The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4

by Dustin Stevens

  Drake had done the best with what he had.

  Upon flying back, Sharon Stump had refused to even go to her own house. Said with everything that had happened she didn’t feel safe there. Whoever had done in Wes Koenig might also be lying in wait for her.

  The reasoning sounded to Drake like some of the old man’s paranoia was starting to seep into his employee.

  He respected her wishes just the same. Said nothing.

  Instead she was staying at the Mine Pit Motel, a relic that looked every bit the part that the name invoked. Had no more than three cars sitting in the parking lot. Lime green painted doors that opened directly to the outside. Two neon signs hanging in the window, one announcing vacancy available, the other stating the cost at $39.95 a night.

  Upon pulling up Kade had deadpanned that the price might be thirty bucks too high.

  Drake found himself unable to disagree.

  The motel was arranged as one long single-story building. At the far end of it was the lobby, a square jutting out from the rest, framed entirely in glass.

  Half of the space was used for the front desk. Had a couple of folding chairs and a derelict box television. An old man with more hair on his arms than his head sitting behind the counter watching it.

  The other half was a room designated for the continental breakfast.

  Two tables with peeling laminate tops. A microwave. A mini-fridge. Six more folding chairs.

  Nothing else.

  Stump had suggested the place for the meeting. Was waiting for them as they arrived. Had drug one of the chairs over to the window. Sat smoking a cigarette, a tendril of smoke rising above her head.

  “Ms. Stump?” Drake asked. Stepped forward to shake her hand. Read her body language and thought better of it.

  Glanced over to the red plastic sign affixed to the wall forbidding smoking.

  Thought better of saying anything about it as well.

  “Sharon is fine,” she said. Used a voice that belied years of sucking on unfiltered cigarettes.

  “Okay, Sharon,” Drake said. Pulled two chairs up next to the table. Kept enough space between them to stay just beyond the plume of smoke surrounding her.

  “My name is Drake Bell, this is Kade Keuhl. Thank you for meeting with us.”

  She sniffed at the comment. Said nothing.

  For everything Wylie Dern had been, she served as a mirror opposite. Judging by the legs folded beneath the table she appeared to be close to six feet tall. Skin stretched tight over nothing but bone and sinew. Somewhere north of fifty years in age, her lack of body fat gave her face a hollow, gaunt appearance. A burst of grey hair stuck out in all directions from her head, a harsh contrast to her pale white visage.

  “I understand you were in Philadelphia visiting your new grandchild,” Drake said. “Congratulations.”

  It was already clear Stump had no interest in establishing rapport. Still, he needed to at least make the effort. Something told him she would be far from the only difficult witness he encountered in his career moving forward.

  Again Stump said nothing. Crushed out her cigarette. Immediately went for another one.

  “Ten minutes,” she said. Kept her gaze aimed out the window. “I was asked to fly back to answer questions. The minute were done here I’m going to the airport.”

  Flicking his gaze to Kade, Drake raised his eyebrows. Moved his focus back to Stump. Decided to dive straight in.

  “You worked for Mr. Koenig for ten years, is that right?” Drake asked.

  A white funnel shot out from Stump’s face as she exhaled smoke. “Yeah. And what a joy it was, let me tell you.”

  “How so?”

  For the first time since they entered, Stump turned to face them.

  “Man was an asshole, through and through. Only reason I kept the damn job was because he paid well and he was never here.”

  The first part of her statement Drake had no use for.

  The second part was something he could certainly use.

  “When you say he was never here...” he began. Let his voice trail away. Intended it to be vague, letting her take it where she may.

  “Meaning he was never here,” Stump snapped. “He’d roll in every so often. No warning, no nothing, like he was checking on us. Just fly in in the middle of the night. Be sitting there waiting when we’d show up the next day.”

  “How often was that?” Kade asked. Coughed once to clear the phlegm that had settled in his throat.

  “Hell, I don’t know,” Stump said. Twisted her face into a scowl. “Too damned often.”

  Again Drake glanced to Kade. There was much more he wanted to ask. Follow up questions to further flesh out what she was saying. Try to get a feel for the habits of Koenig.

  For the time being though, he opted to let it go. If formal charges were brought he might have to bring her in and have a more thorough sit down.

  As it were, he just needed the high points.

  He wasn’t yet defending Tyce Riggins on the stand. He just needed to ensure it never got that far.

  “We spoke to Wylie Dern this morning,” Drake said. “He informed us that Mr. Koenig didn’t have friends, wasn’t one for entertaining. Is that correct?”

  Her attention still aimed out the window, Stump let out a smirk. Shoved smoke through her nostrils.

  Turned to look at them.

  “Let me put it this way,” she said. “This morning the man’s will was read. We worked for him for ten years and do you know what he left Wylie and me? Any one item from the property valued at fifty dollars or less.”

  She paused and let the words sink in.

  “Who the hell even thinks like that? Let alone puts it in his will?”

  Without thinking, Drake felt his eyebrows rise up his forehead. His entire body rocked back an inch in surprise.

  Thus far the universal sentiment was that Koenig was a jerk. For most people any ill will they carried was mitigated by a death. They tried to find a silver lining. Put on the rosy colored glasses out of respect for the deceased.

  Not one such instance had arisen since the passing of Wes Koenig.

  If anything, it had only exacerbated the animosity.

  The only thing Drake could think of to explain it was the power imbalance he exercised over everyone around him. For years they had been unable to speak out, dependent on him for a livelihood.

  Now that was gone and the truth was flowing free.

  “If not friends, any enemies?” Kade asked.

  “Ha!” Stump said. Rested her elbow on the table. Kept the cigarette just a few inches from her face. “You boys could talk to every person that old bastard ever knew and probably not hear one kind word.

  “If you’re asking me who would have burned his house down with him in it, I don’t know. I’m sure there’s a list of people he’s screwed over the years that are happy he’s gone though.”

  The sentiment fit with everything Drake already knew. Only managed to heighten the sinking feeling in his stomach.

  A nice person would be simpler to delve into. With everybody around them spouting sunshine and honey, finding the outlier would be an easy proposition.

  With someone like Koenig, the possibilities were almost endless.

  “Did you ever see any confrontations?” Drake said. “Anybody show up at the house? Shouting matches on the phone?”

  “Naw,” Stump said. Twisted her mouth to the side. “He didn’t respect us enough to ever talk to anybody while we were around. Hell, in ten years Wylie and his crew were the only people I saw outside of the weekly deliveries.”

  Even for a home as removed as Koenig’s the information seemed odd. Pulled Drake’s brow together in thought.

  “Really? In ten years, nobody else?”

  Taking one last drag, Stump crushed out the smoke. Shoved the ash tray across the table. Rose to her feet.

  “Maybe six weeks or so a guy came up to the front door and rang the bell. Scared the shit out of me. Up to that point I didn’
t even realize the house had one.”

  Drake stood to match her posture. Heard Kade’s chair scrape the floor as he did the same.

  “Some young kid said he had a flat tire, asked to use the phone. That was it though. One time in ten years.”

  It was clear from her tone that she was dismissing the incident, though Drake wasn’t so quick to write it off.

  “Do you remember anything about him? Maybe saw the car or his license plate?”

  A quick glance to the door made it clear she was ready to make her exit.

  “No, never even thought about it. I let him in to make a call, sent him back on his way.”

  She paused for a moment, recalling the memory. “The old man didn’t like for anybody to be in his house. If he’d have rolled in right then I’d have lost my job.”

  The added words were meant as a sort of explanation for her action, though Drake pushed right past them. Focused on the timing of the entire thing.

  “He had a flat tire? Way out on a ridge near you?”

  “What he said.”

  “And that didn’t strike you as odd?”

  Lifting her gaze towards the ceiling, Stump pushed out a loud breath. Stirred up the cloud of smoke that seemed to hang about her.

  “Look, it was just some kid. I didn’t think anything of it, but if you seem so hell bent on checking it out, give the security company a call. I’m sure they have the entire thing on video somewhere.”

  Lowering her attention back to them, she started for the door.

  “Now if you two will excuse me, I have a plane to catch.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Busy.

  Crowded.

  Hectic.

  The Silver Bow County courthouse was a veritable zoo. A mass of controlled chaos. A flow of people roving back and forth in ten minute segments.

  Just watching the foot traffic move between the four courtrooms, out the front door and back again, made Taggert queasy.

  Seeing Foye stand beside him in open awe of it made the feeling even worse.

  “It always like this?” Foye asked. Rubbernecked a young woman in a too-short skirt and too-tight blouse.

  “Does the local police usually stand around and ogle citizens?” Taggert asked. Made sure a flinty edge was in his voice. “No. Not usually.”

  Being caught, Foye closed his hanging jaw. Glowed a bright red. Stared down at his feet.

  Together the pair waited another three minutes before Merrill Poe swept out of Courtroom #1. Saw them standing off to the side. Gave no visible reaction to their unannounced appearance.

  Instead he raised a hand. Extended two fingers and curled them back towards himself, motioning for them to follow. Turned and set off down the front stairwell, light pouring in from the bank of windows before them.

  Pausing to allow an elderly couple to shuffle by, Taggert inserted himself into the throng of people moving through. Used the handrail to navigate the two flights of stairs rubbed smooth from years of use. Peeled away from the crowd and took a few quick steps to catch up with Poe.

  Hands shoved into the front pockets of his pants, Poe looked over at him. Nodded in greeting.

  Said nothing else as they approached a coffee kiosk. Asked the young man working for the usual. Exchanged two dollars for a tall cup of black with two creams and two sugars.

  Once he was a few feet away and had taken a couple of long sips, he lowered the drink.

  “Okay, so what have we got?” he asked. Completely ignored Foye. Kept his attention aimed at Taggert.

  “Sorry to stop by like this,” Taggert said. “Your secretary said we had a better chance of speaking with you here than calling.”

  Poe nodded in agreement. Took another drink.

  “Last day of the month. They always load up the docket, try to get things cleared out. You should have been here a month ago for year end.”

  The images of the crowded hallway upstairs flitted across Taggert’s mind.

  He’d hate to see it any worse than it already was.

  “So what’s up?” Poe repeated. Raised his hand and folded it towards his chest. Checked the time.

  Let them know this needed to be quick without saying as much.

  “We just spoke to Dr. Perry,” Taggert said. “He was able to get a confirmation on the pacemaker he pulled from the corpse. It is definitely Wes Koenig.”

  Poe nodded. Face betrayed no surprise at all at the revelation.

  “That’s what we were operating on the whole time isn’t it?”

  “It was,” Taggert confirmed.

  Lowering his attention to the coffee, Poe grabbed the thin red plastic stirring stick. Moved it in a slow circle.

  “What does this mean for your investigation?” Poe asked.

  The words surprised Taggert a small bit. Set him back an inch.

  “What does this mean?” he asked. “Nothing. Like you said, it only confirms what we’ve been operating under all along.”

  “No, what I said...” Poe began. Stopped before bothering to correct Taggert.

  “Tell me, Detective,” Poe said. Looked up to focus on him. “Do you believe Tyce Riggins did this?”

  Taggert felt his jaw drop a half inch. All saliva flee his mouth.

  “I do. You don’t?”

  “Doesn’t matter what I believe,” Poe said. “It matters what I can prove.”

  Most of the air in Taggert’s lungs slid out as he stared at Poe.

  “That Bell kid might be in over his head,” Poe said, “but he made a few good points yesterday. Right now the case we have is paper thin. Everything can be argued away as circumstantial.”

  It was the second time in as many days that somebody had questioned Taggert’s ability to do his job. Clenching his jaw tight, he ground his rear molars together.

  “We talked to both employees from the Koenig place. Both say the man never had anybody to the house, they never saw anything suspicious,” Taggert said. Kept his voice low.

  Pushed the words out in a breathy cluster.

  “Everybody made it clear the rumors we’ve all heard are true. He was an asshole, but nobody burns down a house because somebody hurt their feelings.”

  He paused, waiting for some reaction from Poe.

  There was none.

  “The security cameras turned up nothing. Were motion activated and disabled within seconds, a single person dressed completely in black the only image. Everything covered but two thin eye slits.”

  Again he stopped, allowing for a response.

  “And you think the connection with the aunt and the failed real estate deal in Seattle is sufficient motive?” Poe asked. Seemed to be playing devil’s advocate. Gave no indication he was enjoying it.

  Another angry sigh rolled from Taggert. He raised a hand to his head. Ran it back over his hair.

  “In almost twenty years here, damn near every killing I’ve ever worked has been for one of two things. Passion or money. Now, the first one is obviously out. The man never married, didn’t have a lady, didn’t fool around. That leaves money.”

  Poe mulled the reasoning a moment. Tilted his head from side to side as he thought on it.

  “She wasn’t the only person to lose money in that deal.”

  “No, but she was the only one with any ties to Butte,” Taggert countered.

  “Nor was it likely to be the only sideways dealing he had over the years,” Poe added.

  A long sigh was pushed through Taggert’s nose. “Again though, with ties to Butte?”

  At this Poe seemed to raise his eyebrows in concession. Said nothing.

  “We saw the nephew driving away from the house that night,” Taggert said. Heard the hints of strain in his voice. “The arson report said that it was obvious gasoline was used as an accelerant. The man had multiple enormous jugs sitting in plain sight in the back of his truck.”

  Taggert knew there were some gaps in the story. That he had omitted the part about the victim’s lungs being shredded.

&
nbsp; He also knew no investigation was ever completely airtight. Especially not one in which the victim was someone as reclusive as Wes Koenig.

  There were just too many possible variables to ever nail down everything.

  After a long moment, Poe again raised his wrist. Checked the time.

  “Okay,” he said. Turned and tossed the coffee into the trash. “Can you be back here at five?”

  “Sure,” Taggert said. Felt his chest swell a bit with the realization that his argument had won. “What happens at five?”

  A sly smile crawled across Poe’s face. He reached out and patted Taggert on the arm.

  “We call the local press and announce to everybody we’ve found Wes Koenig’s killer.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Dog years.

  One-seventh the length of a human year.

  Tyce Riggins seemed to be aging in them as he sat across the table from Drake and Kade. Clutched his wife’s hands.

  Looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment. Like it hadn’t been long since he’d done just that.

  Seated in the center of the table, his hands were cuffed before him. His cheeks were red and blotchy. A spider web pattern of veins permeated his eyes. His hair was greasy, matted to his head.

  By his side sat Kara, her body pressed tight against him. Her cheeks too were red. Her stomach seemed to have grown a few inches in a matter of days.

  Just being in the room, Drake could feel the tension of the place. It seemed to roll off of the Rigginses, seeping from the painted concrete walls around them.

  If ever in the same position as Tyce he would like to think he could handle it.

  Wouldn’t be surprised if his reaction was exactly the same as the man across from him.

  “So here’s where we’re at,” Drake said. Pushed out a long breath. Glanced over his shoulder.

  With Taggert and Foye both out of the office, Humboldt had gone back to trying to assert her dominance on the situation. Made it obvious she was dealing with a dose of attitude brought on being a woman in a male dominated profession.

  Doubled it thanks to wearing a badge on her chest.

  She had argued every last point of the visit with Drake just to prove she could. Had insisted the cuffs stay on, despite his not requesting their removal.