The Secrets on Forest Bend

by Susan C. Muller

  Manny Dewitt’s post mortem was in the last room on the first floor. Adam winced as his shoes made a slapping sound on the linoleum floor. The lobby may have smelled of air-conditioning and office supplies, but with each step he took, the familiar stench of death and chemicals grew stronger. As he opened the door he was enveloped in the rousing strains of the ME’s favorite musical accompaniment—show tunes. This time it was Guys and Dolls. He saw the ME’s delicate feet moving in time to the music.

  “Ah, Detective Campbell, I’m almost finished, but I knew you wouldn’t miss the Grand Finale.” The ME turned the music down one decibel as he motioned to Adam with one gloved hand. He removed his mask when he spoke, freeing a handlebar mustache that would have been the envy of Poncho Villa.

  “How’s it going, Doc? You got any surprises for me?”

  “Not unless you failed to notice the gunshot to his face. That was the cause of death, and it was from no more than one foot away.”

  “That’s what I figured. Do you have anything else of interest?” Adam was accustomed to the unique aroma of the morgue and had trained himself to take shallow breaths.

  The ME pointed to Manny’s arms. “His tats are beautiful work. Not like the homemade prison crap I see most of the time, but I don’t suppose that’s of any use to you.”

  Adam frowned. “It’s obvious any money he came across that didn’t go in his arm or up his nose was used to decorate his body. That must be thousands of dollars’ worth of ink, and I’ll bet most of it was stolen from hard-working citizens. Unfortunately, that doesn’t help me find his killer.”

  It was hard to believe the art that so offended him on Manny’s body attracted him so strongly on Jillian’s.

  “The tox screen won’t be ready for a few days, but you might want to go to the lab and pick it up yourself. If you wait for Mai to forward it to you, the Fourth of July picnic will have come and gone. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to apologize to her for whatever it is you did. This vendetta is making everyone’s life miserable.”

  “I’m not going to grovel for something I didn’t do. She’s the crazy one.” Indignation flushed across Adam. He took a deep breath and immediately regretted it.

  “Yes, and you knew that from the get-go, but you went ahead anyway. Now’s the time to eat dirt and lick your wounds before she screws up a case. Just face the music and do it.”

  “Let’s get back to the vic. I’m about to head for the jail to interview my suspect. Is that all you have?”

  “Yes, dear boy, I’m afraid that’s it. No standing ovation for this one.”

  Adam made his escape as the ME turned the music back up and did a quick shuffle-ball-change. He waited until he could take a deep breath without coughing before he called Ruben.

  “Just as I figured, it’s a homicide. Now I suppose I have to do something about Marshall.”

  “Who did the post?”

  “Twinkle Toes.”

  “Ah, if Twinkle Toes says it, it must be true. Broadway’s loss is our gain.”

  The Harris County Jail looked exactly like what it was—a place to lock away the dregs of society where law-abiding citizens wouldn’t have to look at them. It was a multi-storied, brick building with bars on the windows and an air of desperation and despair. Breakfast was long past, but the stink of greasy food remained by the time he finally arrived.

  Adam took in the constant noise, the harsh lights, and the stench of unwashed bodies. Being locked in here would have driven him crazy in an hour, but Eddie had spent half his life behind bars, and the familiarity was probably comforting.

  Eddie waltzed in, standing straighter and wearing a shit-eating grin. Icy fingers clutched at Adam’s stomach.

  If Eddie bailed on him, he wouldn’t be able to handle Marshall on his own. He’d have to take it to Hard Luck, and the resulting scandal would destroy the careers of some good men.

  “Here’s the photo line-up I told you about, Eddie. Tell me if you recognize anyone.” Time to see if Eddie would come through.

  “Not so fast. I need some assurances. I’m the one taking all the risks. You know what can happen to someone who gets the reputation of squealing. I want immunity, and I want it in writing, signed by the DA. Besides, it was self-defense. I shouldn’t be in jail at all.”

  “Who’ve you been talking to? Some jail-house lawyer? If he knew what he was talking about, why’s he locked in here with you? You’re not getting anything in writing. Not now, not ever. If you did, the defense could use it to destroy your testimony. I gave you my word I’d help you. That’s got to be good enough.” He only had one chance to put some steel into Eddie’s spine.

  Eddie scratched his chin, but didn’t answer.

  “You know me, but in case you’ve forgotten, ask around. See if my word is good, but don’t say why. You can talk to your court-appointed attorney. Find out what he thinks of your chances at trial. If it goes that far, I promise I’ll make sure they throw everything they can find at you. See if my word’s good on that, too.”

  Adam left the jail disgusted. He lowered his window on the way back to the station, in need of the fresh air.

  A weight fell off Jillian’s shoulders when Cara showed up on time and ready to work. A gun store was a strange place and wasn’t right for everyone. Jillian understood that and had known other new hires not to show up for the second day. The firing range next door could be unnerving. Thank goodness she had a dependable manager for that.

  Cara wasn’t an attractive woman, skinny to the point of emaciation. Her arms and legs were lanky and didn’t seem to fit her body. Like a teenager who’d just had a growth spurt. When she smiled, which wasn’t often, her features fell into place and gave a hint of the woman she could become if given a chance.

  She made a few mistakes as the day went on, but not many, and not the same ones twice. At lunch, Jillian left her long enough to go upstairs and make a sandwich. She sat on the deck with her feet up and relaxed. When she started back downstairs, she was more optimistic than she had been in days.

  Jillian was halfway down the stairs when she heard a voice she recognized immediately. Snake-Eye was the leader of a small, but unique group of bikers and one of her best customers. He was also the main hard core she had worried about Cara handling. She took a quick peek around the corner to make sure the baby was out of sight, then waited on the stairs to see how Cara managed him.

  “What’s J. R. doing, hiring an ignorant proletarian like you? Even that numb-nuts Billy knew how to fill an order.”

  “I’ll be happy to fill your order, sir. It just might take me a few minutes. I’m not sure where all of these things are located.”

  “Sir? What the fuck is this, a fancy dress ball? My name’s Snake-Eye. Don’t you forget it.”

  Snake-Eye was glaring at Cara. While he had gotten his name from one milky-white eye, it wasn’t his most notable feature. That was probably his aroma; dirt, sweat, every meal he had eaten in the last week, and every joint he had smoked. It was possible his mouth had never seen a toothbrush, and the grime beneath his fingernails was so thick it deserved its own zip code.

  He dressed entirely in black, summer or winter. He wore a black leather jacket with half its fringe missing, black boots, black leather pants, and a black T-shirt advertising J. R.’s Guns that he hadn’t changed since Jillian gave it to him at Christmas. His speech pattern could only be called unique.

  Cara was staring intently at a dirty, crumpled piece of paper. Jillian had seen Snake-Eye’s writing before and knew Cara was never going to decipher it. She stepped into the store and took the list from Cara.

  “This is quite a list you have here. Didn’t we agree you’d call ahead so I could have things ready for you?”

  “Me and the boys was out cavorting and wasn’t near a phone.” He nodded toward his two lieutenants waiting by the door. Mouse, the smaller one, was picking his nose. T-Bone was smiling at Jillian, showing a large gap of missing teeth.

  She pointed to the cell
phone on his belt. “What about that one?”

  “Well, I didn’t recall your number.”

  She picked one of her cards off the counter and handed it to him. “I’ll be happy to program it into your cell for you if you want me to.”

  “Are you gonna’ sell us the goods or not?”

  “Sure I’m going to sell them to you, but you know it takes a while to get it organized. Why don’t y’all head up to the IHop on the feeder road and I’ll have everything ready by the time you get back.” Snake-Eye’s weakness for pancakes was well known.

  After they left, Jillian had pangs of sympathy for the manager of the IHop, but he should be used to the men by now. They stopped by at least twice a week.

  Cara started in immediately. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t read the list, and I wasn’t comfortable leaving them alone in the store while I asked you.”

  “You’re right. They should never be left alone in the store. They shouldn’t even have only one person watching them. Don’t hesitate to call me if I’m upstairs. I can be down in a flash. You can call Gordon to come over from the firing range if you can’t get me.”

  “What is all this stuff he wants? It looks like a lot.” She tried to smooth the crumpled paper.

  “Snake-Eye inherited a small piece of land way back in the boonies, no neighbors, and no prying eyes. He and his guys live in an old bunkhouse and indulge in their favorite pastime—shooting things. They drive around and shoot things while riding motorcycles, they throw things in the air and shoot them, and they shoot at targets hidden in the woods. They’ll shoot a turtle in the lake, a bird flying by, or a lizard on a tree. It’s a wonder they haven’t shot each other. It makes them profitable customers, but not necessarily trustworthy ones.”

  “That explains the list. This is enough ammunition for a big city police force.” Cara ran her finger down the list. “He wants clay targets, paper targets, speed loaders, and other stuff I can’t figure out. How’s he going to pay for all this?”

  “With cash. Don’t take anything else, and look at the bills closely. Larry from the Sheriff’s Department thinks he grows pot, but he’s been raided twice that I know of and they didn’t find anything. If he does, he must sell to dealers. The lack of hygiene alone would put off even the most desperate pot-head.” Jillian started for the storeroom and Cara followed her.

  “That sounds logical. They’re too recognizable to try armed robbery. I can imagine the description now, ‘The tall one had one white eye and brown teeth. I can’t describe the teeth on the fat one because most of them were missing. The short one was all twitchy and jumpy. Together they smelled like three skunks had a fight to the death and their bodies rotted in the sun for several days.’”

  By the time the three men returned, their purchases were neatly stacked by the front door. Cara kept an eye on Mouse and T-Bone while they loaded everything into the back of a rusty pick-up truck. Jillian rang up the sale.

  As Snake-Eye started for the door, she called to him. “Next time, treat my employees with a little more courtesy. Otherwise I’ll ban you from the store entirely. If that happens, you’ll have to go all the way into Houston to buy your supplies, so besides the time and gas, you’ll have to pay city prices. Not to mention the fact someone new wouldn’t understand you and might question the extent of your purchases.”

  Snake-Eye gave Jillian a mock salute. “You can’t blame a guy for his faults,” he said. He turned to Cara and tipped an imaginary hat. “Ma’am, it’s been an adventure.”

  The instant the truck cleared the parking lot, Cara started cleaning the display cases Mouse and T-Bone had been leaning on. “Do you think we should open the door? We could try to air this place out a little. How long do you think it’ll be before they come back? Maybe we could have some air-freshener ready.”

  Jillian smiled. Cara was going to work out just fine. About time she had some reliable help. After spending the night with Adam, she realized how much of life she was missing.

  She was through hiding in her apartment to avoid Heather.

  Rush-hour was still more than two hours away when Adam started north on I-45, but the level of traffic was already beginning to increase. He reached J. R.’s about 3:00. He’d avoided calling Jillian since the night they’d spent together because she was still a suspect. The upcoming encounter would be hell, but he couldn’t clear her until he questioned her. He couldn’t put it off any longer. He had to have the answers to close the case.

  The front door was propped open and a woman he’d never seen before was mopping the floor.

  “Careful, the floor’s still wet,” she said.

  Jillian looked up from some papers. A big grin spread across her face. He felt like a rat. He was about to do something that would hurt Jillian deeply, and he’d give his left nut to avoid it.

  “Hi there. I didn’t expect to see you today. Have you met Cara?” She indicated the woman mopping the floor. “Cara, this is Adam Campbell.”

  Adam nodded toward the woman. “Nice to meet you, Cara.”

  As he turned to face Jillian, he kept his eyes steady. He found it difficult to keep his cop face on, considering the things they had done on Sunday night. This time her tank top was yellow, but he kept picturing her without it.

  He spoke in a low voice, his palms resting on the cold glass of the counter top. “Could we talk in private? This is an official visit. I need to ask you some questions.”

  The grin faded and Jillian’s eyes bored into his. “We’ll have to go into the storeroom. Cara’s new and I can’t leave her alone yet.” With that, she spun on her heels and marched into the back room, trailing indignation like perfume.

  Adam followed her through the door and came to a sudden halt. There was a small desk with a computer, and several file-cabinets off to one side. The rest of the room appeared to be well-organized storage shelves. These weren’t the things that surprised him.

  Behind the door, in a quiet corner away from view, was a white baby crib. A mobile spun over it and played a nursery rhyme he couldn’t place. Pinned to the wall next to the crib was a blanket covered with bright, geometric figures. In the crib, a baby sucked contentedly on a pacifier.

  Jillian stepped over to the desk and switched off the baby monitor. When she looked at him again, Adam couldn’t read her expression, but he was sure it didn’t bode well for him.

  “Well, this is the last thing I would have expected to find in your storeroom. Still picking up strays, I see.” He needed to buy some time while he recovered from the surprise.

  “Can you believe her father didn’t want her?” Jillian’s eyes blazed, but at least her anger wasn’t directed at him. “He beat Cara so badly she came two weeks early. You look at this and think I’m a softy. Taking in people that need help. What you don’t see is that it’s good business practice. I needed someone right away. If I went through an agency, I’d be interviewing people for weeks. With one call to the women’s shelter, a counselor I know and trust recommended Cara and she started that afternoon. She’s qualified, she needs the job, and she’s grateful for the chance.”

  “I can understand that part, but what about the baby?”

  The mobile stopped, and Jillian wound it again. “Cara doesn’t have any money. She can’t pay for a sitter until she’s worked long enough for a paycheck, and she can’t work without a sitter. It’s like a hamster running in a wheel. She didn’t have any way out unless someone was willing to stop and let her off.”

  Jillian smiled at the baby. “This little angel isn’t any trouble. She can stay here during the day until her mom is more settled. It’s in my best interest for Cara to get on her feet. Then she’ll be a more dependable employee. She won’t be trying to juggle learning a new job, finding a place to live, and asking people to look after the baby for free as a favor. Money doesn’t solve your problems, but lack of it can certainly add new ones.”

  “You’re right. I didn’t look at it from a business standpoint. It’s obvious I’ve never had t
o think about things like that.”

  “Now, what was it you needed?” Jillian sat at the desk and glared at him, ice crystals forming in her voice.

  “I’m sorry, but there are questions I need answered. It’s what I came for on Friday, but never got around to asking. I’ve got to get them settled before we can move on. I hope you understand.”

  “I understand. I don’t like it, but I understand. There’s just one thing. Ask everything you need to on this trip. Don’t leave anything out. I don’t want you coming back in your detective mode. If you do, I’ll think that’s the way you want it to be between us.”

  He nodded. That’s all he’d hoped for. “I understand. I’d hate to blow this before we had a chance.” He flipped a page in his notebook and handed it to her. “I need to know where you were on these two dates.”

  “So now I’m a suspect in two murder cases? I’m surprised you weren’t in fear for your life while you were busy frisking me Sunday night. Maybe that’s your way of performing a strip search. No wonder you cut out early. You were afraid to fall asleep around me.”

  “Please. You know that’s not true. I never suspected you.” Well, maybe for a few minutes. “Still don’t. But I have to clear you before I can close the book on anyone else. Before you and I can take the next step.”

  She sighed and looked at the dates. “The first one’s easy. It was last Monday.” She slid a calendar toward her. “Billy opened so he left early, about three. That means I stayed to close.” She opened the file cabinet and pulled out a thick folder.

  “Here’s Billy’s time sheet. You can see when he signed out. I closed at six. Then I had a concealed handgun permit class from six to eight.”

  He must have look skeptical, because she pointed to a certificate on the wall. “I’m a certified instructor, have been for several years. It was the second class. We meet two hours a week for six weeks. This one is for women only. The class is over at eight, but we tend to stay around and talk for a while.”