by V. B. Tenery
The Foley Residence
Twin Falls, Texas
Matt took his coffee into the living room and switched on the local FOX news channel. Outside, the day was gray and cold, but no snow in the forecast. The soft padding of footsteps on the stairs told him Sara was up. Fresh from a shower, she strolled into the kitchen, brought back a glass of orange juice, and joined him in the oversized chair.
He slipped his arm around her, inhaling her fresh, soapy fragrance. “I was going to let you sleep in before I made breakfast.”
“The juice is fine. The flu seems to have zapped my appetite.” She placed her legs across his lap, pulled a throw from the chair back, and tucked it around her body. “I thought I’d bring Poppy and Danny home today. I think I’m up to taking care of them now. What do you think?”
“Let me pick them up tomorrow morning and take them to church with me, then bring them home after services. An extra day of rest will help you regain your strength.”
A “Breaking News” alert flashed on the television screen, and Matt turned up the volume. A video showed an aerial view of a white colonial mansion set on acres of land, almost invisible in patches of snow. A voice-over told the story.
“. . . double murder last night in Norman, Oklahoma. An elderly couple, Barton and Emme Russell, were shot in their home on the couple’s fortieth anniversary. Barton Russell was a prominent attorney in Norman and active in local politics. Investigators are still at the scene. There are currently no suspects in the brutal murders. We’ll continue coverage as the story develops.”
Sara’s hazel eyes searched his face. “You think this has something to do with the Davenports?”
He rubbed the back of his neck as he considered his answer. “Possibly. It has the same MO. I’ll give the Norman sheriff’s office a call. It’s worth checking into.” He finished his coffee and set the cup on the end table. “I’m hungry. Can I interest you in breakfast?”
She shifted her legs to the floor and shook her head. “Still not hungry, but I’ll keep you company. You can describe Stella’s duties so I’ll know what the guidelines are.”
As they stepped into the kitchen, Rowdy bounded through the doggie door with a dead bird in his mouth, which he proudly placed at Sara’s feet.
“Oh, no, you don’t, Buddy. Outside with your trophy,” Matt said.
Rowdy dropped his head, picked up the bird, and slunk back through his personal entrance.
Matt glanced over at Sara. “I forgot to tell you he brings in gifts from time to time.”
While he whipped up a batch of pecan waffles and bacon, he explained Stella’s responsibilities. “She has mostly been a housekeeper, but made dinner for me on week nights, with weekends off. If you need more than that, we can expand her duties and compensation, or replace her if she’s unwilling. What about Pete and Beatrice?”
“They want to retire, go back to South Texas to be near their family. And with Maddie and Don getting married this summer, Maddie will live in Don’s home, so it will work out well.”
Matt turned from removing a waffle from the iron. “Maddie and Don are getting married? When did you find this out?”
“Last Sunday night, when we spent the night at my house. Sorry, I guess the flu gave me a lapse of memory.”
“No problem. That’s wonderful news.” He set the food and two plates on the table. “Try to eat if you can. It’ll help you kick that flu bug faster.”
Before he could sit down to the meal, his cell phone chimed the James Brown classic, “I Feel Good”. He’d left the phone in the living room. The ring tone told him the call was from Miles Davis. He hurried to answer it. “Hey, Miles, what’s on your mind?”
“You see the Russell murders in Norman, Oklahoma, a little while ago?” Miles asked.
“I did. Thought I’d call the sheriff up there to see if he’ll let us take a look at the crime scene.”
Miles chuckled. “Great minds think alike. When do you want to go?”
“Today, if the sheriff is agreeable. Let me give him a call and I’ll get right back to you.”
“Did you know they were Dr. Stephen Russell’s parents and Eden Russell’s in-laws?”
“The thought occurred to me, since it happened in Oklahoma, and the last name is Russell.”
He disconnected with Davis and made the call to the sheriff in Norman, then called Davis back and told him they were set to meet the sheriff this afternoon.
Back in the kitchen, he scarfed down the waffles and downed a cup of coffee. After giving his mouth a swipe with his napkin, he leaned over and kissed Sara’s brow. “Sorry, babe, I’m going to have to make a fast trip to the Okie crime scene. Will you be okay here alone?”
Sara stood and circled her arms around his waist. “Of course; don’t worry about me. I’ll miss you, but if this is connected to Eden’s parents’ murder, the sooner you find the killer, the safer we’ll all be.”
CHAPTER 11
Max Westheimer Airport
Norman, Oklahoma
Matt connected with Miles Davis at Love Field, where Matt had chartered a small jet to the Max Westheimer Airport operated by the University Of Oklahoma. Westheimer was a general aviation reliever airport, capable of handling aircraft up through and including executive class jets. Flying into the small facility would allow him to get a look at the crime scene while it was still fresh, without the usual airport hassles.
Davis had stopped by the station and put the murder book in his briefcase. The flight to Norman gave Matt time to refresh his memory. Nothing new had been added since the detective team’s last meeting.
The plane landed at Westheimer on the grounds of the university, one of the most beautiful campuses in the country.
Sheriff Walter Gates said he would have a deputy pick them up at the airport. True to his word, a uniformed deputy waited inside the small terminal. Matt and Davis introduced themselves, and the deputy ushered them to the waiting county SUV.
The short drive from the airport into Norman took about four minutes. One of the streets they turned onto was James Garner Avenue, a Norman native. Matt had always been a fan of the famous Okie movie star.
The deputy remained silent on the thirty-minute drive from the city to the crime scene. Matt didn’t know if the man was naturally reticent, or if he just resented having out-of-state cops involved in a local murder.
Sheriff Gates waited inside his county vehicle. He opened the door and stepped out as they pulled into the driveway. Walter Gates was black, six-foot-three, with a linebacker’s build, and a neck the size of most men’s thighs, likely an OU alumni. The university routinely fielded one of the most formidable football teams in the Big 12, and was the University of Texas’ number one rival.
Gates had pulled a leather jacket over his uniform, and his face wore the seasoned expression of a man who’d seen a lifetime of violence. He approached them with an easy, athletic grace.
Matt made the introductions, and the sheriff reached out with a firm handshake.
“Chief Foley, I appreciate your getting here so fast. I sure hope you have some information that will help us find the people or person responsible. The Russells were good folks.”
Gates strode towards the front entrance of the residence, and Matt moved into step beside him. “No promises, but this is similar to a case we’re investigating in Texas.”
They crossed the yellow tape and paused for a moment under the portico. Through the open double doors, two chalk outlines were drawn half in, half out of the entrance, shot in the back as they’d returned from a party—at least, that’s what the news broadcast had said. The outlines seemed to bear out that scenario.
“The bodies have been removed, but I have photos for you inside.” The sheriff led them to the back entrance, and provided booties and gloves. “I don’t have to tell you not to disturb anything. Just look around as much as you want. I’ll be up front when you’re ready to talk.”
“Sheriff, before you leave, did the killer enter t
he home?” Matt asked.
Gates nodded. “Looked as though he was looking for something in the bedroom.”
Matt and Davis wandered down a long hallway with tumbled marble floors wide enough for a dump truck to drive through. The walls featured dark wood paneling, lined with paintings that looked to be original and expensive. Indirect lighting showed off the art to the best advantage. The decor was tasteful, and had been coordinated by someone with an eye for details and textures.
Davis commented as they moved into the equally-inspired living area, “These folks certainly knew how to live well.”
Matt nodded but didn’t answer.
They passed a broad marble staircase that led to the second floor, but Matt wanted a closer look at the photos the sheriff had left on a foyer table before checking upstairs.
The pictures showed the bodies lying face-down in the doorway, partially on the smooth marble entrance. The couple was Caucasian. He couldn’t see their faces, but knew from the newscast they were in their early sixties.
The weapon of choice appeared to be a rifle. That didn’t mesh with the handgun used in the Davenport murders, but there were no rules that said a killer had to always use the same firearm.
Both victims were expensively dressed. Mrs. Russell wore a long black skirt with a beaded top, her hair stylishly coiffed for the anniversary celebration. Her husband wore a black tuxedo, gold Rolex on his left wrist.
Provided the killer hadn’t picked up the brass before leaving the scene, Gates would have them in his evidence kit. Otherwise, they would have to wait for the autopsies to try to determine the weapon and caliber.
Photographers and videographers on the ground floor were finishing their job, busily packing up their gear. Matt knew he and Davis needed to make this a fast inspection. Gates would want to close down the crime scene soon.
“Let’s check out the master bedroom, and then we’ll go find the sheriff,” Matt said.
Upstairs, the scene in the Russells’ bedroom mirrored that in the Davenports’ home. The room had been tossed, a jewelry box dumped on the bed, diamond rings, pendants, and brooches glittering in the bright overhead lights. Robbery was not the motive, unless the killer looked for something in particular, as seemed to be the case in the Davenport killings. The CSU people upstairs were also closing up shop, so he and Davis went in search of Sheriff Gates.
He stood talking to a cop about twenty feet inside the crime scene tape, and crossed to meet them as they descended to the lower level.
“There’s a pancake house down the road a few miles,” Gates said. “Let’s get some coffee. We can compare notes over the best java in the county.”
*****
A pretty young woman in a beige uniform with a blue-and-beige-checkered apron led them to a booth in the back of the crowded restaurant, and promptly returned with three cups and an aluminum carafe. The coffee was good, fresh, and strong.
Sheriff Gates took a long sip and cast a brown-eyed gaze at Matt. “What do you think? Same perp?”
“Quite possibly. There are a number of similarities. The murder victims were members of prominent families, they lived in remote areas, and most important of all, they were connected by marriage to Stephen and Eden Russell.”
Gate’s eyebrows shot up. “Is that a fact?”
Matt nodded. “I assume you spoke to Dr. Russell before the news people flashed it on the air.”
“Yeah, talked to him on the phone; he’s driving over after his rounds tonight. He seemed pretty shook up. He’d planned to be at his parents’ party, but had an emergency at the last minute.”
“I don’t suppose you’ve had time to confirm that?” Davis said.
Gate shook his head. “Too busy working the crime scene. We’ll take care of it over the next few days.”
“How long had they been dead when your crew arrived?” Matt asked.
“We lucked out there. They had a live-in maid who arrived home as the apparent killer drove away. She saw the bodies and called immediately. So we have near to the exact time of death, midnight, give or take twenty minutes while he searched the house. Unfortunately, she didn’t get a good description of the vehicle, so setting up a roadblock would have been futile. Too many people around here carry rifles in their cars and trucks.”
“You pretty sure it was a rifle?” Davis asked.
“Looks that way, but we didn’t find any casings. Won’t know for sure until the coroner removes the bullets.”
“Did the maid identify the bodies?” Matt asked.
Gates waved the waitress over for a new carafe. “Yes, but there was no need. I knew Barton and Emme personally. They held an open house every December for first responders.” He stirred the coffee with a spoon and looked up. “You people have a suspect?”
“We have a strong person of interest, but no proof,” Matt said. “I’ll send you photos of Dr. Russell’s ex-wife and her cousin, James Bauer. You can see if anyone saw them around the time of the murders.”
“That’ll be a start. I’m going to ask Dr. Russell to take a polygraph. Even if the man has an alibi,” Gates said, “he could have hired someone to kill his parents. I don’t like to believe that, because I also know the doc, but I intend to cover all the bases.”
Matt swallowed the last of his coffee, then set the cup back in the saucer. “Good idea. We’ll send you copies of the forensics on our end, and would appreciate you sharing whatever your people come up with.”
Highway 75 Service Road
Twin Falls, Texas
The flight back to Love Field was faster by twenty minutes. Matt found his Escalade in the parking garage. It was as cold inside as a refrigerator, but it wouldn’t take long to heat up once he hit the highway.
Temperatures had risen to forty-five degrees on Saturday, and the sun had melted the snow sludge. But, as night fell and the thermometer dipped below freezing, the highway became an ice rink. Road conditions made the trip to Twin Falls longer than normal. Anxious to get home, he hissed an impatient breath as he eased to a stop at the red light just before going under the Highway 75 bridge. He glanced left as a pickup truck careened off the freeway.
Unable to intervene, Matt watched as the truck hit the ice and ploughed into a car stopped at the intersection. Sounds of crunching metal filled the silent night as the truck crushed the car like an accordion against the eighteen-wheeler in front.
Matt snatched his cell phone and described the situation to the 911 dispatcher in short, precise sentences, replaced his phone, and rushed across the icy street to the scene.
The guy in the pickup was already out of the cab. He was pale, but otherwise appeared unscathed. “I couldn’t stop...the ice made me slide. I couldn’t stop…”
Matt didn’t have time to reassure the man. Quick strides brought him to the car in the middle.
The trucker jumped down to the street with a fire extinguisher in his hand. “Can I help?”
“Just keep that extinguisher handy in case we need it,” Matt said, and leaned through the window of the compact car.
A young woman of about thirty was pinned against the steering wheel. The airbag had inflated, but must have burst with the force of the impact. The vehicle was so mangled it would take the fire department and the Jaws of Life to remove her. She must have sustained massive internal injuries.
Matt reached inside the driver’s side shattered window. He felt her thready pulse. The hand was cold and thin, almost skeletal, the skin milky white. She turned her head and focused an intense blue gaze on his face. Her wire-rimmed glasses were askew, and he gently straightened them. “How are you doing? Are you in any pain?”
“No,” she said in a weak, almost-whisper. “It probably should hurt, but it doesn’t. That’s not good, right?” Her gaze never wavered, and she must have seen the answer in his eyes. “It’s okay. I know...I’m going to die.”
Matt swallowed the huge lump in his throat and evaded answering. “I’ve called for an ambulance. It should be here soon.
” That wasn’t exactly true. The same streets that caused her accident would delay the arrival of help.
A wisp of a smile touched her lips. “Don’t look so sad. It’s okay...you see, I’m saved. I know where I’m going.”
“What’s your name?” Matt asked.
“Julie, Julie Landers,” she said, her voice a soft whisper. “My husband’s name is John. His number is in my cell phone. Someone will let him know? He’s a good man, a good husband.” She inhaled a shallow breath. “I’m not afraid …well, maybe a little. The unknown is always scary, but I think I know what to expect.” Her eyes were luminous in the dim light. “I didn’t really want to go so soon. I have two little girls. I hate to leave them now...they’re so young. What’s your name?”
He folded his jacket and placed it between her head and the remnants of the airbag draped across the steering wheel. “I’m Matt, Julie. And I’m going to stay here with you as long as you need me.”
“My two girls, Amy and Pamela, Amy is the oldest. She’s eight and she’ll probably grow up to be president. She’s so smart and articulate. My youngest is Pamela. She’s five and she paints, sings, and dances. She’s very talented. Everybody tells me so.”
“What type of work do you do?” he asked, trying to distract her from the inevitable.
“I’m a teacher. Middle school English. Are you a Christian, Matt?”
“Yes.” He squatted down on his haunches beside the car and placed one hand against her face. The lashes and brows were white-blonde, like her hair. The nose was a little too long, the lips thin. It wasn’t a pretty face, but it was a good face, etched with character and kindness. “I think you’re the bravest person I’ve ever known.”
The corners of her mouth tilted upward in a faint, shy smile. “Not really...I just hide my fear really well. Will you pray for me, Matt? ”
Holding her hand, Matt whispered the most fervent prayer of his life. He asked for God’s mercy to save her life if possible, but he didn’t ask God to give her dying grace. She already had that. Instead, he asked for God to keep the pain at bay, for Him to hold her close and lead her to the other side. He also asked for peace and comfort for her husband and children.