On a Killer's Trail

by Susan Page Davis

  SEVEN

  Sergeant Legere gave the Priority Unit the records his men had collected on the embezzlement case. Neil compiled a thick folder containing responses to the sketch of the cat shooter.

  “Forty-seven people have called in since the sketch was released,” he said.

  “Any duplicates?” Connor asked.

  “A few.”

  Neil skimmed each report and made a list of the callers and the person each caller thought the sketch looked like. Number twelve was Stephen Burton.

  “Not our guy. Ours is James Burton—same last name.” He dog-eared the corner of the report.

  “Doesn’t James Burton have a son named Stephen?” Connor asked, reaching for a file folder.

  Number twenty was also Stephen Burton. In all they came up with four Stephen Burtons and two Eric Robertses. The rest were all different.

  “Amazing how people can think a drawing looks like over forty different guys.”

  “Get photos from DMV,” Connor replied.

  On his computer Neil went to the state’s Department of Motor Vehicles link and searched for a driver’s license. He came up with seven Stephen Burtons in the state. One lived at Jim Burton’s address. He was nineteen years old.

  Neil squinted at the screen. “He looks sort of like the sketch. Want to go for a ride, Connor?”

  When they arrived at the Burton residence Claire Burton, Jim’s wife, answered the door.

  “I thought Detectives Bolduc and Rood were investigating,” she said.

  “They were, ma’am,” said Connor, “but now the case has been transferred to the Priority Unit.”

  “Well, good. I hope you’ll listen to me.” She opened the door wide.

  “Of course, ma’am. What would you like to tell me?”

  “That Jim didn’t steal that money. He wouldn’t.” She closed the door and faced them. “We were very close, and I can tell you, he’s not like that.”

  “Well, it’s been confirmed that he emptied the shelter’s bank accounts Thursday morning, ma’am. The bank had security videotapes of him withdrawing the money, and a copy of his written request for a transfer of funds from the account.”

  “That may be. He might have been ready to start paying for the construction on the new building.”

  “But he and the money are gone, Mrs. Burton.”

  “So somebody found out how much money he was carrying and stole it from him.”

  Connor sighed. “Ma’am, he didn’t have the money in cash. It was transferred electronically to another bank. We have people trying to trace it and find out the final destination, but we’re pretty sure it’s not in the U.S. And he abandoned his car at a restaurant.”

  “What if that wasn’t his choice?”

  “You think someone kidnapped him and forced him to raid the bank accounts?”

  “It’s a theory.” She folded her arms across her chest and raised her chin.

  “Did he have a passport?” Connor asked.

  “Yes. Detective Bolduc took it.”

  “So he had a passport, but he left it here?” Connor was skeptical.

  “Yes. He wasn’t trying to leave the country, I’m telling you.”

  “He might have had false ID.”

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “Well, Mrs. Burton, this isn’t really what we came to talk to you about,” said Connor.

  “What did you come for?”

  “Did your husband own a gun?”

  She looked startled. “Yes. A pistol.”

  “How long did he have it?”

  “He bought it shortly after we moved up here from New Jersey. There had been several break-ins in the neighborhood.”

  “Where did he keep it?”

  “I’m not sure. In his desk, I think.”

  “May we take a look?”

  “Yes, I guess so.”

  Connor kept talking to her while Neil searched Burton’s desk. There was no gun, but he did find a folder of receipts, and in it, among about a hundred other slips of paper, was a handwritten receipt for a .22 handgun, and it had the serial number on it. Neil took that to Connor and asked Mrs. Burton if he could go through her husband’s dresser and closet. On the top shelf of the closet, he found a box and a half of .22 rimfire ammo, but no gun. He picked up the boxes with his handkerchief and took them out to the living room.

  Connor was looking at family pictures and saying, “So this is Linda, and these are Sean and Steve?”

  “That’s right. Linda’s married and lives down in New Jersey. She has a little girl.”

  “And the boys live at home?”

  “Yes.”

  He looked up, and Neil held up the ammunition. Connor came over and looked at it. “No weapon?”

  “Nope.”

  “Keep the boxes. We’ll want to dust them for prints.” He turned to Claire Burton. She was pouring herself a glass of gin. “Ma’am, Detective Alexander has found some ammunition for your husband’s gun, but not the gun. Could we make a more thorough search for it?”

  “Well, I…I guess so. Do you think he took it with him?”

  “Actually, I don’t,” said Connor, “but we have to be sure it’s not in the house.”

  “All right.”

  “Mrs. Burton, where are the boys now?” he asked.

  “Sean is in his room, I think, and Steve is at his girlfriend’s.”

  “He’s the older one.”

  “Yes, he’s nineteen.” She looked scared now. “Is something wrong?”

  “We just need to look for the gun now.”

  Neil made a careful search with Connor working beside him while Mrs. Burton sat in the kitchen drinking gin.

  They entered the older boy’s room. There were clothes and books and magazines everywhere, and assorted other junk. Neil pulled the bed apart, then dove into the closet. It was pretty messy. Connor systematically piled up all the things on the floor, then went through the dresser.

  “No contraband but cigarettes,” he said.

  “Connor.” At the bottom of the basket of dirty laundry, Neil had found a leather holster. It was empty.

  “Bag it.”

  The fifteen-year-old was standing in the doorway. “Are you guys cops?”

  “Yes, I’m Detective Alexander. You must be Sean.”

  “Yeah, what are you doing?”

  “Your mother gave us permission to search the house,” Neil said.

  “Cool. Want to search my room?”

  Neil handed the evidence bag to Connor. “Sure, Sean. What should I look for?”

  He laughed a little and walked across the hall with Neil, who opened his dresser drawers, looked under the bed and opened the closet door.

  “Aren’t you going to look under the mattress?” Sean asked.

  Neil lifted one corner. “What’s this?”

  “My journal. I hide it there so my mother won’t find it.”

  “First place she’d look,” Neil said. “Okay, kid, you’re clean. Do you know where your father kept his gun?”

  “Sure, in his closet.”

  “Did you ever use it?”

  “No, he told me never to even think about touching it.”

  “Did you?”

  “No, I never did. Honest.”

  Neil eyed him thoughtfully. “How about your brother?”

  “Steve? I don’t think so.” Sean looked as if he might swear or cry any second. “Is my dad really in South America?”

  “I don’t know. We’ll do our best to find him.”

  “Detective Bolduc said we’d never see him again,” Sean said. “He doesn’t want to be found.”

  “What do you think?”

  Sean turned away. “My mom says somebody kidnapped him or—or killed him.” He swung around and faced Neil. “Do you think he’s alive?”

  That one was easy. Neil looked the kid straight in the eye. “I do. I really do.”

  Kate prayed all the way to the newspaper office that morning. She still felt the ur
ge to perform well, but that was now tempered with a strong, steady desire to please God.

  Lord, show me what You want me to work on today. If it’s a boring zoning board meeting, I’ll cover it gladly as the task You’ve given me.

  The answer to her prayer was unmistakable. A sticky note on her monitor read “Please come to my office as soon as you arrive. John C.”

  She put her coat and purse away and walked with trepidation down the hall to the city editor’s office.

  “Kate, I’m glad you’re here. I expect you’re still working on the murder stories, but the news on those has slowed down a lot, hasn’t it?”

  “Actually, my sources feel things may be breaking soon. But if there’s something else you need me to work on…”

  “Barry Patterson went skiing last weekend, and he broke his leg. Compound fracture.”

  Kate frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “You and me both. His doctor says he’ll be out at least six weeks. And this Animal Protection Society story is huge. I thought maybe I’d put you on it. The intern might be able to handle Barry’s usual school board beat, but…”

  She couldn’t help grinning. “Oh, thank you, Mr. Cleeves. There’s no story I’d rather pick up.”

  She dashed back to her desk and called the police station. After she’d waited a couple of minutes, the dispatcher transferred her call to the detectives’ unit.

  “Detective Bolduc,” said a sleepy voice. “How may I help you?”

  “This is Kate Richards with the Press Herald. I’d like to talk to you about the embezzlement case at the animal shelter.”

  “Can’t.”

  “I…” Kate faltered and cleared her throat, then regained her confidence. Project confidence! “I understood you were the investigating officer.”

  “Yeah, the key word being were. That case was turned over to the Priority Unit this morning. You’ll have to talk to Captain Larson or Detective Alexander.”

  Kate closed her eyes for an instant. Thank You, Lord!

  A quick call to the Priority Unit told her that Neil and Connor were both out of the office. Kate hung up and drummed her fingers on her desktop. They were out working on the case. She wished the secretary had spilled their location, but Connor had probably trained her not to reveal stuff like that. She’d better not call either of the guys on his cell phone. Instead, she decided to stop by the animal shelter and see if she could pick up any news there and then drive to the police station in person. Maybe when they came back in, she could get the lowdown from Neil. The now-familiar rush of excitement washed over her. She smiled and grabbed her purse.

  Connor asked Mrs. Burton for Stephen’s girlfriend’s name and address.

  “We’re going over there,” he told her. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t call Stephen or anything. Just let us go over and talk to him.”

  “You think he did something?” She’d drunk enough gin that Neil didn’t think her brain was functioning at its best.

  “I don’t know, ma’am, but the holster was in his room, and the weapon is missing. I think maybe Steve can tell us where it is.” Connor smiled at her. “Maybe he can tell us if his father took the gun with him.”

  “Think she’ll call him?” Neil asked, as they drove toward the girlfriend’s house.

  “Pray that she doesn’t.”

  The girlfriend’s mother let them in, pointed them toward the family room and disappeared. Steve and Alicia were watching TV, and Stephen jumped up off the sofa when Connor walked in holding up his badge and said, “Portland P.D. Just relax, Steve, I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Alicia stood up, looking scared. She wasn’t more than sixteen.

  “I didn’t do anything,” said Steve.

  “I didn’t say you did. I was wondering if you could tell me where your father’s .22 pistol is.”

  Alicia looked from Connor to Steve, then at Neil.

  “Why don’t you go have a chat with your mom?” Neil said to Alicia with a smile. The girl quickly left the room.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Stephen.

  The sketch wasn’t really a good likeness, Neil thought. The young man wasn’t bad-looking, but he had an attitude that sapped his appeal. He would probably curse her out if his mother told him to clean up his pigsty of a room.

  Connor sighed. “I don’t want to waste my time here. Just cuff him and bring him in.” He turned toward the door.

  “Hey, wait,” Stephen cried. “You’re going to arrest me because I don’t know where the gun is?”

  Connor swung around. “No, because you do know where it is and you’re lying. We found the holster in your room and the ammo boxes with your prints all over them.” They hadn’t actually run the prints yet, but Neil figured Connor was right. “Now, you can talk about it here, or my pal will handcuff you and read you your rights and bring you to the station. You’re going to end up there anyway, so I figure Neil might as well do it now.”

  Connor left the room that time. He didn’t usually do that, and Neil was sure part of it was to intimidate the kid, but Connor was probably sick of the attitude, too.

  “Talk,” Neil said.

  Steven grimaced and looked at the floor.

  “Put your hands on your head, then.”

  Stephen looked at him as if he were nuts.

  “This is for real,” Neil said. “You’re under arrest. Put your hands on your head.”

  Neil booked Stephen Burton and then took fingerprints off the ammunition boxes and holster while the young man stewed in the lockup downstairs. His next task was to obtain a copy of Jim Burton’s prints. He contacted the police department in the New Jersey city where Burton had lived and got codes for access into their arrest records from the time Burton lived there. Sure enough, Jim had been arrested four years earlier for operating under the influence. Neil wondered if the Animal Protection Agency had done a background check on him before hiring him.

  “Got anything?” Connor asked as he returned from a meeting with the police chief.

  “Jim Burton’s prints are all over the ammo boxes and the holster,” Neil reported, “but his son Steve’s were on the holster, too, and the partially used box of ammo.”

  “Did you check the serial number of the guns?”

  “Yeah. The serial number I found in Jim Burton’s desk matches the gun that was found in the Dumpster.”

  “Perfect. Go log the gun out of Evidence. I’ll bring Stephen up here for a little chat.”

  When Neil returned with the weapon a few minutes later, Kate Richards was seated beside his desk.

  “Hey, what brings you here?” He couldn’t control the smile that broke across his face. Seeing Kate on a Monday morning was as good as getting an unexpected day off.

  “God works in mysterious ways,” she said. “In addition to updating the murder story, I’ve also been assigned to cover the scandal at the animal shelter.”

  “Then we’re working on the same cases. I can live with that.”

  “Me, too.”

  Funny how Kate’s smile could send him into a tailspin. Focus, Neil!

  “It may be a little while before I can talk to you. Connor’s bringing a prisoner up here for questioning. Do you want to come back later, or would you like to wait?”

  “May I?”

  Neil hesitated. They didn’t usually conduct questioning with civilians in the office. “I guess so. You can’t listen to the session. Privacy rights and all that. But there’s a pot of coffee in our break room. Shouldn’t be more than half an hour, and I may have something hot for you after we talk to this guy.”

  Her blue eyes glittered. “Sure. I’ll disappear, and you come tell me when the coast is clear.”

  Seconds after she went through the door to the break room, Connor and Stephen got off the elevator. The Priority Unit didn’t have a cell, but it did have a small interrogation room in its office area, and the detectives found it much less hectic than trying to do
business downstairs. Neil went inside and started the video recorder, and Connor brought young Burton in and sat opposite him at the table. Connor stated his name and the date of the interview and had Stephen give his name.

  “All right, Steve,” Connor said pleasantly, “let’s talk. Tell me about the gun.”

  “I don’t know where it is.”

  Connor smiled. “But I do. It’s right here.” He produced the gun in an evidence bag and laid it on the table. Stephen’s eyes bulged.

  “Don’t you read the paper?” Connor asked. “We found the gun in a Dumpster three blocks from where the cat was attacked.”

  “What cat?”

  “Mrs. Sargent’s tiger cat. You shot at it last Thursday. Was that just target practice, or what?”

  Stephen eyed him belligerently. “Don’t I get a phone call or something?”

  “Look,” Connor said, “if you want, you can make a call. But I’ll warn you, we’re not going to set bail. This is a double homicide case. You’re not going anywhere today.”

  Stephen’s hands shook, and he clasped them together on the table. “Murder? I didn’t shoot anybody!”

  “Oh, not even the cat?” Connor’s penetrating gray eyes drilled him.

  “Fine, I did shoot at the cat,” Stephen mumbled.

  “Now we’re getting somewhere,” said Connor. “Tell me about it.”

  Steve sighed and sat back. “I saw my dad cleaning his gun one night.” Connor was silent. Stephen rubbed his eyes. “After he went downstairs to eat breakfast Thursday, I just went and got it.”

  “You took it out of the closet?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  He hesitated, then said, “I thought maybe I could sell it.”

  Connor raised his eyebrows.

  Stephen said quickly, “I thought I’d just try it to see if I could make it work first.”

  “So you got some shells out of the box?” Connor asked.

  “Yes. Then I went for a walk. I had it in my pocket.”

  Connor just waited.

  “I went over to Hayner Woods. I thought maybe I’d go down behind there, where there’s some woods, and I could take a shot or two. And then…this cat just came walking out in front of me on the sidewalk.” He looked up, as though trying to make the detectives see that it was reasonable. “There weren’t many houses, and there were no people around, no cars. I just aimed at it and shot. I don’t think I hit it.”