by A. E. Howe
“How about this weekend?”
“Well… I…” I didn’t want to tell him that I was planning on spending at least some of the weekend, as much as I could, with Cara.
“Bring your girlfriend over,” he suggested, as if reading my mind. “If she doesn’t want to ride Finn, we can borrow one of the neighbor’s horses. Jan’s got a palomino that’s calm as a summer breeze.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll ask her,” I said reluctantly.
On Thursday afternoon, as Pete and I were typing up reports and organizing the files on both the rapes and the Ayers shooting, I got a call from Shantel.
“Remember that pool net thingy we collected from the Conway house?” Shantel asked excitedly. She could never have had a career playing poker.
“The one with the handle that was so long we almost couldn’t fit it in the car?”
“That’s the one. I didn’t send it with the rest of the evidence ’cause… Well… I just had a hunch.”
“You said the plastic wouldn’t hold fingerprints very well.”
“That’s true. But Marcus and I bagged the whole thing, used superglue and we found a partial.”
I sat up at my desk. “No kidding? Does it match Nichols?”
“Good news is, hell yes! But the bad news is it’s a couple points short of being a sure thing.”
A lawyer would be able to cast doubt on a partial fingerprint that an expert couldn’t say with certainty came from the suspect, but we could still use it as leverage. “That’ll work for now.”
“There’s more. I figured it might have been used to push the body underwater, so I went over the netting and came up with some hairs that probably match our body.” Her voice was full of glee. I couldn’t blame her.
“That’s great. Thanks, Shantel,” I said sincerely, hanging up the phone.
The new evidence was promising, but still wouldn’t hold up very well in court. The deceased used the hot tub regularly and anyone who takes a bath or swims in a pool knows that hairs are constantly coming out and clogging up drains and would probably adhere to a pool skimmer. Still, a prosecutor could use it to paint a picture of how the murder occurred.
Pete and I went into an interview room so we could talk privately about how to proceed.
“It’s not enough to charge him. Not yet,” Pete said. “Besides, I think we need to move forward with all three cases. The murder of Conway, for which we have the best evidence. The murder of Ayers, where we have him admitting to the shooting so we just have to prove that he didn’t have a justification. And finally the murder of Angie Maitland. That last is going to be the hardest to prove, at least right now.”
“And we want to have a strong enough case, and enough charges, that we can plea bargain for the names of any accomplices and still put him away for life.”
“Exactly.”
“We still have a ways to go.”
“Yep. We need to bring the sheriff up to speed and make sure that there’s no opportunity for Nichols to flee or to do any more damage.”
I was calling Dad before Pete was done talking. He was in Tallahassee at a regional law enforcement meeting and we agreed to get together the next morning. Before I could hang up, he reminded me again about riding Mac.
On Friday we all agreed on how we were going to proceed with Nichols. Of course, Dad and I had high hopes of flipping Nichols to implicate Matt Greene. Shantel arranged to meet with the lab in Tallahassee when they were ready to go over the evidence we had sent them. She wanted to make sure that nothing was overlooked.
My biggest concern was that word would get out. Both the department and the county were small. Everyone had friends and relatives working in the office. Someone might tell Nichols or Matt where the investigation was and where it was headed. But that couldn’t be helped. All I could do was worry about it, and I was determined that when I walked out of the office I would leave all my worries behind for the weekend.
Cara pulled some strings at work and was able to swap Saturdays with another vet tech. She was excited about the horseback ride. I drove over early to pick her up.
“Nice,” I said, admiring how she looked in jeans and boots. “You look like you know what you’re doing.”
“I’ve been on a horse before,” she said, raising her eyebrows. “Just try to keep up.” She pushed past me with a smile and headed for my car.
Some of her cockiness disappeared on the way to Dad’s when I told her he was going to be there.
“Really? Okay, now I’m nervous.”
“If it gets too embarrassing and, believe me, with my father it could get very embarrassing, we can redirect his attention to the horses or the barn or Mauser or anything other than our relationship. Besides, you have met him before.”
“Yeah, but just at the vet with Mauser and that one time at Christmas. I still don’t feel like I know him.”
“Don’t worry about it. Ha, just think what it will be like if your parents ever meet my dad.”
She was quiet for a moment while she thought about that and then started laughing so hard I thought I might need to stop the car. “Oh… my… God!” she exclaimed and started laughing again. “I just can’t imagine.”
Her dad was part-hippy, part-Viking while her mother was all hippy. They lived in a small co-op down near Gainesville. I’d met them both last month when her father had been implicated in a series of murders. Once I’d helped clear his name, I’d gained a friend for life. But picturing my dad alongside her parents was pretty comical.
“Are you okay?” I asked as her laughing fit turned into a choking fit.
Finally she caught her breath. “I’m fine. Thank you. I needed that.”
As we were getting out of the car, Dad and Mauser came up from the barn. When Mauser saw Cara he lost his mind. He ran straight for her, ears flapping, tongue lolling and his enormous paws thundering across the yard.
“Mauser!” Cara shouted at him as he zoomed past her. He wheeled around and made several more passes before coming to rest against Cara’s side. She rubbed him vigorously, making happy sounds to his panting, wild-eyed face.
“If this was summer he’d have been sitting in the shade or lounging in his wading pool and waited for you to come over to him,” Dad said, his chest puffed out with pride. He loved to see people make a fuss over Mauser.
Dad had already gone next door and borrowed the neighbor’s palomino, Lucy, so we went straight to the barn. Dad didn’t go with us. He just gave me a smile and took Mauser out back to work on some fencing.
We rode Mac and Lucy down the dirt road that ran alongside Dad’s property. Finn followed on the inside of the fence as long as he could, giving us a couple whinnies as we rode out of sight. Luckily, Finn and Mac weren’t as stable-mated as you would expect. Dad always maintained that since they were twins, each had a special sense about the other and felt comfortable that, even when the other was out of sight, they were both fine.
We didn’t talk much. We put the horses through their paces, though neither Mac nor Lucy was very energetic going away from home.
“You’re pretty good,” I told Cara as Mac and I came up beside her and Lucy.
“Are you really surprised?”
“No.” With her love of animals, and knowing that she’d spent part of her early years on a Kentucky horse farm, it wasn’t the least bit surprising that she could ride.
“Thank you.”
“What for?”
“For trying to understand me.”
“I got some good advice from a friend.”
“I really want us to give this a chance.” She looked over and her eyes grabbed mine.
“I do too,” I said.
She smiled and squeezed her legs, pushing Lucy into a quick-paced trot. With much cajoling, I got Mac to break into a canter, but before we could pass the ladies Cara took Lucy into a full gallop, leaving Mac and me in the dust. We didn’t catch up until she had pulled Lucy back down into a walk.
I was about to suggest we t
urn around when my phone went off.
“Hello?” I asked, just managing to fumble the phone out of its case before the call went to voicemail.
“Is this Deputy Macklin?” asked an officious voice from the other end of the line.
“Yep. What can I do for you?”
“This is Thomas Bryer. I’m acting as Deputy Isaac Nichols’s attorney.” I had a vague impression of Bryer. He’d represented some of the local law enforcement officers on different cases, mostly civil suits.
“And?”
“Honestly, I’m not happy about this, but he wanted me to call you and ask you to meet him at his house this afternoon.”
“I don’t understand.” I was taken aback. “He wants us to meet at his place? Today?”
“He says he just wants to meet with you. When I pressed him, he insisted. When I asked him why, he said it would be better if he had a chance to discuss things with you first. It makes little sense to me, but he was adamant.”
“Pete is the lead investigator. He really needs to be there.”
“Just you,” Bryer said, not leaving any wiggle room. “Will you meet with him?”
“I guess, yes. What time?” I’d call Pete and discuss it with him, but I couldn’t imagine that he wouldn’t want me to find out what Nichols had to say.
“Three o’clock.”
I looked at my watch. It was one now.
“Where?”
“His house. I’ll tell him you’ll be there.”
“Yes,” I said, just before he disconnected. “I have to get back,” I told Cara, who nodded.
We tried to enjoy the ride back, but my mind was distracted. I called Pete when we were almost back to Dad’s.
“You’re calling me from horseback?”
“Yes, and if Mac spooks I’m going to drop my phone so let me tell you why I called.”
“Has that horse ever spooked?”
“All horses spook, especially the ones you say never spook. Listen, Nichols wants to meet with me.”
“Just you? What’s that all about?”
“I don’t know. But I told his lawyer that I’d meet Nichols at his house this afternoon.”
“Strange. And it was so urgent he had to meet you on a Saturday?”
“Maybe he got word that we’ve found some evidence. He probably knows we went back out to Conway’s house.”
“Possibly. Just record the conversation.”
“I will if he’ll let me. I’ll call you as soon as I’m done talking with him.”
Cara and I unsaddled the horses, brushed them down and picked their hooves before turning Mac out into the pasture where Finn met him with happy snort.
Dad came out to the barn. “Don’t worry about Lucy. I’ll walk her back,” he told us.
“Where’s Mauser?” Cara asked.
“Are you kidding? He was outside for a couple hours this morning, then greeted you. He’s holding down the couch. If you listen closely you can hear him snoring.” Dad smiled.
“Nichols wants to meet with me,” I told him, knowing I was spoiling the mood.
“When?”
I looked at my watch. “In less than an hour. At his house. Alone.”
“I don’t like that. If he’s guilty and knows we’re getting close, he might be getting desperate.”
“Why pick on me? Pete’s been the lead. I think he’s more likely going to propose a deal, and he chose me because he figures I have a direct line to you.”
We played out a couple of other thoughts and options, and finally Dad suggested that I have one of the deputies on duty stationed not too far away in case things went south. I agreed.
Chapter Twenty-Four
After dropping Cara off, I went by the office and checked in with dispatch, telling them where I was going to be. Mark Edwards was the closest deputy on duty. I called him and gave him a CliffsNotes version of the situation, leaving out the fact that Nichols was suspected in at least two murders. Edwards confirmed that he’d stand-by a couple blocks from Nichols’s house until I gave him the all-clear. I thought this was all overkill, but you never know.
I drove up to Nichols’s small, ranch-style house. There were toys in the yard, but no sign of kids. Everything seemed quiet. I half expected a disembodied voice to say, Too quiet.
As I walked up to the door, the sun went behind the clouds and the temperature felt like it dropped ten degrees. I knocked. Nothing. I looked for a doorbell, but the button I found had been painted over and looked like it hadn’t worked in a decade. I tried it anyway. Nothing. I knocked again.
“Isaac, it’s Larry. You wanted to meet?” Still no answer.
If I’d been smart I would have called Edwards, but I’m not that smart. Besides, I thought there was a chance that Nichols had gotten cold feet and that I could convince him to talk to me. I thought about walking around the house, but I decided to try the door first. The knob turned. I opened the door and shouted. Still nothing. Stupidly, I convinced myself that I should just go in a little way and check it out.
I eased my way in, putting my right hand on the butt of my Glock 17.
“Nichols!” Before the echo of his name had faded, I heard sirens. A chill ran up my spine. I moved into the living room and saw Nichols’s body lying flopped over on the couch. I didn’t need to check his pulse. The back of his head was a bloody mess. In fact, I realized it was still very wet. I pulled my gun and started to clear the house as the sirens stopped outside.
“Hello! Police! Anyone in the house?” a woman shouted from outside. I knew that voice.
“Darl, it’s Deputy Macklin,” I yelled back, replacing my gun in its holster.
“Macklin! What the hell are you doi—” Her voice stopped midsentence and I knew she’d found Nichols’s body. I started back down the hallway to the living room.
“It’s me, Darl,” I said loudly, my hands half raised. “The house is clear.”
She whirled on me, holding her gun at the low ready. “Stay where you are,” said Officer Darlene Marks of the Calhoun Police Department. Her whole body vibrated with the adrenaline pulsing through her veins. She was a petite woman in her mid-thirties, and the gun in her hand looked very large. I raised my hands higher.
“I need backup. I’m at 456 Gator Creek Drive. The owner of the house appears to be deceased and there is an off-duty deputy on the scene,” she said into the radio strapped to her shoulder as she held the gun in her strong hand a little higher. To me she said, “Larry, don’t move and keep your hands where I can see them.”
She moved back so that she could watch me and the front door at the same time. Dispatch told her that other officers were on the way.
I looked at Darl, trying to remain calm. She’d explained to me once that she had to call herself Darl because Darlene sounded too much like “darling” and just didn’t sound tough enough for police work.
“Look, I’m here because I received a call from Nichols’s attorney that Nichols wanted to meet with me. I arrived just a few minutes before you did.” I shouldn’t have been talking, but it’s hard not to try and explain yourself when you’re caught in a compromising position.
Luckily, Deputy Edwards had heard the sirens and figured things out. He was the next one through the door.
“Deputy Edwards! I’m coming in,” he announced from the front door.
“Stay outside,” Darl ordered.
“We could all move outside,” I suggested.
“I don’t know if the house is clear yet,” she said reasonably. From the living room she had a view of the back hallway, the murder scene and the kitchen. In this situation, I would have told any officer to not assume that the officer I found on scene was innocent and to remain in a position to protect the crime scene until a supervisor arrived. She couldn’t take my gun without risking contaminating evidence. It was a tricky scenario and I couldn’t really fault her for how she handled it.
After what seemed like an eternity, her lieutenant arrived. He bagged my gun and took me ou
tside.
Calhoun’s police department is so small that I wasn’t surprised by who arrived on the scene next. Chief Charles Maxwell pulled up to the house in a black Cadillac Escalade, blue lights flashing on the dash.
“What the hell is going on?” he asked me. I was surprised there wasn’t more gloating in his tone.
I explained about the phone call and what I had found when I arrived.
“If I call Bryer, he’ll back up your story?” Maxwell asked snidely. I had to bite back the urge to tell him that it wasn’t a story.
“Yes.”
“You realize this puts me between a rock and a hard place?” he asked.
“Honestly, I was thinking more about Nichols, who’s dead. I’m thinking that he’s probably the one coming out of this the worst.”
“Did you shoot him?” he asked while trying to stare me down.
“No, I didn’t shoot him. He was dead when I got here.”
“You were found here with the dead body. I understand that you’ve been investigating the shooting that took place last week. The one that Nichols was involved in.”
Maxwell had a habit of asking poorly worded questions or sometimes, like this one, making statements that posed as questions. I had to restrain myself from coming back with snappy answers that would just piss him off.
“I had reason to be here. I assume that he wanted to talk with me about that investigation.”
“Do you usually meet with a suspect in his home at his bidding on a Saturday?”
“No. I’m not going to go into details about an ongoing investigation. You know that I can’t, and that I probably should remain silent. But I’m trying to be cooperative.”
“And you know that I should be treating you like a suspect, but I’m trying to be civil.” He came in closer so that he could whisper. “Everyone knows that I’m running for sheriff against your father. If I do anything that could be construed as… less than tactful with you, it could be seen as a political move against your family. I’m not going to give your father the opportunity to play that against me.”
