Then There Were None (Matt Foley/Sara Bradford series Book 2)

by V. B. Tenery

  Turner returned with the fast food, and they ate lunch in the cool comfort of the Murphy kitchen. Afterwards, hunger sated, they returned to the heat and their treasure hunt.

  By three o’clock, they had gone through a six-pack of bottled water and searched through the last carton. Davis closed it, then held his shirt away from his body and fanned it, creating a faint, hot breeze.

  Taking a seat on one of the cartons, Turner heaved a deep breath. She pointed to a large trunk in the corner. “We gonna go through that?”

  Davis eyed the trunk and shrugged. It was on the left side of the shed, but he wanted to make sure their host didn’t mind. “Check with Bridget first.”

  Turner went inside and seconds later, Bridget followed her outside, drying her hands on a dishtowel.

  Davis pointed inside the storage unit. “The trunk in the corner, did that belong to Alex or Trevor?”

  “Actually, it belonged to Mr. Trevor’s dad. When his father passed away, he stored the trunk at Mr. Alex’s home. I moved it here because I didn’t know what else to do with it.”

  “Mind if we take a look inside?” Turner asked.

  “Not at all. It’s locked, but I found a key that might fit when I packed up things for the sale. Just a minute and I’ll get it for you.”

  She returned a moment later and handed Davis the key. He opened the trunk and glanced over at her. “What happened to Trevor’s father? How did he die?”

  She raised a hand to shade her eyes from the sun. “Had a stroke about four years ago. Died in a nursing home.”

  When Bridget returned to the house, they went back to work.

  The trunk lid opened smoothly, and Davis scanned the contents. The chest held war memorabilia, bank statements, bills, a passport, a baby book, and a scrapbook.

  Davis wiped his brow with the tail of his shirt and glanced over at Turner. “Let’s pull it out and see what we have.”

  Turner thumbed through the photo album. “Miles, look at this.”

  “Whatcha got?”

  “It’s a copy of the picture in Bridget’s living room.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Turner asked.

  “Yep. Let’s ask Bridget if we can ship the photos and papers back to the States. It’s too hot to go through this and give it the scrutiny it deserves. We can do it better back home at the station.”

  He strode to the back door at the kitchen and knocked. Bridget nudged the door open. “You find what you needed?”

  He nodded. “Maybe. I’d like to take some of the items in Trevor Nelson’s trunk. I think they might be helpful in our case.”

  Her brow wrinkled for a moment then smoothed, and a smile formed. “Can’t see as how he’d mind. I guess that stuff belongs to me now. Take what you want.”

  He shook her hand. “Thank you...for everything.”

  The Desert Palms Resort

  Alice Springs, Australia.

  The desk clerk looked up when they entered and waved them over. “The boys in blue left a note for you.”

  “That sounds like a song,” Lucy Turner said and flipped open the folded slip of paper. The note was from Ned Milpurrur.

  Davis glanced over her shoulder. “What is it?”

  She handed Davis the note. He read it then placed it in his pocket. “He wants me to give him a call.”

  In the room, Davis dialed the number. “Ned, this is Miles Davis. We spoke yesterday about Trevor Nelson.”

  “Yeah, right. One of our people happened on the scene right after the accident. Said he’d be happy to tell you what he knows.”

  “Is he there now?” Davis asked.

  “Yeah, just a minute and I’ll transfer you. His name is Fred Tanner.”

  A short wait ensued before a man picked up. “Tanner here.”

  Davis explained what he wanted. “If you’ll meet me and my partner at the hotel, we’ll buy dinner.”

  ***

  Over a large plate of barbecued ribs, Tanner told them how Trevor Nelson died. “According to witnesses, he shimmied out on a limb, apparently to get the shot for some book he and his partner did. The limb broke, and he went under. Never came up again. No one dared go in after him. The river was full of crocs. Never recovered the body.”

  “Any chance of foul play?” Davis asked.

  Tanner shook his head. “No, mate. There were at least a dozen witnesses.”

  “Where was his partner, Alexander Grayson, when the accident happened?” Turner asked.

  “With the tourists. They had to keep him from jumping into the river to rescue Nelson. Do you mind my asking why you blokes are so curious about this accident?”

  “We’re just verifying what a witness told us. You know how police work goes, verify, verify, and re-verify.”

  “Too right, I do. This have anything to do with the Grayson murders back in Texas?”

  Davis nodded. “Yeah, very bad deal. Thanks, Fred, for your help.”

  Tanner stood and grinned. “No worries. Anything for a free meal. If you need anything else, give us a ring.” He winked at Turner. “Are all the sheila’s in Texas as pretty as you?”

  She actually blushed.

  Back in his room, Davis glanced at his watch. Eight o’clock. He invited Turner in and placed a call to Matt Foley’s home number. It was six-thirty in the morning, Twin Falls time. “Chief, I think we’ve found something. We’re going to head home. We’ll stop off at Scotland Yard in London on the way back and check out a few things. Okay with you?”

  “What did you find?”

  Davis paused for a moment. “I’d rather show you when we get home. This case has taken a turn you wouldn’t believe.”

  ***

  On the flight home, Davis eased his seat back. “We dun good, Turner. Made this trip worth the expense. You’d better get some sleep. Jet lag will catch up with you when we land.”

  Turner looked out the window and exhaled deeply. “Yeah, and I have to get back to my second job. The kids always need something for school and sports that are not in my budget.”

  Davis closed his eyes. She had it rough with two kids to take care of on her salary and apparently no help from her ex-husband.

  He would probably live to regret what he was about to say. He sat his seat upright. “Turner, I may have a job for you, if you’re interested. It pays more than your rent-a-cop job and you’d work less hours.”

  “If it’s legal and doesn’t include selling my body, I’m interested.”

  “There’s a private club near Las Colinas, Élan, very upscale. When I say very, I mean very. They cater to actors, politicians, rich oilmen, and the Dallas Cowboys. The club wants a police presence, but one the customers don’t notice. They asked me about a female who could discreetly handle drunk or disorderly women. The key word is discreetly. One big problem. You can’t wear a uniform. You’ll have to dress like a client.”

  “Well, that lets me out.”

  “Maybe not.” He glanced at her. “This gig pays very well, three hundred a night, and you’d only work two nights a week.”

  He hissed a breath through his teeth.” I haven’t mentioned this to my girlfriend yet, but she’s a buyer for Nordstrom—”

  “The money sounds great. More than the guard job pays in a month.” She glanced over at him, disappointment written on her face. “But do I look like I can afford Nordstrom, even with an employee discount?”

  “Let me finish. You two are about the same size. I think Sierra will be happy to help you until you can afford clothes of your own. She has great taste and gets unbelievable prices on designer originals from their previous year’s collection.”

  “Where do I sign?”

  “First I have to speak to Sierra and get her on board. We need to dress you up and take you to meet the club manager for a job interview. So help me Turner, if you screw this up…”

  “Do you work there?”

  “Yes, it kept me from being lonely after my divorce. Ben Stein also works there.”


  “Our Sergeant Benjamin Stein?”

  “Yes. Why are you surprised?”

  “I don’t think Ben has a thousand dollar suit. Is he another of your charity cases?”

  “Anybody ever tell you that you have a way with words?” He dropped his head. “I know I’m going to regret this.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Twin Falls, Texas

  Matt’s cell phone rang as he pulled into the station parking lot. It was Dale McCulloch.

  “Got a minute, chief?”

  “Sure, I’ll be right there.”

  “What’ve you got?” Matt asked as he strode into the crime lab.

  The lab chief led Matt to a computer monitor. “Remember the story Jack McKinnon told you about the guy who sold him the rifle?”

  Matt nodded. He remembered Jack McKinnon’s story well—the first inkling the kid might be innocent.

  Dale’s fingers danced across the keyboard and pulled up a morgue photo of a heavyset Hispanic male with a fo-hawk and a skull tat and the number 32 just above his right wrist.

  Matt leaned in closer to the monitor. “He matches Jack’s description of Vargas. Who is he?”

  “Name’s Ernesto Trujillo. He’s the guy from the mall shooting last night.”

  “Illegal?”

  Dale gave him a need-you-ask look. “What else? Our so-called border is a sieve and getting worse as we speak. This guy has been deported twice.”

  “Point taken, but Jack’s description could fit a few thousand gang bangers in Texas alone. You recognize the tat?”

  “No, that’s one of the things that made me take interest in this guy. That and the kid’s description. But, as you say, the description is worthless. Even the name is common. Ah, but the tat is unique.”

  “How so?”

  “I’ve checked the gang data base, and it’s not from any gangs in the state. Must be from out of state or could be exclusive to Mexico. Illegal bad guys usually hang close to a sanctuary city for protection so he may just be out of his territory.”

  “As in brought in for a specific purpose?”

  “That’s what I’m thinking,” McCulloch said.

  Matt rubbed the taut muscles at the back of his neck. “The car he drove to the mall was a white 2014 Jeep Cherokee. That jives with Jack’s story. And Emily told me a car fitting that description followed her to and from school the day he assaulted her.”

  McCulloch grinned. “Exactly. I’d say the description fits too closely to be a coincidence.”

  “Put together some mug shots and see if Jack picks this guy. Bring Turner and Davis up to speed when they get back.”

  “Consider it done.”

  The fact the guy tried to kidnap Emily gave credence to Jack McKinnon’s story.

  Judge Judith Bittermann’s Home

  Twin Falls, Texas

  Golden Indian summer sunlight streamed through the windshield as Matt pulled in front of Judge Bittermann’s two-story colonial. Beams of light warmed the interior of his car and his psyche. A welcome relief from the rain of the past week.

  The judge answered the door wearing a ruffled white apron around her ample middle. “Hey, Matt. Thanks for coming. It’s been a while.”

  He flashed a grin. “You call, I come running.”

  “Yeah, right.” She waved him through to the kitchen where the unmistakable aroma of baking cookies filled every corner of the room.

  Even in an apron, Judith Bittermann was an imposing woman. Only five foot three, she wore her salt and pepper hair short, reading glasses hung around her neck on a gold chain. Intelligent brown eyes rested in a face weathered by years, but softened by laugh lines around her eyes and mouth.

  She’d put in ten years as one of the best criminal attorneys in the state until she got tired of setting guilty men free and ran for judge. She won, and was re-elected twice before accepting an appointment as a state judge for the Fourteenth District Court in Dallas, where she remained until President Ronald Reagan in his last year in office, appointed her to the United States District Court for the Northern District of Texas. She retired last year.

  The judge moved to a bowl of cookie dough and dropped spoonful’s onto a rectangular metal sheet. “My grandson is coming home from college tomorrow and I’m making his favorite, chocolate chip.”

  Matt looked over at the large stack of Tollhouse on a platter. “He must be a big boy if he’s going to eat all those. It does my heart good to see a federal judge doing something useful. So often these days they’re busy corrupting the Constitution.”

  “Retired federal judge, thank you. Don’t be impertinent. You don’t even want to start a verbal sparring match with me. You’re outclassed, and you know it.”

  “Too true.” He reached for a cookie and she slapped his hand.

  “Give me a minute to put this last batch in the oven, and I’ll fill you in on why I called.”

  A large man strode into the kitchen. A Morgan Freeman clone. He scowled at her. “You gonna be in here all day, Judge?”

  “Maybe. You want to join us for coffee and calories, Elijah?”

  “Judge Judy,” Elijah said, “you don’t have time to bake cookies and entertain guests. You have a dozen or more phone calls to return and you’re making a speech in Dallas at three o’clock, in case it’s slipped your failing memory.”

  Matt ducked his head to hide a smile. The Judge hated when Elijah called her Judge Judy.

  Judith glared at him. “There’s nothing wrong with my memory. In case you have forgotten, I’m retired. I probably won’t return the calls until later. Much later. Now sit down and have some coffee before I fire you.”

  He shook his head then walked over and slapped Matt on the back. “How you doin’, Matt?” Elijah nodded at the judge. “She don’t mind me no better than she did when she sat on the bench.”

  Matt shook his hand. “Yeah, and she’s got a smart mouth, too.”

  The judge shoved the cookie sheet into the oven. “If you two are going to talk about me as if I weren’t here, I’ll take my cookies and leave.”

  The judge grabbed the plate and set it on the table near the window. Elijah picked up the coffee carafe, three cups, and then followed her.

  She pointed Matt to a chair, filled a cup, and handed it to him. “You acquainted with Mayor Hall?”

  This couldn’t be good news. Matt nodded. “I know him. Is that why you wanted to see me?”

  She filled two more cups and handed one to Elijah. “I sat next to Hall Monday night at a dinner party. He was filling the City Manager’s ear with a number of changes he’d like to see in the police department, starting with removing you as chief of police. He brought up the hatchet job Pepper Parker did on you in The Tattler last February, ignoring the fact that you sued her and won. Said you were too controversial for the position. He also mentioned two of your detectives disappeared from the department this week, and they weren’t scheduled for vacation. Just wanted to give you a heads up. He’s a dangerous enemy.”

  Finding the plant in the police station moved to the top of Matt’s priority list. “What did Doug tell him?”

  “He said, and I quote. ‘Leave it alone, Terry. Foley’s record of solved cases is head and shoulders above every other police force in the country. In case you didn’t notice, he has already solved the Grayson murders. If you think I’m going to mess with that, you’re crazy.’”

  Matt grinned. “I hope that’ll cool Hall’s jets, but I suspect it won’t. He’s power hungry and that makes me very nervous. Rumor has it he wants to install his brother-in-law as chief. Hall showed up at the Grayson crime scene right after I did. He obviously doesn’t have enough to keep him busy as mayor.”

  The judge placed her hand over Matt’s. “I was so sorry to hear about Ethan. I know you were friends. He was a fine man, a gentleman of the old school. I was very fond of him. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”

  Matt sucked in a breath. Ethan’s nam
e still opened a wound that hadn’t had time to heal. “I’m finding more questions than answers on this case.”

  Elijah’s eyebrows rose. “I understood you had the killer in custody.”

  Matt sat silent for a moment. “Problem is, I’m not convinced he’s guilty. I usually work the other side of the street, proving a man innocent isn’t in my job description.”

  He took a long sip of coffee and gazed over the cup at the judge. “There just might be something you can do. Is your license still good to practice law?”

  “Sure, I still do a little pro bono work to keep my hand in. Why do you ask?”

  “Would you consider taking Jack McKinnon on as a client?”

  “Are you that sure he’s innocent?”

  “All the evidence points to him as the killer, but yeah, I’m sure.”

  She stared into her cup for a moment before answering. “On one condition. That he take a lie detector test. If he passes, I’ll represent him. I defended too many guilty people in the past. I won’t ever be a party to that again.”

  Matt pushed his chair back and stood. “If he’s agreeable, I’ll set up the test and let you know the results.”

  The oven dinged, and she crossed the room to remove the cookie sheet.

  Matt strode toward the door. “Thanks for the cookies and coffee. I’ll be in touch.”

  “Take care,” Elijah said, patting Matt’s shoulder. “I need to get this woman back to work. Cookie baking, coffee klatches, and what-have-you when she’s got a full calendar.” He shook his head and walked off mumbling.

  Twin Falls Police Station

  Twin Falls, Texas

  Miles Davis glanced at the alarm clock, and groaned. Seven hours of sleep was normally more than he needed, but jet lag had kicked his backside. He’d crossed the International Date Line twice and his body didn’t know the day or the time. He pushed out a deep breath. He had his daughter this weekend. No time for a jetlag hangover with an energetic four-year-old on the premises. She was a handful, but he was looking forward to spending time with her.