by John Foxjohn
Before David could reply, Lambert cut in. “Peterson—I think you have things a mite wrong. This is Nacogdoches County. That means this is my county, my jurisdiction, and my crime scene. You’re here out of professional courtesy. Nothing else. I called David here. If you don’t like it,” he pointed, “there is the road. You know your way back to Lufkin.”
Peterson’s eyes narrowed. “My deputy is dead. That makes it my damn business. I’m not leaving.”
David smiled to himself, when Lambert turned full to face Peterson. With his hands on his hips, several moments of strained silence ensued. “Peterson,” the Nacogdoches Sheriff said at last, “I’m going to tell you for the last time. This is my jurisdiction. If I tell you to leave, you damn sure will leave. Do I make myself clear?”
Without a word, Peterson spun and left.
David twitched his mouth to keep from smiling. “I don’t think he likes us.”
Lambert chuckled and shook his head. “And we’re so likeable, too.”
While they talked, a large white van with a Nacogdoches County Sheriff’s emblem on the side eased up. Lambert excused himself and talked to the driver for a few minutes. When the van pulled forward, Lambert lumbered back to David. “Let me show you the crime scene. From what I hear, you know your way around a homicide.”
David nodded. “I’ve seen a few.”
On the way to the body, the sheriff filled him in on what they knew so far, including the witness.
Several people stood at the creek bank talking, but all conversation ceased when David and Lambert strode up.
With arms crossed, David gazed at the scene. Water had washed away all the blood from around the wound in the back of the head. All that remained was a clean, neat hole, and David had seen enough gunshot wounds to know that the entry was small and clean. If the bullet exited, it left a ragged, gaping wound.
Water swirled around the victim—his upper half bobbed like a fishing cork. His hair floated around his head, giving a surreal appearance.
Icy sensations crawled over David’s skin. He let some air escape from his lungs. This always happened at a murder crime scene, and he couldn’t explain this phenomenon to anyone, including himself. The wind stopped blowing, no sound penetrated his consciousness. Birds and insects that hovered close to the river disappeared, as well as the hum of conversation from the other officers. His eyes scanned the scene clicking on different areas like a camera shutter. For some reason, he was able to focus his entire attention and thoughts on what had happened. Like a dream, two males sidled down the path to the river. Small, frightened eyes peeked from behind a bush.
The first male was James. The second had a head, but no face. James stood facing the river while the second raised a pistol inches from the deputy’s head and pulled the trigger. Eyes in the brush grew larger, more frightened, and tears streamed down the boy’s cheeks.
David’s heart hammered while his gaze swept the scene. The sheriff’s department had cordoned off the area with crime scene tape. Several smaller areas had sticks in the ground with crime scene tape around them. Cordoned off were a few footprints that showed in the sand.
“David,” the sheriff said, startling him out of the fog. “We have never worked a homicide of this magnitude. I’d appreciate any help you’d care to give us.”
David had already formed a positive impression of Joe Lambert, and not only because of how he talked to Peterson, but the look of disgust on his face. Now, he rose higher in David’s estimation. It took a big man in his position to admit that he needed help. He nodded. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. This is your crime scene, but if it was me, I’d get these people out of here. They mean well, but the more people wandering around, the more chances there are of contaminating the scene, messing up possible evidence.”
While David talked, the sheriff motioned for someone to come to him.
“The first thing you have to do in any crime scene, and it goes double in a homicide investigation, is preserve the integrity of the scene. You never know what will turn up important later. If it doesn’t grow, it needs to be tagged as evidence.” David pointed to a match in the weeds. “That looks inconsequential, but the killer could have left it.”
A tall deputy in uniform strolled up. “Jason, as nice as you can be, I want you to thank all these officers here, except agent Mason and our people, but let them know that we’re clearing this area,” Lambert said.
The deputy nodded. “Including Angelina County?”
A wiry grin splashed on the sheriff’s face. “Especially Angelina County. Tell the sheriff that I’ll keep him apprised of the investigation.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
Lambert tilted his head at his deputy. “Does it look like I care what Peterson likes?”
When the deputy strode off, Joe asked, “Do you think the killer left that match?”
“Nope. I don’t. I think one of the law enforcement personnel dropped it, but that’s my point about the integrity of the crime scene. If no one traipsed down here, we would know that either the victim or the killer left it.”
He nodded. “I see your point. What would you do, now?”
“After the Medical Examiner removes the body, I’d take my deputies, put them on line, and sweep this area several times. Don’t have the same people walking over the same ground each time. If one group searches the creek bank, on the next sweep, have another group search that area.”
The sheriff nodded. “Makes sense. Fresh eyes. What do they do if they find something?”
“Have them mark it, and later come back and photograph it in place, then bag and tag. Make certain you maintain chain of custody with everything tagged.”
“What do you mean by chain of custody?”
“Whoever finds something, have that person bag and tag it. Don’t let him give it to someone else to do it.”
Lambert took a deep breath. “Son. I have a lot to learn. Why is that important?”
David smiled. He didn’t want to seem like he was lecturing a sheriff, but Lambert had asked. “If you find evidence, make an arrest and it goes to trial, the D.A. will call the person who tagged it to the stand to testify about where and how that piece of evidence was discovered. On cross-examination, he has to be able to tell them. When evidence is passed from hand to hand, it becomes contaminated and inadmissible.”
“Ah—I see.”
David pointed to the victim. “How’d you identify him?”
“Badge and ID from his back pocket. We haven’t moved the body.”
“Then if you want another suggestion, I’d get that body moved—fast. If the fish haven’t eaten his face, they will.”
The sheriff nodded, but didn’t say anything for a couple of minutes. Then, scratching his head, he asked, “What about our witness? He is a ten-year-old boy who’s scared to death. So are his parents.”
David tapped his mouth with his index finger. “Again. I’m not trying to tell you what to do. I wish I could tell you what’s going on around your neck of the woods, but I don’t have a clue. I’d bet my left nut that this murder is involved with the one I’m investigating, though. If I had a witness, especially that young, I’d hide him. Someone has a lot at stake here. If they’ve killed two deputies, they won’t hesitate with a ten-year-old boy. I would hate to have that boy’s death on my head because I didn’t do anything to protect him.”
CHAPTER 13
Peterson slammed his hand on the steering wheel. “I’m tired of this fucking shit. Something has to be done about Mason.”
Spivey, riding in the front seat, circled his thumbs around each other. He didn’t say anything for a while. Trees beside the road whipped by as the sheriff gunned the engine, weaving in and out of traffic.
He adjusted his hat lower over his face. This shit was getting out of hand. He had no idea who killed James, but it wasn’t the worst idea in the world. James was spineless, and Mason would’ve discovered it and gone after him, but now, they had two de
ad deputies and not an idea who killed them or why. He’d thought he ran this mess, but he realized now that someone else called the shots, and he didn’t know who.
Now Peterson was a half an ounce away from panic. Panic that would destroy them, and this wasn’t time for hysterics. “Are you sure we aren’t getting in over our heads here? I think we need to shut down until all this blows over.”
Peterson fumed. “Not you, too. I’d never have believed you’d show tail feathers.”
Spivey took a deep breath. He had to be careful what he said. Hot headed, Peterson acted before he thought, and Spivey’s tail feathers were getting so scared he couldn’t find them.
Peterson wasn’t the brightest bulb to tote a sheriff’s badge. “Willie—we can’t go around killing FBI agents! Right now, our department has two dead deputies and we don’t know why.”
Spivey hesitated, turning his head—his stare cut Peterson to the bone. “We don’t know why, do we Willie?”
Peterson’s ruddy face exploded to purple. “I didn’t do it and don’t know who did!”
Spivey pursed his lips and nodded a couple of times. “OK. We still can’t go around killing FBI agents. What the hell do you think they’ll do with a dead agent? That’s not going to get them to leave. We’ll have every federal law enforcement agency in this country sticking their noses up our butts. You think Mason is not sending in reports? Hell, they’d start with us, and you and I know if they look hard enough and long enough, talk to the right people, they have us. Besides, from what I’ve heard, this Mason is hard to kill. Others have tried. Two people have shot him. They’re both dead. He isn’t. I know for a fact he has killed several others on duty. Let’s quit fucking with him.”
* * * *
With nightfall around the corner, David left the crime scene. On his way back to Lufkin, his car phone rang. Melissa told him that Beeker had called twice, and they had some information to give him on Melody Milam. David told her to find a restaurant where they could all talk in private. Tired and hungry, he hadn’t eaten all day. He knew what Beeker wanted—his paperwork.
A few minutes later, she called back and told him they would all meet him at a Mexican restaurant and gave him directions.
When David pulled into El Chico’s parking lot, he spotted a couple of the rental cars parked.
Meat, beans, and cheese aromas made his stomach rumble when he trudged toward the door. The five agents sat at the bar when he entered. He leaned against the doorframe out of sight but not hearing as Andy held court.
“Yep this old drunk stood on the street corner. After a while, this tall blond male came along and stopped close by. It wasn’t long before a gorgeous redheaded woman came along. The man smiled at her and said something. Insulted, the female yelled, ‘What did you say?’6777
“The male said something, and then the woman smiled at him and walked off. It wasn’t long until another woman came along. This one, a blond, smiled at the comment, caught the man’s arm and they left together.
“This goes on for a couple of days. Finally, the old drunk couldn’t stand it any longer. He approached the male and asked him what he said to pick up all them women.
“The man smiled and told him, It’s simple. I say, “Tickle your ass with a feather.” If they smile, we start talking. I know they’re interested. If they get mad, I say, “Typically nasty weather and they think they misunderstood me.’
“The old drunk asked him if he thought he could do it.
“Sure. Try it,’ the man said.
“The old drunk looked down the street and here comes this tall, dark-haired woman with legs out of this world, and shaking in all the right places. He stepped toward her. ‘Tickle your ass with a feather.’ She stopped, put her hands on her hips. ‘What did you say?’
“Stunned at her reaction, the old drunk forgot what to say, with his face red, he finally said, ‘Looks like snow.’
The men laughed, but Melissa shook her head. “That wasn’t funny.”
David stepped around the corner. Andy had his back to David. Aping, he straightened his tie and brushed his hair. “Now, we have to cross our I’s and dot our T’s.” He tapped his mouth with his index finger. “You know Melvin,” Andy said in a perfect imitation of David’s Texas accent, “you don’t need all them suitcases.”
No one laughed but Andy. He looked at them for a long moment, puckering his mouth. “I’m in trouble, ain’t I?”
Morgan laughed. “Behind you.”
Without turning his head, Andy asked David how long he’d been there.
With a stern expression, David stepped around and had a seat. “Andy, I think you better keep your feathers away from my ass.”
Laughing, David helped himself to the bowl of chips. The waitress brought more chips and salsa, and took David’s drink order since the others had theirs.
After taking a sip of the Chivas Regal, David leaned back, looking at the menu, and decided on the beef fajitas.
When the waitress left, Melissa said, “We found something interesting with Melody Milam. “She had a fifty-thousand dollar life insurance policy on her husband through the department.”
David dipped a chip into the salsa and ate it. “That’s normal. Most law enforcement agencies have this kind of policy.” He frowned when something occurred to him. “The insurance has paid off already?”
“No. They’re waiting on the investigation to end.”
“That’s normal, too. They can keep the fifty thousand in the bank drawing interest, and they don’t have to pay an investigator to look everything over.”
The waitress arrived with the food, setting the large, hot plate in front of David, and he ordered another drink, then took out a tortilla and placed a large portion of the beef, onions, peppers, and guacamole on it. After folding the tortilla, he took a large bite.
The agents chatted while they ate. When they finished and had another round of drinks in front of them, David asked Morgan and Melvin what they’d found looking at Justin’s bank accounts.
Morgan straightened his already perfect hair. “We didn’t get a lot of cooperation at first. They came through when we slapped the federal warrant on them.”
Melvin snickered. “It didn’t hurt when Dennis threatened a federal audit with frozen accounts.”
“We’ve looked at tapes for most of the day. Tape shows the man who opened the account plain as day,” Morgan said.
“The problem is,” Melvin said, “the person who opened the account is not Justin Milam.”
David took a drink and set his glass down. This was not news to him. The others didn’t know Justin, but he knew without a doubt that Justin wasn’t dirty. He would’ve staked his life on that.
Morgan frowned at Melvin for interrupting him. “We can’t figure out who the man is. He looks nothing like Justin Milam in appearance or body structure.”
David, elbows on the table, stared into his drink and tapped on his glass. “I’m assuming that the man who opened the account wasn’t anyone you recognized.”
Morgan shook his head and took a drink. “We thought about the sheriff’s department, but it wasn’t. Before you ask, we also checked all the key people in the sheriff’s department. The man who opened that account was not them, but how did you know it wasn’t Spivey?”
“Too smart to go into a bank with security cameras.” David rested his head on the back of the chair for a moment. When the waitress strolled by to see if they wanted another drink, David declined and the others followed suit. He looked from one to the other. “Hey, just because I don’t want another doesn’t mean you have to stop.”
Everyone ordered another, except Melvin who didn’t drink. He did ask for another iced tea.
“Who was the bank employee who opened the account?” David asked when the waitress left.
Morgan reached into his coat pocket and brought out a leather organizer. “Her name is Rebecca Jo Farley. Everything seems in order. She had the man sign a form stating that she and the bank had
informed him of the FDIC stipulations on that amount of money.”
David frowned, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of his eyes. “They dotted their T’s and crossed their I’s.”
“Wh—y do you al—ways say—it—like that?”
A far away small smile appeared on David’s face. “I had an old partner that always said it like that.”
Before anyone could say anything, and without David knowing it, Melissa shook her head, cutting off any questions from the others.
The hum of talk, rattle, and clash of dishes throughout the restaurant didn’t disturb the silence that hung over the agents.
David, with elbows on the table, rested his chin in his palms. He was glad to have Melissa with him. At least he had one he knew, could talk to, and trusted in all situations. He sighed. He sure could use Henry on this one, though.
He straightened up. “OK, I want to talk to the bank employee that opened the account. I also want a copy of the signature, and a copy of Justin’s sent to the lab for analysis.”
Morgan sat straighter in his chair, running his fingers through his hair. “We sent the signatures this afternoon. Melvin thought you’d want him to. However, you won’t be able to speak to the employee. She’s dead.”
With his lips suppressed into hard lines, David said, “Isn’t that fucking sweet?” He threw his napkin down. “I bet she didn’t die of natural causes, either.”
“You’d win,” Morgan said. “Two days after the man opened the account, she walked across Main Street in Nacogdoches and a car flattened her like a pancake. Witnesses said the car that hit her traveled at a high rate of speed, never hit their brakes, and didn’t stop. We checked with the local PD. They have nothing on it.”
David shook his head. “Why am I not surprised?”
Lowering his head and smoothing his hair, David didn’t speak for a moment. Too many bodies turning up. What did Justin get himself into? Dammit. What was he going to tell Beeker, now? He needed to do something. Fast.
* * * *
David told the group to meet him back at his room in a couple of hours. He wanted to give them some time to themselves, but he also needed to call Beeker and Beth. He missed her. Besides, she could calm his nerves, put things in perspective. He smiled to himself—when she didn’t come up with the answers like the wig thing.