by John Foxjohn
“Okay, is there anything else?”
“I’m going to need you at my office right after you get off for an official statement.”
“Sure, I’ll be there.”
David and Henry shuffled over to Lieutenant Joe Hughes. “I’m glad you’re here, David.”
David rubbed his face, wondering how badly the crime scene was contaminated. “What do you have, Joe?”
“Not much. We’ve taken all the pictures, drawn the crime scene to scale, and dusted for prints. Is there anything else you want?”
“Did you measure distance from the entrance to the car?”
“No we haven’t, but I’ll get someone on it.”
David looked around, hands on hips. No lights in the parking lot. It would’ve been darker than Hades when this occurred. This was all wrong. Ronny had taught him, and he’d never parked his car in an unlit lot in his life. Why did he go against his own survival philosophy? “Joe, I want lines and distances drawn from all these surrounding businesses to where Ronny lay when they found him.”
Joe’s eyes widened. “You don’t think he was shot with a handgun?”
He didn’t answer. His head throbbed. Someone had shot David with a rifle at a distance, and if Andrew Carlin were the shooter, he wouldn’t change his tactics. “Did his personal effects go with the M.E.?”
“Yes, we didn’t touch the body.”
Officers stood in groups, large and small, talking in whispers, most staring at the two detectives who had this investigation dropped on them. It didn’t take long for word to get around.
“Have you searched the parking lot yet?” David asked.
“Nope. Couldn’t. Too many people running in and out. We’ll do it when all vehicles and people get out, but this parking lot is contaminated. Nothing we find is admissible in court. Too many cops in here.”
Nodding, David told Joe the let them know if he came up with anything.
“I will. We’re getting ready to vacuum the car.”
“What do we do?” Henry asked when Joe left.
Moments passed before David spoke. “I want to get back to the station and talk to the officer who found him. Would you get on the horn to the M.E. and remind him we need priority over everything and need his report ASAP. Also, I want Ronny’s personal effects sent to me right away.”
David stood looking at the scene for a long time without saying anything. Cigarette butts littered the asphalt pavement where officers threw them. He shook his head. Joe was right. Nothing found in this parking lot was admissible. Why did the captain let this happen? David snatched his tie off. “It’s time we had a chat with Mr. Carlin.”
“Yeah it is,” Henry replied.
Chapter 22
Several miles away, a young white male sat in his vehicle, as happy as he’d been in a long time. He played with a gold pen and smiled. Two more to go.
“Dad, I promised you they’d pay for what they did. One’s down. I’ll get the rest.” He picked up the spiral notebook he’d taken off Sergeant Hemes’ body. He wrote in it in big, bold letters. You’re dead.
***
David and Henry drove back to the station in silence with the sun winking in the east.
Forty-five minutes later, a uniformed police officer knocked on the office door. David motioned him in and told him to have a seat. He was tall and thin with short-cropped brown hair and a narrow face, and he hadn’t been on the police department long. His gun holster at his right side didn’t sway the way veteran officers’ did after years of leaning on their gun butts.
His pool-chalk blue eyes bothered David. He tilted his head. He’d seen this officer before, but where? He chided himself. Belton was from the third precinct and he’d visited Ronny there. He probably saw him there and the eyes stayed with him.
“I’m detective Sergeant David Mason, and this is my partner, Detective Henry Carrington. We’re leading the investigation into Sergeant Hemes’ death.”
“Yes, sir. Sarge talked about you all the time. I met you once when you came by.”
“Okay,” Henry said, “tell us what you saw and did.”
“Yes, sir. I went on a call. Driving east on West Hawkins, I saw a patrol vehicle parked close to the grocery store, but I didn’t think too much about it at the time. You know, sergeants and lieutenants do it all the time to watch us.”
Henry and David both nodded. David leaned back. “Did you see Sergeant Hemes?”
“No sir.”
David tapped his fingers on the desk. “Okay, go on.” They were recording the statement and would have it typed up, read, and signed by Benton.
“When I got through with the call, I patrolled a couple of neighborhoods and stopped a guy in a blue Trans Am. I headed back down West Hawkins and saw the same patrol vehicle parked there with the interior light on.”
David looked up with a frown.
“How do you know it was the same vehicle?” Henry asked.
“Well, I’m not sure it was the same one. I never thought about that. It was parked in about the same place and I just assumed it was.”
“Would you consider it strange for the same vehicle to be parked in the same spot for that length of time?” David asked.
“Yes, sir. That’s the reason I drove in.”
“Okay, go on.”
“Well, I drove up to the patrol car. His door was standing open, but I couldn’t see anyone in the vehicle. I pulled up beside the open driver’s door, but had to veer to miss the door. When I angled out, my headlights showed the body lying on the ground.”
“Could you tell it was a police officer?” Henry asked.
“Yes, sir, I could tell he wore a uniform, but I didn’t know it was Sergeant Hemes at the time.”
“What’d you do when you saw the body lying on the ground?”
“I hate to admit this, but I guess I panicked a little. I got on the radio and told them we had an officer down at that location. I jumped from my car, ran to him, and checked his pulse. I didn’t find one. I ran back to my car and radioed in that Sergeant Hemes was down and I couldn’t find a pulse.”
“Okay, this is important,” David said. “Describe the body the way you found him.”
Benton thought for a minute. “I’ll try, but I was scared.”
David sat back in his seat. He’d learned a long time ago a good investigator knows when to talk and when to shut up. Now was the time to shut up and let the officer tell the story in his own words. That way little details he may not think are important could come out.
“Sergeant Hemes lay on his back, for sure. I know this because I checked his pulse. I could see blood on the pavement. I’m sure his head pointed toward the back of the car.”
“Did you touch anything—and I mean anything—in the car, on the car, or on the body besides checking his pulse?” Henry asked.
“No sir. I knew better. I just touched his neck.”
They questioned him for an hour longer with the tape rolling. He told David and Henry everything he knew, but he didn’t know anything. No other vehicles had been in the parking lot or even close, and no one had seen anyone walking.
David called third precinct and told them to send the call-in sheet and the audio tapes from all the calls that night. He’d hung up when Inspector Patterson called and wanted to see David and Henry in his office.
“I know it’s too soon to ask, but have you come up with anything yet?”
“No sir, not at all. We’ve interviewed the officer who found him, and Sergeant Hal Parker is scheduled in about fifteen minutes.”
“The chief wants to see us in his office at nine-thirty. Also, Ronny’s wife would like for you to come over.”
“Yes, sir, I’d planned on going to see her.”
“Have you run into any problems?”
“No sir, but I’m afraid the crime scene’s contaminated.”
“I heard, and there’re going to be other people visiting the chief this morning about that little fiasco. I can also assure y
ou there will be no higher-ranking officers questioning your right to investigate this, or demanding you notify them immediately. This is your investigation, and as far as the chief is concerned, you’re the ranking officer.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Meet me at the chief’s office about nine twenty-five.”
When they returned to David’s office, the coroner’s assistant dropped off Ronny’s personal effects taken from his patrol car and off the body.
“Doc wanted me to tell you he’s giving Sergeant Hemes top priority and he should have the report complete by five this afternoon.”
“That’s quick. Please tell him to send me a copy when it’s through, no matter what time it is.”
“Yes, sir. I’ll tell him.”
Henry and David were going through the personal effects when Sergeant Parker knocked on the door.
“Come in, Sergeant Parker.”
“My friends call me Hal.”
“Mine call me David.”
“I brought the call sheets from last night and the audio tape,” he said, placing them on David’s desk.
“Have a seat, Hal. I’m sure you know the routine.”
His eyes squeezed tight a moment. “Yes, I’ve been through it before.”
David and Henry went through the same routine they’d gone through with Officer Benton, with one exception: their questions were more detailed with the sergeant, a veteran police officer, who should’ve observed more than the inexperienced officer. However, he hadn’t seen anything, either.
“Too clean,” Henry said when Parker left.
David massaged his temples. Lack of evidence could be evidence in itself at times. Like the sniper who shot David. He leaned back in his seat. Two cop shootings this close together. No evidence or witnesses. Something’s wrong here. He straightened up. “You’re right. We don’t often see them this clean. I’m going to call Beth and see if she’ll meet me after we talk to the chief. She doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, I’d better call Patty, too, before she hears about it from somewhere else.”
David dialed his number and a sleepy voice answered on the third ring. “Beth, this is David. I wondered if you’d like to meet me for brunch.”
“Uh, oh, Okay. When and where?”
“How about the Pancake Hut on Taylor and Dobie at eleven.”
“Okay, darling, I’ll be there.”
When Henry returned, David asked him how Patty took it.
“She’s shook up. She’ll be OK. She’s a police officer’s wife. How’s Beth handling it?” he asked in a worried tone.
“I haven’t told her yet. I’m going to meet her for brunch and tell her. I think I’d better do this in person.”
“You’re right on that one, partner.”
They continued to go through Ronny’s personal effects. With the box empty, David stood looking at the things on his desk. “Some things are missing,” he said.
“Missing? What’s missing?”
“His pocket spiral notebook and his gold pen.”
“His notebook isn’t there?”
“Nope.”
“What’s this about a gold pen?”
“He had a gold pen inscribed with a Houston police badge and his badge number,” David said
“Maybe he didn’t take it to work with him.”
“He always took it to work with him.”
David called the coroner’s office and asked to speak with the medical examiner in person. He asked about the missing items, but the ME told him he’d gathered the personal effects himself, and if they were not in the box, they were not on the body when he got there.
David and Henry trudged to the chief’s office right at nine twenty-five.
“Do you have anything yet, sergeant?” Pores asked, not wasting any time on small talk.
“We don’t have anything yet, chief. It appears to be a clean homicide—too clean.”
“I figured as much. Do you think that little misfortune with all the different units wandering through the crime scene destroyed any evidence?”
“I’m not sure, sir, but everything’s contaminated, and we won’t be able to use it.”
“Crap.”
David leaned forward. “Sir, I don’t think the shooter left anything.”
“Is that the famous Mason instinct?”
“Yes, sir, I guess it is.”
“Young man, I don’t know if you know this, but I spent many years in homicide myself. I’m not the normal political appointee chief often found in a major city. I happen to know good homicide detectives have the instinct or they don’t. Real good ones have it, and use it. Inspector Patterson tells me you have it, and use it well.”
“I try to, sir.”
“Son, you keep using it. This is your case. If anyone gets in your way, I don’t care what rank, you let me or Inspector Patterson know. I’m not putting up with that crap.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Have you found anything at all?”
“Well sir, there’s one small thing I find peculiar. It may not mean anything.”
“It’s the small things that count, detective.”
“Two things are missing from his personal belongings.”
“What are they?” Inspector Patterson asked.
“His pocket spiral notebook and his gold pen the officers from third precinct gave him for his promotion to sergeant.”
“With his badge number on it?” Patterson asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Peculiar. He never came to work without the pen, but even if he’d forgotten the pen, he would’ve gotten a new spiral at the station.”
“Why do you think his spiral is missing?” Pores asked.
“Not sure. He may have written down a meeting or someone he’d spoken to and the killer had to get the book.”
“That’s a good assumption. Okay, I’m going to let you two go. I know it’s Sunday and we have a press conference scheduled tomorrow at two. Mayor wants you to talk to the press. I’m going to arrange for the public information officer to spend time with you on this briefing, Okay?”
“Is this necessary, sir?” David asked.
“Do you mean do you have to do it?”
“Yes, sir, that’s what I mean.”
“You have to do it, David.”
“Yes, sir.”
Henry and David trudged back to their office. “When do we talk to Carlin?” Henry asked.
“Tomorrow.”
For once in David’s life, his desk looked cluttered with reports scattered across the top. He’d read one and put it down and picked up another without filing them. He’d forgotten where he put the physical evidence sheet, but now it didn’t matter. Something bothered him, but he couldn’t put his fingers on it—like meeting someone you had seen before but for the life of you, could not come up with who or when. He didn’t know why, but felt what he missed was something someone said at the crime scene, or soon after. With pencil in hand, unaware he tapped on his desk, he tried to concentrate, but Ronny’s smiling face kept popping into his thoughts, making the task difficult. He would have to interview Gail, a task he didn’t want to do.
Glancing at his watch, he shook his head. He couldn’t keep Beth waiting, another task he didn’t want to do. He didn’t know how she’d react to this. He was afraid she might have second thoughts about becoming involved with a police officer.
Henry had sat in his office and they’d talked for a long time. He didn’t believe in a connection between the sniper and Ronny’s death, but David thought it too much of a coincidence.
Chapter 23
Beth met David at the pancake house at eleven. They made strained small talk while they ate. David didn’t want to tell her what had happened, and didn’t know how. She had liked Ronny, although she didn’t know him well, and hit it off with Gail. When they went out with Ronny and Gail, Beth said something about her fear of marrying a police officer. For the first time in his life, David feared some
thing, and a cold emptiness settled in his belly.
He’d been scared before, like everyone, but he’d never experienced this deep down, gnawing fear, which forced him to hold back from telling her. He’d lost Ronny his best friend, and didn’t know if he could take losing Beth, too.
She put her fork down on the table and crossed her arms. “David. What’s wrong?”
“Well…”
“You’re crying. Tell me this minute what’s wrong.”
“Beth, I…” he put his napkin down by his uneaten food. “Let’s get out of here.”
He paid and they left. He took her hand, leading her to the car where they sat for a long time before she spoke. “Please tell me what’s wrong.” Her voice trembled and she had tears in her eyes.
“Beth, I need to tell you something bad, but I don’t know how.”
“Just tell me, babe.”
Tears streamed down his cheeks. “I’m afraid if I tell you, I’ll lose you.”
She caught both his hands in hers. “I love you. I know I haven’t told you yet, but I think you know. I think we have something good between us. I’m not going to run off, no matter how bad it is.”
David took a deep breath. He had to tell her. She’d find out anyway. He hoped she’d stay by his side. He closed his eyes tight. “Beth—I have—Ronny—Ronny was killed last night on duty.”
Her hands flew to her mouth to stop a strangled cry. “Oh, no. Oh David, I’m sorry.” She held him for a long time, both crying.
“How’d it happen?”
“We don’t know, yet.”
“Are you investigating it?”
He nodded.
“Oh, David, I’m sorry. I am. I know what you must be going through. Has Gail been told?”
“Inspector Patterson went by this morning.”
“Have you gone by?”
“No, I planned on it sometime today.”
“Do you mind if I go with you?”
He breathed a sigh of relief. “No, I’d appreciate it.”
Ronny’s house, on Menefee in North Houston, was two stories with the lower half red brick and top beige wood with white trim. Golf-course-green grass and red and white mums flourished in front.
Several cars were parked in the drive and along the street. David parked and he and Beth plodded up the flower-lined sidewalk and rang the doorbell. Pine mulch packed the flowerbeds and simmered on this warm November day in Southeast Texas.