Color of Murder

by John Foxjohn

  Peterson’s face erupted with a tomato color. “We didn’t beat him. He resisted when we tried to arrest him.”

  Peterson glanced away from David’s piercing eyes. “Uh—huh.”

  Peterson put his hands on his hips. “I don’t care if you’re a friend of Justin’s or not. You can’t blow in here all high and mighty and tell us what to do.”

  David’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. Peterson stepped back. He wasn’t going to work with these assholes. He stepped close to the sheriff and reached up, jabbing Peterson in the chest with his finger. “You’re wrong on a couple of accounts Sheriff. First, I haven’t tried to tell you what to do. But that shit stops.” His smile disappeared like someone flipping a light switch. “As of this minute, I’m taking over this investigation. I don’t give a shit if you like it or not.” His stare caught everyone in the room. “If you or anyone else on this department in any way hinders my investigation or withholds anything, I’ll put their ass in jail for obstruction of justice. That includes you—Sheriff.”

  David caught a perceptive nod from Pateau out of the corner of his eye.

  Spivey shifted his feet and Peterson, hatred radiating from his eyes, stared for several strained moments before dropping his gaze.

  David adjusted his coat to fit better over his shoulder holster. He pointed into the interrogation room where the male’s head was again resting on the table. “I want to know what you have on him.”

  When no one spoke, Pateau spoke up. “They had an anonymous tip from Crimestoppers that the one they arrested killed Deputy Milam. They ran out and arrested him. They say he confessed.”

  David put his hands in his pockets, thumbs hanging on the outside. “Who interrogated him?”

  Spivey, who stood staring at the dirty carpet, jerked his head up. His lips thinned. “I fucking talked to him. We have the son-of-a-bitch dead to rights.”

  David, with a half-twitch of his mouth asked, “What did he say?”

  “He said he fucking did it.”

  David massaged his temples with his left hand. “Why did he do it? How did he do it? Where’re the other two?”

  “Listen—Mason,” Peterson cut in. “We didn’t ask him any of that shit. He confessed. End of story.”

  “OK sheriff. Let me put it another way. Besides the so-called confession that will be thrown out of court in a New York minute, what evidence do you have against this man?”

  A young woman in uniform, large and dumpy with black hair piled up like a beehive, waddled up and handed David a message on a little pink memo slip. David thanked her and glanced at the message. “Call me as soon as you get a chance. Beeker.”

  David looked up at the sheriff and repeated the question.

  “We have the tip and the confession. We’ll get the rest.” Peterson mumbled.

  “Dammit. You can’t convict that guy of a parking ticket. Have any of you heard of the phrase duress? Your confession isn’t any fucking good. All you have is a tip and you don’t know who gave it to you. You do not have a piece of evidence, a witness, or anyone you can put on the stand to testify.”

  David jerked his hand toward the male who tried to sit up. “I’m getting out of here for now. I will be back this afternoon. When I return, I want everything you have available on this case out and ready for me to examine. Sheriff, I’m making it your responsibility to get the stuff ready.”

  David pointed his thumb at the prisoner. “He needs medical attention and he damn well better get it.” David looked at his watch. “It’s 10:30 now. I will be back at 4:00. If the shit isn’t ready, you’re fucking under arrest.”

  * * * *

  When Mason left, Peterson ignored every one but Spivey. He jerked his hand toward his office and marched toward it without looking back. When the door slammed shut, he paced his office. Spivey sat, leaning back with his ankle crossed over his leg.

  Peterson spun and faced his chief deputy. He pointed his finger at Spivey’s face. “You got me in this shit. We need to do something about this bastard.”

  Spivey shrugged. “Like what?”

  “Get rid of his ass!”

  Spivey frowned, scratching his left eyebrow. “How the hell are we supposed to get rid of him? He is a hard ass. He’s not going away on his own. We damn sure can’t kill an FBI agent. We’d have the whole fucking government down on our ass.”

  Peterson banged his hand on the desk. “We need to do something.”

  Spivey spit a glob in his cup. “Why? They can’t prove shit. No matter how hard they look, we covered our asses too well.”

  Peterson stood, looking out the window, hands jammed in his pockets. He took a deep breath. “Mason’s supposed to be damn good—smart, too.” Peterson turned. “You got this shit started. You damn well better think of something to get Mason off my back.”

  * * * *

  David spun and stormed out, not bothering to look back. He hoped they didn’t have everything ready for him. He wanted to throw the silly son-of-a-bitches in jail.

  Someone called his name before he reached his car. When he turned, Pateau strode to catch him. “Listen, Mason. Let me talk to you for a minute.”

  “You aren’t a part—”

  Pateau jerked both hands up, palms facing David. “Do you drink coffee?”

  David frowned. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

  Pateau nodded. “Why don’t you meet me in an hour and we can sit with some java and talk about this mess?”

  “Where?”

  Pateau told David where and gave him directions. After opening his car door, he found his phone and spent a few minutes figuring out how to call out on the thing. Beeker answered on the second ring.

  “David—we—you have a problem down there,” Beeker said.

  David leaned back and closed his eyes. Tell him something he didn’t know.

  “I’ve had two calls this morning about the man they arrested. One from his parents and the other from his attorney—Michael Horton. He claims the sheriff won’t let him visit with his client.”

  Without opening his eyes, David shook his head. Nothing this damn department did surprised him any more. “I don’t doubt it in the least. They’ve beat what they call a confession out of the suspect.”

  Cutting silence ensued on Beeker’s end. At last, he said, “You take charge. We can not let this continue.”

  “I’m a step ahead of you. I’ve already taken over the investigation. I think I’m going to go talk to the attorney first. Need to get the mess they’ve made cleaned up before I can start an investigation.”

  “Good.” Beeker’s scratchy voice said. “Melissa and the others will land in Houston at twelve forty-five this afternoon. They’ll rent a car and be there as soon as they can.”

  When David hung up, he strode around the courthouse to Michael Horton’s office. The office had a small waiting room with a glassed-in reception area and a closed door leading to the back. Four people—an elderly white woman, a kid who looked about eighteen, and a black couple, waited in soft cloth chairs.

  A blonde receptionist with bee-stung lips greeted David with a smile, but it vanished when he identified himself and told her he needed to talk to Horton.

  She held up her index finger. “Please wait. I believe he will see you right away.”

  He had no doubt Horton would see him. He rubbed his mouth. He would not cover for those idiots.

  David didn’t have time to sit before she returned with a male on the sunny side of thirty wearing a grey suit, white shirt and red tie. About six foot, he weighed one eighty with short chocolate hair and a trimmed beard.

  When he marched around his desk, he sat and motioned David to sit. “When did you get into town?” Horton asked without any pleasantries or friendliness.

  David scratched his ear. “An hour ago.”

  “Have you talked to this county’s fine sheriff?”

  Without replying, David rolled his eyes and nodded.

  “Agent Mason. I demand they release my
client. They’ve violated his civil rights and no telling what else. I know how that group works. There’s no damn way they can keep me away until the bruises heal.”

  David cocked his head. Horton hit the nail on the head with his guess, but seeing how the sheriff operated, it was more than a guess. He took a deep breath. “I’m looking into the situation this afternoon. I gave them four hours to turn over everything, or I’m making some arrests myself.”

  Horton leaned back in his chair. “I’m telling you now. There will be a civil rights lawsuit against the sheriff, his department, and this county. Besides the fact that they wouldn’t let my client have legal representation, I have indisputable evidence he did not kill the deputy. I told them and they didn’t even ask what it was.”

  CHAPTER 5

  With fists clenched, David marched past Peterson’s startled secretary and slammed open the sheriff’s door. Spivey and Peterson jumped.

  David faced them, hands on his hips, mouth suppressed in trembling lines. Peterson leaped from his seat, face flamed. “You can’t barge into my office like you own it.”

  “I just did, asshole.” David strode forward. “You have five minutes to release the man you have back there.”

  Spivey leaped from his seat. “Re—Release. What the hell are you talking about? We aren’t releasing him!”

  David nodded, fast. “Yeah. You’re releasing him. I’ve been here for one hour and I already know he fucking didn’t have anything to do with Justin’s murder, you blooming idiot.”

  Peterson sat with a smug smile. His finger stabbed at David. “First. You can’t demand we release anyone. Second. What makes you sure he didn’t?”

  David put his hands on the desk’s edge and leaned close. “Einstein. He couldn’t’ve killed Justin. He was in your fucking jail at the time of Justin’s murder.”

  * * * *

  David arrived early for his meeting with Pateau and sat in the foyer waiting, watching people enter and leave. He loved to watch couples and it always surprised him at the number who didn’t appear to belong together.

  Pateau, with a shadow, arrived fifteen minutes later. The Ranger’s shadow stood to the side when David and Pateau shook hands.

  “Mason. This is Deputy Sheriff Willis James.”

  David raised an eyebrow. “With Angelina County?”

  Pateau nodded and raised his hand, palm toward David. “It’s okay. I brought him here for a reason. You can trust him.”

  David puckered his lips, sizing the deputy up. He wasn’t sure he could trust any law enforcement in this area, especially one on the Angelina sheriff’s department. As far as Pateau, he’d wait to see on him, too.

  The waitress led them to a table in the rear and set menus down. All three ordered coffee. When she left, they glanced at the menus.

  After taking a sip of his coffee, Pateau set his hat on an empty seat next to his chair and leaned back. “Is it true the suspect they arrested was in the county jail the night Deputy Milam was killed?”

  David snorted. “Yep.”

  “Why did he confess then?” James asked.

  David took a drink of coffee, frowning at the stupid question. He stared at James for a long moment, and set his cup down. “They were beating the crap out of him. He had an unbreakable alibi. What would you have done to keep them from caving in your face?”

  He nodded. “I’d confess, too, to stop them.”

  When the waitress came by to take their orders, their conversation stopped. David ordered a chicken fried steak with fries. Pateau ordered bacon and eggs, but James didn’t order. After refilling their coffee cups, the waitress left.

  Several moments passed without them speaking. David needed to find out more about James. Pateau hadn’t said much, and he wondered what the Ranger was doing in this investigation, and why he hadn’t done anything to stop the suspect’s beating. He directed his question to James. “What’s your story with this department?”

  James massaged his neck. His face, tired, looked like he hadn’t slept. He set his cup down. “Been on the sheriff’s department two years. Before that I was with the Lufkin police department for four years.”

  David adjusted his suit coat while James talked. He didn’t want to interrupt him. Even experienced officers had a tendency to talk too much, especially when they attempted to impress someone, as James tried to do. He wondered if James tried that hard because he was with the FBI or another reason he didn’t know about. Agents didn’t impress most veteran officers.

  James told him about the election and house cleaning that took place after Peterson’s election.

  David massaged his temples. “Let me get this straight, the four ranking department members have no experience in law enforcement whatsoever?”

  James rested his chin on his fist. “Spivey spent two years as a gate guard in Germany. He tells everyone he was an MP, but he had an 11B MOS. Do you know what an 11B is?”

  With a wiry grin, David chuckled. “Infantry. I was an 11B myself in the army.”

  James nodded. “Me too.”

  Their food arrived, halting their conversation. When the waitress cleared the dishes, Pateau asked, “How’re you going to handle the investigation?”

  David wiped his mouth with his napkin and sipped his coffee. “When I first arrived I intended to work in conjunction with the sheriff. But I can’t do that. I’m afraid they’ll screw something up.”

  Pateau and James nodded.

  “I’m operating in the blind at the moment,” David continued. “All I have are bare facts. Justin was killed on a traffic stop by three black males.” David turned to James. “Were you on duty that night?”

  James shook his head. “No. I was off, and before you ask, I don’t know shit about it, either. They’ve kept everyone away from the case. I haven’t seen the tape.”

  David tapped his mouth with his index finger. He’d talked to too many suspects in his career and knew when someone fed him a line of BS. Why would James lie about whether he was on duty or not? He tilted his head, puckering his lips. “What tape?”

  Using a napkin, James wiped his mouth and put it down. “I thought you knew. Justin had a camera mounted on his dash. He recorded his own murder.”

  “Who has seen it?”

  James and Pateau shrugged. “I believe the only ones are Peterson, Spivey, Post, and Bevins,” Pateau said. “They’ve kept me away from it altogether.”

  David glanced from one to the other. Something about this stunk to high heaven. On the county commissioner’s demand, the Rangers appeared to assist in this investigation. How did they keep Pateau away from the evidence? But more important, why did he let them keep him away? Anger rose in him at the entire situation. He took a deep breath to calm down. He needed information now. “Who are Post and Bevins?”

  “They’re the investigators.” James said.

  David stared out the restaurant’s window when they left. Why was the sheriff attempting to keep everyone away from the evidence?

  * * * *

  Melissa’s eyebrow rose when Melvin struggled with six huge suitcases.

  Before she could speak, Morgan asked the question everyone thought. “What do you have in all those suitcases?”

  Melvin pushed his thick black coke-bottle glasses up on his nose with an index finger before answering Morgan’s question. “My equipment. What else?”

  Everyone else had brought one mid-sized suitcase, and stood watching Melvin stack all his bags on a cart.

  Melissa settled into her seat in first class with John beside her. At least she wouldn’t need to carry on a conversation. John seemed to be the quietest man she’d ever met, but he may just be that way until he got to know people.

  When the plane took off, she laid her head back and relaxed, thankful Morgan sat several seats away from her. She wasn’t ready for another confrontation. The others accepted her, at least in outward appearances—only time would tell about them, but she would need to do something with Morgan. She couldn’t go
to David with it. He would handle the problem—she had no doubts about that, but he may think she should handle it.

  David believed in leadership by example. She’d heard him say many times, “Respect is earned, not given.” Besides, if she tattled, she ran the chance of losing the others, and it wouldn’t impress Morgan.

  She had to gain their respect on her own, but didn’t know how. The lack of respect developed because she was a woman, and the situation pulled her in two directions. Should she try to out macho them the way a man would, or handle things naturally?

  She didn’t believe language and toughness would impress them, but neither would feminine virtues.

  When the flight landed in Houston at 12: 50, she’d decided a combination of both would be her best bet, and let circumstances dictate when to use which one.

  They retrieved their luggage, rented a Lincoln Town Car, found a map, and headed north at 1:30 with Melissa driving and Melvin sitting up front.

  Melissa had described Melvin as a geek. He looked the part at five-six, a hundred and thirty pounds with thick black hair that looked like he never combed it. His mouth, a thin slit, gave the appearance that he didn’t have an upper lip. He wore a blue long-sleeved shirt with double pockets filled with pens and a calculator, brown slacks, and a brown leisure jacket that died from boredom in the early seventies.

  Dennis Morgan also had thick black hair, but the similarities to Melvin ended there. He kept his hair combed to perfection, and his six-two frame held a hundred and ninety-five athletic pounds. Unlike Melvin, who bought his clothes off cheap racks, Morgan, like David, dressed in expensive, tailored suits. His tan three-piece suit fit him like a glove.

  John differed not only because he remained corpse quiet, but also stuttered, his only apparent flaw. David discovered this little fact in the interview, but decided the speech impediment wouldn’t interfere with his duties. Besides, his knowledge of accounting and procedures far outweighed the stuttering. After looking at their map, they headed out on Interstate 45 North.

  Morgan put his arms on the seat. “Can you believe this place? We left Washington in a snowstorm and it has to be sixty degrees here.