Reed Ferguson Mystery Box Set 5

by Renee Pawlish

  “Sure, I know where you mean.” I figured she wanted to meet somewhere public, and I admired her for being careful.

  “Okay, I’ll see you then.” She said goodbye and was gone.

  I sat back, sipped my drink, listened to the music, and waited.

  Exactly one hour from when I’d talked to Spillman, she showed up. In her tan slacks and red striped blouse, she didn’t look like a police detective – until you saw the gun in a holster on her right hip. She strolled up to the table and sat down.

  “May I buy you a cup of coffee?” I asked.

  “I’ll take an espresso,” she said.

  Her voice sounded tired. She took off her sunglasses and exposed red-rimmed eyes that she quickly rubbed.

  “Sure thing,” I said.

  I went inside, ordered her drink, and when I returned, she was on her phone. I set her mug down in front of her and she mouthed a “thank you,” and continued talking on the phone. I tried to glean something from the conversation, hoping it had to do with my case, but she spoke in cryptic terms that meant nothing to me. She finished and slipped her phone in her pocket. Then she picked up her mug, took a sip, and her face relaxed visibly.

  “Oh, that’s good,” she said.

  “Long night?”

  She held up the mug. “I’d shoot this in my veins if I could.”

  I laughed. She took another sip, then held the mug in her hands and looked at me, waiting for me to begin the conversation.

  “What can you tell me about the crime scene?” I asked. “I’ve got some information from Sally, but I’d like to hear what you have.”

  She thought long and hard about how to answer. “I suppose if I don’t tell you, you’ll find another way to get answers.”

  I grinned. “I’m resourceful.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  I waited.

  “Gabe Culpepper was killed with a Glock 19, a very common handgun, one shot to the head,” she said. “As you saw last night, that gun was lying beside him. It had only been fired the one time.”

  “Who was the gun registered to?”

  “It belonged to a man named Anthony Lombardi, but he reported it stolen over a year ago.”

  “Sally’s prints weren’t on the gun?”

  “No, but there were no traces of any prints at all because it had been wiped clean, and she could’ve done that.”

  “You don’t know for sure she cleaned off the gun, though.”

  “The only way I’d know that is if she admitted it, and she didn’t.”

  “So someone else could’ve done that.”

  She took a sip, then nodded. “It’s possible. Or Sally could’ve worn gloves.”

  “But she didn’t have any on her, right?”

  “No. And we didn’t find any in Gabe’s apartment.”

  I eyed her. “And you looked outside the window, too, and elsewhere.”

  “Yes. No gloves. But that doesn’t clear her.”

  “I know that.”

  “Her prints were around the apartment.”

  I rolled my eyes at her. “She was dating Gabe, so of course her prints were there.”

  “Just testing you.”

  My mug was almost empty, and I took a big gulp. “Does Sally own a gun?”

  She shook her head. “Not legally, anyway.”

  “Sally said Gabe had some of her notebooks with poetry and song lyrics, and some journals.”

  “There were some notebooks hidden in some boxes in the bedroom closet.”

  “She was trying to get them back.”

  “So she said. After the investigation is over, she can talk to Gabe’s family or whoever clears out the apartment, so she can get them back.”

  I nodded. “Did anyone see her come or go? Besides me.”

  Two women in shorts walked by. They were talking and laughing, but they must’ve seen Spillman’s gun because they suddenly eyed us warily and their voices dropped to whispers. Spillman pretended as if she hadn’t noticed that, but her glance in their direction gave her away. Then she looked back at me and shook her head.

  “No one saw or heard anything,” she said.

  “No one heard the shot?”

  “The neighbors close to Gabe weren’t home. A woman in the apartment at the other end of the hall heard a pop, but she thought it was from the TV. No one else heard it.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Really? No one else?”

  She shrugged. “That’s what they say.”

  “It’s not the best neighborhood.”

  “And?”

  “Maybe no one wanted to tell the cops anything.”

  “It’s possible. It seems like people don’t want to get involved.”

  “Sally told you about a man she saw outside the window.”

  “We canvassed the building, but no one saw a man in the alley last night.”

  I stared at her. “You think Sally’s lying about that?”

  She looked down her nose at me. “It wouldn’t surprise me.”

  “Me, either,” I said. I moved on. “Sally told me she’s only been arrested for public indecency.”

  “That’s correct.”

  “Anything else in her background I should be aware of?”

  She shook her head. “She’s stayed out of trouble with the law. Other than that, I don’t know yet.”

  “What about Gabe?”

  “He’s got a record for assault.”

  “Interesting. I’ve heard he’s not a popular guy.”

  She shrugged.

  “Do you have any other suspects?”

  “We found a piece of paper with your number on it in his pocket.”

  “I told you last night, I gave that to him at the Rat Tavern.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “You can’t believe I’m a suspect,” I said indignantly.

  She threw me an amused smile. “No.”

  “Any other suspects?”

  “No, but we’re looking.” She gestured at me with her mug. “And obviously you are, too. Do you have any leads?

  “Sally said that Gabe had a falling out with a man named Davon.” I spelled the name for her.

  “Last name?”

  I shrugged. “I haven’t got that far.”

  She cocked an eyebrow at me, and I held up my hands.

  “It’s the truth,” I said. “And you remember I told you last night about seeing Gabe at the bar?”

  She nodded.

  “I don’t have a name for him at all.”

  She pursed her lips. “Sally told you about these two men, that they might be important to our investigation?”

  “Yes, what little she knew.”

  “Let me know if you find more about either one,” she finally said. “I’d like to talk to them.”

  I finished my drink and set my mug down. Then I gazed at her. “What’s your gut? Did she do it?”

  She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “She’s adamant that she’s innocent, but I’ve heard that before.”

  “And?”

  She was very measured in her response. “At this point, I don’t know if I believe her or not.”

  “Neither do I.”

  “You may find out she did it.”

  “I’m aware of that,” I said. “I appreciate your talking to me.”

  Her lips formed the faintest of smiles. “I know you well enough to know your motives are pure.”

  “Thank you.”

  She nodded, then glanced around. “Did you know the Rooster is closing?”

  “Really? I thought it was pretty popular.”

  “It is.” She frowned. “The neighborhood’s changed, though, and I think the owners are ready to move on.” She let out a sigh. “But I’ll miss it. It’s a nice place to come and get away from it all.” Her head moved with the beat of “Modern Love” by David Bowie. “Man, that’s a good song.”

  I’d never seen this side of her before, and her vulnerability was kind of freaking me o
ut. “It’s definitely not Starbucks,” I said.

  “You got that right.” She pushed back her chair and stood up. “I’ve got to go.”

  “Crime never sleeps.”

  “You got that right, too.” She chuckled. “Let me know if you find anything.”

  “I will.”

  I watched as she walked down Bannock Street and disappeared.

  Chapter Eleven

  I left the Rooster, drove to Cheesman Park, and parked on Vine Street, the road that looped through the park. Even though fall was soon to arrive, it was hot, and I was sweating as I walked to Franklin Street and waited on the corner. The park is surrounded by numerous high-rise apartments and condominiums, and the eighty-acre park was bustling with people, some walking, some lounging in the grass, a few eating lunch. One o’clock came and went. Kristen Dalrymple was late.

  I had a fleeting thought that maybe she was as flaky as Sally, and then I saw a petite woman strolling down Franklin Street. She looked to be in her early twenties, and she was walking three dogs, a German Shepherd, an Akita, and some kind of Golden Retriever mix. Was she afraid of me, and this was her protection? She approached, holding four leashes tightly. Then, amidst the legs of the other dogs, I spotted a Dachshund. Kristen approached, the dogs in front of her, the little Dachshund trying not to get stepped on.

  “Are you Reed?” she asked in a soft voice.

  “Yes.”

  I reached out to shake her hand. She then shifted the dog leashes to her left hand, then reached out and shook mine. Her grip was surprisingly strong.

  “Thanks for meeting me,” I said, then glanced at the dogs.

  She gestured into the park with her free hand, then started walking. “This is one of my jobs,” she explained. “I figured I could take care of this and talk to you at the same time.”

  “No problem.” And use the dogs for safety, I thought, but didn’t say.

  “Sorry I’m late,” she said as we crossed the road. “It took me longer to get the dogs than I thought.”

  We went into the main part of the park and walked through the grass. The dogs seemed to be well-trained, although the German Shepherd had a tendency to pull at his leash, especially when someone passed closer to us.

  “Where’d you meet Sally?” I began after a minute of walking.

  “Clubbing. We seemed to be at the same places all the time, and we started talking and hanging out.”

  That fit with what Sally had said. “Tell me about her.”

  She raked a hand nervously through long red hair that fell around her shoulders. “She’s nice enough.”

  Was I going to have to drag information out of her? “How long have you been roommates?”

  “Roommates? Is that what she said?”

  I nodded.

  That got her going. “We’re not roommates. I’ve got a teeny little basement apartment on Humboldt. I’m just letting Sally crash on my couch for a while until she can get some money saved and get a place of her own.”

  “That’s nice of you.”

  She stared ahead, then nodded. “I kinda feel sorry for her.”

  “Why?”

  “I dunno. She seems kinda lost to me. She dropped out of college to pursue a music career that never went anywhere, and she’s dated the wrong kind of men. She doesn’t have any money, she can’t keep a job, and she’s realizing her life is kinda screwed up.”

  “I thought she was still pursuing the music.”

  “Yeah, but for the first time since I’ve known her, she’s talking like maybe she’s ready to move on. Or at least get some steady work and a place of her own. And she can pursue the music on the side.”

  “Have you heard her perform or heard her songs?”

  “Uh-huh. It’s okay. She writes some pretty good lyrics. But it’s not really my style.”

  “Why not?”

  “It’s too mellow.”

  We stopped so the Akita could do his business, and Kristen picked up his poop in a little bag. Then the retriever decided he needed to relieve himself.

  “Here, hold this.”

  Before I could protest, Kristen handed me the bag. I held the bag away from me while she waited on the retriever. This was not where I pictured myself an hour ago. The retriever finished and she bagged up his gift, then finally took the Akita’s bag from me. We continued walking, the bags dangling from her free hand. I hoped we’d see a trash can soon.

  “Anyway,” she went on, “I think Sally should publish some of her poetry. I like it. And she writes some funny stuff, too. I tell her that, but she doesn’t seem to want to.”

  “She’s funny?” I asked.

  “Oh, yeah, she can really crack you up. Sometimes I think she missed her calling and she should be a comedian, especially if she made fun of herself and the silly things she does.”

  “Huh. I haven’t seen that side of her. Does she have a temper?”

  “No, she pretty much goes with the flow and doesn’t get angry about stuff.”

  I turned the conversation in a different direction. “What do you know about Gabe Culpepper?”

  Her face scrunched up. “He was an ass.”

  “How so?”

  “He thinks – thought – because he was a deejay and he was producing some music, that he was the bomb, but he wasn’t. He was always bragging about how his music was going to hit it big, but I’ve never seen that.”

  “Wasn’t Gabe helping Sally produce some songs?”

  “I don’t know about that, but he was doing some videos with another guy.”

  “Who?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know, but Gabe said it was taking off.”

  “What’d you think of his music?”

  “The techno stuff was okay. He posted things on his Facebook page, so you can listen to it if you want to.”

  “I’ll do that,” I said.

  She sighed. “I’m thinking about Gabe.” She shook her head. “I don’t wanna speak bad about him, but I don’t know what Sally saw in him.”

  “Did you ever see them fighting?”

  A sad look crossed her face. “Yeah. He hit her a time or two, and ripped on her, cussing her out and stuff like that. And he’d mock her by calling her Nightmare Sally.”

  “I’ve heard that nickname.”

  “I guess someone at the Rat came up with that and Gabe would throw it in her face, but I thought that was mean of him. Sally’s ditsy, but she’s smart, too.”

  “Did she ever threaten Gabe?”

  “Not that I heard or saw.”

  A man with a big mutt with black fur walked by, and the Dachshund yapped loudly. She scolded it, and he shut up. But the Shepherd pulled hard at the leash. Kristen told him to heel, but he kept tugging. She suddenly stopped and snapped at him in a commanding voice to sit. All four dogs stopped and sat down.

  “Sorry,” she said to me. She waited a moment, and then started walking again. The dogs fell in line. “The dogs are pretty good overall, but Samson here can be a butthead.”

  I assumed Samson was the German Shepherd. He seemed oblivious to her name-calling, and trotted along happily.

  “Who would want to kill Gabe?”

  “Everybody.” She let out a wry laugh. “I don’t mean that, but I don’t know very many people that liked him. Maybe he pissed someone off.”

  “Over what?”

  She shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “From what you know of Sally, do you think she could’ve murdered him?”

  “No.”

  “Does Sally own a gun or know how to shoot one?”

  Her steps slowed.

  “What?” I said.

  “A while back, I decided to get a gun, you know, for safety.” She waved a hand around. “I have to walk to and from my car, sometimes late at night. I don’t always feel safe.” She bit her lip.

  “And?”

  “I go to the range with my father to practice. Sally’s gone with me a few times.”

  “I see. Is she a
good shot?”

  She nodded.

  “Does she own a gun?” I asked again.

  “Not that I’m aware of.”

  “What gun range?”

  “The Silver Bullet Shooting Range.”

  I knew it because I’d been there many times myself, practicing with my Glock. I’d honed my skills over the years, and I was a pretty good shot. I knew some of the men that worked at the Silver Bullet, and I could ask them if they remembered Sally being there.

  Kristen stopped and ordered the dogs to sit. Then she stared at me. “Look, her going with me to the gun range might look bad, but I don’t think she’d kill anyone, let alone Gabe.”

  “Did you see her at all last night?”

  “Unh-uh. I had classes yesterday afternoon, and then I worked my bar job until closing. I didn’t get home until after one this morning.”

  We started walking again.

  “Were you surprised that Sally didn’t come home last night?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “That’s not uncommon. She’d stay at Gabe’s, or maybe somewhere else.”

  “With another guy?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Any names?”

  “Of guys she was sleeping with? I only know of Gabe.”

  She spotted a trash can and we veered toward it. She tossed the bags in, then gestured with her now free hand, and we moved on.

  “Do you know of a man named Davon?” I asked.

  “Sure, I’ve seen him around.”

  “What’s his last name?”

  “I don’t know, but I think he works at CJ’s. It’s some kind of auto repair place. He’s a mechanic.”

  “How well do you know him?”

  “Just clubbing with Sally and Gabe. Davon’s another one that Gabe pissed off.”

  “Why?”

  She shrugged. “But Davon told me the other day that he’d had it with Gabe.”

  “Where does Sally work?”

  “Jones Transportation.”

  That’s what Sally had told me.

  “How long has she been there?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “A month or so. I hope she can make it work. I’m happy to help her out, but she can’t stay with me forever. I’m in school, and I’ve got a few part-time jobs to help pay the bills. And my parents are helping me out some, but I don’t think they’d be too happy to know I have someone living there. They want me to focus on getting my degree.”