by Claire Booth
Hank almost leapt out of his chair, sloshing his coffee mug in the process. ‘Shoes?’
Kurt laid the photo printouts on Hank’s desk, avoiding the puddle of coffee.
‘They’re consistent,’ Kurt said. ‘The print in the woods and the shoe found in the sleeping bag at the homicide scene. It’s the same shoe, but I can’t tell you if it’s the same shoe.’
Hank looked up from the photos with a frown.
‘Both are a men’s Nike cross trainer, approximately size ten.’ Kurt rattled off the style. ‘But the woods cast is the right shoe and the scene shoe is the left. I can’t tell you if they’re the same pair or were worn by the same person.’
Hank studied the photos. Where was Mr Cross Trainer? Because he was pretty damn sure there weren’t two people in the same shoes out there running around targeting a very specific segment of Branson residents.
‘You find out anything else while you were over there?’
Alice was still working on the theater brochure. The Branson techs had pulled a latent off the sleeping bag’s zipper, but it matched the dead guy. And they still had no idea who he was. His prints weren’t in the national database, so he didn’t have a criminal record. Hank nodded. Johnny Gall’s prints hadn’t been in the database, either.
‘Ah, but I’m closing in on him,’ said Sheila as she entered his office. ‘The homicide, not Johnny Gall.’
Kurt looked at her like she was possessed of some kind of law enforcement super powers. Hank thought the same thing – he’d just learned not to show it.
‘Oh, please,’ she told Kurt. ‘It’s called detective work. It’s not like I’m reinventing the wheel. So get your goo-goo eyes on outta here. Go on.’
And that was why.
Kurt hustled out, and Sheila took his seat.
‘It’s got to be either Andrew T. Bennett or Gavin P. O’Connell. I hope.’
‘How on earth did you even come up with any names at all?’
She explained about the coffee shop app.
‘And the owner was right,’ she said. ‘She’s drawing customers from the Strip and from downtown businesses. Six names fit the age demographic we need. Three are straight-up local boys who must be stopping in on breaks from work. I ran their names, and pulled up their DLs. None of the DL photos match our guy. And another name is a guy with a St Louis address. And since his DL photo shows that he’s not a white man, he’s definitely out, too. I sent Sam over to have Judge Sedstone sign the warrant for the credit card companies, so we can get the billing addresses and confirm all this. And hopefully figure out these last two names. Neither of them came up in the Missouri DL database.’
‘Which would make sense if they’re in from out of state to work one of the shows,’ Hank said. He grabbed a wad of tissue from the box Maggie kept him supplied with and started soaking up the coffee spill on his desk. ‘Any luck on tracking down Euford Gunner?’
She shook her head in exasperation. ‘BPD has somebody searching high and low for whoever Euford’s agent or publicist or whoever is. And they’ve surveyed all the hotels and such. No Euford. And no big ol’ Caddy, either. I think Dale’s about to put an APB out on the damn car. He’s not real happy at the moment.’
Hank understood why, but Raker was the lucky one. All he had was a homicide to solve. He wasn’t directly responsible for the deaths of six people. Hank concentrated on the coffee so Sheila wouldn’t see his eyes. When he thought they’d stopped watering, he looked at her again. She was busy studying her notes. Thank God.
He finished the mop up just as his cell rang. He saw who it was and tried to answer without sounding anxious.
‘Hi, Nina.’
Sheila raised her head quickly when she heard the Highway Patrol sergeant’s name.
‘I was just out at the scene again and thought I’d check in with you,’ Nina said, ‘and just to see how you’re doing.’
‘Oh. I’m fine.’ He hoped the lie was easier to hide over the phone. ‘Busy working on who Johnny Gall really was.’
She laughed. ‘I can’t help you there, but I did want to let you know that we’re working hard on this end. I’ll definitely keep you updated on our progress.’
‘When will you know more about the car? Whether there was a mechanical issue?’
She thought a minute.
‘There was no event data recorder in the vehicle, so we don’t have any information to download, unfortunately. It’ll be a while before there’s anything to report.’
That wasn’t what Hank wanted to hear. He wadded up his wet Kleenex and forced out a thank-you. They made plans to meet for lunch later in the week, and he hung up.
‘At least she’s being helpful,’ he said to Sheila. ‘If they were both assholes like Jenkins, we’d be having a hell of a time.’
Sheila snorted. ‘Uh huh. Helpful.’
She gathered her paperwork and walked out of the office shaking her head. Sometimes, he could not figure her out. He sighed and aimed for the trash can. His tissue ball fell short with a splat. Perfect.
Sam contemplated the Greater Branson Area. It was the big county 9-1-1 street map that they’d tacked to the wall of Sheila’s office opposite her white board. He knew his hometown better than he knew just about anything, but sometimes it helped to see it all laid out in front of him.
From what the construction foreman had told Sheila, Euford showed up at the job site early every morning. That made it likely he was staying somewhere local. And Branson PD had already gone through all the hotels and rental places (thank goodness he hadn’t had to do that canvassing). He ran his hand across the map, stopping on the other side of Lake Taneycomo. There were some nice places out on Lakeshore Drive and farther out on T Highway that had views of the water. And that was a quick drive into town. His hand floated southward to the city of Hollister. The shoreline was lower there and there were sections of nice homes with docks right on the water. And it was just a short bridge crossing over into Branson.
What if Euford was renting a private residence? Something that’d be appropriate for a country music star? Something with a garage for his gigantic Caddy? He slapped the map and turned toward Sheila’s computer. Airbnb netted two possibilities. He wrote them down and headed for his car.
An hour later, he’d met a very nice vacationing family from Duluth and a honeymooning couple from Iowa. So he was back in the cruiser, drumming a Bruno Mars song on the steering wheel and trying to pin down the thing he was missing, which was flitting through his brain like a lightning bug. Right when he was about to grab it, it’d go dark again. He drove out T Highway until it dead-ended, hoping for a Cadillac sighting and not having any luck. He was halfway back when he caught it.
He pulled off the road and called his mother. He hadn’t talked to her this much in weeks. She’d been the manager of a doctor’s office for the past twenty years, and the professional building where she worked had a tenant who Sam was suddenly very interested in.
‘That snooty lady who works in your building, is she there today?’
‘Huh?’
He explained. His mother told him she’d seen the woman just that morning. He put the car back in gear and sped back to Branson. He walked right past his mom’s office and knocked instead on the locked door at the end of the building. Concierge Travel Consulting.
There was no answer. He sighed. There had been no phone listing, so this in-person visit was his only option. He tried again, and now he heard movement. He’d really hoped he wouldn’t have to do this here.
‘This is Deputy Samuel Karnes of the Branson County Sheriff’s Department,’ he said in his loud, authoritative voice, praying the ladies his mom worked with wouldn’t come out to see what was going on. ‘I’m investigating an urgent matter and need to speak with you immediately. Please answer the door.’
He heard the approaching click of high-heeled shoes and then the door swung open.
‘You do not have an appointment.’
She was old – maybe mid-fif
ties – but she looked younger, he thought. Her makeup and her blond highlights were perfect and her bucketload of jewelry glittered in the soft interior light. He was also pretty sure her business suit cost more than what he paid in rent.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I realize that. I wasn’t able to find your phone number, though. So I’m here in person, and I’d like to come in.’
She studied him for a moment and then stepped back to let him in. He could practically hear her thinking that he was some young punk she needed to be careful of. He stepped inside. She left the door open and did not offer him a seat.
He explained who he was trying to track down. She looked at him blankly.
‘I’m afraid I’m not able to comment on whether anyone might or might not be a client, or in fact, on any aspect of my business at all.’
Sam put on his official face. ‘Ma’am, I am conducting an urgent investigation, and I need to find Mr Euford Gunner. It is extremely important that I do so, so if you have any information, I need you to tell me.’
She folded her hands in front of her and let out what must pass for a sigh in stuck-up people.
‘I am very busy, so I must ask you to leave.’
Sam was starting to get angry. ‘Ms Gillam, I am a law enforcement officer asking you a direct question, and—’
Her eyebrows shot up. ‘How do you know my name?’
Sam silently thanked his mother and forced himself to smile. ‘Knowing who people are and what they do is what law enforcement does, Vivian Gillam. You run a travel agency.’
Her face tightened. ‘I run a service that provides individually tailored itineraries and accommodations for people of distinction.’
Sam bit back a laugh. So in other words, she made reservations for rich people. And he’d made her upset enough that she was talking. That was good. Now he needed to think like the Chief.
‘And that’s why I’m here. Euford Gunner is a very famous country music star, so I naturally thought he would … come to you for his housing needs.’
She stepped to the side and, trying to act casual, walked to her fancy desk at the back of the small office. She stood behind it and put her hands on the surface. He was getting to her. The Chief always said to watch their body language. And she was putting a barrier between them, which meant he was making her edgy. He moved a step closer and ignored the vibrating alert of his cell phone.
‘Euford Gunner?’
‘I am not able to divulge my client list,’ she said.
Think.
‘What, are you a lawyer?’
She looked surprised. ‘No.’
‘Are you a priest?’
She looked at him like he’d lost his mind.
‘Quite obviously not, young man.’
‘So you have no privilege. No privilege under the law to keep information from me.’ He crossed his arms over his chest. ‘Please answer the question.’
Her hands, pressed flat on the desk, started to tremble just a little. But she still shook her head and asked him to leave. He stepped outside and the door shut behind him with a loud click of the lock.
He stepped out of view of the window and made a phone call. Then he selected one of the boulders in the little atrium in the middle of the building’s offices and sat down to wait.
TWENTY-TWO
‘I just wanted to see how you’re doing, ma’am. See if you needed anything.’
Nora Rossetto, Hailee Fitch’s mother, slumped away from the doorway so Sheila could pass through. They took the same living room seats they’d each used two days earlier. She shook her head and wiped away tears.
‘My boss is giving me a few days off. Otherwise …’ She shrugged. ‘There’s not much to be done, you know?’
Sheila wondered if anyone had even bothered to stop by and check on the poor woman. She got up, found a blanket in a bedroom, wrapped it around Nora’s shaking form, and made them each a cup of tea. Then she spread five photos out on the little coffee table. They were recently taken school pictures that would go in funeral programs before they made it into the yearbook.
‘We’re just trying to sort a few things out,’ Sheila said. ‘Could you tell me if you recognize any of these kids?’
Nora was able to say she at least knew four of them by sight, if not by name. Except Johnny Gall.
‘You don’t recognize him at all?’ Sheila asked, handing her the picture. ‘His name’s Johnny Gall. Did Hailee ever mention him?’
Nora shook her head and then brought the photo closer. ‘He doesn’t look like the rest of them.’
Sheila was puzzled. Nora cocked her head and contemplated him.
‘Everybody else is … trying. They’re trying to smile. They tried to do their hair that morning. See all that gel?’ She waved her hand toward the rest of the portraits, with their smiles halfway between forced and earnest and their clothes obviously carefully chosen. ‘But he’s just … just there. Like he doesn’t care. Not in a bad way. Not like Emily didn’t care. But like he’s … got it all figured out.’ She blushed. ‘That sounds really stupid. I’m sorry.’
Sheila took the photo back and stared at it. ‘No … it doesn’t. I think you’re right. That’s what he does look like.’ Gall stared back at her, hazel-ish eyes glinting and thin lips curled into a half smile.
Hailee’d never said anything about him, Nora said. And Nora would’ve remembered that, for sure, because it would’ve been a big deal for her to talk about a boy. Tears bunched in the corners of her eyes and started to roll slowly down her cheeks. Sheila pulled out the tissue travel pack she always carried and pressed one into her hand.
‘She was just … so alone. She didn’t have a chance. Emily takes everything, from everybody …’
‘Do you have any idea where she is, ma’am?’ Sheila said.
‘No. I don’t know anything. The city cops come by every month, about, and ask me where she is. I don’t know.’
Nora Rossetto hadn’t seen or heard from her older daughter in eleven months. That contact had been a quick phone call from Emily to see if any mail had come for her here at the house.
‘I think the HoneyBaked Ham that showed up on the porch on Christmas might’ve been from her, but I don’t know for sure.’ Ms Rossetto’s shrug was so tired and dejected, Sheila wanted to wrap her in a hug. Instead, she asked about a phone number.
‘It’s always a blocked number – no caller ID. And I just have a little flip phone, too, so it doesn’t tell me anything fancy.’
‘Why do you think Emily ended up this way?’ Sheila asked softly.
Nora Rossetto looked around the tiny room, with the faded couch and the cobbled-together TV stand. Her gaze stopped on the hole in the wall near the front door. And Sheila waited.
‘Him. Her father. Hailee’s father, too, but she didn’t seem to have his blood at all. He’s … he’s a crook. A con man. Thinks everybody else is just his to use.’
‘When did he put that hole in the wall?’
Nora smiled. ‘A month or two ago. I wouldn’t give him any money. I haven’t seen him since.’
Sheila thought about how to phrase her next question. Finally she decided that nothing she said was going to make Nora feel worse than she already did.
‘Do you think, ma’am, that Emily is with your ex-husband?’
Nora laughed, a brittle, splintery sound that made Sheila wince. ‘Emily hates Mick. Passionately. She hasn’t talked to him in years, that I know of. And when Emily cuts you out, that’s it. You’re done. Except, of course, for the consequences. You still suffer those.’
Hank grabbed the warrant off the front seat and walked quickly through the open-air office complex. It looked like mostly doctors’ offices, with an accountant and an attorney here and there. And the Pup, perched on a rock in the middle of a bunch of ferns.
He saw Hank approach and headed him off before he got to Gillam’s door.
‘I think she’s been watching me out the window,’ Sam said. ‘I figure it’d be bet
ter if she doesn’t see you until right when we knock on the door. You got the warrant?’
Hank smiled. ‘And I figured since she didn’t want to just go ahead and answer your questions about one client, we’d ask for a warrant that lets us search the whole office, in order that we might be absolutely sure we get all the information she’s got on ol’ Euford.’
Sam started laughing. He hadn’t done that in months. Man, it was good to hear.
‘How’d you pull that off?’ he asked.
‘Judge Sedstone,’ Hank said. ‘He’s already granted one warrant in this thing, and now he’s pretty interested in the whole case. Plus, I don’t think he likes people refusing to answer simple questions.’
‘Me, either,’ the Pup said. ‘So you’ll probably have to knock a bunch of times before she’ll answer the door.’
Hank held out the warrant. ‘Oh, no. You’re the one who’s tracked it this far, you’re the one who gets to take it all the way. This is your show.’
Sam stared at him, and a smile slowly split his face. He took the paper and marched up to the office. It took three knocks before the door opened. Hank stayed out of sight against the wall. Sam held up the warrant and after some heated protests from Vivian Gillam, stepped inside. The door stayed open, and Hank settled against the rough wood siding to listen.
There was some slamming of what sounded like filing cabinet drawers. Sam said, ‘May I?’ and dragged a chair, probably closer to the desk. There was silence for a few minutes. Hank started to get antsy. He was dying to see what was in that file.
Eventually, Sam cleared his throat and told Gillam he would need to look through more than just the rental listings she’d given him. If Hank thought the Concierge had been ticked off before, that was nothing compared with now. Her voice turned low and menacing.
‘There is no way in hell I’m going to let you look through anything else, you little … little … thug. You can’t just come in here and take whatever you want.’
‘Ma’am, the warrant gives me the authority to look through your business records for any and all contracts, correspondence, or indicia relating to Mr Gunner or anyone linked with him.’ The Pup was keeping his cool. Hank was delighted.