The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4

by Dustin Stevens

  Had attempted to bar Kara and listen in herself the entire time.

  After Drake reminded her that doing so violated attorney-client privilege and could get the entire case thrown out she had relented. Sulked. Made them stand and watch her stomp around.

  Finally capitulated at being able to watch without the speakers on.

  The glance over his shoulder was meant as a message for her. A reminder that the sound system had better be off. That he would crucify her later if it wasn’t.

  “We talked to the prosecutor yesterday,” Drake said. “As of this time, the body found inside the home has not been identified.”

  Both Tyce and Kara stared down at the table. Listened without saying a word.

  Winced at his use of the word body.

  “The damage in the fire was too great. They are tracking down the serial numbers from some medical equipment found inside and probably already have a name, but so far haven’t told us anything.”

  Tyce’s eyes flicked up to Drake, but he remained silent.

  “That’s not too terribly surprising right now,” Drake said. “Until they formally bring charges we’re not entitled to anything.”

  “A fact they’ve made abundantly clear,” Kade interjected.

  Drake nodded in agreement. “They said they were expecting to find out today though. Would hold off on bringing anything formal through at least the weekend.”

  A small nod from Tyce was the only outward response.

  “What do you think will happen then?” Tyce asked.

  “By that point they will either have to charge you or bounce you,” Drake said. “Honestly they shouldn’t have been able to keep you this long, but the discovery of a body after the fact changed the rules. Murder or not though, no way they can hold you here beyond that.”

  A veneer of moisture glossed Tyce’s eyes. Caught the overhead reflection of the lights. Hung there a long moment before he pressed them tight closed.

  Single tears slid down either cheek.

  “What happens if they charge me?”

  The words were asked in a broken whisper. Volume so low Humboldt wouldn’t have been able to hear even if she was listening in.

  “If they do,” Drake said, “you’ll be moved from here to Deer Lodge where you’ll await the trial process to start.”

  A shudder passed through Kara. She began to sniff, followed by low sobs. Lowered her head to face her thighs. Raised a hand to her face.

  “How long with that take?” Tyce asked. Added fresh tears to the lines already glistening on his cheeks.

  “Just depends,” Drake said. “There’s no way of knowing how fast they’ll push it through, or even what the charges will be. I’d hate to speculate at this point.”

  He didn’t bother adding that the best possible scenario would be to ensure things didn’t come to that. All four people in the room were already aware of it. Were cued in to the fact that that’s why they were seated around the table.

  “What do you think the charges will be?” Tyce asked.

  Again Drake looked back over his shoulder. Saw only his own reflection in the one-way glass. Had no doubt Humboldt was standing behind it with her arms folded, a frown in place.

  “What do I think they’ll try to bring or what do I think has a prayer in hell at sticking?” Drake asked. Allowed a bit of candor into his voice.

  As much for his own sake as theirs.

  “Both,” Tyce said. Shifted his attention back down at the polished table top between them.

  “I think they’ll try,” Drake began. Paused for added emphasis. “To bring arson and murder. There’ll be a whole string of smaller things too – breaking and entering, criminal trespass, etc. – but those will be the big ones.

  “In meeting with the prosecutor and the lead detective yesterday, I got the impression they would try to milk this for all it’s worth.”

  Tyce glanced up to Drake. Looked a question at him.

  Said nothing.

  “Meaning media exposure,” Drake said. “Things like this don’t come along that often. One of the wealthiest people in the county is killed at home and they pin it on someone within twenty-four hours? That’s a PR bonanza.”

  Drake could tell there were more questions Tyce wanted to ask. Let them go with only a nod of the head.

  “But to go back to the other part of the question, I don’t see any of that sticking. Poe tried to make it look like he was doing us a solid by waiting, but the truth is I think he sent Taggert out to do some more digging.”

  He glanced over to Kade. Got only a small nod of the head in return.

  “We talked to Wylie Dern and Sharon Stump today. Neither one particularly cared for Koenig.”

  Kade snorted beside him at the blatant understatement.

  “Said there could be any of a number of people that he’s pissed off over the years. Neither one had much input on who would hate him enough to do something like this though.”

  Again the same thoughts from earlier reared up.

  Most victims would be much easier to work with. They would have a short list of people that would want to see them harmed. Would practically provide a blueprint for how to ferret them out.

  Wes Koenig had already proven himself not to be most people.

  For a moment Drake considered offering up what Stump had disclosed at the end of their meeting. Decided against it.

  Didn’t want to instill any false hope just yet.

  “I’ve put in a call to your Aunt Mildred,” Drake said. “I’m still waiting to hear back though.”

  Tyce nodded. Shifted his head an inch to the side.

  “Honey, when we leave here call my mom. Tell her to call her sister and light a fire.”

  Kara nodded at the directive. Pulled a hand up to her face. Wiped her cheeks dry.

  “Sorry,” Tyce said. “I should have seen that one coming. No way a Montana woman calls back an attorney like that without good reason.”

  “I said I was representing you in an urgent affair,” Drake replied.

  “Wouldn’t matter,” Tyce said. Shook his head. “She probably got as far as your name and deleted it. Just the way folks from Butte are.”

  Drake nodded as if he understood.

  Said nothing.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Nervous.

  Sweating.

  Shifting from one foot to the other.

  Despite the frigid air passing through the front door beside him, Paul Taggert couldn’t keep his body temperature down. Couldn’t stop his heart from hammering. The moisture from saturating the lower back of his undershirt.

  From underlying his moustache.

  “Take off your hat,” Taggert snapped. Watched as Foye removed his stained tan Stetson from his head. Held it in his hand a moment, unsure where to put it.

  Looking at the young man a moment, Taggert shook his head. Cursed under his breath.

  “Jesus, do you ever comb your hair? Put it back on.”

  A rosy pallor covered the young man’s face as he mashed it back into place. Hid beneath the brim of it.

  Raising his own hands to his scalp, Taggert ran his fingers to the side through it. Felt the thinning hair lie perfectly the way it had been trained to.

  Smoothed his moustache. Fought the urge to gnaw on the corner of it.

  “You guys ready?” Poe asked. Approached from the backside of the building. Walked past the coffee kiosk standing empty. A string of offices with the lights blinked out for the night.

  Beside him walked Waylon Sharp, wearing his dress uniform.

  Casting a glance at himself and Foye, Taggert felt his stomach churn. Saw the two men they were to be standing beside come closer in their sharp attire.

  “I didn’t know this was a formal occasion,” Taggert said. Stood to the side as the two men approached. As Poe looked out through the front windows at the handful of local media milling on the steps outside.

  “It’s not,” Poe said. “I just wanted to get the who
le team together before we went out there. Present a united front for the good folks of Butte.”

  A cocksure smile crossed his face as he twisted at the waist. Looked back at the others behind him.

  It was abundantly clear he was about to put on a show.

  Using the same move he had earlier that afternoon he raised his wrist. Checked the time.

  “Shall we?”

  Without waiting for a response he pushed out through the front door. Allowed a blast of arctic air to pass into the building. The cool breeze felt good on Taggert’s skin. Calmed his nerves a tiny bit as he followed in order behind Poe. Took up a post on one shoulder. In his periphery saw Sharp take up the opposite one.

  Couldn’t see Foye anywhere. Hoped it remained that way.

  It was the first press conference he had ever been a part of. In his mind he had envisioned a wooden podium, a bank of microphones with various network affiliations stenciled on the side.

  Instead it was nothing more than a loose gaggle of folks broke into two distinct chunks. On the front end were the on-site reporters. Mostly women. A handful of men. All dressed in business casual attire or better. All wearing far too much makeup.

  A few feet back from them were the support personnel. Drivers. Interns. Cameramen. Dressed for the weather, to the person each one wore jeans. Boots. Canvas jackets. Fleece pullovers.

  The two groups all stood staring back at the men standing on the top step of the courthouse. None looked especially enthused to be there.

  “Good afternoon,” Poe opened. Used the voice Taggert had only ever heard him apply in courtroom situations.

  At the sound of his voice, three cameras were raised to shoulders. Red lights blinked on, indicating they were rolling.

  The only sound was the wind pushing down from the Divide.

  “Thank you all so much for being here on short notice and for respecting our request for privacy earlier in the week. I assure you, it was well warranted.”

  Feeling his brow come inward a bit, Taggert made himself remain staring straight forward. Realized the reason for the relatively small crowd and their lack of anxiousness was due to not yet knowing what they were about to hear.

  One corner of his mouth pulled upward in a smile.

  At least Poe had the decency to share the moment with all of them.

  “As you all know,” Poe said. Raised a hand like a conductor before an orchestra. “Four nights ago a heinous crime was committed. The home of Wes Koenig, one of the showplaces of the county, was destroyed in a fire.

  “As many of you also know and have already reported, that fire was not an unfortunate tragedy but rather the work of some heinous individual.”

  There Poe stopped for a moment. Lowered his hand and looked at each of the cameras in turn. Put on his best soulful expression.

  “Later, the maliciousness of that act grew even more pronounced when a body was found amongst the rubble.”

  Several heads bobbed up and down. This too was already public information, though many of the interns scribbled it down as if gospel.

  “Just this afternoon we received confirmation that the deceased was in fact Wes Koenig.”

  Lowering his gaze for just a moment, Taggert watched the expressions on the front row of reporters. In order the women’s eyes grew large, one even going as far as to offer a quivering lip.

  On either end the men pulled their expressions in tight. Shook their heads. Acted as if it was the most damnable news they had ever heard.

  Show business at its finest.

  “It is against that harrowing backdrop that I announce though,” Poe said. Paused. Twisted himself at the waist to look at both Taggert and Sharp. “Through the combined efforts of the Butte Fire Department, the Butte Police Department, and the Silver Bow County Prosecutor’s Office, we have already taken the man we believe to be responsible for these acts into custody.”

  Energy rolled up off of the group, the reporters nudging closer, obvious they wanted to be the first to begin firing questions the moment it became an option.

  Behind them the production crews practically jumped up and down. Took notes. Jockeyed for better camera angles.

  Through it, Taggert bit down on the insides of his cheeks. Clenched his hands together in front of him. Made sure there was no obvious sign of surprise.

  Hoped Foye was doing the same behind him.

  His understanding was that no mention of a suspect was going to be made until Monday. That was what had been promised to Drake Bell the day before. Not that Taggert would lose a great deal of sleep worrying about the feelings of the little bastard. This might even go a long way to make him eat his insinuation.

  “Right now we are not at liberty to release the name of the suspect,” Poe said, “but on Monday the prosecutor’s office has every intention of going after this individual to the full extent of the law.”

  Again Poe paused. Allowed the press corps to creep forward a few more inches.

  “Now, any questions?”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Elation.

  Overwhelming joy.

  Unbridled happiness.

  Every positive emotion that a person could feel simultaneously pulsated through Dale Garvey. Pushed his heartbeat higher. Brought a sheen of sweat to his skin. Mixed with the scent of Megan still lingering there.

  Drove his senses even higher.

  Perched on the edge of the couch, Garvey inched forward as far as he could. Goosed the television volume up as much as he dared.

  Leaned in to hear every word.

  On screen was a man with half a head of dark hair streaked with grey. He wore an expensive suit and was flanked by a short bald guy in a uniform and a tall redneck Garvey couldn’t quite figure out.

  Every so often a flunky in a cowboy hat skittered by in the background.

  The backs of a few heads could be seen in the foreground, everybody crowding close to hear what the man had to say.

  Just looking at him, Garvey felt an instant dislike. His suit was drastically overdone for Montana, especially Butte. His mannerisms were completely over the top.

  None of those things mattered though.

  Did even a lit bit to dampen his spirits.

  The message the man was delivering was just too good to be derailed.

  “Through the combined efforts of the Butte Fire Department, the Butte Police Department, and the Silver Bow Prosecutor’s Office” the man began. Spoke in a voice that relayed too much bravado. Made it very apparent how important he thought himself to be.

  “We have already taken the man we believe to be responsible for these acts into custody.”

  At the sound of those words Garvey clenched his hands together tightly. Pounded them both against the exposed skin of his thighs. Jumped into the air and pumped his fist.

  Let out a whoop that echoed throughout the house.

  It was a beautiful ending to a perfect week. What had started as nothing more than a warning, a wanton destruction of some property to make a point, had turned into so much more.

  The evil bastard that had been the bane of his existence for so long was gone. Killed in the most horrible, excruciating way possible.

  The kind of death a man like him deserved.

  If things had ended there, if somehow the police had traced things back, had showed up on Garvey’s doorstep with handcuffs, he would have accepted his fate.

  Would have used the platform to further his cause.

  Would have been willing to go out a martyr for what he believed in.

  Now, things looked even brighter. They had a man in custody. Had determined enough evidence existed to bring him in. To go on television and announce to the world as much.

  From the bathroom, the sound of the shower curtain sliding across its metal support pole rang out. The hum of running water grew louder.

  “What’s going on in there, Honey?”

  Megan’s voice brought Garvey to a pause. He stopped where he stood and looked down at himsel
f. Realized he was wearing only his boxer shorts and a smile. That his body was trembling. Sweat was beaded up on his skin.

  There was no way he could let Megan see the news. It was only through sheer luck that he had been able to keep her in check so far. If she were to find out another person was being held for what they did, there was no doubt it would be too much. She would insist on turning themselves in. On calling the police and confessing everything.

  No way could that happen.

  Everything had played out over the last week for a reason. The forces that be had conspired to keep him safe and free, fighting for those that couldn’t.

  Protecting that which needed to be preserved.

  Using the remote, Garvey turned the television off. Walked into the bathroom. Swung the door shut and pushed his boxers to the floor.

  Megan let out a small squeal as he stepped in behind her. Raised his hands to her scalp. Helped her lather the shampoo through her dark hair.

  Goose pimples stood out on his skin as stray shafts of water hit him.

  “Hey there,” Megan said. Wiped a few suds from her forehead. Looked up at him, smiling.

  “Hey yourself,” Garvey said. Matched the look.

  “What was all that yelling I heard?” she asked.

  “Just watching the scores,” Garvey lied. Slid his hands to her waist. Let his fingertips dance over her wet skin. “The Spurs won again.”

  “Nice,” Megan said. Stepped a few inches closer. Stared up at him with an expression that said he could have told her the Baltimore Colts won a baseball game and she wouldn’t have known the difference.

  Wouldn’t have cared even if she did.

  “So I was thinking,” Garvey said. Matched the small step forward, their torsos touching.

  “Why don’t we get away for the weekend? I’d say we’ve accomplished enough this week, earned a little downtime, wouldn’t you?”

  He echoed the very words she had used that afternoon. Knew she wouldn’t even recognize it.

  Megan moved forward a bit more. Pressed her bare breasts against his ribs.

  “Yeah? What did you have in mind?”

  Garvey pushed back a little more. Let her feel him grow aroused against her. Knew she was unable to ever say no when he got that way.