“You don’t know that.” She wanted to get her life back to normal.
“No, I don’t, and that’s why Jenkins and Ford will be hanging around.” He opened the door, and his gaze slid past Leigh to her son sitting on the couch. “You have a good kid there.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“Look, uh, if TJ needs someone to talk to . . .” He licked his lips. “You can, uh, call me.”
Ben puzzled her. One minute he didn’t have time, the next, he wanted her to call him. “Thanks. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a funeral to plan.”
He paused before going out the door, and she looked away from his intense stare.
“I’ll be around if you need me,” he said.
Where was he ten years ago when she came home to tell him she was pregnant? She shook the thought off. That wasn’t all his fault. She hadn’t exactly given him an option. “Thanks.”
With one last glance, he turned and walked toward his deputies. She shut the door firmly behind him and leaned her head against it with her eyes closed.
“You okay, Mom?”
TJ’s subdued voice snapped her eyes open. Her son hugged Bear to his chest. She mustered a smile. “I’m okay.” She crossed the room and sat beside him. “How about you? Are you okay?”
He shrugged. His chin dimpled as he pressed his lips together. “Will the bad guy come back?”
Her stomach sank to her feet. She and Ben had tried to downplay what happened this morning, but evidently it hadn’t worked. “I don’t think so, honey. Ben was pretty sure the man that wrecked is the bad guy. He won’t be coming back. Okay?”
He stared at Bear’s belly, picking at the seam she’d stitched. “Why did Uncle Tony have to die?”
Leigh pulled him close, smelling the fruity scent of his shampoo. She kissed the top of his head. “I don’t know.”
After a few minutes, TJ pulled away. “Can I go outside?”
“Hmm, maybe not just yet. Why don’t you play a game on your iPod?”
His eyes grew round. “Really?”
“Just today.” She limited the time TJ spent playing video games to an hour after dinner, but she had calls to make, calls she didn’t want him to overhear. And the first one was to see how fast they could get out of Logan Point.
After Ben left instructions with his deputies to hang around, he climbed into the cab of his truck. For five minutes he didn’t move, just breathed slow, deep breaths and pictured a big stop sign. What kind of man had a panic attack when a kid asked him to come to ball practice? He was the sheriff, for goodness’ sake, a man’s man. Not some weak-kneed sissy who couldn’t handle being around kids. Except he was, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop the panic attacks. Maybe it was time to see that counselor again.
When his heart finally returned to normal, Ben called his chief deputy and learned Wade was at Gresham’s house. “Did you get a search warrant?”
“Yep,” Wade replied. “How did Mrs. Gresham take the news?”
Ruby hadn’t cried. Just thanked him for coming to tell her, then turned and walked back into the house. “Stoic. Almost like she was expecting me.” Ben sighed. “See you in about ten minutes.”
Since Billy Wayne lived alone, a search warrant probably wasn’t necessary. But Ben had learned a long time ago, it was better to have the warrant than to wish down the road he’d obtained one. Now, if there was only something at Gresham’s house to settle his mind, something that would tell him whether the kid acted alone or with someone else. Leigh seemed determined to stay in that little house, and he’d like to be comfortable in agreeing with her.
He’d like to be comfortable around her period—without getting too close. Leigh was getting to be a bit like a barnacle, attaching herself to his heart. For a nanosecond this morning, the wall between them hadn’t seemed so thick, and it’d been like old times. Then in a heartbeat, she couldn’t get rid of him fast enough. Which suited him fine.
Turning onto the highway, Ben flipped his sun visor down, and TJ’s earnest face popped into his mind. Will you come to ball practice with me? Why couldn’t the kid stick with easy questions? Like the one Sunday. How did Jonah get spit up by the whale? Did he go through the blowhole?
No, he had to ask the impossible. If Ben showed up at ball practice with Leigh’s son, his deputy, Andre, would hound him about coaching, and no matter how much he’d like to coach, he truly didn’t want everyone to see him in full-blown panic mode. Kids, little ones or teenagers, came with a high price tag, and the plain fact was, he couldn’t take the responsibility.
He slowed for the intersection ahead as a car and boat shot across the highway. One of the most popular boat landings on Logan Lake was Caney Point, two miles from the intersection. A cloud crossed the sun, dimming its brightness. Tommy Ray Gresham had been fifteen with his whole future ahead of him when he drowned at the Point. Ben blew out a deep breath and white-knuckled the steering wheel down the road.
His radio crackled to life. “Ben, found something interesting at Billy Wayne’s.”
“Be there in five.” Ben pressed his foot to the gas. Minutes later he rolled to a stop in front of a brick bungalow and parked behind Wade’s truck. Weeds brushed his legs as he cut a swath to the front door. He opened the screen door and stepped into a tiny living room. “Where are you, Wade?”
“In the bedroom. Down the hall on the right.”
Ben’s footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors. “What did you find?”
Wade sat at a desk in front of a laptop. “For starters, that,” he said, jerking his head toward the dresser. A .38 Smith and Wesson lay on the dresser, with a numbered card beside it. “It was under his mattress. Has Olivia Reynolds mentioned what caliber gun was used on Tony Jackson?”
“She won’t know until she gets a report back from the crime lab in Nashville, but she thought it might be a .38 or 9 mm. Anything on the laptop?”
Wade scooted his chair where Ben could see the monitor. “See for yourself. He was a big-time gamer.”
Ghoulish images against a blood-red background filled the computer screen. Hooded or masked cartoon images depicting death and murder. Ben read over Wade’s shoulder as his deputy scrolled the page.
“Looks like he’s a game programmer,” Wade said.
“Apparently for some pretty violent games.” Ben shook his head.
“Look at this.” Wade moved the cursor to another link. “He played them as well. And evidently he was pretty good—this one has twenty levels and four bonus ones.” The deputy glanced up at Ben. “He’d made it to the bonus rounds.”
“You sound like that’s something good. Real or not, all that killing can mess with the mind.”
“Not saying that people don’t get the game world and the real world mixed up, just pointing out he thinks like a killer. It could be a motive if he killed Tony and then went after Leigh.” He popped another screen up. “Read this. It’s a teaser for one of his games.”
Ben read the first lines and sucked in a breath. The Assassin read like a script for stalking and murdering a victim. He scanned to the bottom of the page. “What does that link to?”
“His fan page on Facebook.” Wade clicked on the link and another page opened.
“He chose the Reaper as his name?” Ben muttered. “Really classy.”
Wade nodded toward the gun. “If that matches the slugs found in Tony’s body, I’d say you have your killer. And Leigh’s shooter.”
“Which begs the question of why,” Ben said as he slipped his cell from his pocket and surveyed the blacked-out windows, the clothes littering the floor. He could imagine the oily-haired gamer hunched over the computer, plotting death. He shuddered. It was impossible to understand the depravity that existed in the world. He turned back to the computer screen as he punched in Livy’s number.
She answered without any preliminaries. “Did you find anything at the house, Ben?”
“Maybe. We found a .38 Smith and Wesson at Gresham’s.” He fi
lled her in on the rest. “I’ll send two deputies over with the gun.”
“A .38, huh? I’ve seen a lot of fired bullets, and what the coroner dug out of Tony could have been fired from a .38.”
“I’ll email you his websites,” Ben said. “You might want to check them out.” He hung up and emailed the sites from his phone.
“Check this out, Ben. A couple of comments you might be interested in. One from Billy Wayne grousing about losing money to Tony and a reply from his brother.”
Ben leaned over the computer again. Wade had found Billy Wayne’s personal Facebook page, and Junior Gresham had left a rather rude comment. “He doesn’t think much of his brother’s gambling abilities.”
Wade chuckled. “No, he doesn’t. Junior works at Maxwell Industries.”
“Wrap up the investigation here while I pay a visit to the plant.” Ben checked his watch. “It’s eleven now. We’ll meet back at the jail around one to discuss getting the gun to Livy in Memphis.”
Maxwell Industries was located in the industrial park on the western side of Logan Point, near the bypass, and fifteen minutes later, Ben pulled into the visitor’s parking area. He stepped from his pickup into the hot, humid air and surveyed the factory that sat on twenty acres of ground. A far cry from its beginnings.
Brothers Phillip and Anderson Maxwell started a porcelain factory in 1980 when a vein of kaolin was discovered in Bradford County. Since then, two things had happened. Manufacturing costs had risen to the point that Maxwell Industries now shipped the raw product to Mexico, where it was processed into fine china and then shipped back to Logan Point for distribution.
Then, in the late nineties after Anderson died, Phillip Maxwell turned a desire to build a quality rifle into a reality. Built with precision and quality craftsmanship, the Maxwell .270 soon became a hot item with deer hunters, and the porcelain side of Maxwell Industries took a backseat to the rifle division. Ben even owned one of the firearms.
But the .270 wasn’t the only rifle manufactured at the plant. Five years ago, Phillip Maxwell took the factory in a different direction when he developed a variation of the AR-15 for the law enforcement community. Again, because of the quality, the new rifle was a success. Ben’s department had five of the assault rifles. He sincerely hoped none of the Maxwells were involved in this case. If the plant shut down, more than two hundred people would lose their jobs.
He stopped at the receptionist desk and asked to see Phillip Maxwell, noting the name on the brass plate. Tiffany Davis. After a brief phone conversation, the tawny-eyed brunette nodded. “Mr. Maxwell will see you.”
“Thank you, Tiffany.” Ben climbed the stairs to Maxwell’s office.
Maxwell opened the door before he knocked. “Come on in.”
Ben’s feet sank into plush gold carpet as he stepped into the room. Like everything else Phillip Maxwell touched, the office reeked of class—walnut paneling, rich tan leather, and an ornate desk designed to intimidate. But then, even in his late fifties, the man himself intimidated. Standing at six-four, the former quarterback for the New Orleans Saints shook Ben’s hand with the same confidence he’d handled the pigskin more than thirty years ago.
“I stopped by to see Tom last week,” Maxwell said as he released Ben’s hand. “His speech doesn’t seem to be improving that much.”
“I know. For some reason, he won’t work with the speech therapist.”
“I told him what a great job you were doing, and he seemed to understand that. And, if there’s ever a time you need something from me, just say the word.”
“I appreciate that.” He waited until Maxwell had seated himself behind the massive desk before he chose a leather chair that didn’t put him lower than the older man.
Maxwell leaned forward, his blue eyes intense. “Do you know who killed Tony yet?”
“His case falls under the Memphis Police Department jurisdiction.”
“I didn’t ask whose jurisdiction it fell under.”
Ben crossed his ankle over his knee. Maxwell was used to getting what he wanted, when he wanted it. “Nothing concrete. Just a person of interest.”
“Billy Wayne Gresham? Leigh’s shooter?”
Danny and Ian had wasted no time reporting back to Maxwell. “Billy Wayne hasn’t been identified as her shooter. Or Tony’s murderer.”
The ice-blue eyes bored into him. “Come on, Ben. Your dad couldn’t bluff me, and neither can you. Are you looking for anyone else?”
His dad and Maxwell had been friends for years, coffee buddies at Molly’s Diner, and they played golf together before his dad’s stroke. Maxwell had his finger on the pulse of Logan Point, and more than likely, Tom Logan wouldn’t have hesitated to confide in him. But Ben wasn’t his dad. “What can you tell me about Billy Wayne? Do you know who he hung out with?”
Amusement flickered in Maxwell’s face as he leaned back in his chair and tented his fingers. “Billy Wayne and I ran in different circles. He was a strange boy. Wild, and I feared he’d end up dead too young. Feel sorry for his poor mama. She works here, you know. In packing. As does one of his brothers. I’ve told her to take as much time off as she needs.”
“She didn’t say much when I told her he’d been killed.” Ben took out a pen and pad. “I understand Billy Wayne did some work for Maxwell Industries. Did he answer to your son and nephew or to you?”
“Ian hired him. He answered to him.”
Ben nodded. “Did Ian or Danny pal around with Billy Wayne?”
“I hope you’re not insinuating either of them are involved with Billy Wayne’s illegal activities or Tony’s death.”
Ben paused with the pen raised. Odd that Maxwell would jump to that conclusion. Maybe there was fire in the smoke. “Ian? No. Your son, maybe.”
“You’re barking up the wrong tree with Danny.” Maxwell leaned forward. “And I wouldn’t be too quick to put Ian in a box labeled squeaky clean.”
Ben hid a smile. Irritate people a little, and unusual things popped out sometimes. “Really? Anything you’d care to share?”
“No. Just be careful about prejudging. Danny is a good boy. Perhaps a little reckless sometimes. I’d hoped he would marry Bailey Adams and settle down, but . . .” He shrugged. “I know you two have been rivals in the past, but he respects you.”
That was news to Ben. He didn’t realize Danny respected anyone or anything, except maybe Bailey. But she’d chosen to teach school at a mission in Mexico instead of marrying Danny Maxwell.
Maxwell leaned forward. “Where Danny’s focus might be on seeing how close he can get to the fire without getting singed, Ian is more preoccupied with the ladies.”
The image of Ian with his arm around Leigh pricked Ben. “I heard he’s getting married.”
Maxwell stood and walked to the expanse of glass across his office. “Girls have been chasing him since he was sixteen, and he’s avoided matrimony for twenty years. Not sure if this latest girlfriend will rope him in.” He put his hands behind his back. “You didn’t mention me. Am I under suspicion as well?”
“Hardly. And I never said Ian and Danny were. Just trying to find some answers.” Ben joined him at the window that looked out over the plant. “So from here you can tell who’s shirking and who’s not?”
“That’s not a problem around here. We treat our employees well. Good pay, great benefits, and stock in the company equal good morale. No, I just like to look down at the line and know one of the best rifles in America is being made here.”
“Do you know where Billy Wayne could’ve bought a Sub-2000?”
“Is that what he used to shoot at Leigh?”
“Maybe.”A question answered with a question. Phillip was crafty. “Do you have a connection with Billy Wayne?”
Maxwell slapped him on the back. “I like you, Ben. If you’re looking for an accomplice, you can stop. From what I know about him, he was a loner and definitely smart enough to pull this off without any help. Okay? As for the Sub-2000, he could’ve picked one u
p at a gun show, a private dealer, the Internet, even. They’re not expensive, and from what I hear, a fairly decent gun.”
Ben cocked his head slightly, studying the older man. Maxwell held his gaze, not flinching. “Do you mind if I ask a few questions about Billy Wayne around the plant?” He didn’t have to ask permission, but it cost him nothing to defer to Maxwell’s position.
Maxwell gave a faint nod. “Help yourself.”
Ben extended his hand. “Thanks. Do you suppose someone could let me into Tony’s office?”
“I’ll instruct the receptionist to show you the way.” Maxwell grasped his hand in a firm grip. “One more thing. You and Danny go way back, so you know he’s hotheaded. Your dad always cut Danny a little slack. I’d appreciate it if you carried on the tradition.”
Ben released Maxwell’s hand and crossed his arms over his chest. He’d observed Danny breezing through town in his SUV or a little red Lexus convertible, just barely over the speed limit—not enough to pull him over and have to argue with him about. “I hope you’re not asking me to break the law.”
He palmed his hand up. “Of course not. I never asked your dad to break the law. I’m just asking for a little grace now and then. I don’t want him to lose his license.”
“Then I suggest you tell him to slow down.” He started toward the door and stopped. “I know Ian manages the plant, but I’ve never understood Danny’s job here.”
“He oversees the international aspect of our operation. The shipment of raw supplies to Mexico, the points of distribution all over the world, that sort of thing.”
Which probably fed his roving nature. “He doesn’t handle the rifle sales and distribution?”
“I still handle that aspect of the business.”
Ben opened the door. “Don’t forget to tell him to slow down.”
He felt Maxwell’s eyes on him as he walked down the steps and across to Tiffany’s desk.
She hung up the phone and stood as he approached. “Mr. Maxwell said you wanted to see Tony’s office?”
“Please.” As he followed the petite brunette, he couldn’t help but notice that she kept herself distanced from him. Rigid back and shoulders, cool demeanor. “Were you and Tony dating, Tiffany?” he asked as they stopped for her to enter a code before going into the office complex.
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