by B J Bourg
“No one.”
“Not a single soul?”
Philip Crenshaw shook his head. “No one.”
“What else was in the box?”
He hesitated ever so slightly, then shook his head. “Nothing. Well, except for some ancient cobwebs.”
Not convinced, I continued questioning him. I grilled him late into the night, but he remained steadfast in his denial. According to him, he hadn’t told a soul and he never saw Carl Duval again, nor had he been back out to the house.
“I cashed my check and that was the end of my dealings with him,” he said wearily for the umpteenth time at around three in the morning when I was wrapping up the interview. “I swear to God, I haven’t seen the man since.”
I sighed and wiped my tired face. More than once during the interview I’d glanced at the time on my computer and frowned, knowing I would not make it home in time to tell Gracie goodnight. Now, I would have to settle for a light kiss on her forehead. “Okay, Mr. Crenshaw, it’s time to get you booked into the jail.”
Philip came suddenly awake. “Jail? But I said I didn’t do it!”
“That remains to be determined, but you did try to rip off my shoulder with your car, so that necessitates a court appearance.” While he had committed a crime—a few of them, in fact—I really wasn’t interested in what he’d done yesterday afternoon. Other than a bruise on my shoulder, I hadn’t been hurt and I would be satisfied with him paying a small fine. However, I wanted to keep him on ice for as long as I could—just until I could be positive he wasn’t involved with the murder of Carl and his family.
“I can’t believe you’re going to put me in jail after how much I’ve helped you.” He glowered now, his voice losing its conversational tone. “Had I known this would happen, I wouldn’t have said a damn thing.”
“Well, I believe you’re still lying about some things,” I said flatly, “and if I don’t get my answers, you may never get out of jail.”
I knew I couldn’t hold him for long, but he didn’t need to know that. I wanted him to sleep in a cell for a minute to think about things, and to give me some time to interview his helper. I had a hard time believing he didn’t tell anyone about his discovery, and Nathan Baxter was as good a place to start as any. I remembered my time working in construction, and those guys told each other everything. Nothing was sacred. They told stories about their wives that would’ve gotten them killed had their brides found out.
Once Philip was locked in the cell, I finished my paperwork and made my way to the front of the station. Amy was sitting in the dispatcher’s office working on a report, her blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked up when she heard my boots.
“Did he confess?”
I shrugged, told her what I’d found out. Whistling, she twisted around and rested an elbow on the back of her chair when I was done talking. “Gold, you say? Like buried treasure?”
“Yep. According to Crenshaw, there was a single gold coin in the box, and it was old.” I told her my theory that Carl had sold the gold coin to Bill Welch and that’s what had started the entire horrible mess. “And I’m betting Bill paid only a fraction of what it was worth to Carl, because he suddenly retired and left town, which can only mean he sold it for much more than he gave Carl.”
“Do you think Bill killed Carl and his family?”
I considered it, and a new theory started to take shape. “Knowing what we know now,” I said slowly, sitting on the corner of the desk, “the scene is starting to make sense. It appears someone found out about the gold and thought there was more. They took Carl’s family hostage and used them to squeeze the information out of Carl. They then murdered his family members one-by-one in front of him, trying to force him to give up the location of the rest of the gold.”
“But there is no more,” Amy said simply. “Otherwise, he would’ve turned it over before those animals killed anyone.”
“Maybe, maybe not. What if he did give it up, but they killed him and his family anyway? They wouldn’t want to leave witnesses.”
“That would be pure evil,” Amy said quietly. “It doesn’t get colder than that.”
I agreed with her. I could understand someone going through desperate and drastic measures to convince Carl to give up a gold treasure, but once they got their hands on it they should be happy. That feeling of hate began burning deep inside again and I wondered what I might do to Philip Crenshaw if I found out he was, indeed, the murderer. A person who would do something like this didn’t deserve to live. I knew it wasn’t my place to exact revenge or pass judgment. I was simply a public servant, out here gathering facts to make sure there was enough evidence for a trier of facts—be it judge or jury—to come to a just conclusion. It was up to them to decide the fate of the criminals. But this case…this case was different. It was especially evil.
I shook my head to clear it and slid off the desk.
“See you later,” I said to Amy before strolling out the door and into the cool night air. I drove straight home and slipped inside without making much noise. Achilles was waiting for me by the front door and Coco was on his heels. I stopped for a moment and rubbed their heads, then shoved my keys in my pocket and tiptoed up the stairs, not wanting to awaken Susan.
Once we had known Grace was coming into our lives, we had rearranged the upper level of our home. We had converted the loft area into a master bedroom and turned the first room to the right into Grace’s room. The bedroom to the left was going to serve as a temporary office until—and if—we decided to have more children. If we had more than two kids, we’d have to add another wing to the house.
There was a recliner in the large space between the rooms that served as a sitting area, and it was here that Susan would sit to feed Grace. Just to the right of the foyer was the door to our bedroom, and when I reached the upper stairway landing I could see that it was open. I was about to turn right into Grace’s bedroom when I was suddenly blinded by a brilliant light and a voice challenged me.
“If you move one more step. I’m going to murder you where you stand!”
CHAPTER 26
I didn’t startle easy, but the stress of the case and the fear that lurked in the back of every mind in town was also lurking in the back of mine—What if my house was hit next?—and it must’ve been taking a toll on me, because I flung myself backward and clawed for my pistol. I was just getting it up when I heard a screech and the light shut off as suddenly as it had come on.
“Jesus, Clint—it’s me!” Susan’s voice called desperately. “Don’t shoot!”
I nearly dropped my pistol as a terrifying gasp ripped from my throat. “Sue, what in the hell is going on? What are you doing?”
I heard her hand brushing against the wall as she reached for the light switch, and the sitting area lit up. I saw Susan standing in her night shirt, a flashlight in one hand and her Glock in the other. Her face was pale and she was panting.
“I thought they were coming for us,” she said breathlessly. “I heard a sound and I thought they had gotten into the house and slipped past the dogs and I thought they were going for Grace.”
I shoved my pistol back in its holster and rushed forward, taking my wife in my arms. Behind me, I heard a stirring and Grace began to cry. The commotion had disturbed her sleep. While I held Susan’s trembling frame, I smiled a little, not a little disappointed that I would get to see Grace.
Susan took a deep breath in my arms and pushed back. Her tired eyes squinted against the bright light overhead and, after offloading the pistol and flashlight, she headed for Grace’s room, calling over her shoulder, “Was it Crenshaw? Is he the one who killed those poor people?”
“Why don’t I pick up Gracie?” I asked. “At the rate you’re going—thinking I’m a family murderer—you might mistake her for that Chucky doll from Child’s Play.”
Susan smiled and stepped aside. “Well, they both have red hair, so…”
My heart swelled when I saw Grace’s scrunched
up face relax and light up when I came into view. She grabbed onto the side of her baby bed and I waited while she pulled herself to her feet.
“Da-da,” she mumbled, drool leaking down her mouth. “Da-da.”
“She said my name!” I hollered, snatching her from her bed and planting a kiss on her forehead. “She said daddy before she said mommy—she loves me more!”
Susan laughed, planting a hand on Grace’s back and watching me try to get her to say it again. She just mumbled incoherently, but that was okay with me. I’d been there to hear her first word. I held her close and followed Susan into the bedroom, talking as we walked. I filled her in on the interview, and let her know I thought this was a targeted attack. If true, that would mean the rest of the town was safe—unless someone else in town found a box of gold.
“What’s your next move?” she asked, taking Grace from me so I could get ready for bed.
“I’m going to pull in the helper—this kid named Nathan Baxter—and see what he knows. I don’t believe Philip kept this to himself. That kind of thing is big news.”
“I’m surprised it didn’t leak out into the town gossip,” Susan muttered. “Have you heard anything at all about gold treasure?”
“Not a peep.”
I brushed my teeth while she talked about her day. She used her soothing mommy voice and talked directly to Grace while telling me she had received a few calls from different media organizations wanting to know the latest on the murders. “I told them we didn’t have anything new,” she sang, “and that when we did, we would surely let them know—
“Oh,” Susan blurted, her normal voice interrupting her mommy voice, “did you get the crime lab report? I put it on your desk. I also got a call from the lab to explain some things.”
I quickly rinsed out my mouth and stepped into the room. Grace’s eyelids were drooping as Susan cradled her close to her soft chest.
“No, I never made it to my desk. What’d the report say?” I knew she’d looked it over.
“Let’s see…all of the shotgun shells were fired from the shotgun you recovered. There’s a team of DNA analysts processing the blood. Even with multiple analysts working the case, they said it could take up to a week to get it done. You sent up a ton of samples, and they’ve got their work cut out for them. If they locate any unknowns, they’ll run it through CODIS, so if we don’t develop a suspect, we might get lucky in that regard.”
CODIS stood for Combined DNA Index System, which is a database containing the DNA profiles of convicted criminals, missing persons, and evidence from other crime scenes. It was an extremely useful law enforcement tool.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Yeah, they found a piece of green latex on the shotgun. They said it was caught in the release mechanism for the shotgun, and it was a piece about an inch long by—”
“The shooter was wearing gloves!”
She nodded. “And the glove tore.”
“Damn! We might’ve just gotten a break!” I paced back and forth in front of the bed, encouraged. “Did they swab that area for DNA?”
“They did and they put that specimen at the top of the list of importance.”
“Good.”
“Oh, and they’re working up the blood that was recovered from the shells and the car. They’re also processing the chain that was used to secure Jennifer.” She was thoughtful. “They did say they needed a reference sample of Jennifer’s DNA, so I put in a request at the coroner’s office.”
“So, one of the killers ripped a glove while manipulating the shotgun,” I mused aloud after a minute of silence while Susan yawned and stretched. “This is good, because there will certainly be DNA on that lever—and possibly the chain, if they didn’t glove up again after the rip. I mean, how many criminals think to bring an extra pair of gloves to a crime scene? Once we identify that DNA, we’ll be in business.” I stopped pacing and faced Susan. “Anything else?”
She was thoughtful, and the dimple in her chin deepened. “Oh, they raised the serial number on the shotgun.”
That got my attention. “Why didn’t you lead with that?” I asked excitedly. “This is our big break. Who’s it registered to?”
She shrugged gently, trying to slide from the bed without stirring Grace. “They just provided the number for now. I think they’re in the process of running it. I can check with them when I get back to work.”
I thanked her and watched as she carried our beautiful daughter to her bed and eased her onto the mattress. When she and I were back in our room and had slipped under the covers, she rested her head on my chest. I know she was talking, because I could feel the vibrations of her voice against my body, but my eyes fluttered and I found myself slipping into an unconscious world where I was chasing alligators and fighting with men carrying spears.
Spears?
I didn’t try to understand it. I simply pulled out my pistol and gave chase along a narrow street that was paved in gold. It was so bright I had to squint against the brilliance…
CHAPTER 27
A single bright ray of sunlight had found a slender crack in the drapes and was harassing the outsides of my eyelids. I grunted and turned onto my side, reached for Susan. She was gone. I lurched up and glanced wildly about. I knew it was Thursday, but what time was it? I stretched toward the nightstand and grabbed my phone. My eyes were blurry and it took a few seconds for the digits to come into view. Eight o’clock.
“Shit!” I kicked off the covers and hurried into my clothes. While it had been nice to get a few hours of sleep, I had a lot to do, and the day wasn’t going to wait on me to get my ass in gear.
I was jogging down the stairs when my phone rang. Without looking, I put it to my ear. “This is Clint.”
“Detective Wolf, this is Bill—Bill Welch. I got your call when we arrived back onshore this morning. What can I do for you?”
I stopped in mid step. “Mr. Welch, hi, how are you? I needed to talk to you about something.”
“Shoot. The day is long and I’ve got nothing but time.”
I hesitated. I didn’t like doing interviews over the phone. I wouldn’t be able to measure his eyes, couldn’t study his body language. What if he was involved in the murders? Sure, I could get a confession over the phone almost as easily as in person, but I didn’t like it. I also wanted to record the conversation, but I couldn’t at the moment. I usually used the speaker feature on my desk phone to record telephone conversations onto a digital recorder. Susan had told me there was a way to record conversations on my smart phone, but I hadn’t taken the time to figure it out. I guess my smart phone was smarter than me.
“Detective, are you still there? Hello?”
Oh, well, here goes nothing, I thought, hoping he wouldn’t say something crucial to the case. While my word had always been deemed credible in court, I always liked to have supporting evidence for everything I said or did.
“Yes, I’m still here. I went looking for you at the pawn shop and they said you had retired,” I said smoothly, trying to build a rapport with the man. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you. It’s nice to sleep until my body wants to wake up and it’s a dream to go fishing every day.”
“What made you decide to retire when you did? I know I’m still too young to think about retirement, but I’ve always wondered how I’d know when the time was right.”
“Oh, you’ll know,” he assured me. “You’ll know.”
I continued making small talk for a few minutes, then got down to business. “The reason I’m calling,” I said, deciding to gamble a little, “was because I’ve received information that you purchased a gold coin from Carl Duval. I believe it was around the nineteenth of December.”
There was a long pause, where I could hear him breathing heavily. Finally, in a cautious voice, he said, “I don’t typically discuss my business transactions with others. If one of my customers chooses to put their information out for the world to know, that’s up to them, but they know
I’m a discreet businessman. I think that’s why I’ve been so successful all of these years. My customers trust me.”
“Well,” I said flatly, “in this case, your customer’s dead—murdered.”
“So I’ve heard…so I’ve heard.” After another brief pause, he said, “Can I ask you a question?”
I repeated his phrase back to him. “Shoot. The day is long and I’ve got nothing but time.”
He seemed not to notice. “Did his murder have anything to do with the gold?”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out. Do you know something that might prove helpful?”
“I mean, I don’t know much. If memory serves, Mr. Duval came into the shop early one morning. You say it was the nineteenth. Well, that sounds about right. He was in the parking lot before I unlocked the door and I saw him sitting there. He seemed to be fidgeting around like he was nervous, so I opened up early. Usually, when people are acting that way, they bring in something very good or very stolen. He didn’t appear to be the thieving type, so I let him in.” He stopped to catch a breath. “By the time I made it behind the counter, he had already unwrapped an old kitchen towel and had the gold coin exposed to the light. I’m no numismatist, but I’ve seen enough coins to know he had something special.”
“You’re not a what?” I asked, having never heard the word.
“Someone who studies coins.” He took another breath. “Now look, that coin was worth a half million dollars and I told him so. I told him it would fetch at least that much at auction, but he told me that he was happy with whatever I could afford to pay. I hope you understand I wasn’t trying to cheat the man. I was up front with him, but he was satisfied to take what I could give him.”
“And how much was that?” Although I already knew the amount, I wanted him to tell me. I wanted to see if he was being totally honest.