by Claire Booth
He knew there was a sizable group of deputies who’d backed the worse-than-worthless Gerald Tucker in the sheriff election. Any one of them could have rooted through the history on that squad car computer and seen that he’d run Alex Danzig’s license twenty minutes before the crash was called in. And then it would’ve been easy to feed that information to Edrick Fizzel. The county commissioner hated Hank and exulted in anything that would make him look bad. The little hedgehog had probably wept with joy over this one as he leaked it to Jadhur.
Hank sat down at his desk and tossed the paper aside. This time it didn’t matter who was out to get him. Because it wasn’t like it wasn’t true. It was. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve public vilification. He did.
But none of that was going to make him hurt worse than he already felt. If he’d only made the right decision, those kids would be alive, doing things like sitting in class, joking with their friends, eating dinner with their families. He would never forgive himself that they weren’t.
He swiped at his eyes and carefully laid the evidence bag on his blotter. He wasn’t really sure why he’d taken the diary. He did know why he’d taken the cards addressed to Gall, though. He snapped on a pair of gloves and slid everything out of the bag.
Johnny, I’m glad I got to know you. Love, Simone
Super Cool Johnny, I’m going to miss you. – Paula
Johnny, You were awesome. I wish you’d come to Branson sooner. Love, Trish
Several more of the same. All girls. None of them said anything actually personal, however. It was like they’d judged him from afar and found him worth wanting to know.
He reached for the last one in the stack. It was a plain white envelope, not addressed to anyone. He hadn’t opened it out at the memorial, which was why he’d included it. Inside was a plain white card with no words. Just a drawing. A figure, turned away from the viewer. The head was bowed and no facial features were visible, but the hair fell in a loose and shaggy sweep that resembled a seventies punk rocker. Or Johnny Gall. It was a remarkable rendering for a bunch of slashy lines and abstract shadings.
Hank set it down very carefully and opened the diary to the page with the similarly styled drawing of the hands. Then he picked up his desk phone and called the crime lab. Kurt Gatz hustled over immediately and promised a quick result. A half hour later, he returned with nothing. Not a single fingerprint on either item. Hank almost smiled.
Now he just needed to figure out where his staff was. He checked his cell and realized it was still turned off. He powered it up and swore so loudly that Kurt, who’d just left, ran back in wide-eyed with alarm. Hank sidestepped him and headed out the door, his boots squeaking on the tile floor as he broke into a run down the hallway and out of the building.
THIRTY-EIGHT
Sam settled in behind the two-way mirror, glad he was here to observe this interview. He’d watched Sheila do some stuff but he hadn’t seen Mr Raker work, other than that quick time at Mr Gunner’s house. He wanted to see more from both of them. This case had made him realize that the more styles of police work he observed the better. He couldn’t just be following the Chief’s lead all the time.
Mr Raker took a seat across the little table from Mr Gunner. Sheila leaned against the wall and crossed her arms. Sam guessed that was because they were in Raker’s police station and it was technically his homicide investigation. Because otherwise, it sure wasn’t typical Sheila behavior to stand off to the side.
Mr Gunner looked really old under the florescent lights. He also did not look happy. At all.
‘I just talked to that kid. Answered his questions. Why’d you make me come all the way in here?’
Mr Raker nodded pleasantly and said that he knew that, but had some additional things to talk about. He smoothed down his tie and opened the file folder laying in front of him. He slid a piece of paper across the table.
‘This is a medical record from your doctor in Georgia. The one you went to for follow-up care after you broke your ankle in Fort Worth.’
Mr Gunner just sat there.
‘It says,’ Mr Raker continued, ‘that the fractures of the “medial and lateral malleolus” healed pretty much perfectly. The physical therapist you went to gave you a clean bill of health after five sessions.’
Sam thought about the running shoes he’d seen near the mansion’s back door and leaned forward, trying to see Gunner’s face better.
‘That don’t mean I don’t have problems with my ligaments and such,’ Gunner said. ‘And changes in the weather.’
Mr Raker nodded sympathetically. ‘I’m sure it can act up on occasion.’ He put the document back in his folder.
Sam noticed Gunner’s fingers tightening around the handle of his cane and his bum foot slowly twisting more to the outside. It was the opposite of the Branson detective, who leaned back in his chair, all relaxed.
‘Let’s talk about Entertainment Enterprises, Inc.’
Gunner rolled his eyes. ‘I already talked to you about them. I told you that I deal with Ms Gillam and that’s it.’
‘Yeah, I remember,’ Mr Raker said. ‘But I found out a few interesting things as I was … familiarizing myself with the company. For instance, did you know it was a shell? It’s registered in Delaware to a front – a person who’s listed as the agent for dozens of companies. And Delaware law says that’s all we get to know. We don’t get to know who really owns it. Which doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. If you were financing shows and helping bring business to Branson, wouldn’t you be proud of that? Wouldn’t you want folks to know who you are?’
Mr Raker put on a face that looked like Sam’s grandpa puzzling over the crossword. Lost in deep, enjoyable thought as he contemplated the ceiling. But then the detective slowly leaned forward until he was very close to Gunner and didn’t look anything like Gramps.
‘So I’m asking you, Euford – and I’m very serious about this – do you know who’s backing you? Do you know where the money is coming from?’
Mr Gunner shook his head. Sam thought it was interesting that he didn’t speak. Mr Raker stayed in front of his face and started rattling off numbers. The theater renovations had cost close to two million dollars. His salary for a season of shows was almost two hundred thousand dollars, and that didn’t even include the band, or the theater staff. The house rental was four grand a month, so forty-eight grand a year, plus all that food, because he’d heard that Euford ate pretty well.
All that probably totaled three million. At least. Mr Raker leaned back without taking his gaze off Mr Gunner’s face. The old man hadn’t even blinked.
‘You think you’re worth that?’ Raker said. ‘I don’t.’
That got him. He flinched.
‘And,’ Mr Raker kept on, ‘you’re not even really advertising. Or whoever’s fronting this thing isn’t. Which we both know isn’t how this whole business works. So who’s funneling money through you, Euford? Who are you in bed with? Drug runners? Counterfeiters?’
Sam snuck a glance at Sheila, who looked totally unimpressed, except to Sam, who knew what that slightly raised eyebrow meant. He was glad he wasn’t in there. He wouldn’t have been able to keep a straight face. As it was, his jaw was hanging open.
‘You’re a damn lunatic,’ Gunner finally said. ‘I come here to do a show and all a sudden I’m running drugs? Who’s in charge here? I’m going to report you. And then I’m going to leave. You can’t hold me.’
Mr Raker didn’t move, even with Gunner starting to shift in his chair and gather his feet under him.
‘Oh, you misunderstand, Euford. I’m not saying you’re running the drugs, what with your bum ankle and all. I’m saying that you’re passing along all that money you’re making. And I want to know who you’re giving it to.’
If Mr Raker had looked into all these financials, surely he would’ve looked at Gunner’s bank accounts, too, Sam thought. But actually, there shouldn’t be much in there, yet. The show hadn’t started, so a lot of the mo
ney the detective was talking about wouldn’t be there at this point. Sam rubbed his ear and thought about what Raker’s goal was with this line of questioning.
‘Nobody’s asked me to do anything like that.’ Gunner was on his feet. Sheila stepped forward. He glared at her and started for the door. ‘Unless y’all are arresting me, get the hell outta my way. I can’t believe this. Bringing business to this damn town and what – I lose my best friend and then get accused of all kind of shit. Unbelievable.’
He stomped – carefully – out of the room. As the door swung shut behind him, Sheila smiled. ‘It’s always a pleasure to watch you work.’
Mr Raker nodded graciously, then put in a call to patrol to have them follow Gunner when he left the building.
Sheila waved at the mirror. ‘Sammy, come on in here.’
When he got inside, she took a seat in the chair Gunner had just vacated.
‘Tell us what you saw,’ she said.
Mr Raker, who’d just hung up the phone, looked at her in surprise. Her gaze never left Sam’s face. She nodded encouragingly.
‘He was moving his foot.’
They both looked confused.
‘What I mean is,’ Sam said quickly, ‘that he kept moving his injured foot. His ankle. He was twisting it, in a kind of way that looked really uncomfortable. When he could’ve just kept it still. I mean, he was sitting down, right? Why would he need to move it? It seemed to me like he was trying to make it worse.’
Now Mr Raker was interested. ‘Was he doing it the whole time?’
‘No. Just once you started asking him about the medical records. There was also a pair of running shoes by the back door at his house when I was there. They weren’t there the first time we talked to him. Which makes me think they probably weren’t Patrick’s.’
Raker looked delighted. Sheila looked proud. And Sam wanted to freeze the moment forever.
Then the door burst open, hitting the wall with a boom. Everyone jumped. Hank stood there. Haggard and pale and unshaven. Sam reflexively stepped back. Until he saw the glint in the Chief’s eyes. That … that was good. That was a sign the old Chief was in there somewhere.
Sheila slowly rose to her feet. She looked like she was preparing to talk someone off a ledge. Sam shook his head. ‘I think he’s OK,’ he whispered.
Hank hadn’t heard. ‘You have a positive ID on O’Connell? Sammy, that’s fantastic.’ He clapped Sam on the shoulder. ‘And Gunner? I missed it, didn’t I? You get anything out of it?’
Mr Raker brought the Chief up to speed. Sheila chimed in only to say that ‘someone’ should check his damn phone once in a while. The Chief asked a few questions, and then Sheila had one for Mr Raker.
‘You said the theater cost two mill?’ Sheila said. ‘How you figure?’
‘I called every contractor on the project, got all their invoices,’ Raker said.
‘That theater hadn’t seemed to be in that bad a shape,’ Sheila said. Raker agreed.
‘That’s why I think they’re padding the invoices,’ he said. ‘I wanted to go through all the paperwork with the old coot, since he and the kid were so involved in the renovations, but he stormed out before I could.’
They all started talking about the financials, but the Chief interrupted.
‘When’s Hailee’s funeral?’
Sheila, who’d just stopped eyeing him like she was worried he was going to dissolve into a puddle of tears, stiffened up again. ‘What? No. You don’t need to know. You’re not going. We settled this.’
Hank batted at the air in a ‘calm down’ gesture. ‘That wasn’t why he was asking,’ he said. He got out his phone and pulled up two photos. Sam leaned in to see. They were pictures of two black-and-white sketches. All three of them looked at Hank.
‘They were drawn by Emily Fitch.’
On his way from the sheriff’s department in Forsyth to the Branson PD, Hank had called the high school and asked to speak to the art teacher.
‘Why, yes, Emily Fitch was one of my students. She was incredibly talented. Such a waste that she ended up the way she did.’
He sent over photos of the drawings. They were exactly the style that Emily had been developing when she dropped out of school. Better, more refined now, the teacher had said, but definitely the same.
Sheila and the two men stared at him.
‘There were no fingerprints on either the card or the diary,’ Hank said. ‘If any ordinary person had left them, there would be. If someone adept at evading the law left them, there wouldn’t be. And if you look at that card drawing, that’s unmistakably Johnny Gall. Which links the two of them together for the first time.’
‘And you think the diary drawing’s in honor of Hailee, don’t you?’ Sheila asked.
Hank nodded. ‘One hand’s smaller than the other. I think it’s supposed to be the two sisters.’
Sam snorted. ‘A little late for that.’
‘But I do think there’s a chance Emily will show up for Hailee’s funeral. That’s why I asked.’ He couldn’t help shooting Sheila a look.
Dale hefted himself to his feet. ‘I’m all for finally getting my hands on Emily Dearest, but I don’t see why her leaving cards at a memorial is something to get all hot and bothered about.’
‘She’s our best chance to figure out who Gall really is,’ Hank said. ‘How would she know him? By all accounts, she didn’t associate with her sister or other high-schoolers. So how would she have met Johnny? Unless maybe she knows who he really is.’
‘Oh,’ Dale and Sammy said at the same time. Sheila had gotten it much earlier.
‘It’s a long shot, but it’s the only one we’ve got where Gall’s concerned,’ she said. ‘So we definitely should have extra people at that funeral. But you’re still not going.’
He thought about arguing, but he knew his case wasn’t a strong one – he’d gotten a glimpse of his reflection in a window on his way into the station. He looked like a bereaved hobo. He self-consciously straightened his shirt. Sheila gave him a smile that was full of more understanding than he deserved.
‘There’s not much else to do right now. Why don’t you go home?’ she said.
Then the look on her face suddenly changed. She spun around toward Raker. ‘Did you talk to that Kyle Hatwick guy?’
‘Who?’ Sam asked.
‘The theater construction manager,’ Sheila answered. ‘He’s the one who complained about Gunner being a pain in the ass during the project.’
Dale nodded and rummaged through his file. ‘Yeah. He’s the one who directed me to the subcontractors and everything.’
‘He’d been quite helpful and very prompt with any documentation he had access to,’ Raker said. Sheila crossed her arms and started tapping her foot. Hank loved it when she did that. It meant something was coming. He leaned against the wall and waited.
‘Is that it? Just documentation. You talk to him at all?’ she asked.
Raker looked at her questioningly. ‘Should I have?’
‘“You can’t come back at me for nothing.” That’s what he told me when I went to his house on Monday with a photo of O’Connell,’ Sheila said.
All three men’s eyebrows shot up, then everyone lunged for Raker’s file. They re-examined all the paperwork, but no one could pinpoint any discrepancies. Sure, Raker had a theory that money was getting laundered through those construction costs, but it was going to take a lot more numbers work than a few humanities majors with iPhone calculators were qualified to do. Raker started to grumble about the cost of hiring a forensic accountant.
‘I’m going back out to talk to Hatwick,’ Sheila said. ‘He goes from evasive on Monday to totally helpful on Friday? No way. Not without a reason.’ She scooped up Raker’s paperwork. ‘I’m going to make copies of all this.’
Sam was offering to do it for her when his phone rang. She waved him off and swept out of the room. Hank watched as the Pup stood very still and then agreed rapidly to what sounded like five different things
.
‘Nashville PD is making contact with Ganton’s foster parents. They want to set up a call with the patrol officer and a detective who’s been working on a welfare and social service payment fraud investigation.’
He grinned at Hank.
‘Not only did you figure out something huge on our end, I think you’ve started something on their end, too,’ Hank said. ‘You’ve done great work, Sammy.’
It was nice to see the smile on his deputy’s face. Raker echoed the compliment and suggested that the two of them use the PD conference room with its new communications equipment. Sam looked at Hank, a gesture that Hank appreciated so much his eyes almost started watering. He hadn’t been here for anything so far today, and for Sam to still look to him for permission was – while the proper thing to do as far as chain of command went – also pretty damn respectful toward a superior whose actions hadn’t been deserving of it during the past week.
Hank also had noticed that Raker didn’t invite him along for the phone call. Where before he might have been irritated, now he was just resigned to Raker owning the case. It was Branson PD’s dead body, after all.
‘Absolutely,’ he said, thinking through his own next step. ‘You both do that. I’m going to go with Sheila to talk to this Hatwick guy.’
Raker looked sideways at him.
‘I know, I know,’ Hank said. ‘She told me to go home. I think she’d be more surprised if I did that, though, than if I just show up in her car waiting for her. So that’s what I’m going to do.’
THIRTY-NINE
Sheila drove over to Hollister with a zombie in her passenger seat. He was moving and occasionally talking, but he bore very little resemblance to a functioning human being. She wasn’t quite sure what she was going to do with him. Today, yes – just keep him contained. But beyond that, she didn’t know. He couldn’t go on like this.
They pulled up in front of Kyle Hatwick’s crackerbox house just as his girlfriend walked outside. She was wearing a waitress uniform and a resigned expression that changed to something else when she saw the squad car.