“We’re due downstairs in just a minute,” Edgars prodded. “Victim’s wife is on her way in.”
“Sure.” Sarah opened the C.S.U. folder. “This is the prelim lab report. Traces of latex in both the bank offices, but so far no fingerprints that are out of place. TOD was between 4:00 and 8:00 Friday afternoon.”
“Suicide?” Horse asked.
She raised her eyebrows and grinned. “Not unless he missed his own head at point blank range.”
Off their curious looks, she went on. “There’s residue on his hand alright, but two bullets were shot from his gun. One entered his brain through the temple. The second found embedded in the ceiling. I see three possible scenarios. He could have fired a shot into the ceiling first before shooting himself. Maybe he needed a practice shot, check the recoil, I don’t really know.”
“Maybe if he hadn’t fired the gun before,” Horse reflected. “But it was his gun. Surely he knew what it felt like to pull the trigger.”
“One would think,” Sarah agreed. “Second possibility. He missed or lost his nerve with the first shot and the bullet landed in the ceiling—highly unlikely, in my none too humble opinion.”
“Or he was murdered,” Edgars jumped in. “And the ceiling shot was to provide the residue on Wesner’s hand.”
“Sounds pretty clumsy,” Horse offered.
“Not so much.” Sarah said, shaking her head. “Not every investigation would have found the cartridge in the ceiling. If it looks like suicide, how many people will go over every square inch? Or climb up on ladders and scour the room?”
Edgars grinned at her. “You did.”
“Yeah, but I’m the new girl looking to make good.” She turned back to the reports. “Wesner’s tox screen is clean. Nothing in his system but beta blockers and blood pressure meds.”
“What about the Mustang? Where are we with that?”
“It’s definitely horse hair and blood in the grill. We expedited the fingerprints and expect results any moment,” Sarah said, closing the folders. “They’ll call you as soon as something comes in.”
The detectives rose from their seats. “Thanks,” Horse said.
“We’ll have our cells on wherever we are,” Edgars said. As if on cue, his cell phone buzzed. “Edgars,” he said and listened a moment. “We’re on our way. Thanks, Sarah. We got to go.”
When they were outside the M.E.’s door, Horse asked, “The wife get here?”
“No,” Edgars answered, “it’s your hero. Get this. Picked up by the Highway Patrol. He was sitting at a rest stop on 152 just outside of town.”
“Unbelievable.”
“Injured, apparently. Getting treated right now.”
Twenty minutes later, they glanced through the two-way mirror into the interview room where they’d parked Buck Dearmore.
Horse frowned. “Holy crap, he’s a mess.”
Edgars was equally stunned. Both the detectives had been operating under the assumption that their suspect had perpetrated horrific harm on somebody else. But one look at his swollen eye and stitches at various places on his face indicated he must have badly injured himself when he crashed his Mustang into Candy Myers’ horse.
Edgars wondered how he managed to drive away and get physically back to town. He looked like a boxer who had taken a ten-round beating.
When they entered the room Buck raised his head slowly. “Mr. Dearmore, I’m James Edgars and this is Harry Douglas.”
“Just call me Horse.”
“We’re homicide detectives,” Edgars finished.
Horse jumped in. “I thought I might meet you someday, but I never dreamed it’d be in an interview room.”
Dearmore just looked up dully at them.
“Now, Mr. Dearmore, I’m going to read you your rights,” Edgars said.
“My rights? Why?” Wet with perspiration, Dearmore sat up straighter.
Edgars ignored his questions and Mirandized him. Then, “Do you understand, sir?”
“I understand Miranda. But why do I need it?” Dearmore asked.
“If you wish to waive your rights at this time, we can go over that. You’ll need to sign this first, sir.” Edgars wondered if he would be egotistical enough to waive.
Dearmore took the pen Edgars offered and started to sign, then looked up at them. “I can ask for a lawyer later, right?”
Horse assured him. “At any time, Mr. Dearmore.”
The famous quarterback signed the form and pushed it back to Edgars.
“Looks kind of hard to write with that pinkie gone,” Horse observed. Dearmore didn’t say anything.
“Were you in a car wreck last night, Mr. Dearmore?” Edgars began.
“Car wreck?” Dearmore looked genuinely clueless. “No.”
Edgars took crime scene photos of the wrecked Mustang out of a brown manila envelope and passed one over to him.
“Oh my God, that’s my…What happened?”
Horse leaned in to him. “That’s what we want you to tell us.”
As Dearmore sat stunned, Edgars passed him pictures with closeups of the blood and horse hair in the grill. “What can you tell us about all this, Buck? Is it alright to call you Buck?”
“Yeah. Nothing. I didn’t…somebody stole it.”
“The car? When would that have been?” Horse jumped in.
Buck, looking lost, wiped sweat beads off his upper lip.
Edgars pressed on. “That should be simple enough.”
“Yesterday afternoon? My time is a little fuzzy.”
“When did you last see it?” Horse asked.
“Yesterday, about five. When I got off work. I…I got mugged. I’m still foggy on what’s happened. I woke up in that rest area not sure how I got there.”
Horse shook his head. “That’s a good 16 hours later, Buck.”
“A long time not to remember,” Edgars said.
They pressed him, but after ten minutes could only get him to admit that he’d left work, gotten mugged, and couldn’t remember anything else.
Edgars moved back to his hand. “Shame about your finger there. Guess he’s played his last high stakes poker game, huh?”
Horse leaned closer to look at it. “Yeah, somebody made sure of that.”
“What?” Buck was shaking his head in confusion.
“A dealer sees that,” Edgars continued, “he knows he’s got a deadbeat at the table.”
“That’s what they do to people don’t pay up, Buck,” Horse finished.
Edgars decided to cut through the dumb act. “But you knew that, didn’t you, sir? Are you a gambler?”
Dearmore looked from one to the other. “What’s this all about?”
“Haven’t you seen the news, man? It’s about your car and the young lady you hit,” Edgars said. “For starters.”
“I got no idea what you’re talking about.” But Buck Dearmore was sweating profusely at that point.
Horse pressed on. “Oh, come on, you must remember some of it. Even looks like you cleaned out your office safe. And your boss’s.”
“Who, by the way, is dead,” Edgars added.
Dearmore’s color had turned ashen. He seemed to be reeling.
“Mr. Wesner? Dead?”
“Yep,” Edgars shot back. “But I bet you already knew that, too. Right now we don’t know which crime to like you for.”
“I can’t believe Gordon’s dead,” Buck said.
“Were the two of you tight?”
“Tight? We worked together. Got along fine.”
“How well do you know his wife?” Horse asked.
“What does she have to do with it?”
Edgars sighed. “You do know her?”
“I’ve met her, sure. At bank parties, stuff like that.”
“She’s hot, huh?” Edgars baited him. “Or maybe you’ve got so many groupies you didn’t notice.”
Buck didn’t stoop to the question. “Did Mrs. Wesner get hurt, too, or something?”
Horse played good c
op. “Ignore him. We’re just looking for links. Do you know anybody who’d want to hurt Mr. Wesner?”
Buck lowered his eyes. “I’m not sure just what’s going on here, but I think I want to call my lawyer now.”
Edgars sighed and stood. “I’ll bet you do. I hope you got a lot of money, Mr. Dearmore. You’re gonna need a dream team.”
Chapter 69
Angie Wesner parked her car, took a few minutes to calm herself, including a big nip from a flask of vodka that was hidden under the seat. She took a small cylinder of breath freshener from her purse and sprayed her mouth. Then she got out and walked into the police station.
She reached the front desk and signed in. “I’m here to see Detective Edgars.”
The officer in charge nodded to another young woman in uniform and told her where to escort the guest. They headed down a hallway with an arrow pointing to the Homicide Division.
As they neared the entrance, Angie was startled by the sight of Buck, handcuffed, being escorted by a uniform out of a door not ten feet ahead.
They moved directly toward Angie, but Buck was looking down and hadn’t see her.
Angie’s knees almost buckled, which caught the woman officer’s attention. She grabbed her arm. “Are you alright, ma’am?”
“Just a little dizzy. Give me a second.” She put her hand on the wall to steady herself.
When he heard Angie’s voice, Buck’s head shot up. He straightened and became alert.
As they intersected in the hall, their eyes met for a instant. Then he looked the other way.
Angie glanced away, too, playing it safe, but the officer with her seemed to have missed the brief eye contact. Buck had been treated by a doctor. His face was cleaned up and she could see fresh stitches in several places.
She looked up at the officer. “I’m alright now.”
They moved on down the hall and Angie was seated in front of a desk. A few minutes later, Edgars came in, sat down in the desk chair, with Horse just behind him.
“Thanks for coming in, Mrs. Wesner,” Edgars began. “Can I get you anything—coffee? A soda?”
“Maybe some coffee. Thanks,” Angie said.
As Edgars poured the coffee, Horse drew up a second chair, so that Angie was facing both detectives behind the desk.
The coffee tasted three days old but Angie sipped at it anyway.
Edgars said, “It’s been a tough morning, I know.”
Angie didn’t respond, figuring if she didn’t give them anything to work with, this would be over sooner.
“We just have a few additional questions that might help us figure out what happened to your husband.”
“It’s looking less and less like suicide,” Horse said. “At this point we’ve started operating on the premise that your husband was killed.”
Angie sighed and put her hands over her face. Finally, she raised her head. “How can I help?”
“Do you know anyone who might want to hurt your husband?” Edgars asked.
Angie could write a long list of Gordon’s enemies, probably half the people he knew, but she just said, “He had enemies, like most powerful men do.”
“Anybody with a special grudge, or a long history of acrimony with him?” Horse asked.
“His secretary might have some names for you. He mentioned people from time to time that he did business with, giving him trouble,” Angie said.
“Any relatives?” Edgars again.
“He didn’t have any family that I know of. Or, if he did, they were so distant, he hadn’t talked to them in years.”
“Do you know what your husband kept in his safe?” Horse was asking.
“His office safe? I don’t,” Angie answered. “His secretary might.”
“That surprises me,” Horse said.
“What do you mean?” Angie said.
Horse continued. “I would think your husband would have told you about important documents, perhaps, that were secure in his office safe. His will? Insurance policies?”
“That was all Gordon’s affairs.” Angie had no interest in or head for net worth numbers and all the rest of it. Once she got with Gordon she was looking at more money than she’d ever seen in her life. The notion of tracking it never occurred to her. There was always plenty. This past year he’d seemed secretive about some things, but she assumed that was their growing apart.
“Do you have a safe at home?” Edgars asked.
“Yes, a small one for my jewelry. Some cash. Stuff like that,” Angie said.
“But you have no knowledge of his business or legal affairs?” Horse asked.
“Honestly,” Angie said, “even when he told me things I’d forget, I’m ashamed to admit. If I needed anything, I would go through Indigo, his lawyer.”
“Do you know how much he’s worth?” This was Edgars.
“Not really. A long time ago, he showed me a portfolio, I remember, but I have no idea now.”
Horse jumped in. “Was there a prenuptial agreement?”
“Sure,” Angie answered. “Since he had no children or family left, he wasn’t worried about it, but I insisted on it.” It had seemed like a smart move on her part at the time. Given the difference in their ages, she did not want to be seen as a gold digger, especially in Oklahoma, where half the population went to church more than once a week.
It was not until much later that Angie realized she had been hoisted by her own petard. Once she wanted to leave Gordon, it was clear she had boxed herself in so she would not receive a penny. Now it seemed unbelievable she had been so naive.
The detectives stared at Angie, waiting for more. “The prenup basically says if I leave him or am unfaithful in the marriage, that’s it. Zero.”
“Did you have the same restrictions on him?” Edgars asked.
Angie fixed a stare on him. “No, he was the one with the money.”
“How much insurance did he carry?” Horse asked.
Angie was shifting in her chair now. “Life insurance?”
“Yes.”
“He had several policies. They might all add up to several hundred thousand, more or less. We hadn’t gone over any of this in a while. I’m just guesstimating.” She did not, of course, add that she had not needed to know any of the numbers because Gordon was wealthy enough that whatever it came to would be enough to make her comfortable for the rest of her life.
Then Edgars zinged her. “Do you know Buck Dearmore?”
She frowned. “You asked me that earlier.”
The detectives said nothing, waited for her to continue.
“What does he have to do with Gordon?”
“Probably nothing,” Edgars said. “But his office was broken into, too.”
Angie didn’t know how to respond to that. She decided to segue from the subject of Buck. “I don’t think Gordon liked him that much.”
“How come?” Edgars asked.
“I don’t really know. I think he may have been a little jealous.” Angie winced at choosing the word jealous.
The detectives seemed quite interested and waited for her to go on.
“I just mean Buck Dearmore had plenty of fans and a lot of people wanted to work with him on loans and such. I think Gordon may have resented it, that’s all.”
“Did Mr. Wesner ever mention Mr. Dearmore specifically as being someone he didn’t trust?” Horse asked.
“No,” Angie said.
“So you can think of no one who had any vendettas against your husband?” Edgars asked.
“No. Some of the other bank officers might know someone.”
“We’re checking that out as well.” Horse said.
Angie knew to keep her mouth shut, but could not resist one question. “Do you think it was Mr. Dearmore that hit that rodeo star last night?”
Edgars studied her for a moment. “His car seems to have been involved. We’re still investigating.”
“Alright, Mrs. Wesner,” Horse stood up. “I think that’s all for now. We appreciate your
coming in.”
“Of course,” Angie said, quickly rising and grabbing her purse. “Whatever you need.”
Once she was out in the hall, Angie quickly dug her cell out of her purse and pushed Indigo’s cell on the speed dial. As it rang, she hurried down the hall, moving away from the Homicide offices.
Indigo picked up after several rings. “Hello.”
“Indigo, it’s Angie Wesner.”
“Oh, how are you holding up, Angie?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“What can I do for you?”
“I just saw Buck Dearmore in the hall down here at the Police Station. Do you know what they’re holding him for?”
“No, but he did call the office. I just happened to be here gathering some of Gordon’s documents for the police and talked briefly with him. I’ve got somebody headed down there now to take care of him. One of my partners in criminal law.”
“Good, he is a part of the bank family and I just wanted to make sure he had legal representation.” Angie kept her tone casual. “I’m sure Gordon would have sent someone down.” Then, after a beat. “Why do they want to talk with you?”
“Just questions about Mr. Wesner’s business and legal affairs, I assume.”
Angie gave her time to elaborate, but there was only silence, so she jumped in. “Well, good. I’m afraid I’m pretty ignorant about Gordon’s dealings. Can you look in on Mr. Dearmore? Make sure he’s alright?”
“Sure, I’ll be glad to. Got to go now,” Indigo said.
“Thanks a lot,” Angie said and clicked off. Her nervous energy slumped like someone had just pulled a plug on her. After no sleep and all the aftershocks, it became an effort to walk to her car.
She got in and cranked up the air conditioner. She figured she needed the cold air to stay awake until she got home.
Chapter 70
Running on empty, Tony pulled the Kawasaki into the next filling station along Highway 152, a mom-and-pop place with a convenience store. He filled up with gas and went inside.
A few unmatched Formica tables had locals sitting around, smoking and drinking coffee. A bakery counter offered sugar-infused fruit pastries, and deep fried egg rolls and buffalo wings steamed in a hot deli section. The greasy smells made Tony think of the quick stop his parents ran and lived above, where everyone in the family was on call from seven in the morning until eleven at night.
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