Close To Home - A Sam Prichard Mystery (Sam Prichard, Mystery, Thriller, Suspense, Private Investigator Book 14)

by David Archer

  Indie grinned and passed the phone to Sam.

  “Hello, Kim,” he said. “What does Beauregard want now?”

  “He said to tell you that your new case is probably more dangerous than any you’ve ever had. I’m supposed to say this exactly: ‘You already know that people are not always who they seem to be, but sometimes who they seem to be is not who they are. You will find the killer when you know who everyone is.’ Does that make any sense, Sam?”

  Sam’s eyes were wide and his mouth was hanging open. “Not even a little bit,” he said, “but when did that ever stop Beauregard? I don’t suppose he wants to clarify any of that for me, does he?”

  “Sorry, Sam,” Kim said. “That’s all he gave me, and he says he can’t see anything else at the moment.”

  Sam shook his head. “Well, I’ll hang onto it and see if it helps. Tell the old booger I said thank you.”

  He handed the phone back to Indie, and she put it to her ear but her mother had already hung up. She laid the phone down on the table and looked at Sam quizzically. “Okay, give. What did he say?”

  “Something about people not always being who they seem to be,” Sam said. “Like I didn’t know that already.” He picked up a sandwich and took a bite, and Indie took the cue to just let him eat in silence.

  When they finished eating, Sam kissed Indie goodbye and headed down toward the courthouse. The arraignment was set for two, but he had known them to start early and didn’t want to take a chance on missing anything. He arrived with twenty minutes to spare and found the courtroom only a moment later, then managed to find a seat in the front row of the nearly half full gallery, just behind the defense table.

  The judge on the bench was dispensing with a few other cases, mostly minor offenses that would be settled by plea-bargain long before they ever got to court. Sam watched quietly as a couple of drug dealers and a shoplifter entered their initial pleas of not guilty and waited for the judge to set bail.

  Once those cases were dealt with, the judge returned to his chambers and several people left the gallery while a few others came in. Sam saw Carol Spencer enter the courtroom and waved, and she waved back as she went directly to her chair at the defense table. She sat down and turned toward Sam, who leaned against the rail so that they could talk quietly.

  “You got anything new for me?” Carol asked.

  “Nothing yet,” Sam replied. “I talked to Barnhart, and he says Rivers only got the assignment because other detectives are out sick. According to him, the reason they’re pushing so hard right now is because they don’t want to give the public any impression that the department is trying to cover this up. He actually tried to tell me that if she’s innocent, she doesn’t need to worry.”

  “Yeah, the badges always say that. I put that one right up there with ‘the check is in the mail.’ In my own experience, being innocent has absolutely nothing to do with what happens in court.” She winked at him. “Unless you got me for an attorney, that is.”

  “Well, they sure seem to be trying to rush this,” Sam said. “That surprises me a bit, because they can’t possibly have any real foundation for a case.”

  Carol grimaced. “You’d be surprised. They managed to recover the bullets that killed the victim, and preliminary ballistics says they came from Karen’s gun. The gun has her fingerprints on it in spots, but other parts seem to be wiped clean. The biggest problem is that they now claim they’ve got a witness who actually saw the shooting. Unfortunately, this is just an arraignment. We don’t get to see or confront any witnesses at this point.”

  “Yeah, I know. So, you don’t expect any surprises today, then?”

  “We’ll see. I wouldn’t have expected to even be in arraignment this quickly, so that’s one surprise already.”

  Karen Parks was led in a moment later, dressed in the orange jumpsuit that was common to felony prisoners in many jails, with her wrists and ankles shackled to a chain around her waist. She spotted Rivers as he entered from the side of the courtroom with the DA, and Sam thought of the old expression about, “If looks could kill…”

  Karen spotted Sam and tried to give him a grin, but it was obvious that she was angry. The bailiff led her to the defense table and removed her shackles as she took a seat beside Carol. She started to turn around to speak to Sam, but Carol put a hand on her arm. “Don’t,” she said. “You’re not allowed to talk to anyone at the moment.”

  Karen glared at her. “You think I care?” She turned to Sam. “Any new developments?”

  Sam shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not yet. I spoke with Melinda, and I’m fairly sure she didn’t have anything to do with it. I tried to track down her sister, Samantha, but she was released from an institution several months back and the only trace of her since then is a couple of minor arrests. No one seems to have seen anything of her in the last six months, but I’m still looking.”

  She scowled. “Check out those punks that were at the apartment building. The only one I know of is Snake, but there were about a dozen involved in pushing me around. One of them had to be the person who took my gun. I just feel stupid for not realizing…”

  “All rise,” the bailiff announced. “The Second Judicial District Criminal Court of Denver County is now in session, Honorable William Charleston presiding.”

  The judge entered the courtroom and took his seat behind the bench. “Be seated,” he said. “We are meeting for advisement hearing in the matter of State versus Karen Parks, concerning a charge of first-degree murder. Is the defendant present in the courtroom?”

  Carol rose to her feet. “She is, Your Honor.”

  “Let the record show that the defendant is present, and is represented by her counsel, attorney Carol Spencer. Ms. Parks, please stand.” He paused while Karen got to her feet and faced the bench. “You are in fact Karen Parks?”

  “I am,” Karen said.

  The judge picked up some papers and handed them to the bailiff, who immediately walked over to hand them to Karen.

  “Ms. Parks, the bailiff has just provided you with a copy of the complaint entered by the district attorney in District Court today. This complaint contains certain charges and particulars which the district attorney states are relevant to certain crimes, and that he has reason to believe that you are the perpetrator of these crimes. Do you need a moment to look them over?”

  “No, thank you.”

  “Very well. Ms. Parks, the state has filed a complaint with this court charging you with the crime of first-degree murder, stating that on this date you did approach one Daniel Samara with the intent of taking his life, and that you did in fact use a police issue weapon to fire three shots in a successful attempt to kill Mr. Samara. The state further alleges that you thereby abused your authority as a law enforcement officer employed by the city of Denver, and employed your position as part of your plan to murder the victim. Do you understand the charges against you?”

  “I do,” Karen said. She cast a glance at Rivers, but then looked back at the judge.

  “Ms. Spencer, is your client prepared to enter a plea at this time?”

  “She is, Your Honor,” Carol said. “My client pleads not guilty to all charges and particulars.”

  The judge nodded. “Because of the sensational nature of this case and the fact that police abuse of authority has become something of a serious issue throughout this entire country, I’m going to require a dispositional hearing to determine whether there is genuine probable cause to believe that Ms. Parks committed the offenses outlined in the complaint, and I’m going to set this hearing for three days hence and nine o’clock in the morning. I thereby instruct both the state and the defense to be prepared to produce any evidence or witnesses which will speak to the issue of probable cause. We will now move to the matter of bail. Ms. Spencer, I’m assuming you want to seek bail for your client?”

  “Yes, Your Honor,” Carol said. “Your Honor, my client has been a Denver police officer and police detective for more than twelve year
s, and has always been known as a pillar of our community. She is a mother of teenagers who need her, and is quite certain that she will be exonerated of all charges, and so does not pose any type of flight risk. I ask that she be released on her own recognizance at this time.”

  “I’m not sure I can go along with that,” the judge said, “but let’s hear from the district attorney. Mr. Burton?”

  Will Burton was the deputy DA, and Sam had dealt with him in the past. He had been the prosecutor when Sam was charged with murder almost a year and a half earlier, and while he had gone after Sam like a pitbull, he had also proven to be fair and open-minded when evidence clearing Sam came to light.

  “Your Honor, the state concedes that Ms. Parks has been an exemplary police officer until this point, but the very nature of the charges against her make flight a genuine possibility. With a charge of first-degree murder, I’m afraid I have to ask the court to deny bail.”

  The judge actually grinned. “I’m not going that far, either,” he said. “However, I have to agree that the charges are quite serious and that the defendant would not be the first person to decide that taking off and starting over somewhere else was preferable to risking conviction in prison. For that reason, I’m going to set bail in the amount of one million dollars, which can be posted in cash or securities. Are there any other matters which need to be brought before the court in this hearing?”

  Both the DA and Carol agreed that there were no further matters, so the judge dismissed. The bailiff required everyone to stand while the judge left the courtroom, and then a deputy approached Karen with the shackles again.

  She turned around and looked at Sam. “I don’t have a million dollars,” she said. “Hell, my house is only worth about…”

  “I’ll see what I can do about bail,” Sam said. “Don’t worry about it, let me handle it.”

  Both Carol and Karen looked at him with their eyes wide. “The PI business must pay a lot better than I ever believed,” Karen said. “Sam, sitting in jail a few days isn’t going to hurt me, and they’ve got me off in a little room of my own, so it’s not like I’m in any danger. Don’t worry about bailing me out, just get out there and find out who really killed that son of a bitch.”

  “It’s worth a try,” Sam said. “I know a few bondsmen, let me see what I can do.”

  “Sam, I’m serious, don’t worry about it,” Karen said. “You could go by and make sure the kids are all right. They’re teenagers, so they don’t need a babysitter, but you could let them know what’s going on if you would. They should be home around three thirty.”

  Sam sighed. “Okay,” he said. “No problem, I can do that. Is there anything you need?”

  She grinned at him. “Yeah,” she said. “I need you to get out there and find the killer. Sam, nobody else is even going to try.”

  The deputy took Karen by the arm and had her sit on the table while he shackled her again, and then they left the courtroom. Carol had stood by until they were gone, but then she turned to Sam.

  “She’s right, you know,” she said. “This case has too many possible political implications. The governor has ordered a crackdown on police brutality, which the prosecutors translate to mean they should try to hang any cop who’s even accused of excessive force. If you can’t find evidence that genuinely points to someone else, she’s looking at life.”

  “I know,” Sam said. He turned without a word and walked out of the courtroom, then left the building and got into his Corvette.

  Among the things that could be considered as evidence in the case of a death caused by gunshots is the angle of the wounds. Karen Parks stood only five foot four, but the file had said Digger Samara was almost 6 foot three. To Sam, this meant that it was likely any shots she fired at him would either strike him low in the abdomen or be aimed upward. He started the car and headed toward the Medical Examiner’s Office, which was less than a mile away.

  The drive took him three minutes, mostly because of traffic lights that seemed to be conspiring against him. When he arrived and parked in front of the building, he took his cane and hobbled inside, where a receptionist looked up at him with a smile.

  “Hi,” she said. “Can I help you?”

  Sam showed her his ID. “I’m Sam Prichard, private eye. I’d like to speak with the medical examiner about a body that was brought in this morning. The victim was Daniel Samara, gunshot wounds.”

  The receptionist nodded. “That would be Jasper Hartley,” she said. “He’s actually examining the body now, so it might be a little while before he’s free.”

  Sam smiled at her. “I used to be a homicide detective,” he said. “Do you think he’d mind if I join him?”

  She shrugged, with a look that indicated Sam was braver than she was. “Down that hall, through the double doors and then the second door on the left.”

  Sam nodded and turned in the direction she’d indicated. A moment later, he tapped on the door to the examination room and saw Hartley wave him in through the small window.

  Sam held out his ID. “Doctor Hartley? I’m Sam Prichard, a private investigator. I’m working on a case involving the victim you’re looking at. Mind if I stand in?”

  Hartley looked at him with a squint. “Prichard? Didn’t you used to be with homicide?”

  Sam grinned. “Yes, I was,” he said, “but that was a few years back. Did we meet back then?”

  “Yep. I was brand-new back then, but you stood in on a couple of my autopsies. I thought you looked familiar when I saw you through the window. Sure, come on in. Just hope you haven’t had lunch yet.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Sam said as he followed the doctor in to the examination table. The body lay on it face up, and Sam’s first reaction was surprise to see that Samara’s face was almost completely obliterated. “Wow,” he said. “That’s a lot of damage.”

  “Not so much,” Hartley said. “The victim was shot three times. The first shot hit him in the outer right chest area, shattered a rib and passed on through. At that point, I’m assuming he turned around, maybe tried to run, because the second bullet entered his back just below his left shoulder blade and exited just below the left nipple. The third shot probably caught him as he was falling from that wound and entered just above the base of his skull, and blew off most of his face on its way out.”

  Sam looked at the wounds on the torso. The one Hartley had described as the first shot was fairly small, just an entry hole, but the other one was a gaping hole about two inches across. He couldn’t see the entry wound on the back of the head, but knew that it would probably be just a small hole.

  “What do you think about the angle of attack?” Sam asked. “Can you determine the height of the shooter?”

  Hartley looked at him. “Why? Don’t they already know who it is?”

  “They’ve arrested a Denver police detective for this,” Sam said, “and she happens to be a former partner of mine. There’s absolutely no way in the world I believe she murdered this man, so I’m looking for any evidence that might back up her claim of innocence.”

  Hartley nodded and looked back at the body. “The first shot entered the body fairly level, approximately four feet four inches above the floor. The second shot entered a few inches higher at four feet and eight inches, and was angled slightly upward. The third shot entered at five feet and seven inches and exited at approximately five feet and nine inches, so that angle was upward also. Based on those angles and the powder burns on the body, I would estimate the shooter to be between five feet three inches and five feet nine inches tall.” He looked at Sam. “Does that help any?”

  Sam scowled. “Not really. The detective who was charged stands five foot four. I was genuinely hoping the shooter was considerably taller.”

  Hartley shrugged. “All I can do is give you the facts,” he said. “Cause of death in this case was the gunshot to the head; the other two wounds were serious, but not necessarily terminal. If medical care had gotten to him before the headshot, he probably wo
uld’ve survived.”

  Sam nodded. “Yeah, I can understand that. Doc, is there anything else about the victim that might seem unusual or odd?”

  “Unusual? Not that I’m actually aware of. It’ll be a day or so before I get back the toxicology report, we’re looking for drugs in the system, of course. Fingerprints were taken earlier, but it turns out they don’t seem to be on file, anywhere, so I’m supposed to try to find some other way of confirming the identity. He didn’t have any kind of ID on him, but the police have a name they want me to confirm. This guy had a decent set of teeth before most of them were blown out of his mouth, but we haven’t been able to locate any kind of dental records on him. They’re still searching for medical records, something that might indicate an identifiable old injury.”

  Sam looked down at the body on the table and Beauregard’s odd message came to mind: You already know that people are not always who they seem to be, but sometimes who they seem to be is not who they are. You will find the killer when you know who everyone is.

  “Doctor Hartley,” Sam said, “I may be getting back to you with more questions.”

  7

  Sam left the building and got into his car, heading directly to Karen’s house. He actually arrived a few minutes before the kids got home, so he sat on the front porch swing and waited, and suddenly realized that he should have grabbed a warmer jacket. The last few days had been surprisingly warm for Denver in December, but it was quite obvious that a cold front was moving in.

  He was only there for a couple of minutes when he heard an engine approaching, and looked to see David’s 1967 Chevy pickup cruise down the street and turn into the driveway. David Senior, his father, had been a detective on the Denver police force with Sam and Karen, and had died a few years ago while trying to arrest a murder suspect. Sam had been the one to bring the killer to justice, and it had resulted in his becoming like a “favorite uncle” to these kids.