Lethal Invitation

by Randall Dale

  The Chief pulled a drawer and extracted a paper. Then, using the information supplied by Demetrius, filled out the form. When finished he punched numbers on his phone. “Janice, will you come in here please?”

  Within ten seconds, a well-dressed lady stepped into the office. “Yes, sir?”

  “Janice, we need a search warrant. Can you process this and send it to the judge right away?”

  “Yes, sir.” She grasped the paper and was gone in an instant.

  “Ten minutes.” He looked at his watch then leaned back in his big chair with a satisfied look.

  Demetrius unclipped his phone to see the time. “If you can get one that fast, I’ll buy you a soda.”

  “You’re on.” The Chief laughed out loud.

  In nine minutes and forty-two seconds, Janice returned with a faxed copy of a signed search warrant. Demetrius shook his head in amazement. It took some real stroke to get one processed that quickly from his office. He glanced at the Chief, noticing the satisfied, smug smile. It seemed to say, “I told you so,” but there was no hint of pride or one-upmanship, only satisfaction.

  The big detective smiled. “What’s your pleasure?”

  “Nothing for me, but thanks for the offer. Let’s get Officer Crowley so you can get started.” He stood from his desk and motioned for them to follow. He walked directly to the cranky officer’s office in the back of the building. Without knocking, he strolled in. Demetrius and Dan waited in the hall, but they could see the officer and heard the conversation.

  “Mike, I need you to locate a student and search his backpack for a gun. These gentlemen will accompany you because it has to do with a murder they are working on. Since it’s on-campus, you are the lead. Will you do that for me?”

  Demetrius watched the expression on the officer’s face. He was instantly all smiles and anxious to please. He jumped from his desk, snatched the warrant from his boss’s hand and approached the detectives.

  He reached his hand toward Demetrius. “Glad to help the Tucson PD.” He then shook Dan’s hand. “Shall we go?”

  He ushered them out of the station to a black-and-white parked at the side of the building. Demetrius sat in the passenger’s seat while Dan sat in the back. They drove to a parking lot close to the Biology Building.

  The detectives waited in the hall while the uniformed man entered the classroom. In less than a minute, he returned with William in tow. As a group, they found the farthest corner of the building away from the occupied classrooms.

  Demetrius watched William. The boy asked no questions and seemed compliant in every way with no indication of nervousness. He’d nodded in greeting when he first saw the big detective so he had to know it was about the Smallwood case. Yet, he was calm, as though he hadn’t a care in the world.

  Demetrius furrowed his brow at the young man’s actions. He realized something he hadn’t consciously noticed in his earlier interview. William wasn’t a boy. He was at least twenty-five though he admittedly looked younger at first glance. In addition, he had a demeanor of quiet confidence, like he had accomplished things and would continue to do so. But there was something else? The big man tried to put his finger on what it was. He blinked his eyes as the words came to him. Direction and Leadership! William seemed to be the kind of young man who instilled confidence. The big detective shook his head. There was no way this was the murderer.

  They gathered in a relatively unused location at a wooden, slatted bench under an outdated sign announcing football homecoming. As the group stopped, William turned to face Demetrius. “How can I help you gentlemen?”

  Demetrius motioned toward the university officer. William turned to face him.

  “Yes, sir?”

  “With your permission, we’d like you to empty your backpack.”

  Both detectives smiled. It was common procedure to make the request in a friendly manner and only mention the warrant if the individual refused.

  Without a word, William leaned forward, allowing the backpack to swing from his shoulder to the bench. He unzipped the compartments and removed items one by one, placing them on the wooden slats for the men to see. Each time his hand disappeared into the backpack, the police officers tensed, then immediately relaxed when the withdrawn item was not a gun. There were books, notebooks, pens and pencils, three bottles of water, an orange and two granola bars.

  “That’s it.” William stepped back and waved toward the pile.

  The three officers stepped closer to examine the contents while still keeping William in front just in case. Seeing nothing of interest, they stepped back. William shrugged.

  “Would you dump it out, please?” requested the uniformed man.

  Grabbing the bottom, William turned the backpack upside down and shook vigorously. On the third shake, a small, brass object fell, bounced on the wood then clanked to the floor. All four men leaned to see what it was. William started to retrieve it but was stopped at a quick command from Demetrius. He’d seen it and recognized it right away as a bullet.

  “Step back, please.” Demetrius motioned for Dan to watch the young man more closely.

  The junior partner nodded his understanding.

  Demetrius pulled a folded piece of paper from his coat pocket. It was a photocopy of the letter accusing William of the murder. He’d brought it in case the University Chief needed to see it. He got on his knees and used his pen to roll the bullet onto the folded paper. With one hand holding the paper, he used the other on the bench to push himself up from his kneeling position.

  He held the paper with the cradled bullet, pushing it forward for all to see.

  “What’s this?”

  William studied the bullet. “Looks like a nine.”

  Demetrius studied the young man’s face trying to determine if there was any clue there. He wondered if his intuition was all wrong on this one. He would have sworn it wasn’t William, but discovering the bullet brought a level of possibility much higher. He noticed at his studying that William remained calm, though possibly not as relaxed as a minute earlier.

  In slow, even movements, Demetrius folded the paper around the bullet, then placed it in his jacket pocket. He looked back to William.

  “Do you own a gun?”

  “Yes, sir. A Glock nineteen gen three.”

  “Do you have it on your person?”

  “No, sir. It’s at home.”

  “Can you tell us where you were on the evening of November sixth?”

  “I don’t know right off the bat. I can try to go back through my calendar. What’s this all about anyway?”

  Demetrius studied the boy. “You know from our earlier conversation that we are investigating the murder of Dr. Smallwood?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “He was killed with a nine-millimeter Glock.”

  William showed increased signs of nervousness. “It wasn’t me.”

  “We are not accusing you, and you are not under arrest, but we will need to ask you some more questions. Would you please accompany us to the university police department? From there you’ll be released to the Tucson PD. I’m afraid you’ll miss the rest of class.”

  “I’m telling you I didn’t do it.”

  Demetrius couldn’t shake the feeling of agreement with the young man who didn’t seem to fit the profile. Still, he readily admitted that getting some questions answered was the next step.

  “We’re not saying you did. We just need to ask you more questions. If you’re innocent, you’ll be released soon enough.”

  William frowned. “I’ve got a wife and baby at home.”

  “All the more reason to get this over with as soon as possible.”

  The youngster’s shoulders sagged. He looked Demetrius directly in the eyes and held out his hands for handcuffs.

  “That won’t be necessary. As I said, you are not under arrest. We have a car outside. Please come with us.”

  Dan was instructed to wait for the authorization to assume responsibility for the young man and
transfer him to the TPD station. Demetrius rushed back to his office building. He raced up the stairs to the forensics unit and was gratified when he saw Dusty sitting at the magnifying apparatus. He went around the counter directly to the young tech’s side.

  Dusty looked up and smiled when he recognized the big man.

  “Hello, Demetrius. You must have something good.” He grinned.

  “I do.” He pulled the paper from his pocket and carefully let the bullet slide onto the glass. “Just took this from a possible suspect. Can you see if it matches the others we’ve been working on?

  Dusty glanced toward the back of the workspace toward his boss’s office. He glanced up and grinned. “I’ll do it right now. Want to wait?”

  “Sure do.” He took his own glance toward the back. “You sure you won’t be in too much trouble?”

  “Nah. I’m pretty much caught up anyway.” Dusty searched his computer for the file numbers, then left only to return in under a minute with two plastic bags, each with a spent cartridge inside. He sat on the stool and looked at each.

  “Winchester nines. That part matches.”

  Demetrius inwardly cringed and he suddenly realized he wanted William to be innocent. “Anything else you can tell me?”

  Dusty thought for a moment. “Might it be possible that the same dude’s fingerprints are on this one also?” He pointed to the new, unspent bullet with his tweezers.

  The big man blinked. That was exactly what he’d been thinking. “How long will it take you to find out?”

  “If there’s a print there, forty-five minutes to lift it and run it through the computer.”

  Demetrius nodded and in a show of appreciation, gently patted Dusty on the shoulder. “Do it, please.”

  ◆◆◆

  Within an hour, Demetrius watched as William walked alongside Dan and a uniformed officer to the interrogation room. It was a small room with a large mirror but no windows other than a small, vertical, rectangular pane with embedded wire mesh in the center of the door. The mirror was a two-way affair allowing people from the outside to peer in without the individuals on the inside seeing out.

  Demetrius strolled to stand next to the glass which allowed him to study the young man as he sat alone in the no-frills room. Dan joined the big man, who frowned while standing tall and straight, feet wide apart with muscular arms folded over his chest.

  “Dusty’s trying to find prints on the bullet. It’s the same make as what was used in the murders.” Demetrius shook his head. “Something about this doesn’t smell right. The boy has no record, not even a speeding ticket. He just doesn’t seem the type.”

  Dan nodded. “I’ll have to agree. He was calm while we waited at the university station, almost like he was going into a trance. He never said a word. He sat there relaxed as a possum hanging from a tree.”

  Demetrius smiled at the picture. In a moment, he heard his name called from the hall.

  Dusty walked briskly to the detectives. “You’ll never believe it. The same prints are on this bullet. One John Fillmore.” He pushed a computer printout toward the men.

  They were interrupted by the Lieutenant. He must have slipped up behind, unnoticed. “So you got him then!” It was a statement and not a question.

  Demetrius tried to make the man understand that William was only there for questioning, but admittedly, his argument was not very forceful. After all, what were the chances the young man could have the bullet with the same fingerprints? Had to be a thousand to one. The Lieutenant slapped him on the back in an uncharacteristic show of comradery, then rushed away, clearly with more important things to do than spend time with the lowly detectives.

  Demetrius shook his head. He would have bet money the boy was innocent. Not only had he logically ruled out the possibility William was the shooter, he was also aware the tingling of the shoulders just didn’t come when around him. How could he have been fooled so easily?

  “Thanks, Dusty. That’s pretty strong evidence.”

  “My pleasure. We ought to take a look at his feet too. I could do some tests to show they match the footprint casts that were brought in.”

  Demetrius’ face screwed up in thought. “But those prints were inside of the oversized tennis shoes?”

  “True. But if I could match the length between the heel and ball of his foot to what I show in the shoeprint, that will be one more damning piece of evidence.”

  The big detective shrugged. “Well, let’s get started.”

  Before they could enter, they were joined by a uniformed officer with John Fillmore in tow. Demetrius nodded his appreciation to the policeman whom he’d asked to retrieve Stretch.

  “Thanks, John, for coming to see this boy. He’s inside.” He pointed through the window.

  Stretch bent to peer through the glass. He squinted as he studied the boy, moving his head from side to side to alter the vantage point. He stood with a shrug. “Can’t tell. It could be, but I’m not sure.”

  Demetrius recognized his relief and admitted to himself it wasn’t like him to cheer for someone who may very well be arrested for murder. His job was to get the criminals off the streets, not hope they are innocent. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that William was not the shooter.

  The detectives entered the room, leaving Stretch to be taken home by the policeman and Dusty to return to his workstation. Demetrius made introductions, then pushed RECORD and placed the hand-held digital recorder on the table. A tiny, blinking red light held his attention for the smallest moment before he looked at the boy.

  “Mr. Johnson, you know that a college professor named Dr. Smallwood was murdered about a month ago.”

  “Yes. But I didn’t have anything to do with it.” The voice did not break. It was strong and probably calmer than the situation called for.

  “We still need to ask you some questions. You are not under arrest, but you have every right to have an attorney present. If you request one, we will refrain from asking questions until such time he or she joins us, and I feel compelled to inform you that although you are not being arrested at this point in time, anything you say can be held against you in a court of law. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “May we proceed with our questions?”

  “Yes, sir.” The young man looked straight at Demetrius. There was no deceit there, the big man was sure of it.

  “This afternoon a live bullet was found in your backpack. Can you explain why it was there?”

  William shook his head. “No, sir. As I told you, I have a Glock at home, but I only shoot Federals. That cartridge was a Winchester, the cheapest you can buy but not particularly reliable. I wouldn’t use them if they were free.”

  Demetrius thought about that for a bit. The young man impressed him as one who would shoot the quality rounds. But the question of the fingerprints loomed heavy on his mind?

  “I see. Nevertheless, the bullet was found in your backpack. If it’s not yours, do you have any idea how it got there?”

  “No, sir. Just that it’s not mine.”

  Demetrius drummed his fingers on the table. “Our forensics team found some fingerprints on the cartridge we found this afternoon.”

  “That stands to reason. I’ll bet they weren’t mine.”

  Demetrius paused. That was true. They weren’t William’s. That had to mean something, and subconsciously he hoped it did.

  “No. They were not yours, but they match the prints on the shells used in the murders.”

  William frowned and shrugged again. “Like I said, it wasn’t my cartridge.”

  “I hope for your sake that’s true, but we still have to explore all avenues. By the time we finish this interview, we will have a search warrant for your house. I have to tell you it won’t go well for you if we find anything that doesn’t match your answers here today.”

  The boy nodded. “I’m telling you the truth. All of it. I don’t know how that cartridge got into my backpack. It obviously wasn’t in one
of the zippered compartments. Maybe somebody dropped it into one of the side pouches. That would be easy enough to do. Wouldn’t it?”

  Demetrius found himself once again agreeing with the boy. It probably would be an easy thing to do. William had logical answers to every question the detectives asked, and when a question was repeated, the answer matched those previously given every time.

  The big detective checked the time on his cell phone. They’d been in the room for almost an hour. He and Dan had approached from every direction trying to trip the boy, but he held steadfastly to every detail without the slightest variation. They weren’t making any progress, only going around in circles. He was finished with the questioning when he thought of Dusty and the request to see the boy’s feet. He unclipped his phone from the belt holster and dialed the receptionist in the building asking to be transferred to forensics.

  Dusty answered on the second ring.

  “Hi, Dusty. Demetrius here. If you want to come on down you can take a look. Bring your tape measure.”

  Two minutes of silence came to an end with a knock at the door. It opened from the outside and Dusty walked in. Demetrius introduced him before making the request.

  “This may sound a little unusual, but we’d like you to remove your shoes.”

  William gazed inquisitively at the three men across the table. “My shoes?”

  “Yes, please.”

  With a shrug the boy reached under the table. In ten seconds he lifted a shoe with four inches of prosthesis protruding from the top. “This is my right shoe.” He bent to unlace the other, then set it on the table. It was the same shoe without the prosthesis. The three men across the table stared.

  Chapter 21

  Dusty stood, then leaned one-handed on the table as he looked underneath. He motioned for the detectives to do the same. Demetrius frowned as he saw a foot extend from one pant leg but nothing from the other. He stood and raised his palms in confusion.

  “You only have one foot?”

  William nodded. “Two years ago, IED, Iraq.”

  Demetrius sat down hard and focused on Dusty. “So how does this match?”