by BJ Bourg
He took the card and stared down at it, as though struggling internally with something.
“What is it?” I asked. “Is there something you need to tell me?”
He lifted both hands in the air. “You have to believe me…I had nothing to do with his murder.”
“What is it, Foster? Spit it out!”
“A while back—it must’ve been six months ago—Mrs. Connie went to the bar looking for Mitch, but he wasn’t there. He was with Brandy.” Foster paused and licked his cracked lips. “Well, Mrs. Connie started bitching about Mitch and she said she knew he was with that whore Brandy—that’s what she called her.”
“Go on,” I said when he stopped talking again. “Finish telling it.”
“While she was bitching, she got real close to me and started saying things to me…” Foster sighed heavily and wiped his face.
“What kind of things?”
“Complimenting me and telling me that I was a real man and not a little punk like Mitch.” Foster was a shade whiter than earlier. “She…she asked me if I would kill Mitch for her. She said she would pay me to do it.”
CHAPTER 23
“I’m going to be late tonight,” I told Susan when she answered the phone. “I just got a break in the case.”
“What’s going on?”
When I told her, she cursed out loud and asked where I was heading.
“I’ll be at the police department in a few minutes to put Foster’s recorded statement in evidence and to type up a search warrant. If the judge signs it, I’m going straight to Connie Taylor’s house and executing the warrant.”
“I’ll meet you at the office!”
“But you’re nursing a broken—”
Click!
“Susan?” The line was dead. I shook my head and tossed my phone in the center console. I didn’t think it was a good idea for Susan to be hobbling around a crime scene on crutches, but I knew there was no talking her out of it. I just hoped things didn’t get physical, because Susan couldn’t afford to re-break that bone in her leg.
Our police department building was on Washington Avenue in the downtown district. While it was a one-story building, the one story was twelve feet off the ground to protect the building from floods, and it allowed for parking underneath. I took up one of the empty parking spots, gathered my things, and hurried up the steps. When I pushed through the doors and into the lobby, Beth Gandy buzzed me in. Susan had hired Beth to help out during the weekends and she had caught on quick. In light of what had happened to her two months ago, the poor woman needed something to keep her occupied on the weekends.
I walked into the dispatcher’s station to see how she was doing, and then hurried to my office to type up a search warrant.
I was just putting the finishing touches on the affidavit when Susan shuffled into my office. She tossed the crutches aside and plopped into a chair. “I can’t wait until this thing heals up and I can throw away these wooden sticks,” she said, resting her leg on the chair next to her. “They’re smashing the sides of my boobs and making calluses on my armpits—you’re not supposed to have calluses on your armpits!”
I nodded absently and finished detailing my probable cause. I printed the document and then handed it to Susan to proofread. When she gave it the thumbs up, I ran my finger down the list of duty judges and found the one who was catching duty today. I called to let him know I’d sent the affidavit and warrant electronically.
“I’ll call you back,” he said.
I dropped the handset to the cradle and leaned back in my chair, turning my attention to Susan. She was messing with the knobs on the crutches, adjusting the height while mumbling to herself. Her hair was down and she pushed it around an ear to get it out of her face. When she looked up, her face was flushed and she froze when she saw me staring at her. “What is it?”
“I never get tired of looking at you.”
When she smiled, her dimples pushed deep into her face and her eyes lit up. “You always make me feel beautiful, even when I’m stumbling around with a giant chunk of plaster around my leg.”
I suddenly remembered the information she said she’d obtained. “Hey, what’d you find out about my dad?”
The smile faded from her face. “You know, you could’ve let me enjoy that moment for a little longer.”
“Sorry, I just remembered. What do you have for me?”
“So, before knocking off of her shift this morning, Amy called to pass on some information from last night and we got to talking. I know she’s into all of that social media stuff, so I asked her how I could go about locating someone. I told her you were trying to find your dad and we couldn’t use state resources to do that. Well…” Susan began messing with her cell phone and she waved me over. “Have you ever heard of BudRelat?”
“No.”
“What about Facebook?”
I laughed and dragged my chair beside her. “Everyone’s heard of Facebook.”
“Well, BudRelat is basically the same thing. It’s a place where you can connect with your buddies and relatives.” She chewed on her lower lip while her thumbs danced across the keys. Finally, she nodded. “So, I created a page in your name—”
“Wait, what?” I was too old for social media and certainly didn’t have time for it. “I do not want a BudRelat page—or any other social media page, for that matter.”
“Just bear with me.” Susan pulled up the site and typed in the name Crystal Montana. “You’ve got to have a page to look up people, and I certainly don’t want a page.”
“Neither do I! Why’d you use my name? Why not use a fake name or Achilles’ name. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind being on there. He might even find a pretty German shepherd to—”
“Well, I used your first name, but I went with Montana for the last name,” she said, interrupting me. “They probably wouldn’t respond if I used Clint Wolf, so I went with Clint Montana. That way, at least it would get their attention and would lend some credence to the possibility that you’re related to them.”
She turned her phone so I could see what popped up and I leaned closer. “This is the only Crystal Montana I could find.”
The profile picture was of a fit woman surfing a huge wave in pristine water. She had long red hair and wore a yellow bikini that matched her surfboard. I pointed. “You think that’s my sister?”
“Does she look like the baby picture?”
I laughed. “Oh, she looks exactly like the baby picture. Hell, she hasn’t aged a bit.”
“Stop being sarcastic…I still look like my baby picture.” Susan pointed toward the bottom of the profile page. “Read her work history.”
I glanced where Susan pointed. Crystal’s school history was listed first and it showed that she had graduated from high school and college in Texas, and then she attended law school at J. Rueben Clark Law School at BYU. There was a long list of accomplishments. “This can’t be my sister,” I mumbled. “She’s too smart to be related to me.”
Susan shoved me playfully. “Don’t talk bad about my man.”
I just grunted and looked past Crystal’s school history. I sucked in a mouthful of air when I saw the first job listing; Montana and Daughter’s Surf Shop, Galveston, Texas.
“Do you really think this is it?”
“Click on the link to Montana and Daughter’s Surf Shop.”
I did what she said and whistled when I saw the names of the owners. It was Garvan Montana and Crystal Montana, father and daughter.
“Damn, Susan, you found them!”
She was beaming and I detected a glint of moisture in one of her eyes. “Are you happy?”
I smiled and wrapped her in my arms. “Thank you so much, Love!”
There was a coughing sound from the doorway and I quickly let go of Susan and looked up, more than a little embarrassed. Beth Gandy was standing there smiling sheepishly. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but the judge is on line one and I didn’t think you’d want to keep him waiting.”
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“No, you’re right.” I thanked her and quickly snatched up the phone.
“This is weak, Clint,” came the judge’s gruff voice. “I’m going to sign it because there’s enough probable cause to believe she might’ve been involved, but I want you to be careful with this one. Don’t go kicking her door down or tearing up her place or anything like that.”
“I understand,” I said.
“I’ll be emailing the signed copy in a minute.”
Before I could thank him, he hung up the phone. I dropped the handset into the cradle and turned to Susan. Her eyebrows were raised.
“Well, are we in?”
I smiled. “We’re in.”
CHAPTER 24
It was late in the afternoon and the sun was going down when Susan and I knocked on Connie Taylor’s door. She scowled when she answered and saw me standing there.
“What now? Did I forget to pay a parking ticket?”
I frowned and handed her a copy of the search warrant. “I hate to bother you like this, but I’ve got a warrant to search your house.”
“A search warrant?” she echoed, snatching the document from my hands and scanning it quickly. “For what?”
“I’m looking for a nine millimeter pistol and—”
“I already told you I didn’t have a pistol.” She shoved both fists on her hip, the warrant crumpled in her right hand. “I was very cooperative and I gave you everything you requested, and this is how you repay me? And you don’t even have the decency to tell me that’s what you were doing? See if I ever cooperate with you again, Clint Wolf!”
“Ma’am,” Susan said, cutting in, “he had no choice. I’m the chief of police here and I want him to cover all the bases. He absolutely believes you, but the only way he’ll be able to convince the district attorney you’re cleared as a suspect is by searching your house. If he would’ve told you he was coming with a warrant, the DA could argue you got rid of the evidence before he got here.”
“Whatever—do what you have to do and get out of my house.” She turned away and disappeared into the house, leaving the door open behind her. “Mom! The cops are here and they’re going to search the house.”
“What?” cried an elderly woman’s voice. “Why on earth would they do that?”
“Because I’m a criminal, that’s why,” Connie retorted.
Working her crutches as fast as she could, Susan followed Connie into the shadows and I heard Susan ask for everyone in the house to join her in the living room. “It’s standard procedure,” she explained. “We want to keep everyone together so we can ensure everyone’s safety.”
“No one is searching this house without me,” Connie challenged. “My mom will sit in the living room, but I’m following whoever is doing the search.”
Susan glanced at me and I nodded. “That’s fine,” I said. “I don’t mind Mrs. Taylor keeping an eye on me.”
Once Connie’s mom was comfortable, I read Connie her rights and then asked her to lead me around the house.
“Am I under arrest?” she asked.
“No, ma’am.”
She stared at me for a long moment, then huffed and began leading me through the house, beginning in the living room first, the kitchen next, through each of the guest bedrooms, and then the three bathrooms. When we reached the master bedroom, I saw a large fireproof safe in the walk-in closet. I tried the handle, but it was locked.
“Can you open this for me?”
She hesitated.
“I can haul it out of here and have it cut open, but I don’t want to do that,” I said. “I just need to see what’s inside.”
Grumbling some more, Connie worked the combination dial and stepped back when it clicked to indicate that it was unlocked. I twisted the handle and pulled the heavy door until I could see inside. Considering how she’d been acting, I expected to see a nine millimeter pistol in the safe, but the only gun was an old shotgun in the far corner.
“Is that the shotgun you got from your grandmother when your grandfather died?” I asked.
She nodded and reached for the door of the safe to close it. “Like I told you, it’s the only gun I have—”
I blocked the door with my foot, cutting her off. “I’m not done.”
Connie huffed and stormed toward her bed and dropped onto it. “This is Thanksgiving week and I’ve got a lot to do,” she said, “so I’d appreciate it if you would hurry and finish this witch hunt so I can get back to work.”
I nodded and scanned the interior of the safe. There were half a dozen shelves with boxes and files stacked on them, and I hated to have to go through every one of them, but I needed to be thorough.
I began with the top shelf and started rifling through the first box I touched. Inside, there were receipts, warranty documents, and a couple of birth certificates. I replaced the lid and put it back on the shelf, and then started going through the next box.
“Can you work any slower?” Connie asked from where she sat on the bed. “At this rate, you’ll be here until Christmas.”
I continued searching the boxes on the first shelf and was about to move to the second shelf when a box on the very bottom of the safe caught my eye.
CHAPTER 25
The lid was partially off the box and I could see the corners of a thick document sticking out of it, as though it had been thrown hastily back inside. When I reached for it, I thought I heard Connie groan.
I tossed the lid aside and pulled out the document. It was the life insurance portfolio she had shown me earlier. I flipped through the pages. Everything was in order. I glanced in the bottom of the box and scrunched my brow when I saw another document.
I was about to reach for the document when Connie bolted from the bed and started pacing back and forth in the room. “Okay, look, I increased his life insurance policy, but that was only so I could cover his gambling debt. It was getting out of hand and I was worried I would lose the house if anything happened to him.”
I watched her for a few seconds and then pulled the paperwork from the box. It was an amendment to double the amount of the life insurance on Mitch, and the reason cited was an increase in annual salary. “Why didn’t you mention that in the amendment?” I asked, straightening.
“That’s not a justifiable reason,” she retorted.
I nodded and read over the form. She increased the life insurance six months ago, which was around the same time Foster said she asked him to kill Mitch. I pointed to the edge of the bed. “Ma’am, can you have a seat?”
Connie wrapped herself in a hug and plopped at the corner of the bed. “I swear it’s just a coincidence.”
I crossed my arms in front of my chest and studied her for a minute. Finally, I asked if she knew why I was able to obtain a search warrant for her house.
“Um…no, not really.”
“Would it surprise you to know that I’ve been interviewing people close to you and someone claims you asked them to kill Mitch?”
“That’s a lie! I never asked him to kill anyone!”
I saw her face drop when she realized she’d said “him”.
“Look, we both know you asked Foster Blake to kill your husband six months ago, which is around the same time you increased the amount of coverage on his life.” I paused and let that sink in. “When he turned you down, did you ask anyone else?”
A tear leaked from Connie’s right eye. She shook her head, trying to keep her trembling chin under control. “No, and I only asked in a moment of weakness. I didn’t really mean for him to kill Mitch, and Foster knew it. He knew I was fraught with grief and I didn’t mean for any harm to come to Mitch.”
“I don’t know. He seemed convinced that you wanted Mitch dead. In fact, he said you offered to pay him to kill Mitch.”
“That’s a lie!”
“Why would he lie about that?” I cocked my head. “Do you really believe someone would lie about being offered money to kill another person? What would be his motive for doing that?”
“If I run your name through the FBI database, will I find out that you own a nine millimeter pistol?”
She shook her head, but didn’t say anything. Her arms were folded across her chest and she was staring down at the ground.
“What about Mitch? Has he ever purchased a nine millimeter pistol? I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time a man was killed with his own pistol.” When she didn’t say anything, I repeated the question. “How about it? Did Mitch own a nine millimeter pistol?”
“No…not that I know about.”
“Let’s change gears for a second.” I pulled out my cell phone and pulled up the photo I’d taken of Chris Jenkins, the guy Mitch had testified against. I showed Connie the picture. “Do you recognize this guy?”
She squinted to see better, and then nodded. “That looks like Chris Jenkins.”
“Have you ever met him?”
“I’ve never met him, but I’ve seen him in court when Mitch had to testify at his trial.”
“Do you remember him threatening to kill Mitch for testifying against him?”
“Yes, I do remember that happening.”
“When’s the last time you spoke with Chris?”
“I’ve never spoken to the man.”
“Are you saying you never offered him money to kill your husband?”
“I’m saying I’ve never spoken to the man—ever.”
“So, if he says you paid him to kill your husband, would that be a lie?”
“Absolutely.”
“It might interest you to know we found a nine millimeter pistol in his possession and that pistol will soon be in the possession of the crime lab. If that pistol is proven to be the murder weapon, and if it’s shown that you gave Chris money to kill your husband, well…” I shook my head slowly. “That won’t bode well for you.”