I Saw Mommy Killing Santa Claus (Book 3) (A Harley and Davidson Mystery)

by Liliana Hart

  “Ready for Fort Worth?” he asked when she got in the passenger’s seat. He handed her a to-go cup of hot tea, just the way she liked it.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be. How’d you get us in at the coroner’s office?”

  “Connections. I worked a case here many years ago. The detective at the time and I hit it off. He was a great cop, just a little green. We ended up slamming the bad guy after only three kills, but it was this detective’s connections in the area that made the difference and probably saved several more lives. That killer was an animal.”

  “So this detective got you into the coroner’s office?”

  “No. That detective is the coroner now. I knew he had too much going for him to stick to busting bad guys on the street.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about this connection in the first place? We could’ve gone straight to him. I think his office did both bodies.”

  “The reason I have these friends is because I don’t wave them around to impress you or other people.”

  “Do you wave me around to your cop friends?” Agatha asked, raising a brow.

  Hank squirmed uncomfortably and his lips twitched in a smile. “Maybe. Once. But no one believed me.”

  “You do believe me, don’t you?” She asked.

  “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a pathological liar and a wannabe cop. I saw on Facebook last week that you’re in Detroit to visit with the police department and donate bulletproof vests. The A.C. Riddle in those pictures looked legit to me.”

  “Oh, yeah,” she said. “I forgot my publicist set that up. We’ve been using the same model for years now once public appearances started being necessary. You’ve noticed he never does signings. A couple of months before a release my publisher will send me boxes of books to sign and ship back so people can get signed copies.”

  “Yeah, I’ve got a couple on my shelf,” he said. “I always wondered why you don’t do signings.”

  “I’m not a fan of being exposed to the public.”

  “Someday you’re going to have to tell me that story,” he said.

  “Deal. But only if you someday tell me why you always avoid talking about your family.” Agatha pressed.

  Hank completely shut down the conversation.

  They drove in comfortable silence for a while, until she saw the familiar landscape of the city. “Are you going to tell me the real reason you were late?”

  “It’s called being on time.”

  “Sorry, buddy. Not buying it. You’re the profiler. It’s an ingrained habit of being fifteen minutes early. You’re not just going to stop cold turkey like that. You probably broke out in hives when you realized what time it was, which meant you were probably distracted by something else.”

  He sighed. “Not bad for a writer. Anna called.”

  “Oh, yeah? “Everything okay?”

  “Depends on how you look at it, I guess. Our relationship was short-lived.”

  Agatha raised her brows in surprise. “You can say that again. What happened?”

  He looked uncomfortable at the question, and she wondered if she’d overstepped her bounds. There was a slight flush of color that creeped up his neck and cheeks.

  “She didn’t like that I kept my eyes open when we kissed,” he finally said.

  There were two emotions that overwhelmed her with this bit of knowledge. The first was that she really didn’t like the idea of Hank kissing another woman. The second was curiosity, because she really couldn’t fathom breaking up with a guy because he kissed with his eyes open. Maybe it was just super creepy, and Anna couldn’t handle it.

  “Is that a habit, like getting everywhere fifteen minutes early?” she asked.

  “I like to be aware of the situation at all times. I know what it feels like to be distracted by a woman and almost die in the process.”

  “Well, that sounds like a good story,” she said. Hank had certainly lived an interesting life, and she hadn’t even scratched the surface. “If you want my take on it, maybe you just haven’t found the woman you can trust to make yourself vulnerable like that. If you can close your eyes when you kiss, then maybe that will tell you she’s the one.”

  “Maybe your right,” he said, but he didn’t sound like he believed her.

  Horns blared and Hank let out a string of words she’d never heard cross his lips before. He swerved right, then back to the left, right into the path of an oncoming eighteen-wheeler. There was nowhere to go. She clung to the door handle, her scream frozen in her throat.

  A purple Harley Davidson motorcycle with pink flames painted on the tank and the name Lone Star Rattlers on the fenders cut them off while trying to avoid the big rig. The bike almost clipped Hank’s wheel well.

  “Ohmigosh,” she said once the excitement had passed, and they were both still in one piece. Her heart was pounding in her chest. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

  The girl on the back of the motorcycle was wearing nothing but a tiny green bikini and pointy ears.

  “They’re lucky they didn’t kill someone,” Hank said. “its times like this I miss driving my unit. I have half a mind to call it in anyway. He’s giving bikers a bad name.”

  “Is that interest I hear in your voice, Hank Davidson?”

  “I’ve tried everything else. I figure getting a HOG is the next step in my retirement plan.”

  “Funny. My idea of a retirement plan is a 401k.”

  “There’s all kinds of retirement, Aggie.”

  Chapter Seven

  They met Dr. James Sweet in the lobby of the Tarrant County Coroner and Forensic Examination complex. Sweet was exactly as Hank remembered him. The only difference was the once rookie detective no longer schlepped a notebook and five o-clock shadow.

  “Hank Davidson,” Sweet said, grinning. “Never thought I’d get the pleasure again.”

  “It’s been a long time,” Hank said, equally thrilled to see his old friend. “It’s really great to see you. You haven’t changed a bit.”

  “A little less hair and a little more around the middle,” he said. “All in all, I’m still in here somewhere.”

  Sweet wasn’t a big man, maybe an inch shorter than Agatha, and he was thickly built. His curly black hair was as close cropped now as it had been when Hank first met him. He still sported the same black-framed glasses. To be truthful, he looked like Carlton from the Fresh Prince of Bel Air, though he’d always claimed to look more like Will Smith.

  “Sweet, this is my partner, Agatha Harley.”

  Agatha shook his hand and smiled at him. He could see her cataloguing every one of his features, like she did with people she would eventually use as a character.

  “Oh,” Sweet said. “I didn’t realize you’d gotten remarried.”

  Agatha’s brows raised and gave him a look he didn’t want to interpret, but he knew she’d be asking him questions later.

  “Umm…” he said. “We’re not married. Aggie’s my partner.”

  “Partner,” Sweet said. “Sure, got it. I’m fine with however you choose to live your life. I’m just glad to see you.”

  Hank laughed uncomfortably, and he could tell Agatha was enjoying herself immensely. If Sweet kept talking, she’d probably learn all kinds of things about him.

  “He means we’re crime fighting partners,” Agatha said, jumping in before Hank could make more of a mess of things. “It’s nice to meet you.”

  Sweet didn’t look convinced, but all he said was, “Nice meeting you, too. I hope you had a good trip up.”

  “It was interesting,” Agatha said. “We almost wrecked into a purple motorcycle carrying a half-naked elf and a Chihuahua in a side car.”

  “Yep, sounds like the holiday season to me,” Sweet chuckled.

  “That’s what I told her,” Hank said.

  “What can I do for y’all?”

  “We think there’s a serial killer on the loose, and you’ve got two of the victims,” Agatha said.

  Sweet looked at
Agatha like she was crazy before he started laughing. “A serial killer? What kind of joke is this?”

  Hank glanced at Agatha then back to Sweet. Sweet’s abrupt response caught him off guard. This wasn’t the Sweet he remembered, but it had been a long time. People changed.

  “Yes,” Hank said, backing up Agatha. “It’s either a mighty coincidence or a purposeful practice. Three men have been killed in the same manner within the last week. It’s not registered on law enforcement’s radar, but it’d be a great opportunity for a candidate up for re-election to get in front of it.”

  Sweet’s easygoing posture turned into one of defiance, and he glared at Hank. “I don’t do my job for votes.”

  “If I thought you did, we wouldn’t be here,” Hank said. “Maybe you can give us the benefit of the doubt, and we can look at it objectively. It’d be a heck of a thing to be wrong about.”

  “Follow me.” Sweet nodded and motioned for the security guard behind the half-circle shaped desk to buzz them through the door. Once they were through security, Sweet lowered his voice to a hushed tone. “I’ve not heard even a whisper about a potential serial killer on the loose, so you’re going to have to excuse my skepticism.”

  “Understood,” Hank said. “All three happened in different jurisdictions. It was just luck that we happened to connect the dots.”

  “The first one was reported last Tuesday,” Agatha said. “All the victims are white males and in their sixties or early seventies. All were dressed as Santas. Reported COD was cardiac arrest.”

  “Somebody’s killing Santa Claus?” Sweet asked, incredulously. “Did you talk to the Easter Bunny?”

  “Yeah,” she said, clearly losing her patience. Hank couldn’t blame her. He was losing his too. “The Easter Bunny said to come talk to you.”

  Sweet led them into a restricted area, then to a small space that was clearly his office. Agatha tossed the file across his desk.

  “We’ve only been able to look at the victim in Bell County. His death was the same as the others. However, he had a blue discoloration around the mouth. We think it’s worth looking at the other two to see if there’s a similar coloring.”

  Sweet was silent, and he finally began to examine the photographs.

  “His death was instantaneous,” Agatha said. “We can’t tell from the pics, but the coloring doesn’t appear to be perioral dermatitis. There is a raised rash or bubbling above the surface of the vermillion zone, but it doesn’t seem to be embedded. See right here at the top of his mouth in the Cupid’s bow, the blue doesn’t follow the natural curve in the upper lip.”

  “Yes, I see,” Sweet said, and Hank breathed out a sigh of relief. They’d gotten his attention. “Are you a cop?” Sweet asked.

  “No.”

  “A doctor?”

  “No.”

  “Then what’s your area of expertise, and why are you partnered up with Hank?”

  Agatha looked around the room, then walked to Sweet’s bookshelves. She pulled out a hardcover and set it on the desk.

  “My expertise is unique,” she said. “This is me.”

  “You’re A.C. Riddle?” Sweet said skeptically. “Yeah, I don’t think so. He’s the baddest crime writer on the planet. And he’s a dude.”

  “Sorry, man,” Hank said. “She’s telling the truth. She’s A.C. Riddle.”

  “You’re a dude?” Sweet asked her.

  Agatha rolled her eyes. “No. I write under a man’s name, because I had some trouble with a stalker in the past. It makes things easier. Except in times like this, when it doesn’t make anything easier at all.” She pointed to the initials on the book cover. “Agatha. Christie. Riddle. That’s my mother’s maiden name.”

  Sweet leaned back in his chair and stared her up and down, a look of bewilderment on his face. “Well, this is weird. My wife is going to freak out. We’ve read all your books.”

  “Thank you,” she said, lips twitching in amusement. “It’s not a well-known piece of trivia, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep it in the family.”

  “Will do,” he said. “Stalker situations aren’t anything to mess with. They can escalate quickly.”

  “Believe me, I know,” she said rubbing her fingers over a scar above her chest. “He’s been in Huntsville a long time, but I know there will be a day when he’s not. I’ve done everything I can to prepare for that day.”

  Hank knew some of her history, because he’d checked her out before he’d agreed to work with her. It was the first time he’d really heard her talk about what had happened to the man who’d terrorized her.

  “Man, I hope you’re wrong about this,” Sweet said. “We’re all running on overtime, but it needs to be checked out. The work here gets hectic around the holidays. You understand, Hank.”

  “Suicides,” Hank said. He did understand.

  “Yes,” he said. “And, of course, no family member wants to accept that their loved one would do such a thing. Autopsies are expensive and time consuming for my staff. The kicker is that once we cut and peek, we usually find things that the family really doesn’t want to know.”

  “Drugs, booze and disease.” Hank added.

  Sweet nodded.

  “It’s a lose-lose scenario, so I apologize for my reaction. I’ve got a brutal meeting with the county’s financial officer this afternoon, where I get to explain the need for a fifteen percent increase in overtime funding. Until then, I’m yours.”

  “Perfect,” Agatha said.

  “It’ll be just like old times,” Hank said. “Except we didn’t have a know-it-all bestselling author recording our every word.”

  “Please tell me you have autopsy reports,” Agatha said.

  “I wish I could,” Sweet said. “But like I said, it’s expensive and not a normal practice for deaths that look like natural causes. I vaguely remember both cases you’re talking about. Let me look them up.”

  Sweet turned to his computer and went through the databases of cases they’d processed over the past week. “Yeah,” he said. “Look here. There was nothing suspicious about either death, and the families didn’t request a closer examination. My staff takes meticulous notes, so there may be something gleaned from them and the photographs.” Sweet said.

  “Let’s look on the bright side. If these same abnormalities bear out on our Santa one and Santa two, then we know we’re working on three of a kind. The bad news is there’s no tox reports to make scientific analysis, but photos do go a long way in tying patterns together.” Agatha added.

  He led them into an adjoining room with a huge table in the center and blinding bright white lights overhead.

  “We’re behind the eight-ball on this one,” Sweet said. “But if it is a serial killer…

  “There will be a Santa number four,” Hank finished for him.

  Chapter Eight

  “What do you think is making that stain on their lips?” Agatha asked.

  Hank muttered something under his breath, but his attention was glued to the matrix of massive crisscrossing interstates that traversed the metro-plex region like an untethered cardiovascular system. She knew he was trying his best to creep across to the other side of Fort Worth, but it wasn’t an easy task.

  “Hank?”

  “Sorry,” he said, snarling. “These roads are the best I’ve ever seen, but big and wide open doesn’t make me any less lost.”

  “Seriously though,” she said. “What could cause those blue stains on their lips? Both of Sweet’s men have the same thing as our Rusty Gun victim.”

  He flipped on his blinker and cut across three lanes of traffic. “Well, we can all agree it’s not bruising or a result of low-oxygen from strangulation. Although we didn’t discuss this option, I also feel strongly that neither of them had been eating blue ice cream.”

  Agatha rolled her eyes. “Get serious.”

  “Don’t you think I’d tell you if I knew? It could be a million different things. It occurred either right before or immediately post-mort
em, because photos for two of the men were taken pretty quickly. Actually, for Mr. Gunderson, the Glamour Shots photographer took several pictures while he was having the alleged heart attack and right after he died. She said she thought his family would want them as mementoes.”

  “That’s creepy,” Agatha said.

  “There are a lot of creepy people in the world. You get to meet a lot of them in this line of work.”

  “What do you suggest we do next?” she asked.

  “Wait for number four,” he said.

  Her mouth dropped open in shock. “So we just wait for someone else to die? That sucks.”

  “How about I teach you good old fashion detective work?”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing,” she said.

  “I mean, before, all you had to do to solve a crime was wait on a lab result. Let’s put in the legwork and see what shakes out. We’ll start with a canvas of the two shopping malls.”

  “Good idea,” she said.

  “We’ll do the canvasing first thing tomorrow morning.” Hank said.

  “Perfect. I’m looking forward to watching the best at work.”

  “That’s why you’re paying me the big bucks.”

  “I’m paying you for consulting fees on the books. Not for all the extras. You’re getting a lot of benefit out of this relationship too.”

  “Don’t tell me you didn’t use my fees in negotiating your new contract. I’m sure you got a pretty sweet deal. If anything, I probably deserve a raise. If it weren’t for me, you’d be grading English papers on the weekends.”

  Agatha felt her blood boil at the insinuation, and she took a couple of deep breaths to get control of her temper. It was rare she lost her temper, but when she did, she usually said things she regretted.

  “I’m sorry, what did you say?” she asked, her voice frigid. “You think you deserve a raise?

  She didn’t know what had changed in the atmosphere, but Hank had been acting weird ever since they’d first met up with Dr. Sweet. More specifically, he’d been acting weird since Sweet had asked him if he’d remarried. She didn’t know what the heck was going on, but things were going downhill fast.