Dirty Devil

by Liliana Hart

  “Guess so,” he said, handing Jack the disc. “Well, the bar keeps me busy. But I like to support candidates from time to time. Keeps me entertained in my retirement.”

  “We all have to have a hobby,” Jack said. “Thanks for your time. And the disc.”

  The corner table was empty when we came out, and Costello’s mouth tightened at the lost revenue. I waited to speak until we were outside.

  “Did I just understand him right that he’s going to put money behind Floyd Parker in the election?” I asked.

  “That’s how I took it,” Jack said calmly. “Makes sense to me. Floyd helped Costello out by writing that article, and now it’s time for payback.

  There was a door on each side of the vestibule, and Jack took the one on the right, heading toward the area where Costello said Donnelly’s car had been parked.

  “I don’t like to talk bad about people,” I said, making Jack snort. “But if he’s hanging out with guys like John Donnelly and supporting jerkwads like Floyd Parker, then I’m going to have to use all your money to make sure he comes out on the losing end. Maybe we could buy his bar and set it on fire. Or check to see if he owes back taxes.”

  Jack pulled me close and kissed the top of my head. “I’m glad you’re on my side. And I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that about burning down the bar.”

  Something crunched under my feet and I looked down at the shards of glass on the sidewalk. And then I took a closer look. It was starting to get dark, so I used the flashlight on my phone.

  “There’s the rest of it,” Jack said, pointing to the larger pieces mixed in with the dirt and mulch of the flower bed. “Someone must have kicked it out of the way.”

  “It’s a champagne bottle,” I said. “Or what’s left of one.”

  “Yeah, an expensive one,” Jack said, recognizing the label. “I’ve got an evidence bag in the car. Let’s get what we can.”

  “Grab a few of them,” I said. “There are some cigarette butts too.”

  Jack was back in a hurry and we brushed the shards and pieces into an evidence bag, and also came up with three cigarette butts and a piece of chewing gum.

  “The last window of the restaurant is here,” Jack said, “So he wouldn’t have been parked any farther down the row and his lights still flashed in the window. There’s a camera on the corner, and there was another over the entry door to see people coming in and out.”

  “Hopefully we can get a good shot of Donnelly on the disc. You think someone got him here and drove the car away?” I asked.

  “He was drunk,” Jack said. “This would be the easiest time to do it. It was already raining. Visibility was low. It was dark. All it would take was a quick blow to the head and a shove into the car. It wouldn’t have taken long.”

  “Blows to the head is consistent with the autopsy report. He was hit hard. Maybe more than once. It was definitely hard enough to give him a concussion.”

  “The car should be in impound by tomorrow morning. We’ll have the team go through it and see if there’s blood or anything else. You up for one more stop?”

  “Do I get tacos?” I asked.

  “I feel like you asking the question is actually giving me a choice in the matter. I appreciate that.”

  “I do what I can,” I said. “But seriously. Tacos first. Then the stop. Where are we going, by the way?”

  “It seems like a good time to pay Julie Burkett a visit,” he said.

  “You think she’s going to be home on a Saturday night?”

  “Don’t you like to stay home on Saturday nights?”

  “Always. I’d much rather go out on a weeknight. Less people. Less traffic.”

  “Maybe Julie Burkett feels the same way.”

  “Maybe,” I said. “Just don’t forget the tacos.”

  6

  Julie Burkett’s house was on the way to Bloody Mary. She lived in a nice neighborhood, with small, single-story houses that each had a single tree planted in the front yard. Cars were parked along the street and porch lights were on.

  Number 802 had a white SUV in the driveway and hanging plants on the porch. Jack parked in front of the house instead of the driveway. The neighbors on one side of Julie’s house were sitting on the front porch laughing, and I could hear the television from inside the house on the other side.

  Julie’s front door was open, but the screen door was latched. Jack knocked and we waited for someone to come to the door.

  The woman who unlatched the screen wasn’t the kind of woman I’d been expecting. She was in her fifties, and her dark hair was naturally streaked with silver. Her face was free of makeup, and she had creases at the corner of her eyes that said she laughed often.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “I’m Sheriff Lawson,” Jack said, showing her his badge. “And this is Dr. Graves. We need to speak to you for a few minutes. It’s about John Donnelly.”

  Her mouth opened in surprise, but she closed it quickly and nodded, stepping out of the way so we could come inside. The entryway was the size of a postage stamp, but it opened into a larger living area that was comfortably furnished with bold colors and interesting art on the walls. There was no television, but there was an antique gramophone in the corner.

  “You’re Julie Burkett?” Jack asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m a little flustered. Is everything okay? Please sit down. I can make some tea.”

  “We’re fine, Ms. Burkett,” Jack said, taking a seat on the couch next to me. “But I’m sorry to tell you that John Donnelly’s body was found yesterday morning. He was murdered.”

  Other than the slight widening of her eyes, it was as if we hadn’t spoken. It was several moments before she said anything. “I don’t understand. That can’t be.” She had the glazed look of someone in shock, and then she seemed to shake herself and straighten her spine. “That fool. I told him he needed to be more careful. Death threats are nothing to ignore.”

  “What was your relationship with John?” Jack asked.

  She curled her legs up under her in the chair and smiled slightly. There was grief in her eyes. Real grief. Raw.

  “Oh, well,” she said. “I’m guessing you already have an idea of that or you wouldn’t be here. John and I were complicated. He was a difficult man. A demanding man. A heartless one as well. He had vices and faults. He was a womanizer and greedy and selfish. He fought for the wrong side, and he rarely had a conscience about it. But I saw the potential in him. For a time he tried to change. To be a different man. He was a man I loved. But ultimately, he just wasn’t good for me and I had to break free.”

  “But you still had a relationship,” Jack said.

  She nodded her head. “I wouldn’t call it a relationship. Not anymore. A decade ago I almost married him. He made promises. And I really do think he loved me. At least as much as he knew how to love. But I told him I couldn’t go through with it. He was angry for a time, and we didn’t speak for almost two years. But then we ran into each other at a wine tasting and struck up a conversation. One thing led to another. But I had boundaries in place, to protect my heart this time.

  “He’d come and go, in and out of my life as he pleased. I wouldn’t allow him to buy me gifts or trinkets or take me places. I didn’t want anything from him but him. The real him. And if he wanted to spend time with me he was always welcome here. How was he killed?”

  “He had a heart attack,” I said. “The trauma of being abducted was too much strain on his heart.” I felt it best to leave out the torture.

  She sighed. “His health was bad. We both knew his time was limited. It wasn’t too long ago the doctor gave him the news.”

  “Do you know which doctor?” Jack asked.

  “I’m sorry, no. He never mentioned a name. But I know he was working to get all his affairs in order.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” Jack asked.

  “He stayed here Monday and Tuesday night,” she
said. “It’s not far from his office and he was working late on a case, so he swung by here instead of driving all the way home.”

  “Did you expect to see him again this week?”

  “No, actually,” she said. “He was scheduled to go on a trip to Aruba. John hates the beach. Detests it. But I told him to stop complaining and go try to make something of his ridiculous relationship with that girl.”

  “It didn’t bother you he was in a relationship with someone else?” I asked.

  Julie looked at me with steady green eyes. “He was always in a relationship with someone else. And no, it didn’t bother me. I accepted John for who and what he was. He was never mine. But I’ll miss him. He was a great conversationalist with a quick wit and sharp mind.”

  “Can you give me your whereabouts Wednesday night and Thursday during the day?” Jack asked.

  “Hmm,” she said, reaching for her phone on the table beside her and scrolling through her calendar. “I teach art classes on Wednesday nights at the civic center,” she said. “But they shut things down early because of the storm and I drove straight home. I got here in time to get all my hanging baskets off the porch and inside.

  “Thursday I taught back-to-back yoga classes at the Y, and I had lunch with my mother. Can you let me know about the arrangements for his funeral?” she asked.

  “We can,” Jack said. “Thank you for your time. It’s been very enlightening.”

  “Enlightening?” I asked as we got back in the car. “More like confusing. Are we sure she’s talking about the same John Donnelly everyone else loves to hate?”

  “No one can change a man like the woman he loves,” Jack said.

  We were just pulling out of the neighborhood when Cole called. “Hey, Sheriff,” he said. “I got in touch with Hops and Chen, and neither of them saw a red Porsche heading past the checkpoint on Broken Bow.”

  “Good to know,” Jack said, “which means he went the other direction. Maybe once we get some more information we’ll be able to pinpoint a location for the murder.”

  Jack stayed on the phone for most of the drive home, getting updates about areas that were still without power, citizens who had major property damage, and an updated body count. The body count was up to eight. Two more had just been found who had only been missing up to now—a man and his six-year-old daughter.

  When he hung up the phone I said, “Are we calling it a night? You look like you could use a solid twelve.”

  He laughed and rubbed at his eyes. “I look that good, huh? The tacos helped. I’ve got lots of energy now.”

  “Tacos can do that to a man,” I said.

  “I just want to be home. I can barely remember what the inside of the house looks like.”

  “Just so you know,” I said. “I haven’t been to the grocery store. There’s no food in the house for tomorrow.”

  “That’s okay. My mom texted and said she put a lasagna in the oven for us, and a salad in the fridge.”

  “God bless your mother,” I said, my mouth watering.

  I’d known Jack’s mom my whole life, and she’d been more of a mother to me growing up than my own had ever been. Which makes complete sense now that I knew my mom had been a double agent working for the CIA. Motherly she definitely was not.

  We were still in King George Proper and about to cross into Bloody Mary when Jack swore, and the sound of gunfire had me sitting up in my seat.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jack said, hitting his sirens.

  It took me a minute to see what Jack had seen in an instant. There was a lone man running out of the convenience store with a pistol in one hand and cartons of cigarettes in the other. One of the county units was parked to the side of the building, and the officer had been inside.

  “Call it in,” Jack said, and hit the ground running.

  My heart was beating a million miles per minute, but I did as I was told and called in to dispatch.

  “Dispatch,” I said. “This is Dr. Graves. Robbery in progress. Shots fired.” I rattled off the name of the store and location.

  I’d lost the visual of Jack. Officer Plank had come out the front of the convenience store seconds after Jack had started chasing the man, and then they’d all disappeared down the alley. I reached over and pulled Jack’s door closed and locked myself in, and then I checked in the glove box for a backup weapon.

  Jack was one of those people who had backup weapons everywhere. I’d found one under the seat cushion in the living room and another in the canister labeled flour. There was one taped behind the toilet in our bathroom, and another hidden under the cup towels. And thank God Jack was a creature of habit because there was a snub nose revolver and a taser in his glove box.

  I checked to make sure the revolver was loaded, and checked the battery on the taser. I could hear sirens in the background, growing closer with every second, and my only solace was that no more shots had been fired.

  Something hard hit the side of my door, and someone was jerking at the handle, trying to open it. His eyes were wild and rolling, and it was obvious he was high on something. I couldn’t help the yelp of surprise that left my mouth as he smashed the butt end of his gun against the window, causing it to shatter.

  “Get out of the car!” he yelled.

  I was covered in glass, but I saw him raise the gun and instinct took over. I pressed the taser to his forehead and he went down like a bag of cement.

  I opened the door and got out of the car in a hurry, keeping the revolver pointed at him. If he was as drugged as I thought he was, he probably wouldn’t stay down long. And he’d just get up mad. Jack and Plank skidded to a halt next to the robber, both of them winded. Plank knelt down and hurriedly put cuffs on him.

  “Is he alive?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Plank said, feeling his pulse. “He’s alive. Holy cow, he was a fast little bugger. There’s no way we would’ve caught him. Whatever he was on was making him fly.”

  “You scared me to death,” Jack said, pulling me close. “I saw him break the window and I thought it was over. Then I see your hand pop out and blast him in the face. Are you cut?”

  I looked down and saw the glitter of glass stuck in the folds of my shirt and in my hair. “No, I don’t think so. Is anyone else hurt?”

  “No,” Plank said. “He didn’t hit anything inside but a case of beer and the ATM. And here I thought I’d stop and grab a couple of hot dogs for dinner on my way home from shift. Never did get my dogs, but this is going to be a great story to tell at the station tomorrow.”

  I groaned. I’d never worked with Plank on any of my homicides. He was still a rookie. But I’d seen him around a time or two. He had the face of a cherub and didn’t look old enough to vote. His skin was baby smooth, and there were two patches of red on his cheeks from the exertion.

  “You were going to eat gas station hot dogs?” I asked, raising a brow. “You got a death wish?”

  He grinned, showing a dimple in his cheek. “Hey, they make ’em good here. You should try one. They’ve even got a big crockpot of chili cooking off to the side for chili dogs.”

  “Good Lord,” Jack said. “To be young and dumb again.”

  “I’m going to have to pass on all of it,” I said. “But I’ll know what COD to look for if you ever show up in my lab.”

  He chuckled, and then he and Jack hauled the perp up by the arms, and half carried, half dragged him to Plank’s cruiser.

  “All I wanted was my dogs and to go home and turn on the game. Now I’ve got to take this yahoo and get him booked, and I get to do all the paperwork that goes with it.”

  “That’s the breaks, kid,” Jack said, watching as two other units pulled into the lot with lights and sirens blaring. “But I bet if you ask nice, Wachowski will take him in and book him for you. She’s got a sweet spot for you.”

  “Oh, yeah?” Plank asked, eyeing Wachowski from across the lot. “Maybe I could offer to buy her dinner as payback.”

  “As long as it’s
not gas station chili dogs that might be a good idea,” Jack said. “I’ve heard Wachowski enjoys the occasional baseball game and beer.”

  “Even better. Thanks, Sheriff,” he said. The red in his cheeks deepened, and I shook my head.

  “That poor kid will never be able to get away with anything. I didn’t realize you’d added matchmaker to your duties.”

  * * *

  Jack grinned. “I just gave him a push. They’ve been mooning over each other since he got out of the academy three months ago.”

  “Mooning?” I asked. “Okay, Grandpa.”

  “Shut up,” he said and swatted me on the butt.

  A news van pulled into the lot just as Jack finished clearing out the broken glass from my seat. He returned the revolver and taser to the glove box and turned in time to see Carrie Colson stick a microphone in his face.

  “Sheriff Lawson,” she said, her smile blindingly white. “Can you give us an update of what happened here tonight?”

  Jack was good at his job. People liked him and he had a charm about him that appealed to viewers. I took a step back out of the way so the spotlight was only on him. And then I heard her ask if he was worried about the rise in crime so close to the election.

  “I wouldn’t say a single incident resulting in someone’s poor decisions is a rise in crime,” Jack said, his smile firmly in place. “An officer was on site and he kept the workers and civilians safe by apprehending the suspect. My officers do a good job in keeping this county safe.”

  “What can you tell us about the murder of John Donnelly?” she asked. “My sources tell me his body was discovered yesterday at the Cotton farm, and he sustained a significant amount of torture.”

  “That investigation is still ongoing, but we’re doing everything we can to find who’s responsible. Thanks, Carrie,” he said, and moved out of view of the camera to signal the interview was over.

  Jack nodded at me and I hurried over to get into the Tahoe while Jack walked around to get in on his side. We didn’t speak again until we were comfortably out of range.