by BJ Bourg
“Yes, ma’am,” Chris said softly. “I needed a gun for protection and everyone around here knows he keeps a gun in his car.”
Mallory leaned back and nodded to let me know she was done.
“Chris, I guess you’re smart enough to know your parole officer is going to bring that pistol to me,” I began, “and I’m going to send it to the crime lab. Will it match the shell casing we recovered from the crime scene and the bullet we recovered from the dead man’s body?”
Chris lifted his head and threw his hands in the air. “How am I supposed to know that?”
“If you killed Mitch Taylor, then you know they’re going to match.”
“What if that principal killed this Mitch person you keep talking about? What about that?” He shook his head and dropped his hands at his sides. “That would be my dumb luck—steal a gun that was used in a murder.”
“So, you think this gun will match my shell casing?” I pressed.
“I don’t know. All I know is I didn’t kill nobody.”
“Who can verify you were at Old Man Pat’s Friday night?”
“There was this dancer I talked to, but I don’t remember her name.”
“What does she look like?”
“I don’t remember.”
“What time did you leave?”
“When they closed.”
“Do you have a car?”
“No.”
“Then how do you get around?”
“There’s this bike I use. It’s for my neighbor, but she lets me use it whenever I want.”
I nodded and studied the man in front of me. He was as good a suspect as Connie, maybe better. I didn’t have a shred of evidence to hold him on the murder, but his parole violation and the new charge of a felon being in possession of a firearm would keep him locked up until his revocation hearing.
I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of him.
“Why’d you do that?” he asked, his lips curling up in anger.
“It might help save you from a murder charge.”
“How’s that?”
“If one of those dancers at Old Man Pat’s remembers you and verifies you were in their place at the time of my murder, then you’re all clear.”
“I’m already all clear,” he said, “because I know I didn’t do it.”
CHAPTER 17
“He said the same thing about the carjacking,” Mallory told me when we had concluded the interview and gone to her office. “He swore all the way to trial that he didn’t do it, even though we had an eye witness and his DNA in the stolen vehicle. He tried to say we planted his blood and skin cells on the airbag that smashed his face in.”
While we were talking, the door to her office opened and Doug Cagle walked in. Doug was a detective for the Chateau Parish Sheriff’s Office. Although we’d had our differences in the past, we got along okay. He shook my hand and placed an evidence bag on Mallory’s desk. “Here’s the pistol,” he said to Mallory. “It was exactly where you said it would be.”
Mallory nodded. “Fill out a chain of custody form and sign it over to Clint.”
Doug nodded and walked out to retrieve the form. Once he’d filled it out and the black nine millimeter pistol was in my possession, I thanked them both and stepped out into the daylight. The sky was clear and it had warmed up a little, but it was still in the low forties and too cold for my blood. Tucking the evidence bag under my arm, I zipped my jacket high and walked to my Tahoe. It was warmer inside—thanks to the sun beating down on it—and I fired up the engine and headed south for Mechant Loup. It was too early to pay a visit to Old Man Pat’s, so I decided to see if Connie Taylor was home.
I called Susan as I drove and she seemed excited to hear from me.
“Hey, I think I’ve got some good news.”
“What is it?” I asked, hoping she was going to tell me she had changed her mind about having a cruise wedding. I’d never been on a cruise, and being around a boatload of drunken people didn’t seem like my idea of paradise. I certainly didn’t need the temptation, as I was determined to never have another drink as long as I lived.
“I might’ve found something—a lead.”
“On this case?” My interest was piqued. “I’d welcome anything you have.”
“No, it’s about your family. I think I may have located your sister, Crystal.”
“Really? Where is she? How’d you find her?”
“I was looking up—”
Susan stopped abruptly and I heard someone speaking to her in the background. I recognized my mom’s voice. Susan must’ve cupped her hand over the phone, because her voice was muffled when she responded to my mom. A few seconds later, she came back on the phone and said she had to go. “We can finish discussing this later. It’s no big deal.”
But it was a big deal, and we both knew it. My mom was keeping a secret and I was going to find out what it was…one way or the other. I thanked Susan and ended the call just as I was turning onto Coconut Lane. I pulled right into Connie Taylor’s driveway this time. The same truck was parked in the same spot and everything else looked unchanged.
I dropped from my Tahoe and sauntered across the yard, stopping beside the front door to knock. My fist was poised over the frame to knock when the knob turned and the door opened to the inside. A woman, who was looking down as she walked, stepped outside and ran directly into me. She let out a shrill scream and lunged violently backward. I had to lean forward and catch her so she wouldn’t fall.
“I’m Clint Wolf,” I said quickly, “with the police department.”
Connie threw a hand over her mouth and suddenly began laughing. “You nearly gave me a heart attack.”
“I apologize.” I watched as she straightened herself and took a few calming breaths. I then asked if she was Connie Taylor, wife of Mitch Taylor.
She nodded somberly. “I heard what happened. Unfortunately, I had to hear it from his lover.”
“I’m sorry about that, ma’am. We received a welfare concern from a woman stating she was his girlfriend, so when we found him…” I frowned.
“I understand.” She stepped forward and indicated with her head toward the white rockers on either side of the doorway. “Would you like to sit? I imagine you have some questions. I would invite you inside, but my parents are here and my mother would only talk your ear off.”
It was a nice day, so I didn’t mind being outside, but I wondered if there was something—or someone—inside that she didn’t want me to see.
After giving her some of the basics concerning the circumstances surrounding her estranged husband’s death, I asked if she knew of anyone who would want to harm Mitch.
“Well, I’ve wished him dead on more than one occasion,” she said bluntly, “but, other than me, I don’t know of anyone else who would want to kill him.”
CHAPTER 18
I knew immediately that I liked Connie Taylor. This could go one of two ways; she was innocent and simply speaking candidly, or she was guilty and trying to hide in plain sight. Either way, she was cool and had a good sense of humor.
“I hear things weren’t going well between you and Mitch.”
“Things were going great until he met that little slut, Brandy Lewis. Mitch thought she loved him, or some such nonsense, but women like her don’t love anyone but themselves.” Connie crossed one slender leg over the other and rocked slowly in her chair. She wore a blue jean skirt and a red sweater that made her dark hair seem even darker. Her eyes were the color of coal and I wondered if it matched her heart.
“Brandy wanted Mitch for the bar,” Connie said. “She saw the bar, this nice home, and the Porsche that Mitch drove, and she thought he was rich. What she didn’t know was that Mitch was noted out. One wrong move, one bad summer, and it would’ve been all over for him.”
“Him?” I asked. “What about you?”
“I had nothing to do with the bar. When we met, I was receiving royalties from an oil well on a piece of property I inhe
rited from my grandmother, and he had the bar, so we were both doing well. We ended up falling for each other and he eventually proposed to me. I accepted, but I was scared. I saw how he played loose with his money, so I didn’t want him touching mine.”
“What’d you do?” I asked when she didn’t elaborate.
“I made him think it was in his best interest to sign a prenuptial agreement—to protect his bar, you know? It worked and we agreed to keep our assets separate.” Connie paused and grunted. “That was the best decision I ever made. He squandered most of his earnings from the bar and had to keep coming to me to bail him out.”
“And did you?”
She raised her eyebrows. “Bail him out?”
I nodded.
“Every time.” She sighed. “I don’t like admitting it, but I loved him more than I loved myself. He was walking all over me and I knew it, but I thought he would eventually come around. My mom used to tell me if I loved something I should let it go, and it would come back to me.” She let out an evil laugh. “Boy, was that the worst advice ever. I let him go, just like she said, and he ran right into the arms of that little bitch.”
“Brandy said he would go back to you from time to time.”
Connie stared across the street, where some boys were playing in an empty field. After a long time, she spoke softly. “He would only come back home when Brandy would break up with him. That first time he came back, I thought God had finally answered my prayers and I thought she was out of our lives for good.” She shook her head. “But then he went right back to her. Each time he would come back around I hoped and prayed it would be the last time, but it seemed he couldn’t get her out of his system.”
Connie lowered her head and tears came to her eyes. “I didn’t know what it was about that girl—why he couldn’t walk away from her. Sure, he had cheated on me before, but he had never left me for anyone else. This Brandy bitch had some kind of spell over him and, for the life of me, I just couldn’t seem to break it.”
“Well, it seems he had the same spell on you.”
She mulled that over, then nodded her agreement. “I guess you’re right. I don’t know what it was about that big lug, but I loved him.”
I asked Connie if it was true that she had a new boyfriend, and she said it was.
“He’s such a sweetheart, too,” she said. “On our first date, we ran into Mitch and Brandy. Later that night, after he dropped me off at my house, Mitch calls crying, begging me to take him back. He said he realized what a mistake he’d made and he didn’t want to lose me. I told him I would think about it and call him back, but he appeared at my door an hour later.”
“How’d your new boyfriend take it?”
Connie shook her head hurriedly. “He wasn’t my boyfriend. We had only been on one date and there wasn’t a promise of a second.”
“Well, what’d you tell him?”
“I told him we were trying to make another go at our marriage—that Mitch said he didn’t want to lose me.” She smiled. “He’s such a class act. He told me he understood and he would be waiting if I became available again.”
Connie went on to explain that a month after Mitch left her the last time, she had finally made up her mind to end it for good and she went on that second date. “Word got around and Mitch called me crying again, but I told him to leave me alone. I told him if he called me again I would record it and send it to Brandy.”
I leaned back in my rocker and studied the woman across from me. If what she was saying was true, she didn’t want Mitch anymore. If she didn’t want him, there was no reason to kill him. Unless…
CHAPTER 19
“So,” I began, leaning closer to Connie. “Now that Mitch is dead, who gets the bar?”
“I’m his wife. Naturally, I get the bar.” She wiped her nose on a tissue she’d pulled from a pocket that was sewn into her skirt. “I deserve it, too, because I dumped so much money into saving it.”
“Would it have pissed you off to see it go to Brandy?”
She raised her eyes slowly to stare at me. “Are you insinuating that I killed him?”
“No, ma’am. I’m asking if it would piss you off to see the bar go to Brandy?”
“How would it go to Brandy?”
“If you and Mitch would’ve gotten divorced and he would’ve married Brandy, then there was a chance she could end up with it.” I paused to let that information settle. “Having dumped so much money into the place, would that have pissed you off?”
“I…I mean, I never really thought about it that way.”
“Why don’t you do me a favor and look at it from my point of view,” I suggested. “Knowing everything you know, who would be on your short list of suspects? If you were me, who would you focus on most?”
Connie stammered. Finally, she said, “I’m not some detective. I don’t know how those things work.”
“You’re right, that’s not a fair question, but earlier you said you had wished him dead on more than one occasion. You also said you didn’t know of anyone else who wanted him dead, implying that you wanted him dead.” I paused and watched for a reaction. There was none. “Do you understand how that might make me think you killed him?”
“Since you’ve got me pretending to be a detective, I can say that I wouldn’t expect a guilty person to admit to wanting the victim dead. I imagine the real suspect would pretend to like the victim to throw the detective off.”
I smiled. “Or, if she was exceptionally brilliant, she would make that statement to convince the detective she was innocent.”
Connie’s blank face broke into a knowing smile. “Or that.”
“Can you now appreciate my dilemma?”
“Detective Wolf—that is your name, right?”
“It is.”
“Trust me, I didn’t kill Mitch.”
“Can you tell me where you were Friday night?”
“What time?”
“All night, beginning with nine and ending Saturday morning at five.”
“I was here.”
“All night?”
She nodded. “All night.”
“Can anyone verify that fact?”
“Yes…I can.”
“What about your boyfriend? How does he feel about Mitch?”
“He doesn’t care about Mitch. Besides,”—she waved her hand dismissively—“he’s been offshore for two weeks. He’s due back home Tuesday.”
“Can I have his name and employment information to verify his whereabouts?”
Without hesitation, Connie provided his name, the name of the company, and the telephone number. As she watched, I stepped away from her and immediately contacted the employer. Everything checked out.
Since the killer didn’t enter the bar, it would be futile to obtain her DNA or fingerprints. My only real chance of solving this case would be through a confession or finding the pistol in the killer’s possession.
When I rejoined Connie on her patio, I asked her if she owned any guns.
“I have an old shotgun my grandma gave me when my grandpa died. Each of his grandchildren got one.”
“Any handguns?”
She shook her head. “I don’t mess with handguns.”
“Did Mitch have a life insurance policy?” Along with infidelity and revenge, greed was as strong a motive as any for murder.
“He did.”
“And the beneficiary would be…?”
She smiled and leaned her head slightly to one side. “Detective, I’m his wife, so I’m obviously the beneficiary.”
“Estranged wife,” I corrected. “What if he changed the beneficiary to Brandy Lewis when y’all split up?”
“Mitch didn’t even know about the policy. He was too self-centered to even consider what would happen to everyone else in the event of his death.”
“So, you took out a life insurance policy on Mitch?”
Connie nodded. “I didn’t want to be stuck with his debt when he died, so I got a policy to cover wha
t I thought he owed.”
“And how much was that?”
“Half a million.”
“When did you take out the policy?” I asked, hoping for something, anything, to indicate she had done it.
“Two years ago.”
Damn! I nodded slowly as I studied Connie. She could be lying, so there was only one way to find out. “Do you mind showing me the policy?”
To my surprise, she said, “Sure.”
She disappeared inside her house and returned a few minutes later carrying a portfolio. “Sorry it took so long,” she said. “I had to dig it out of my safe.”
I flipped through the documents and sighed. She was telling the truth. Could it be that she had hatched a plan to kill him two years ago and just waited for this document to get old?
“You mentioned Mitch had cheated on you before. Was it before or after you took out this policy?”
“Does it matter?”
“I’m just curious.”
“It was before I took out the policy.” She tossed her hair back. “He was messing around with a married woman at the time, so I figured his life expectancy was a bit low and I didn’t want to be responsible for his bills.”
I stifled a grin and asked if I could search her house.
“What would you hope to find?”
“My hope would be that you’re telling the truth and I could corroborate your story by finding nothing. If you’re lying, well, then I’d hope to find evidence proving that, as well.”
“Evidence…such as a handgun?”
“Sure, that would be part of it.”
“I can save us both some time.” She flashed a coy smile. “I already told you I don’t own a handgun. I don’t even like them.”
She used a very specific word, “own”, and I wasn’t convinced.
“I understand you don’t own one, but do you mind if I look inside to see if a handgun is present anywhere in your house? Maybe Mitch had one hidden somewhere and you weren’t even aware of it? Since you don’t like them, I could find it and dispose of it for you.”