by Kieran York
Royce glanced up. She then stood to embrace her lover. “I truly believe that everything will work out as long as I have you, my friends, and family.”
“You know who the murderer is, don’t you?”
“Yes. I know who committed the murders.”
“It was the same person?”
“Yes. I know who did it, but I’ve got to gather enough evidence and enough logical circumstances for an airtight case. Even if I had a motive, without a full confession, it will be circumstantial. So the killer must believe I have the conviction in my pocket. I’m searching solid evidence and motive.”
“But you are certain of who the killer is?”
“Yes. I’m sure. But all the evidence needs to be admissible and congruous. I don’t want to lose this one in court. It needs padlocking.”
“You’ll do it.”
Royce heard Hertha turn off the bedroom light switch. For many moments Royce questioned whether the case couldn’t wait until morning. She longed to be warmed by Hertha. Then she sat back down to began pouring over the files. Diligence and persistence, she thought. Investigative cornerstones. So many things she’d learned in criminology classes. She tried to draw from that knowledge.
Concentrating as she went, she traced the path, a clue at a time. A morsel of evidence at a time. Breaking her thoughts, she heard Smoky scratch at the window. “We just let you out. What’s wrong, girl? It’s too chilly to play out there tonight.” Royce went to the window and looked out. She knelt on one knee and gave Smoky a hug. She saw the circlet that Smoky had drawn as her nails dragged across the window’s frosty steam.
Quickly Royce went back to the desk. She dug through files until she found photos of the letters that Sandra Holt had written while dying. Royce took the 8x10. She sprawled on the floor, in the exact way the body was found. She began making the same symbols with her finger on the floor. “That’s it,” she said, jumping to her feet. She had investigated this part of the case through the eyes of the victim. Now, she would concentrate on how the judge was murdered through the eyes of the killer.
She went to the bedroom and woke Hertha. “Hon, I need to ask you some questions about the lab reports.”
Hertha sat up. She rubbed her eyes. “I don’t suppose it can wait until morning?“ Hertha’s lips then lifted into a grin. “I doubt if the killer is giving you a thought one way or another tonight. Surely it can wait.”
“No,” Royce returned her smile. “It won’t take a minute. I’ll bring the files in here.”
Royce filled her arms with file folders and took them back. She rustled through them until she’d found the report.
Hertha, taking the file, said, “I told you that I don’t know much about this, hon.”
“I know. But what I’m looking for is the distribution of alcohol. In the toxicology report, it breaks it down. Can you tell what the components of the actual drinks might be?”
Hertha glanced over it. “What am I looking for?”
“The type of liquor used. A light, tasteless drink. Vodka, probably.”
“Vodka is unaged.”
“I think I read somewhere about the distilling process. It’s filtered through activated charcoal. Is there any charcoal in the report?”
Hertha squinted, scrutinizing the report. “Traces, yes. But some of the other liquors might have traces from burnt oak barrels. This appears to have the properties of charcoal.”
“Once more. What amount of pure strychnine would it take to kill someone? Not much, huh?”
“A very minute amount, as I said before. A glassful could wipe out Timber County.”
“Granules? Taking up a space no larger than a small ball bearing.”
“Yes. Sorry I can’t be of more help. Not many animals need restoration from alcohol intake.”
“I’ll call forensics in the morning and ask for a precise breakdown on content of alcohol. I also wanted to ask more about trace evidence from the carpet sample. One other thing,” Royce requested as she stood. “Hertha, I’ve got to talk with Jorie. Would you call over to let her know I’m on my way?”
“Jorie?“ Hertha examined the alarm clock. “It’s after three in the morning. What do you need to talk with her about?”
“Her Longhorn Kick recipe. I keep wondering if there isn’t some simple answer to a complex problem. It has something to do with the contents of Jorie’s recipe.”
Hertha’s eyebrows lifted. “She wouldn’t give you that even in the best of times. Three A.M. is hardly the best of times.”
Royce’s smile was confident. “You’re probably right. She’ll never divulge the authentic blend. But I’ll convince her to share the ingredient list. And that’s all I need.”
“How do you propose to do that?“ Hertha questioned with a laugh.
“I’m going to ask her to compose one for me.”
***
A sharp bite of night wind chilled Royce. She looked up at the paling stars.
When the door fanned back, Jorie scanned Royce with a quizzical look. “Might I inquire what the hell is so important that you’re getting me up at this hour?“ Jorie grumbled. “You woke us all. At least I convinced the others to go back to bed. I was happy that the sleeping arrangements with Gwen and Nadine have improved.”
“Their bedroom?”
“Yes.” Jorie’s smile was weak, but bright. “Nadine is planning to unpack her bags in the morning. But you didn’t come over here at this time to discuss their reunion. You wanted to talk with me about something specific, I hope.”
“Jorie, I’ve got to ask you some questions. These murders are finally coming into focus for me.”
“What?“ Jorie walked with the lethargy of being recently awakened. She led Royce to the living room. “I told you everything I can. Damn, Royce, what can’t wait until morning?”
“I’m working on a pattern. I need your help. Unless you plan on staying in Timber City for a trial?”
“No offense, but I’d rather not. Not that prison is going to be much better.”
“I’m about to prove that you are innocent.”
Jorie’s smile fossilized a moment, but her eyes were mournful. “I can’t take heart at this hour. I can’t face a lie, and I don’t want to hear encouragement. Particularly when I haven’t any makeup on and my hair looks as though someone’s wiped their hands with it.”
Royce chuckled. “You look fine. No network cameras here anyway.”
“So what are you here for?”
“Will you fix me a drink?”
“A drink.” Her shoulders drooped. “Damn, why not. Middle of the night, and you want me to fix a drink.” She began to walk toward the bar.
“A Longhorn Kick.”
Jorie spun around. “The last person I fixed a Kick for is rotting. How about your usual beer?”
“I’ll get the ice,” Royce offered. “I’m about to arrest someone else for the murders, and you’ll be back in New York soon. I don’t want to miss my chance at tasting your specialty.”
“My lover wouldn’t like it if you tasted my specialty,” Jorie teased.
“At least you’re smiling.” Royce placed the ice tray on the bar. “Now, how about that drink while we talk?”
“Sure.” Jorie began pouring. Royce watched Jorie’s process. First, she poured bourbon, dark rum, and cherry-flavored brandy. Then she swirled the alcohol. She tipped in a squirt of lime juice and then filled the cocktail shaker with carbonated water. She shook it briskly, then poured the contents into two glasses. “In case you’re squeamish about my killer drink, I’ll join you.”
Royce lifted the glass and toasted. “To your freedom.” She sipped the strong drink. “Whew. Good, but it does have that kick.”
“When a Longhorn Kick reaches your tonsils for the first time, it’s more of a stomp than a kick.” The women sat in opposite chairs. The dim light spilled against Jorie’s somber face. “Any other late-night requests?”
“I notice you didn’t use any light alcohols. Vod
ka or gin.”
“No.”
“When the judge handed you his drink, you used the ice cubes that were in the stein, right? You weren’t worried about contaminating your Kick with what he had in his glass?”
“He drinks bourbon. I could smell it. So it wouldn’t matter. Folks from Texas are conservative about things like ice. I guess it’s habit.” She paused, taking a drink. “You really think I’ll ever be exonerated?”
“I know you will. I’m not far from a resolution.”
“Who is the guilty party?”
“Until I’ve done the final checking, I’d rather not say.”
“I wasn’t even aware there was another suspect.”
“As far as I’m concerned, everyone is a suspect. But I’d rather not name anyone yet.”
“No defamation of character in Timber City. I’ll buy that.”
“After the arrest is made, I promise you’ll be the first reporter on the scene. Timber City owes you that.”
“Royce, you aren’t bullshitting about another arrest?”
“No. I do have a couple more questions. And I need answers.”
“What questions?”
“You asked the judge about the law as it pertained to an accidental crime. Manslaughter. You told me it was journalist’s inquiry. But it was more. Why did you ask?”
“I just wanted to know the sentencing on a murder that wasn’t premeditated.”
“You’re protecting someone. The same person Gwen is protecting by not telling me a secret the two of you share. Only one person I can think of who could be involved. Tyler.” Royce inspected Jorie’s face as it blanched. “I’m right, aren’t I? This has to do with Tyler?”
“It’s inconsequential.”
“When Godiva and her bodyguard fought, it was as if they had the tumultuous emotions of lovers. Tyler and Godiva aren’t lovers. It is all publicity, isn’t it?”
“Why are you asking me?”
“Godiva’s bodyguard also accused her of hanging around gay men.”
“Her dancers.”
“No. I don’t think so.” Royce took another sip. “The only thing I can think of that you and Gwen might be keeping the lid on is that Tyler is gay.” Jorie’s reaction confirmed Royce’s suspicion. “Well?”
“If you’re looking for a motive and think that implicates him, you’re wrong. Tyler wouldn’t kill anyone.”
“But both you and Gwen knew he’s gay?”
“You’ve seen the face of prejudice. Bigotry hides behind those veils I told you about. We put on our own veils to protect against the hatred. We counter hate by hiding out. Royce, I admire you for never denying the charge of homosexuality. But it doesn’t work for everyone. And it wouldn’t work for Tyler.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I wasn’t going to expose him. Neither was Gwen. It’s a sacred bond of silence. Tyler came out to us years ago, and we vowed not to betray the trust. Being a reporter teaches you not to break confidences.” Jorie gulped at her drink.
“Tyler was able to conceal his sexual orientation?”
“There were rumors in Hollywood, off and on. But they were never substantiated, so everyone left it alone.”
“Everyone with the exception of Sandra Holt?”
“She would have ruined him.” Jorie’s eyes blinked rapidly and her jaw tightened. “No matter how much talent you might have, or what kind of person you might be, you’re vulnerable. You know that now better than anyone.”
Royce finished her drink and stood. “Sorry I woke you. I’d better get back and try and get a couple hours of sleep. I have a busy day tomorrow.”
“By the way, the morning paper is finished. Your shootout grabbed the biggest headline Gwen could use.” Jorie followed Royce to the door. “And below the news story is Gwen’s endorsement list. The Timber City Times is endorsing you for sheriff.”
“Great.” The victory felt hollow. “I’m going to be voting first thing. Then I have some stops along the way. Court. Library.”
“Library?“ Jorie asked with a start. “You’re going to the library?”
Royce’s laugh was throaty and slightly embarrassed. “Let’s not tell Gwen. I’ve got my reputation as an illiterate to uphold.”
“Your secret is safe with me.”
Royce hastened across the street. She’d seen a light on in the kitchen window. She knew Hertha was waiting up for her. She would be glad for Hertha’s company, as well as her comfort.
Smoky greeted her with a whine. “It’s okay, girl. It will all be fine now.”
Chapter 24
“Vote early and avoid the rush,” Bonnie Laird joked as Royce exited her voting precinct.
“Got a busy day ahead, Bonnie. So I figured I’d get here as early as I could,” Royce said as she gave Bonnie a hug. “Thanks for everything you did on my campaign.”
As Royce stepped into the street, she intercepted Laramie. “Glad to see you’re voting,” she said with a smile. “You’re one of the dozen votes I’m counting on.”
“Had a hankering for a drink: hair of the dog. But the bars are closed during voting hours. So I’m on my way to cast my vote. Faye told me to tell you that you should come on over and wait for the results to come in. Havin’ a little victory party tonight.”
“I’ll do that. Even if I lose, I’ve got plenty of folks to thank for their support.”
“I’m plannin’ on buyin’ you a victory drink, kid,” he announced.
“I’d be honored, Laramie. Regardless.”
“I reckon you’ll win. The danged Family Morals Coalition can’t set folks aside just 'cause they don’t approve of 'em.”
Royce watched as he tipped his hat and walked away to cast his vote. She felt the ache of not knowing what would happen to Laramie if she were out of office. Maybe Nick would watch after him, she hoped.
Royce made her trip to the library, where she conferred with the librarian. She went back into the stacks and searched until she found the books that would become evidence. With two books stored in plastic evidence bags, she left to continue on with the second phase of her plan.
When she arrived at the office, she was glad that only Amy was there. Election day is usually a slow crime day. Royce glanced down at the stack of calls. Some were returns from the companies of major contributors. She scrutinized the various names. Then one name grabbed her attention. Quickly she dialed half a dozen of the companies. They were all subsidiaries of a conglomerate in Wyoming. The name was one she’d only heard once before. Thomas R. Buckley. Buckley Industries. She shook her head.
Before she had time to digest that bit of news, a return call from the forensic lab came in. She wanted answers to a list of questions she’d jotted in her notebook. A lab worker said it would take time to pull up the reports. The crime lab’s leading pathologist and toxicologist would contact her with the results. Royce requested a conference call with them when the tests were complete. She explained that having them both on the phone at once would expedite a conclusion. She needed their expertise now, and they would undoubtedly be required to serve as expert witnesses during the murder trial. Royce wanted them all to be on the same page to ensure a conviction.
For the rest of the morning, Royce gathered and systematically listed the evidence. When the report on chemical coding from the drink’s and carpet’s contents came in, she carefully printed the determination. She then asked the forensic scientists additional questions she had about the strengths. The answers were exactly what she needed to reinforce her case. The evidentiary samplings and genetic concordancy between samples were binding the case.
The case had been thought to be airtight after the lab identified the strychnine. Additional evaluations and testing had ceased prematurely.
Royce took the long tablet with her list and two files. She headed for Judge Meg Carter’s chambers.
“Meg, any way of getting my gun and badge back before tomorrow’s review for reinstatement?”
“I could
issue a stay of suspension for twenty-four hours. By that time you should be reinstated permanently anyway. Why the rush?”
Royce sat in the chair opposite Meg’s desk. “I’ll need my badge to carry out the rest of my plans. And I’ll need a couple search and seizure warrants, along with an arrest warrant.”
“What evidence?”
Royce explained her theory, the evidence, and her strategy. “I know it’s not ironclad, but it will sell.”
“I’d feel better about it with a confession. That would cinch it.” Meg’s comment reflected open reluctance. “Let’s face facts, our D.A. is a nice fellow, but he has potential for inadequacy.”
Royce’s sigh was deep and troubled. “I’ll have a confession.”
“Are you sure you know what you’re doing?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll issue the stay, and the writs. Royce, I’m counting on your certainty.”
Royce stood. “I know I very well may be a lame duck after the election. I wouldn’t do anything that could potentially leave you or the department with a mess.”
“And don’t let’s allow the sharks to go with some feeble, frail diminished-capacity plea. I just hate those.”
Royce waited until she saw Judge Carter’s face begin to beam, and heard her teasing chuckle. “Meg, I’ve always applauded your dishing out those sentences with a steam shovel. Keep up the good work.”
“Sheriff, I hope you’re wearing your badge for a long, long time. By the way, are you planning a celebration tonight?”
“I’m not sure it will be a victory celebration, but some folks will be stopping by the Bell Ringer after the results are announced. Drop on by, and at least we’re assured of celebrating your win.”
“I’ll do that. Royce, it’s been a tough few months for you. You really ought to plan on taking a couple days off and getting away.”
“Yes. That’s an idea.” Royce reached the door. “I’ll let you know immediately how this falls out with the arrest.”