by Paty Jager
“Do you have a card?”
He pulled out one of his cards, setting it on the counter by his glass.
She glanced down before staring at him. “Oregon wants him? What about Idaho?”
“He’s wanted for murders in both states.”
She nodded. “I’ll see if the security cameras have the two men meeting with Bayle. If they do, I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
Hawke smiled. “I like the way you think. I better mingle so someone doesn’t say something about me monopolizing your time.” He picked up his beer and spun on the stool as a new dancer was being introduced. The timing was perfect. He also noticed one of the men who’d kept him from speaking to Bayle standing by the door, scanning the room. Good thing he was getting away from Twila.
He found Mathews at a table and sat. “We may have something tomorrow. Twila is going to look on the security tapes. Sheridan and Childress were in here about three weeks ago with Bayle.”
Mathews grinned. “That would go a long way to getting the Prosecuting Attorney to press charges.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Chapter Thirty-four
The following morning, Hawke headed to the Boise Police Station to see if he could find anything in Trask’s files that would help them connect the retired city policeman with Bayle and Childress. Hawke flashed his badge and asked to look at archived files. No one asked which file. They only asked that he write down his name and badge number. Then he was escorted to a back room that had three older computers, a lot like his mom’s, and boxes.
“We have reports to two-thousand in the computer system. If it’s any older you’ll have to look in the database to see where to find the file,” the young woman dressed in a uniform told him before she left him alone in the room.
He wasn’t sure when Tonya’s parents had their accident. He pulled out his phone and looked it up online. Once he had the date, he popped that into the computer and started scanning the reports for that day. He’d had the files sent over that were from Trask’s file on the accident, but Hawke had a feeling those had been carefully vetted to send only certain information.
Bingo. He found the file and there was considerably more information than had been sent to the State Police. Hawke studied the information. In this report, it noted something blue had side-swiped the Cox vehicle, causing it to veer off the road.
Hawke called McCord. “Hey, can you look up what color car Bayle was driving on nine-six-two thousand two?”
“Sure can. Call you back.”
Hawke took a photo of the screen showing the information about the car being hit. This was the original report. Nothing doctored.
His phone buzzed. McCord.
“Hawke.”
“It was a cobalt blue metallic, two thousand and two, Porsche, nine-eleven, G T two.” The awe in the trooper’s voice revealed she knew the car.
“Any chance that fancy paint would look blue when it scratched another car?” he asked.
“What did you find?” McCord asked, with more excitement than he thought the discovery warranted.
“The full traffic report on the Cox’s accident. Any chance Bayle still has that Porsche?” Hawke didn’t know what good it would do if they didn’t have anything to compare it with.
“Let me look.”
While he held for McCord to look up Bayle’s car registrations, he scanned more of the report. There was an evidence box number. This piqued his interest. If there was an off chance someone scraped the paint flecks into an evidence bag, they just might have him.
“Yes. He does still own the car. Along with half a dozen older ones. What do you want me to do now?”
Hawke grinned. He knew what it was like to be pulled from patrol and get to “work” a case instead of leave tread all over the interstate. “Nothing, until I dig some more.” He started to hit end and thought of something. “Hey, can you pull up all the forensic information they have on the White shooting? I never did see that. And check to make sure my sergeant sent over all the info on the Sheridan shooting.”
“Will do.” She ended the call.
Jotting down the evidence box number, Hawke closed out the computer and returned to the front of the building.
“Where do I find evidence obtained by the City Police?” he asked the young woman who’d escorted him to the old files room.
“They’re kept at the Ada County Sheriff’s Department.” She looked up from the computer she was typing on. “But you have to go through our office or the County Prosecutor.”
“Thank you.” He left the police station, talking on the phone to Captain Horton. Hawke scanned the parking lot. There was one of the cars that had been following him since he arrived in Boise. He got into his pickup, drove to a park that allowed dogs, and let Dog out for a pitstop. While he and Dog walked around, his phone rang.
“An assistant prosecutor will meet you at the Sheriff’s Office,” Captain Horton said. “And what you find better be good, because Ms. Rutledge wasn’t happy to lose her assistant.”
“I’ll have information she’s going to like,” Hawke said. He disconnected the call and put Ada County Sheriff’s Office into his GPS. The building looked easy enough to find.
The car that tailed him sat across the street. Hawke loaded Dog back in the pickup and headed to the Ada County Sheriff’s Department.
The one-story building spread out over half a block with other social services also using the structure. Hawke left the windows down and strode up the walkway and steps to the main entrance. He liked the trees and landscaping. It made the building feel more approachable.
Inside the doors, a young man paced, looking at his watch. No doubt the assistant prosecutor.
Hawke walked up to him, holding out his hand. “Trooper Hawke, glad you could help me out with this.”
“Taylor Jones. I understand you’re digging up an old case. My boss is interested in how this affects the White case?” The man pushed heavy rimmed black glasses higher up the bridge of his nose.
“If we find what I think we will, you’ll see.” Hawke motioned for the man to go ahead of him. The assistant prosecutor knew the routine and the sheriff’s department employees.
They walked down that corridor and came to a woman dressed in the county uniform, standing behind a wall with a window.
“Mr. Jones. Do you have the proper paperwork?” she asked.
“I do, and Trooper Hawke will be helping me find what I’m looking for.” Jones signed his name and motioned for Hawke to do the same.
She slid a book towards him. “Sign here along with the time. If you bring anything out, you’ll need to have it recorded.”
Hawke nodded and signed his name along with his badge number and the time.
The door next to the window opened.
“Follow the signs to the end of the corridor, push the button, and I’ll allow you access.” She picked up the ringing phone.
Hawke wandered down the hall behind Jones who was clearly in a hurry. His fancy shoe heels clacked on the floor louder than Hawke’s cowboy boot heels. At the door marked evidence, Jones pushed the button beside the door. When the whirring of what sounded like the door unlocking ended, the prosecutor turned the handle and walked in.
Before the door closed, Hawke pulled out his phone and turned it on as Jones groped for the light switch. The overhead fluorescents added shadows in the room. The walls of shelving and boxes smelled of must, dust, and odors he didn’t want to think about.
“What are we looking for?” Jones asked, staring down the aisles of shelving.
“The file said it is in evidence box seven-six-zero-nine.” Hawke watched as the assistant prosecutor walked down to the fifth row.
“It should be in here somewhere.”
They each took a side of the aisle, looking for the number. Hawke found two boxes with numbers on either side of the number. “Damn, someone destroyed the evidence.”
“Why? How old is the case?” Jones shoved hi
s black-rimmed glasses up his wide nose.
“Two-thousand-and-two. Cops on the take.” Hawke stared at the empty spot between the two numbers.
That only seemed more damaging. If they had removed the evidence there must have been something that proved Bayle was guilty. Something stuck out from under the box on top. A large envelope.
Hawke blew the dust off the end of the envelope sticking out and recognized the file number. This was the evidence.
He raised the box and pulled the envelope out. His hands shook as he opened the envelope. This could help them bring down the man responsible for so many deaths. Inside the envelope was a copy of the report he’d read on the computer. The real report. Also included was a small paper evidence envelope with what looked like paint scrapings.
Adding this to the report about Bayle being cited for driving while under the influence, should help Tonya’s case that the billionaire be charged with manslaughter.
“This should help prove Buck Bayle killed Mr. and Mrs. Cox in Two-thousand-and-two and prove that there were several city policemen who were and still are on his payroll.” He handed the evidence over to Jones. “We need to take this to your boss.”
“I’d say so, if it does do what you claim.” Jones tucked the envelope in his briefcase and they left the evidence room and walked back up to the front.
They signed out and left the building. Hawke said good-bye to Jones at the door and wandered toward his vehicle. His mind was on so many other things, it took him a second to realize he wasn’t alone.
“Mr. Bayle would like to see you,” the man behind him said.
“I’m busy at the moment, but I can see him in about an hour,” Hawke said, not breaking the stride carrying him to his vehicle.
A hand grabbed his arm and jerked him around. “He said now.”
Hawke spun, stuck his leg out, and knocked the man to the ground. “I said later.”
Not waiting for the man to get off the ground, Hawke ran to his pickup and peeled out of the parking lot. Dog whimpered and sniffed, checking to see if he’d been hurt.
“I’m fine,” Hawke said, rubbing Dog’s head and driving toward the county courthouse.
He pulled into the county parking lot and his phone buzzed. The number was unfamiliar, but since he’d given his card to several people lately, he answered.
“Hawke.”
“This is Twila, we met last night.”
“Yes. Were you able to find anything?”
“I was. Can you meet me at a coffee shop on West State Street?” She went on to tell him the name and address.
“I can be there in fifteen minutes.” He disconnected, pulled out of the parking lot, and checked to see if he was being followed. So far, he wasn’t. He didn’t want the gorilla that tried to deter him at the Sheriff’s office to show up when he was talking to Twila.
For that reason, he parked two blocks from the coffee shop and ducked through two stores before walking into the coffee shop. He spotted the woman easily. She wasn’t wearing the makeup or seductive clothes she had the night before, but her facial features were distinctive in a good way.
He ordered a coffee and sat down at the table she occupied in the corner. “You could get in trouble for this.”
She shook her head. “Barry, the person in charge of the security cameras, is my boyfriend. He hates the way Bayle treats all the women who work for him. But Bayle pays good money for security.” She handed him a brown paper bag. “It’s the tape for the night I told you about and then a couple nights later when he met with just the old guy again.”
That piqued Hawke’s attention. “Any chance the room where they met had a camera?”
She shook her head. “Those rooms are private.”
“I appreciate you doing this. I’ll keep your name and your boyfriend out of this if I can.”
Twila stood. “I’d appreciate that. Not that I care about my job, but I know Mr. Bayle can play nasty.” She walked out of the coffee shop.
Hawke finished his coffee, picked up the brown bag, and walked back to his pickup. He called Mathews. “Meet me at the D.A.’s office, ASAP.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Waiting in the reception area for Marcia Rutledge, the Prosecuting Attorney for Ada County, Hawke filled Mathews in on the fact there was possible evidence of Bayle’s involvement in Tonya’s parents’ death and that he had a security tape of Bayle talking with Sheridan and Childress at the strip club.
The door to the attorney’s office opened and a woman in her forties of average height, with highlighted blonde hair, stepped out. “I’m Marcia Rutledge.” She held out a hand.
Hawke grasped her long fingers and palm. “I’m Oregon State Trooper Hawke.” Her grip was firm without trying to prove she had balls.
“I’m Idaho County Deputy Scott Mathews.” Mathews shook hands.
“You’re both a long way from your usual territory. Come in.” She walked into her office and they followed.
When she was seated behind her desk, Hawke sat in one of the chairs in front of her. Mathews sat in the one beside him.
“In case you’re wondering, I do know a bit about why you are out of your territories, Captain Horton came to see me this morning about a retired city cop named Trask who he wanted indicted for providing false information. He said you,” she nodded at Hawke, “brought this man to him. And my assistant brought me evidence that could put Buck Bayle in jail for manslaughter. You’ve been busy.”
He nodded. “The evidence your assistant brought you is part of that false information.” Hawke went on to tell her about the accident, who was involved, and the fact he found the original report and the evidence at the Sheriff’s Office. She was writing as fast as he told the story.
Ms. Rutledge glanced up at him. “You’re saying you think the evidence that was falsified will show Buck Bayle is responsible for the death of Mr. and Mrs. Cox?”
“Yes. And we,” he motioned to Mathews, “have reason to believe he also had Felix White killed to keep quiet the fact he sold houses and property that had contaminated drinking water.”
The prosecutor leaned forward on her desk. “Tell me more.”
Hawke told her all about who asked him to find White, who went with him, and what happened, while Mathews filled in more of what they’d learned.
“This is interesting. Do you have any proof Bayle was behind the deaths?”
Hawke held up the brown bag he’d carried into the courthouse. “If the person who gave this to me is correct, this may be enough to pull Bayle and Childress in for questioning.”
Ms. Rutledge picked up her phone. “Alison, bring one of the televisions with VHS into my office, please.” She replaced the phone. “Tell me everything you know about this. I’ve wanted to get something on Bayle since I took over this office. My predecessor tried but didn’t have any luck.”
Mathews told her what he’d seen at the strip joint. The coded door and the men who went through the door.
“The bartender said it was a high stakes poker game,” Hawke added.
There was a knock, the door swung open, and a television on a cart was rolled in.
“Thank you, Alison.” Ms. Rutledge plugged the television into a socket and reached out for the tape.
Hawke handed it to her.
She turned the T.V. on, shoved the tape in the rectangular opening, and waited.
“I’m not sure how many hours are on this tape,” Hawke said, leaning forward, his forearms on his thighs, studying the angle of the camera and trying to figure out where it was located.
“I saw that camera,” Mathews said. “It’s in the hall that leads to the private rooms and the one that needed a code.”
Every once in a while, a woman and a man or a woman and a couple would wander down the hall, be off camera for half an hour, and return back to the main area. The time on the tape grew later and later. Several men wandered down the hall alone. Then Bayle, Childress, and Sheridan followed by one of Bayle’s bodyguard
s walked down the hallway.
Hawke jumped up and stopped the tape. “That was Childress and the man who was helping me track White. He shot White, then ran and was killed in Oregon.”
Ms. Rutledge picked up a notepad and wrote down the day and time, then the three names. “Where was this?”
“The Gentlemen’s Club on Eighth Street. Bayle owns it.”
Her eyebrows rose. “What doesn’t he own in Boise.” She put the notepad down and pressed play.
Twenty minutes later the three, followed by the bodyguard, walked back down the hall toward the main part of the building.
“I wish we could have seen an exchange of money,” the prosecutor said.
“We checked his personal financials and couldn’t find a payment to Sheridan,” Mathews said.
Ms. Rutledge shifted her gaze to the deputy. “How did you manage that?”
Mathews squirmed.
“We happened to talk to a newspaper reporter who had connections.” Hawke kept his eyes on the television. “According to my source at the Gentlemen’s Club, Childress came back in a few days later. I’m thinking it was after Sheridan killed White but left a witness.”
The woman stopped the tape and picked up her notepad. “Who is the witness?”
Up to this point, Hawke had left out any mention of Tonya. “Tonya Cox, the daughter of the people Bayle might have killed in the car accident. She is also a reporter—”
“And the woman who helped Felix White escape.” The prosecutor stared at him as if he were on trial. “Where is she? She needs to be held accountable for her part in the escape of a prisoner.”
“Even if that prisoner was being held on trumped up charges?” Hawke studied her. He’d told her how Trask, Bayle, and Childress had railroaded White into jail for something he hadn’t done.
“She still broke the law. Where is she?”
“We have her someplace Bayle can’t find her.” Hawke wondered if Tonya contacted Bayle if he would come talk to her. That might be away to get something on the man. “But I have an idea.”