by Carolina Mac
Checking the numbers as they passed, Farrell strode down the hall to six twelve and drew his weapon. “Can I kick it in?”
“Don’t think we’ll need to. The guy is a smart-ass. He’s knows we don’t have much. I read him as laughing in our faces.”
“Hate those assholes,” said Farrell. “I want him to resist arrest.”
Blaine shrugged. “I could be wrong. Maybe you’ll get your wish.”
Farrell knocked and said in almost a whisper. “Police, Mr. Lovell. Open the door.”
Benson Lovell opened the door wide and stared at them. A big stocky guy in plaid boxers with tats on both arms. Dark hair and dark stubble on his face. He hadn’t shaved yet today. Maybe he wasn’t going to. Sleepy looking, they might have woken him up.
Farrell pushed inside, physically backing Lovell up as he went. He snapped an open cuff on Lovell’s wrist as he said the words. “Benson Lovell, you are under arrest on suspicion of murder—four counts.”
Lovell twisted and tried to get his hands free as Farrell did up the other cuff behind his back.
“Piss off, assholes. I want to call my lawyer.”
“Let’s go, buddy.” Farrell spun the big guy around and shoved him into the hallway.
Lovell took off and sprinted towards the stairwell, fast and agile for a big man. When he got there and couldn’t get the door open with his hands cuffed behind his back, he cursed the air black and blue.
Farrell pushed the barrel of his SW against Lovell’s neck and cocked it. “Bad move, asshole. You fixin to be dead today?”
“Y’all can’t kill me. I’ll sue y’all for police brutality.”
Farrell grinned. “After you’re dead?”
Lovell spit on the carpet at Farrell’s feet. “Fuck off, cowboy.”
Farrell turned him around roughly and marched him back down the hall to the elevator. Blaine held the doors open for them and they descended to the lobby.
Ranger Headquarters. Austin.
CHIEF Calhoun was passing through the waiting area at the front of the DPS building when Blaine and Farrell came in with their prisoner. “I think room three is vacant, boys. Make this gentleman comfortable in there.”
“I want my lawyer,” hollered Lovell at the top of his vocal range.
The Chief smiled and watched Farrell maneuver the big guy into room three. To Blaine: “I think we should call Jesse and let him have first crack.”
“Yep, good idea,” said Blaine. “I’ll do it now. I’ve got some other calls to make too.”
Annie answered on the first ring. “I thought I called Jesse’s cell,” said Blaine.
“Uh huh. He’s lying down, and I brought his phone out to the kitchen, so he wouldn’t hear it.”
“What’s the matter?” Blaine could hardly get his breath thinking something had happened to Jesse.
“Dec thinks he may have had a mild coronary this morning.”
“No.” Blaine’s heart beat double time. “I thought he was doing better.”
“Brian’s dropping by soon and I’ll know more. Can I call you later?”
“I’ll drive out to the ranch, as soon as I can, Mom. Might be tonight.”
“Thanks, baby. Love you.”
Shit. Jesse is worse. I don’t like that one bit.
Next, Travis. “Hey, Trav, did you talk to the units that were on Misty’s house?”
“Don’t know how in hell it’s possible, but they all say the same thing—nobody was there—day or night.”
“Well we know that ain’t true—are they all goddam blind and fuckin deaf?”
“For sure,” said Travis. “Anything else?”
“Go to this address and don’t touch anything… yet, but we need to hear what’s going on with our suspect.”
“Have you got him?”
“Uh huh, but I don’t know for how long.” He gave Travis the address.
“I’m ten away from there.”
“You could glance around if you have time.”
“I could.”
Next, Jack. “Are the boys busy in the carriage house?”
“Always. Easiest gig they’ve ever had. They love it.”
“Send two of them to Mulligan’s in about an hour. See if they can get in without being seen using Misty’s key, and have them take enough food and stuff with them to last a couple days. I’m going to pull the patrol off and see what happens.”
“Okay, good thought. Are you doing that right away?”
“I’ll do it before I go in to question Lovell.”
“You picked him up?”
“Hope we can hold him. That’s gonna be the problem.”
“Can Jesse interrogate him? He might get something.”
“My first thought, but Annie thinks he might have had another coronary—a mild one.”
“Fuck.”
“For sure. We’ll go to the ranch later.”
On his way to room three, Blaine stuck his head in the Chief’s office, told him about Jesse and asked to have the squad pulled off Mulligan’s residence.
“Okay, got something else in mind?”
Blaine nodded. “In motion.”
“Good, and good luck in room three.”
“Thanks.”
“BENSON,” said Blaine. “Can I call you, Benson, or would you prefer Mr. Lovell?”
“Doesn’t matter what you call me. I won’t be here that long. I want my lawyer and I want out of here.”
Benson’s dark complexion was flushed red, almost crimson. Blood pressure issues?
Blaine turned the recorder on and set it on the corner of the table. He placed his yellow pad in front of him and laid his pen on top, perpendicular to the horizontal lines.
“Where do you work, Mr. Lovell?”
“JimmyJoe’s, but you already know that. Don’t play games with me, Super cop. I know who you are.”
“This ain’t a game. I’m playing for keeps.”
Lovell smiled. “Now you sound just like the ganger that you really are underneath all that crime fighting bullshit that swirls around you like dirt around Pig Pen.”
Blaine chuckled.
“One of the murdered girls was found right outside JimmyJoe’s place,” said Blaine. “Why did you do one so close to home?”
Lovell shook his head. “You’ve got nothing to connect me to the murders and you never will. That’s what happens when you arrest the wrong man.”
“I think I’ve got the right man.”
Lovell grinned. “Your problem is, you have to prove it. I don’t have to prove I’m innocent. That’s the way the system works.”
“You have strong legal tendencies, Mr. Lovell?”
“Hell no, but I watch enough TV to know what’s going on in the real world.”
Blaine smiled. “Tell me about JoAnne Engels.”
“What about her?”
“She came to your club on a regular basis?”
“Regular enough, I guess. The ones who come three or four times a week, you get to recognize them.”
“Ever take her out?”
“Like on a date?”
Blaine tapped his pen on his pad. “Uh huh, like on a regular date.”
“Nope. Too young for me. I don’t date students.”
Blaine raised a brow. “You knew she was starting at the U after Labor Day?”
“How could I not? She was babbling on about it to anybody who’d listen.”
“Sherri Lynn. Did you know her too?”
“Seen her a few times with some of the other girls that come to dance. Knew her name.”
“Nicole Savoie?” Blaine watched Lovell’s face and his eye twitched before he got control.
“Never heard of her.”
“How about Barbie Radford? Ring any bells?”
Lovell shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with his hands still behind his back. He shook his head. “No. No bells are ringing.” He banged the cuffs metal on metal on the back of the chair. “Can I get these cuffs off?”
/> Blaine leaned back in his chair and grinned, amused by Lovell’s growing discomfort. “Sure, want a coffee?”
“I don’t want a fuckin coffee,” he hollered. “I want my lawyer and I want these goddam cuffs off.”
“Ever seen death row in Huntsville?” Blaine asked before he left the room.
The door closed and locked automatically. Chief Calhoun stood in the hall where he’d been observing through the window. “We need something solid.”
“Let’s print him,” said Blaine. Mort got a partial from JoAnne Engel’s neck, but he didn’t think it was good enough to be useful.”
“Book him on suspicion. Make all the right moves. Read him his rights and get him to sign. We’ll hold him overnight and give him his phone call as soon as it’s convenient in the morning.”
“We’re on the same page,” said Blaine.
OUT in front of the DPS building, were a line of media vans and a crowd of reporters when Blaine and Farrell exited.
“Shit,” said Farrell, “we shoulda used the fuckin back door.”
Blaine stood on the bottom step while Farrell pushed through to get to the parking lot and retrieve his truck.
“What’s the name of the suspect you arrested in the dance club murders, Mr. B?” shouted one reporter.
“We heard you brought somebody in for questioning,” shouted another.
“Y’all have speedy and accurate information,” said Blaine. “I’m impressed. A suspect has been booked on suspicion and he’s in the lockup.”
“What evidence do you have against him, Mr. B? Can the DA make a case?”
I wish.
“It’s too early to talk about a trial, and y’all know better than to ask about the evidence. All I can say is we’re in the process of gathering enough evidence to make a solid case for the DA. I should have more to tell you tomorrow.”
“Can you give us a time, Mr. B?”
“Not yet. I’ll have Mary call y’all.”
Blaine trudged to the truck and let out a sigh in the shotgun seat. “I need more meds.”
Farrell dropped him off at home.
JimmyJoe’s. Downtown Austin.
FARRELL tapped on the door that read ‘staff only’ and waited for the manager to open up. He’d called ahead and arranged to meet her even though the club wasn’t open until much later in the day. On the phone she’d sounded small and sexy—at least that was the way he’d pictured her—but standing in front of him was a two-hundred-pound bottle blonde barely five feet tall. Her black yoga pants appeared to be stretched to the max over her huge thighs and Farrell held up his creds, hoping to hell and back he didn’t have to look at her ass. “Deputy Farrell Donovan, ma’am, are you Marilyn Zimmer?”
“Uh huh. Come in. I just made coffee if you’d like some.”
“Sure, thanks.”
“We can talk in my office.” She led the way down the hall past the washrooms and a door that read ‘janitor’. Farrell followed focusing his attention on the back of her head in case her pants split open.
She poured two mugs of coffee, pointed to the chair in front of her desk and set the mug in front of Farrell. She squeezed behind the desk and flopped her butt into her chair.
Farrell sipped his coffee, waiting until she was settled.
“You said this was about Benson?”
“Yes, Benson Lovell. How long has he worked here?”
“I took over as manager two years ago and he was part of the staff when I came on board, so longer than two years. I can pull his file for you.”
“That would be helpful if I could get a copy. Thanks.”
“Why are the police asking questions about Benson? He’s always been a great bouncer. Always on time, and no trouble with other employees.”
“Have you noticed him interacting with the customers? Particularly any of the young girls that come here to party?”
“Nothing that I can think of, but on the weekends, it’s so crowded out front you couldn’t notice much of anything.”
“Did you ever see him with JoAnne Engels or Sherri Lynn Temple?”
Marilyn thought for a moment, then screwed up her round face. “Those are the names of the murdered girls,” she said. “You don’t think Benson had anything to do with that, do you?”
“Possibly,” said Farrell.
“No. Not possible. I’d never believe that.”
“You know him well?”
“As well as one employee can know another one, I guess. Not on a personal level, of course.”
Is she lying about that?
“Were any members of the staff closer to Lovell than the others?”
“I’m not sure. He did hang out on his breaks with one of the other bouncers. Mike Longbow.”
“And how long has Mike worked here?”
“Six months, maybe.”
“I’ll take a copy of his file too, if you don’t mind, Miss Zimmer. It would help me out a lot.”
She glanced at her watch as she headed for the filing cabinet. “Will Benson be showing up for his shift tonight?”
Farrell shook his head. “I don’t believe he will be, ma’am. He’ll be spending the night in the lockup at DPS.”
“Oh, my. I’ll have to do some rescheduling.”
“Uh huh, you might have to do that.”
“What about tomorrow? Should he be on the schedule for tomorrow night?”
“Can’t say, ma’am. You best call in an extra, just to be sure.”
“Thank you. I’ll do that.”
Farrell waited until she copied the files, then left.
Coulter Ross Ranch. La Grange.
AFTER dinner, Farrell drove Blacky and Misty out to Coulter-Ross to check on Jesse. “Did Mom say how bad the heart attack was?” asked Farrell.
“Dec thought it was mild,” said Blaine, “but I don’t know what the hell that means.” He rode in the shotgun seat, window down and smoking, Misty in the back in her silent mode.
“He’s not in the hospital, so that’s a good sign,” said Farrell. “At least I think it is, I’m not much of a medical guy.”
Annie hugged them all as they trooped into the kitchen. “So glad my babies are home for a visit.”
“Any tarts?” asked Farrell. “Did Rosie make pecan tarts today?”
“She might have,” said Annie, “Check that big container on the counter, sugar. See what she’s got.”
Jesse wandered down the hall when he heard the commotion at the front door. His face pale and thinner than he’d ever been. “Hey, y’all, sorry I missed work today. Maybe I can come tomorrow instead.”
Annie smiled and shook her head when Jesse wasn’t looking.
“We’re okay, boss,” said Farrell with half a tart in his mouth and two more in his left hand. “Everything is under control.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thursday, September 13th.
District Attorney’s Office. Downtown Austin.
BLAINE arrived at the DA’s office at nine sharp and Perry Leighton was waiting for him in his corner suite on the top floor. The top dog sat behind his mahogany desk gazing at a panoramic view of the city, a cup of coffee in his hand and a tray of pastries on the desk in front of him.
Almost ready to retire, Leighton kept himself in decent shape getting out on the golf course as much as he could. Only about five eight, he was destined to put on a few pounds as he aged and his close proximity to the bakery in the bottom of the building worked against him. Always immaculately dressed in a suit and tie, he served the city that elected him well.
“Nice to see you, Blaine.” Leighton leaned across the desk and offered Blaine his hand at the same time eyeing the sling. “Sorry to hear you were stabbed right after you took the bullet from that vicious ganger. How are the ribs?”
Blaine managed a smile. “I’m a walking disaster this week. Thank God I have Farrell trucking me around.”
“Where is he? Did you leave him in the hall?”
“He’s smoking outside an
d returning calls for me.”
Leighton raised an eyebrow. “Your agency has been busy?”
“What’s more popular these days than violent crime?”
Leighton nodded. “Sad, but true. You’re here about the dance club murders?”
“That’s what the media is calling them. Uh huh.” Blaine filled a china cup with coffee and added cream. “I have a suspect in custody, but not much to hold him on.”
Leighton smiled. “And you don’t want him to make bail?”
“Bingo. I need a couple of days to get you what you need for an indictment.”
“Lovell’s attorney has already called several times this morning and he’s fuming. I took the first call, then Simkins was stuck with the others.”
Blaine grinned. Miss Simkins, the DA’s assistant was a tough lady. “Let him fume. I need another forty-eight hours.”
“What have you got so far?”
Blaine explained about the message.
“Damaging. But nothing tangible?”
“Now that Lovell’s been booked, we have his prints. Mort was able to lift a partial thumb impression from JoAnne Engel’s neck and the lab is trying to match it.”
“That would be something, at least,” said Leighton. “Hacking into your computer and taunting you wouldn’t convince a jury of his guilt.”
Blaine drained his cup and set it down. “It’s him.”
“You have instincts that are almost infallible, son, and I trust your judgement more than I trust my own. Another twenty-four and I’ll have to arraign him. I can speak to the judge about bail but that’s all I can do.”
“If he makes bail can the state request an ankle monitor?”
Perry picked up a Sharpie. “I’ll make a note of it. Usually if we request it, the judge will comply.”
“Thanks,” said Blaine. “I better get going if I’ve only got twenty-four hours.”
FARRELL was ending a call when Blaine got to the parking ramp. “Sue called me. The lab got a positive ID on what was left of Endicott in the cabin rubble. The dentist is toast.”
“I know why she called you, bro, and not me,” said Blaine.
“Why?”