Murder on the Third Try

by K. P. Gresham

James W. scratched between his eyebrows. “She wanted to know if anyone had claimed Chelsea’s body. For the funeral, or whatever.”

  “Were your secretary and Chelsea close?” Matt asked.

  “Not that I knew of. She said Chelsea’s family had basically disowned her and the girl hadn’t seen them for three years.” James W. shrugged. “Caught me off guard.”

  Matt wrote a note on Sarah’s card. “We need to follow up on that.”

  James W. returned his attention to the wall. “You’ve got Aaron pretty high on the suspect list.”

  “Trivia Team, which put him in my room last Sunday, and he was on the scene the night I got shot. Oh, and he’s got a Cuban accent.”

  James W. inclined his head. “What’s that got to do with you?”

  “I was an undercover cop working the drug scene in Miami. It has everything to do with me.”

  “Whoa.” James W. sat down. “I never thought of that.”

  “I haven’t had the chance to mention it to you.” Matt studied the sheriff. “You want some pop?”

  “Sure.”

  Matt went to the fridge and grabbed a Dr. Pepper. He pulled the tab and handed it to James W. “It’s gonna take both of us to get this done. I know some stuff. You know some stuff. That’s what cops do. We work together until we figure it all out.”

  James W. slugged down half the can. “Which comes to my stuff. I got some reports back today. I don’t think they’re gonna help us much.”

  “Go on.” Matt sat down across from the sheriff.

  “We got the results back on the digitalis syringe. No fingerprints. The smudges were from chalk.”

  “Like from the banner Mandy brought from the Sunday School?” Matt asked.

  “Yep. Which whittles it down to nothin’. Almost everyone who entered the room after she taped it up went over and admired it.”

  “Good point.”

  “And the hospital staff came up clean as a whistle. The nurses who tended to you on Sunday are both ten year vets. They’re not in money troubles, and there’s no strange activity in their bank accounts. Same with the physical therapist and the nurses’ aides.”

  “What about the folks that cleaned the room?”

  James W. shook his head. “They weren’t allowed in your room. Seems you had a habit of talking ‘em into doing stuff they shouldn’t be doing.”

  Matt was indignant. “Like what?”

  “Like screwing with your bed controls, for one thing.” James W. grinned. “The doctor said she knew you were going to be okay when you talked not two but three innocent staffers into doing your dirty work.”

  “My back hurt,” Matt huffed. “Besides, that was over a week ago.”

  “Just sayin’.” James W.’s eyes twinkled. “You can be stubborn as a mule in clover when you put your mind to it.”

  Angie came back into the room. “You stayin’ for supper? I’m making a shepherd’s pie.”

  James W. stood. “No. I gotta get back to work.” His cell phone beeped and he pulled it from his pocket. “Warren’s texted me a file of some kind.”

  “Bless his heart,” Angie said. “He figured it out.”

  “Figured what out?” James W. asked.

  “How to send a photo file,” Matt answered. “I wanted to see the pictures from the trivia team’s visit to me on Sunday. You said we weren’t supposed to use our phones unless it was an emergency, so I asked him to send the photos to you.”

  James W. tapped on his cell. “Well, here they are.” He handed the phone over for Matt and Angie to see.

  Angie shook her head. “Too small to see much.”

  Matt opened his laptop. “Let’s look at them on my computer.”

  James W. waited impatiently while Matt made the transfer. The sun was beginning to set, and he wanted to be at his house when the crew came back to the dig. When Angie handed his cell back to him, he stood. “I’ll leave you all to it.”

  Matt looked up from the keyboard. “Before you leave, I need to get into your database at the office.”

  “You’re stayin’ put.” James W.’s tone was flat.

  “You’re right. But you’re going to go down to your office and allow me to access your computer from here.”

  “And I would do that why?”

  Matt patted the top of the laptop. “Research. I’ve got to do a background check on every suspect on the list.”

  James W. shook his head. “I’m pretty sure that’s gonna violate several federal laws and a few procedural no-no’s.”

  “Look,” Matt said. “You won’t let me have a gun. At least let me help with some of the grunt work.”

  “All right,” James W. conceded. He flopped his hat back down on the table. “Hold up your right hand.”

  “What for?”

  “If I’m going to give you all that access, I’m going to deputize you first. I gotta cover my ass somehow.”

  ***

  I pull up to the Rascal’s mega-gas station halfway between Bastrop and Wilks. Personally, I think my idea of bringing the Chief here is genius. As Kodak is driving north to my apartment in Bastrop, the Chief is coming fifteen minutes south towards me.

  Only in Texas would a gas station have a hundred pumps in the middle of nowhere. This was more than a gas station, though. It was a restaurant, a clothing store, a grocery store and a souvenir shop all in one. The place was always crowded, the lights were always on, and security cameras were hung in every nook and cranny. Kodak wouldn’t dare pull something in here.

  God bless Texas.

  I park my car near the restaurant entrance. The Chief is already there, sitting in a corner booth with Eleanor. I head straight for them.

  I paste a chummy smile on my face. “Eleanor, you’re a lifesaver.”

  “I’m sorry you had car trouble,” the short, round-glassed accountant says.

  “Do I owe you for gas?” I almost pull her out of the booth and give her shoulders a hug.

  She laughs, shakes her head, and pushes away. “It was good meeting you, Mr. James.” She nods toward the Chief.

  His smile is just as friendly and just as fake as mine. “I appreciate the help.” He waits for her to exit the building before dropping his smile. I scoot into the booth.

  “Now explain to me why I’m here.” His tone is flat and demanding. He’s given me all the rope I’m gonna get.

  “I followed Kodak and Ballard into Dannerton this afternoon.”

  “They were together?” He sounds surprised.

  “No. Kodak was tailing Ballard.”

  The Chief fixes me with a glare. “And you were tailing Kodak.”

  I raise my chin, refusing to duck his disapproving look. “It is my conclusion that the greater risk to you and your organization is Kodak.”

  “So you took it upon yourself to disregard my orders.”

  I ignore the challenge. “And I’m glad I did. Ballard was going nuts all day trying to find Pendergast.”

  The Chief nods. “I got several calls from him to that effect.”

  “Late this afternoon he must’ve gotten a good tip. He hightailed it to Dannerton, and Kodak was right behind him. Ballard pulled into a run-down motel. He went into the room of a man matching Pendergast’s description.”

  “You’ve never seen Pendergast before?”

  I shrug. “He’s from Dallas. I never ran into him.”

  “Go on.”

  “About two minutes after Ballard goes into Pendergast’s room, Tom Gibbons pulls up.”

  “Who?”

  “Bottom of the barrel scumbag. Just like his father.” I should know. I was the last person to see that scumbag father alive. Or should I say, the first one to see him dead? “I’m pretty sure he’s the source that was feeding Pendergast all the information about Hogan.”

  “Why?”

  “Both Zach and Tom Gibbons hated the law. Both hated the preacher. They’d have done anything to smear either the Novaks or Hogan.” I lean forward. “Sheriff Novak’s son, Jimmy
Jr., is running for governor. Something happened on the Fourth of July that got Pendergast fired from Jimmy’s gubernatorial press bus. I wasn’t at the Ice House when it happened, but apparently Hogan orchestrated the whole thing. So you’ve got two people that would be happy to see Hogan and James W. smeared. And Tom works at the Ice House.”

  “So what happened when Tom got to the Dannerton motel?”

  “Nothing at first. I didn’t know where Kodak was, and things seemed quiet in the room. A moment later Kodak comes sprinting around from the back of the building. He listened at Pendergast’s door, put on a surgical glove, drew his weapon, and crashed into the room.”

  The Chief sits back in disbelief.

  “I heard five shots. Five. Then Kodak comes out the door, looking like nothing was wrong. He pulled off his glove, went to his car, and got the hell out of Dodge. That’s when I called you.”

  “Did anyone follow him out of the room?”

  “No.”

  “And your conclusion is that Kodak has gone rogue.”

  “My conclusion is that Kodak is in the middle of a coup. And you and I are about to be as dead as Ballard, Pendergast and Gibbons.”

  The look on the Chief’s face tells me he is seriously considering my conclusion. “What’s your plan?” he says finally.

  “Kodak knows where the preacher is. I’ll bet you dimes to dollars that the kid told him where Novak is hiding Hogan. If I were Kodak, I’d want to get you, me, the preacher, and the sheriff all in the same place and do what he did with Ballard, Pendergast and Gibbons. Make it look like a shoot-out among all the people that have to get dead, and Kodak takes over your organization.”

  The Chief nods. “So what do we do?”

  Before I can answer, the Chief’s sat phone goes off. He pulls it from his shirt pocket and checks the caller ID. He expels an angry growl. “It’s Kodak.”

  ***

  Angie forked a slice of potato that simmered in the pot. Still too crunchy. She put the lid back on what would soon be mashed potatoes. She turned to Matt, who sat at the kitchen table, staring at his computer screen.

  “Did James W. get you access to his database?” she asked.

  “He’s working on it,” Matt replied, but kept his gaze fixed on the screen.

  “Then whatcha lookin’ at?” She lifted the lid on the browning hamburger and gave it a stir.

  He looked up. “Tryin’ to see how I organized things in here.”

  She turned to him. “You mean your pastor stuff?”

  He shrugged. “Guilty.”

  She put the lid back on the skillet, then headed to the fridge. “So what do you think? Do you like what you see?”

  He nodded slightly. “I don’t disagree with what I’m seeing.”

  “That was a non-answer if ever I heard one.” Angie pulled a bag of peas from the freezer.

  “Seriously,” he said. “It doesn’t look like I’ve turned into a foot-washin,’ evangelistic maniac. This actually sounds like some of the stuff I’ve always thought.”

  It was Angie’s turn to shrug. “Maybe being a preacher isn’t as unnatural for you as you thought.”

  Mike looked back at his screen. “I did a sermon series on the Ten Commandments.” He chuckled. “My mom would’ve been proud.” He opened a file. “This one’s on the Fifth Commandment. ‘Thou shalt not kill.’”

  Angie put the peas down on the counter and turned to him. “Have you ever killed anyone? As a cop, I mean?” The thought had never occurred to her before.

  Mike swallowed hard, then met her gaze. “Twice.”

  Angie’s eyebrow arched.

  “The first one was a kidnap situation. The baby or the bad guy.” He sighed heavily. “The second was a drug bust gone bad.”

  She debated whether to pursue the subject. Matt was already confused enough about who he was. She didn’t need to stir that pot.

  “You’re pursing your lips.” Matt’s voice brought her head up. “What’s on your mind?”

  She went back to the peas and split the plastic open. “It can wait.”

  “No. Not if we’re going to be real with each other.”

  She grabbed a bowl from the overhead cupboard, buying time to figure out how to phrase her question. She emptied the peas into the bowl and turned to him. “How could you reconcile what you’d done when you became a preacher? You killed two people. You broke the commandment.”

  “I don’t remember becoming a preacher.” Matt leaned back in the chair. “But I sure as heck remember what my dad said to me when I became a cop.”

  “Your father?”

  “He said the difference between murdering someone and shooting someone in the line of duty is hate. If you pull the trigger because you hate someone, that’s murder. If you pull it in the line of duty—you’re saving someone’s life or protecting your own—that’s a different matter.”

  Angie leaned a hip against the counter. “A cop can kill someone he hates and get away with it by saying he did it in the line of duty.”

  “Yeah,” he nodded. “You’re right. Only God knows what’s in the heart of man. In the end, it boils down to you answering to God. As my mom said, God didn’t create us to hate.”

  Angie shook her head. “Don’t go Christian on me now, Matt. I don’t cotton to sermons.”

  “My name’s Mike, you know. Mike Hogan.”

  He didn’t mean it as a slap, she realized. He was being honest. “So I fell in love with Matt Hayden,” she said. “But I need to love Mike Hogan just as much. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “I can’t be anyone else than me.”

  “Nobody can,” she said quietly. She was a bar owner, and the folks at the Fire and Ice House were her family. When he was Matt he hadn’t asked her to stop being that person, even though the tongues of people like Elsbeth delighted in wagging about how inappropriate the situation was. Now it was her turn to accept him exactly as he was.

  She smiled. “Well, if I can love a preacher, I certainly have it in me to love a cop.” She stood, took his face in her hands and kissed him gently. “We’re gonna make it, Mike.”

  He wrapped his arms around her, guided her into his lap and deepened the kiss.

  ***

  Dannerton’s The Pit Stop is a hole-in-the-wall bar. It’s dark, has no cameras, the floor is sticky and the place smells of stale beer tainted with the subtle undertones of urine. No goody-two-shoes come to this place. No pleasant chatter over a drink at the bar with a friendly bartender. You put down your money and you get a drink. End of discussion.

  I’m not surprised that Kodak knows of its existence—it’s the perfect place for a rat like him.

  I search the dank interior and find Kodak sitting at a table in the corner. I go over to him. “Where’s your weapon?” I ask.

  He shrugs.

  “The Chief’s not coming in here until you turn over your weapon.”

  “I’m not giving it to you,” he says.

  “Then you’re a dead man. The Chief is a crack shot.”

  “How about we see how good a shot I am with you?”

  His moves his hand toward his jacket. I shake my head, displaying the Smith & Wesson .38 I’ve been holding behind my back. “You’ve killed enough people for one day.” I point my weapon directly at his head.

  “Hey, you!” This from a raspy female voice coming from behind the bar. I step to the side so that I can see both Kodak and the woman. She’s tattooed from neck to fingertips, and God only knows where else. “Not in here,” she said. “Go outside.”

  I smile her direction. “I’m trying to keep the peace,” I say, and stick out my free hand to Kodak. “Your gun. Now.”

  “How do you know I’ve killed anyone today?” he asks, delicately reaching into his jacket. He takes his weapon out of his holster and puts it on the table.

  “Slide it toward me,” I say. He gives it a shove, and I pick it up. Keeping my weapon trained on him—after all, he might have more than one piece—I back toward the
front door, shove it open with my foot, and call over my shoulder. “Clear.”

  The Chief walks in, his own weapon drawn.

  “Hey,” the barmaid calls. “I don’t want no trouble in here.”

  The Chief moves to the bar. He slaps some cash down on the counter. “For your inconvenience,” he said. “And discretion.”

  She grabs at the wad of bills, flips through it to see his offer is legit, then sticks it in her t-shirt between her withered breasts. “I’ve got a dishwasher load to run.” She disappeared into the back room.

  I haven’t taken my eyes off Kodak during the exchange. The Chief heads over to his table, instructs Kodak to stand and spread ‘em, then pats the weasel down. At his nod, I lower my weapon and haul a chair over to the corner. The Chief sits. I stand to his side.

  “You killed Ballard.” The Chief’s never been one to mince words.

  Kodak doesn’t blink. “You always leave it to me to tie up the loose ends. Ballard was a loose end.”

  “Ballard’s job was to find Hogan. You shot him.”

  “Not until after I learned where Hogan is.”

  “I understand you walked into that motel room and began shooting. Not much of a chance to exchange information.” The Chief’s emotionless voice was scaring me, and I haven’t done anything wrong. Kodak should be pissing himself right about now.

  “I listened in on Ballard getting the low-down before I offed him.” Kodak looks straight at me. I guess it wasn’t a big jump to figure that I had been tailing him.

  “Listened how?” I say. “You were nowhere to be seen.”

  “I was in the back behind the motel. The unit had a window air conditioner. All I had to do was cut the power, and I could hear every word that was said in that room.”

  “So you know where Hogan is,” the Chief says. “Let’s hear it.”

  Kodak slowly shakes his head. “Not now. Not with a gun pointed at me. I’ve never double-crossed you before. Show me a little respect, and I’ll take you to Hogan.”

  The Chief draws in a deep breath. After a moment of consideration, he turns to me. “Give me your gun,” he says.

  My mouth falls open. “You can’t trust him,” I say.

  “I don’t trust him,” the Chief replies. “And I know you won’t shoot me. But I’m not sure you wouldn’t kill Kodak. Can’t say as I blame you. Still, he knows where Hogan is. Give me your gun. And his.”