Another Man's Ground--A Mystery, page 17
“Like hell you will,” Sam shouted from the bedroom. That was followed by several thuds and a stream of loud and incoherent grumbling.
“Maybe I’ll wait in the car,” Hank said. He thanked Mrs. Karnes again, went out, and settled into the cruiser. Daylight was starting to crack across the sky to the east, heading his way and toward the northern county woods where the shooter was hiding. And where two people had died and moldered in the dark earth.
He tore off a hunk of the warm bread. He had a feeling it was the best thing that was going to happen to him today.
CHAPTER
24
No one said a word. It sat on the table in Interview Room B like a halfheartedly tossed salad. Sheila reached out to touch it, but then reconsidered and withdrew her hand. Sam shifted from foot to foot and almost gave up his scowl. Kurt leaned wearily against the wall with a clipboard in his hands. Hank stood in front of it and wondered where the hell he was going to keep it.
Finally, Doug Gabler spoke.
“One million, five hundred forty-seven thousand, five hundred and twelve dollars.”
Unbelievable.
The Branson County Sheriff Department’s evidence room was not equipped to hold that much money. Setting aside the actual value and the security needed to protect it, that much in small bills took up an extraordinary amount of room. It looked like about a fifth of it was in bank-stacked order, neatly bound by denomination. That wasn’t so bad. The rest, though, was crumpled, wadded, and ripped.
“We counted it twice on site and again here this morning,” Gabler said. “We tried to get it into stacks”—he waved at the wrinkled pile—“but, geez, it was hard.”
Kurt stepped forward and handed Hank a sheet of paper. It was a breakdown of denominations and which bags they’d been found in. He and Gabler took them through the whole list. Toward the end, Hank noticed that both men still had dirt on their knees.
“Have you guys been home yet? Since yesterday?”
They shook their heads.
“Neither has Brian Handlesman from Branson PD,” Kurt said. “Partly because once we got it all here, we didn’t want to leave it alone. It’s a lot of money.”
Sheila mentally calculated the overtime, frowned, opened her mouth, and then stopped, looking at both men’s exhausted faces. “You’re right,” she said, “and you did the right thing. That was a hell of a lot of work. You guys are going to make it possible to kick some Taylor ass. For Ted.” They stood a little straighter at that. He really did love her sometimes.
“Okay, you guys are officially off-duty,” Hank said. “Go down to the Whipstitch and eat breakfast. A good one. Tell Nan to put it on my tab. Then go home. Don’t report back in until tomorrow morning.”
They all filed out of the room. Hank locked the door and rounded up two fresh deputies to stand guard. Then he headed to his office. The crime scene would have to wait. Figuring out what to do with a fortune in cash had just become his priority.
“We could take it to the bank,” said Sam, who had followed him into his office.
Hank shook his head.
“I wouldn’t trust them to keep it separate,” he said. “We’ve got to have the exact bills back. It’s got to be in an evidence locker somewhere. With better security than we’ve got here.”
Sam looked wounded. Hank thought fast.
“I’m not being critical. We’re pretty good here. But that’s enough money to make any gang of idiots want to overrun this joint. And if there are enough of them, they just might be able to do it.”
Sam gave a weak grin and lackluster chuckle.
“We do have a history of that around here,” he said.
Hank looked puzzled.
“All that Bald Knobber stuff back in the 1880s. They were breaking people out of jail all the time. Course, it wasn’t the ‘state-of-the-art facility’ we got now.” He made air quote marks and grinned.
Hank hadn’t known that bit of local history, but it worked to his benefit. He’d come up with that rationale so he didn’t have to divulge his real reasons for finding somewhere else for the case. There were a whole lot of people with access to the department’s evidence locker, and he didn’t want any of his employees being tempted to peel a few bills off the top of that monstrous pile. Better to not put people in that position at all. Plus, if it were in someone else’s custody, any theft couldn’t be blamed on him.
Dear God, he was thinking like a politician.
He asked Sam to get them both coffee, wanting to keep the kid’s body active and his mind off yesterday’s events.
As soon as Sam disappeared out the door, Sheila came in. From the scoffing look on her face, she’d heard what he said. And knew it was bullshit.
“Look,” Hank said. “I didn’t think I needed to go into it with the poor kid that some of his fellow deputy friends might not be too trustworthy. Would you keep that”—he waved his hands in the air—“that mountain of money here?”
“No. I most definitely would not. But you need to come up with a better reason why you want it moved. No one but Sammy is going to buy that you’re worried about an armed takeover of department headquarters.”
He sighed and sat down at his desk. Sheila shot him a pitying half smile, said she’d be out at the scene, and sailed out of the office. He spent the next ten minutes waiting for his coffee and trying to track down the correct person to talk to at the regional Missouri State Highway Patrol office in Springfield. When he finally got her on the phone, she didn’t believe him. Until he sent over a picture of Mt. Greenback, with his two deputies standing next to it—for scale.
Yes, it was currently in his interview room. Yes, he agreed that was not an ideal place for it. No, he didn’t have room for it in his evidence locker. No, he didn’t have the personnel to drive it up to Springfield. He didn’t have the right kind of vehicle, either. You know, one of those armored ones, that banks like to use? The highway patrol did not find that funny.
After ten more minutes of back-and-forth, she finally agreed to come pick up the money. Presumably in some kind of reinforced vehicle. Hank hadn’t asked for specifics. He just wanted the damn pile out of there. He hung up the phone and turned to a cold cup of coffee and a glowering deputy.
He sat hunched in the chair in front of Hank’s desk. He had on faded jeans, a worn T-shirt for some band Hank had never heard of, and a flannel button-down that was missing all of its buttons and much of its color. His hair still stood at a dozen different trajectories.
“Look, I think we need to talk about this,” Hank said.
Sam’s mouth stayed shut.
“How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“No, you’re not. Obviously. This was a really big deal, Sammy, and—”
Sam made a chopping motion in the air.
“Look, I’ll write my report later,” he said. “Now I need to be, you know, helping find the guy who did this.”
“The report’s important, Sam. You know that. You’re going to be a key witness when this goes to trial.”
Sam slouched lower in the chair and mumbled something that sounded like “if.” Hank stifled a sigh.
“Don’t worry. We’ll catch him,” he said firmly. He had hoped that the more he said it, the more he’d believe it, but it wasn’t working. And Sam’s stony glare said he wasn’t fooled. Time to redirect.
“Why don’t you take some time and go see Ted in the hospital?” Hank asked.
The scowl slowly melted away and Sam’s eyes filled. He slowly shook his head.
“Why not?” Hank asked softly.
“I can’t. I just can’t. He wouldn’t be in there if it weren’t for me. It’s all my fault. I should’ve run faster. I should’ve been in the lead. I should’ve drawn my gun. I should’ve fired. I should have shot the bastard. And I didn’t. I didn’t do anything. I didn’t save him.”
He curled up upon himself, full of heartbreak and recrimination. Hank could relate, but he couldn’t very well go over and give him a hug. That might send Sam over the edge. He tried desperately to think of something to say, and his eyes fell on a file teetering at the corner of his desk. He grabbed it and tossed it forward. At least he could do for Sam something he couldn’t do for himself.
“I’m reassigning you.”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. He picked up the file, and nodded when he saw what Hank had scrawled across the top. Little Doe.
“The missing-person case files are in my car,” Hank said. “Go through them and prioritize them. Otherwise we’re waiting on the forensic anthropologists. So…” He quickly cast around for another task. “How about in the meantime, you keep trying to track down Ned Bunning.”
Sam nodded. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. I got permission from the business owner to search his work locker. I haven’t had a chance to yet, though. I’ll go do that now. Hopefully find something with DNA that we can run against Rotten Doe.”
“There you go.” Hank nodded encouragingly. “Great idea. The more progress we can make on ID’ing both of the victims, the better. And—”
He stopped talking, because Sam was no longer listening. His head was bent over the Little Doe file. He stopped near the end and held up an evidence photo of the skull, with the bullet hole clearly visible.
“I guess I didn’t realize it was in the back of the head,” he said.
Hank nodded. Sam slapped the folder shut and stood, straight and solid again.
“I’m on it,” he said in a decent approximation of his normal voice.
He strode from the office, and Hank felt like a competent boss for the first time in days. But, man, was he in some kind of business, where getting handed two homicide cases improved an employee’s morale.
* * *
Hank slowed the cruiser as the road curved about a quarter mile before the Taylor driveway. And swore when it straightened out and he could see the line of satellite trucks parked on the shoulder. The Springfield news stations had found the place. Damn Google Maps.
He rolled slowly through the gauntlet, trying not to look as annoyed as he felt. He saw Jadhur chatting with a brunette he was pretty sure worked for a KC station and a slicked-back blond guy he recognized as a columnist for the St. Louis paper. So the whole state was interested. He sighed.
And down at the end, parked slightly away from all the activity, was a light blue Prius. A mop of gray curls was visible behind the dash. At least Lovinia wouldn’t try to interview him.
He made it to the driveway and through the crime-scene tape before anyone realized it was the actual sheriff in the squad car and started banging on the windows. Alice met him outside the trailer and gave him an update. They’d found no more cash and only two handguns. Otherwise, the only thing of note, she said with a grimace, was the high number of decaying rodent carcasses in the moat around the shed.
Hank shot a disgusted glance toward the shed and did a double take as he saw Lovinia emerge from the woods behind it. She stopped and waited calmly as he strode over.
“How’d you get in here?”
She waved vaguely toward the woods. “Oh, you know.”
She wasn’t usually this assertive with her crime-scene bystanding. And she’d definitely never snuck past the roped-off boundaries before. He waited for an explanation. She gave him a cheery smile.
“You can’t be in here, Lovinia.”
“I know,” she said unapologetically. “It was the only way to talk to you without the press seeing, though.”
“And why do you want to do that?” His surprise was turning to exasperation.
“Well, Darcy is a little scared to contact you right now. She knows what a traumatic thing all this is, and she doesn’t want to get you even more upset.” She put her hands out, palms up, to stop the protest about to come out of his mouth. “So I thought I’d come out and tell you what you need to hear.”
Sweet Lord. He wanted to just crawl into one of Guapo’s holes and stay there until all of this was over with.
“You have to talk to them.” She pointed toward the road and the media, who were mercifully blocked from their view by a row of trees. “And here is perfect. At the scene, showing that you’re in command. Good visuals, too.”
“I have work to do.” It sounded like whining, even to him.
“And reassuring your constituents isn’t part of that work?” Now she was the exasperated one.
He stood there, his good sense warring with the desire to hide somewhere. Lovinia took a very firm step toward him.
“And Tucker has been all over the morning news, ranting and raving. You, my dear, need to counter that. You can’t let him be the only voice people are hearing in regards to this shooting.”
She let that sink in. Which it did. Hank took a deep breath and nodded at her. She smiled at him and with a bounce of her curls, turned back the way she’d come.
“Hey. Wait a minute,” Hank said.“How do you even know Darcy?”
She shot him a sly grin. “I’m a campaign volunteer. What’d you think?” She gave him a wink and disappeared into the woods.
* * *
“I am pleased to announce that Deputy Ted Pimental is making progress and has been upgraded from critical to serious condition. He is a very valued member of our department and we’re all praying for his full recovery. I ask for all those watching this to do the same.”
Hank self-consciously bowed his head for a moment and then looked back up into the camera lenses focused on his face.
“As for the suspects in yesterday’s shooting—an extensive manhunt is currently underway for both Jackson Taylor and his brother Boone. Because we immediately set up roadblocks that cut off vehicle access to this entire portion of the county, we believe they are still in the woods. We are asking that residents living in outlying areas use caution when going about their business. These men are armed and dangerous. However”—he paused for effect—“I want to assure all of my residents—all of my constituents—that we will find these men and bring them to justice. Two Taylor brothers are already in custody, and these two will be soon. Thank you.”
He began to move away from the bristle of microphones poking at his face, but the questions started almost instantaneously. He couldn’t sort out who was asking what, so he just pointed at Jadhur.
“You must know which brother was the shooter,” Jadhur said. “I’ve heard that there is only one person’s trail that is being tracked through the woods. Which brother is it, and where’s the other one?”
How did he find this stuff out? “We are searching for both Jackson and Boone Taylor.”
Jadhur opened his mouth to protest the non-answer, but Hank quickly pointed at a lady from one of the Springfield stations.
“What ongoing investigation were you investigating when you went to interview the brothers?”
Hank tried to look apologetic. “That case is now part of the shooting investigation, so I’m going to have to decline to comment. When we have any kind of update that we can release to the public, we’ll do so as quickly as possible. I will keep my constituents informed.”
More shouted questions. He pointed to the St. Louis columnist.
“Should you have known that these guys were dangerous? Your election opponent, Gerald Tucker, is saying that you didn’t use enough backup yesterday, and the whole incident was your fault.”
He had known someone would ask that question. He put on the worn-out-parent look he’d practiced in his car’s rearview mirror.
“Mr. Tucker is assigned to the Branson County Jail. He has been since well before he announced his candidacy for sheriff. His assignment as a deputy has not brought him into contact with this investigation. At all. Not once. Anything that Mr. Tucker has said is a result of conjecture. He has no actual knowledge.” That was probably a good spot to stop, so of course he didn’t. “And I’d hope that Mr. Tucker would spend his energy wishing Deputy Pimental a speedy recovery, instead of hoping that we don’t catch his shooter.”
Tucker had not actually said that last part, but he could deny it on his own time. This was Hank’s turn.
He pointed to a man from a different Springfield station.
“What kinds of prior theft convictions are we talking about here? At gunpoint?”
Damn, it was hard to keep his temper.
“No. That would be robbery,” he responded. “Theft means that property was involved, but no violence to persons. In fact”—and thank God and Leroy’s idiocy—“I believe the highest-value item taken by any one of them was a pig stolen by Leroy Taylor about a year ago. The owner had planned to show it at the fair, and pressed charges.”
Some of the cameramen snickered. Lovinia gave him a surreptitious thumbs-up from her spot off to the side of the crowd.
That seemed like a good spot to end the whole damn thing. Hank gave a thank-you nod and backed carefully away from the swarm.
CHAPTER
25
Rapturous. Incredible. Absolutely pitch-perfect.
Darcy gushed on, and Hank made no move to stop her. It was the first time she had a reason to be complimentary during the campaign, and it’d probably be the last so he decided to enjoy it.
They sat in the Worth living room with glasses of iced tea as the sunset burnished the tall windows on either side of the big river-rock fireplace. She had been adamant that no one see them together, so she’d met Maggie at the hospital and hid in her minivan for the ride to the house. Hank had thought it was absurd.
“No,” she’d said with exaggerated patience as she took the sugar bowl from Maggie, dumped an enormous scoop into her drink, and stirred it in with a meticulous swirling motion. “It’s fine that people know you have a campaign manager. But this press conference you just did isn’t related to the campaign and if people think I’m behind the scenes on it, feeding you lines or maneuvering things for political gain, it’ll ruin the wonderful sheriff-in-charge image you’ve got going. I just need to lay low for a while on anything regarding the shooting.” So she’d crouched among the crumbs and God knew what else in the back of the minivan until the garage door had closed and she was safely inside. And now she was singing his praises.
