Found Innocent

by Carolyn Arnold

  “It’s possible,” Madison said. “A lot of things are possible.” She addressed Higgins. “How many apartments are in this house?”

  “There are two rental properties. Hennessey lives on the main level, and a guy by the name of Elroy Bates rents the upstairs. He’s got a record. B&E. Got out a year ago after serving three years. We’ve gone to pick him up. He works at a gas bar down on Bakker Street.”

  “Anyone contact the property owner?”

  “No need. He’s the one who called us.”

  “He’s the green thumb who wanted to start the garden?” Terry asked.

  “Donald Giles. He got a ride downtown. You can talk to him there.”

  Madison glanced at Terry, who tapped the names into his new phone. She rolled her eyes. He had discovered the technology age recently and it replaced his traditional notepad. Madison didn’t put much faith in his new system. You could scribble something down so much faster.

  “Terry.”

  “What?” He kept tapping on the screen.

  Higgins smiled at Madison. The older guy knew her enough to know she wasn’t the largest fan of electronic gadgets. Some things were better done the traditional way. She snapped her fingers. “By the time you’re finished there, we’ll have caught the killer.”

  “And the problem with that?” He smiled at her.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Fine.” He snapped his phone back into its holder and pulled out a notepad. He held it tight to his chest, close to his face, a black pen poised over the lined sheet. She could picture him with small round reading glasses perched on the end of his nose.

  “Yes, boss. What can I do for you?”

  “Don’t be a smartass.” She smiled. “The names are Ralph Hennessey and Elroy Bates.”

  Terry wrote the names down.

  “Does Richards know the cause of death?”

  “Based on the hole in her head—”

  “Gunshot wound?”

  “Seems like it. Maybe even a .22. The .22 that had originally landed Hennessey behind bars was confiscated, but they’re easy to get on the street.”

  “Hopefully there’s still a bullet.” Madison patted Higgins’s arm on the way to the backyard.

  “Keep safe out there, Maddy.”

  “You too, Chief.”

  Terry leaned into Madison, “What about me? He didn’t tell me to be safe. Are you two involved and I don’t know about it?”

  “Seriously? The guy is the same age as my father. Now, if he were at least twenty years younger…maybe.” She laughed.

  The property seemed alive as Crime Scene crawled through every blade of grass. A barn-shaped shed was in a far corner. Mark Andrews, a CSI, was working through its contents.

  The back door of the house opened and Cynthia Baxter came out. She stood there as if she were lost in thought. She pulled her sunglasses down from her forehead where they had been positioned. The regular studious eyeglasses may have been replaced by contacts today, which meant she must have had a good night’s sleep.

  Madison waved to her, but her friend’s thoughts must have transported her focus. She didn’t respond but walked back inside the house.

  The shallow grave was in a garden that lined the property’s perimeter. The remains were on a black tarp to the side of the hole. Richards was braced beside the vic’s head.

  Madison addressed him. “Higgins said it was a gunshot to the head that may be the cause of death.”

  Richards looked up at her long enough to communicate his disgust that an officer would make that judgment. “I haven’t concluded yet.”

  Richards’s personality usually accommodated for some small talk and lightheartedness. Today he didn’t seem to be his normal self, although, Madison realized her approach could be what had changed the outcome. She had managed to insult his profession—something she had had no intention of doing.

  “How long do you think she’s been in there?” She remembered Higgins had mentioned Richards’s assessment, but she would hear it firsthand.

  Richards rose to his feet and squinted from the sunlight. “I’d say probably no longer than one month, but it’s hard to pinpoint exactly.”

  “Which means we’ll need to find last witnesses who saw her alive,” Terry said.

  Madison looked down at the woman. “First we need to figure out exactly who she is.” There was dried blood caked with dirt around her mouth. “Gunshot to the mouth.”

  “Appears that way.” Richards bent back down and opened the vic’s jaw.

  Madison looked inside her mouth. A few of the front teeth were broken off, likely from impact. “It looks like a small caliber. Like a .22.”

  “Possible.”

  “If that’s the case, we probably won’t have a bullet to trace. It would have fragmented in her brain, especially at such a close range.” Madison noticed the muzzle burn around her mouth.

  “Hopefully we can find the casing.” Terry looked around the yard.

  “First, we’ll need the scene of the crime.” Madison kept her eyes on the woman. She appeared anorexic. Her hipbones extruded from under her skin. She made an assessment based on the demographics of the area. “Drug addict?”

  “My first thoughts on the matter, yes, but I didn’t see any visible signs at first. Until…” Richards moved down the body and separated two of her toes to expose the center of them. There was a definite puncture mark. “This is where she shot up. I’ll be requesting a tox panel on her to narrow in on exactly what she was into.”

  Madison noticed a rose tattoo on her ankle.

  Richards pointed to abrasions on her knuckles. “It also looks like she may have been in a bit of a struggle. I don’t typically like to speculate. I’d say it looks like a suicide, but—”

  “So she killed herself.” Madison glanced at the hole in the ground and back to Terry. “But how did she bury herself?”

  -

  Chapter 4

  MADISON STEPPED INSIDE THE HOUSE WITH TERRY. She had expected it to be messy and unclean, based on the judgment of a lifestyle. “And we’re sure she didn’t live here?”

  “Are you implying that only women can be clean freaks?”

  “My thoughts were on their way of life. Drugs and domestic violence. Their minds are not organized. I’m surprised this place is. Seems out of character.”

  Terry walked toward the couch.“What are you thinking?”

  “She could have been made to keep it clean and he’s been gone since he buried her.”

  “Quite possible. We’ll have to find out when he was last seen. Hopefully, the neighbors can help us out with that.”

  The house was boxy, with all the rooms being the same—square with small windows. Nothing was unique from an architectural standpoint. A small dinette table was to the right, with a galley-style kitchen. To the left, a couch was used as a separator between the living room and kitchen. A narrow walkway went between the two spaces, to a hallway that led to a bathroom and bedroom. The flooring was original hardwood and worn with age. The furniture was also old but kept clean.

  Madison glanced at the kitchen sink. No dishes. She had the feeling her first assessment was right. Hennessey took off right after burying Lacy.

  “Think my parents had a couch like this.” Terry gestured to the tweed stripe. “Brings back memories.” He moved through the room to the back corner. “There’s some dust on this TV.”

  Madison moved into the area. The TV was a relic and rabbit ears protruded from the top of it.

  “So far I don’t see any traces of a woman living here at all, but he could have taken her clothing and other belongings and sold them for drug money,” Terry said.

  “There has to be more to this. What could she own worth selling? Why kill her?”

  “You didn’t see her fingernails when Richards held up her hands?
They were manicured. I should know what that looks like—”

  “Personal experience?” Madison laughed.

  “Annabelle goes on and on about her day at the spa—when I let her go.”

  “When you let her?”

  “Anyway, the paint on her nails wasn’t that badly chipped.”

  Madison thought of the recoil. “Which means you don’t think she fired the gun?”

  “High-end polish and she likely had a manicure not long before she killed herself.”

  “We’ve got a woman buried in the backyard, a bullet to the brain, department store clothing, manicured nails, and a deadbeat boyfriend who is on the run. Why would she paint her nails to pull a trigger?”

  Terry rubbed the back of his neck. “Good question but I’m thinking, based on this neighborhood, the girl had a sugar daddy.”

  “You’re thinking a staged suicide? That could be motive.”

  “Yeah, looking at it either way. Hennessey didn’t want anyone else to have her—”

  “Or she holds leverage over her sugar daddy,” Madison finished Terry’s sentence.

  Terry nodded. “Could be, or maybe he was just sick of her. She was always looking for a high. Most men can only enjoy a party for so long.”

  “You should have said can only keep up with it for so—” Madison stopped talking when Cynthia came up the hall.

  “I found the scene of our crime.” Cynthia held onto her camera even though it hung from a strap around her neck. “In the bedroom.”

  The room held a small dresser, a double-sized bed, a simple nightstand, and a wooden chair in the corner.

  Cynthia pointed toward the chair. “Luminol showed positive for blood. She was shot sitting right there.”

  Madison nodded toward Cynthia’s collection kit. “Won’t any DNA be useless?”

  Cynthia looked at Madison, insulted by the implication, as written in her expression. “We had no real idea where the vic was murdered. We only had the confines of this house being of primary interest. I started spraying higher plausible areas.”

  Her friend was in a mood this morning. Madison wasn’t going to press why a chair in a bedroom would be a probable area.

  Cynthia continued. “And, for the record, we use this new formula that does not alter the DNA, thereby allowing for genotyping. I’ve already collected some swabs. Hopefully, it connects us to the vic and we can confirm this as the primary.”

  “Lacy,” Madison corrected.

  “What?”

  “That’s what Higgins said her name was.” Madison surveyed the bedroom. The bed was made in a fashion that would have made the military proud. Madison put on a pair of latex gloves and opened a drawer in the nightstand. “It’s so clean in here I’m surprised there isn’t a Bible.”

  The furnace kicked in and the ductwork rattled.

  “Do you hear that?” Terry asked.

  “It’s an older house.” Cynthia worked the strap and the camera over her head and put it in her collection case.

  “I’m not talking about the standard rush of air. There’s a ticking sound coming through the vents.” Terry moved to a heat vent situated about four feet in front of the chair. “Cyn, take the grate off.”

  She looked at him as if to indicate she wasn’t anyone’s slave.

  “You’re already gloved up.”

  “Uh-huh.” Cynthia bent down, took off the grate and reached inside.

  “Feel anything?”

  Cynthia pulled her hand up and looked at it. “Spotless house I give it that. Not one hair.” She put her hand back down. The rattling continued. “There’s got to be something—” She came out with her fingers pinched around something. Her face lit into a smile. “A shell casing and it’s from a .22. I’ll have to send it away to have it processed for prints. It may take a while.”

  “Send it away?” Madison moved closer.

  “Well, there’s a technique to reveal the impressions but it involves a special machine which passes high volts of electricity through the metal. It also utilizes a fine conducting powder. I won’t get into the scientific details.”

  “Why should it be easy? And the bullet in her head’s going to be useless for striations, but Sam could obtain grooves and impressions made from the firing pin on the casing to match a gun.”

  Samantha Reid worked in the lab and specialized in firearms and ballistics.

  Cynthia held up the bullet casing as if it were a trophy. “Yes, she can.”

  -

  Chapter 5

  DONALD GILES SAT IN INTERROGATION room one looking like he had lost his dog. A cup, still full of coffee, sat in front of him. His balding round head came to a comical point at the base of his chin.

  Madison and Terry were standing outside the room looking in with Officer Tendum, who had brought Giles in.

  “His official statement is that he didn’t do it and he never saw the girl before,” Tendum said.

  Madison kept her eyes on the older man behind the glass. “They all say that.”

  Tendum was still working through his probationary period but seemed to give the impression he should be exempt from it. Madison had run-ins with him before. She brushed past him. “Coming, Terry?”

  “I had nothing to do with it. I told your man there.” Giles pointed a finger toward the mirrorpane. “Did he tell you?”

  Madison disregarded him and made the formal introductions. “You found the woman, correct?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “It’s your property at nine twenty-three Weber Street, correct?”

  His brows pressed downward. “I don’t see—”

  “You’re legally responsible for your property, Mr. Giles.”

  “I never saw her before.” He started shaking and wheezing. His one hand gripped at his chest.

  Terry moved toward him, and the older man waved him off.

  “Asthma, I’m used to it.” Giles looked at Madison. “I’d have no reason to kill her. I don’t even know who she is.” He paused, heaving for breath and reached into a pocket to pull out an inhaler. “How could I anyway? My health is in the crapper.”

  “Not bad enough that you can’t use a shovel. Isn’t that how you found her?” Madison placed implication on the word found.

  He glared at her and put the inhaler on the table. “This is entrapment.”

  “We’re looking for the answers.”

  “I thought I’d do a garden this year and get an early start. Figures, with my luck.” He inhaled from his puffer. “I couldn’t beat her and bury her.”

  Madison glanced at Terry. She had picked up on a couple of things. One, either Giles didn’t know how the girl had died or he had mentioned a beating to throw them off. And two, she remembered clearly what Higgins had said—Ralph Hennessey beat on her. Madison took a shot on the latter line of reasoning.

  “You do know who she is.”

  “I—” He took another inhale from his puffer and caught his breath. “I assume.”

  Madison kept quiet and worked him over with steady eye contact. Sometimes silence was more powerful than words.

  “All right, I saw a girl there before. At Ralph Hennessey’s. I tried to overlook it.”

  “Why?”

  His eyes fell downcast. “It doesn’t matter. They paid the rent on time. Not many do these days.”

  Madison wasn’t buying it. Giles was afraid of Hennessey. “We didn’t find any evidence to show a woman lived there with him.”

  “Don’t know what to tell ya then. She was there any time I came by to collect rent. Once she had a black eye. Said she fell. I knew better, but what am I supposed to do, ya know? Pretty girl. Too skinny, though.”

  Madison passed Terry a glance and they stepped into the observation room.

  “So, she was covering for Hennessey. She loved him. She cou
ld have been manipulated into pulling the trigger.” It sounded like a stretch of the imagination, but Madison verbalized it anyhow.

  “And once she did, it was about getting rid of the evidence. Hennessey likely subscribed to the philosophy that if he couldn’t have her, no one could.”

  “You’re thinking of her nails?” Madison asked.

  “Yeah. I think she had an upper-crust connection and wanted to move on with her life.”

  “Upper crust?”

  “You’re going to pick on my wording right now?”

  Madison raised a shoulder.

  “Anyway, Hennessey has a record. I think he found out about another man, told her she was worthless, maybe even dared her to pull the trigger on herself. Let’s not forget the defensive wounds either.”

  “I agree. I’m beginning to think she may have pulled the trigger, but it wasn’t her idea.”

  -

  Chapter 6

  THEY RELEASED DONALD GILES, who seemed more than eager to leave the station. He looked like he was longing for a drink and his eyes sagged with the stress of his day.

  Madison and Terry entered the interrogation room where the upstairs tenant, Elroy Bates, sat wearing a black hoody. Bates was as black as night and had dreadlocks. The stereotypes became that for a reason—sometimes they held truth.

  Bates slid his bottom lip through his teeth. “I don’t understand why I was dragged down here. I ain’t do nothing.”

  Madison noted that he wasn’t very articulate and slipped into a chair opposite him. “A body was found in your backyard.”

  “It’s not just my backyard, dawg.” Bates balled a fist. “See RH yet?”

  “RH?”

  “Ralph Hennessey, the tenant from downstairs?” Bates rolled his eyes back hard enough Madison wondered if they’d return.

  “We’re looking for him. Until then, we’re talking with you. Do you—”

  “Talking to me, don’t you mean? I know how all this shit works. Blame it on the black guy.” He slapped his chest.