Davonte didn’t answer, but nodded, still bouncing the ball on occasion. Ronnie walked up and the two young men exchanged a look. Punch saw it and continued. “Miles was telling you he had guys to answer to, and that if he didn’t pay, they were going to come down on him, right?”
“Well, yeah.”
“Yeah. And you were the last one to see him before he disappeared, right?”
“Wrong,” Davonte said. “Whoever killed him was, cop.”
Punch watched both Davonte and Ronnie. “I didn’t say anything about him being killed.”
“What?” Davonte asked.
“What makes you think he was killed?”
“I don’t know, man!” Davonte shook his head.
Punch turned from Davonte to Ronnie. “Ronnie, I’m glad to see you here. I need to ask you and Davonte here for a little favor.”
“What’s that?” Ronnie asked. Davonte merely looked at him.
“Well, it sounds like we might be able to collect some DNA off of a watch cap that was found near Kaiden’s body. You know anything about that?”
“No,” Davonte said.
“So, we shouldn’t find your DNA on that hat, should we?”
“No reason to.”
“You never touched it?”
“Nope.”
“That’ll make it easy, then. We took dozens of other swabs, as well. Now, police work can be quite complicated, but I like to keep things simple. Rather than an investigative genius like you see on television, I work backwards. I rule everyone out, and whoever is left is my suspect.”
“So he was killed,” Davonte said. “Why are you screwing with my head, man?”
Punch ignored the question. “The quickest way to rule you guys out will be to see that your DNA was not at the scene. I just happened to have brought a little kit that will enable me to take your DNA so I can get it to the lab and rule you out,” Punch said. “Davonte? What do you say?”
“Sure, man.” Davonte shrugged. “Ain’t got nothing to hide.”
“Great. Ronnie, what say you? Want to give me a little sample so I can rule you out?”
“I don’t know . . . Maybe I should call my dad.” Ronnie hesitated.
“Maybe you should.” Punch nodded. “Tell him to meet us down at the station, would you?”
“What? Why?”
“Well, if I’ve got to go to the trouble of talking with a lawyer, I might as well have you in the station so I can get everything recorded. If we’re gonna get the lawyers involved, I gotta do things right, you know?”
While Davonte opened his mouth and Punch obtained a swab, Ronnie watched closely, obviously thinking. “Okay. Thanks, Davonte,” Punch said. “Ronnie, you ready to head downtown?”
“Just do it,” Ronnie said.
“Why, thank you. I’m sure your father would be proud. By the way, any reason for your DNA to be on that hat?” Punch extracted the swab from the kit. “Say, ‘ah.’”
“I don’t think so,” Ronnie said. “I mean, I don’t know why it would be.”
“Good,” Punch said. After he had taken Ronnie’s sample and put it into its protective pouch, he put both pouches in a little bag and wrote his name across a piece of tape that covered the opening. “By the way, Davonte, where are you playing this weekend?”
“Colorado, I think. Thanksgiving tourney down there.”
“Well, same rules. You can go to Colorado for hoops, but other than that, stay around here, okay?” Punch instructed. “And same for you, Ronnie,” he added.
The Custer County Civic Center had proven to be a wise investment. The buildings were multi-purpose and hosted everything from state basketball tournaments to concerts. Tonight’s event was a charity Thanksgiving gala, and as Sam opened the door for Veronica, he heard the buzz of the crowd and felt his stomach tighten.
“Should we have a plan in case something goes wrong?” Veronica asked.
“No. Everything will be fine,” Sam said.
“Well, I’m so happy you agreed to come,” she said. “Let’s just relax and have fun. We won’t stay long, I promise.”
“I hear you.”
“Come on, I want you to meet some people. Maybe you can find someone to go fishing with.”
“I like to fish alone,” he said, helping her take off her coat.
“You like to do everything alone,” she countered, and then waved at some people across the big room. “Will you get me a drink? I see someone I need to talk to.”
“Of course,” he said. He headed to the bar and was waiting for the bartender to pour Veronica’s Moscato when a couple of drunks lined up behind him, talking loudly and profanely. One had on a leather vest adorned with what looked to be motorcycle club colors; the other wore a button-down shirt, jeans, and boots. They were already loaded, and already loud. Sam felt himself getting irritated and took a deep breath. He was self-conscious in his suit and sensed a trickle of sweat under his arms. When he finally got his drinks and turned away from the portable bar, the biker said to Sam, “Only guys in this town wearing suits are undertakers, lawyers, or dead!”
Sam simply looked at the man, who was looking at his buddy and laughing. “Excuse me,” Sam said, and attempted to move past the two men. The cowboy stepped in front of Sam, blocking his path to Veronica. Sam felt his heart rate begin to quicken. He looked the cowboy in the eye and said levelly, “Excuse me.”
“Yeah, we heard you the first time, buddy.”
“And I’m not going to say it again,” Sam replied, looking from one to the other. He stepped forward, expecting trouble, but to his relief, both men stepped aside.
“We’ll talk with you later, buddy,” the biker said.
“Look forward to it,” Sam replied.
After dinner had been served and the silent auction had been declared over, the tables were cleared and the band began playing. Veronica looked at Sam. “Are you going to ask me to dance?”
“I don’t dance. I didn’t dance when I had two legs. I’m not going to try it now.”
“Oh, God,” she said, and put her hand over her mouth. “The wine. I’m sorry.”
“No problem.”
“Would you mind if I dance with someone else?”
“Go for it,” Sam said. “I need to use the little boys’ room.” Moments later, he re-entered the ballroom and saw Veronica two-stepping with the cowboy. He’d always wanted to learn but had never taken the time, and then he’d gotten blown up. Seeing her with the cowboy made Sam unaccountably irritable, and he got in the bar line for another cola. When his turn came, he ordered a double whiskey. Downing it without leaving the line, he ordered another.
The bartender raised her eyebrows. “You driving?”
“Nope,” Sam said. “I’ve got a ride.”
“Too bad,” she replied, pushing the plastic glass across the small bar to him. “Something changes, let me know.”
Sam smiled at her and drank the contents of the glass. “One more time.”
Returning to his table with his drink, he sat down and felt the warmth from the whiskey emanating from his throat and stomach down through his leg to his foot. For the first time in weeks he felt like he could breathe. The band was covering an old Keith Whitley ballad and it sounded good. He was comfortably numb and sipping the amber liquid from the third double when Veronica returned to the table, accompanied by the cowboy and the biker.
“Sam, I’d like you to meet Rocky and Levi. I went to school with them,” she said. “Rocky and Levi, this is Sam, my . . . friend.”
Sam stood and shook hands with each. “We’ve met, sort of.” He sat back down and took a long pull from his drink.
“Sam, are you drinking?” Veronica asked. “You told me you wouldn’t.”
“Things changed,” Sam said.
“Oh, Sam, I wish you wouldn’t!”
“And I wish you’d leave me alone,” he said.
“Hey, now, that ain’t no way to talk to her,” the cowboy said, stepping forward and looming
over Sam.
“I need you to step back,” Sam said. “You’re making me uncomfortable.”
“Am I? Well, what are you going to do about it? I mean, Veronica here tells me you’re a real live American hero. That true, boy?”
“Seriously, I just need you to get out of my space. Please,” Sam said quietly. The blood was rushing in his ears and he could hear his heart pounding. His vision had narrowed like he was looking through a rangefinder. He felt his skin tightening and the hair on the back of his neck standing on end.
“Veronica, I need to leave now,” Sam said, attempting to stand.
“Sam—” she began.
“Where you goin’?” the cowboy asked. He pushed Sam back down in his chair and moved toward him. The limited vision Sam had earlier was gone. When he opened his eyes, the cowboy was on his back with his eyes wide open. He wasn’t moving. Veronica and the biker were staring at Sam, eyes wide with fear. People throughout the hall had gone quiet. Some were slowly coming to surround Sam, Veronica, the biker, and the cowboy to see what had happened. Sam was seeing stars, and he felt faint.
“I’m a cop. What happened?” It was Goodrich. Sam recognized him but couldn’t think of his name.
“Levi pushed Sam,” Veronica said. “And Sam, well, he—he beat him up.”
Goodrich looked at Rocky. “That what happened?”
“Yeah, I guess,” the biker said. “It happened kinda fast. Look, Officer, Levi was just funnin’ around. This guy’s freakin’ crazy! He’s dangerous!”
“Is that what happened, Mr. Johnstone?” Goodrich turned to Sam.
“I think so,” Sam answered. “I, uh, I didn’t mean it,” he added, rubbing his right hand with his left. “He was pushing me and I got . . . scared, I guess.”
“Anyone call 911?” Goodrich asked, looking around. Seeing several heads nod, he put a hand on Sam’s shoulder and said, “Let’s you and me go for a walk, okay?”
Sam and Goodrich spent a few minutes in the civic center office, the officer getting Sam’s version of events. Satisfied, Goodrich stood. “Well, it sounds like you had a right to defend yourself given you were afraid and all. But I gotta tell you, knocking Levi out like that, well, that’s not gonna make any fans.”
“I understand,” Sam said. “Look, I need to get out there and grab Veronica and get her home.”
“You okay to drive?”
“Oh yeah. That was a buzzkill.”
A smile creased Goodrich’s face. “I’ve been there,” he said. “But seriously, Sam—can I call you Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“You’ve got to get some help.”
Back in the ballroom, Sam looked for Veronica. Her purse and coat were no longer at the table. “You looking for Veronica?” It was the bartender who’d served him earlier. She was bussing tables now.
“Yes.”
“She left with Rocky while you were with the deputy.” Picking up the dish-covered plastic tray, she asked him, “You sure you don’t need a ride?”
“Sam, I’ve been thinking,” Paul said. It had been two days since they last discussed the firm’s finances. They were in his office with the door closed. “About the bottom line, I mean.”
“Yeah?” Sam rubbed the sore knuckles of his right hand with his left.
“Yeah. Look, you know John Francis?”
“I think we’ve met. He’s an older guy, right?”
“Yeah, I think he might be seventy or so. Anyway, he is getting ready to retire and he called me and was asking if we’d take over some of his clients. I assured him we would. He does a lot of real estate, estate planning, things like that. And the school district keeps him on retainer,” Paul said. “Around here, most school districts aren’t busy enough to employ counsel, so they keep an attorney on retainer. In Custer County, John’s the guy. He’s been the guy for twenty-five years. Knows that stuff inside out.”
“And?”
“Well, Sam, I told him you might be interested in taking on that contract.”
“Paul, I don’t know anything about school law,” Sam said. “That’s getting pretty complicated, isn’t it?”
“Oh, hell yeah. Between Americans with Disabilities Act, mainstreaming kids with no business being in a regular class, food allergies, bullying, and guns in school, not to mention contracts and normal human resources challenges and all that stuff, it’s a bitch.”
“Stuff I know nothing about,” Sam said, sipping from a cup of coffee. He winced, thinking Levi might have gotten a shot in.
“Sam, you could learn. They’ll send you to school. Three weeks, on their dime.”
“Damn, Paul, I don’t know.” Sam spread his hands. It hurt to do that.
“Sam, this account would almost cover expenses by itself every month.”
“Yeah, but what about medical expenses?”
“Whattaya mean?”
“I might stick a pencil in my eye. I’d hate it.” Sam put the cup down on Paul’s desk.
“Damn it, Sam, you’re not paying your fair share of expenses! I come to you with a solution and you’re dismissing it out of hand. That’s bullshit!” Paul pounded the desk with his hand.
“Whoa! Wait a minute, Paul,” Sam said. “I really don’t want to do this. You can understand that, right?”
“I can, yeah. But you need to understand that you’ve got to cover. I appreciate you helping vets and doing some criminal stuff. I’ve allowed it, but that’s not paying the rent.”
“I’m your partner now, Paul.”
“I understand that, but we still get a little say in the other guy’s practice, right?”
“Right,” Sam said, standing.
“Look, Sam. This is an opportunity to represent a great client, make some money, and do good things for kids in the community. Just tell me you’ll look at it, okay?”
“I’ll call John this afternoon,” Sam said, grabbing his cup and walking toward the door. “Open or closed?”
“Thanks, Sam,” Paul said. “Leave it open, if you would.”
10
“Thanks for coming down,” Punch said to Davonte. They were in an interview room at the detention center. Punch had gotten ahold of Davonte and asked him to come in, but he hadn’t really expected him to do so. “Can I get you something? Bottle of water? Coffee?”
“Water be good.” Davonte settled his huge frame in the little plastic chair as best he could. Punch was reminded of himself at a parent-teacher conference. He handed the bottle to Davonte and watched his huge hand engulf the thing. “So, I’ve got another request,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” Punch sipped from a coffee cup, then set it down and leaned forward to look directly at Davonte. “I’d like to collect your fingerprints. Still just collecting information. Working to rule you out as a suspect.”
“Am I under arrest?”
“No. And you’re free to leave anytime. Just get up and walk out.” Davonte moved as if he was going to stand. “Of course, if you did that, I’d wonder why you didn’t want to cooperate.”
“Because I got rights, man,” Davonte said. He was thinking about his criminal justice class. “Shouldn’t I have an attorney?”
“Well, you’re not under arrest, so technically you don’t have the right to one,” Punch said, adding for effect, “yet.”
“I don’t know.” Davonte looked at Punch steadily. “So, if I’m not under arrest, I can leave?”
“Right. But if you’re innocent, your prints will help clear you.”
“Wonder how many brothers behind bars been told that?”
“None I put there—how about that?” Punch said, sipping his coffee. “So, aren’t you interested?”
“In what?”
“Who did this,” Punch said. “You’re not one of those jerks who treats the manager like crap, are you?”
“Naw, it’s not like that. It’s just . . . I’m not wanting to get involved, man.”
Punch stared at Davonte until the younger man lo
oked away. “What do you say, Davonte? Want to clear this up?”
Davonte rolled the water bottle around in his huge hand, clearly conflicted. At last, he nodded. “Let’s do it, cop.”
Punch looked at the one-way mirror on the wall and nodded. “You got your boys behind the wall in case the brother goes wild?” Davonte asked.
“Naw,” Punch said. “They’re behind the glass in case I do. Now, let’s go down to booking and get these prints and get you out of here. I do appreciate your cooperation in this.”
After Davonte had left, Jensen wandered into Punch’s office. “What do you think, boss?”
“I don’t know. He’s obviously got the size and strength. I guess I don’t know why he would bother. Hopefully, the DNA and prints will clear him.”
“How? We don’t have DNA or prints on anything yet.”
“Yet.”
Penrose was near giddy with excitement as she hung up the phone. Her source had told her that Detective Polson was interviewing Davonte Blair in connection with the murder of Kaiden Miles. She now had a gay college student killed—perhaps by an African-American college athlete! This was pure gold.
She dialed Punch’s direct line.
“Polson.”
“Detective Polson, this is Sarah Penrose with the Bugle.”
“How’d you get my direct line?”
She ignored the question. “I’m calling because my sources tell me you just interrogated Davonte Blair in connection with the death of Kaiden Miles.”
“Your sources are wrong.”
“How so?”
“Well, for one thing, I was merely gathering information from a student I have reason to believe was acquainted with the deceased,” he said.
“So, you’re denying you interrogated Davonte Blair?”
“I am. He was free to leave the entire time. Showed up voluntarily and left when he had nothing more to offer. Ms. Penrose, he’s a private citizen and a college student—why not leave him alone?”
One and Done (Sam Johnstone Book 2) Page 10
