Amos blew out a breath. “Good.”
“Come over here and look at this.” Eric walked to a small light table and hit the switch. Its fluorescent lights flickered a couple of times and then steadied in brightness. “You need to see this. It’s the marking on the side of the ring.”
“Please tell me you found out whose mark that is.”
“Here.” Eric handed him a printout. “It belongs to an artist in Austin, Texas. Reed Evigan. Find him and you’ll find out who purchased that ring.”
“Thanks. You’re a pro.”
“I’ll remember you said that the first time I fuck something up!” Eric yelled as Amos walked out. He stared at the sheet of paper as he went. Reed Evigan. That was a good place to start.
In some ways, it would be good if it were a Thursday. If it were, she’d be at her house and he’d be at his, or he could stay late at the office. Either way, he’d have time to himself to really dig around. He picked up the warrant from the AG’s office but after going to the election board, he’d drawn a blank. All of their paperwork on the Crittenden County jailer seemed to be in order, so there was no indication of election tampering from anyone. When he got back to the office, he’d do a detailed search of newspaper articles and arrest records to see if there was any public dirt on the deputy jailer, jailer, or judge executive. Based on what he found, they’d have a better idea how to proceed.
But as soon as there was no one looking over his shoulder, he had every intention of looking up Reed Evigan. He’d be looking at social media too. He pulled back into the parking lot and noticed Mack’s car was gone. That was sheer luck. “Where’s Wexler?” he asked as he stepped inside.
Alex never turned from his computer screen. “Had to go check on his mom. They think she broke her hip.”
“Oh, shit. That’s no good. Hope he calls and tells us what’s going on,” Amos sat down at his desk and grabbed his mouse. The second it moved, the screen flashed on, and he started digging around. Nothing he found suggested there was a problem with any of the officials in the jail case, but he had to admit, that deputy jailer’s social media page with him hanging all over girls who looked to still be in their teens kinda creeped Amos out a bit. The guy had to be forty-five. What the hell was that about? The jailer and judge executive, however, seemed to be fine. He’d do more digging though.
His next course of action was to look up Evigan on social media. Oddly, there were no social media connections. Then he searched the internet, but found nothing except some very old newspaper articles. Another thought ran through his head, so he brought up the Texas Department of Criminal Justice’s website and did an inmate lookup.
And there he was―Reed Evigan. Convicted ten years prior on drug charges for running cocaine back and forth across the border. The FBI’s San Antonio office had confiscated everything. Amos grabbed his phone and scrolled through his contacts, found the one he wanted, and punched it. It was answered, “Livingston.”
“Cruz?”
“Amos! Hey! How’s it going? Last time saw you was, hell, when was that?”
“It’s been a while. You guys doing okay?”
“Yeah, great, actually. But you probably don’t want to hear about that, confirmed bachelor that you are.”
“Um, I’m not on the market anymore,” Amos said and grinned to himself.
“No! You’re kidding! Well, congrats! That happened pretty quickly. I’d love to meet her sometime.”
“I’d love for you to meet her sometime too. I’m working a case that concerns her. Her sister’s murder.”
“Awww, hell. Is this recent?”
“Nope. Fourteen years ago. And that’s where you come in.”
“Fourteen years ago and I can help? How in the world is that?”
“You guys took down a drug runner. Artist in Austin named Reed Evigan. Ring any bells?”
“Yeah. Son of a bitch shot an agent, a friend of mine. Agent’s okay, but Evigan’s sitting in a Texas correctional institution, and I don’t care if he rots there.”
“I kinda need some information from him.”
There was a deep sigh on the other end of the phone. “How did I know you were going to say that?”
Amos chuckled. “Sorry. But we have a piece of jewelry related to the case and it’s bearing a mark that our lab tech seems to think is his. I need to know who commissioned that ring. Any way we could make that happen?”
“Well, how ‘bout I just drive to the prison and ask him? I’ve been wanting to glare at him again for quite some time. I guess now is my chance, huh?”
That made Amos laugh. “Glad I could be of assistance! But seriously, the sooner I know who commissioned that ring, the better off I’ll be.”
“Do you have a picture of it?”
“I sure do. I’ll shoot it to you. And Cruz?”
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, man. I owe you one.”
“You’re welcome. That’s what we do, assist each other.”
“There’s a bottle of Kentucky bourbon coming your way,” Amos promised.
Cruz laughed heartily. “I’ll be looking for it! Talk to you soon.” Amos knew if Cruz said he’d do it, it wouldn’t be long before he’d hear from his friend again.
He went back to Kelso’s website. On the “about” page was Chance Kelso, leaning against a workbench with his arms folded over his chest. He had that outdoorsy vibe about him with his worn jeans, plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and dark hair and beard. His face was pleasant and he was a little on the stocky side, but he was just an average-looking guy. The list of their customers, however, was anything but average. On their testimonial page were the names of half the drummers of the biggest bands in the country. Most had pictures accompanying them, and they were behind their drum kits. All but one looked like it was shot during a concert.
They didn’t keep inventory; instead, drum sets were made to order. There were a few of them listed on the website. Holy hell. I could buy a decent car for that price, Amos told himself as he looked at them.
Mack wasn’t around, so Amos made a bold decision. He was going to see Chance Kelso. Maybe the guy would tell him something that would help. Regardless, he’d meet someone from Daesha’s past. If nothing else came of it, that would be enough.
Chapter 7
The drive to the percussion facility in Anchorage was uneventful. On the way, he called Jack. Even though his little brother warned him not to do what he was planning, he gave Amos the needed info anyway. With it, Amos stopped along the way and picked up what he thought would work.
But when he pulled into the Kelso Custom Percussion parking lot, he was stunned. It looked more like an expensive day spa than a manufacturing plant. A circular drive was placed right in front of the massive, double mahogany doors, with a fountain right in the middle. Somebody had paid a pretty penny for the landscaping too.
As soon as he’d linked up his purchase, he headed for the building. The doors were heavy, and when he stepped inside, he was shocked again. Expensive artwork hung everywhere. There was a large reception desk at the back wall, and he walked straight up to it. “Good afternoon. I’d like to see Chance Kelso,” Amos said without missing a beat.
“Do you have an appointment?” the young woman behind the desk asked.
Amos flashed his credentials. “Do I really need one?”
He watched her tense as soon as she saw his badge. “No, sir. Let me see if he’s free. Denver, could you go and tell Mr. Kelso that there’s a … What are you? FBI?”
“No, ma’am. I’m with the Kentucky Department of Criminal Investigations. Part of the attorney general’s office.”
“Oh. Yeah, that, Denver.” The big security guard disappeared through the doors behind the reception desk and the girl smiled at Amos. “He’ll be back in just a minute.”
In no time, the man reappeared. “He says I’m supposed to bring you,” the guard said and motioned for Amos to follow him. Holding the door for him, the guard waited unti
l Amos walked through, then made his way on down the walkway and led the way.
It looked like something straight out of the movie Willie Wonka and the Chocolate Factory, only instead of candy stuff, there were drum parts everywhere. “Mr. Kelso, here’s the gentleman who wants to see you.” The guard stepped to the side and Amos was face to face with Chance Kelso.
“Hi! And you are …”
“Amos Fletcher. KDCI. I wondered if I could talk to you for a minute.”
“If you’ll walk with me. We’re busy today. We’ve got an order for a custom drum set. Almost fifty thousand dollars. We’ve been working on it for a few days and we’re about to get it finished. So what can I do for you, Mr. Fletcher?”
“That’s Agent Fletcher. And I’d like to know what you know about this.” Amos pulled the picture from a folder in his messenger bag and held it out to Chance Kelso.
The shorter man didn’t say a word, but Amos could see something in his eyes, and he could’ve sworn it was fear. “Uh, no. I’ve never seen anything like that. What is it?”
“It’s a ring we think was taken off a dead woman.”
“A dead woman? I’m sure I know nothing about that!” Kelso said with a laugh, but it was forced and hollow.
“I’m sure you do. The dead woman was Dorinda Blackmon.” Kelso stopped dead in his tracks and stared at Amos. “We think her killer took a ring off her hand. I know you grew up with Dorinda.”
Chance’s eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”
“Daesha.”
Kelso smiled. “That girl. She’s like a baby sister to me. How do you know her?”
“I’m dating her.”
Kelso nodded. “So this isn’t an official investigation. It’s to help her out.”
Amos shook his head. “It may very well become an official investigation if I find something that will turn it that way.” There was that fearful look in Chance’s eyes again, and Amos wondered if the man thought he’d been caught. “Could we go somewhere more private to talk?”
Without answering, Chance turned and walked toward the front of the building, Amos following him, wondering if he was about to be invited into the man’s office or asked to leave. But light streaming from a door on the far side of the building felt like the direction they were going, and sure enough, Chance turned and made his way toward it. Once inside, he pointed to a chair. “Please. Have a seat.”
Amos sat down and quickly scanned the room. It was sparsely furnished, but the furnishings it did have were very, very expensive and elegant. The chairs were butter-soft ivory leather with dark wood frames, and Chance’s huge desk was impressive. When the younger man sat down, he looked up to speak but then said, “Oh! Where are my manners? Would you like something to drink?”
“I’d hate to bother you for that,” Amos answered, using his best apologetic voice.
“No trouble, really. The refrigerator’s right here.” He spun in his chair and Amos realized he was talking about behind the desk. “Now, let’s see. We’ve got all kinds of fruit-flavored waters, and soda, and―”
“Would you by any chance have raspberry-flavored water? I love that stuff.” Amos waited until Chance’s head was practically in the refrigerator before he reached into his pocket, retrieved the tiny button microphone, and pressed it onto the frame underneath the chair’s seat. That wasn’t the best spot he could’ve chosen, but he thought it might pick up okay. Yes, it was illegal, but he’d never tip his hand and use the information for anything more than his own convenience, so he wasn’t too worried. If they found it, they’d probably think it was planted by a competitor. “I’m so sorry. Doesn’t look like we have raspberry, but we’ve got blackberry.”
“That would be great. Thanks so much.” As Chance handed Amos the bottle, he smiled at the entrepreneur. So far, so good. “I really wanted to talk to you. Daesha told me you gave her the drum set for their drummer after his was lost in the fire.”
Chance nodded. “I did. She paid the shipping, but that was all. And it’s a nice drum set too. One of our finest. I just happened to have it finished when she called, and I figured, hey, why not? The drummer who ordered it couldn’t pay for it, and her guy was having a hard time. He needed the money he made playing with the band even more at that point, so I just sent it to her.”
Amos gave Chance what he hoped was a soothing smile. “That was very generous of you.”
“Eh. Doesn’t cost us all that much to make, what with the markup, and we’ve been friends all our lives.” At that statement, Chance began to fiddle with the back edge of the desktop, and Amos realized he was going the right direction.
“So you’ve known each other your entire lives?”
“Yeah. Our parents are friends. And I miss Alice. She was like a second mother to me.”
That must be Daesha’s mother’s name, Amos thought. He’d never heard her called anything but Mom, which wasn’t surprising. “So you were close?”
“Daesha and me? I guess. I was closer to her sister. We were almost the same age, and I was held back a year, so we were in the same grade.”
“So I’m sort of looking at her murder and wondering what happened there. About that ring, I mean.” It was time to play his hand, and he wondered what kind of reaction he’d get. “Of course, you don’t know anything about that because you weren’t there,” Amos replied, hoping to calm any of Chance’s fears. He didn’t want the guy locking up on him. “But we started looking for a piece of jewelry that it could’ve been. Daesha didn’t know anything about it, and it wasn’t in Dorinda’s personal effects. But we managed to find a picture of her wearing it.”
Something shifted in the room and Chance’s eyes seemed larger. “Oh? Really?”
Amos pulled out the photo of Dorinda with the ring on her finger and watched as Chance winced. “Oh, I’m sorry. I know that’s kind of an unsettling photo, but it’s the only one we’ve got.”
“Yeah, um, that was brutal, the killing, I mean. Horrifying. Why anybody would do that to a woman as sweet as Dorinda, I don’t understand.”
“Me either. Daesha said she didn’t have an enemy in the world.” Time to pour it on, Fletcher, he told himself. “So I’m thinking the ex-husband was the culprit.”
Some of the tension seemed to visibly leave Chance’s body. “Yeah, I’ve wondered about Max all along.”
Here we go. “Like maybe he was jealous of the relationship you had with her?”
Chance stiffened and his irises flared. “Relationship? We were just friends.”
“Yeah, well, see, here’s the problem. That ring?” Amos took out a picture of the logo for Kelso Custom Percussion. “This is your logo. If you trace just right on the ring, look at that! It makes your logo! Isn’t that a coincidence?”
Chance was paling, and Amos knew there was more to the story than he was letting on. “Um, wow, yeah, that is coincidental. Very. What does that design mean?”
Amos shrugged innocently. “We have no idea. I just thought that was pretty weird, the way that works. What were the chances, huh?”
“Yeah. The chances. Uh, I’ve got a potential retailer coming by in about an hour, so I need to get ready to meet with him and―”
“Oh, yeah, yeah. Sorry. Just barged in here. But I knew you’d want to help me with Dorinda’s murder, so I appreciate you taking time to talk to me.” Amos stood and extended a hand. Chance’s didn’t tremble, but his palm was sweaty, and that was a sure indicator of his stress level.
“No trouble at all. Thanks for stopping by. Oh, and please, tell Daesha I said hello and I’d love to see her sometime.”
“I will when I see her. I’ll just see myself out so I don’t trouble you any further. You have a good day, Mr. Kelso.”
“You too, Agent Fletcher.”
As Amos walked out, he fought a smile. Something was definitely going on, and he had to get to his car. There would be a phone call made as soon as he cleared the building, he was sure. Waving to the receptionist, he strolled through th
e giant doors, slipped into the Jeep, and drove to the parking lot next door. Once he was stopped, he brought up the app on his phone.
God, it was crystal clear! He’d have to remember to thank Jack. There was the sound of papers being shuffled around, and then another sound, maybe a door. The next thing he heard was a toilet flushing, and he remembered there was a bathroom off the office. Scared the piss out of him, he thought and laughed to himself. There was what passed for silence, and then he heard it.
“Yeah, it’s Chance. I need to speak to … I don’t give a shit that he’s busy, I need to talk to him now.” There was an assertiveness in his voice that Amos hadn’t believed the man possessed, and the sound that followed was footsteps. He was pacing. Good. “Hey, there was a KDCI agent here just now. They’re looking into Dorinda’s murder and … He’s got a picture of the ring. And he made the connection between the design on it and my logo, so it’s only a matter of time before … No, I haven’t talked to him, but if you get a visit from this guy, we probably should or he’ll … I don’t know if this is something she asked them to do or if they’re doing it on their own, but … I know, but if we don’t do something pre-emptive, then we … Oh, he’s gonna be madder than hell. Of course, I don’t care what you guys think―I’ve thought he did this all along. If he ever admits it, I swear I’ll … I realize that, but killing somebody wasn’t in my best interest. Or yours. It was in his best interest … Uh-huh … Okay. Let me know. Bye.”
Who had Chance called? It was someone who knew about his logo’s incorporation into the design. He’d said, So it’s only a matter of time before … There were more people involved. He’d already reported to them. It was up to Amos to find out who they were and get to them too.
Dorinda had most definitely been murdered by someone Chance Kelso knew, and Amos had every intention of finding out who that someone was.
The office was quiet when Amos returned, and he took a seat at his desk and brought his computer up. There was an email about the deputy jailer case, and when he looked at it, he knew it was almost over. They guy had given no explanation for what was seen on the video, and the state’s attorney was planning to indict him. That was that.
Justice for Daesha Page 13
