“Hey, Mark. What we got?”
The coroner squinted as his gaze rose to meet the approaching detectives. “Hey Connor. Phil, I hear congrats are in order. First case?”
Phil Edwards dug his hands deep into his pockets. “Yeah. Thanks. Know when he bought it?”
Mark laughed. “Eager beaver, aren’t you? New ones always are.” He lifted the tarp. “No more than a day, I’d say. Fish and turtles have had a few light meals already. Eyeballs are almost gone. Of course, the bloody fingertips and mouth probably chummed them to the body.”
Edwards coughed into his fist as his complexion took on a slight tinge of green.
Connor winked at Mark and crouched down. “So, he was dead before he hit the water?”
“My guess is, yes. Bet I’ll find no water in his lungs when I do the autopsy.”
“Possibly a drug deal gone wrong?”
“Yes, from the look of things. Definitely a professional hit.” He tilted the body toward the water. “One entry wound, back of the shoulder approximately one and a half centimeters down to the left of the spinal cord. Gunshot. Probably tore through his lungs and lodged in the left ventricle of the heart. Death would be fairly instantaneous.”
“No exit wound, huh? Not too close a range, then?”
“I’d say about twenty feet or so. And perhaps at a lower angle. I’d guess this guy had headed up the embankment when the perp shot him in the back.”
“Uh, huh.” Connor scanned the river bank he and Phil had just descended.
“By a Glock from the look of the entry wound,” Mark continued. “I’ll know more when I dig out the bullet.” He stared into Connor’s face a moment.
Connor scratched his ear. “Hmm. Right.” He glanced at Phil, whose cheeks still paled. “You OK, kid?”
Edwards gave him a small head bob and looked away to the ripples glistening on the river.
The coroner chuckled as he flipped the edge of the cover back over the victim, then returned his attention to Connor. “Already checked his pockets. Nothing, not even coins. Photos already taken. Can we bag him and tag him?”
Connor rose to his feet. “Yeah, go ahead.”
“I’ll have a full report to y’all tomorrow morning.”
Connor puffed the air out of his cheek. “Nice job strapping rocks to weigh down his arms and feet.”
“Yeah, isn’t it? New use for duct tape.”
“Who discovered this?”
“A man checking a trotline with his eight-year-old son. Their hook snagged his leg. Otherwise, he may not have surfaced for another week. They’re over there.”
The two huddled under one of the cypress trees. The boy looked as if he’d been crying. Their canoe propped at an angle on the bank.
“Phil, come on. Let’s go talk with them.”
Edwards listened and took notes as Connor gently coaxed information out of the two witnesses. Neither knew much. They lived in Houston and were on a short camping trip for a little father-son bonding time. They were camping in the Tejas River Park along Lake Georgetown at one of the primitive sites. They followed the hike and bike trail to the riverbank, launched their canoe, and paddled downstream.
“How long have you been here?”
“Second day. We set the trotline yesterday evening about sunset.”
The man, who identified himself as Joe Wright, said he and his son, J.J., came down to check their line in the hopes they’d caught a catfish for dinner. Edwards took down their names and contact information.
“Will you do us a favor and contact us before you leave for home. We may need to ask you a few more questions, and there will be paperwork to complete.”
The boy tugged his father’s sleeve. “Dad, I wanna go home, now.”
The man stroked the child’s hair. “We’ll talk about it, OK?” He focused on the two detectives. “I think it would be best if we went to the police station and got this behind us.”
“If you think so. How about later on this afternoon? Say four-ish?” Connor handed Mr. Wright his card and wrote the name of a family counselor in Georgetown on the back, just in case. Both detectives shook their hands, dismissed them, and wandered back to the riverbank.
“The recovery team is combing the immediate crime scene. Let’s canvass the area along a mile upstream. Afterward, we’ll cross over at the pedestrian bridge and start down the other side. Come on, Phil. Time to show me your eagle eye.”
Edwards rushed to catch up with him. “What are we looking for?”
“Anything that doesn’t naturally belong in or near a riverbank.”
An hour later, after they had headed back, Edwards noticed a thread dangling from a barbed wire fence a half-mile downstream from the bridge. “Hey, look at this.”
Connor trudged up the bank. He got out his gloves and an evidence bag. With a pair of tweezers, he lifted the tan string off the barb. “Could be stitching from a pair of jeans.”
“Or a uniform? The state troopers wear khakis, right?”
“Possibly. Though I’m not sure why any would be around here. It could be off a hiker’s shorts for all we know. We need to get this back to forensics. Maybe they can determine how long it’s been there. It very well may be a lead. Excellent job.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Connor slapped Edwards on the back. “Come on. Let’s finish up and then go for some barbecue. I’m thinking a thick, juicy sloppy joe. Whatcha say?”
The rookie detective’s grin widened. “You read my mind. An hour ago, my appetite was gone, but now I’m starved.”
Connor’s laugh echoed off the river’s ripples.
~*~
Blake answered on the third ring. “Hi, Janie. What’s up?”
“Thanks for influencing Chief Gates.”
“You’re welcome. You’re a prime witness, you live in the community, and you were the one who put two and two together when it came to the white van.”
“Connor Hemphill tells me they ran the plates. Bogus. The vehicle identification number had been removed as well.”
Blake put the cell phone to his other ear and pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. “Janie, you know I’ve been assigned to lead up the I.A. investigation on the deaths of both burglars.”
Janie laughed. “Weird we’re working on the same twenty-four-hour period but on two separate cases. I miss you.”
This time Blake chuckled. “So, it goes. Even so, if you discover anything that might pertain to my investigation...”
“Back at ya. Somehow the two are connected, and I don’t mean because Wellington and Holden committed the burglaries. Somebody wanted them silenced.”
He rubbed the vein that began to throb in his temple. “I know, Janie. I know. It’s my job to discover who. I have under fourteen hours to do so, which is impossible. Guess I’ll be packing it along with my swimming trunks.”
“Oh, boy. My daughter will not be pleased. I’ll say a prayer for you, Blake.”
He smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Thanks, Janie.”
He pulled out his notebook and the police sketch. Who was this guy? Whoever he was, he knew too many internal things at the Alamoville Police Department not to be connected. Which meant someone in the police department had informed him, maybe even plotted with him to snuff out Wellington and make it appear as suicide. That realization left a boulder in the middle of Blake’s stomach. If this had been an inside job, discovering who lay behind it wouldn’t be easy. The idea any one of the officers on the force could be involved in something like this was enough for him to upchuck that candy bar.
He popped two antacids and took a swig of water, which registered just below the boiling point after sitting in his car for a few hours in the Texas heat. He tapped the steering wheel as he edged back onto the highway. He had to give his findings to Gates before the tri-county area mayors’ pow-wow at six over a catered chicken fried steak dinner. Blake couldn’t decide which he looked forward to the least. Gates’s reaction or Mel’s w
hen he told her about taking work with him on vacation.
He’d better dash by the florists before they closed. Plus, order Mel’s favorite take-out meal as well. She knew him well enough to know he’d be buttering her up, but it might still soften the blow.
TWENTY-TWO
Janie dropped the still soggy phone on Hemphill’s desk. “Found it in Westwood Creek.”
Connor Hemphill knitted his brow. He grabbed a paper tissue, scooped it up, and plopped it in an evidence bag. “Why didn’t we find it?”
She lifted the straps of her purse back onto her shoulder. “Don’t know. If it belonged to one of the crooks, they probably started at the place Wellington was apprehended and fanned out. I started at where I thought he, or whoever it was we saw, entered the woods.”
“Whoever? What do you mean?”
Janie explained that none of them got a good look at the man in the alley. “We all concur he wore dark blue jeans and a dark hoodie.”
Hemphill held up a finger. He opened the file and flipped through a few pages. “Wellington wore black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. No hoodie.”
“Doesn’t matter. The man we all saw didn’t match Wellington’s description. Shorter, stockier, probably older.”
“All in your reports, right?”
“You don’t have them, Connor?”
He scratched his ear with the eraser of his pencil. “Um, no. Hornsby does. He pulled us off that case for now and put us onto a new homicide.”
Why would he do that? She kept silent for a moment. Then, she pointed at the cell phone. “Think you can glean anything from it? I thought about packing it in raw rice, but there may be fingerprints. Of course, mine are now on it, but you have those on file.”
“We do?”
“Don’t ask.”
Hemphill laced his hands behind his neck. “Does this have anything to do with the ride in a police cruiser and the morgue?”
“No comment.”
His chair hinges screeched as he pushed toward his desk again. “Thanks for this, Janie. You’re absolutely sure the man you saw was different?”
“I honestly think so. Do you have a photo of Wellington?”
He gazed into her face for a minute. “Blake does, and there might be one on Hornsby’s desk.” He rose from his chair. “I must warn you, though. He was strangled so his face is contorted.”
She scrunched her nose, making her readers shift. “I can handle it. I used to look at Jack’s crime scene photos all the time. Some were gruesome. Besides, I raised three kids and have babysat six grandkids, though four of them are now up east.” Her focus dropped to her hands. “I miss my son in New Jersey daily.”
“My mom tells me the same each time we talk on the phone. And she’s only in west Texas.”
She waved the thoughts away. “Anyway, what I meant is that there isn’t a bodily fluid that can ooze out of any orifice to make me squeamish. Nor much blood and guts for that matter.”
“If you say so. Remember, you didn’t see me do this.” He went into Hornsby and Blake’s office and shuffled through the papers on their desk. In a minute, he returned with the folder, pulled out the photo, and slid it toward her with an expression on his face as if it was pornographic.
She harrumphed and picked it up. Stared at it for several minutes.
Hemphill tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Janie? What is going on in that brain of yours?”
She handed the photo back to him. “Not the same man.”
“Hold that thought.” Hemphill whistled at Phil and motioned him to come to his desk area. The rookie had just finished all the paperwork with the Wrights and sent them on their way.
Phil Edwards wandered over and stood by the desk. He extended his hand. “Hi, Mrs. Manson.”
She took it firmly in hers. “Phil, call me Janie, please. Oh, and congratulations, by the way.”
He gave her a small dip of his head.
“You want to repeat what you said, Janie?” Hemphill shifted his focus between them.
She tapped the photo with her fingernail. “Not the guy we saw running past us in the alley.”
“You’re absolutely certain?” Edwards dashed a glance to Hemphill and back to Janie.
“Yep. Wellington was what? Five-ten?”
Hemphill wet his thumb and flipped through the file. “Close. Five-nine-and-a half.”
Edwards arched his brow. “Very good, Mrs. M.”
She smirked. “Thank you. You may wish to check with George and Betsy Ann, but I’m thinking the man we saw couldn’t have been over five-seven, and stockier. Well, in the waist, anyway. If you want my opinion, the one we saw wasn’t a kid. He definitely liked a six pack or two on occasion.” She rounded her hands over her stomach.
Edwards turned to Hemphill. “Then who could it have been?”
Hemphill popped his neck. “The guy we just fished out of the San Gabriel comes close to matching the description in height and weight.”
Janie cocked her head. “Oh, really?”
Hemphill rose and buttoned his jacket. “Hornsby needs to be read in on this pronto. Janie, will you formally give your amended statement to Phil?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. Phil, get in touch with Mr. McGuffy and Mrs. Hunt and ask them to describe the man they saw as far as stature and height.”
Janie swatted his instructions away and crossed her leg. “I already asked them. Betsy Ann didn’t have a clue. She’s only five-two so everyone seems tall to her. George, though concurred with my description.”
Hemphill turned to Edwards. “Ask them both, anyway. For the record.” He placed the file back on his superior’s desk. He’d barely made it back to his own station when Hornsby entered the detective den with a hot cup of coffee. He gave Janie a nod, and leaned toward Hemphill. “After you are finished here, I need to speak with you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Hornsby strolled into his office.
Hemphill gazed at Janie and grimaced. He mouthed, “Oops.”
Janie motioned with her hands folded together in prayer, winked, and left the room.
~*~
Connor stood at the door. Hornsby removed the phone receiver a half inch from his ear and motioned him in. Hornsby then returned his attention to his caller. “Yes, sir. I will.”
Connor entered and stood with his hands clutched in front of him.
After he hung up, Hornsby motioned for him to sit down. “Hey, Connor, want to tell me what’s up?”
Connor plopped into one of the visitor chairs. “There may be a connection between the vic in the drink and the robberies at Sunset Acres.”
Hornsby set down his pen. “How’s that?”
As Connor explained Janie’s response when he’d shown her the photo from the file on Hornsby’s desk, Hornsby’s jaw twitched. “So, what do you think, sir? Worth pursuing?”
Hornsby pressed his spine into the back of his chair. “Not really. She just described about fifty percent of the men in this county, so of course they’d vaguely match. Not only that, it was nighttime during the manhunt, a lot was happening and the scene proved chaotic. You know witnesses are not reliable under those circumstances.”
“This is Janie Manson we’re talking about.”
“I get that, but I still don’t see a connection. Not one that will stand up anyway. Gates wants this tied up with a bow fast so we look good to the other mayors and the press, which is why I’ve taken it over.” He leaned back. “You are a proficient detective, Connor, but I’ve been at this a lot longer. We can’t waste time on bunny trails.”
“Yes, sir.”
“It appears Gates will turn over the I.A. to me when Blake leaves. Which is another reason we need to wrap things up with a bow.”
“So, you don’t think there’s a possibility of a third burglar who later was executed and dumped in the river?”
“No. That’ll prove to be a drug deal gone bad as you first believed.” He leaned forward and place
d his hands on the desk. “Holden had a history of robberies. Whenever he got neck-deep in debt over the ponies or football pools, he’d make some quick cash on the side. Not too farfetched to think he got his impressionable nephew involved. Kids want fast money today as well. According to his parents, he had a fashion-conscious fiancée at the community college who wanted a big, fancy wedding. Plus, his clunker needed a major tuneup.”
Connor heaved his chest. “Right. So, you honestly think he committed suicide?”
“Kid got scared. It happens. When Everett and Gonzales searched his car, they found a pair of diamond earrings under the upholstery and the wires to a big screen TV matching the description of the one taken from the same apartment, that of Mrs. Jane Stephens.”
“Yeah. The clerk at E-Z Pawn in South Austin called in this morning and recognized Jacob Wellington from the news. Tried to unload the VCR and TV four days ago.”
“See?”
“What about the ace-bandage, sir?”
Hornsby shrugged. “May have been on the other ankle or on a knee. Who knows? Mercy E.R. isn’t known for thoroughness. Last year, they got a fake pearl out of a toddler’s nose and missed the one in his ear canal until he ran a one hundred and one fever and cried all night. Recently, while patching up a guy’s arm from a bar brawl, they missed the two broken ribs. Didn’t see the bruises because they never removed his undershirt, so they never did an X-ray. Guy was too plastered to feel anything until the next morning when he rolled over on the cot in the drunk tank.”
“Sanford, right?”
Hornsby smirked. “Gee, how’ja guess, cowboy?”
Connor pushed off from the chair and stood. “You and Blake must love doing the I.A.”
Hornsby rolled his eyes. “Protocol. Has to be done. Doubt we’ll find anything unusual, though. Hear Aaron might pull through by the way.”
“Great news. The Go-fund is topping thirty thousand already.”
“Excellent. His family can use it.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to hustle. Have Edwards continue looking in the database for our floater. You follow up with forensics.”
He swiveled back to his computer screen, an indication the conversation had ended.
Connor frowned. Janie had gotten him all worked up over nothing. Gosh, darn it, man. You are a seasoned investigator. If Blake was here, he’d be laughing at you right now.
Threes, Sixes & Thieves Page 11
