by A. E. Howe
“No, he didn’t because another soldier shot him before he could.” I rubbed a little salt in the wound. Apparently, it was too much because he stood up.
“If you aren’t going to arrest me, I’m leaving.”
“Have a good day, Mr. Patrick,” I said, putting a little extra emphasis on his last name. “But don’t leave town. We’ll be watching you.” With only a minor trespassing violation and no concrete evidence to connect him to the murders or the theft at Mr. Griffin’s, we couldn’t hold him, but I wanted him to know that we weren’t finished with him.
After he left, Darlene smiled at me. “I should have gotten that connection,” she said. “Nice. I think we got first blood.”
“He sure is sensitive about James Patrick’s good name. Grandfather?” I wondered.
“Easy enough to check,” Darlene said. After five minutes on her computer she was able to confirm the relationship.
We spent the rest of the morning going over all the interviews and reports. Dr. Darzi had scheduled Joe’s autopsy for one o’clock, so we headed for Tallahassee and grabbed tacos at Cabo’s Island Grill before going to the hospital. I wasn’t worried about eating before the mashed head autopsy. After the body I had found sautéing in a hot tub in January, I was pretty sure my stomach could handle just about anything else.
One of Dr. Darzi’s interns ushered us into his inner sanctum where he was already prodding and poking at Joe Parrish’s body.
“Are you purposefully trying to challenge me?” he asked as we joined him at the table. I couldn’t keep my eyes from going to the spot where the head should have been. What remained had been laid out at the top of the corpse.
“We really try not to have unusual murders,” I told him.
“I’ve had to look at the crime scene pictures in order to come to any conclusions. I should have come out there, but frankly I’m getting tired of driving to Adams County.” Darzi paused. “Just kidding. I was giving a lecture in Atlanta, or I would have certainly been there.
“I did a thorough exam of the body. Unless he was poisoned, which we won’t know until the toxicology report comes back, I think it is safe to say that a wound to the head caused his death.” He held up a finger. “But that still leaves a pretty wide open door, as a professor of mine used to say. He could have been shot, he might have had a rod poked through his eye and into his brain, or maybe he was hit by an axe in the back of the head. There’s the problem. Since someone took a concrete alligator and mashed the evidence of his mortal wound into putty, I can’t tell from the body.”
“So…” I prompted.
“So, I had to look at the crime scene photos to see what evidence there was. And what I could gather was that he was hit with an object while he was standing. Oh, and not that concrete alligator either. A smaller object, one that you can swing.” Darzi made a motion like swinging a golf club over his head. “Probably from behind. You will have to consult with a blood splatter expert to get a better idea of the possible shape of the object used. They might be able to tell you if he was struck a second time before he fell to the ground. I think it’s possible, but I’m not the man to say. The rest is obvious. Once on the ground someone, possibly the killer, mashed his head in. From the blood spray on the side of his truck, I would say that the first blow or two before he was on the ground would have been mortal. If not immediately, then certainly in a very short amount of time.”
“My first thought when I saw the body was that someone was trying to conceal the identity of the victim,” I thought out loud.
“But Joe’s phone was in his pocket and his fingerprints matched the body,” Darlene pointed out.
“There were two crowns that were not too badly damaged, and they matched the dental work that his dentist sent me. I’m pretty certain this is Joe Parrish. I think that someone hated him very much,” Darzi said in a sad, wistful tone.
“Maybe they were trying to cover up evidence of the original weapon that was used,” Darlene speculated.
“Curiouser and curiouser,” I muttered. “Or maybe they were just trying to muddy the water.”
“Without an identifiable wound, I can’t give you an estimate of the killer’s height, the direction of the blow or anything else. Again…”
“…with the blood splatter expert,” I finished for him.
“Exactly. That’s all the evidence we have for the fatal attack.” He shrugged.
We hung around for a little more of the cut and dice, but the whole trip left me wondering why we’d bothered to come to the show. Darzi wasn’t able to tell us anything we didn’t already suspect.
Before we got back to the office, I received a text from Dad which said simply: Come see me asap. As frequently happened when I received commands from him like that, my juvenile first response was to ignore it. But my adult self was quick to remind me that he was also the sheriff and my boss, so I headed straight to his office.
Dad and Mauser were waiting for me. Dad did not look happy. Mauser, on the other hand, was the picture of contentment lying on the twin-sized bed Dad had made up for him. He was so comfortable that he didn’t even get up to give me his usual excited greeting. He just lifted his eyelids and huffed in my general direction.
“Lazy dog,” I muttered
“I got a call from Marge Parrish,” Dad barked. “Her brother is missing.”
I almost said, “No, he’s not. I just saw what’s left of him at the morgue,” when I realized that he must be talking about Hank Junior. “Really?” was my lame answer.
“Do you realize that I’m in the middle of an election? Having the members of one of the most prominent farm families in the county being eliminated one by one is not helping.” Dad held up a hand. “I know that sounds insensitive. But, damn it, after she called I had a moment when I wondered if this was someone trying to sabotage my reelection.”
“That seems unlikely,” I reasoned. “When did she call?”
“Right before I sent you the text.”
“Did you send a deputy to take a report?”
“No. She’s afraid that he’s gone off the wagon and wants a discreet attempt to locate him first,” Dad grumbled. He hated to play small-town politics. “Considering everything that has happened, I thought we could give the family a break and low-key the hunt.”
“So you want me to go talk to her?”
“Exactly. And try not to turn this into another dead body. Where are you in the investigation?”
I described the steps we’d taken and got the occasional nod. When I got to the part about the gold, he just stared at me like I was crazy and the mention of Marcy’s name caused him to throw his hands up in the air.
“People actually believe that nonsense? And Marcy Pike? That girl is nuts.” Dad had never liked her, which had only caused me to be more attracted to her.
“Someone had it in for Joe. The level of damage was category five.”
“Family?”
“Or a relationship that we haven’t discovered yet,” I said.
“Try and stay a safe distance from Marcy. Which brings up another related matter. Don’t screw up the deal with Cara. Mauser and I like her.”
Wow. I think that was the first time he’d ever approved of one of my relationships. Feeling highly uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation, I decided to turn the tables. “How’s your relationship with Genie going?” I asked casually, referring to the manager of a restaurant in Tallahassee who I’d recently learned Dad might have a thing for.
If his eyes had been lasers, the look he gave me would have burnt a hole in my face. “At this point, that is none of your business. I’ll let you know when my personal life concerns you.” But he couldn’t prevent a bit of a smile from creeping into those steely green eyes.
I still wasn’t sure how I felt about Dad having a personal life. It was so unlike him. More than a little disturbed, I left his office and filled Darlene in on the situation with Hank Junior, then left to meet with Marge.
&nbs
p; Chapter Fifteen
I found Marge pacing back and forth on the porch at the main house. When she saw me get out of the car, she hurried down the steps toward me.
“Hank’s gone. Just gone!” Marge looked like she might break into tears at any moment. It was tough to watch this woman being emotionally torn apart by the events that were overtaking her family.
“Don’t worry. We’ll find him,” I said, having no idea whether we would or wouldn’t. Hundreds of people go missing every day—some of their own accord, some not.
“Before the murders, if this had happened I’d figure he was just off getting high. But now…”
“You could help by letting us make an official report and put out a bulletin. We could garner a lot more resources that way,” I encouraged her.
“Maybe. But first just help me look.” She looked like she was on the verge of collapse, but was still stubbornly insisting on doing this the hard way.
“Let’s go in the house and talk for a minute.” I guided her back up the stairs and into the dining room. “Where is Jane?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to tell her yet. Hank has always looked up to her. They were close as kids. Joe and I were the older children. The responsible ones. Hank cares so much what Jane thinks of him. If he hasn’t fallen off the wagon, if there’s a good reason for him being gone, I don’t want to make things rougher for Hank. And if he’s fallen off the wagon again, I want to give him a chance to come back without too much humiliation. I really can’t blame him. We haven’t even had the viewing for Dad, let alone a funeral, and now Joe. And you said that… he wasn’t… presentable.” Marge was rambling, but sometimes that’s what people need. I let her vent her emotions a bit before sitting her down at the table.
“I need you to focus for me. I’ll do what I can to find Hank, but you need to give me some information first. When was the last time you saw him?”
“Yesterday evening.”
“What was he doing?”
“He was sitting in the kitchen. I thought that was odd. He wasn’t eating. His appetite has been a bit better since he… got clean. But he’s still not a big eater. I asked him if he wanted anything, and he just said no. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk. All of us were… are still in shock.”
“He wasn’t doing anything?”
“Well, he did have his phone on the table. I wondered at the time if he was waiting for someone to call.” Or text, I thought.
“What was his mood?”
“Like I said, I was still in a daze about Joe. I didn’t pay much attention. I’m sorry.”
“You asked him if he wanted something to eat. How did he answer? Was it curt? Polite?”
“Sort of matter-of-fact. Come to think of it, I did think he seemed a little emotionless. But who knows? What’s normal with everything that’s happened?” she asked, sounding baffled and confused.
“You didn’t see him again?”
“No, but I did hear the back door open, and later I think I saw a light on in his apartment.”
“But you didn’t see anyone else come or go, or hear him drive away?”
“I didn’t want to stay here, but I thought I should and Clive said he’d stay with me. But my nerves were shot. The truth is, I took a couple of Valium and slept until eleven this morning. I feel so guilty, but I had to sleep.”
“You did what you had to. Did your husband hear anything? Or notice anyone coming or going?”
“He didn’t see Hank. I asked him that. But I didn’t think to ask him about anyone else. I think he would have mentioned seeing someone else or if he’d heard Hank leave.”
“Is Hank’s truck here?”
“The truck he drives, yes. Daddy was very strict after all of Hank’s troubles with drugs. Daddy gave him the keys to one of the farm trucks and told Hank that he’d throw him off the place if Hank so much as touched any of the other vehicles on the property. You might think Hank would have been offended, but he wasn’t. He knew he’d screwed up too many times. Once, he ran an almost brand new tractor into a swamp. Cost Daddy a fortune to drag it out and get it running again.”
These were stories that no one had mentioned earlier. Was Hank really okay with his father’s strict rules? Or just tolerating them?
“Let’s go look at his apartment. Do you have a key?” I asked, standing up.
“That was another thing that Daddy insisted on when Hank asked to move back in after drying out.” Marge got up and I followed her into the kitchen. “He told Hank that he’d keep a key and inspect the apartment anytime he felt like it.” She reached for a key hanging on a rack by the door.
“Your dad sounds like he was being a little harsh,” I observed.
“Not really. Hank needed that strong hand. He’d gotten sober so many times before just to fall back into drugs and alcohol.”
What you need and what you resent can often be the same thing, I thought. How badly was Hank chaffing under his father’s thumb?
We went out the back door and up the stairs to Hank’s apartment above the garage.
“Don’t put the key in yet.” I took out a pair of rubber gloves from my pocket and put them on. I should have considered what effect this would have on Marge. She actually whimpered as she watched me.
“I’m sorry. I’m just being overly cautious.” I didn’t know if I was or not. I reached out and tried the doorknob. Locked. I took the key from Marge and unlocked and opened the door. “Please don’t touch anything,” I instructed as we walked in.
I found the light switch and flipped it on. Having never seen the apartment before, I had no idea if the mess I was seeing was normal or not. There were books and papers all over the room, as well as pizza boxes and Coke bottles.
“Does this look normal to you?” I asked.
“Well… maybe a little messier than usual. He would ask Maria to come in occasionally. Daddy didn’t have any problem with that.”
We searched the room carefully and didn’t find Hank’s wallet, keys or phone. I told Marge that that was a good sign. It was evidence that Hank had left on his own. We also found a small stash of money.
“Thank you, God,” she said, looking at the rolled up bills and counting out almost three hundred dollars. “If he had this money and didn’t take it, that means he’s not on drugs again,” she said and then got an odd look on her face. “But if he’s not on drugs, then where is he?”
“Who were his friends?” I asked.
“Ha! Druggies don’t have friends. He burned all of his old friends long ago.” Marge shook her head.
Marge had a point. Often a recovering addict’s closest thing to a friend was someone else in recovery. “Did Hank go to AA meetings?”
“He did.” The thought that there were more people to talk to caused her to rally a bit. “He sometimes went to the AA meetings in Calhoun. Actually, I think some of them were Narcotics Anonymous meetings.”
“I know where they are.” I looked at my watch. The groups usually met at several different times. Some of the new people would go to two meetings a day. Adams County wasn’t as bad as some, but like the rest of rural America, we had a serious drug problem. Dad was adamant that the department support the rehab programs in the community. I even knew of one of our officers who attended meetings on a regular basis. I pulled out my phone and dialed Dill Kirby’s number.
Dill was an old-timer. He’d been with the department for forty years and was now semi-retired, working the occasional special event or the front desk when we needed him. Years earlier he’d had to admit to having an alcohol problem. Now, once a year or more, Dad had him talk to the different shifts about how easy it could be for a deputy to go down the wrong path with drugs and alcohol. Dad hated it when he had to fire one of the deputies for substance abuse. He always looked on them as casualties of the job—a job that demanded you spend your life looking in the darkest corners of human nature.
“Hey, it’s Larry. I’m trying to help out a woman whose brother’s gone miss
ing. He’s had some issues with drugs and alcohol and has been going to local meetings. I was wondering if you could ask around and find out if anyone’s seen him.”
“What part of anonymous don’t you understand?” Dill asked me good-naturedly.
“This is pretty urgent. It’s Hank Junior.”
I heard him take in a deep breath. “Damn. And his father and brother not even in the ground yet. You think something’s happened to him?”
“Don’t know. But he didn’t have many friends. I thought his sponsor might have a clue. If you can just find out if they’ve heard from him. If he’s safe, then everyone will be happy.”
“I hear you. There’s a meeting at the First Methodist in an hour. The way home meeting, we call it. It’s very tempting to stop and get something you shouldn’t on your way home from work. I’ll find out. I’ve seen him at a couple of meetings recently. He seemed fine, but what’s happened to his family in the last week would mess anyone up, let alone someone in recovery.”
“Thanks.”
I hung up and told Marge that a friend was going to follow up and give me a call if he found out anything. Just knowing something was being done seemed to give her some relief.
“What else can you do?” she asked me.
“I’m going to drive around a bit and see if I can find out anything. But if we haven’t come up with any answers by nine o’clock, you’re going to have to call Jane and anyone else that you can think of. We have to eliminate the possibility that they know something. After that, I would strongly urge you to let us pull out all the stops and start a major investigation into his disappearance.”
I didn’t tell her that I wasn’t going to let that be optional. Hank Junior was a possible suspect in the deaths of his father and brother. One of the options that I had to consider was that he had fled in order to avoid being arrested.
“Okay. I can see that.” Marge clenched her eyes shut and tapped her hand to her forehead. “No, no, I won’t wait. I’ll call Jane now. I can’t worry about people’s emotions and family politics.” She dug her phone out of her pocket.