Cop and Call A Novel_When you call for help don't be surprised at who responds

by R. Scott Lunsford

  Gary Hendricks, who flanked Mackey’s other side, seemed to agree with Eric and echoed, “Mack, just watch yourself.”

  Their voices lowered as an older model Isuzu Trooper, mottled with dents and rust, rumbled into the complex. Its tires were mismatched, and the body was painted black with dark tinted windows. But the paint job was shoddy enough that the truck’s true orange color peeked out from beneath thin layers of what appeared to be spray paint. The vehicle stopped just past the steps where the trio was waiting, and the driver’s window cracked down about an inch. The driver’s face was concealed by the inkiness of the windowpane. Eric drew a pistol from his waistband, but Mackey hurried to stop him, saying, “It’s OK, man, he’s a regular. That’s the kid who works at the Burger King on Patton Avenue.”

  “Hey, Mackey,” came a voice from the truck. “You got anything good?”

  “Always do,” he replied, descending the steps.

  Eric and Gary watched as the man’s window rolled down all the way. What began as an expectant smile on Mackey’s lips quickly twisted into a grimace as the driver grabbed him by the shoulders and yanked him into the truck, gunning the gas and peeling out of the parking lot as Mackey’s legs kicked furiously out the window.

  Eric aimed his pistol at the fleeing vehicle but missed his target. The 9mm lead and copper bullet slamming into an apartment window shattering it. The apartment light coming on. “What the hell!” Gary hollered. “What’re we gonna do?”

  Eric gestured toward the corner of the complex. “Let’s get out of here before the cops show up. Maybe we can find out where the guy took him.”

  “Least we know who did it—that kid from Burger King. We find him, we get Mackey back.”

  Jogging toward a green Saturn parked on the curb, Eric slid behind the wheel before replying, “No, that wasn’t the kid from Burger King. That was his ride, but not him. That guy is scrawny; no way could he pull Mackie inside like that. Did you hear that SOB laughing as he drove off? No, that wasn’t the skinny kid from Burger King.” Just as they pulled out of the lot, a cop car came whizzing into the complex Most likely in response to the yelling and gunfire not to mention the shot-out window. The two men agreed they’d hole up in a West Asheville motel for a few days figure out what to do next. Neither of Mackie’s associates thought that they would never see their friend again.

  CHAPTER 17

  HOMINY CREEK PARK, BUNCOMBE COUNTY THE NEXT DAY

  Deputy Moore had been dispatched to Hominy Creek Park to investigate a suspicious vehicle. The call had interrupted his routine “breakfast and bitch” session at the Happy Hill Restaurant between Buncombe County and Asheville City Law Enforcement Officers. Pulling behind a beat-up black Isuzu Trooper, he punched the tag number into his data terminal. The vehicle appeared to have a history, mostly cited in open-air drug markets. It had also been stolen—a fact to which all area officers were instantly alerted by the automatic computer notification system. Almost immediately, a call came in offering backup, which Moore accepted upon noticing the truck’s rear window was shattered.

  “Is the vehicle occupied?” the incoming officer asked over Moore’s radio.

  “Negative,” Moore replied. “Doesn’t appear so.” Drawing his pistol, he scanned the surrounding woods for signs of a possible ambush. “Hello!” he announced as he got out of his car. “This is Deputy Moore with the Buncombe County sheriff’s office. Raise your hands and slowly exit the vehicle.”

  Studying the truck, he thought somebody might be sleeping inside; the tinted windows obscured his view. But as he inched closer to the broken rear window, he spotted a figure in the front seat.

  Keeping his weapon drawn, he yelled, “Hey, man, wake up! Put your hands where I can see them.”

  The person did nothing. Moving closer Moore wondered if it was a decoy of some sort. After scanning the tree line for signs of an accomplice, he lowered his weapon and traded it for his radio. “Charlie 8, you can slow down,” he told the incoming officer, catching the low wail of a siren in the distance. “Stop at the park entrance and secure it. Don’t let anybody else in.” To central dispatch, Moore radioed, “Buncombe, send me a supervisor, forensics, and you better wake-up the detectives.”

  Moore craned his neck to get a better look inside the truck. Careful to not damage evidence or accidently leave finger prints or DNA on the crime scene vehicle he saw a black man lay across both front seats, and a red brick was jammed between the floor and the console. Moore only knew the subject was African American because he still had his arms; his face was gone. At first the deputy thought he had been beheaded. But then, peering closer, Moore could see that wasn’t the case; the guy’s face was just mashed in. A square piece of wood had been wedged under what was left of his head. Someone had apparently used the floorboard brick to pound his face in. The vehicle’s interior was smeared with glistening brain matter and bone.

  Moore’s stomach lurched. “Buddy, don’t know who you are, but you must have pissed someone off real, real bad.”

  CHAPTER 18

  ASHEVILLE PD, CRIMINAL INVESTIGATIONS UNIT

  Sergeant Bishop took a seat in Lieutenant North’s office. “You wanted to see me?” he asked.

  North leaned back and stretched. “Yes. How did Jennifer take the information on Mackey?”

  “Okay, I guess. I’ve never had to do that kind of notification with a kid before. The family therapist was there. Jennifer’s aunt and uncle were, too. I’d spoken with them all first, after Mackey had been positively identified. When we told Jennifer, she seemed happy.” He paused and scratched absentmindedly at his stubble. “But then she started asking about when she’d have to go to court to testify—like she didn’t get that he was dead. She got real quiet, did that 50-yard stare people do when hearing something they don’t wanna hear. The counselor stayed after I left, but as I was leaving, Jennifer stopped me and asked if someone had hurt Mackey. I told her the truth… that we were investigating. But I promised he’d never hurt anyone again. She was a little upset, but I guess that’s understandable.”

  North nodded. “Best to leave all that to the mental health professionals. I need you to write up a report as soon as possible on your follow up with the victim. I want to close out the investigation.

  “Not a problem,” Bishop replied. “But what’s the rush? Who’s working Mackey’s murder?”

  “The County Sheriff’s office.”

  Bishop arched a brow, surprised. “Oh? Bet that went over well with the acting chief.”

  “You have no idea.” Peering toward the open door to see if anyone was lurking in the hall, North continued in a hushed whisper. “I think that’s why the DA requested it, since the homicide appeared to happen in the county park.”

  “Gotcha,” Bishop said. “I’ll get you that report ASAP.” Just as he stood to leave, Acting Chief Connard came through the doorway.

  “Bishop, what the hell you doing here? School’s out for the day, and this ain’t one of your schools.”

  “Just trying to do my job, sir,” Bishop replied and spun on his heel to get out from under Connard’s leering stare.

  CHAPTER 19

  THE CASTLE

  Dispatcher Ahern was startled to see James Albright, the dispatcher trainee she’d been expecting weeks ago who had the run in with Connard, looming over her. She smirked at the sight of his branded Buncombe County Dispatch polo shirt. “Well,” she said, pushing away the scheduling calendar she’d been working on, “I see we couldn’t keep you away after all.”

  “Yes, ma’am, Lieutenant Preston made some calls to the Sheriff. I just wanted to stop by and apologize for the mess from before.”

  Ahern shrugged. “It happens. I’m sure I’ll see you around since we share the same building.”

  The young kid nodded sheepishly and said, “Thanks for understanding, ma’am.” Ahern found the guy a bit strange, but dispatchers could be that way sometimes—her newest guy, Bill, included. He was currently training with Margaret, dispa
tching a domestic violence incident.

  “Baker 11, investigate domestic disturbance, 201 Ashford Way,” Bill recited into his microphone. “Female complainant has been injured. Unknown location of the suspect, Alton Franks. At this time. Emergency medical is staging until you can advise.”

  “En route.” Came the reply from the patrol officer

  On the other side of town, two marked patrol vehicles arrived to the address on Ashford Way. A gaunt woman was emerging from the house. Baker 11, Senior officer Kathy Walker noticed that the fingers on the woman’s right hand were broken, splayed unnaturally askew.

  Her pale legs were smattered with bruises that contrasted starkly with her jean shorts and white top. Her left eye was nearly swollen shut. Walker radioed into dispatch. “Send emergency medical in. The victim has serious injuries to her hand and her head.”

  Bill transmitted the command at the dispatch center as he pulled up Alton Franks’ profile in the criminal database. He was not surprised to find that Franks had been charged with numerous drug violations, breaking and entering, and domestic violence. “Franks has an outstanding warrant in Madison County.” He advised his officers on the scene.

  “Can you advise what for?”

  “Failure to appear in Madison County Court on two charges of assault.”

  “10-4.”

  Officer Walker accompanied the victim to the hospital to complete a report and secure warrants on Alton Franks. There she ran into Sergeant Morrow, the district supervisor, and explained what had happened. “I’ll have the night crew locate Franks and make the arrest,” Morrow assured her. Then, he sent one of his district officers to Ashford Way to begin the hunt.

  Barely 20 minutes later, his phone buzzed. “Sarge, you need to get out here,” came the request

  “Where? Why? What’s going on?”

  “I think we found him. We got a body in the backyard—or what’s left of one. There’s a kitchen knife stuck in his chest. And he’s been cut up… really bad.”

  “Cut up?” Morrow repeated.

  “Yes, sir. Looks like someone was torturing the guy. Blood everywhere, multiple cuts to the face, arms, legs. Never seen anything like this before.”

  Morrow grabbed his keys and headed toward the residence, wondering what the hell he’d find.

  CHAPTER 20

  ASHFORD WAY CRIME SCENE

  Lieutenant North hung back as Dr. Baumgartner, the medical examiner, reviewed the body. He shook his head. “This is some sick shit.”

  “Yeah,” Dr. Baumgartner remarked, “but not exactly unheard of.”

  “Oh?”

  “Well, I’ve seen images. This is like medieval torture… Spanish Inquisition-type stuff.”

  North scoffed. “That’s what killed him?”

  “No, the kitchen knife to the heart is what killed him. Judging by the blood splatter, he was alive when the cuts were made. None are across the arms or legs. They all follow the appendages lengthwise, and the cutter avoided veins and arteries. Whoever did this wanted Franks to die a painful death. Some of the nicks are shallow, but the perp appears to have cut over them again more deeply. Maybe to get at a second group of nerves. The top level may have become desensitized to the pain. Someone wanted this guy hurting really bad before he was killed.” He turned to the lieutenant. “Any witnesses?”

  “None that we’ve found,” North said. “Patrol units saw a guy with a Tennessee driver’s license walking three or four blocks from here. Doesn’t appear to be connected. But I’ve still got an officer interviewing him all the same.”

  Processing this latest information, the Lieutenant requested permission to move the body.

  Dr. Baumgartner nodded, saying, “yes, it needs to go to Chapel Hill for a detailed examination and documenting.”

  Lt. North started directing his team to action. Asheville was known for being unusual and its strangeness. A popular bumper sticker in town was “Keep Asheville weird.” Lieutenant North was not happy when the weirdness intervened with his police work. It was never a good thing.

  CHAPTER 21

  BUNCOMBE COUNTY SUPERIOR COURT MONDAY MORNING

  Looking briefly in the mirror, Detective Johnson straightened his tie and quickly brushed any lingering particles of dust and lint from his shoulders. Then he collected his case binders. Today was the third week of the trial, and testimony hadn’t even begun yet. Child pornography investigations were complex; they tended to cover multiple jurisdictions. Johnson had built his case and made the arrest over a year ago. The fact that the defendant Luther Ashton, was a popular youth sports coach and child benefactor didn’t matter, but his continued recognition for his work with children only complicated the case.

  Arriving in the court room Detective Johnson took his seat beside the district attorney in the courtroom. “What’s going on over there?” he whispered, gesturing to the defense table.

  “Don’t know. But I do know I haven’t seen their client all morning, and I don’t think they have, either. Can you have a patrol car go by and stand by at his house? Just set up a couple of blocks away. If the judge issues a bench warrant for his arrest. I want to get him first if he’s there.”

  Johnson stepped out of the court room and did as instructed.

  Returning to the court room Detective Johnson found two members of the defense team and the ADA were at the judge’s bench. The judge had taken the bench in the detective’s absence.

  Judge Hunt took up his gavel and brought it down sharply on the benchtop. This quieted the defense attorneys. The assistant district attorney had been just standing before the bench listening to the opposing side make excuses for the lack of a defendant in court.

  Looking to his left the judge addressed the tall older bailiff standing beside the empty jury box. “Harold call him.”

  The bailiff in a deep resonating country voice called out “oh yes, oh yes, oh yes. The Court calls, Luther Ashton, Luther Ashton, Luther Ashton. You have been ordered to present yourself to this Court this day. Failure to do so can result in a judgment against you and forfeiture of securities placed as a guarantee to your presence, and an order for your arrest.”

  When no response was heard Judge Hunt addressed Detective Johnson this time, “Detective, as Mr. Luther Ashton resides in the city, have your officers go pick him up. Please also provide the bailiff with any information the sheriff can use to find Mr. Ashton and bring him before this court if he is not home.

  “Yes, your Honor” Johnson replied and stepped back out of the court room to do as directed. Returning he approached one of the court room bailiffs and proceeded to provide him with the information to be passed along to the Sheriff’s Office to assist in locating Mr. Ashton. Finished passing along the intel Johnson attempted to return to his seat next to the District Attorney when his phone begun to vibrate.

  The Judge seeing this addressed the Detective saying, “Detective Johnson I give you leave to take that call in court. I’d like some answers.”

  Ashton’s lead attorney stood and remarked, “Your Honor, I must object. We haven’t had the opportunity to discuss the current situation with our client.”

  Looking over his black glass frames, Judge Hunt banged his gavel down, stating, “Overruled. If we manage to get the defendant on the phone you can tell him to keep his mouth shut if you like, but for now consider this part of the discovery process.”

  Directing his next comment to Johnson, Judge Hunt said, “If that relates to this case go ahead and put it on speaker, Detective.”

  “Yes, your Honor.”

  The other end of the line was quite except for two loud static clicks before someone could be heard. “Detective this is Officer Metcalf.”

  “Chris,” Johnson said, “you’re on speaker in Judge Hunt’s court with the prosecution, defense, and Judge Hunt.”

  Judge Hunt chimed in, “Officer, this is Judge Hunt. Have you located the defendant yet?”

  Pausing before answering the unusual situation he responded. “Yes, Yo
ur Honor. At least the top part of him.”

  “Explain, Officer.”

  “Yes, Your Honor. We found the front door open at the residence. We could see Mr. Ashton sitting in a chair through a window with his back to us. He did not respond when called, so we entered to see if he was all right. We found Mr. Ashton—well, part of him—in his office. His upper torso was in the desk chair. Child pornography was all over the desktop.”

  The lead defense attorney voiced out. “Objection!”

  All eyes now turned to the attorney and Judge Hunt added. “Really Grover? You got half a client right now. Evidence admission is the least of your concerns.”

  With a confused expression, the attorney said, “sorry your Honor.”

  Judge Hunt ran a hand through his graying hair. “Officer Metcalf, thank you. We will leave you to your work. Detective, will you brief me later in the day on the situation?” Taking up his gavel again, he snapped it down. “Court in recess until more information is obtained.”

  Detective Johnson left the courthouse in search of answers. It had taken a long time to build a case on Ashton. The media was sure to run with this big time. The police department had already been accused of framing the well-loved coach, so they would surely be blamed for Ash’s death.

  CHAPTER 22

  ASHTON CRIME SCENE

  Lieutenant North once again found himself observing Dr. Baumgartner, this time reviewing the lone half of Luther Ash’s body. “Any luck finding the bottom half?” North asked.

  “No, not yet. We did find where the body was cut up, though. Based on depressions in the grass and blood splatter, looks like he was cut on a 6x6 object of some sort. Tarp, I’d say. Probably two of them.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “Blood smears on the face and neck,” Baumgartner replied. “They’re consistent with someone being wrapped in a tarp or a sheet of plastic. It leaves a specific type of pattern as it dries: smooth, no textile patterns.”