by Liliana Hart
“I did track down the company that does the data entry for Leland Grant,” Springer said. “The warrant covers all the information, so they’re going to send everything they have. But I can already tell you I have no idea what the numbers and codes mean. You’re going to need a forensic accountant.”
“Figures,” Hank said. He hadn’t even looked at a budget sheet yet to see how tight the purse strings were for extra expenses like that. “Do you have a list of his appointments yet for the day of the murder?”
“They’re sending them over,” he said. “Should have them before too long. Red tape. They had to send the warrant to their attorneys. They do a lot of big business and privacy is a big deal.”
“We’ll just have to wait and see,” Hank said. “By the way, what kind of money are we talking about with regards to the monthly payments made to Bud?”
“Twenty-five hundred was deposited every Friday like clockwork,”
Hank whistled. “That’s a nice chunk of change. What do you want to bet when we start digging deeper that Bud has a drug or gambling problem?”
“That’s a sucker’s bet,” Agatha said. “Did he ever make payments to the other two kids?”
“Nothing regular,” Springer said. “The occasional gift, usually coinciding with a birthday or Christmas.”
Hank nodded. “As soon as those appointments come through I want you to go with Rodriguez and interview them personally.”
“Me?” Springer asked surprised.
“I thought you wanted to learn?” Hank asked. “You’re a sergeant. There are responsibilities that go with rank.”
“I just thought maybe I’d found my niche working with computers for the department. I’ve enjoyed digging into the files. It’s my background after all. And I like computers a lot better than people.”
“Then you’re in the wrong business, son,” Hank said. “If you want an analyst job you need to go to a big agency. We don’t have the need or budget for one full time.”
Springer looked like a kid who’d just had his balloon popped. “But Sheriff, what if one of the people we interview is the killer?”
Hank took a second to breathe and remember he was supposed to be mentoring Springer. He was young. And he’d grown up wealthy and spoiled. He barely knew what work was, and he’d done a good job during the day because he was doing something he liked to do—computers.
“Do what you’re trained to do,” Hank said, patiently. “Arrest them.”
Chapter Twelve
Lieutenant Rodriguez handed Agatha the results of a third Breathalyzer test. The first one showed Bud Grant was over the legal limit for intoxication. The last exam showed that he was now sober enough to question about his father’s murder. Of course, it was time wasted and coffee invested into his sobriety, but any confession made while legally boozed up would result in a dismissal.
“Thanks, Rodriguez,” Agatha said. “Let’s show these to the guys. And hopefully we can get Bud questioned before the café closes. I’m starving.”
“You’re always starving,” Rodriguez said. “I don’t know where you put it all. If I ate like you I’d weigh three hundred pounds.”
“Which is why I run every day,” Agatha said.
Rodriguez sighed and patted her hips. “I’ll just have to make do with eating salads. If you ever see me running it means someone is chasing me.”
“Hank says the same thing,” Agatha said.
“He’s a smart man. But y’all should rethink eating at the café. All Coil’s signs are gone and they’ve put up signs for McElroy in the front window.”
Agatha fumed. “They should know better. Coil is there almost every day. I’ve never seen Oddie McElroy spend much time at all in Rusty Gun. And now he’s all over the place. The jerk.”
Rodriguez snorted and they walked toward Hank’s office, but heard voices in the break area. Hank, James and Johnson stood in a huddle, each holding a Styrofoam cup. Agatha knew Hank’s cup was full of hot tea, he didn’t drink coffee. Had never even tried the stuff.
“We ready to roll?” he asked, looking at the breathalyzer in Rodriguez’s hand.
“Yes, Sir,” she said.
“Good, you bring him into the room. I want to watch him stew for a few minutes. He’s been screaming for mommy, but he hasn’t asked for an attorney yet. Let’s use that to our advantage.”
Agatha followed Hank into the observation room, and they watched Rodriguez open the door and lead Bud inside. She put him in the chair, and he immediately got up and started pacing.
“You can’t keep me here for no reason,” he said.
Rodriguez didn’t say anything, but turned and left the room, shutting the door behind her. They watched Bud run behind her and start pounding on the door.
“Let me out,” he screamed. He pulled on the knob, but the door could only be unlocked from the outside.
They waited a good ten minutes, and Bud got more and more agitated. Going back and forth between sitting in the hardback chair and pacing around the room like a caged tiger.
“Let’s go,” Hank said to Agatha.
The only interrogations Agatha had ever witnessed were on TV, though she’d written plenty of them in her books. So she figured the best course of action was to let Hank handle things.
“You remember us?” Hank asked Bud.
“Sure,” he said, sneering. “You woke me up. And you’ll be unemployed by tomorrow. I’ll never forget you.”
“How touching,” Hank said. “I’m a memorable kind of guy. Especially when it comes to finding killers.”
Bud snorted. “Some job. My dad is dead, and you’ve done nothing but harass innocent, upstanding citizens.”
“Is that what you are?” Hank asked. “An upstanding citizen.”
“I pay your salary, don’t I? Sounds pretty upstanding to me.”
“From what we know about you,” Hank said, “You don’t pay anyone’s salary. You just spend mommy and daddy’s money. And then you add insult to injury and try to accost one of my cops.”
“It’s her word against mine,” he said, shrugging. “She’ll keep her mouth shut. They all do.”
“You really are stupid, aren’t you, Bud?” Hank asked, shaking his head in disbelief. “We’ve got you on camera. We’ve also got you cold on DWI. Even if we don’t pin you for murder, you’re not going to get out of here unscathed.”
“Murder?” he asked, going pale. “What’s this bull? I didn’t murder nobody. I want to file a complaint against that lady cop. You’re just trying to distract me.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m doing,” Hank said. “You got me.”
There was a knock at the door and James stuck his head in, though Agatha knew it was planned.
“Sorry to interrupt, Sheriff,” James said. “But you told me to let you know when the judge signed the warrant. We’re clear to search the Grant residence.”
“What?” Bud screamed, standing up so fast his chair fell backward. “Your searching my house? My house?”
“I think it technically belongs to your mother, Bud,” Hank said. “But since it’s where you’re freeloading at the moment, it’s where we had to get the warrant.”
“You heartless—” Bud’s fists bunched and Hank put his hand on his weapon and stared him down.
“Sit down,” Hank said, and Agatha watched wide-eyed as Bud thought about whether or not it was worth it to throw a punch or two.
Hank had fists like hammers, so she thought it was smart that Bud picked up his chair and sat back down. James shut the door, and she and Hank sat in the seats across from Bud. Her palms were sweaty and she casually wiped them on her jeans.
“Now Bud,” Hank said. “Imagine our surprise when we find your daddy dead yesterday with his head bashed in. And then when we come out to speak to you this morning, you lie right to our faces about when you got into town. Why’d you lie?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, but he was sweating and wouldn’t make e
ye contact.
“A lie on top of a lie just makes things worse,” Hank said. “Then imagine our surprise when we find out your daddy had been paying you ten grand a month and he cut you off a couple of months ago. Now we have you in the vicinity of the murder, and with motive.”
“You’re crazy,” he said.
“How’d you kill him?”
“I—” he stopped and licked his lips. “I didn’t.” And then he put his face in his hands. “I don’t think I did.”
Agatha looked at Hank in surprise. She hadn’t actually expected Bud to crack so soon.
“What do you mean you don’t think you did?” Hank asked. “Did you see your father the day he died?”
“I went to see him,” Bud said. “About the money. I’d tried to talk to him before, and he wouldn’t listen. And I know my mom was angry with him over cutting me off. I figured she’d be able to talk him round. She always could. But he put his foot down this time. She was furious.
“So I figured I’d take another stab at it and go see him. I drove down early and then went straight in to see him. I knew if I caught him early he’d be in a better mood. He liked mornings best. We argued.” He was pale now, sick looking, and he stared off with a vacant expression on his face. “We never got along. It wasn’t the first fight we’d had and I didn’t figure it would be the last. I stormed by him, and he reached out to stop me, but I shoved him away.”
“Then what?” Hank asked.
“I ran out the back door and drove out to the liquor store of Highway 63.”
“What did you hit him with?” Hank asked.
Bud looked confused. “I told you, I just shoved him and ran out. I didn’t hit him with anything.”
“I figured he’d call mom and give her an earful. He usually did. But he never called her.”
“You’ve done nothing but lie to us since we first met,” Agatha said. “Why should we believe you now?”
“Because now I’m telling the truth,” he said, banging his fist on the table. “And I panicked when you came to see me before. I knew you’d think it was me. What would you have done in my place?”
“Tell the truth from the beginning, and not be in jail,” Hank said dryly.
Bud’s lips tightened, but for once he didn’t have a smart-aleck remark. “Look, I’m sorry, okay.”
“That’s a good place to start if you’re telling the truth,” Hank said. “Why don’t you earn some good will and tell us where the clothes you wore when you had the argument with your dad are. They need to be tested for blood.”
“They’re in the dirty clothes hamper in my room.”
“If there’s anything else you need to tell us,” Hank said. “Now is the time to do it. I’m not going to be happy if I find any surprises when we search the house.”
“I’ve told you everything,” he said. “I swear.”
“For your sake, I hope you’re right.”
Chapter Thirteen
By the time they’d gotten Bud booked on the DWI, and Rodriguez and Karl had loaded him in the back of a cruiser to transport him to the county jail, it was dark outside and his head was screaming.
Everyone was putting in overtime—which he had to be careful of now that he was in charge—so he’d cut everyone loose and sent home whoever wasn’t supposed to be on swing or night shift.
He’d told Agatha he’d be home after he finished some paperwork, but he’d spent the time on the computer looking for engagement rings. He only had a slight amount of fear that she was in a different place than he was when it came to marriage. They’d never really talked about it straight out, and he knew she’d been distracted lately because of the decision to pursue a connection with the daughter she’d given up for adoption. He was with her no matter what, and he hoped these big life decisions were indicative of how she saw their future together.
He scrolled through another page of rings, reading about clarity and cut, and wanted to pull his hair out. Why did these things have to be so difficult? What was wrong with just making a decision and getting married? He’d breathe a lot easier once she said, “I do.”
The bell above the front door sounded, and he knew there wasn’t anyone out there to greet the visitor, so he closed his laptop and checked the surveillance cameras to see who it was.
An older man in a heavy coat stood looking around the area as if he were going to start measuring for curtains and furniture, so Hank decided to see if he could be of any help and used the intercom to speak to him.
“Can I help you?” Hank asked.
“Is the sheriff in? I need to see him.”
Hank thought about that for a second and reminded himself this was a small county. People expected to have access to officials. But years of training didn’t disappear and he placed his pistol on his lap, keeping a hand on it just in case.
“Come on back,” Hank said, and hit the buzzer that unlocked the door between the reception area and the squad room.
He listened to footsteps coming down the hall, and then the man was standing in his doorway. He was a good-sized man, probably in his mid-seventies, and he reminded Hank of a tough old boot.
“Can I help you?” Hank asked.
“I’m thinking you must be beyond help,” the man said.
Hank stayed silent and raised a brow. He wasn’t worried about a threat—he could handle an old man—but he also wasn’t going to take any disrespect in his own office.
“You must be out of your danged mind pulling the stunt you did tonight. You’ll be sorry about that. Mark my words.”
“If you mean taking a drunk driver and murder suspect off the streets,” Hank said slowly, “Then, no. I’m not sorry at all. You’re welcome.”
“I don’t care for smart mouths.”
“I’d ask who you are, but I recognize your voice from your call earlier today. Though it sounds like you’ve sobered up some. Hello, Oddie.”
“Don’t get too comfortable behind that desk, boy. It’s going to be mine before too long.”
“For the time being, it’s mine,” Hank said. “So watch your step. I’m just about to head out for the day, and you are too.”
“You’re not going to push me around,” McElroy said. “I’m a tax-paying citizen.”
“I’m really getting tired of hearing that from people who think it means something,” Hank said. He slipped his weapon back in the holster and then stood up, gathering his stuff.
“Let me give you a piece of advice,” McElroy said, taking a step back when Hank used his body to move him back into the hallway. He closed his office door and locked it.
“I’ll pass,” Hank said, walking back toward the front and Oddie scrambled to keep up behind him. He wanted to be in full view of the cameras.
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll call that señorita and tell her to high-tail that boy back to his mama’s house. Everybody knows he didn’t kill his daddy.”
“And I suppose you know who did?” Hank asked.
“I know lots of things,” McElroy said, not breaking his gaze from Hank’s. And in the depth of his eyes Hank saw that a man like Oddie McElroy could kill with no remorse. “And one thing I do know is you’re barking up the wrong tree with that boy. Leland Grant had a terrible accident. That’s all it was. Time to put this away and focus on other things.”
“I appreciate your stalwart investigation skills,” Hank said. “But I think I’ll keep bumbling along to find the real killer. Who knows? Maybe he’s right under my nose.”
McElroy’s eyes narrowed, and Hank felt like he was in an old west showdown, waiting for the other man to draw.
“Maybe he is,” McElroy said. “And maybe you ought to be careful where you stick that nose of yours. You’re an outsider here. Don’t have a lot of friends to back you up.”
“I’ve got plenty of friends, and all of them are in just the right places,” Hank said, reading between the lines. He wanted to get home to Agatha. They were going to have to be careful, and watch ov
er their shoulders until the killer was caught.
“Everything all right out here?” Springer asked, coming out from his office.
“Never better,” Hank said. “I was just about to walk Mr. McElroy out.”
“You’re Doris Springer’s boy, ain’t ya?” McElroy asked.
“Yessir,” Springer said.
“Known your mama a long time. Good Christian woman. I was just telling Mr. Davidson here that it’s a shame about Leland Grant’s death. Terrible accident. But these things happen when you get old and feeble. He just fell and bumped his head. It’s a terrible tragedy. I’m sure you agree.”
“It’s a tragedy all right,” Springer said.
“I knew you were a sharp kid,” McElroy said. “You’re probably looking at a promotion after I win the election. I want loyal men in high positions.”
Springer’s brows rose almost to his hairline, and Hank knew this was a defining moment for Springer because it would speak to his character and the kind of cop he’d be in the future. He hoped he wasn’t disappointed, but he’d learned not to get his hopes up.
“I meant it’s a tragedy about Mr. Grant’s murder,” Springer said. “The coroner said plain as day that he was bashed in the head with something. He couldn’t have done it himself. But we’ll figure out who did it soon enough. We’ve got leads.”
“You’re making a mistake,” McElroy said. “Your mama would be disappointed.”
“Don’t worry about my mama,” Springer said. “She’s from the south. She can chew you up, spit you out, and serve a coffeecake with a smile all at the same time.”
“Well then,” Hank said, pleased. “I guess we’ll keep following the evidence and facts instead of your say so. But we appreciate you stopping by.”
“You boys have just made the biggest mistake of your lives. You could’ve had the world on a platter if you’d only done what I told you to. No one crosses Oddie McElroy. No one.”
“That sounds like a threat,” Hank said softly.