The Murder Motif: An Austin, Texas Art Mystery (the Michelle Hodge Series Book 2)

by Roslyn Woods

The office was in a small manufactured building. Dean walked up the steps two at a time and went in. There were two desks in the room, and one of them was occupied.

  “Well, hello there! What can I do for you today?” asked the heavy-set man behind the big desk near the door. His thinning hair was an odd mixture of white and orange. There was a plaque in front of him that read, Administrator Jacob McKee.

  “Well, I’ve got a problem,” said Dean. “Someone has been in my storage unit and torn it up. I don’t understand this. What kind of security have you got here?”

  “Well sir,” said Mr. McKee, “we have constant surveillance, and we haven’t had a break in. We haven’t had one of those in a very long time.”

  “Well, I don’t know what you call it, then, when you look at a compartment like mine.”

  “What’s happened, Mr.—”

  “Maxwell. I rented the unit a couple of months ago. Today I came by to see how much trouble it would be to take a piece of furniture out, and I found someone had been in the unit and left it pretty messed up.”

  “Let’s get in the cart and go over there for a look,” said McKee. “What’s the number?”

  “It’s 347,” said Dean, following him to the cart.

  It didn’t take long to get there. Dean opened the padlock and showed him the condition of his mother’s things.

  “Well, sir,” said McKee. “This is a new one on me, but whoever did this had the gate code and a key to this padlock. Can you explain that? That’s the only way they could have done this. The lock isn’t even damaged.”

  Dean ran a hand though his hair. “Is there any way I can look at your surveillance video to see who did this?”

  “I can look. We just have to check the computer for the last time your gate code was punched in. Each renter has his own code, you know. That will give us the exact time and date someone was here for your unit. Then we can check the surveillance video at the gate and the unit.”

  “My guess is, this breach happened within the last week and a half.”

  “Okay, but I’ll need to check with the owners about letting you look at the video. There might be a legal reason I can’t release that info to you. We’ll probably have to contact the police. You know, we keep the place locked and have no way of knowing if the people who visit with codes and keys aren’t legitimate. I want to make it clear right now that this isn’t our fault.”

  “I doubt it’s your fault too, Mr. uh,” Dean looked at the plaque on the desk again, “…McKee. Do I need to get my lawyer over here, or are you going to let me look at that video?”

  “Well sir, I’ll need to make that phone call, but my guess is they’ll let you look. They’re probably going to want me to get you to sign off on our responsibility.”

  “Look,” said Dean, “my guess is this actually isn’t your responsibility, and the last thing I want to do is cause innocent people a problem, but I really need to see that video, and I’m not making any promises about liability till I know more.”

  “Okay. Let me make that call. Let’s go back to the office.” McKee wasn’t happy, and he was more than a little worried that Dean Maxwell might sue the storage facility. That wouldn’t reflect favorably on his own job as the administrator.

  “And I’m going to need to bring my dog in here. She’s trained and won’t cause any trouble,” said Dean.

  “What kind of dog is she?” asked McKee.

  “She’s a mutt. Part German shepherd is all I know.”

  “You’re sure she’s safe to be around?”

  “Very safe as long as no one attacks me,” said Dean, with a wry smile.

  “I think it’s probably okay,” said McKee. Despite his fear of trouble with the owners, McKee thought this Maxwell seemed like a nice enough guy. “I love dogs. I have a mutt myself.”

  It took about twenty minutes to hear back from the owners, and in the meantime, Mr. McKee made friends with Sadie and told Dean his life story. Finally, the call came in.

  “Well, I hate to tell you this Mr. Maxwell, but they’re telling me I need to have the police handle this. There was a guy down in San Antonio who had a breach like this. His daughter’s boyfriend broke into his storage unit. When the facility gave the girl’s father the info, he shot him dead. Now the storage folks are being sued for damages, and well, you can imagine it’s not looking good for them staying in business.”

  “Well, hell!” said Dean. “Better call the police now. Can you at least tell me when the breakin happened?”

  “No, sir. They’re saying I can’t tell you a damn thing.”

  Chapter 44

  The visit from the two pretty ladies had earned Wilson a lot of credit with the other detectives. A few had watched from behind the see-through mirror as Wilson conducted the interview, and when it was over and the ladies were gone, he got several high fives.

  “Man, Wilson,” said Walter Myers, “how did you get all the luck? Those chicks are hot!”

  “You don’t have to tell me,” said Wilson, “and they’re not the only ones, though I’ve got to say the blond is my pick of the litter.”

  “Oh yeah. The one with the bandage. Is she taken?” asked Myers.

  “No. She’s single, and she’s mine.”

  “Well what about the redhead then?”

  “Married.”

  “Damn.”

  Gonzalez had walked in unnoticed. “Who’s yours?” he asked.

  Wilson was startled, and the other detectives laughed. “That was a set-up!” he said, turning to his boss.

  “Yeah, maybe, but what’s going on?”

  Wilson immediately became business-like and relayed the high points of the surprise visit from Michelle Hodge and Margaret Carter.

  “Just let me see the recording,” said Gonzalez. “I might need to hear the part about the river myself.”

  “Okay, but I’ve gotta say I’m kind of impressed that they found the house in Onion Creek. I just got the warrant, by the way. We can go down there and have a look.”

  “That sounds good. Maybe later today. I’ve got a meeting with the chief in a few minutes.”

  Wilson wasn’t too happy to hear this news. Every time Gonzalez had a meeting with Chief Thompson, it meant more work for him.

  “You know what it’s about?” asked Wilson.

  “I think he wants a conviction, and I’m gonna be working on traffic detail if he doesn’t get one soon.”

  “We need enough evidence to make an arrest,” said Wilson.

  “My guess is, Thompson thinks we’ve got enough,” said Gonzalez.

  “We don’t have a weapon.”

  “You think I don’t know that?” The older man looked at Wilson with an expression of scorn.

  “I’m just saying we need that to make an arrest that’ll stick,” said Wilson.

  Gonzalez ignored this. He wondered if it was time to start the interviews over again. Someone had to know if Dean Maxwell had a gun.

  “We need to interview Hoffman. Set it up.”

  “Okay.”

  “On second thought,” said Gonzalez. “Let’s just go down to that bar and surprise Hoffman right now.”

  Chapter 45

  The sky had darkened while Dean was at the storage facility, and a cold wind had started in. He drove straight to Margie’s house. He figured they should be back by now. The minivan was in the carport and he pulled in behind it.

  “C’mon, Sadie,” Dean said. “You get to see your friends.”

  Sadie hopped down from the Cherokee and barked excitedly. Dean didn’t even have to knock. Margie had seen him from the window and opened the door. “Hi Sadie!” she said, and the two went in to the momentary yapping of the smaller dogs.

  “How did it go downtown?” asked Dean, looking for Shell as he sat on the couch.

  “It was fine,” said Margie. “We saw Detective Wilson. Apparently Gonzalez doesn’t come in till noon on Saturdays. Anyway, Shell and I told our story. He was very polite, asked lots of questions. After a
while, I actually thought he was asking questions just to keep us there.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “We’d already answered those questions. I think he’s got a little crush on Shell. He was just a little too worried about her injury,” she said with a little giggle.

  “It’s possible he was just trying to be thorough,” said Shell, walking in from the kitchen. “Should we let the dogs play in the back?” she asked as she bent down to hug Sadie.

  “Shell never thinks men are interested in her,” Margie said to Dean with an eye roll. “Yes, put them out and let them run!”

  “Look who’s talking,” her friend retorted over her shoulder as she beckoned the dogs to the backdoor.

  Dean could easily imagine the detective trying to keep Shell in the interview room. He wondered if Wilson passed for good looking with women. Who knew what they thought was attractive? He had been sure enough that Wilson had been interested in her on the day they reported Kojak’s intrusion into his house, but he hadn’t yet begun to care about her then. So much for his idea that the two women would get a scolding for their detective work. All they seemed to get was admiration.

  Shell returned to the living room. “How about I make us some hot tea? It’s starting to get a little cold.”

  “That actually sounds lovely,” said Margie. “There’s some cinnamon spice in the cupboard.”

  “I’ll just go put the kettle on,” said Shell, thinking she would stay in there for a while and watch the dogs from the window. The more time away from Dean, the better.

  “How about we sit at the kitchen table? I’ve got some news,” Dean said.

  “What?” asked Margie, suddenly serious. “What’s going on?”

  Dean stood up and followed Shell into the kitchen with Margie on his heels. He pulled a chair for his sister at the table and then sat down himself.

  “I went by to check on my storage unit a little while ago, and I found that someone had torn it up.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Shell, turning from the stove. “A break in?”

  “Not exactly. The person who did it had the gate code, the unit number, and the key to the padlock.”

  “Oh my God!” said Margie. “Did they take anything?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no way to tell from just looking at the place, but he made a real mess trying to find whatever he was looking for.”

  “Who would do this?” asked Margie.

  “Probably the same guy who’s been in and out at Shell’s.”

  “Isn’t there some sort of surveillance?” asked Shell, sinking into a chair across from him.

  “Yeah, but the police will have to look into it. I’m just an unimportant victim. They won’t tell me anything for fear I’ll kill somebody,” he paused here, “and they’ll be sued.” He ran a hand through his hair and rubbed the back of his neck for a moment.

  “I don’t get who could get access,” said Margie. “I mean, there’s the location and the key and—”

  “The gate code to get in the facility in the first place. Someone has Amanda’s keys and probably her cell phone.”

  “Why her cell?” asked Shell.

  “She would have put the gate code and unit number in there. Maybe even the address and name of the storage facility, but someone could have figured that out easily enough.”

  “But how would someone have her keys and phone?” asked Margie.

  “They weren’t in her effects. They were taken.”

  Shell got up and got the cups ready with their tea bags and put them near the kettle, waiting for it to boil. She looked out the kitchen window at the dogs running around the backyard, oblivious to the cold. She couldn’t stand to look at Dean now. He was thinking about Amanda.

  Margie broke into the silence with the question that had to be asked. “Are you going to tell Gonzalez?”

  “It’s already done. The administrator over there called the police. I messaged Gonzalez, but I doubt he’ll take it very seriously. We don’t even know if I’ve been robbed. I doubt he’ll even connect this to the murder.”

  There was another silence and the kettle started to whistle. Shell poured the hot water into the cups and brought them to the table.

  “Why did you even think to go over there?” asked Margie. Shell had been wondering the same thing.

  “I was thinking I’d see how accessible the hutch is. I thought maybe Donald could help me take it over to Shell’s. She doesn’t have one, and there isn’t much room in the kitchen cupboards for her crystal.” There. It was out now, and Shell would know he had been thinking of her and wanted to follow through with getting her the hutch.

  “Well, that’s a great idea,” said Margie, “because Shell’s still got stuff in boxes and your mom’s hutch is probably just sitting in there empty.”

  “My thoughts, too,” he said, glancing up at Shell.

  She was looking at him but not saying anything. Thankfully, Margie just kept talking. “I know Donald will be glad to help with that,” then looking at Shell, “and I can help you load it up with your crystal and dishes once you’ve got it in place in the dining room.”

  “Well, that’s really kind. But I imagine they’ll have to treat the storage unit as a sort of crime scene, won’t they?”

  “Maybe. It might be a while before we can go over there to get the hutch.” Dean was slowly wearing down her defenses, and she couldn’t afford to let that happen. “Gonzalez is supposed to call me in the next twenty-four hours. I’ll let you know what I learn.”

  Chapter 46

  Chief Thompson had wanted exactly what Gonzalez had thought he wanted. A quick arrest and conviction. And the meeting had taken longer than he had expected. The sergeant was burning up about it as Wilson drove down Congress toward 6th Street. That asshole doesn’t care who’s guilty. He just wants to keep his appointment. He decided the mayor was no better than Thompson. They were all corrupt.

  It was only a little after four when they parked just a bit up the street from Danny’s Place. It wasn’t crowded yet, but people were starting to show up for happy hour at the many places along the street, and Gonzalez was glad they didn’t have to walk far. He didn’t like the cold or the wind and pulled the collar of his jacket close around his neck as they walked the fifty yards or so from their parking space to the entrance. The courtyard was empty, but the door was unlocked, and Gonzalez pushed it open. It was dark inside except for the low lights that were always on in there. Wilson walked up to the bar looking for Alonzo while Gonzalez walked around the tables waiting for his eyes to adapt to the low light. There he was, sitting at the corner table. This had to be Ray Hoffman.

  Gonzalez turned quickly and climbed the stairs up the deck that led to the back booth where Hoffman sat.

  “I’d like to have a talk with you, Mr. Hoffman,” he said, sitting down without an invitation or even a word from the man in the opposite bench.

  “Who are you?” asked Hoffman, “and how do you know who I am?”

  “I’m Sgt. Gonzalez of the Austin Police Department, and I’m investigating the murder of Amanda Maxwell.” He briefly flashed his badge.

  Hoffman didn’t say anything for a half-minute, and while he stared at Gonzalez, Wilson approached and sat down beside his boss.

  “This is Detective Wilson,” said Gonzalez. Then he waited as no one spoke.

  Finally, Hoffman asked, “What do you want to know?”

  “Well, for starters, when did you start working here at Danny’s Place?”

  “About three months ago.”

  “And is that when you got fired from Dell?”

  “Who told you I was fired? I quit that job.”

  “Well, I hate to break it to you Mr. Hoffman, but your friends all seem to think you were fired.”

  “Okay. So what? It’s not a crime to get fired.”

  “No. But it’s kind of considered illegal to lie to a police officer.”

  “Okay. I was fired.”

  “And you we
re friends with Danny Lopez?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he hired you?”

  “Yes.”

  “And what duties did he want you to perform?”

  “Just buying stuff that’s needed in the kitchen, watching the place to see if unsavory people are doing anything they shouldn’t be doing, that kind of thing.”

  “So you watch the place, do you?”

  “Yes.”

  “Like a bouncer?”

  “No. I’m just supposed to let them know if—Hey, what if I don’t want to talk to you?”

  “Well, then I’d have to take you in for questioning.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “Well, you’ve already lied to a police officer. That’s probably enough, but my guess is you’re in possession of an illegal substance right now. Would you like to go into the station?”

  “Look, I’m just minding my own business and doing my job. Why are you giving me a bad time?”

  “Does this seem like a bad time, Mr. Hoffman? Because it could get a lot worse, I assure you.”

  “Okay, listen. I just want to cooperate. What do you want to know?”

  “You were telling us that you let them know if—”

  “Oh yeah, if somebody’s getting violent or anything like that.”

  “I see. Seems like they could just hire a bouncer and stop the problem right out here.”

  “Maybe. I just do what I’m told.”

  “When was the last time you saw Danny Lopez?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, a couple of weeks ago, I guess.”

  “Were you at work?”

  “No. I drove him to the airport.”

  “Really? Where was he going?”

  “Albuquerque.”

  “Really? Why Albuquerque?”

  “I think his mom lives there.”

  “What’s her name, by the way?”

  “How would I know? I was just the driver.”

  “Okay. Would it surprise you to know that we’ve looked into all the flights from here to Albuquerque for the past three weeks and we’ve never found a Danny Lopez boarding any of them?” Gonzalez wasn’t lying. They had checked all the flights to Albuquerque during the past three weeks.