We’d made our way to the road and I took that as a signal that Kristen was through talking to me. She stopped and shielded her eyes against the sun as she stared at me.
“Is there anything else you can think of that might help me find Gabe’s killer?” I asked.
She thought for a second, then shrugged. “No.”
I took out a business card and handed it to her. “If you think of something, give me a call.”
She took the card, read it, then handed it back. “You called me, so I’ve got your number in my phone.”
“Ah, right.” I took the card back.
“Hey, I’ve got to get going,” she said. “Do you need anything else?”
“Not right now. I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”
“Sure thing.” She bent down and petted the dogs, frowning, then straightened up and looked at me. “I want to help Sally. I know she didn’t do that to Gabe.”
I thanked her, and watched as she struck a fast pace across the road, the dogs trotting right with her, the Dachshund trying not to get lost in the other dogs’ legs. I waited until she disappeared behind some trees, then turned and headed north to where I’d parked.
Chapter Twelve
On the way, I called Sally. She had lied to me about her roommate situation, and about going to the gun range, and I wasn’t happy about that. After four rings, the call went to a generic voicemail. I left a message asking her to call me right away, then ended the call, but I was still irritated.
I was now hungry. I spotted a Subway and stopped to have a sandwich and to think through my game plan. I wanted to stop by Gabe’s apartment building. If Sally had been telling the truth, and she had seen someone in a hoodie climb down the fire escape when she had been in Gabe’s apartment, it was possible another resident in the building might’ve seen the same person, but not have told the police. I knew Spillman hadn’t been happy that I’d said that people might not trust the police, but that was a reality.
I also wanted to find out more about the man I’d seen at the Rat Tavern with Gabe. And finally, I wanted to talk to Davon – if he’d speak with me – to hear about his dispute with Gabe, and to see if that pointed to his being a suspect. Talking to Davon seemed the most prudent option right now, so while I ate my meatball sub, I looked up CJ’s auto repair on my phone. It was located not far from where I was, north of downtown. I decided to go there first, and then drop by Gabe’s apartment building. After that, I’d see if I could track down the man from the Rat.
I finished my lunch, left the restaurant, and headed up Downing Street. I soon turned right on Thirty-sixth Avenue, and I found CJ’s Auto Repair on Lawrence Street. The shop was in a small white building with artful graffiti on the walls. I parked down the block, walked back to the shop, and crossed through their front lot, which was filled with cars, none of them high-end. On the north end of the building were two garage bays with the doors open. The sounds of metal clinking on metal, rock music, and the high-pitched whine of a pneumatic impact air wrench filled the lot.
To the left of the garage was a door that led into an office. I went inside and glanced around. A man in dark blue pants and matching shirt was sitting at a cheap wooden desk. He looked up at me with droopy eyes.
“Can I help you?” he asked in a Slavic voice.
I walked up to the desk. “Is Davon working today?”
“He’s back in the garage.”
“May I speak with him for a moment?”
Wariness filled his eyes. “You a friend of his?”
“Something like that.”
He frowned. “He’s busy right now.”
“It’ll only take a moment. It’s important.”
I was tempted to flash my PI badge at him, but I didn’t want to get Davon into any trouble, so I resisted. I gave him a hard look, and it worked. He gestured at a door across the room that led to the garage.
“He’s working on a Subaru. Make it quick.”
I thanked him and hurried through the door before he changed his mind. In the closest bay, an older-model Mazda had the hood up, and a man with dark hair was tinkering on the engine. He glanced up as I walked past him and over to a beat-up Subaru that was on a hydraulic lift. A big man with broad shoulders and long hair pulled into a ponytail was standing underneath the Subaru, his back to me.
“Are you Davon?” I said loudly in order to be heard over the music playing from a radio on a long bench at the back of the garage. Through a window I saw more cars parked in a back lot.
He turned around slowly and I got a better look at him. I’d expected someone younger, maybe because Gabe was only twenty-one, but I placed Davon a bit older, about Sally’s age. A scar cut through his left eyebrow, and the sneer on his face made him look sinister. He stared at me with cold black eyes.
“Who wants to know?” he said.
I ignored that. “The man up front said I could talk to you for a few minutes.”
He looked over my shoulder, then his eyes settled on me. They hadn’t lost any of their chill.
“What do you want?”
“I understand you knew Gabe Culpepper.”
He was standing with his feet spread apart, a long screwdriver in his hand. “What’s it to you?”
“Did you know he’s dead?”
“Get lost.” He turned, picked up an impact air wrench from a cart, and held it like a gun, the end pointed at me. He hit the trigger once and a high-pitched whir filled the garage.
I noticed that he didn’t seem concerned one way or the other about the news of Gabe’s death. I reached into my wallet and showed him my PI badge. It had the effect I’d hoped. Although his eyebrows rose slightly, and his face remained impassive, he was paying attention to me.
“You a cop?” he asked in a low voice.
I shook my head. “A private investigator. Sally Evans hired me.”
“Who?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“She was dating Gabe.” I described her.
Recognition dawned on his face. “Oh, Nightmare Sally. That’s what Gabe called her.” He studied me. “They think she did it?”
“Did what?” I asked.
“Murdered Gabe.”
“Who said anything about murder?”
He glared at me. “Look, man, you come in here flashing that badge, telling me Sally hired you … I can put two and two together.”
“She says she’s innocent.”
“Huh.”
I felt motion behind me and I glanced over my shoulder. The man working on the Mazda had moved around the side of the car so he was closer to us. He was doing something in the engine, but it seemed halfhearted, as he was gazing in our direction. Davon gave him a pointed stare and made a show of aiming the impact wrench at him. The man quickly looked the other way.
Davon turned to me. “What do you want from me?”
“Sally said you had a fight with Gabe. She overheard Gabe tell you he didn’t want any more of that action.”
He swung the wrench back toward me. “So?”
“What did he mean by that?”
“I don’t have to talk to you.”
He was playing it cool, almost too cool. As if he was nervous, but wasn’t going to show it. I suspected he’d had practice with that. He started to turn away.
“That’s true, you don’t,” I said. “But if you’re involved in Gabe’s murder, I’ll dig it up.”
He whirled back to me, his demeanor cracked. “I don’t know anything!”
“Then talk to me, man. I just want to get to the bottom of this.”
Davon took in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring, and I could see him thinking through what he should do. I’m sure he knew that if he didn’t talk to me, he’d look suspicious in my eyes. The other man cleared his throat, and Davon glanced at him, then said, “I need a cigarette.”
He set the wrench down on the cart with a thud and waved at me to follow him. We walked through a nearby door and stood at the side of the buildi
ng. Traffic noise from the nearby streets drifted over to us. Davon took a pack of Marlboros from a shirt pocket and lit one up. He gazed at me with narrowed eyes.
“I didn’t do anything to Gabe.”
“Gabe said something about not wanting that kind of action from you,” I repeated. “What does that mean?”
He hesitated. “It was … some gambling. But I’m not telling you more, okay?”
“All right. Why were you mad at him?”
“We had an argument.” He wasn’t going to give up information easily.
“About what?”
“Money.”
I cocked an eyebrow and waited.
“He owed me some,” he said. “But he paid me back,” he tacked on quickly, “so it wasn’t a big deal.”
“Are you saying Sally got it wrong and you weren’t mad at Gabe, that you didn’t argue with him?”
“Yeah.”
“Why did Sally think you were mad at Gabe?”
“Why dontcha ask her?”
“I will,” I said.
He was glaring at me defiantly, and I wasn’t buying that he was telling me the whole story. But he wasn’t going to say more on the subject, either.
“How much money did Gabe owe you?”
“None of your damn business.”
I shrugged. “Okay, I’ll look into it.”
“Yeah, you do that.” He stuck the cigarette in the corner of his mouth, crossed his arms, and dared me to press him. I didn’t see that going anywhere, and I moved on.
“Did Gabe have a gambling problem?”
“Maybe.”
“Where’d he gamble at?”
“Online mostly.”
“Anywhere around town?”
He shrugged.
“When’s the last time you saw him?” I asked.
“A couple weeks ago, at Club 77.”
“Who else was there?”
“Sally.”
“She said she hadn’t seen you in longer than that.”
“She’s wrong.”
I made a mental note to check with her about that. “And that’s when you argued with Gabe?”
“It was after that.”
“I thought you said you hadn’t argued with Gabe at all.”
His eyes narrowed as he realized he’d been caught in a lie. He took the cigarette from his mouth, dropped it on the ground, and crushed it out with his foot. “I gotta go.”
“Where were you last Sunday night around eleven?” I said quickly.
“At home.”
“Who can verify that?”
“My grandmother. I live with her.”
His grandmother? Seriously? I almost laughed out loud.
“I told you everything,” he snapped. “Now leave me alone.”
“Or?”
He stepped close to me and tapped my chest with a finger. “You don’t want to know. I got nothin’ to say to you, so get lost.”
He spun around, opened the door, and disappeared inside. A moment later, I heard the high pitch of the impact wrench. I walked around the side of the building and back through the front entrance. The man in blue was still at the desk.
“You talk to Davon?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded toward the garage. “What kind of worker is he? Does he show up on time, or give you problems?”
“He’s fine.” He stared at me, more alert now. “What is going on with him? Why all the questions?”
“Nothing to worry about,” I said. “One last thing. What’s his last name?”
“Edwards.” He held up a finger. “I don’t want trouble, okay? You need to talk to Davon again, you talk to him when he gets off work, okay?”
I nodded, thanked him, and walked back outside. As I passed by the garage doors, I glanced toward the Subaru. Davon was standing underneath it, but he was watching me warily. I headed back to my car with one thought rolling around in my head.
Davon was dirty. I wasn’t sure what he was hiding, but he hadn’t been truthful with me. And I was going to find out why.
Chapter Thirteen
I got back to the 4-Runner and thought for a moment. Then I pulled out my phone and was about to call Cal when Bogie interrupted me.
“Oh, it’s not always easy to know what to do.”
It took me a moment to recognize the number. It was Sally.
“Have you found out anything?” she asked the second I answered.
“It’s early,” I said. “Where are you now?”
“I’m at home, er, Kristen’s place. I spent some time with my mother, and I just got here. I don’t feel like doing much of anything.”
“I’m going to stop by,” I said. “We need to talk.”
“What’s wrong?” She could sense my displeasure.
“I’ll tell you when I get there.” I wanted to talk to her in person. Much easier to tell when someone’s lying.
“Okay,” she said. “I’ll be here.”
I ended the call, started the 4-Runner, and headed to Humboldt Street. On the way to Kristen’s apartment, I dialed Cal.
“I’ve found out something about Gabe,” he said without a greeting.
“Oh yeah?”
“He was arrested for assault two years ago.”
“That fits with what Spillman told me.”
“Uh-huh. Did she tell you that Gabe’s a high-school dropout, he doesn’t have much money, that he has a checkered employment record?”
I laughed. “We didn’t get that far.”
“This guy sounds like a real piece of work.”
“True. Did you see any indication that he was an online gambler?”
“No. He’s only got two credit cards and I didn’t see any charges like that, or any from his bank account, either.”
“It appears I was lied to.”
“What?”
“Never mind. I need your special skills again,” I said. “Do you have time?”
“Sure.”
“First, can you look up a man named Davon Edwards? I want everything you can find on him.”
“Check his background and financials, that kind of thing?”
“Yeah, and I want to know if he’s been in any kind of trouble with the law, or if he’s registered any guns.”
“That goes without saying.”
“Good.”
“What about Sally Evans? You want me to do the same for her?” he asked.
“Spillman confirmed Sally was arrested for public indecency.”
“You think she told you everything? After all, Sally’s her prime suspect.”
“Spillman’s never lied to me before,” I mused, “but she is directly involved in the investigation, so she might’ve held something back.” I was reluctant to think she would do that. “And I know Sally has lied to me.”
“Oh really? I’ll check her, too.” I heard typing. “I need a little time for this. I’ll call you later tonight.”
“That’ll work, thanks,” I said. “Oh, since you’re checking on Sally, find out if she’s been licensed to carry a gun, or if she registered a gun.”
“Will do.”
And then he was gone. I cranked a Smiths greatest hits CD and drove south on Downing. Ten minutes later, I parked on Humboldt Street. Kristen lived in a basement apartment in a brown-brick building on the corner of Humboldt and Thirteenth. I walked down five steps to her door. Through an open window, I heard a woman singing to the soft strumming of an acoustic guitar. Sally, I assumed. I stood on a tiny landing and listened. Her voice was low and sultry, and the song was slow. Definitely not the hard beat of the techno music Gabe had favored. I tapped on the door and the music stopped. A moment later, Sally opened the door.
“Hey,” she said. “Come on in.” She gestured at a long couch.
I stepped into a small living room dominated by a large TV. An acoustic guitar lay in an open case between the couch and an empty bookcase. A doorway led to a kitchen that barely had enough room for a refrigerator and stove. And dishes were pi
led high in the sink.
“Have a seat.” She quickly pushed folded sheets, a blanket, and a notebook onto the arm of the couch. Then she sat down. I remained standing and glanced around.
“Is Kristen here?” I asked.
She shook her head and stared at me nervously as she wrapped her hair around her fingers. “What’s going on?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been going to the gun range with Kristen?”
Her jaw dropped, and then she shrugged. “I … uh, I didn’t think it was important.”
“Did you tell the police that you’d been going to the gun range?”
“Of course not.”
“Why not?”
“Because I …” Her voice trailed off. “They didn’t need to know.”
“They’ll find out.”
“So?”
“It makes you look guilty,” I said.
She tipped her chin up defiantly. “Why? Lots of people go to gun ranges.”
“Really?” I threw up my hands. “You can’t figure it out? It makes it look like you were learning how to shoot a gun so you could murder your boyfriend.”
She gasped. “It was just for fun!”
I took a second to muster up some patience. “You are the most likely suspect in Gabe’s murder, and the police are looking for a motive to pin it on you. If you want me to help you, you can’t hold anything back.”
“I’m not. I just didn’t think anything of it.”
I crossed my arms and stared at her. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?”
“No,” she said. “But if I think of something, I’ll let you know.”
“Do you own a gun?”
“I told you no.”
I tipped my head at her. “You’ve already lied to me.”
“I don’t own a gun.” She emphasized each word carefully.
“Have you ever owned one?”
“No.”
“I’m having someone check that,” I said. “If they find out otherwise, or if I find out you’ve lied about anything, I’ll drop the case.”
Her lower lip quivered. “I’m telling you the truth.”
I let her sit uncomfortably for a moment. She kept playing with her hair, but now she was biting her lower lip, too.
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