The Sam Prichard Series - Books 9-12 (Sam Prichard Boxed Set 3)

by David Archer

  They paid off. As soon as Sam walked into the room, he saw Mrs. Rogers standing beside the bed her son was handcuffed to, gripping his free hand. She turned when she heard Sam enter, and her eyes went wide when she saw him.

  “Have you come to gloat?” she asked. “Haven't you done enough to my family?”

  “Please, Mrs. Rogers,” Sam said softly. “I'm not here to start trouble. I just wanted to come and express my appreciation to you.”

  The woman looks surprised. “Appreciation? To me?”

  Sam nodded. “Yes, ma'am,” he said. “I just found out that you're the one who paid for Jack Wilson's attorney, and I wanted to say thank you. That was an awfully generous thing to do.”

  Mrs. Rogers looked irritated. “It just seemed appropriate,” she said. “From everything I heard about Mister Wilson, I just didn't think he did it.”

  “See, that's what I mean. You didn't even know the man, so it makes it an even more wonderful thing, what you've done. Of course, I know it must've been quite a financial burden on you. You just told me the other day that you don't have a lot of money, anymore.”

  She turned and looked at Jared, refusing to face Sam. “I guess I had enough,” she said. “Now could you please leave us alone? I'm going to be getting an attorney for my son in the morning. I'd like to have some time alone with him before then.”

  “Sure, I understand,” Sam said. “There's just one thing, though. I was wondering why you were the one to put up the money, when it was your son Daniel who was actually on the Animal Partners funding committee. It wouldn't have been nearly as surprising if he had done it, but you weren't connected to the organization at all. What prompted you to want to help?”

  “Please, Mister Prichard, I really don't want to discuss this with you.”

  Sam nodded. “Okay, okay, I can see that. Instead of you telling me, how about if I throw out my own ideas, and maybe you can tell me if I'm right. Because I'm thinking that the reason you put up that money was out of guilt.”

  Mrs. Rogers spun around and looked him in the eye. “Guilt? What would make you say such a thing?”

  “I say it because I finally figured out who really killed Max Hernandez, and the same person killed your son, Daniel Rogers. Until just a little while ago, I was convinced that it was Jared who killed Daniel, but I was wrong. Jared insisted he never killed anyone, and he was telling the truth, wasn't he?”

  Jared suddenly looked at Sam. “You believe me?”

  Sam smiled at him and nodded. “I do,” he said. “You didn't kill your brother. Your mother did.”

  “You're insane,” Mrs. Rogers spat at him. “I don't know how in the world you could ever come up with an idea like that.”

  “Actually, you told me yourself. Remember when I tried to surprise you by telling you I had seen one of your sons get killed? When you said Jared was still alive, I thought you were trying to cover the fact that you thought he was dead, but I was wrong, there, too. You weren't putting on an act at all, you were stating the actual truth. Jared was still alive, because Daniel is the one who was dead. The only way you could possibly have known that was because you either killed him yourself, or you knew who did.”

  Mrs. Rogers's eyes were darting all around the room. “I didn't do any such thing,” she insisted. “Maybe—maybe I wondered if something had happened, but that isn't a crime, is it?”

  “Only if you have evidence, and don't turn it over to the police. Evidence like the shotgun that blew your son’s head off. I did some checking, and you happen to own a number of guns, including a twelve-gauge shotgun that could handle double-ought buckshot. And then I noticed that you also own a forty-caliber Glock pistol. You know what's interesting about buying guns at gun stores? They actually write down the serial numbers. I got the serial number off of your Glock from when you bought it and had it checked against the one that killed Max Fernandez. Care to guess what we found?”

  Mrs. Rogers let go of her son's hand and spun toward Sam. “You found nothing!” she screamed at him. “You didn't find anything because there isn't any…”

  She froze. Behind her, Jared's eyes were wide as he stared at his mother.

  “Mom?”

  She turned her head to him for just a second, long enough to tell him to shut up and stay out of it, then look back at Sam.

  “That's right,” Sam said. “We already knew that the serial number had been ground off of the pistol, but the only way you could know that is if it's yours. That's enough to confirm for me that you killed Max, but I'd already figured that out. The only question I had left was about motive, but then I checked on the most recent funding committee meetings. One of them was just the day before Max was killed, and he had taken one of the members into his office for a long talk afterward. I'm betting that it was Jared, who everyone thought was Daniel. Daniel had been chairman of the committee for more than two years, so Max would have known him well. He would have spotted Jared as an imposter easily, because he wouldn't know how to run the meeting.”

  Mrs. Rogers stood there staring at him for another moment, but then her face fell and all the anger seemed to drain out of her. “He thought Daniel was using drugs or something,” she said quietly. “Jared came to me all upset, worried because Hernandez was trying to talk him into going and getting tested for drugs, going into rehab. He wasn't using drugs, he just didn't realize that he was supposed to be in charge of the meeting, but that put him at risk. If Hernandez started talking to the other members, somebody might figure out the truth.” She hung her head and shook it from side to side. “I didn't want to kill him,” she said. “I only wanted to make him back down, leave Jared alone, but I guess I said too much then, too. He and Daniel had been friends, I guess, and he knew about Jared. He suddenly realized that Jared must've taken his place, and demanded to know how to reach Daniel. I had the gun, I didn't mean to use it, but I had it—and then it went off.”

  “You took off out the back after that,” Sam said, “ran down the alley and found a place to hide the gun where you thought no one would ever find it. Then, the next day, you heard that an innocent man had been arrested for the murder you committed. Your conscience was having enough trouble over killing your own son and Max, so to assuage your guilt, you hired Carol Spencer to represent Jack Wilson.”

  She nodded, but didn't say another word.

  “And Daniel? Daniel wanted out of his life, so he offered to trade places with Jared. Why didn’t you just let him go?”

  Mrs. Rogers was staring at the floor, but Sam saw a tear drop from her eye. “Because it was Daniel who was the murderous one. I overheard him talking to someone on the phone, taking out a large life insurance policy on himself. He listed Jared as the beneficiary.”

  Sam’s eyes went wide. “Daniel was planning to kill his brother, but not until after they traded places. Jared would be dead, but Daniel would collect millions from the insurance by posing as his own twin brother.”

  The woman nodded. “I knew that’s what he was planning,” she said, “but I had just gotten my Jared back. I couldn’t bear the thought of losing him again, and I couldn’t just stand back and let Daniel murder him that way. I tried to talk to him, talk him out of it, but he denied everything. He was staying in his father’s old cabin out there in the forest, so I went to see him, to try to reason with him but he still wouldn’t listen. I had the shotgun in the car and I—I threatened him with it to try to make him stop, but he took off running through the woods and I followed him. I lost him for a minute, but then I heard tires squealing and I saw him standing out there in the road, looking back at me, and I…” She began sobbing.

  “You aimed the gun and pulled the trigger,” Sam finished for her.

  “Mom? Mom, you killed Daniel?” Jared’s eyes were wide as he stared at his mother.

  Still sobbing, she nodded her head.

  Karen parks stepped in from where she had been standing just outside the room with the police guard. She was wearing an earpiece, one that was plugge
d into a digital recorder. Sam reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the little transmitter she had given him and passed it to her.

  “Cynthia Rogers,” Karen said, “you are under arrest for the murders of Daniel Rogers and Maximilian Hernandez. You have the right to remain silent…”

  * * * * *

  That evening, Sam and Indie were invited to Jack and Christy's home to help them celebrate, and they were happy to go. The four of them were sitting on their back deck, enjoying iced tea and lemonade, while Jack was grilling steaks. Christy had just told them that Freddie was doing very well, and the bandages could probably come off in a couple more days, when the doorbell rang.

  Christy and Indie went to answer it, and came back a moment later with Karen Parks.

  “Hey, everyone, I'm not here to interrupt,” she said, “but I just got word that the newspaper has heard all about how Freddie tracked down the murder weapon, and they're doing a story on him for the weekend edition. The mayor, who is never one to miss a photo opportunity or a chance to get some good press, called my chief and said he wants to present Freddie with a medal. They're planning a big ceremony tomorrow afternoon, in the mayor's office at city hall; can you bring him and make it?”

  Jack stood there frozen for a long moment, and then tears began to flow. He smiled at Karen, and said, “Oh, we'll be there, Ms. Parks, we'll be there! Thank you, my dear, thank you!”

  Christy touched Karen's arm. “Ms. Parks, won't you join us? We've got plenty of steaks, and they've only just gone on the grill; it's no trouble to add another.”

  Karen started to beg off, but Indie put a stop to it.

  “Don't even think about it, Karen! You’re part of this celebration, too, y'know! You deserve to be here.”

  “Me? This wasn’t even my case! I didn't have anything to do with it!”

  “Yeah, you did,” Sam growled at her. “Remember when I called you about Freddie, and you had to stop the animal cops from putting him down? Wasn't for that, he'd have been dead, and we'd still have Jack in jail for a murder he didn't commit, so sit your ass down and grab a glass!”

  She stood there for a second, then grinned. “I will,” she said, “on one condition. I want to know how Freddie knew what you wanted him to do. You tell me that, and I'll stay.”

  Everyone else, including Indie, demanded Sam answer her, so he looked at Freddie and said, “How about it, boy? Can I give away our secret?” Freddie barked, and they all laughed.

  “Okay, here it is,” Sam began. “I didn't know what I was hoping to find when I went to get Freddie, but I figured if he was familiar with the Animal Partners offices and knew everyone there, he might just spot something wrong if I took him back. I didn’t have any expectations, exactly, just a gut hunch. When he went into Max's office, he could tell from the smell of Max's blood that his old buddy was dead, I think, and I guess he wanted to know why. He sniffed around the office, and sparked up on part of the desk, right about in front of where the shot would have been fired from—to me, that means he picked up the scent of the gun, the powder burns that would’ve hit the desk. Once he had that, he could follow it out of Max's office to the front desk, where Cynthia probably stopped and put the gun down to try to think through what to do. He found the scent again on that desk; then she must have picked it up again and carried it through the building, out the back, and down the alley to where she hid it.”

  Karen shook her head. “You're saying Freddie tracked the smell of the metal gun all that way? Come on, Sam.”

  Sam shook his head. “Hear me out. He followed the smell, not of the gun itself, but of the burnt gunpowder. Any ballistics tech knows that once you fire a gun, there is gunpowder residue on every part of it, and on the person who fired it. Well, that powder falls off, as we move around, or as air moves over the gun, whatever, in little specks we humans would never be able to detect. But Freddie, there, being a breed of dog that is used for tracking in some countries, could smell those tiny little specks and track them where they dropped off of Cynthia and the gun. She left a trail of breadcrumbs, and Freddie was the only one who could possibly have followed them.”

  Everyone shook their heads, and Sam smiled. Freddie looked around and barked a couple of times, so they were all pretty sure he knew everyone thought he was a truly wonderful dog.

  “Sure is a pity Max is gone,” Jack said. “He was a hero to an awful lot of people.”

  “A fallen angel,” Christy said. “We’re all going to miss him.”

  “A fallen angel,” Sam repeated. His eyes were resting on an old guitar that was leaning against the wall. He pointed at it. “May I?”

  Jack looked around at the guitar and grinned. “Help yourself. Might have to tune it a bit, I haven’t touched it in weeks.”

  Sam got up and got the guitar, sat back down and tuned it by ear. He strummed a couple of chords and then began to play.

  “This is a song I’ve been working on for the band,” he said. “It doesn’t fit perfectly, but the title of it is Fallen Angels, and I just felt it might be appropriate tonight.” (Click To Listen)

  The bell rings, it’s another day,

  They grab their turnouts and on their way,

  A child is trapped at fourteen stories high,

  You can say they’ve got a job to do,

  But when it comes down to me and you,

  Could you look that fire in the eye…

  They still ride prepared to pay the price,

  They don’t want to die but sometimes that’s the sacrifice,

  They still ride for the loved ones left behind,

  God bless the fallen angels in our lives…

  It’s the moment they’ve been training for,

  Our commander in chief says it’s time for war,

  There’s pride in their hearts and in their eyes,

  He’s only eighteen and they’re shootin’ at him,

  That’s the difference between heroes and men,

  When it comes down to it they still ride…

  They still ride prepared to pay the price,

  They don’t want to die but sometimes that’s the sacrifice,

  They still ride for the loved ones left behind,

  God bless the fallen angels in our lives…

  They still ride prepared to pay the price,

  They don’t want to die but sometimes that’s the sacrifice,

  They still ride for the loved ones left behind,

  God bless the fallen angels, they still ride…

  In our minds they still ride…

  In our hearts they’re still alive…

  They still ride…

  They still ride…

  Just a routine traffic stop on the south side of town…

  They all sat quietly for a moment when the song was finished, and Sam saw the tears on all of their cheeks as he wiped away his own.

  “That was absolutely beautiful, Sam,” Jack said, and Christy and Karen both echoed the sentiment. Indie reached over and took Sam's big, rough hand in her tiny, beautiful one and said, “I think it was perfect.”

  Sam raised his glass into the air. “To the fallen angels,” he said solemnly. “To those who have fought; to those who have fallen; to those who continue to fight!”

  All of the glasses clinked, and Freddie looked up at them all and barked once. Sam looked at the dog for a moment, and then added, “And to Max, who fought for so many who couldn't fight for themselves.”

  They clinked once more, and then they all felt a chill run down their spines, as Freddie raised his nose to the sky and howled. It was a time for mourning, and for just a moment, they all sat silently with the dog and mourned his friend who was no more.

  BOOK 11

  HIDDEN AGENDA

  1

  There’s something to be said for sleeping in, and Sam Prichard was the kind of guy who would take advantage of every opportunity to do so. Since school had just let out for the summer and nobody had to be anywhere early in the morning, Sam hadn
’t even bothered to set an alarm.

  Of course, the best-laid plans of mice and men, as they say…

  Sam was awakened by the sound of his phone ringing and threw out a hand to find the blasted thing on his nightstand. “Hello,” he mumbled into the phone.

  “Sam, before you say anything, I want you to know this isn’t my fault,” he heard his mother say. “I’m just the messenger, remember that, okay?”

  Sam groaned. “Just spit it out, Mom,” he said. He held the phone out and let one eye focus on the time. It was just after seven. He held the phone back to his ear.

  “Okay,” Grace said with a sigh. “It’s Beauregard. Kim came out of her room this morning for breakfast and said Beauregard wanted me to call you. I’m supposed to tell you to take the case.”

  Beauregard was, according to Indie’s mother Kim, the ghost of a confederate soldier who acted as her “spirit guide,” giving her advice, which she sometimes needed to pass on to others. Sam thought he was an alter ego Kim had created to mask her own ability to see bits and pieces of the future, but he never said that to her face; Indie had warned him that it could be too hard for her mom to accept, so he pretended to believe in the old ghost at least part of the time.

  Sam blinked, trying to wake up enough to understand what was going on. “Take what case?” he asked. “I haven’t had any new calls.”

  “All I know is that she insists that he says you have to take the case. You know how Beauregard is, he doesn’t give you any details. Just these vague hints, and I don’t know what they mean.”

  Indie rolled over and leaned up on an elbow to look at his face. “Beauregard?” she whispered.

  Sam nodded. “Okay, I guess,” he said into the phone. “Personally I think Beauregard is a load of hogwash, but I have to admit he’s saved my life a time or two. The next case that comes my way, I’ll take it no matter how silly it sounds. Good enough?”

  He could hear Grace speaking to Kim, who rented a room from her. A moment later she came back on the line. “I guess Beauregard says that’s okay. Did I wake you guys up?”