by V. B. Tenery
“Late last night.”
Joe shifted his big frame and inclined his head toward the street. “I did a walk-through of the crime scene before your people closed up shop. Can’t make up my mind whether it was random or personal.”
“Or a madman on the loose,” Matt added. His mind played with the possibilities. The knife wounds seemed to make it personal.
“Find any witnesses so far?” Joe asked.
“None. Davis had officers question the neighbors. No one saw or heard anything. The storm kept everybody inside, close to the fire. The gunman must have used a silencer.” Matt gave a nod in Shannon’s direction. “She thought she saw something around seven this morning, but wasn’t sure. That squares with Lisa’s time-of-death window.”
Matt pushed off the barstool and gave his friend a pat on the shoulder. Nothing more could be accomplished today, and he needed to get home. “I think I’ll head out. If I hurry, I can get to the house in time to have dinner with my bride.”
Joe shook Matt’s hand. “Smart move.”
Matt made the rounds, saying goodbye, and stopped at Miles Davis’ side. “I’ll see you and Turner in the morning so we can compare notes.”
Matt walked to the window and peered into the darkened street. Snow and sleet had begun to fall again. He retrieved his coat from the entry closet where Shannon had stored it, and left the warmth of the Connelly home.
He walked gingerly to his SUV. A broken bone or concussion would be inconvenient. Inside the car he gripped the cold steering wheel and started the engine, and then speed-dialed Sara’s number. “Hey, I’m on my way.”
“Hey, yourself. I hoped you’d call soon. I didn’t want to bother you on the job.”
“I’ll stop by the house and pick up some clothes. We can spend the night at your place so we don’t have to bring the kids out in this weather. Soon, we’re going to have to discuss which domicile we’re going to call home. Is Beatrice making something special for dinner? I’m starved.”
“I don’t know what it is, but it smells wonderful. Hurry home. I missed you.”
“Me too. More by the minute.”
He made a U-turn in front of the Davenport home, now dark and foreboding, and compartmentalized the day’s events. The case held secrets he would have to peel back, layer by layer. But the case could wait until tomorrow. It wasn’t going anywhere tonight.
CHAPTER 4
Sara Bradford’s Home
Twin Falls, Texas
When the police siren on Matt’s phone sounded at five a.m., his hand shot out and shut it off. He might need to rethink that alarm tone.
Through the open drapes, a soft glow of moonlight shimmered like liquid silver across Sara’s face. She stirred then turned to face him. “No need to be quiet. I’m awake,” she said with a sleepy yawn and snuggled close to him. “Do you have to rush off to the station?”
He stroked her hair, and then kissed the tip of her nose. Slipping his arm under her head, he drew her nearer. “Yes. Big murder case from yesterday. I have a meeting with Davis and Turner this morning.”
Wide awake, she raised up on one elbow. “Anyone I know?”
“Do you know Art and Kathy Davenport?”
“Not personally, but they’re members of our church. I do know their daughters, Claire and Eden, from the country club. Eden’s twin boys took swimming lessons last summer with Poppy and Danny. What happened?”
“Art and Kathy were murdered sometime Sunday morning. Shot. Shannon Connelly found Kathy’s body. That’s about all I know right now.”
“How awful for Shannon, and even worse for the family. I’ll have to contact them and see if there’s anything I can do.” Sara sneezed and reached for a tissue from the nightstand. “I hope I’m not coming down with the flu.”
“Did you get the shot?”
“No. Too busy. Besides, that’s no guarantee. Guessing the right strain is a shot in the dark for the CDC. No pun intended.”
“If you start to run a fever, go to the doctor.”
“Aye, aye, Chief,” she laughed. “I would salute, but it’s impossible to do properly from a prone position.”
“Don’t be impertinent, woman. I’m just doing my job as a doting husband.” He would have to watch becoming paranoid about Sara’s health. Losing Mary had made him overly-sensitive. He didn’t want to smother Sara with his phobia. She was a strong, intelligent woman and could take care of her own well-being, something he would have to keep reminding himself.
“I appreciate your concern, but I don’t want you to worry about me.” She ran her hand over the stubble on his face. “We didn’t get a chance to talk about our living arrangements last night.”
Hair had fallen across her face, and he brushed it back off her brow. “Sorry, I wanted to spend time with the kids before they went to bed, then the evening got away from me. Danny is becoming quite the chess-player.” He chuckled. “I thought I’d go easy on him and let him win, build his confidence. But he was too smart for me. When I made a dumb move, he looked over at me and knew exactly what I was doing. Give him ten years and he’ll be a chess master. I had to struggle to beat him.
He rested his chin on her head and stroked her arm. “I will always make time for you, Sara Louise.”
She sneezed again, grabbed another tissue, and held it to her nose. “That’s one of the things I love about you, but you have more important things to take care of. We’ll just wing it until things settle down.”
He tossed the cover back. “I’m good with that. Think I could find something to eat downstairs, or should I grab a bite on the way to the station? It’s no problem. I usually don’t have time to eat in the morning. I’m well known at Starbucks and The Sunny Side Up Café.”
“I’ll take care of breakfast while you shower,” she said, and slipped into her robe. “Beatrice made fresh tortillas last night. I’ll whip up a few egg, sausage, and potato burritos in no time and join you.”
Twin Falls Police Station
Twin Falls, Texas
Murder was major news in most cities, and especially in places like Twin Falls, because of its rarity. And bad news traveled fast. Only one news van had made it to the crime scene yesterday. Roads were still a mess, but the city’s trucks had sanded most of the thoroughfares. No snow or sleet in today’s forecast, and nothing to keep the news hounds away. The Dallas and Ft. Worth news crews would be out in force.
Matt called his boss, City Manager Doug Anderson, and the District Attorney, Gabriel Morrison, last night after he left the crime scene, to give them a heads-up. Hopefully they would keep the press off his back while he did his job.
Matt pulled into the parking lot leading to the back entrance to his office. A cold wind whipped around the building’s corner, hitting him in the face before he reached the door, and he missed seeing Abe Harris, the crime-beat reporter for The Twin Falls Herald, waiting for him.
Busted.
“Hey, Matt. Help a hard-working man out. Give me the lowdown on the Davenport murders.”
“You’ll have to talk to the DA, Abe. You know that. All news releases will come through his office.”
“Come on, Matt, give me something I can use. I’ll make it worth your while.” The guy was relentless.
Matt laughed. “What, you’re going to bribe an officer of the law? I thought you and Mayor Hall were bosom buddies and he gave you inside information.”
“Not any more. He’s given me too many bum leads. The paper had to write a retraction because of him, and my boss was not happy.”
Guilt washed over Matt, but not a lot. Last year, the mayor planted a snitch in the police department, and when Matt discovered the identity of the informer, he had planted that bum information where Hall’s mole could find it.
The mayor was always looking to get his name in the news, and he’d been a major pain in Matt’s backside since his election last year. His Honor had been quiet since the fiasco with the retraction. A quiet Terrance Hall made Matt very uncomfortabl
e.
“Sorry, Abe, the answer is still no. See Gabe. He’ll give you the news as it develops.”
The reporter mumbled under his breath and shuffled back to his car.
Matt entered his office, dropped off his briefcase, and made his way upstairs to the second-floor detective bureau.
A white-haired senior volunteer met him in the doorway. Martha kept the lunch room and conference rooms spotless. She leaned in and whispered, “I made some fresh cinnamon rolls and put them in the conference room, chief. I’m putting two in your office. Otherwise, Chris will hog them all.”
“I heard that, Martha,” Chris Hunter said. “I thought we were going steady.”
She ignored him and went on her way.
All four detectives were at their desks. Chris Hunter, Davis’ partner until the recent switch, saluted him with a breakfast sandwich in hand. “Good morning, chief.”
The division’s unchallenged clown, Chris looked like a dark-haired Pillsbury Doughboy, always upbeat. His unruly mop of dark curls was regularly in need of a trim.
Chris was as different from his debonair ex-partner as chic from grunge. He was five-feet-eleven, and about forty pounds overweight, due to his penchant for fast-food. He sat sideways at his desk, feet propped in the open bottom drawer.
His latest partner, Cole Allen, held the title of the youngest detective in the unit. He gave Matt a wave of acknowledgement, and then returned his attention to the computer monitor.
Matt pulled up a chair next to Chris. “You guys got anything going this morning?”
“We’re winding up an assault/robbery case. A biker dude with full-sleeve tats called in a report that his girlfriend beat him up and stole most of his electronics,” Chris said. “We went to the woman’s apartment, and she had his stuff. Didn’t even bother to deny the charges. Seemed kind of proud of her skills. He was over six feet, she was barely five-two.” Hunter grinned. “If I were him, I’d drop the charges rather than let anyone know that little girl could take me. We just deposited her in a cell. Cole is finishing up the paperwork.”
“Good. You guys can join Davis and Turner for a meeting in fifteen minutes.”
At nine o’clock, Matt stepped into the conference room. The area was standard police- department-dull: white paint, a large oval table with eight faux leather chairs, a six-foot white erase board on the wall. TV, VCR, and an overhead projector stuck in a corner.
The detectives were already assembled and waiting.
Matt helped himself to a cup of coffee from the pot at the counter and, as Martha had predicted, the rolls were gone. “Okay, who wants to go first?”
“Ladies first,” Davis said. “So, Chris, I guess that means you’re up.”
Chris and Cole laughed. Lucy Turner scowled.
Lucy came to the detective bureau a little over a year ago with a huge chip on her shoulder. Matt hadn’t been sure she would make it. She was an intuitive investigator, but didn’t play well with the rest of the team. Davis’ tutelage had smoothed off a lot of her rough edges, but not all of them.
“Just kidding, Turner.” Davis’ lip turned up in a grin. “Tell us what you’ve got.”
She flipped a sheet on her notebook. “Not a lot, just some Internet research on the Davenport siblings. It’s amazing what you can find out on the Net. I’ll start with Claire. We already know she’s a VP at Colin’s bank. Never married. Probably doesn’t make enough money to support her lifestyle. Maybe has an inheritance. Lives upscale in a home near her parents, owns a late-model Bentley. Has a live-in boyfriend with no visible means of support I could find, but drives a new Jaguar. No children. Country club membership. Maybe financed by her folks or the boyfriend.”
“Does the boyfriend have money?” Davis asked.
“Possibly. He has a title of some kind, so there may be money there. He played professional tennis some years back.”
“See if you can get a warrant to look at the financial records of all the players,” Davis said.
Turner jotted an entry in her notebook and continued, “Eden Russell is an interesting case. A perpetual student. She’s thirty and still in college, going for her second master’s. My guess would be school was financed by her parents. She’s divorced from Dr. Stephen Russell, of Oklahoma City. They’re in a bitter custody battle over their twin boys. Articles didn’t go into detail. She probably gets hefty child support, but owns a so-so condo on the better side of town. Drives a new car, but appears to have little cash flow.” Turner wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe that’s why she has Jack McKinnon in her crosshairs.
“Taylor Davenport is enrolled at Hockaday Girls’ School in Dallas, very upscale, very pricey. Excels at tennis and swimming. That’s all I could find on her.”
Turner pulled a handful of photos from a manila folder. “I have some shots from Google Images, mostly society page stuff.”
“Make copies for me, Lucy when you get a chance,” Matt said.
“Good work,” Davis said. “That’s it?”
She nodded.
Davis reached into his jacket pocket and placed his notebook on the table but didn’t open it. “Guess it’s my turn, since Chris and Cole just joined the party. Neighborhood interviews last night were a bust. They were all inside, huddled close to the hearth. No one saw anything. No one heard anything. No one knows anything.
“As soon as possible, we need to get family members to walk through the house and see if anything is missing, ask about the empty briefcase. See if they know what their father might have carried in it. May not be important, but it’s puzzling.
“Davenport owned an architectural firm, The Drawing Board. We’ll check with his manager and inquire if Davenport would have carried anything confidential home. I can’t imagine what that might be, but we’ll ask. I’m also checking VICAP for similar cases in the past year.”
Matt stood and pushed his chair back under the table. “Looks like we’re on the right track. You guys know the drill. Chris, you and Cole work with Lucy to get the phone and credit card records of Art and Kathy, and Claire and Eden, for the last thirty days. Reconstruct their movement over the last twenty-four hours as near as possible. Where they went, who they talked with in person or on the phone, etcetera.” He looked around the table at his detectives. “Any questions, suggestions, anything we missed?”
“Lucy and I are going back to the residence today,” Davis said. “The victims had a home office. We’ll check that, see what shakes out.”
“I’m interviewing Kathy’s sister, Judge Bittermann, today.” Matt tossed his empty cup in the trash can. “If that’s it, let’s get to it. Same time, same place tomorrow. We’ll see where we stand.”
Matt had a list of the Davenport siblings. He would start with Judge Judith Bittermann. The judge and he went back a long way. He wanted to offer his condolences and see if she had thought about a possible motive. She was intelligent and organized, but also grieving.
The judge was a local legend. After ten years on the county bench, she was appointed as a state judge for the Fourteenth District Court in Dallas, where she remained until President Ronald Reagan, in his last year in office, appointed her to the United States District Court for the Northern District of Texas. She retired last year.
Back in his office, he picked up the phone and dialed her home number and asked her to lunch.
He hung up the phone, and a shadow blocked the light from the corridor outside his office. Sheriff Joe Wilson stood in the doorway, with an envelope in his big hand. “I’ll let you buy my lunch if you twist my arm.”
“Can’t, I just asked Judge Bittermann to lunch. You’re welcome to join us if you wish,” Matt said, “or I’ll spring for coffee in the lunch room.”
“I’ll take a rain check on the lunch.” He waved the envelope. “I brought you a hard copy of Lisa’s autopsy report. She is also emailing you a copy.”
Matt joined Joe in the hallway, and they made their way to the lunch room. He filled foam cups from the coffee bar. �
�You running errands for Lisa these days?” he asked with a grin.
Joe snorted a laugh and handed Matt the report. “Whatever the woman wants.”
“Any surprises?” Matt asked as he unfolded the document.
“Haven’t read it, but, if there was anything unusual, Lisa would have mentioned it. She gave Davis a copy when he picked up the bullets she removed.”
Matt gave the file a quick read while Joe sipped his coffee. “Both died from the head gunshot wounds. Kathy Davenport’s knife wounds were postmortem and look to have been inflicted by a serrated hunting knife.”
His friend nodded and crushed the empty cup in his hand. “Yeah, Lisa sent photos to McCulloch, to see if he could determine the make and model.”
“When are you going to marry that woman?” Matt asked.
“In June. She wanted to wait until school was out. Paul spends every other summer with his dad, and this is his summer, which works out well for us. He can attend the wedding, and then go have fun with his father rather than stay with his grandmother while we’re on our honeymoon.”
“You need a best man, I’m available,” Matt said.
“I wouldn’t consider anyone else.”
The Big Catch Restaurant
Outside Twin Falls, Texas
Matt had persuaded the judge to meet him for lunch at her favorite eatery. The Big Catch was one of the best-kept secrets in Twin Falls. The restaurant sat on the shores of Lake Palmer, with a spectacular view of the water and tall pine trees, not to mention the best seafood in the state. He picked a table by the window and glanced out across the lake’s smooth surface. He shivered, remembering a jump off a bridge into its cold depths last year to rescue a drowning woman. The almost-victim had been Sara.
The judge opted to have her chauffer/assistant drive her, rather than let Matt pick her up. She had to meet with the family after lunch to make funeral arrangements.
He stood as the hostess led the judge to the table, and he held out her chair. “Sorry to bother you while you’re grieving your sister’s loss, Judge, but, as you know, the first forty-eight hours after a crime are crucial.”