by Tom Wallace
Richards shifted in his chair and turned back toward the bar. “Hey, Sally, could you bring us a couple of Cokes, please? Thanks.”
“How well do you know Eli Whitehouse?” Dantzler asked.
“I don’t know him at all, really. Why do you ask about him?”
“Because the warden told us you frequently accompanied Colt Rogers when he visited Eli at the prison.”
“The warden has a much different definition of frequently than I do. I only saw Eli Whitehouse maybe five or six times, tops.”
Dantzler waited until Sally placed the two Cokes on the table before continuing. “Why were you at the prison in the first place?”
“Colt owns-owned-a cabin on Kentucky Lake. He used to go down there one or two weekends each month, sometimes to fish, but mostly to spend time with whatever floozy he was hanging out with at the time. I don’t fish, and I was never unfaithful to my wife, but on a few occasions over the years, he would take me along with him. He’d fish, I would drink Jack Daniels. Anytime he went down there, he always stopped at the prison to meet with Eli Whitehouse. Rather than sit in the car, I would go inside with him.”
“What did Colt and Eli usually talk about?”
“Not much, to be honest with you. Truth is, I don’t think Eli cared much for Colt. At least that’s the impression I got.”
“Why do you think Eli disliked Colt?”
“Colt always had a briefcase filled with papers, documents he wanted the old man to sign. And Eli wasn’t about to sign anything. Normally, I didn’t pay any attention to their conversation, but I do recall one time when Eli yelled at Colt, telling him in no uncertain terms he would never-never-sign his name to any piece of paper Colt put in front of him, not even if it came from God himself.”
“How did Colt react?”
“Didn’t faze him in the least. I’m sure he was certain Eli would eventually wear down and sign the papers. Colt was something of an optimist.”
“Where were you when Colt Rogers was murdered?” Dantzler asked.
“Since I don’t know precisely what time he was killed, I couldn’t put my hand on a Bible and give you a definite location. However, it happened on a Friday night-one of our busiest nights-so I do feel confident in saying I was here in the bar.”
“Are you aware of anyone who might have wanted Colt Rogers dead? A pissed-off client, an angry business associate, some thug with a grudge, a jilted ex-lover?”
“I do remember one guy-I don’t know if he was a client or not-who came into Colt’s office intent on doing some serious harm. He was a big, scary-looking dude, you know, one of those hard-ass types with muscles on top of muscles. He stormed in and pinned Colt against the wall, ranting and blubbering like an insane man, saying if things didn’t work out he was going to make Colt pay dearly. Colt was scared shitless, and he had every right to be. I somehow managed to get in between them and talk to the guy. Tried to calm him down, but I didn’t do much good. He left, but he was cussing and threatening Colt all the way out of the office.”
“Any idea what he meant when he said ‘if things didn’t work out’?”
“No. I didn’t ask and Colt never volunteered the information.”
“When did this happen?”
“Oh, not too many years after I got here. I’d say ’eighty-five or ’eighty-six. Sometime around then.”
“Do you recall the guy’s name?”
“Keith, Kurt… something along those lines. Started with a K, I do remember that. Kevin-that’s it. The guy’s name was Kevin.”
“Remember his last name?”
“I’m not sure I ever heard his last name. What I can tell you, though, is Colt worried about the guy for several weeks after the incident. Even started carrying a gun.”
Dantzler stood, took a card from his shirt pocket, and handed it to Richards. “If you happen to think of anything else that might be helpful, call me at one of those numbers. And thanks for talking to us. You’ve given us some interesting information.”
“Just catch the scumbag who killed Colt,” Richards said. “Colt wasn’t a perfect man, and no one knew it better than I did. But he didn’t deserve to be gunned down in cold blood.”
“No one does,” Milt said. He took a five dollar bill from his wallet and laid it on the table. “For the Cokes.”
“On the house, Detective,” Richards said, sliding the bill toward Milt. “I can handle the cost of two Cokes.”
“We always stayed on the up and up with Sneaky Pete,” Milt said. “We didn’t take freebies from him and we aren’t taking them from you.”
“As you wish, Detective.”
*****
When they were back in the car, Milt said, “What’s your take on this Kevin dude who went after Rogers?”
“It’s not much, but at least it’s something.” Dantzler pulled the car out onto Leestown Road and headed toward downtown. “When you were going through Rogers’s files, did you run across any clients named Kevin?”
“None that caught my attention.”
“You’ll need to go through them again. See if you can find this Kevin.”
“Drop me off at Colt’s office and I’ll do it this afternoon.”
“That can wait,” Dantzler said. “I want to get with Barbara Tanner, see if she remembers the guy. If she does, it’ll save us a lot of time.”
“Sounds like a solid plan to me.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Even in a pair of cut-off jeans and a ratty University of Kentucky T-shirt, hair pulled back tight in a ponytail, her face streaked with dirt, Barbara Tanner looked much better today than she did the last time Dantzler saw her. Life and hope had returned to her eyes, and judging by the big smile on her face, sorrow and despair had vanished.
She had, Dantzler sensed, weathered the storm surrounding the death of her boss about as well as possible. Good for her.
Barbara invited the two detectives in, asked if they wanted something to drink-they declined-and apologized profusely for the mess in the house and for her sloppy appearance.
“I’m cleaning places that haven’t been touched in years,” she said. “It’s simply dreadful, the dirt and dust and cobwebs I’m finding. I should be horse whipped for neglecting things this long. It’s unforgivable.”
“You look really good,” Dantzler said.
“Oh, I can’t begin to tell you how excited I am,” Barbara answered, beaming. “When Mr. Rogers died, I was scared to death about being out of work. At my age, in this terrible economy, I thought it would be really difficult finding full-time employment. But you know what? I had three job offers the day after the funeral. All of them with really good, respectable firms. I couldn’t believe it.”
“That speaks volumes about your reputation within the legal community,” Dantzler said. “Have you made a decision yet as to which offer you’ll take?”
Barbara nodded, said, “I begin work Monday at Adler, James, and Young. Doing basically what I was doing for Mr. Rogers, but with a bigger paycheck and better benefits. I really lucked out, didn’t I?”
Adler, James, and Young-Sean Montgomery’s firm. No doubt Sean had a big hand in this deal. “Getting someone with your talent and experience,” Dantzler said, “I would say they also lucked out.”
“Well, I’m just very thankful. It goes to show good things sometimes come out of bad situations.”
“Listen, Barbara, I need to ask you about a guy who may have been one of Colt Rogers’s clients. If he was a client, it was probably a long time ago. Twenty, twenty-five years, maybe.”
“What’s his name?”
“I only have his first name. Kevin.”
“Hmm. Let me think. Off the top of my head, I can’t remember any clients named Kevin. Do you know what he looked like?”
“Big, strong, heavily muscled. Had a hot temper and wasn’t good at controlling it. He came into the office once and directed some serious threats at Colt.”
“You know, that does trigger a memory. But
the man I’m thinking of, well, Mr. Rogers represented him just prior to when I began working at the firm. I only got in on the tail end of their association, so I really didn’t know him. But the man I’m thinking of-his name wasn’t Kevin. His last name was Stone, but…”
“Ah, shit,” Milt yelled, slapping his palm against his forehead. “Kevin Stone-why didn’t I think of him? Went by the name Rocky.”
“Yes, yes, that’s him,” Barbara said. “Rocky Stone.”
“The name sounds familiar,” Dantzler said. “But I can’t quite place it.”
“He was a local kid, a boxer,” Milt said. “Pretty damn good fighter, too. Light heavyweight. I saw him fight once at the Continental Inn, back when they used to hold professional matches there. Knocked his opponent out in the second round. Johnny Richards was dead on when he said Colt Rogers had every right to be afraid. Rocky Stone was one tough gorilla. Crazy, too. He once got into an altercation in the Continental Inn bar and it took five cops to get him under control. They said he was slinging those guys off like they were raindrops.”
“What happened to him?” Dantzler asked. “His boxing career, I mean?”
“Hell, who knows? It’s no secret boxing is a crummy, dirty racket run by crummy, dirty people. My guess is he got used, abused, and taken advantage of as long as he could make some unscrupulous promoter or trainer a few bucks. Once he was no longer a financial asset, he got pitched out like dirty laundry. Rocky Stone-damn, hadn’t thought of him in ages. He had some real potential, could have been a big-time contender under the right circumstances.”
“If I’m not mistaken he ended up going to prison,” Barbara said.
“He did,” Milt said, nodding. “Got pinched for armed robbery up in the Cincinnati area. He and another guy robbed a string of pharmacies, took cash and drugs, maybe shot up one of those places. If I recall correctly, he got hit with a pretty long stint.”
“Is he out now?” Dantzler said.
“I don’t know, but I’ve got to believe he is.”
“Was Colt Rogers his attorney?” Dantzler asked Barbara.
“I think he was. Yes.”
“We need to find out all we can about this guy,” Dantzler said. “And if he has been released from prison, we certainly need to speak with him.”
“I’ll check the records,” Milt said, writing in his notepad. “Get all the paperwork, speak with his PO and try to nail down an address.”
“Good.”
“Do you think he might be the one who killed Mr. Rogers?” Barbara said to Dantzler.
“I don’t know. But from what you and Milt have been telling me, and given his past criminal history, he’s definitely a person of interest.”
“Well, I certainly don’t want to wish ill of anyone, but if he is the man who killed Mr. Rogers, I hope he burns in hell forever.”
Milt laughed out loud. “Come on, Barbara. Don’t hold anything back. Tell us how you really feel about it.”
*****
“I’ve got a good feeling about this,” Milt said when they were back in the car. “Rocky Stone is mean enough and crazy enough to be a shooter.”
Dantzler was less enthusiastic about the possibility. The lion in his path was the twenty-nine-year gap between the first set of killings and the recent murders. In his mind, he couldn’t build a bridge that would connect them. And even if Stone did murder Colt Rogers and Devon Fraley, it didn’t lock him in as the shooter of those two kids in Eli’s barn. But if he was the shooter, why would Eli keep silent all these years? Why would he spend his life in prison for a thug like Stone? There were too many questions yet to be answered before Dantzler’s excitement matched Milt’s.
Still, they now had a focus point-Rocky Stone-and that’s better than nothing.
Yet-
“I don’t know, Milt,” Dantzler finally said. “There are a lot of dots that need to be connected. I wish I were as positive as you are.”
“You’re a negative prick, and always have been. You and Dan were a lot alike that way, damn prophets of doom, the both of you.” Milt chuckled softly. “Not at all like me, Mr. Positive.”
“Yeah, you’re a real sunbeam of joy, Milt.”
“Think about it, Ace. This could turn out to be the ray of sunshine we need in order to solve this sucker. Certain elements do fit. Rocky Stone is a convicted felon, he’s violent and…”
“You’re jumping ahead of yourself, aren’t you? We don’t even know if he’s out of jail. For all we know, he could still be locked up. Or if he is out, he could be living a thousand miles from here. Hell, he might even be dead. No, Milt, I’ll keep my excitement in check until more facts are known.”
“His name fits, too,” Milt added, undaunted by Dantzler’s skepticism. “Think about it. From what you told us after reading the Bible. You said the name Stone was one we should be looking for. Well, you got it.”
“Yeah, that part I like,” Dantzler admitted. “But for it to work, if we’re going by what Eli told us, then we’ve somehow got to link Rocky Stone to the obituary page. If we can’t do that, then it’s just a weird coincidence.”
“This is no coincidence.”
“Once we do make the connection-if we can-then we’re still only halfway home. Our next step would be to link Stone to those two kids who were killed in ’eighty-two. Again, if we can’t make the connection, this whole thing falls apart faster than a cracked egg.”
“Thanks, Ace.”
“For what?”
“Taking away all my sunshine.”
“Welcome to the dark side, Milt.”
*****
Back at the station, Dantzler spent a few minutes briefing Captain Bird on what he learned from talking with Johnny Richards and Barbara Tanner. Bird was skeptical but intrigued. He remembered Rocky Stone as an up-and-coming boxer, but had only a vague recollection of his criminal activities. When told that Stone spent a long stretch in prison for armed robbery, Bird shrugged, went back to filling out forms, and mumbled something about not being surprised that a former pugilist ended up in legal trouble.
After leaving Bird’s office, Dantzler joined Milt, Eric, and Scott in the War Room. Milt had already brought the two younger detectives up to speed before Dantzler walked in. Scott was excited about the news, Eric wasn’t.
“We’re heading up a blind alley on this one,” Eric said. He was standing by the coffee pot, holding an empty cup. “I’ve been through those obituary notices five times and there is no one named Stone anywhere to be found. If this Stone guy killed Rogers and Fraley, then we’re looking for two shooters, not one.”
“There is only a single shooter,” Dantzler said. “I don’t like Stone as a candidate for the two most recent murders or the first two.”
Milt said, “Stone kills those young kids for who knows what reason. Maybe it was a drug thing, maybe it was something else, maybe they just pissed him off. But he kills them and gets away with it. Fast forward a few years and he gets pinched for the armed robbery thing, goes away for almost twenty years. That’s plenty of time to build up a lot of hatred and resentment toward the attorney who couldn’t save your ass. He gets out, thinks about it a little bit, maybe adds a little booze to boost his hate level, decides it’s time to settle old accounts. He kills Rogers. Fraley, the poor temp, overhears his name, or maybe she knew he was coming in, so Stone has to take care of her too. What’s so difficult to believe about that?”
“Milt, if I had ten dollars for every maybe in that speech, I’d buy myself a steak dinner tonight at Malone’s,” Eric said. “It will take some serious evidence before I’m convinced Stone killed those two guys twenty-nine years ago. And I doubt we’ll find it.”
“Know what’s missing from your scenario, Milt?” Dantzler said. “Eli Whitehouse. How does Rocky Stone fit in with Eli? Why would Eli go to prison for a nobody like Stone? Give up his freedom, his family, his congregation? It makes no sense.”
“Like you said from the start, Eli did it because he’s afraid. Not
for himself, but for his family. Rocky Stone is, as we all know, a scary dude.”
“But why did Stone kill those two kids?”
“Hell, Jack, I don’t know. That’s what we’ve got to find out. We need to make the connection.”
“There is no connection, Milt,” Eric said.
Milt ripped a piece of paper from a legal pad and stood. “Let me call Stone’s parole officer, see if I can come up with an address. That will at least answer the question regarding his whereabouts.”
“Why didn’t the guy use his cell phone?” Scott asked, after Milt left the room.
“A dinosaur like Milt never thinks cell phone first,” Eric said.
“Can’t imagine thinking otherwise,” Scott said, shaking his head.
Ten minutes later, Milt came back into the room, waving the paper like a flag. “Stone lives on Alexandria. Let’s go pay him a visit, Ace.”
“We’re all going,” Dantzler said. “Everybody wears a vest. Stone is obviously a force to be reckoned with, so we’re taking no chances.”
“I’ve never worn a vest,” Scott said.
“Get used to it, Rookie,” Milt said. “You’re not writing parking tickets anymore.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
“What else did Stone’s PO tell you?” Dantzler said to Milt as they turned onto Alexandria Drive. They were in Dantzler’s Forester, followed by Eric and Scott in an unmarked police cruiser. “Anything I need to know before we talk to him?”
“Stone is unemployed-surprise, surprise-drives a red Ford pick-up, has three ex-wives, a couple of grown kids he never sees, and has been good about meeting with his parole officer. He belongs to a once-a-week prison support group but rarely attends. He’s come up clean on all his drug and alcohol tests. According to the PO, Stone has been minding his manners and staying out of trouble.”
“Sounds like a real prince,” Dantzler said, adding, “how does he get by financially? He has to have income from somewhere.”
