Cold Blooded

by Anne Patrick

"Yeah, I remember."

  "I have some more questions if you're free to take a break."

  "Let me check with my supervisor. I'll be right back."

  Sandy returned with their drinks and took their orders. Gwen went with the turkey on rye and Kris chose the patty-melt with fries. As she was walking off, Craig came back and asked for a Coke.

  "I've got thirty minutes."

  Gwen scooted over and he slid in beside her. "What do you want to know about Dawson?"

  "When was the last time you saw him?" Gwen turned sideways to face him. With his height and build he could easily be a football player.

  "I lost contact with him a few months before he dropped out of school." Sandy brought Craig his drink and he took a big gulp of it.

  "Any particular reason why?" Gwen asked.

  Craig shook his head. "You know how friends drift away sometimes." He gulped down some more of his soda. He seemed nervous.

  Gwen consulted some notes she had jotted down on the drive to Phoenix. "Before, you mentioned that he kept odd hours when you roomed together, but you said he didn't have a girlfriend. You still don't have any idea where he snuck off to?"

  "No." He lowered his gaze and began to tap his left fingers on the table.

  "You said he didn't have a girlfriend." Kris leaned slightly. "Dawson is a nice looking kid. Seems odd he didn't date."

  "I tried to set him up once but he wasn't interested. He said girls our age weren't intellectually stimulating to him. His words not mine."

  Gwen placed her arm along the cushion behind him. "We were told he dropped out of school. Was it because he couldn't pay his tuition?"

  "I don't know."

  "Did he ever talk to you about the murder of his family?" Gwen made a mental note to come back to the money.

  "Not a word, and I never asked." Craig shrugged. "How do you bring something like that up?"

  "Do you know of any classmates that he might have talked to?" Kris asked.

  "Like I told you guys before, he didn't really have many friends."

  Gwen drank some of her iced tea. "And you're sure he never owned a gun?"

  "He never mentioned one. If he did own one, he wouldn't have kept it in the dorm. That's automatic grounds for expulsion."

  Sandy delivered their orders and Gwen thanked her. She then shifted her attention back to Craig. "While you were roommates, or after the murders, did you know of any extravagant purchases he made?"

  "No." He pointed to Kris's fries. "May I?"

  Kris picked up her patty-melt then pushed the plate toward him. "Help yourself."

  He popped a fry in his mouth and washed it down with some of his soda.

  "You seem awful twitchy, Craig," Gwen surmised. "I don't think you're being completely honest with us."

  He ate another fry then turned to Gwen. "Okay. There's some stuff I didn't tell you about Dawson before. We were friends at the time. I didn’t want to get him in any trouble."

  "You know you impeded a murder investigation. You can be charged with—"

  "I think what Detective Jamison is trying to say is if you tell us everything you know about Dawson, we'll overlook the obstruction of justice charge."

  "All right. Dawson had a gambling problem. He loved playing high-stakes poker."

  "In underground games?" Gwen guessed.

  "And casinos. He had a fake ID. He showed it to me once. It was a nice job. Very authentic."

  "Do you know anyone we can talk to about his gambling habit?" Gwen figured a gambling addiction was as good a motive as any. It would also explain why he was robbing liquor stores now. Banks were too risky and would bring in the feds. Convenience stores usually had more traffic.

  "You might try Whitey, at the club on Fourth and Jackson. He takes sport bets and can point you to some underground action. You didn't hear that from me, though." He grabbed a couple more fries and checked his watch. "Sorry, but I've gotta get back to work."

  "We appreciate your help, Craig." Kris dug a twenty from her pocket and tried to give it to him.

  He waved her off. "No. I should've been honest with you two from the beginning."

  "That, I did not expect." Gwen stared after the young man. She then turned in the booth and looked at Kris. "So?"

  "Wipe that smirk off your face. I hate it when you gloat."

  Gwen laughed as she snatched two fries from her plate.

  *****

  The Fourth and Down Club had less than a dozen patrons, most of whom were seated at the bar watching a TV anchored from the ceiling. Gwen spotted a white-haired man on the end stool that looked to be taking bets from two younger gentlemen.

  "I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that's our guy."

  "You think?"

  Gwen flopped down on the stool beside him and flashed her badge to the other two men. They shoved their money back into their pockets and headed toward the door.

  "What the…" Whitey spun around, looked at Gwen then the badge. "Hello ladies, what can I do for you?" He quickly closed his little notebook and slid it into his shirt pocket.

  "We're looking for some information on a former client of yours."

  "Client? What're you talking about? I'm a retired postal worker just having a beer in my favorite pub."

  "Yeah and I'm Snow White." Gwen leaned toward him. "Look, Whitey. Either you do your civic duty by answering our questions or we're going to shut down your booking operation."

  "Nice try, ladies, but according to the badge you're from Shorewick. Which means you're out of your jurisdiction."

  "That's true, Whitey. I know a couple of guys here in vice who wouldn't mind the collar, though." Gwen pulled out her cell phone to further get her point across.

  "All right." He motioned toward a table a few feet away then grabbed his glass of beer.

  Gwen and Kris joined him.

  "Who are we talking about?"

  "Dawson Bartlett." Gwen took her phone out again and pulled up a photo she had downloaded from the Internet that morning and showed it to him. "Poker player. Casinos and underground games."

  "Yeah, I remember him. High-stakes. Not a bad player, but too cocky for his own good. Wasn't very good at reading people either. Saw him lose a hundred grand once when he drew to an inside straight."

  Even Gwen knew the odds of that happening. "Have you seen him around lately?"

  "No, not in over a year."

  "The hundred grand he lost, how long ago was that?" Kris asked.

  "I don't know, two years maybe. Could've been longer. I do remember how miffed he got afterward. Almost broke the nose of the kid who won the pot. Bouncers had to toss him out."

  "Is that the only time you've seen him exhibit violent behavior?" Gwen queried.

  "That's the only time I saw him get upset. He was usually very calm, docile even." Whitey drank his beer as he looked up at the TV screen.

  "Did Bartlett ever carry a weapon that you know of?" Gwen figured the kid had gotten rid of the murder weapon, but if she could prove he owned a 9mm at one time, it would sure help her case.

  "Not to a game, he didn't. Everyone is searched at the door. Can't have someone shooting up the place if things don't go their way."

  Gwen and Kris left the bar and headed to the car. It was almost two and with the drive, they probably wouldn't get back to the station until after four. Hopefully Nick had done a good job of covering for them.

  "You don't know anyone in vice here in Phoenix, do you?"

  "No," Gwen shot her partner a mischievous smile, "but he didn't know that."

  *****

  Ian heard laughter and glanced up from his paperwork to see Gwen and her partner enter the squad room. He checked his watch and saw it was four-thirty. Gwen sat at her desk, which faced his office, and started working on her computer. According to Detective Harris, the pair was working on a new lead on the liquor store robberies. Seeing as how the last one resulted in a homicide, he was anxious for some results. The captain was already breathing down his nec
k for daily updates.

  Since their previous supervisor's retirement four months ago, the squad had basically run on its own with a lot of leeway. Now that he was assigned as their lieutenant, it was up to him to hold them accountable. He wasn't the type of leader to jump in and start rocking the boat, though. In his experience, that wasn't the way you earn respect and camaraderie in a unit.

  He picked up his phone and buzzed Gwen's extension. "Jamison, can I see you please?"

  "Be right there." She stood, glanced briefly at Harris, then came into his office. "Yes, sir?"

  "Any new developments on the robberies?"

  "I'm pursuing a new lead. Nothing definite yet."

  "Well let's hear it."

  "I'm working on my progress report now, sir."

  Her vagueness troubled him. "I don't want to be the bad guy here, Jamison, but as the unit's supervisor, I need to know where my detectives are and what they're working on."

  "Detective Todd and I are doing what you instructed us to do, sir. We're working on the liquor store robberies. We spent the day interviewing people connected to a new lead that hasn't exactly panned out yet."

  "You don't need to be defensive, Jamison."

  "I'm not, sir. I was just answering your question."

  He curbed a smile. She was easily riled, just as the captain had warned. "In the future, I would appreciate it if you and your partner would sign yourselves in and out. That's not to say I don't trust either of you, but, as you well know, those are the rules."

  "Yes, sir. That it?"

  He nodded and she went back to her desk. She stayed there long after everyone else had signed out. At a quarter till six, Ian put away the files he had been reviewing and turned the light off in his office. Gwen glanced up briefly as he approached her desk.

  "Any word on the girl yet?"

  "No, sir." She continued to type. "I dropped off copies of the composite at DCS, the bus station and the homeless shelter, and patrol is keeping an eye out for her. She'll turn up eventually."

  "Is that why you kept the scarf?"

  "I'm having it dry cleaned. I suspect it's special to her and—"

  "When you do bring her in you hope to gain some favor with it," Ian guessed.

  "Something like that."

  He leaned on the corner of her desk. "Now that we're alone, you want to tell me where you really were today?"

  She stopped working and looked up at him. "Are you accusing me of lying now?"

  "Usually when someone is defensive, it's because they haven't been completely honest about something."

  "All right, fine." With a sigh, she saved the report she was working on and turned off her computer. She then stood and walked over to the sign-out sheet and wrote down her name. "First off, it was all me. I take full responsibility if there are any repercussions. Detective Todd—"

  The cleaning woman came into the squad room. Ian motioned for Gwen to join him in his office and turned the light back on. She grabbed a file from her desk and came inside. He then set the trashcan outside and closed the door.

  "Okay, what exactly are you taking full responsibility for?"

  She laid the file on his desk and removed two photos and placed them side by side. "Do these two men look like the same person to you?"

  Ian studied both pictures for a few seconds then glanced up at her. "Its very possible. I know this is your robber. Who is the other one?"

  "Dawson Bartlett."

  "From the triple murder case we talked about last night?" Ian took a seat behind his desk but Gwen continued to stand.

  "Yes, sir. Detective Todd and myself went to Phoenix today to check up on him."

  "You think Bartlett is robbing liquor stores now?"

  "I know the captain warned you about me being…well, pig headed, but—"

  "Try a Pit Bull on steroids."

  She shrugged. "I've been called worse. Anyway, today we found out Bartlett quit college sixteen months ago with only one year left, and I believe it was because he couldn't pay his tuition. He blew through the insurance money in just over a year. Do you wanna know how?" Without giving him the chance to answer she continued. "He's got a gambling addiction. Local casinos and underground sports bars mostly. His game of choice is high-stakes poker. In one hand alone, he lost a hundred grand. According to his bookie."

  "Why liquor stores? Why not sell drugs or pull off bank robberies?" Ian knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from her.

  "Banks would bring in the feds and drug dealing is too dangerous. He wants fast, easy money, just enough to feed his gambling habit, but he also likes the challenge."

  "Do you have anything that can tie him to the robberies?"

  "Not yet. According to DMV, he's living in his parent's house. That in it's self is kind of creepy. I mean, why not sell it and get a smaller place?"

  Could be for the same reason Ian had held off on selling his home after Laurel took her life. For sentimental reasons. Or, if Gwen was right and he did kill his family, he may have kept it so as to relive the murders.

  "Ian, you suggested Mrs. Gyman's murderer has killed before, that it wasn't just about the money."

  He still believed that to be true. "Were you planning on telling me any of this?"

  "Of course." She avoided looking directly at him. "But I had planned on holding off until after tomorrow."

  "I'm probably going to regret this, but what do you have planned?"

  "A tail." Gwen tucked her blondish brown hair behind her right ear. "I want to know where he works, maybe some of his co-workers can give me some insight into what he's been up to since moving back to Shorewick. Discreetly of course."

  "Have a seat and tell me more as to why you suspected Bartlett for the murders of his family." Ian leaned back in his chair, propping his feet up on the corner of his desk.

  She sat across from him and met his gaze. "It's mostly just gut instinct. I mean the captain shut me down before I could really get anything solid on the guy. You see, Bartlett's dad, Terrell, was a prominent dentist and former city councilman, and the family attorney had just as much clout. I suspect you get the picture."

  "I do. What made you like this guy for the murders, though?"

  "Horace Oliver, the next-door neighbor I mentioned last night, said he had often heard Terrell and Dawson arguing. He also witnessed a younger Dawson abusing the family dog on several occasions. The animal eventually went missing and Mr. Oliver believed Dawson had something to do with its disappearance. Also, when Dawson was sixteen, he sliced the tires on Mr. Oliver's car. The kid's old man paid Mr. Oliver a nice piece of change to get his tires repaired and to keep him from reporting the incident."

  "Do you plan on interviewing Mr. Oliver again?"

  "I'd love to, but unfortunately he passed away in his sleep six months ago."

  "What about the other neighbors, were they very helpful in your inquiries three years ago?"

  "A couple were, most didn't want to get involved. Those that did said the family was quiet, never any complaints. When I questioned a few of Dawson's classmates, they described him as a loner. A former roommate I spoke to today said he tried to set Dawson up with a date once but the kid wasn't interested. He said girls their age weren't intellectually stimulating to him."

  Ian considered everything she had said. He knew Gwen couldn't have gotten where she was without good instincts. She believed she was onto something now, and he saw no harm in letting her pursue it—at least for the time being. "You know this is all circumstantial and conjecture."

  "I realize that."

  "So this conversation didn't happen."

  "Does that mean I can go through with my plans tomorrow?"

  "I'm going to give you a little leeway, just don't hang yourself with it."

  "Thank you, sir."

  "I liked it better when you called me Ian."

  She tossed him a beautiful smile. "But only when we're off duty."

  "Enjoy your evening, Gwen."

  Ian watched h
er leave the squad room. Until today, he hadn't realized how much alike he and Gwen were. A lot of cops weren't able to balance family life and career so that neither suffered. He suspected Detectives Todd and Chavez were good examples of those who could. They were able to go off the job at five and not take it home with them. He and Gwen, on the other hand, weren't wired that way. It had cost him his family. Ian hated to think of what it might cost Gwen.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Gwen brought two batches of brownies to work with her Friday morning. The first one she dropped off with CSI Siequist, the second she shared with her CID colleagues.

  "What's the occasion? It usually takes a funeral dinner or a wedding to get you in the kitchen," Nick teased.

  Ian came out of his office just as she picked up a medium size brownie square. "What do we have here?" he asked, peering down at the plate.

  "Brownies. I owed a batch to a friend and it's just as easy to make two pans. I was going to add laxative to yours, Nick, but I didn't want someone else to grab it."

  Ian had started to take one but then hesitated, glancing over at Gwen.

  "They're safe. I promise."

  "Thank you." Ian chose a larger one and bit off a chunk. "Mummm. Delicious. Never would've guessed you could bake like this."

  The others laughed and Gwen's cheeks warmed. "Thanks, Lieutenant. Way to make a girl's day."

  "Sorry. It really is good." He held up two pieces of paper in his other hand. "Harris, you've got an armed assault. Chavez, a burglary for you."

  They each grabbed another brownie before they left. Gwen refastened the tinfoil around the plate and left it on Nick's desk. She then turned to Kris. "You ready?"

  "When you delivered your brownies to Siequist, did you think to ask about the videos?"

  "I did and, no, they haven't gotten to them yet. Carpenter does most of the video and audio enhancements, and she won't be back till next week."

  "Jamison," Ian hollered from his office.

  Gwen poked in her head. "Yes, sir?"

  "Remember, be discreet."

  "Got it."

  "What was that about?" Kris asked as they left the squad room.

  "Seems our new lieutenant isn't as gullible as Reynolds was. He cornered me yesterday after everyone left and I told him about Bartlett."