I had to focus on business. “What about tread marks?”
“We were able to lift some. Another reason we know we’re looking at a large pickup. We’re also narrowing down the brand of tire.” Hogan passed Jack a glance as if to ask, satisfied?
“I assume you’re searching Ellis’s house for any clues,” Jack said.
Hogan let out a breath. “We are. Patrol is watching his place tonight and investigators will get over there by morning.”
“Morning?”
“As you can see,” Hogan gestured around, “they are pretty tied up just getting the evidence from the crime scene.”
“Hmm.”
“What do you want me to say? Do you want me to lie to you?”
I took a couple steps back. Apparently the detective didn’t take too kindly to being on the receiving end of Jack’s infamous ‘hmm.’ I hoped their egos wouldn’t escalate to blows.
Jack disregarded the man. “Paige and Zachery, you’ll speak with Connie Shepard. See if you can pull anything else out of her. Find out if there’s more she heard him say.” Jack pointed to Detective Hogan as if daring him to speak. His cheeks flushed and I imagined the slew of expletives running through his mind.
“Of course.” Paige passed Hogan a brief glance. “And you and Brandon?”
“We’re going to wait on word back about Bowen’s hitch. Take it from there.”
Paige studied his face and I guessed what she was thinking. Very rarely did Jack not know everyone’s next step.
“So if this latest victim wasn’t Gene Lyons, where is—”
My question was interrupted by Hogan’s cell. He put his back to us and answered. Not long later, he turned around. “Ellis didn’t make it.”
Chapter 21
Jack’s uncertainty over our next step was a brief interlude. The results were in and Bowen was cleared of Ellis’s torture and murder. The hitch on his Dodge Ram was in pristine condition and the tire treads weren’t a match. He had also come up with a sufficient alibi for Simpson’s time of death. He was a free man.
It was ten o’clock at night but we were headed to Ellis’s neighborhood. My argument about people not being helpful at this time of night fell on deaf ears. Jack had his mind set and his temperament fell somewhere between frustration and raw anger. I wasn’t sure exactly why his mood had taken a fowl turn, but I surmised it could have stemmed from any number of things—Hogan, the fact we had spent time on the wrong guy, or maybe it was a simpler matter, the nicotine in his system was running low.
We started with the house to the right of Ellis’s. At least there was light casting from the front window. It dulled and brightened telling me someone was watching TV.
“I’ll handle it if you want,” I said, offering out of compassion for the people behind the door.
“That’s fine.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by that—that I was good to handle this, or that it was all right for me to sit this one out. I should have known better than to pack two inquiries into one statement.
I knocked instead of ringing the doorbell. At least that way if part of the household were asleep, I wouldn’t be waking them.
Jack didn’t miss my choice and shook his head.
Feet padded along the floor inside, sending vibrations to the front step. The outside light came on and the curtain in the window was swept aside. A woman’s face peered out at us and her eyes enlarged, likely the result of seeing two men on her doorstep at this hour.
I was quick to hold up my credentials. “FBI.”
Fear, confusion, and a flavor of distrust tempered the reflection in her eyes, but the deadbolt clunked and the door slowly opened.
“We’d like to ask a few questions about your neighbor who lived in number eight sixteen,” I said.
The woman let her eyes fall over both of us and came back to settle her gaze on me. She hugged herself. “Why would you have questions about Clyde?”
Her response was promising. She was closer with her neighbor than simply sharing greetings over the fence.
“Come in. It’s freezing out there.” Her arms waved emphatically, hurrying us to get a move on.
She closed the door heavily behind us. Either there was no one else in the house to wake up, or she didn’t care if they did.
She rubbed at her arms. “What do you want to know about him?”
Deciding what to disclose and what to withhold was the tricky part. Ellis’s older brother was the next of kin and lived about an hour away. The notification was being worked out by Hogan and McClellan. We had to be careful what we said until that aspect was handled.
“There’s been an accident,” I said.
“And they sent the FBI? I don’t understand. Is he dead? Is his family being told?”
“Yes, of course. We’re here to ask you when you last saw Mr. Ellis.”
“Why? I don’t know.” She weaved her arms, her eyes burning with intensity.
“Last week, last night, yesterday?”
“Well, he works at the hospital, in engineering. He wasn’t home most days. He must hold odd shifts because I know he’d be home during the week some times.”
“Linda, what in the—” A man came into the entryway wearing a tattered blue housecoat and rubbing at the back of his head, his hair a ratted mess. His robe was open at the front revealing gray boxers. His eyes were blue and set back in a bed of wrinkles from a hard life. There was something about him that didn’t place him much over seventy, but he could pass for eighty at a quick glance.
“Be quiet, Lester. This is the FBI. And for God’s sake, do that thing up.” She waved her hand in front of him.
His brow knitted up like he had the onset of a headache, and he made no move to follow his wife’s advice until Jack extended his hand.
“Supervisory Special Agent Harper.”
“Whoa, they sent the big guns to our door, Lin.”
His wife’s arms were no longer crossed but on her hips. She rolled her eyes at him. “They are here about Clyde. Something’s happened to him. I think he’s dead, but they haven’t confirmed that.”
The way she expressed herself implied an emotional connection, but whether it be shock, or simply the human tug that one experiences when an individual passes, I wasn’t sure. No tears sparkled in her eyes and her voice held steady, uncut by emotion.
Lester angled his head and shoved both hands into his robe’s pockets. He went and stood by his wife. “What happened? Was he murdered? I mean he must have been for you to be here. Something awful too, I’m wagering.”
I glanced at Jack, uncertain if he wanted to pick things up from here or let me continue. I gave it a few seconds and Jack answered the man.
“He was found in a ditch outside of the city. He has since died, but we believe his death was suspicious.”
“So he didn’t die next door? Oh, thank God.” Linda turned heavenward, steepling her hands as if about to pray.
“You’ll have to disregard my wife—”
She shot him a glare that could have been a superhero’s secret power.
It didn’t stop Lester from continuing. “Her one fear is that we’ll be broken into and murdered in our sleep.”
“I’ve had that dream since I was eleven.” Linda’s eyes watered now.
“We believe he was targeted.” Jack’s words came without feeling, not that it was a surprise.
“Targeted? Why? Who would want to kill Clyde?”
“Do you remember when you last saw him?” I asked. When the couple both seemed to retreat, I added, “I’m sure you can appreciate we can’t get into all the details.”
They both nodded.
“The last time you saw him?”
“I don’t know. I wish I could help.” Linda’s chin pulled up as if fending off a bout of crying, the news finally sinking in.
“You know,” Lester wagged an index finger, “I saw him yesterday, come to think of it.”
Linda’s eyes grew large. “Lester?”
> I glanced at Jack and proceeded. “Where and when?”
“Next door, of course. I don’t know. It was about two or so.”
The way his wife watched him gave me the impression she questioned his statement.
Lester finally buckled under his wife’s stare. His shoulders drooped, his jaw tightened, and he returned eye contact. “What, Linda? I know what I saw.”
Maybe it was due to the long day and its events, but I found their interaction amusing. Was this what it was like to be married for fifty years—the judgment, the finishing of each other’s sentences, the loss of one’s identity? Maybe my divorce was a blessing.
“What were you doing outside at that time of day?” Linda’s hands formed into fists on her hips.
“What? Am I not allowed outside without your permission?”
“The doctor said that you’re not supposed to be shoveling. We hire that boy down the street to come do it. Are you wanting to leave me all alone?”
I glanced at Jack. His jawline was angled sharply. His mouth sat in a flat line. His patience, which had been almost non-existent when we arrived, was now a quality that couldn’t even be pulled out of him.
“Linda. Lester.”
Their bickering continued.
“Hello? Please.”
The couple fell quiet, and their eyes went to me.
“I’m assuming Clyde was outside when you saw him?”
“Yes, of course.” Lester passed a glare at his wife.
She knotted her arms again.
“What was he doing?”
“He was headed out with someone.”
Jack’s jaw softened, ever so slightly. My stomach lightened with anticipation. Had this man seen our killer?
“He was with someone?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said.”
“Did you get a look at them?”
He was quiet for a few seconds and shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I saw that there was a person in the driver’s seat. It wasn’t Clyde. I couldn’t make out the face. The sun was reflecting on the windshield in just the right spot.”
“But you knew Clyde was with them?”
“Yes, definitely. He’s a big guy. He appeared hunched over.”
“So it was a small car that he was in?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you know what make and model it was? The color?” My heartbeat quickened.
“It was a Nissan sedan.” His forehead screwed up in concentration. “I don’t know the model, but it was red.”
“An older vehicle? A newer one?”
“Newer.”
“And you definitely don’t recall the model?”
“No. Sorry.”
“No, you’ve done very well. Have you ever seen that car there before?”
Lester glanced at his wife and both shook their heads.
“Did it seem like Clyde got into the car willingly?” I took the shot that Lester had seen him walking toward the car, not just in it.
“I did notice he was looking around and walking slower than he normally does. The guy is over six feet and he usually huffs it anywhere he goes.”
“And you never saw the driver outside of the car?”
“That’s right. I must have just missed him though because I did hear the car’s door slam. That’s actually what first got my attention.”
“All right. You’ve done an excellent job, Lester. Thank you for your help. And, Linda, thank you.” I smiled at her and she returned it.
Chapter 22
Paige and Zach pulled into the driveway belonging to Connie Shepard, the woman who found Ellis in the ditch. There were three other vehicles there, indicating Shepard had company to support her. Finding a man barely clinging to life would be traumatic.
Lights appeared to be on in every room of the house. There would be no risk of waking anyone up. The house itself was glowing with the colored festivity of the season. A lit, inflatable family of snowmen was on the front lawn. As a grouping, they would have been large enough for a person on a plane to hone in on.
Some people were so tacky when it came to their holiday decorations, but even colored lights were not Paige’s thing. She preferred the soft and elegant touch that white lights offered. She also had a thing for the dangling icicle variety if put up in good taste and not overdone.
Her Christmas tree was always accented with white string lights and colored ornaments. She loved her brass pieces, some with glass jewels that sparkled. She didn’t have the assortment her mother did, which ranged back through generations of the Dawson family, but she did have her Baby’s First Christmas ornament. It was a red ceramic stocking with a bear peeking out the top of it. Her name was on the stocking’s trim. Her mother told her this piece was hers, while the others they had acquired over the years, personalized or not, were to remain in the family home. Paige had made the compromise.
This year, she had only gotten as far as pulling out the box of decorations before she’d headed off to Colorado. Each year she would pick out real trees with her mother—one that would belong to the family home and one that would go in her apartment.
She wondered if they’d get this case solved in time to hunt for trees or even celebrate at home. Her heart fell heavy when negative thoughts took precedence. They had to get back in time.
“You coming?” Zach was out of the SUV and butted his head in through the open door.
“Yeah, of course.” She smiled, certain it would appear wistful—the way she was feeling.
She understood why Jack had them on this right away, but still wondered if they would have been further ahead to come in the morning. A night’s sleep had the tendency to dredge things from the unconscious and provide clarity.
Paige rang the doorbell. It played a rendition of “Silent Night” infusing even more homesickness and nostalgia through her. She expected Connie Shepard’s dog to start barking, but nothing. It must have been asleep somewhere or unable to come near the door.
The chime hadn’t finished by the time the door was opened.
A woman in her mid-twenties stood there, a rocks glass in her hand, half full of amber liquid. By the way she wavered, it was obvious it wasn’t her first drink of the night.
“FBI. We’re looking to speak with Connie Shepard,” Zach said.
She flashed a goofy grin and pointed a finger back at herself and pressed its tip into her chest. “This is.” She took a noisy slurp of alcohol and flashed another smile at Zachery. “And who are you? You’re kind of cute.”
Maybe it was best that they return in the morning. What were they going to get out of a drunk woman? And if they did get something out of her, how reliable would it be?
“Who is it, Connie?” A man came up and draped his arm around her, letting it dangle over her right shoulder.
“They are the FBI.” She kissed him on the cheek—a wet one by the sound of it.
He didn’t seem to mind. He pulled her in tighter, smiled at her briefly, but leveled a serious gaze on them. “She’s been through an awful lot today. Questioned by the cops about what she found. I think you should leave her alone.” His eyes were glassy. He had been drinking along with her.
Paige could see, behind the couple, there were a few others who were also drinking. One guy scowled at her. That confirmed it.
“Perhaps, we’ll come back in the morning.”
“Good idea.” Connie’s boyfriend slammed the door.
As they walked down the steps, loud music poured out of the house.
Paige jacked a thumb over her shoulder. “Guess she found the medication to help her cope with what she’s been through.”
“It’s not her I’m worried about right now.”
“Jack?”
“Yeah, how’s he going to react when we tell him we didn’t speak to her tonight?”
She patted Zach’s shoulder and laughed. “Well, technically we did. We just didn’t get anywhere with her.”
Chapter 23
The next morning, w
e were in the hotel’s restaurant taking advantage of the continental breakfast. The spread of empty carbs was astonishing. There was a hot tray of scrambled eggs and one of pork breakfast sausage—I said no thanks to the latter.
My plate had appeared like I was on some sort of egg diet before I had scarfed it down like a man who wasn’t sure when his next meal would come. With it, I drank enough coffee to fuel a transport truck. Paige and Zachery pecked at their food, while Jack was finished and had an unlit cigarette perched between his lips.
“There wasn’t any sense in pushing a drunk woman to talk,” Paige said. Defensiveness was written on all her features, and her cheeks held a touch of pink. Somehow when she was charged up for a fight, she was even more attractive.
Jack removed the cigarette from his mouth and tapped one end on the table as if it were a pen. “I asked you to speak with her.”
“I understand that, and we tried.” She broke off a piece of her croissant and popped it into her mouth. It had me wanting to kiss the butter from her lips.
Her mouth formed a brief pout after she swallowed her food. “Jack, she wasn’t in any condition to talk to us. Trust us on that.”
Jack stopped tapping the cigarette.
No one else seemed to get away with speaking so directly to Jack. I wondered if it was because she was a woman or because she was Paige.
She filled in the silence. “We’ll go over there right after breakfast. It’s possible something shook loose overnight.”
“Hmm.”
“Jack, you understand. I know you do.”
His eyes slid from hers to mine, as if I were involved in what he viewed as a conspiracy.
“At least the kid and I made headway last night,” Jack said.
Paige put another piece of croissant in her mouth.
“Turns out the neighbor saw Clyde Ellis leave with another man.”
Zachery thrummed his fingers on his coffee mug. “So we have an ID?”
“Not even close, but we have a red Nissan.”
“A newer model,” I added.
“Did Ellis seem to know the person he left with?”
The Defenseless (Brandon Fisher FBI Series Book 3) Page 10
