December's Secrets (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 2)

by A. E. Howe

  “We need to have an understanding about this. It may be a vacation for you, but I have work to do.” He heard me, but I doubt he was paying attention.

  Halfway to Gainesville, Dad called.

  “I’ve got you an in with Lt. Chavez. He’s overseeing the crime scene.”

  “A lieutenant?”

  “The murder took place at a state park, so it already has some jurisdictional issues.”

  Great, I thought. More complications. “Which park?”

  “Devil’s Millhopper on the north side of town. We went there once.” The “we” was a loaded word since it included my late mother.

  “I kinda remember.”

  “You were nine, maybe ten. Anyway, you should get there before they’re done processing the crime scene.”

  “And you cleared it with Chavez?”

  “No problem. I was one of his instructors when he went through the academy about a million years ago.” I remembered Dad teaching classes at night for a dozen years when I was growing up.

  “He had some issues I helped him work through. I told him his case is connected to one of ours and that I was sending you down there to assist. He actually sounded grateful.”

  I wondered how grateful Chavez would be if he knew I was trying to protect his chief suspect.

  Chapter Eleven

  It was just after two o’clock when I pulled into the park. I harnessed Mauser up for a quick walk before I went to find Lt. Chavez. Walking Mauser, I endured a few jibes from the deputies and park rangers, including: We use bloodhounds, not horses down here; and Couldn’t your mounted posse afford full-size horses? The van plastered with “Ted Macklin for Sheriff” stickers had told them right away where I was from.

  Another front had pushed through and the high temperature was going to be in the low fifties. I put the big guy back into the van with the windows down. He seemed perfectly happy to settle down for a nap after I fed him lunch.

  The Devil’s Milhopper is a sinkhole, one hundred and seventeen feet deep with a staircase zigzagging back and forth to the bottom. It looks like something out of the Mesozoic Era, with mosses and ferns growing on the sides as water trickles down from underground springs that were exposed when the hole formed hundreds of years ago. I found a group of deputies and crime scene techs about a quarter of the way down the stairs. A man who appeared to be in his mid-forties, with a rigid posture, dark skin and a thick black mustache, turned to me.

  “Are you Deputy Macklin?” He stuck out a hand in a collegial manner. I took it and returned a manly shake.

  “I am.”

  “I’m Lt. Carlos Chavez. Pleased to meet you. Your father is a great man,” he said.

  I decided it wasn’t the time or place to present a counter-argument. “Thanks.”

  “He said you had a similar murder?”

  “From what I understand.”

  “I’m a little puzzled how you learned about this one?” He had a fairly thick Latin accent and a disarming nature. Even though the question was asked lightly, I caught a sharp undercurrent to it. He clearly didn’t like people leaking information.

  Luckily, I’d thought someone might ask me this so I’d prepared the best answer I could come up with. “We’ve been in contact with Henry Laursen’s family about our case. When I talked to them this morning, they told me that you were questioning him in connection with another murder.” Pretty slick and all true.

  “I think he is more than a suspect,” Chavez said, smiling. “We found a body hanging off the rail.” He pointed to obvious rope marks on the wooden railing facing in toward the sinkhole. I looked over the edge. It was about twelve feet down to a ledge. Someone on a four-foot rope would dangle a couple of feet off the ground.

  “We’ve sent the body off already. Our techs just cut the rope off. Of course we’ve preserved the knot. Your victim was hanged?”

  “Yes, from a tree.”

  “Comparisons between the rope and the knot should be interesting,” he said and I had to agree.

  “How did you find the suspect?”

  “He was still in the parking lot. Our deputies got a tip that something weird was going on here. When one of our cars pulled into the park, the suspect ran to his truck and tried to get away. The deputy detained him by putting him in the back of his patrol car until he could figure out what was going on. Looking around, he found the body hanging off the rail.”

  “Did the suspect say why he tried to get away?” I probed.

  “The usual: Cops make me nervous, always trying to get people in trouble. Never mentioned a murder up your way. No surprise. The best part, we found a piece of rope in the back of his truck that looks like it could be a match for the noose.” Chavez was clearly feeling good about tagging Henry for this murder. Not good, I thought.

  It was then that someone shouted down to us. “Hey, your horse is trying to get loose.”

  I turned to Chavez. “Long story. I’ll be right back.”

  “Don’t bother. A couple more pictures of the marks in the wood and we’re done here. I’ll walk up with you. What horse?”

  “Probably best if you just see him,” I said, hurrying up the steps. When I got to the parking lot I was met by the sight of Mauser with both front paws out the window and his back feet barely touching the inside of the van. He’d apparently thought he could jump out the window, but got stuck halfway. He looked up at me with an open-mouthed grin. After a little pushing and shoving, I got his front end back inside the van. Then I took him out on his leash and he bounded over to Chavez, who was laughing heartily.

  “I remember. Yes, I remember coming over to your house. You were young. You all had a giant dog then.”

  “Yeah, he was much better trained than this monster,” I said, trying to keep Mauser from jumping up on Chavez. “My mother made him toe the line. Come to think of it, she kept all of us on our toes.”

  “Oh, yes, I was sorry to hear about your mother. She was always very nice to me.”

  “Thank you,” I said, wrestling Mauser back into the van.

  Chavez’s phone rang. “Yes?” He listened for a bit. “You’ve interviewed them? And you say he lived at the co-op? I see. No, let’s not book him yet. I want to see if I can get him to confess.” Chavez was smiling at me as he put his phone back in his pocket.

  “I think we will be booking Mr. Laursen for murder very soon. That was one of my investigators. He’s been interviewing people who live next door to our victim. Seems that our suspect is on the board at the co-op where the victim lived. Even better, my friend, they had a fight last night. Multiple witnesses. We’ll see if Laursen will confess when I confront him with this news. We might be fighting over who gets to prosecute him first.” He smiled from ear to ear. The smile was that of a cat who’s trapped a mouse. I would not want Chavez on my trail. “Would you like to sit in on the interview?”

  I didn’t want to do that because I couldn’t predict how Henry might react if he saw me with Chavez. I thought it was possible that he might think I’d betrayed him. “If I could watch, that would be great. But I’m not sure what tack we might want to take when we go after him for our murder. Might be best not to have him associate me with this investigation.”

  “Smart,” Chavez said. “You can follow me.” He went over to an unmarked car and climbed in.

  I called Cara on the way to the Alachua County Sheriff’s Office. All I could do was prepare her for the possibility that her father was going to be charged with murder.

  “I understand,” she said, choking back her emotions.

  “I’ll come and see you as soon as I can.” I realized I was on very slippery ground now. If I revealed anything from the interview, I could be charged with obstructing justice. And by not telling Chavez of my relationship with the family, I was violating his trust and jeopardizing my freedom. We were definitely in tangled-web territory.

  After parking at the sheriff’s office, I was debating what to do with Mauser when Chavez came over and told me to b
ring him in. What the hell, I figured. I led the big galoot into the building to the sound of much “oohing” and “aahing.” Chavez had me terrorize a young deputy coming out of a bathroom. The poor guy let out a small scream as if he’d just seen a bear. I realized at that point that Mauser was a huge asset, emphasis on huge. People were focusing on him and not me, and I was also benefiting from the goodwill the big monster was generating.

  Finally all the laughter died down and Chavez led me into a room with monitors where I could watch the interrogation. The knowledge that I was deceiving the deputies around me gave me pause. Is this how Matt is feeling now? Is he working for the other side and constantly having to guard his secrets? It was a chilling thought.

  On the monitor I could see Henry sitting in a room that was small and furnished with only a metal table and a couple of uncomfortable-looking chairs. He had his head down on the table. My heart went out to him. He looked totally alone and abandoned. How many suspects had I seen like this that I thought they were getting what they deserved? If I didn’t know Henry and didn’t care for his daughter, would I think he was getting what he deserved? Maybe. The evidence against him was stacked high.

  Henry looked up when Chavez entered the room carrying a folder. Was that hope in his eyes? Did he think everyone had come to their senses and he was going to get to go home?

  “How are you holding up?” Chavez asked in a friendly way, pulling a chair close to Henry and sitting down.

  “I’m okay. Can I go now?” From Henry’s tone it was obvious he knew that he wasn’t getting out yet.

  “I’ve got just a few more questions before we let you go.” Chavez opened the folder he was carrying.

  “Sure, I’ll tell you anything I can to help.”

  “Great. First, did you know the victim?” Chavez asked very matter-of-factly.

  “Yes, I told the Adams County deputies all about that.” I realized then that they hadn’t told Henry exactly why they were holding him. This wasn’t unusual. The lead investigator would want to see the suspect’s reaction when he told him.

  “No, Mr. Laursen, I’m talking about our victim. Did you know the person that was killed this morning?”

  “What? What? Who?” Poor Henry was completely confused.

  “Why do you think that we brought you in for questioning?”

  “I… don’t know. Maybe because I tried to run away from the officer at the park.”

  “Didn’t he tell you why he was at the park?”

  “He just said that there was a disturbance. There’d been a call about a problem. That’s all I know.” Henry’s voice was rising and his hands were on the table, anxiously grappling with each other.

  “A person was found in the sinkhole hanging off the rail, Mr. Laursen. And when an officer showed up, you tried to run.”

  Henry’s mouth was hanging open in confusion and disbelief.

  “Did you know the victim?” Chavez was good. He was avoiding using a masculine or feminine pronoun for the victim. If Henry let on that he knew it was a male, then Chavez could assume that he’d been lying about his ignorance that a murder had been committed at the park. Chavez was also doing a great job of keeping Henry off balance.

  “I didn’t even know there was a victim. Who was it?” There was fear in Henry’s voice and in his eyes. I don’t think it was an emotion he was used to.

  “You’re telling me that you didn’t know that someone had been killed at the park?”

  “I didn’t. I swear I had no idea.” He sounded completely honest to me. Was I just biased?

  “Okay,” the lieutenant said without judgment. I knew what was coming next as he shuffled through the papers in his folder. He pulled out a picture and slid it across to Henry. “Here is a picture of the victim.”

  I couldn’t quite make out the photo over the CCTV, but I knew it would be the most gruesome photo of the body that they had. Anything to shake, rattle and roll the suspect.

  “Oh, God, oh, no, no.” I thought Henry was going to fall off his chair. He grabbed his head with both hands as if to shut out the world and began to rock back and forth. It was painful to watch.

  “Do you know him?” Chavez asked again, tapping the photo with his finger.

  Henry had shut down. He continued to hold onto his head and rock in the chair. I could see Chavez watching him, trying to determine if Henry was acting, if he was upset because he was being confronted by his crime, or if Henry was legitimately just shocked and scared. I was confident it was the latter.

  Chavez gave Henry some more time to compose himself, but finally he leaned forward again and said, “Mr. Laursen, I can see that you are upset, but I need you to answer my questions if you want to go home.” Give the suspect hope that if he cooperates he can get what he wants: freedom. “You want to go home, right?”

  I was trying to send Henry a telepathic message: Ask for a lawyer and refuse to answer any more questions. That would be Henry’s best chance to go home now.

  “I know him,” Henry, failing to get my message, said in a very small voice.

  “What is his name?”

  “Tommy.”

  “Do you know his last name?” Chavez pushed.

  Henry thought for a minute. “Gibson. That’s it.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “He lives at the co-op,” Henry said mechanically. I knew that he wasn’t even thinking about whether or not to answer the questions now. Chavez had turned his world upside down, and he would answer any question asked with the hope that it would be the last question before the doors magically opened and he walked out a free man.

  “The co-op that you help to run?”

  “Yes.”

  “What’s your relationship with him?” Not accusatory. Not Did you have a fight with him yesterday? A good interrogation is all about letting the suspect dig his own grave. Let him lie and then let him know that you knew the truth all along. Mind games.

  “I just… He just lived there. I knew him.” It was painful watching Henry try to hide something. He was really, really bad at it.

  Mauser put his head on my knee as though he knew I needed some comforting, or he was just unsettled because he wasn’t the center of attention for five minutes. I patted his head absent-mindedly, focused on Chavez’s next question.

  “You were friends?” Chavez tried to lead him down a blind alley.

  “Noooo. Not friends, exactly. I just rented him the trailer he was staying in. Not me exactly, it’s the co-op’s house. We have about a dozen we rent out.”

  “But you were on good terms?” Chavez’s voice was completely neutral, but you could tell by Henry’s body language that he had finally seen the trap that had been laid for him.

  “Well, not recently.” He looked down at the floor.

  “You had been on good terms, but you weren’t now. What changed?”

  Henry didn’t look up. He mumbled something.

  “What?”

  “I got a phone call.”

  Chavez didn’t say anything. He just let the silence beg to be filled.

  “I got a call that said that Tommy had done something… Something horrible.”

  Chapter Twelve

  For the first time, I saw that Chavez had been taken by surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Who called you?”

  “I don’t know. If I had my phone, I could show you the number,” Henry said, but I got the feeling he was hiding something about that too.

  “Did you recognize the voice?”

  Henry hesitated a fraction of a second too long. “No.”

  “Henry, if you want to go home today, you can’t lie to me. You recognized that voice, didn’t you?” Chavez was in good-cop mode now.

  “I didn’t at the time. But I think I do now. It was the same person who got me to go to… to where Timberlane was hanged.”

  This was all news to Chavez, and he was probably wishing that he’d questioned me more about my case. But he didn’t let his confusion show. “So someone,
someone who you now think called you to the murder scene in Adams County, called you and told you that Gibson had done something. Done what?”

  You could tell by the way Chavez had said it that he didn’t believe it for a minute. In fact, he was probably wondering if Henry was delusional, or pretending to be. Watching Henry’s continued humiliation at the hands of Chavez, I knew that if my relationship with Cara continued and if we managed to pull her father out of this nightmare, I would never be able to let Henry know I had seen this interview.

  Henry went on to answer Chavez’s question. “He said that Tommy had attacked a woman and that he’d been in league with Timberlane.” Henry stopped at the mention of Timberlane.

  “Didn’t you ask him who he was?”

  “Yes, but he said that didn’t matter and that I knew Timberlane and Gibson were monsters.”

  “Is that true? Were they monsters?” Chavez was asking Henry to give him his motive for killing them. I silently begged Henry to shut up.

  “Yes. I know that now,” Henry said in the dull, flat tone of a defeated man.

  “You knew they were monsters so you had to do something?”

  “Yes,” Henry said and my heart leaped in my chest. Was he about to confess?

  “What did you do, Henry? It’s okay. If they were monsters, you had no choice.”

  “I kicked them out. When I caught Timberlane molesting that girl, I kicked him out. I wasn’t going to pay him, but the board insisted that I give him his check so he’d go away and quit harassing everyone.”

  “And Gibson?”

  “Him too. I should have done it right after I threw Timberlane out. They were always hanging out together. I should have known that he was probably involved in anything that Timberlane was, but I didn’t. The caller, I knew he was telling the truth so I went straight to Gibson and told him he had to get out.”

  “How did he take it?”