by A. E. Howe
We went over the aftermath of the shooting pretty quickly. Nichols wasted no time bringing the story up to the time when everything was verifiable by multiple witnesses. Pete didn’t ask for anything more. We’d agreed that one of the goals of the interview was to have Nichols walk out of it still thinking that we believed everything he was telling us. We shook his hand, made a little more small talk and sent him on his way.
“What do you think?” Pete asked, sitting his bulk back down in a chair.
“He’s lying through his teeth,” I said.
“Probably. But we have to prove it. And, honestly, there’s still a small chance that the shooting was justified, but that he’s lying about some of the details. But that wouldn’t fundamentally put him in the evil perp category.”
I gave Pete a skeptical look.
“What I’m saying is, he might not be a cold-blooded killer, that’s all.” Pete took his cell phone out of his pocket and checked for messages. Even the possibility of Nichols being a murderer couldn’t overcome his addiction to texting his wife and daughters.
“I think you’re leaning over backward to be fair.”
“Well, he’s not going anywhere, and Major Parks has his credentials and his duty weapon in his desk, so we’ve got time. No need to go off half-cocked.”
“Which brings us up to the subject of next moves.”
“I’ll take the best witness we have in the rape cases and re-interview her. You start looking at the remaining suspects. If Ayers didn’t rape the women, and we can prove it, then everyone is going to take our investigation into this shooting with a more open mind.”
“Of course we’ve just added a suspect.”
“Nichols.”
“Exactly. If he deliberately killed Ayers, then he might have killed Angie Maitland. And one possible motive might be to put the rape cases to bed once and for all.”
“Okay.” Pete looked at his watch. “I’ve got to go. I’m supervising a range class this evening, but I’ll turn it over to Hernandez. That way I can get started on the rape interviews. You realize that a whole task force was working on this and now it’s just going to be the two of us?”
I sighed. “Plus we have to keep open the possibility that the shooting was motivated by something else. In fact, discreetly looking into Nichols’s background is a priority too. Good thing we’re both super cops.”
“Yeah,” he said dryly. “Did I mention the tendonitis in my left arm and the pressure of shepherding two teenage girls through their high school years?” Mentioning his girls caused him to look down at his phone again, which started to vibrate as if on cue.
I headed for the door. “I’m going to pull the reports on the other rape suspects. I’ll take them home and probably do some interviews this weekend.”
“I’ll work on the rest of the witness statements this weekend too. The girls are going to be out of town, so I’ll have time. Call me tomorrow and we’ll decide if we want to team up for anything. It would have been horrible for me to have the house all to myself this weekend with nothing to do,” Pete said sarcastically, his fingers tapping away at his phone.
I picked up the bulk of the hardcopy suspect files from the rape cases and asked Dad’s assistant to email me the reports from the task force. Then I made a quick call to Cara, who agreed to come over for dinner and insisted that she didn’t mind spending the evening watching me read reports.
I had one more unpleasant task before I could call it a day. I sat in my car and dialed the number for Eddie, my cross-dressing snitch. I wanted to catch him before he went on a lost weekend.
“Hey, I’ve been thinking of you,” he greeted me.
“I bet you have. Need money for the weekend?”
“You cut me deeply.” Eddie sounded positively buoyant. He’s already started on his weekend, I thought.
“Yeah, we’re such good friends. Look, I’m going to text you a picture. I want to know if you’ve seen the guy in the foreground next to me.”
I selected the picture and sent it to him. Thanks to rural cell service, it took a couple of minutes during which I had to make small talk with Eddie.
“Think it’s here,” he finally said. “Hey, yeah, I got it. Damn ugly bunch. Especially the guy on the left,” he said, trying to make a joke. I was the guy on the left. Ha, ha.
“Concentrate, Eddie. The guy next to me. Have you seen him coming and going from your family’s businesses?” It was a picture of a group of us at a department lunch. I’d had to sit next to Matt and Pete had managed to snap a picture and send it to me as a joke.
“Maybe. But I don’t think he’s a regular. There’s something familiar about him, though. Yeah, no.” Eddie hemmed and hawed.
“Okay, big help, thanks.”
“Did you want to talk in person?” Eddie asked, no doubt hoping that he could pry a twenty out of my wallet.
“Not today. Have a great weekend, Eddie.”
“If you’re sure.”
“I am. Bye, Eddie.”
Chapter Eleven
I slept in late enough the next morning that the sun coming in through my window woke me up. When I opened my eyes I couldn’t help but smile. A double window looked out onto my yard where the live oak trees were draped in Spanish moss. I loved that view and hoped to build a house one day that would take full advantage of it. But this morning the view was even better. Cara was standing at the window looking out at the trees. She wore a large T-shirt and nothing else, her red hair glowing in the morning sunlight. Even with the frost on the ground, the image warmed my heart.
“Good morning,” I said softly.
She turned toward me with a huge smile on her face. “I didn’t think you’d ever wake up.”
“I would have woken up sooner if I’d known how beautiful the world was going to be,” I said with an idiotic grin on my face.
She came toward the bed and I thought for a moment that the morning was going to be perfect, but then the mood was broken by the sounds of running, hissing and gruff little barks. Alvin, Cara’s Pug, jumped up on the bed and turned to face his nemesis, but he was too slow and Ivy was already up and after him. He scrambled, trying to hide behind me.
“Ivy, that’s not a very nice way to treat a guest.”
The nine-pound tabby cat turned and gave me a cold stare, telling me to mind my own business. I put my hand out to her. I thought she was going to reject the offer, but ear scratchies were too good to pass up. Alvin decided that his life had been spared and laid down carefully next to me, keeping a close eye on his feline attacker.
Cara sat next to us on the bed. Ivy allowed her one pet before stalking off.
“I guess she doesn’t care much for sleepovers,” Cara said, leaning over and giving me a quick kiss before heading to the bathroom.
“Well, she’ll just have to get used to it.”
We fed Alvin and Ivy before getting ourselves some cereal.
“Guess you have work to do?” Cara said.
“Sorry.”
“It’s all right. I just hate that I’m going to miss spending one of my free Saturdays with you.” The vet’s office was open every other Saturday.
“Maybe we can plan something for the weekend after next.”
She perked up. “Like what?”
“I don’t know. The beach?” I suggested.
“That would be nice. There’s something about the beach in winter. It seems more wild and primitive.”
“Fewer people too,” I said.
“More romantic.”
“I like the way you think,” I said, getting up from the table. I knew I shouldn’t, but I figured Ivy deserved a treat and gave her the rest of the milk in my bowl. My reward was the first purr from her since Cara and Alvin had arrived last night.
Cara followed me into the bedroom as I got ready to go.
“What’re you going to be doing?”
“I want to check on the other potential suspects the rape task force was considering. Saturday seems like
a good day to catch some of them at home. And the sooner we clear this up, the better for the department and Dad.”
“Do you think you’ll want to get together for dinner?”
I was filling my pockets with keys, wallet and change. “You bet.” I clipped on my phone, badge and gun and came over and kissed her.
“Mind if I just stay here today?” Cara asked. It sounded like she expected me to say no.
“I don’t mind at all.” It actually made me feel good inside to think that I’d come home to a full house. Not that Ivy wasn’t good company. “Of course, you’d better ask the mistress of the Macklin estate.” I pointed to Ivy, who was staring at us from the doorway. A soft, submissive bark came from the living room. “Alvin might not be too keen on the idea either.”
I left my place feeling wonderful. I had no idea that it would be all downhill from there.
I pulled up in front of a brick home that looked like it had been built in the seventies; a garage had been enclosed more recently. There were two cars and an older, full-size pickup truck parked in the driveway. I pulled up behind the truck. The yard was neat and the house had the look of belonging to an older couple, with miniature white picket fences around the flowerbeds and everything neat and well painted. Smoke was coming from the chimney. This was Ethan Girard’s parents’ home.
My knock was answered by a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper shoulder-length hair and more than her share of what my grandmother used to call worry wrinkles. The wrinkles deepened when she frowned at my badge.
“Mrs. Girard?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to talk to Ethan.”
“You all should leave him alone. He hasn’t done…”
She was interrupted by her husband coming up behind her. He was stout with a large pot belly. His eyes went down to my badge. “Just let him in.” He turned his head and yelled, “Ethan!”
Mr. and Mrs. Girard made way for me, but neither one of them took their eyes off of me.
“You can talk in there.” Mr. Girard pointed toward a dining table that sat off to the side of the kitchen in a small alcove.
A man of about thirty, wearing sweat pants, a T-shirt and socks, came out of the back of the house. His eyes zeroed in on me and he shook his head.
“What the hell?”
“Watch your language,” his father said in a tone that suggested correcting his son was routine. He turned and left the two of us alone.
“This is just a follow-up interview,” I reassured Ethan.
He dropped down onto a chair and sulked. He looked like a shorter, thinner version of his father. I took out a pad and a small recorder as I sat down across from him.
“I thought the guy that raped those women was dead,” Ethan said, head down and staring at the flowery tablecloth.
“That’s a possibility, but we want to make sure that we haven’t missed anything.”
He looked up sharply. “What, like pinning something on me?”
“Like I said, we just want to make sure that we can close out these cases knowing that we got the right man. Reading over your file, it doesn’t look like anyone pinned anything on you in the past. Two convictions for sexual assault. You pleaded guilty on both of them.” I wanted to make sure he understood who was in charge of this interview.
His eyes went back to the tablecloth. “That’s right. And it was six years ago when I was drinking. I haven’t taken a drink since I went into prison.”
“Being drunk just means that your inhibitions were down, and you did what you wanted to do, drunk or sober.”
His eyes flashed back at me. There was a mix of anger and frustration in them now. “I did five years in prison. I’ve kept to my twelve-step program. I’ve done a year of therapy. I don’t want to rape women. I never wanted to rape women.”
“I’m not here to rake you over the coals, but let’s be honest. Honesty, isn’t that one of the values that the twelve-step program encourages? You did rape those women. I accept that you did your time and the reports from your parole officer indicate that you’re staying straight. But with your record, and the fact that you knew two of the women that were attacked in the last month, are you surprised that we’re interested in you as a suspect?” I asked reasonably.
“No. But that doesn’t make it right. I did know Elaine pretty well. She worked at the restaurant with me.” He paused and sighed. “Where I used to work. You know they fired me? Laid me off, what a laugh. It was two days after you all talked to me the first time. Wonder what made Mr. Heron decide to fire me…”
“And the other girl?” I asked, ignoring him.
“I didn’t even know her name. She lives a block over. My parents were friends with her parents. Guess what? Not anymore.”
“Linda. Her name’s Linda Evers.” His self pity was wearing thin on me. Yes, it’s tough when you are trying to go straight and your past haunts you, but…
“Yeah, Linda. You read my file. When I… assaulted those girls it was… I took them on a date, got drunk and forced myself on them. It was different.”
I had to admit I’d thought the same thing when he’d came up as a suspect originally. Rapists often have one MO and they stick to it. The method is part of the thrill. Of course, like serial killers, serial rapists’ methods can evolve.
“Tell me where you were on Wednesday night.”
“The night the woman got killed and the guy was shot?” He seemed genuinely surprised to be asked about it.
“Yes, this Wednesday from about nine to midnight.”
“I went to a meeting and came home. It’s not like I got a job.”
“Where and what time was the meeting?”
“Nine o’clock at the First Baptist Church. Not my favorite meeting, but I’ve had to go back every night since I got fired. I left about eleven and came home.”
“You came directly home?”
“No, wait, I stopped for a Red Bull at the Fast Mart. That’s it. Came home and played War Age online for a couple of hours.”
I made notes. It could all be checked. Who was actually playing the online game could be a question, but if he went to the Fast Mart after the meeting that would pretty much eliminate him.
“We’ll check out your alibi.”
“It is what it is,” he said.
I turned off the recorder and got up. “Good luck with staying sober,” I said sincerely. The guy was pathetic, but if he could stay sober it would be good for everyone.
Chapter Twelve
Next on the list was my prime suspect for the rapes. David Conway was the youngest suspect we’d interviewed, and I think that’s what had persuaded some of the other members of the task force not to take him seriously. But I’d sat in on the formal interview with him. He had a cold, dispassionate attitude that he could change like a chameleon to warm and personable. It was subtle and chilling to watch.
On paper, his history looked less ominous than Ethan’s. Conway had been arrested twice for “sexually interfering” with several girls when he was in high school. I had also managed to find two incident reports from his time at the University of Florida, when he was warned about peeping in dorm windows. This suggested that he’d had some maturity issues and gotten over them. But watching and listening to him, all I could think was that he had simply gotten more clever.
After the interview I had searched crime reports from Gainesville, with a little help from a friend with the Alachua County Sheriff’s Office, and came up with several rapes that seemed similar to ours. But, sadly, rape is not an unusual crime near a college campus. I had to admit that I could probably search the records of any large college town for the same period and come up with an equal number of cases. The MO wasn’t that unusual either. That’s where our investigation of Conway had stalled.
Like Ethan Girard, David Conway lived with his parents, but on the other side of the county. It was almost noon, so I decide to stop for a quick lunch at Winston’s Grill before making the drive. I called Cara whi
le I waited for Mary to bring my order.
“I’m taking a lunch break.”
“Where at?”
“Winston’s.”
“Let me guess… The barbecue wrap?” Cara asked, referring to a recent addition to the menu that I’d become instantly addicted to.
“That isn’t even worth five points,” I kidded her and was rewarded with the sound of laughter. “Sure is a beautiful day,” I said, looking out the window at the bright blue winter sky.
“I wish I was with you.”
“Me too. I’m going to talk with Conway, then I’ll do one more and be done. Maybe we’ll get lucky and they won’t be home.”
“I’ll keep my fingers crossed.”
“How are Alvin and Ivy getting along?”
“They’re both crashed in separate sunbeams, so I’m sharing the peace and quiet with a good book.”
“I’ll let you know when I’m headed your direction.”
David Conway’s father, Mel, owned a small production company in Tallahassee that made most of its money off of commercials. The Conways were some of the many people that had chosen to live in Adams County to take advantage of the cheaper taxes, rural setting and half hour commute to Tallahassee. The road they lived on had twenty or thirty newly built, upper-middle class homes sitting on at least five acres each.
The Conways’ Federal style two-story house was set back from the road, but close enough that it could be seen and admired by anyone driving by. I parked in the circular driveway. A red pickup truck with a topper was parked in front of the garage.
Knocking on the door and ringing the bell didn’t bring any response. I went back to my car and checked David Conway’s file. The pickup belonged to him. I knocked on the door again without any luck. On a whim, I tried turning the knob and the door opened. Odd. Is he hiding? I wondered. Even out here no one leaves their door unlocked when they’re not at home.
I stood back and looked at the house. Turning around, I noticed a couple uncollected newspapers by the front gate.
