by John Foxjohn
Henry and David glanced at each other. She passed that test. It was a trick technique used by detectives. By design, David didn’t tell her where the shooting occurred. Most people would assume the shooting happened at home at night.
“Susan, he was shot at the police department.”
“Is—he dead?”
“No, but he’s in critical condition. They don’t know right now if he’s going to make it or not.”
“Oh my God. He has to. He has to. Please, God, don’t let him die.”
David dropped his head and shut his eyes tight as he prayed along with her.
“What was he doing here? He never works late. He likes to spend time with his family,” she said.
“We’re hoping you could tell us that.”
Her eyes widened. “I don’t know any reason he would’ve been here.”
“Was he upset, bothered by anything?” Henry asked.
“Yes he was. I don’t know what, but something bothered him today.”
“How do you know? Did he say anything?”
“He was edgy, and that wasn’t like him. He’s even-tempered. I could tell something was bothering him because he was pacing in his office.”
David flipped through the incomplete report on his desk while she talked. He looked up and his eyebrows rose. “Pacing? That doesn’t sound like the inspector.”
“It isn’t like him.”
“What was he working on?” Henry asked.
“I’m not sure he was working on anything. He had several reports due, but he had them finished and sent them out.”
“Are you sure he was through with them?” Henry asked.
“Oh, yes. I delivered them for him. He told me with them out, he could concentrate on police work instead.”
David reached in the top right hand drawer and brought out a pack of Winstons and a lighter. He lit the cigarette and took a deep drag. “Did he do anything unusual today?”
“He had all the third’s personnel files sent to him. I’ve never seen him do that.”
“The third precinct?” David and Henry asked together.
“Yes,” Susan said. “He called personnel about noon and told them to send all the files to him. Every person assigned to the third precinct.”
David took a deep drag and looked for an ashtray, which he didn’t have. Leaning over, he pulled the trashcan close and flipped the ashes in it. Henry frowned at him. He’d never seen David smoke. He’d quit over a year ago. “Did he say why he wanted them?”
“No he didn’t, but he got perturbed. He kept waiting for them, and about twelve-thirty he called back and told them to get them up to his office right away.”
“Did they?”
“Yes, about thirty minutes later, three men brought them up in boxes.”
“How many boxes?”
“About thirty?”
“Did he have any appointments yesterday?”
“He talked to the chief yesterday morning. Also had a lunch appointment with the chief, but he cancelled it.”
“Did he have lunch with the chief often?”
“Oh, my goodness, yes. They had lunch about once a week. Inspector Patterson and the chief are old friends. Pores trained him when he graduated from the police academy.”
Henry and David again exchanged glances. Neither knew this. David tapped on the arm of his chair. That’s what enraged the chief. “Did he say why he cancelled lunch?”
“No, he didn’t cancel it. He told me to call the chief’s secretary and do it. I called Marge and told her something had come up and the inspector had to cancel.”
“What came up?” Henry asked.
“Nothing I know of,” she blushed. “It was, well, I was, you know.”
“Yeah, you made up an excuse for your boss,” David helped her.
“Yes.”
“Had he cancelled a lunch appointment in the past?”
“Yes, but not too many times. He liked to get away from the office and talk to the chief about the old days. You know how policemen like to tell stories.”
David and Henry nodded.
“Did anyone come in yesterday and talk to him behind closed doors?” Henry asked.
“Oh, yes. Several.”
“Was this unusual?”
“Not at all. It’s a normal occurrence.”
“Do you know who they were?”
“No, but the inspector kept a log book. Anytime he talked to someone in his office, he logged in the book who he’d talked to, and a brief description of what it was about.”
David glanced at Henry. Inspector Patterson was full of surprises. David was closer to him than anyone in homicide and he hadn’t known about this stuff.
They spent another thirty minutes talking to Susan, and sat in the office a long time after she left, not saying anything while David lit another cigarette. Smoke hung in the room and Henry tapped on the desk with his hand, the only sound. “David, what’re we doing wrong on this?”
“Henry, we’re asking the wrong questions.”
“What questions should we be asking?”
“Mills and Combs spent all their time trying to find who I’d arrested that might have wanted to kill me.”
“That’s a logical way to go.”
“Yep, it is. We’ve spent time trying to figure out who Ronny arrested or came into contact with that wanted him dead.”
“Well, partner, that again is the logical route to take. If we shouldn’t be asking what person was arrested who wanted you dead, what should we be asking?”
“I don’t have a clue. Ronny had a reason for thinking they asked the wrong questions. He knew something we don’t. Inspector also figured it out. It had to be the reason for him being in the office. Dang it, if they can figure it out without investigating it, why can’t we? What do they know we don’t?” He banged his hand on the desk. “Something is right under our noses and we can’t see it.”
“It has to be Carlin,” Henry said.
David dropped his face into his hands. “Henry, it’s not Carlin.”
Henry looked at David for a long minute, tapping his finger on his cheek. “You sound awful sure.”
“I know for a fact it’s not Carlin. I was watching him when the inspector was shot.”
Henry cocked his head, his brow furrowed. “That’s why you were picky about the time.”
Chapter 29
Spinks again waited in the chief’s office when David and Henry reported in. Pores stood, looking out the window as he had before. He turned when they entered. David understood the turmoil and rage boiling inside Pores. He and Ronny had been in the same position as Pores and Patterson.
“Have a seat. What do you have?”
Henry and David spent about ten minutes telling him about the shell casing, park, and their interview with Patterson’s secretary.
When they finished, Spinks waved a report at them. “Mason, I’ve been reading over this report you turned in on Carlin. Why didn’t you arrest him? He refused to answer your questions. If he was sitting in jail, Inspector Patterson wouldn’t be fighting for his life. You have motive and opportunity. He should be in jail.”
Pores leaned back his chair and rolled his eyes, David hung his head, and Henry let out a muffled groan.
“What?” Spinks asked.
No one in the room spoke for a long time. The chief massaged his eyes with his thumb and middle finger, and then said, “Dang, Lieutenant.”
Spinks glanced from the chief to David and Henry and back to the chief. “I don’t understand.”
Red crept up the chief’s neck and face. He looked like a cherry bomb about to explode. “Spinks. What TV shows are you watching? Don’t you know you shouldn’t try to fool real cops? Half the people in this town have your motive and opportunity.”
“Sir, police officers have to prove this to convict a suspect.”
David sadly shook his head, inspecting the carpet. He could’ve stepped in to help Spinks, but he’d tried before, and th
e silly idiot was too stupid to take help and didn’t know when to shut up.
“Yes, but that’s easy. My wife could do that. The hard part is putting a suspect at the crime scene.” He turned to David and Henry. “What can you prove on Carlin?”
David smoothed his hair back, looking up. “Nothing. At the moment we can’t arrest him for a traffic violation.”
“Chief, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you. These two don’t have enough experience to evaluate a crime scene or handle something this big.”
Pores rubbed his chin with his index finger and thumb. “Let me see if I understand you, Lieutenant. We have two homicide detectives here. One is a sergeant who happens to be the United States Law Enforcement Officer of the year. These two detectives have the highest homicide clearance rate in the department’s history. They’ve cleared fifty-six homicide cases this year, which is also a record in this city, and these two don’t have the ability or experience to evaluate a crime scene. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Uh, no sir. I think I need to take this case over.”
“Sir,” David interrupted. “I know for a fact Carlin didn’t shoot the inspector.”
Chief Pores looked at David for a long moment. He tapped his left index finger on his lips. “You sound sure. How’s that?”
“Chief—no one could find me when Inspector Patterson was shot because I was watching Carlin.”
Pores nodded. “Thought so.”
“Sir, with the inspector down, I’m in charge. I’m taking Mason and Carrington off this.”
Pores dropped his head, shaking it. He let out an explosive breath and leaned back in his seat. “Not likely, Lieutenant. Inspector Patterson should’ve canned your butt a long time ago. You can’t supervise homicide detectives. You don’t know anything about it yourself.”
“I disagree with you chief, and as the homicide chief, I’m going to assign myself to this investigation.”
Both David and Henry leaned back in their chairs, rolling their eyes. Henry turned and glanced at David, who shrugged. How could Spinks be so stupid? He couldn’t take on the police chief and win.
Pores rose from his seat and leaned across his desk, his face the color of wild plums. “I’ve heard enough of this, and you. You’re not in charge. I’m in charge. I’m still the police chief, in case you’ve forgotten. When you walk out of here, your assignment to homicide ends. I don’t know where I’m going to put you, but it’ll be far away from me. Now, get out of my office before I throw you out.”
Spinks left like a whipped dog. David felt sorry for him, although he didn’t like Spinks or respect him. Why did he always try to bully people, even the chief? If only he’d learn to keep his mouth shut.
“David, Henry, this is still your investigation. There’s a lunatic out there killing and shooting my police officers. I want it stopped. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir,” they both replied.
“I’m getting heat from all directions. The mayor’s on me, and the press might as well camp out on my doorstep. I can’t leave the building without them swarming on me like starving dogs. We don’t need any mistakes on this investigation. Don’t be answering any questions. Do your job as fast as possible, and I’ll fade the heat. You find out who’s shooting my police officers.”
“Yes, sir.”
“One other thing, homicide is missing both its officers. I’m going to get someone in as soon as possible. However, you’ll report to me. I want an oral report every day before five. You can either come in or call me. I normally ask for a written report, but I think you two are going to be too busy.”
“Thank you sir,” Henry said.
When they left, David knew something had to be done fast. He couldn’t screw this up. Chief Pores, without saying it, put his butt on the line for them. He couldn’t let him down, but more important, he couldn’t let Inspector Patterson down. With a killer on the loose, targeting police officers, his butt was also on the line, as well as on the killer’s list.
***
David and Henry ran down endless nothing. They went over Joe’s report and the evidence gathered. Joe had found a footprint at the statue. He’d made a cast and photographed it, but nothing stood out about the print. It was a size eleven with nondescript tread on the bottom.
He also found six Winston cigarette butts lying close. Shooter had been there for a while before he fired, or he was nervous, which would be understandable when waiting for a quarry.
David shook his head. Wow, now we’re getting somewhere. We have one shooter who has a size eleven foot and smokes Winston cigarettes when he’s nervous.
Henry went home, and with nothing to do, David got in his car and drove, unsure where he headed. Traffic was light and he found himself on 225 heading east toward the ship channel.
He loved to go to the ship channel and watch ships come and go, and see the sun set over the water. At this time, there wouldn’t be ships or a sunset, but the channel called to him. He thought better watching waves roll in.
Houston’s ship channel separated the city from Pasadena, and a high bridge extended across the water. He parked his car on the east side in a liquor store parking lot.
Almost in a trance, David plodded to the bridge. With the air heavy, he could taste salt when he licked his lips, and a chilly wind blew across the channel. He stood on the bridge for a long time. The quiet road, with little traffic, had murky water below the bridge lapping on large rocks, matching his dark, ominous mood.
Deep in thought, he didn’t hear the car stop behind him. Someone yelled, and he spun, reaching for his gun. He took a deep breath, easing his hand away as the Houston cop reached for his own gun. Reaching for his badge, his hand froze. He didn’t want to be a mistake statistic, but the cop pulled his gun and yelled for him to freeze.
David rolled his eyes. He didn’t know anyone actually said that. Ronny had always said, “Stop or name your beneficiary.” “Jerk, I’m a cop. I reached for my dang badge.”
“Take it out slow.”
David brought out his badge and showed it. Gun still drawn, the cop edged forward to see it, then put up his gun. “What’re you doing on the bridge at this time of night?”
“That’s none of your business. Get back to doing your job.”
He turned and strode away, muttering he was doing his job. David felt like an idiot.
“Hey wait a minute.” He slogged around the vehicle to the driver’s side, and the patrolman rolled down his window. David squatted down beside the car. “I was wrong. I know you were doing your job. I have a lot on my mind right now. I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. I’m sorry.”
They shook hands and the patrolman did a U-turn and headed back toward Houston proper. As hours swam by, David became aware of the lightening sky in the east.
Exhausted, he trudged to his car, realizing he hadn’t eaten or slept in a while. He drove back to his apartment, undressed and stood for a long time under the ice-cold water in his shower. He closed his eyes and let the water hit him in the face.
Refreshed but tired after he toweled off, he put on his navy blue suit and shoulder holster, took his .45 out and emptied the shells from the magazine. He checked the primers one at a time. They all looked good. He checked the shell in the chamber, but it also looked good. He realized he hadn’t fired the Colt in a while. He’d have to go to the range when he had time. He checked the chamber and dry fired it a few times, replacing the round in the chamber. He inserted the full magazine and placed the gun in his holster.
Never asking for or wanting any help, he realized he needed help on this. He missed something, but he didn’t know where to go. He had two people in the world he could go to with problems—Ronny and the inspector.
He’d never felt this alone in his life, and needed fresh eyes to look at this. Everyone was right. He was too close to the investigation, and he was the wrong one for it. His pride wouldn’t let him say it. He couldn’t go to Henry. His partner was as close to it as he w
as. He had tremendous respect for Beth, but she wouldn’t be able to analyze this in a police way. He snapped his fingers. There might be someone after all.
When he dialed the number, a female voice came on after the second ring. “Montgomery County Sheriff’s department, may I help you?”
“Ma’am I know it’s not office hours, but I wondered if Sheriff Pointer was in.”
“Sheriff won’t be in today. May I leave him a message?”
He recognized the professional way she put him off. “Yes ma’am, this is Detective Sergeant David Mason of the Houston Police Department. I’d like to talk to him as soon as possible.”
Her attitude changed when she realized David was a law enforcement officer. “He’s not in town at the moment, but he does check in every hour or two. He’s not in his car, but I can have him call you.”
David gave her his home and office phone numbers and hung up. He was disappointed. Pointer, long winded, but as sharp as a razor, had seen so much. He might be the fresh eyes David needed.
David passed Combs on the way into the office, and the officer glared at him but didn’t say anything. He shook his head. He couldn’t expect an airhead to stay civil for long.
Peggy handed him a pink message slip. He looked at the message from Pointer, crumpled it, and slammed it into the trash. He’d missed him. He strode to Henry’s office, but his partner hadn’t arrived, yet.
Pacing his office, he decided he’d go by the hospital and see how the inspector was doing. He may have seen his shooter, or could tell them what he suspected if he was conscious. He told Peggy where he was going and strolled out.
When David opened the door to the inspector’s room, he stopped dead in his tracks. He blinked. “What’re you doing here?”
Chapter 30
Sheriff Pointer stood beside the bed, held his index finger up to his lips, and motioned for David to follow. In the hallway, Pointer said, “Do you drink coffee? You look like you’ve been rode hard and put up wet.” He turned and strolled off with David following. At the first floor cafeteria, with their coffee, they sat at a table in the back.
“Son, you’ve been up all night, haven’t you?”