A knife was easier to get. She could think of a dozen stores off the top of her head that sold knives of some kind. It wouldn't be difficult to get one for the job. The problem with knives was they were messy. There would be blood everywhere including on her. She would have to take a change of clothes and find somewhere to clean up and dispose of the soiled clothing. And with a knife, she would have to get close enough to stab him. If he ran or fought back, he could get away. If that happened she might not get another chance.
A gun was the better choice. She didn't know much about them. She figured she could point and shoot. A fast direct attack without warning. Allan would have no defense and would go down easily. Getting her hands on a gun that couldn't be traced back to her was the hard part. She wasn't sure where to begin. Her confidence being high, she was sure she could find a way.
She smiled at her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall opposite where she sat. She was incredible. She was in control of everything, everyone around her. If she chose she could have anything she wanted. She would have everything she wanted. Soon she would hammer the final nail in Allan’s coffin, almost literally, and assure her future. After that she would pursue Detective David Parker. In the end all things in her life would be good.
She checked her watch. It was getting late. Beginning in the morning, her entire being would be focused on a single goal. Right now there was only one thing she wanted. There was only one thing she needed; a man. She needed some good old-fashioned rough sex. And she was going to burst if she didn’t get it.
Chapter 74
(The Wolves’ Den)
Dave and Henry followed the dry creek bed for what seemed like miles. Dave was in good health, with the exception of the injuries he sustained hitting the tree. In spite of that he was struggling to keep up with Henry, who was also injured in the accident. The man was trudging along like he could go all day. Dave was impressed. He was also wary of the old rancher and never took his eyes off him. Limping gave him an excuse to stay a little behind the other.
While they walked, Henry spouted facts about wolves. The rancher explained in depth what he was looking for while he searched for tracks. He talked about the habitat and natural migration of the animals and how the shift of the human population to the rural areas had pushed the wolves farther and farther from where they used to dwell. They talked in cordial tones, even friendly. The conversation took its toll. They eventually became winded and fell silent.
“Tell me, Detective,” Henry broke the silence, “why did you come out here today?”
“You said the wolf needed to be killed,” Dave said, his breath labored.
“That’s why we’re out here now,” Henry said. “I was wondering why you came out to the ranch in the first place.”
“I came out to talk to you,” Dave said.
“I figured you weren’t out here to see the sights,” Henry said. “What did you want to talk about?”
“It can wait until we get back,” Dave said.
“What else are we going to do out here?” Henry said. “We have some time yet. Two birds, one stone and all.”
“I don’t think this is the time,” Dave said. “I promise, when we get back we’ll go over everything. I won’t leave anything out.”
“Just seems a shame to waste this perfect opportunity,” Henry said. “No one to overhear. No one to interrupt. Just you, me and nature.”
“I just don’t think . . .”
“Detective,” Henry said. “If you’re worried about your safety. I guarantee you I won’t take offense to anything you ask or say. It’s not like I would shoot you.”
Dave hesitated for a moment. Philip should be arriving at the ranch any moment if he wasn’t already there. Henry was aware others knew Dave was with him. It would be suicide to shoot him.
“Fine,” Dave said. “I have some questions about your whereabouts on a few nights in the past few weeks.”
“My whereabouts?” Henry said. “Why do you need to know my whereabouts?”
“I can’t really say,” Dave said. “I will need to know where you were and the names of any witnesses who can collaborate your story.”
“Collaborate my story?” Henry said. “Witnesses? Am I a suspect of something? If I am, I’m going to need my lawyer.”
“I told you this wasn’t the time,” Dave said. “I’m trying to save you the trouble of being hauled down to the station. I just need a few facts. Do you really want to lawyer up?”
“I learned a long time ago,” Henry said. “Don’t trust people and never trust the system.”
“Let’s get this over with,” Dave said, frustrated. “How much farther?”
“About another mile or two,” Henry said. He half turned. “In about a mile, we’ll need to . . .”
Dave stopped in his tracks. Henry was looking straight at him. The old man had a cold look to him, the look of a man not considering the consequences of what he was about to do. The rifle swung in Dave’s direction. Dave’s hand was resting on the handle of his service revolver. There was no chance he would get it drawn in time. He did not expect things to change so fast.
“Get down,” Henry whispered sharply.
“Henry,” Dave said, keeping his voice calm. “Think about what you’re doing.”
“Get down,” Henry’s voice remained a harsh whisper.
“I’m not getting down, Henry,” Dave said. “You need to remain calm.”
“Detective,” Henry said. “Get down or I may have to shoot you.”
Dave stared at the barrel of the rifle letting his eyes follow the line of the weapon up the farmer’s arm and ultimately to the eyes of the man with the most determined look he had ever seen. Dave pulled his hand away from his weapon and held his arms away from his body to display a non-aggressive posture. He slowly lowered to one knee, the pain in his side almost unbearable.
“Henry, think about . . .”
“Get lower,” Henry said, the barrel of the rifle raising slightly.
“I’m not getting lower,” Dave refused.
“Get lower,” Henry said rushing toward him.
Instinctively, Dave fell flat on his stomach with his hands behind his head as if to ward off the bullet. Thoughts of all the things that mattered in his life raced through his mind. To his surprise, Sarah Tuttle’s face was among those thoughts.
“Curious,” he muttered as he heard the shot.
Pain shot through his side and he felt tears forming in the corners of his eyes. He wondered why the rancher, at such close range, would shoot him in the side instead of the head. He wondered if he would be left there to bleed to death. Most of all, he wondered, why Sarah was so important to him.
“Got ‘im,” Henry said.
“What?” Dave muttered.
“I got him,” the rancher said. “You can get up, now.”
“But,” Dave’s hand reached down and started searching his side for a hole. “I thought you shot me.”
“Shot you?” Henry said, incredulously. “Why would I do that?”
Dave sighed. No holes. No blood. He must have broken a rib or something in the accident. Falling to the ground aggravated the injury. He winced as he pulled up to a sitting position and looked around. A few yards away he could make out the form of a crumpled body, looking very much like a dog he once owned.
“You sure it’s the same one?” he asked.
“Oh, yeah,” Henry smiled. “No mistaking those markings.”
“Good,” Dave said. “Help me up so we can get out of here.”
Henry took his hand and pulled, helping the detective to his feet. Dave staggered a moment until his equilibrium returned.
“So that’s that, huh?” Dave said, walking side by side with the older man.
“Yep,” Henry said. “Now, what’s this about me shooting you?”
Chapter 75
(Time to Think)
Philip arrived at the ranch and raced inside to find Dave sitting in Henry Cutter’s living room with no shirt. Mrs.
Cutter was standing next to him wrapping his chest with bandages made from long strips of cloth she cut from an old sheet. Henry was sitting nearby with his leg up, already wrapped in the same manner. The two men looked up as Philip entered the room. Disheveled and badly battered, both looked as if they had lost a fight. If Philip had not spoken to Dave a few minutes before arriving, he would have thought the worst. Henry grunted his disapproval from time to time of waiting for an ambulance he did not think he needed. Both Dave and Mrs. Cutter insisted he go to the hospital.
Philip took the time to question Henry about his whereabouts on the days Allan Tuttle and Birdie Login were murdered, in spite of Dave’s insistence it was no longer necessary. Henry was ready with his answers, anticipating the questions Philip had for him. Frustrated, Philip closed his notebook and stared at his injured partner. The two of them did not speak to each other until they left the ranch house.
“What was that all about?” Philip asked, leaning against Dave’s car.
“What?” Dave asked.
“What?” Philip said. “What do you mean, what? You went out into the woods alone with an armed suspect.”
“Henry’s not a suspect,” Dave said.
“He’s not?”
“No.”
“Since when, Dave?” Philip asked. “It was your idea to look at him in the first place. What makes you so sure he isn’t our man?”
“Our man,” Dave said, “is sitting in jail right now. It’s obvious he conned Henry into believing his story. I know we already have the right man. All we need is enough proof to keep him behind bars.”
“What about Login?”
“What about her?”
“Bolder was already in jail at the time Login was killed,” Philip said. “If Bolder is our man, how did he get to her?”
“Someone else is working with him,” Dave said.
“Exactly,” Philip agreed. “And that’s where Mr. Cutter comes in.”
“It isn’t him,” Dave said.
“How do you know?”
“He and I were out there a long time, Philip,” Dave said. “Things happened. Opportunities came and went. I know because I know. If there is an accomplice, and I believe there is, it isn’t Henry Cutter. I don’t know who it is, I just know it isn’t him.”
“Fine,” Philip said. “I’ll back off Cutter for now. But I’m not closing the book on him. If another suspect doesn’t show up soon, I’m coming back to question the man some more.”
“Fair enough,” Dave said, only half listening to his partner.
“I’m going back to the office,” Philip said. “What about you? You going to be okay? You really should get to a doctor.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Dave said. “I might do that. I have a couple things to do first.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Philip asked again. “You don’t seem yourself.”
“I’m fine,” Dave said. He straightened his body to its full height to prove his point. Pain caused him to return to his stooped stance.
“Yeah, you look fine,” Philip observed. “Why don’t you come to the station and I’ll take you on your errands.”
“No,” Dave said, too fast. “Listen. I don’t have much to do. I’ll finish up and head down to the doctor. You take care of whatever you need to do and I’ll meet up with you later.”
“You see,” Philip said. “This is what I’m talking about.”
“What?”
“How long have we been partners?” Philip asked.
“Too damn long,” Dave grinned.
“Right,” Philip said. “And we almost always work as a team. Earlier we weren’t together and you nearly got killed. Now you’re telling me you want to split up again?”
“We’re not splitting up.”
“What do you call it if we’re not going to the same place?”
“Philip,” Dave said. “The things I need to do are personal, not work. I want to be alone when I do them. After that, I need to have a doctor check me out and give me some painkillers. I’ll catch up with you when I’m done and we can get back to work, as a team.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
“Okay,” Philip said. “If you’re lying to me I’ll have to beat the crap out of you.”
“You wish,” Dave said. “Even banged up like I am, I could take you. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back to the office.”
The detectives got into their cars and turned down the long drive back to the highway. Dave followed Philip all the way into town. Reaching the north end of the city, Philip continued toward the station while Dave turned off and drove east. The Silver Spoon was close by and he was starving. A good meal would give him the time to think things through. If there was anything he really needed to do right now, it was sort through the mess in his mind.
At the restaurant, he struggled to maneuver his body out of the car. Every time he shifted his frame, pain shot through his chest. He knew he should have gone to the doctor like he told Phillip. He just wasn’t interested in sitting in a waiting room. With a final heave he managed to stand.
Stooped over like a man twice his age, he made his way to the front door. As he reached for the handle, the door swung away from him and an elder couple started out. Seeing Dave, bent over as he was, they stepped back to allow him to enter. He mumbled an insincere thank you as he passed. He waited in the entry hall for a few minutes straightening his body despite the pain. Standing tall enough to prevent his former in-laws from asking questions he approached the hostess’ desk.
The young woman on duty was not someone Dave knew so he asked for a table in the back of the dining room. He followed her as she weaved in and out of the tables, walking with his head down, watching the girl’s feet for direction. She turned sharply to the left and he raised his head to see where she went. He found himself face to face with Sarah Tuttle.
Chapter 76
(The Visitor)
“Honestly, Counselor,” Judge Joyce Werner looked down over her glasses at Ben. “Is this all you have?”
“Your Honor,” Ben said, “I know it’s slim, but . . .”
“This isn’t slim,” Joyce interrupted. “It’s almost invisible. You have a girl who knows the defendant as Tuttle but calls him Turtle and doesn't know his first name. The only history between them is a number of encounters at the library. There is nothing to suggest your client hasn’t been lying to this young woman for as long as he’s known her.”
“But,” he continued, “It does warrant further research.”
“How does it warrant further research?” Joyce asked.
“Judge,” Ben placed his hand on Allan's shoulder. “We’re talking about my client’s ability to defend himself in a court of law. He deserves every possible consideration to prove his claim that he is who he says he is.”
“Your client will receive every possible consideration, counselor,” Joyce said. “Defendant will be held over for trial. A date will be set in four weeks.”
“Your Honor,” Ben said. “That doesn’t give us enough time.”
“If your client cannot prove he is Allan Tuttle in four weeks,” Joyce said. “He probably isn’t Allan Tuttle. Mr. Trout, do you have any problems with the decision I’ve made?”
“No, Your Honor,” District Attorney James Trout stood. “We are fine with this.”
“There is the question of bail, Your Honor,” Ben said, changing gears quickly.
“We see the defendant as a flight risk and ask he be held without bail,” James snapped.
“Your Honor,” Ben protested, “My client is determined to prove his innocence. I assure you he has no intention of hiding from this.”
“Bail will be one hundred thousand dollars,” Joyce said, slamming her gavel down. “I will see you in four weeks gentlemen.”
A steady murmur rose in the court quickly silenced by the judge’s gavel and the calling of the next case. Ben walked with Allan as the guards led him back toward the cells. The two of th
em had talked before entering the courtroom and little of what happened during the proceedings came as a surprise. Ben’s predictions of the judge’s responses had almost been dead on, with one exception. The bail was set at more than double what Ben thought it would be.
“Don’t worry,” Ben assured him. “We’ll have you out before you know it and we can get to work on this identity problem.”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” Allan whined. “I’ll never get out of here.”
“Before you know it,” Ben repeated. He stopped at the door leading to the cells. He watched them take Allan through and waited until his client was out of sight before turning away.
Ben wasn’t sure what to do. Henry had given him the authority to pull funds and bail his client out. They had discussed numbers not exceeding twenty-five thousand dollars. Ben never imagined the bail would be set as high as what the judge said. One hundred thousand would take the bulk of the Cutter’s savings and if his client ran, they would lose it all. A bondsman would only require ten thousand, but again, if Allan ran, it would be Henry left to pay. He had an obligation to do what he could for his client, but Henry Cutter was his client as well. A much more lucrative and long-term client. It was his duty to protect his client. Clear of the courthouse Ben took out his cell phone and dialed Henry’s number.
“Hello,” Mrs. Cutter answered the phone.
“Hello,” Ben said cordially. “This is Ben Hunter. Could I speak with Henry, please?”
“He isn’t here right now,” Mrs. Cutter said.
“Could you have him call me when he returns?” Ben asked. “It’s rather important.”
“Well, I could,” Mrs. Cutter said. “But if it’s important, it would be faster for you to go see him. He’s in the hospital.”
“Hospital?” Ben said. “What is he doing in the hospital? Is he okay?”
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Mrs. Cutter said. “You know how tough he is. It’ll take more than hitting a tree to stop him. But, I guess hitting the tree did stop him, didn’t it?”
“Tree?” Ben asked. “What tree? When did this happen? Where is he?”
The Widow's Husband Page 36