A Tisket A Casket

by Liliana Hart

  “I’m still furious about that gun shot.” Hank greeted her.

  “Me too. Let’s keep our eyes open and heads low,” She pretended to duck bullets.

  “Deal.” He smiled behind dark shades.

  “Lord, I’ve been up for hours,” she said, taking the coffee. “I couldn’t get my mind to shut off after Chafee texted last night and said he’d put the gun in the dumpster behind the Chinese restaurant. I’m ready to meet Ranger Will and get this thing going. Maybe we can get him to retrieve the gun so we don’t have to experience that smell again.”

  “Ranger Will?” Hank asked.

  “He reminds me of Howdy Doody, or like he should be hosting a kids’ TV show.” She mused.

  “He’s an expert marksman and has commendations out the wazoo. I wouldn’t make it a point of getting on his bad side.”

  “I never get on anyone’s bad side,” she said. “I’m adorable.”

  “Debatable,” Hank said. “Stop looking at your tea like that and pay attention to the road. I’ve never met anyone who has a tea obsession like you.”

  “It’s life’s elixir. I’m pretty sure I’d die without it. Or at least be really cranky all the time. I’ve texted Chafee twice this morning, but he hasn’t replied. Should we be worried?”

  “It’s eight o’clock in the morning. Why would be worried?”

  “Intuition. I think he’s maybe gotten in over his head trying to play both sides of the field. We’re the good guys and we know what he’s doing with eyes wide open. We understand he’s got to protect himself. But Tony’s going to do whatever it takes to cover his own rear.”

  “We’ll give him a chance to keep doing the right thing until he doesn’t. So far he’s come through for us.”

  “You’re right,” she said. “There’s something different about you this morning. You’ve got a glow about you.”

  “I can feel it coming to an end.”

  “I think you’re excited to see Dr. Rusk. Maybe you should give her one of those notes with the check boxes so she can mark yes or no if she likes you.”

  “Shut up and drive, Aggie.”

  “Grumpy. It must be love.”

  They pulled into the rear parking lot of the Chinese restaurant, and the dumpster was piled extra high. There was a swarm of flies, and Hank felt his gorge rise at the thought of wading into the mess. He’d rather deal with a hundred bodies than go dumpster diving.

  It was almost nine o’clock, and there was still no word from Chafee. He was starting to worry.

  “Maybe he skipped town,” Agatha suggested.

  “He’s the fire marshal. Where’s he going to go?”

  Agatha shrugged.

  “We might as well get out and start looking,” Hank said. “Can’t chance the garbage truck won’t pass today. Goodness knows it needs to. We used to have rookies do this stuff for us.”

  “Looks like you’re the rookie now. I’ll apologize ahead of time if I throw up on you.”

  “You can wait in the Jeep if you want,” he said.

  “No, we’re partners. As much as I want to take you up on that offer, I’m going to suffer through it with you.”

  Hank dug around in his bag and handed Agatha a bandana. “Tie it over your face. Maybe it’ll help with the smell some.”

  They got out of the Jeep and started combing the area. It was like looking for a needle in a haystack. As the sun came out and the morning faded, the heat made the smell worse. If that was possible.

  “It’s not out here,” Hank said, wiping the sweat off his brow. He chugged water from one of the bottles stocked in the Jeep.

  “You think this was a set up?” Agatha asked.

  “I don’t know. My instincts say he was being tested, but he’s legitimate in his profile. I’m worried like you are.”

  Hank decided to text Coil.

  No gun found. Think it was a setup.

  Coil texted back.

  Turn on your news. It’s everywhere. Chafee dead. Be careful.

  Hank called Agatha over and showed him the text messages.

  “Ohmigosh,” Agatha said. “Someone must have followed him after he hid the gun and taken it. Then they tracked him down and killed him.”

  Hank let out a flurry curses. “Let’s get over to the coroner’s office. Maybe Will can get a K9 team out here to look for the gun, just in case we missed it.”

  He crumpled the empty bottle in his fist and threw it at the cluttered dumpster, but it fell out onto the ground.

  “You missed,” she teased.

  “Not today, Aggie.”

  “But you never miss, or at least that’s what you claim.”

  “I tossed that stick of gum in your mouth from across the room didn’t I?” Hank defended himself.

  “In all fairness, I moved my head.”

  “Whatever. I bet you I can put that bottle in that gap right there.” Hank pointed at the side of the dumpster.

  “You’re on, sassy pants.”

  He sighed and went over to the water bottle to pick it up. When he bent over something caught his eye.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Lookie here. Chafee came through after all.” He knelt in a puddle of something, but it didn’t matter. He reached between the dumpster and an old bicycle rack. The handle of the Colt .45 caliber, model 1911 pistol was barely visible as it had been concealed by the wrappings of a vape-cigarette package.

  “Give me your bandana,” he said.

  Hank used it to pick up the .45.

  “Thank God,” she said. “Poor Chafee.”

  “He died a hero,” Hank said. When he stood back up he held the .45 in one hand and the water bottle in the other.

  “Umm…” Agatha said. “What’s going on with that bottle?”

  Hank beamed in a coat of sweat and a ray of pride.

  “A bet’s a bet, Aggie.”

  She scoffed, “We got more important things to do, Hank.”

  Hank hurled the water bottle over his head in a classic hook shot. A trickle of the water that had remained in the bottle sprinkled in an arc as the bottle lofted across his head and sailed through the morning’s mist of back alley mosquitos and funk. Neither spoke as he sucked in a slight huff of air. The bottle spun slowly across the divide. It landed softly, soundly and certainly into the small gap Hank had identified.

  “Bam. Now pay up, baby.”

  “Baby?” Agatha sneered. “Nice shot, let’s go.”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Hank chuckled as he withdrew his weapon from the holster.

  Agatha ducked behind the Jeep.

  “What’s going on?” she whispered.

  “Just being very cautious. Someone wants this gun back really bad. Bad enough to kill for it.” He spoke quietly. “We need to get over to meet Will right now. Don’t let anyone stop you from driving that Jeep right to her front door. Even if you have to drive through them. Can you do that?”

  “I can do anything if it means taking that jerk Tony down,” Agatha said.

  It was close to ten when Agatha skidded into the coroner’s back parking lot. He’d called Will ahead of time and let him know they were on the way. Will was waiting for them, providing protection for the area.

  “Sorry it took us so long,” Hank said, once they were safely inside. “We almost gave up on finding it.”

  “No worries,” Will said. “Anna and I got to know each other a little better. Sorry to hear about Chafee.”

  “Us too,” Hank said.

  “His body should’ve come here,” Rusk said, “But they opted to have the medical examiner in Dallas do the job. They don’t want me anywhere near it. They know I helped y’all.”

  “At least we’ve got the pistol,” Hank said.

  “I’m waiting to hear from the ATF to see if this weapon has any history. The serial number will allow them to know who bought it, and if it was sold.” Will said.

  “Yeah, once they use acid to get down to the stamped serial number. This one has been obliterated.” Hank hand
ed it to Will.

  “And the plot thins,” whistled Agatha.

  “We’ve still got to get that handcuffs,” Rusk said.

  “That’s where I run out of ideas,” Will exhaled.

  “Don’t you think if this weapon is registered to Tony, and was what he used in the police academy and during his short term with the police department, that we could get a subpoena for the handcuffs?” Hank asked.

  “You’re talking about post-conviction relief and not an active criminal investigation, Hank,” Agatha said.

  “Officially,” Will said, “They’ve already convicted the guilty person. The fact that he pled guilty doesn’t help our case either, but it’s only active because we’re looking at it. And because Nick Dewey pulled enough strings to have the governor assign me to you.”

  “I’m not going to stop until we get a confession from Tony,” Hank said.

  “I wouldn’t expect you to. I’d better get going,” Will said. “We need proof of ballistics to back up the serial number if it comes back as a match. I’m heading to the State’s regional lab to test fire this thing.”

  “Will?” Agatha called out.

  He glanced back over his shoulder. “Yes, ma’am?”

  “Be careful. They’ve killed twice already.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Thursday

  Beth, Dr. Rusk’s young receptionist sat bundled in a blanket at her desk. Hank could see her shivering beneath the covers.

  “Is there nothing that can be done about the cold?” Hank asked.

  “Turnover is high in this job because of it,” she said. “But I’m tough. Dr. Rusk said the place is old, but until they insulate the building the way they should and give her proper autopsy rooms, we have to keep it this cold to maintain the integrity of the bodies.”

  “You’re a trooper,” he said.

  “I guess it evens out,” she said. “My second job is in an old warehouse attic area. It can get hot as heck. Fortunately, I just run in and out of there cataloguing stuff, so I don’t have to stay too long in the heat. I’m surprised I’m not sick all the time.”

  “What kind of stuff do you catalogue?”

  “Evidence,” Beth chirped.

  Hank’s gut twisted. “Evidence? What kind of evidence is there to sort out?”

  “You know. Crimes and stuff. I catalogue the evidence. A lot of it is junk, but the sergeant says we gotta hold onto it in case somebody claims it or the prosecutor wants it for trial. It’s really a bunch of clutter that they keep piling in there. They pay me to go in and organize it all.”

  “Does Dr. Rusk know about this?” Hank asked.

  Beth shrugged. “I told her I had a second job. I work three evenings a week and on Saturday mornings. She never asked what it was. You think she’ll be mad?”

  “No. I commend you for the hard work.”

  “The heat isn’t nearly as bad as the rats,” she volunteered.

  “Rats? Don’t they have it locked up tight?”

  Hank felt a twinge of guilt for walking this innocent girl down a path of revealing the city’s secrets, but if she knew about it, then others knew about it.

  “They said once the budget allows for more money, they’ll fix it up. But for now it’s not really what I’d call a secure facility. Some of those holes are big enough for a whole army of rats to get through. The sergeant says it’s mostly piles of junk nobody needs anymore.”

  “When do you go back to work there?”

  “Normally I’d go in tonight, but with the game tomorrow, I’m off until Monday.”

  “Who else works out there?”

  She laughed lightly.

  “No one, silly. It’s just an old abandoned warehouse. It’s too hot for all day staffing.”

  “I’ve enjoyed our talk,” Hank said. “They’re probably wondering where I am.”

  He told her goodbye and used the temporary badge Anna had given him to get back to the secured area. Rusk and Agatha were inside pouring over the files again.

  “Glad you’re back,” Agatha said. “Look at this.” She shoved the photo of the handcuffs at him that they’d looked at the day before, but she handed him a magnifying glass.

  “I noticed what looked like etchings, or serial numbers on the handcuffs. Is that what they are? Any chance of that number coming back to a person?” she asked.

  “Aggie, that’s brilliant. Those were not Smith and Wesson cuffs. They were the Peerless brand. The serial numbers are lot-batch numbers. We could trace them to where they were distributed. For example, if the Rio Chino PD purchased in bulk, they’d be listed on the lot-batch. We can send the number to an old friend of mine who works for Peerless,” Hank said. “They’re based in Springfield, Massachusetts. I’m sure it’s just a quick database search.”

  Hank swallowed hard and knew what he was about to propose could affect friendships. “Do either of you believe that there is an area of gray within the law?” he asked.

  “I think there’s room for discretion,” Rusk said, “But never a place for corruption.”

  “Agreed.” Agatha said.

  “How far can you bend the law before breaking it?” He asked.

  “It would depend on your perception of the law. A child, for example, doesn’t know it and cannot be expected to strictly adhere to it.” Rusk said.

  “I’m not talking about children,” he said.

  “I’m not either, but I’m giving you the benefit of the doubt.” Rusk glared at him.

  Hank saw that Agatha wanted nothing to do with the debate. He understood that what he’d do. He’d do alone. He was okay with that. The sense of liberation to work as far to one side of the spirit of the law as he chose as a civilian was an overpowering moment. While he wasn’t adverse to bending the law that he’d served, he’d never break it.

  “I’ve got something to do. How about I meet y’all back here later?”

  “Hank,” Agatha said. “What are you getting yourself into?”

  “The right thing. Trust me. I’ll be back soon.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Thursday

  “Turn here,” Hank said.

  “Where are we going?”

  “We’re about to take a walk,” Hank said.

  Agatha didn’t look convinced.

  “Trust me,” Hank said. “Just a walk.”

  His phone buzzed and he looked at the number. It was Nick Dewey.

  “Nick, how fast can that fancy bird get you to San Antonio? I got a message from Sheriff Coil that he spoke with the police chief who got fired for asking too many questions about Julie’s murder. He has a boat load of files and backup records. I need everything on Tony’s short career as a cop. And look for inventory and equipment assignment sheets.”

  Nick confirmed the task and then hung up.

  Hank motioned for Agatha to ease off the old road that paralleled the railroad. Miller’s Row had seen its better days and made Hank glad they were in the Jeep. Rocks and branches snapped beneath the knobby tires. Trees covered what looked like an old path into the rear of what was the temporary police evidence warehouse. He’d gotten the address from Beth before they’d left.

  “What are we doing here, Hank?” she stopped the Jeep and put it in park.

  “Let me be very clear once again,” he said. “This is what I’m doing. If you come along, it just means that I am doing something and you are walking where I am doing it. It’s cleaner that way.”

  “Okay, where am I walking while you’re doing whatever you’re doing?”

  “You’ll see.”

  They began a stroll through the thicket of trees. Fall in Texas wasn’t anything like where he was from. Most of the trees still had their leaves, and there was only the slightest hint that they might change colors.

  “Up there to the right,” Hank said.

  “What is?” she asked. “Oh, never mind. I forgot I was only walking.”

  “That’s the spirit,” he said.

  They came upon an old
, two-story barn-like structure that looked long abandoned. There was a lock on the double front door, but a window on the second floor was missing.

  “I really hope you’re not bringing me out here to kill me,” Agatha said.

  “Rest that imagination of yours.” He smiled.

  “Thanks.”

  “Not this time.” He made a crazy face.

  “Oh, good,” she said dryly. “You had me worried.”

  “This is where the police department stores their old evidence and recovered property. Most is probably junk, but I’ve gotta know if those cuffs are out here.”

  “I thought they’d be in the prosecutor’s office.” She commented.

  “Do you know how much stuff is stored as evidence? Most cities could take up three or four super Wal-Marts with stuff. Vehicles, boats…you name it and cops stash it. The prosecutor isn’t going to keep decades of stuff in their fancy office downtown.”

  “But would they really stick it out here?”

  “You’d be surprised. It’s been ten years.”

  He led her up a set of stairs that ran alongside the building. They shimmied around an old balcony and then swung a leg across a gap and into the open window. They both understood the consequences of falling or getting hurt. It would be the fire department’s job to respond. They’d be screwed.

  “Are we breaking and entering?” Agatha looked around once she was on a solid floor.

  “Did you break anything to enter?”

  “I guess it’s all in the interpretation. Let’s look and leave as fast as we can, okay? I’m a writer, not a burglar.”

  “Deal. I don’t want to be here any longer than we have to. My allergies are about to start up.”

  “I’m going to start calling you bubble boy,” Agatha said. “This is Texas. Everyone has allergies. Go and get a shot for them like a normal person.”

  “Now you tell me,” he said.

  “Where do we start?” She raised her hands.

  “Evidence is usually categorized by year, then month, and finally by date. Let’s start back here.”

  Hank made his way to the far, opposite corner of the cluttered upstairs loft. He didn’t know how long they’d been looking when Agatha let out a gasp. She was holding a shoebox-sized plastic container with a faded strip of masking tape that had the date they were looking for labeled on it.