.

  Leaning forward, Drake extended a hand. Pulled it over to himself. Opened it to find just two sheets of paper stapled to the top of the folder.

  No additional information. No charts or diagrams of any kind.

  “This is it?” he asked. Kept his attention down.

  “That’s it,” Sharp said.

  Gaze dancing across the page, Drake read quickly. Tried to glean away the high points.

  “Can I have a copy of this?” he asked.

  “No,” Sharp replied. An edge in his voice.

  Clear enough to snap Drake’s attention upward. “No?”

  He wanted to add that he was counsel of record for Tyce Riggins. That under the rules of disclosure he was entitled to any investigation filings. If withheld, the entire case could be dismissed.