by Blair Howard
“Yeah, he’s in the living room. Why d’you wanna talk to him?”
“I have some questions I need to ask him. Can we use your office?”
“Yeah, I suppose.”
“Thank you. Mrs. Thomas not home?”
“Nah. She gone to the grocery store.”
I nodded.
“Hey, Joe,” Cletus said, as we followed him into the living room. “The p’lice have more questions for you. What would they want with you?”
Joe Thomas rose from the sofa where he’d been watching television and leveled a hard gaze at me. “I dunno. What do you want?”
“In private,” I said, “if you don’t mind, sir.”
“Huh? What the hell?”
“Please, Mr. Thomas.”
Reluctantly, he made his way to Cletus’ office and sat down behind his desk table. I closed the door, leaving Cletus outside, then I turned on my recorder and placed it on the table in front of Joe.
“So what the hell d’you want now?” he asked angrily, staring down at the tiny machine.
“For the purposes of this interview, and to make sure nothing is misinterpreted, I’ll be recording everything that’s said,” I warned him. “Do you understand, Mr. Thomas?”
He said he did, and for the record, I stated the date and time, the names of those present, and the purpose if the interview. Then I dove right in.
“We checked your phone records. You called Jasmine at six-thirty-two and talked for almost two minutes. What was that about? Did you arrange to meet her?”
He stared at me; the color had drained from his face.
“I didn’t talk to her. I got her voicemail.”
“Did you leave a message?”
He hesitated, then said, “No.”
“Why not? Why did you call her at all?”
“I told you, we were friends. We talked, sometimes. When she didn’t answer, I just hung up.”
“I don’t believe you, Joe.”
He shrugged, looked away, then said, “So what. It’s the truth.”
I changed the subject. “Tell me about Russell Hawkins.”
He screwed up his eyes, frowned, then asked, “What about him?”
“It was you, wasn’t it? You beat him up then shot him in the knees.”
“You’re friggin’ crazy. You can’t prove that shit.”
“Hawkins doesn’t know who attacked him,” I said. “Whoever it was, he was wearing a mask. You were wearing a mask.”
He just stared at me, saying nothing.
“The 911 call came from Hawkins’ cell phone, but we know he didn’t make that call, because he told us he didn’t. You made that call, didn’t you, Joe?”
Again, he said nothing, a slight smile on his lips.
“It was you, wasn’t it Joe? You attacked Hawkins and you used his cell phone to call 911.”
“You know what, Sergeant,” he said. “You’re so full o’ shit. The truth is, you don’t have a thing. No proof, no gun, no nothin’, an’ he don’t know who shot him—”
“Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong,” I said. “I have all the proof I need. I have this.”
I reached into my jacket pocket for the paper evidence bag and held it up for him to see. The nine-millimeter shell casing glinted through the transparent plastic window.
“Yeah, so? That don’t prove nothin’”
“We found it between the cushions of Hawkins’ sofa. You found one casing, but not this one. You must not have seen where it landed.”
He frowned, his eyes narrowed, his face pale, “So what? Even I know a casing don’t prove nothin’ without the gun. Which you don’t have, right?”
“That’s right, we don’t.”
His confidence returned. He smiled.
“So, get the hell gone. Come back when you have some proof. I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”
“Actually,” I said, smiling, waving the envelope in his face, “this is all I need.”
“But you said—”
“No, I didn’t. You did. You’re right. I don’t have the gun, but I don’t need it. What I have is a perfect thumb print on this casing. It’s yours, and you made it when you pushed the shell into the mag. Gotcha, Joe.”
I smiled at him as I unhooked the cuffs from my belt.
“Joseph Thomas, I’m arresting you for the attempted murder of Russell Hawkins.”
“Hey. Whoa. Attempted murder?”
“Oh yes. You used a deadly weapon. You shot him in the legs and you left him. He could have bled out. He still might die from some sort of infection,” I said, as I snapped on the second cuff.
“Why did you do it, Joe?”
I thought for a minute that he wasn’t going to answer, but he did.
“Yeah, I did. I shot him,” He said defiantly. “The slimy little prick killed Jasmine. An’ I know you’re not gonna get him for that, that’s for sure. So I made sure he got what was comin’ to him. I put him on sticks for the rest of his life, I hope, and the on’y reason I didn’t kill him was because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life in prison.”
I nodded, “Ah, but you might. Attempted murder carries a penalty of seven years to life. You may not have intended to kill him, and you did call 911, but the minute you left him alone the charge changed from assault with a deadly weapon to attempted murder. But whatever, I’ll let the DA sort that out. Now, to continue. Sit down.”
He sat, and so did we.
“Before we go any further, Joe, I need to read you your righ—”
“Screw m’rights,” he growled. “I just told you I did it.”
“You sure, Joe? I’m not done yet.”
“Yeah? Well just get the hell on with it.”
“You and I both know that Hawkins didn’t kill Jasmine. You did. I know you killed her, Joe,” I said, gently.
“What? Me? I killed her? You’re crazy!”
“I’m not crazy, Joe, but I think you might be. I know you killed her, and I think the attack on Russell Hawkins was your attempt to divert attention away from you.”
“No! No! No!”
“Yes, Joe. You did, so why don’t you make it easy on yourself. Tell me what happened.”
“That’s crazy! Why would I do that?”
“I think you were abusing her sexually. And I think she’d had enough. That’s why, Joe.”
“That ain’t true. I didn’t kill her.”
“Oh, I think it is, and I think you did, and I have proof. You really didn’t need to cripple Hawkins. That was your plan, wasn’t it, Joe. You were sweating. You thought I was onto you, so you wanted me to think that you thought it was him, therefore you couldn’t have done it. But you were right. I was onto you. In fact, I already had you. I can place you at one crime scene, the barn where you killed her, and I can place both you and Jasmine in the rental on Bonny Oaks. I had enough to charge you right there but I figured I needed more. I still needed to be able to place you at the dump site.”
I watched him. He stared stoically back at me.
“No comment, Joe? Don’t you want to know what I know?”
He didn’t answer, just stared straight at me.
“You were careful, Joe, I’ll give you that, but I can place you at that barn. We found a matching print on that shiny new lock and chain you put on the barn doors.”
“That don’t prove nothin’,”
“True, Joe. It really doesn’t prove a whole lot; only that you were there. It’s circumstantial at best. But you know what, Joe? It does give me probable cause to search your room and your truck.”
“You can’t do that; not without a warrant.”
“Detective Tracy,” I said, without taking my eyes off my victim.
Tracy took the folded warrant from his pocket and waved it in Thomas’ face. “And here it is,” he said, rising from his seat. “You want me to go take a look, Boss?”
“I do. Do you have a key to that tool box on your truck, Mr. Thomas? It doesn’t matter if you don’t. I have bolt cutters in my ca
r.”
“My ass pocket,” he said, getting up and turning his ass to Tracy. “You won’t find nothin’. Ain’t nothin’ there to find.”
“If that’s true,” I said, “you’ve got nothing to worry about. Go take a look, Detective. Take Cletus with you. I wouldn’t want our friend here to claim we’d planted evidence. We’ll wait here for you. Oh, and don’t let Cletus know what you’re looking for, or why.”
Tracy was gone for no more than a few minutes, then he returned and closed the door behind him; he was grinning widely.
“Find anything?” I asked.
He held up a length of rusty chain in his latex gloved hand and let it dangle in front of Joe Thomas’ face. Actually, it was two pieces of chain held together at the ends by a large padlock.
“Okay,” Thomas said. “You got a piece o’ chain, so what?”
“Let’s think about that for a minute, Joe,” I said, leaning back in my chair, smiling at him, “and see where it takes us. That lock is numbered, right Detective?”
He examined it. “Yeah, it’s numbered.”
“I thought so. It’s city property, so it was inventoried and there’ll be a record of when it was issued and where it was located. Where do you think is was located, Joe?”
I was thoroughly enjoying myself. Now I knew how Harry had felt during these situations. It was fun!
Again, Joe played Br’er Rabbit and said nothing.
“I’ll tell you where I think you got it, shall I? You cut it off the gate to the access road into the quarry, and you replaced it with a brand-new one, right? No comment, Joe? I don’t blame you. You were wearing gloves then, weren’t you? That new chain is clean. This one? It’s probably clean too, but it doesn’t matter because either way, if there are prints on it or not, though I’m betting there are, since we found it in your truck. Just the fact that you have it, and that we can prove where you got it, is enough to… shall we say, hang you. But they don’t do that anymore, do they, Joe?”
No answer, so I said, “Talk to me, Joe. Tell me what happened.”
Again, he just stared at me and said nothing.
“Okay,” I said. “I think I know exactly how it went. You were having sex with Jasmine. For how long I don’t know, but I do know you were.”
His was shaking his head, his face white, “That’s not… I wasn’t… I didn’t never. I wouldn’t—”
“Yes, you were, and I have proof. You used to take her to the rental, didn’t you? You had sex with her there. I have her DNA and yours, both were found among the sheets on the bed.”
I didn’t know that for sure, but Harry always liked to play that game, and it worked for him so why not me?”
I watched his eyes; he’d swallowed it. “How long had it been going on, Joe? Did she finally tell you it was over, that if you didn’t leave her alone she’d go to the police? That’s the trouble with minors; they have a habit of growing up. Is that what happened, Joe. It is, isn’t it? And you decided you couldn’t have that, so you killed her.”
The door burst open. “Joe,” Cletus said, quietly. “Look at me, Joe. Please tell me what she’s sayin’ ain’t true.”
Shit, he must have been outside the door listening.
Joe said nothing.
“God dammit, you’re my brother,” Cletus whispered. “She was your niece.” He stared at Joe, unbelieving, slowly shaking his head. “Tell me you didn’t do it.”
Joe Thomas looked wildly around, then a great calm seemed to come over him. “I loved her,” he said, quietly. “I always loved her. She, she loved me too. I know she did, because… Then… I dunno; she changed, she started avoidin’ me. Then she told me we had to stop, that I was, that I was a… friggin’ pedophile! And that she was gonna to go to the police an’ tell ‘em! I couldn’t allow that, I had to stop her. I, I, she… I had to talk to her. I called her, that night. I begged her to meet me. She didn’t want to, but she did. I picked her up outside The Gap at Hamilton Place. We talked. I tried to make her see, but…” he shrugged, shook his head, looked up at Cletus, then continued. “I took her to the rental. It was almost dark. I drove down the side of the house, so’s no one could see, then I smacked her up the side o’ the head and carried her to the barn… That’s it… I’m sorry, Cletus. I loved her so much—”
“But she wasn’t dead, was she, Joe?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“So, you tied her up,” I continued, “and you had sex with her for five days and then you—”
“You sick bastard!” Cletus yelled, reaching behind him.
Before either Tracy or I could move, Cletus pulled a gun from his belt and pointed it first at his brother, then at Tracy, then at me.
“Don’t none o’ ya move. You do, an’ I’ll kill ya. I’ll kill y’all. I swear it.”
He directed his attention, and the gun, back to his brother. “Why, Joe? Why’d you kill her? You didn’t have to. She wouldn’a told no one. You knew her. She wouldn’a done that, she wouldn’t.”
They stared at each other, Joe’s eyes flicking from his brother’s face to the gun that never wavered in Cletus’ hand.
Oh… I don’t like where this is going.
I glanced at Tracy. He was wound tight, head cocked, ready to make his move. I caught his eye, shook my head just slightly. He nodded, relaxed a little.
“Talk to me, Joe,” Cletus said. “I took y’in when you had nowheres to go, gave you a home, and you kill my daughter? Don’t you have nothin’ to say to me?”
Joe looked utterly blank, as if the man were no longer there. Then, slowly, one corner of his mouth curved into a smirk. “Man, Cletus. She was a damn good lay—”
BAM! BAM!
The heavy gun bucked in Cletus’ hand as he fired point blank into his brother’s face. He must have been using hollow points, because the back of Joe’s head literally exploded. High-impact blood spatter from entry and exit wounds flew in every direction. I was within five feet of Joe when the slugs hit, and I was covered from head to toe; Tracy got off only a little lighter.
I spun, reaching for my weapon, but Cletus threw his gun, an antique 1911 .45 semi-automatic, down just as I brought mine to bear. Then he slowly sank to his knees, his face in his hands, crying softly.
I glanced at what was left of Joe Thomas. His body was slouched down in the chair, his head back, blood dripping from the gaping exit wounds.
Suicide by Cletus. Holy—
I holstered my Glock, took Tracy’s cuffs from him, and…
“Cletus Thomas, I’m arresting you for the murder of Joseph Thomas….”
Chapter 18
“So, tell me, how does it feel, now that you have the first one under your belt?”
I thought about it, sipped on the cool glass of Krug.
Hmmm, nice. I hope he has more.
The truth was, I didn’t know how I felt. I’d solved the case in record time, less than five days. But now I had that hollow, empty feeling, like I’d been wrung out. Tired? Maybe, but I didn’t think so.
“It seems a bit surreal, I suppose. I feel elated on the one hand, worn out on the other.” I stared into the glass, let the bubbles burst inside my nose. “How did you feel when you solved your first case?” I asked.
“It was the best feeling I ever had. Better than beating August on the golf course, better than sex… except with you, that is.”
I laughed. “Nice recovery.”
“So, what tipped you off?” he asked.
“Nothing I can put my finger on, but didn’t… don’t you always say that if you eliminate the impossible, then what’s left is the answer?”
“No, that’s not what I said. I said… well, Sherlock Holmes said… No, Arthur Conan Doyle said: ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’”
“Yes, that. Well, when I heard that Russell Hawkins had been shot, I knew… well, I knew it couldn’t have been him. I had only two suspects. If you eliminate one of them,
Hawkins, the other must be the perp, right? Joe Thomas.”
“If it wasn’t random, yes.”
“Oh, hell, I never did think it was random. Someone kept the girl alive for five days. That’s not the work of a random operator. You know that.”
He nodded.
“But,” I said, “as it almost always is, it was the science that got him. Mike Willis gets a lot of the credit. He’s awesome.”
“That he is. How’s Hawkins doing?”
“He’s doing okay, I guess. I talked to him earlier this afternoon, after we arrested Cletus… Oh man, do I feel sorry for him. First he loses his daughter in the most God-awful way, then he finds out that it was his brother that killed her, and now he’s facing ten to life for murder.”
“Nah,” Harry said. “Extenuating circumstances. Once they get the facts, they’ll probably charge him with second degree manslaughter: five years, maybe even less.”
“I truly hope so. But to answer your question, Hawkins may never walk again, and there’s talk that they may have to amputate. That’s pretty hard on a man that’s only in his thirties, don’t you think?”
Harry blew out a breath. “I don’t know, Kate. Given a choice, I think I’d go for the amputation. If he keeps his legs, he’ll be in pain for the rest of his days and may never walk again. But with prosthetics… well, thanks to our boys in uniform, those have come a long way these last ten years or so.”
I nodded, and held out my glass for a refill.
“So,” he said, with a grin. “How are you getting along with your new partner?”
“I’m not. I had the chief transfer him. He’ll be back in Narcotics tomorrow morning. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ve had enough of all the talking.”
I stood and placed my glass on the table. With a shrug of one shoulder I let the slip—all I had on—fall off my shoulders and onto the floor. “I need something a little stronger than champagne. You up for it? And I do mean up.”
Oh, yeah. Harry was up for it.
###
Thank you for taking the time to read Jasmine, the first in a new spin-off series of novels featuring Lieutenant Kate Gazzara. If you’re familiar with the Harry Starke novels, you already knew who Kate was. If not, well maybe you’d like to read them too. What follows is the first chapter of the first Harry Starke novel – there are 11 of so far. If you’d like to read the entire book, you can do so for free by clicking this link: Get Harry Starke. Or you can copy and paste it: http://bit.ly/2gJjQ4M