by W L Ripley
Cal exhaled a breath letting it flutter through his lips. “Jake, if you’re right this is a hell of a thing. If you’re wrong, they’ll flush us both right down the pipes and piss on us while we’re down there.”
Jake nodded. “Yep.”
“Promise me you won’t do anything extra-legal.”
Jake said nothing. Better that Cal didn’t know what Jake’s next move was going to be.
“Just gonna sit there and not promise.”
“Plausible deniability.”
“Shit,” Cal said. “Your mind must run one hundred MPH.”
Cal was right about one thing. They were both flushed if Jake was wrong.
Chapter Fifty-Three
Jake parked the Lincoln behind the enormous hangar outbuilding at Vernon Mitchell’s estate. No one would see it. He had made sure Pam and Alex, who lived across the road, were in town before driving out.
Jake walked past the swimming pool and across the deck to the rear of the house. Tommy had given Jake a key to the house, so Jake walked around the rear of the place to the front door, careful to watch and listen for approaching vehicles.
There was a sliver of tattered yellow tape on the front door where the police line had been removed by the sheriff’s department. Kellogg, satisfied Haller was the killer felt no need to continue his investigation. “Premature foreclosure, Doc,” Jake said, to himself as he took Tommy’s key from his pocket.
Jake thinking he was on solid ground, legally. He had no warrant but an heir to the home had willingly given him a key and permission to enter. Tommy was finally good for something.
Jake wearing leather driving gloves. He brought along a large tape measure and a laser pointer. He would use his cell phone for photos as Kellogg would not make available crime scene photographs. Wondering how much of the crime scene had been contaminated or scrubbed. Kellogg had already made his decision so Jake held little hope he would find anything conclusive, but things were often overlooked in an investigation or in this case, purposely disregarded.
Jake entered, careful not to disturb anything, and took photos of the hardwood floor. The hardwood floor showed a darker square shadow where an area rug had been removed. A brown stain showed on the boards where Vernon Mitchell bled out his life.
Jake knew Vernon had been shot in the head, the killing shot, and twice in the chest. Very carefully, Jake examined the wall and found what he was looking for. There was damage to the wall behind a large drape. It lined up where the victim had been standing. A chunk of drywall lightly spattered with blood speckle. He knew it had been a nine-millimeter shell. The techs dug the bullet out of the wall for forensic examination, so the bullet hole had been altered slightly.
Jake pulled back the curtain and looked back to the faded blood stain on the hardwood floor. The bullet lodged at a point approximately two feet above Jake’s head. Jake took out a pocket laser and raised it above his head and lit a path back over the top of the blood spatter. Knowing Vernon’s height, Jake made a calculated guess at the point where the bullet had passed through Vernon’s head and entered the wall.
The angle suggested the first shot had been at Vernon’s head or face, who had been standing when shot.
The angle also made it implausible for Fat Boy Haller to have been the shooter. Haller was 6-4 and unless he’d shot from the hip, he could not be the shooter. A head shot from a projectile exploded from the hip was possible but unlikely. Killers did not take chances shooting from the hip for a head shot. He would raise, aim and fire straight out down his sight path along his arm. Additionally, the bullet trajectory would be at a lower angle as Haller was taller than Vernon.
The shooter was shorter than Haller. Much shorter, suggesting a below average sized man or an average sized woman.
Haller was telling the truth.
Chapter Fifty-Four
Jake called Trooper Ridley before driving to Troop A HQ where he submitted Christine McKee’s hair follicle sample to the highway patrol’s lab technicians via Trooper Fred Ridley. His boss, Lt. Browne, gave the green light to the submission, even fast-tracking it.
Jake filled Ridley in on what he had learned at Vernon’s home.
“You got the son to give you a key? How?”
“Charm.”
“You’d have to borrow it,” said Ridley. “Tell me about it.”
Jake told him of his talk with Tommy and Haller.
“You realize that could be construed as harboring a fugitive.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t know where they are.”
Ridley placed his hands on a hip and his service weapon. “You didn’t tell me, if it comes up.”
“What comes up?” Jake said, opening his arms in a ‘what’re-you-talkin’-about’ gesture.
“Keep it that way. Don’t string this out much longer. Sam won’t like this. I’ll give you a day then I will beat it out of you.”
“Sam Browne’s his name?” Jake said to Ridley at the mention of Lt. Browne’s first name. “Like the belt you guys wear over your chest?”
“He’s heard all the jokes,” said Ridley. “He has a good relationship with the techs, and he trusts me, so they’ll do a hurry-up on this. He’s a hell of a guy so try to restrain your impulse for being cute and withholding information.”
“I can do that.”
“Can you?” said Ridley, looking over the top of his sunglasses.
Barb and Warner balked at providing information whereupon Cal officially charged the pair for “assault and battery with intent to commit mayhem” in the attack on Gage Burnell.
Cal kept Jake out of the proceedings, including the interview of Barb and Haller. “Kellogg will holler as it is. He’ll holler louder if you conduct the interviews. And, it’ll poison testimony and give their attorney grounds to question my investigation.”
Cal was right on both counts.
“What the hell is going on, Cal,” said an irate Sheriff Kellogg, showing at Paradise PD. “I already have Pennell in the lock-up for this and an unknown co-conspirator which eventually I will uncover.”
“Well, that’s damn good police work,” Cal said, unmoved. “I’m going after Barb and Warner for assault and perhaps wrongful death charges.”
“What do you hope to gain from that?”
“Find out what happened.”
“You’ve been listening to Morgan. Damn it, Cal, this looks bad and you’re pissing me off.”
“I don’t want to do that, Doc,” Cal said, rolling an unlit cigarette in his fingers. “I just want to take care of things here in my town. I can’t allow people to assault citizens and not investigate. Why, that’d look like I was protecting someone.” Cal smiled and nodded at Kellogg and the implication was not lost on the sheriff.
Kellogg left.
“Doc’s unhappy with me,” Cal said when he told Jake afterwards.
“Join the club.”
That afternoon Charles Langley of Langley, Pope and Hardy, showed up demanding the release of Barb and Warner. Langley, sharp in a dark suit, French cuffs, understated cufflinks, dove grey tie, manicured fingernails and just the right touch of patrician confidence.
Langley shook hands with Cal Bannister but did not extend the same courtesy to Jake. Subtle intimidation. Played this game before, thought Jake.
“Mister Morgan,” said Langley, “is it true that you were involved in an altercation with Noah Haller and Thomas Mitchell?”
“Yes.”
“What precipitated your attack?”
Jake sat quietly. Several moments passed. Langley said, “I will amend that. What precipitated the altercation between you and Mister Mitchell and Mister Haller?”
“Bad manners and false courage,” Jake said.
“And what did you do then?”
“I subdued them.”
Cal covered a smile with a hand.
“Did you receive any injuries?”
“A slight jarring of my dignity.”
Langl
ey gave Jake a lingering look letting him know he was not amused by Jake’s answer. Jake smiled back at him. Langley doing his best to intimidate.
“If they initiated the altercation and there were two against one, most would conclude you would’ve sustained injury. Why were you unscathed?”
“They’re not very good at it.”
“Good at what?”
“Fighting.”
“And you are.”
Jake said nothing, brushing lint off the sleeve of his jacket.
“Do you have animus towards Noah Haller?”
“I don’t like him, but I don’t think about him much.”
“And yet, these two men, the same men attacked you are now your witnesses against my clients.”
“Not mine,” Jake said, nodding in Cal’s direction. “His.”
“Where are these witnesses?”
“They’re under protection. I will produce them soon.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“You’re a Texas Ranger,” said Langley. “Why’re you involved?”
“I hired him on as an auxiliary investigator,” Cal said. “He has expertise that no one on my staff has.”
“Yes,” said Langley, smiling wolfishly. “I looked into your background, Mister Morgan. Seems you’re on administrative suspension.”
“Was. Not now.”
It set Langley back but recovering, Langley said, “Well, it has been interesting talking to you men.”
“An honor for me,” Jake said.
Langley started to say something, instead he smiled and said, “I will arrange bail for my clients.”
“Who hired you?”
Langley smiled at Jake and said, “Have a nice evening, gentlemen.” And left.
Cal saying, “You don’t know who Langley is, do you?”
“No.”
“No way Barb and Warner can afford him.”
“To me that means we’re right about who is backing them.”
“Seem to be. And Jake, like I said, Langley’s bad medicine. He didn’t care for your conversation.”
“His problem.”
“You don’t give an inch, do you?” Cal said.
“Pam hired them,” Jake said.
“Or Alex?”
Jake hadn’t considered that, but Cal could be right. That could either be an innocent thing or one more damned variable.
Chapter Fifty-Five
“Told you,” Buddy said.
Buddy Johnson lit a large cigar and offered one to Jake, who accepted it. They were in Hank’s, along with Leo the Lion, the three friends seated at a round table near the back of the place, a pitcher of beer emblazoned with a Heineken logo on the table. Jake sharing with them part of what had transpired over the past week. Buddy knew most of it. Jake even shared the late-night visit from Pam Mitchell which revelation the two men were railing on him about.
“Told me what?” Jake said.
“You can’t stomp around breaking windows on cars, break into private businesses to impress your girlfriend and conduct an investigation in an un-cop like manner.”
“Oh that.” Jake admitted Buddy was right. “Yeah, that’s right. Still worked.”
“So,” said Leo the Lion, dressed in coaching clothes. “You did diddle Pam Kellogg even as I predicted.”
“You didn’t predict it.”
“Did I not say she had designs on you, and some things never change?”
“If it helps you.”
“Then you’re admitting I was right and as a consequence admitting you were wrong.”
Jake shrugged. “Okay.”
“We need to document this occasion. On this date Jake Morgan, clumsy wood-hippy, has confessed to being wrong for the first time in his life.”
Jake frowned. “Not the first time.”
“Were you wrong not to attend your father’s funeral?” asked Leo.
Jake looked at him. “Is this going to end at some point?”
“You said, ‘later’ and now it’s later. I’m wanting to understand not impose.”
“Jake,” Buddy said. “We’re your friends. Your brothers. Enough is enough. We know your troubles with your dad and we’re with you, you know that in spite of your being, you know, a jackass at times.”
Jake looked down at his beer, untouched. “It was a mistake. I should’ve been here.”
It was quiet between the trio for a long moment.
“I understand it,” Leo said.
“Same here,” Buddy said.
“Doesn’t make it right,” Jake said.
“No,” Leo said. “It does not. But you can go forward from here.”
“Sure,” Jake said, nodding. “You know, Leo, sometimes and only on rare occasions you and Buddy Bear here are actually helpful in your own pathetic style.”
“You must study the past if you would define the future,” Leo said.
“Is that a Leo-ism?” asked Buddy.
“Confucius,” Jake said.
“Confucius anticipated I would say it,” Leo said.
“Drink more,” Jake said. “Pontificate less.”
The front door of Hank’s burst open and in walked Alex Mitchell.
“Oh boy,” Leo said. “Watch your topknot, Jake.”
Alex stomped along the hardwood floor straight at their table.
“You son of a bitch,” Alex said, jabbing his finger at Jake. “You piece of shit.”
Jake said nothing.
“Get up,” Alex said, yelling it.
“No.”
“You’re a fucking coward.”
“That’s not why,” Jake said
Alex clenched and unclenched his fists, breathing in fits before he turned and left.
The three men were quiet a moment.
“Well,” Jake said. “Guess she told him.”
“Those Mitchells,” Leo said. “It’s like as kids they wanted to grow up to be chancre sores. Never seen anyone as prone to outbursts. Jake, you’ve been stomping a mud hole in the Mitchell Empire,” Leo said. “How about Harper? She know about Pam?”
Jake nodded, slowly turning his beer glass on the cardboard coaster. “I was honest with her about Pam and we’re working it out but, who knows?”
“Don’t under-sell her,” Buddy said. “Harper’s sharp, thinks for herself. You’ll be all right.”
“I want to talk to Bailey one more time.”
“All right,” Buddy said, but she may not want to talk to you.”
“I’m amazed anyone talks to you,” Leo said.
“You could be onto something,” Jake said.
Buddy called Deputy Bailey, trading on his friendship with her again but concealing the fact that Jake Morgan would be part of the meeting. Buddy asked Bailey to meet him in her sheriff’s unit, Buddy and Jake in Buddy’s PPD car. As she pulled up and stopped, she saw Jake and her mouth fell open.
“What’s he doing here?” she said.
“Come on, Sharon. This is important.”
“Already told what I know about the accident.”
“This is a different thing.”
Bailey looked up at her rearview mirror then out her passenger window. “I’ve done enough.”
“I want to know about a problem between Tommy Mitchell and Pam Mitchell,” Jake said.
Her eyes evasive, searching for an escape route. “I don’t know if that’s –”
“Already talked to Tommy and got his side.”
“When? Doc can’t find him. And if you talked to him why ask me?”
“I want the truth.”
Bailey visibly paled. “I can’t help you.”
“Sharon,” Buddy said. “Have to trust me on this one. You’re a good deputy and want to do what’s right. This is important.”
Bailey pursed her mouth before saying, “Okay. Not here, though.”
She told them to meet her at the Border Café, a restaurant catering to truckers on Highway 27 sitting across two counties – Paradise and Truman. Ther
e were several gas pump-islands, some of them oversized and reserved for sixteen-wheelers, smell of diesel fuel, dusty steel and warm rubber. Inside were items of various practical use along with Tee-shirts and baseball caps emblazoned with slogans such as: ‘Wake up, kiss ass, repeat’ or “Retired: Gimme my F’ing discount’. The place bustled with noise and activity. They met Deputy Bailey in a booth and sat.
Bailey looked around as if wolves were about to leap out at her from under the seats.
“What do you want to know?” said Bailey. She twisted the watch on her wrist. “I don’t have much time.”
“Did Tommy sexually assault Pam?” Jake said. “Or is it possible she set him up?”
“Set him up? How?”
“What did Pam tell you?”
“That Tommy broke into her house, there were scratches on the door, and he forced himself on her. She tried to fight him off, but he was too strong. Her dress was torn, she showed me the semen stain on the dress. He had a swollen lip when I saw him.”
Jake thought about that. “Why would Tommy need to break into his brother’s house?”
She shrugged. “Maybe she slammed the door shut on him when she saw him coming.”
“He’s been in that house hundreds of time. Why shut him out now? Why would he decide at this point with his father killed to go have a jump with his brother’s wife?”
A restaurant server, a young male, asked for their order. They ordered coffee. Buddy ordered a slice of cherry pie to go with his coffee. “Keep my strength up.”
When the server left, Jake said, “Go through the entire scenario as Pam related it to you and what you observed as a law enforcement officer.”
Bailey telling how Pam said bring a rape kit because she had been sexually assaulted and not to tell her father, Doc Kellogg. Bailey went to the home where she met a distraught Pam who described the scene of the attack, including the broken door and her torn dress.
“Did you administer the rape test?”
Bailey nodded.
“Does Doc have that evidence?”
Uncomfortable now. “Yes, he does.”