The Fiercest Enemy

by Rick Reed

  Lacy pointed at several places on the X-rays, speaking in medical lingo that Jack couldn’t spell or much less care to.

  “In a nutshell, doc. Please,” Jack said.

  Lacy said slowly. “Gunshot. Forehead. Explode brain. Dead.”

  “Were there any signs of a struggle?” Jack asked unperturbed by her sarcastic streak.

  “I didn’t find anything on the cursory examination to make me believe he had been in any altercations recently. However, he has several old bruises, cuts and scrapes that have scabbed over, and there is petechial hemorrhaging in the eyes. Of course, the petechiae could be explained by the pressure caused when the bullet tore through the skull. I’ll have to crack him open to give an informed opinion.” Petechiae are ruptured blood vessels in the white of the eye.

  She was once again wearing the white lab coat, but the gray scrubs had been replaced by a sheer black dress that stopped just above the knees showing off perfect legs. Her jet-black hair was down around her shoulders and fell across one eye.

  “Did we interrupt your evening, Dr. Daniels?” Jack asked, nodding to her dress.

  “I do have a life outside of death,” she said.

  “I’m not arguing, doc,” Jack said.

  “There’s gloves and gowns over there if you need them.”

  “I’m good, doc,” Jack said. “I won’t touch anything.”

  Liddell put on gloves. Jerrell stepped back to the wall, arms crossed.

  “Let’s do this,” she said and they stood on the opposite side of the autopsy table while she briefed them.

  The body was that of a malnourished twenty-three-year-old male with bruises on his stomach, chest, arms, right shoulder, back, backs of his thighs and calves. There were numerous shallow cuts that were scabbed over. Scrapes on his left knee and shin, bottoms of both elbows, and a nasty road rash on the side of his right hand. The bruises were long and wide. He’d been beaten with something shaped like a club or stick. The top of his right shoulder was bruised and swollen.

  “How old are these injuries?” Jack asked.

  “The cuts and bruises are about five to seven days old except for the one on top of the shoulder. It’s more recent. Hard to say. Cause of death, like I said, is the gunshot to the face.”

  “You said gunshot. Just one,” Jack said.

  “One was enough.”

  “It couldn’t have been more than one?” Jack persisted.

  “Not unless more than one bullet went through his face.”

  Jack didn’t see stippling on the flesh around the wound. If the shot was fired up close, say within three feet, there would be some signs of the burnt gunpowder stuck to the skin.

  “Can you guess the range?” Jack asked.

  “I’ve seen a few of these. I’d say the distance from the gun to the victim’s face was two to three feet,” Dr. Daniels said.

  Jack thought it was more distant than that. Jerrell did too by the look he gave Dr. Daniels. “Can you show us the trajectory of the bullet?” Jack asked.

  Lacy took them to the X-rays and pointed to a side view of the skull. The bullet entered just to the right of the nose and angled slightly upward. Lacy lay a pencil across the X-ray to show where the trajectory was indicated.

  “Rudy, where do you think this guy was when he was shot?” Jack asked.

  “What do you mean, Agent Murphy?” Dr. Daniels asked.

  “Sorry. Was he standing, sitting, lying on the ground? Did you find the bullet or pieces of the skull?”

  “We didn’t find a bullet or any tissue or skull pieces on the tree that would have been behind her. He must’ve been standing like Shaunda said.”

  Jack wondered how Rudy knew what Shaunda had said. Rudy wasn’t there when the ambulance arrived. Jack knew he and Liddell hadn’t said anything in front of Rudy.

  “Chief, you have Chief Lynch’s revolver,” Jack said. Not a question.

  “It’s locked up until my guys are ready to do ballistics. Why?”

  “I was just wondering how many shots were fired. I heard two,” Jack said.

  “I didn’t tamper with the gun to check. There was a spent round in the cylinder. I’m assuming there’s another under the hammer. I heard two shots as well.”

  Jack asked, “Drugs?”

  Dr. Daniels said, “Toxicology won’t be back for a few days.”

  “Brandon Dillingham had needle marks. Does this guy?” Jerrell asked.

  “As I said, I haven’t done the post yet.”

  “Did you examine him for needle marks?” Jack asked.

  “Not yet. I will call you when I’m ready to do the post and you’ll be able to see for yourselves.”

  “We’ll wait,” Jerrell said.

  “You can sleep in your cars if you want. I’m going out for the evening. Can’t this wait until in the morning?”

  “Of course,” Jerrell said contritely.

  “I’ll call the director of the FBI and tell him we’re spending the night in your office,” Jack said.

  Dr. Daniels stormed out of the room. The sounds of locker doors banging could be heard. She came back in wearing scrubs and protective gear.

  They all stepped back to let Dr. Daniels have room to work. She was fast and precise. The autopsy was completed quickly.

  “In layman’s terms,” she said, “he died of a single gunshot wound to the face, entering to the left of the nose, traveling through the brain and taking a large part of the brain out the back of the skull. It was a large caliber. That’s all I can say about that. There are no fragments of the bullet left behind and no stippling around the entrance of the wound or on the face.”

  “Can I see the bottoms of his hands?” Jack asked.

  Rudy positioned the right hand, palm up and then the left hand.

  “Okay?” Lacy asked.

  “That’s all I needed,” Jack said. “Now can I look at his shirt and pants?”

  Rudy looked at Chief Jerrell who nodded. Rudy brought one of the paper grocery sacks over to Jack and Liddell and opened it. He pulled out a black T-shirt that was worn thin. It was imprinted with zombies and a title. “The Walking Dead.”

  Rudy said, “He was wearing a white, or at least it was at one time, button up shirt over this.” He opened a second paper sack and lifted out a long sleeve shirt. There was blood on the collar and a small amount in a downward pattern on the middle of the front.

  Rudy opened a third sack and held up a pair of worn-out, filthy, gray colored blue jeans. The pockets had been turned inside out.

  Rudy then opened a fourth sack and took out a dirty blue jean jacket. The elbows were shredded.

  Jack examined all of these closely without touching them and without speaking.

  “Satisfied?” Jerrell asked him.

  “That does it for me, Chief,” Jack said.

  “Well?” Jerrell asked.

  “I need to think about all of this. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  “Well, if you gentlemen are done, I need to close this guy up,” Lacy said.

  Liddell gave her a business card. “Can you send us a copy of your report to my email?”

  Lacy said, “On one condition. Don’t call me again tonight. I’ve got a date and now I’m going to have to go home and shower and change.”

  Jerrell followed Jack and Liddell outside.

  “Agent Murphy, there’s nothing to think about. Shaunda shot him in self-defense. That’s what it will say in my report. Anything else is pure speculation on your part and I don’t even want to hear it.” Jerrell went back inside.

  Jack was sure that no one in a four county area wanted to hear anything to the contrary. Except maybe the news media. They fed on this stuff.

  “He didn’t ask for our portable radios,” Liddell commented as they got back in the Crown Vic.

 
“That may be all we get from him for a while,” Jack said.

  “Do you really think Shaunda executed that guy?” Liddell asked.

  Jack drove away from the curb. “Let’s go eat. Then we need to discuss this.”

  “Now you’re talking, pod’na. I thank you and my stomach thanks you.”

  They were halfway through Linton before they spoke again, each lost in their thoughts.

  Jack had spoken to Director Toomey and Toomey agreed they needed to continue the investigation to Jack’s surprise. Apparently, word hadn’t yet reached Chief Jerrell’s father that Jerrell was satisfied he had the guy that had killed Troy Junior. Jerrell’s father had enough clout to get an expensive FBI operation launched, he could change his mind. When that happened Jack didn’t know if Toomey would change his tune and demand their immediate return to Evansville and an end to the investigation. Screw that.

  “Let’s check on Angelina,” Jack said. They were a block from the police station.

  They found Angelina at the Linton Police Department, packing up her computers and gear.

  “Where are you going?” Jack asked her.

  “Jerrell called and told me you got the guy. He’s considerate, unlike some detectives,” she said.

  “Did you check with Director Toomey?”

  “What do you think?” she answered.

  “He didn’t tell us you were being pulled,” Jack said. “We might still need you here. We’re going on with the investigation.”

  “I know.” Angelina wrapped up some power cords.

  “If you don’t mind staying I’ll call Toomey and get the okay.”

  She put the power and various cords in a large hard side case with computer accessories Jack couldn’t identify. “I’m going to set up again, but not here. Jerrell had suggested I stay in a cottage at Pleasant Grove Farms in Lyons. It’s about a twenty-minute drive from here. Toomey paid for a week and I plan to take advantage of every minute. It’s beautiful out here and I haven’t had a vacation in forever. Besides, Mark is at some police thing for a few days and I hate cooking for myself. I’m going to get some takeout, check in, and watch The Voice on television. If you need me you know how to reach me.”

  Chapter 33

  Jack and Liddell helped Angelina carry the equipment out to her car. After she drove away Jack called Rosie.

  “Agent Murphy,” she answered. “I guess you’ll be checking out.”

  “Actually, I thought we’d stay the night.”

  “Yes. Of course. Good. You can help me talk some sense into Shaunda. She wants to take Pen and go home. She can’t even drive.”

  “Put her on the phone,” Jack said. He heard Rosie call Shaunda. Rosie said, “It’s a man. He wants to talk to you.” Shaunda came on the line.

  “What do you want now?” Shaunda asked.

  “I want what everyone wants. World peace,” Jack said.

  “Ha ha. Now leave me alone. I’m taking my daughter home.”

  “Not a good idea,” Jack said. “Pen doesn’t have a driver’s license and you aren’t in any shape to drive. You need to rest. The pain will get worse before it gets better and you’ll need someone to bring you alcohol. She’s not old enough.”

  This got a chuckle out of Shaunda.

  “We’re going to stay the night at Rosie’s,” Jack said. “We’ve got a ton of paperwork to do and we’ll have to give a report to Chief Jerrell on the incident.”

  “You want to ask more questions,” Shaunda said. “I’m not stupid. I know this part is going to be nasty. I have nothing to hide.”

  “Maybe you should get an attorney, Shaunda. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. It’s just the smart thing to do before you talk to anyone.”

  “Then you won’t mind if I do this,” she said and the line went dead.

  “She hung up on you?” Liddell asked.

  Jack put the phone in his pocket.

  “You didn’t ask Rosie if we could eat there.”

  “I didn’t want to push things,” Jack said.

  “Well, I’m hungry,” Liddell grouched.

  “If Rosie doesn’t offer anything we’ll get takeout.”

  “Or,” Liddell said, “we could stop on the way there and sit down and eat like real people. You know. Use real silverware and eat off of real dinner plates. Maybe get some dessert that doesn’t have Ronald McDonald on the cardboard wrapper.”

  “She’s wanting to go home. If she leaves before we get there and we go to her house she’ll think we’re investigating her.”

  Liddell said, “Aren’t we?”

  “Well, yeah.”

  “You’re going to question a woman that’s been beaten unconscious, then later stabbed, killed someone and to top it off she’s the Chief Constable. You’re going to do this with her handicap daughter present?”

  “Yeah.”

  Liddell turned the car around and headed back toward Linton. “I’m going to keep you from doing something you’ll regret. We’re going to Pizza Hut, have a couple of brews and talk this out. Then let’s go back, get some sleep and leave that poor woman alone for tonight at least.”

  Jack gave in. They went to Pizza Hut and ate, but they didn’t have any beer and they talked very little. Angelina called and was excited about her cottage. She said there was another cottage for rent on the property. Jack declined. Murphy’s Law says, “Keep your friends and your enemies equally close in case you have to shoot one of them.” Right now, he wasn’t sure who was who. He’d stay near Shaunda.

  When Jack and Liddell returned to the Coal Miner Bar the sun was already down and there were no floodlights outside. Lights were on in the downstairs but it was dark upstairs. Shaunda’s Tahoe was parked next to Jerrell’s Ford F250 4X4. On the other side of the Ford a white Geo Metro mini-car was almost hidden by Jerrell’s massive truck.

  Jack called Angelina and had her check out the owner of the Geo and run some background histories. He was still talking to Angelina when the door to the bar opened and Jerrell stood in the light.

  “Thanks Angelina. Get back to me when you get the rest.”

  “Who owns the Geo?” Liddell asked.

  “Somebody named Lizzy Parson. Let’s go see what they have to say,” Jack said and they went inside.

  Jerrell greeted them with, “I thought you guys had given up and gone back to the big city of Evansville.”

  “The rooms are paid for tonight so we thought we’d take advantage of the government’s generosity. Rosie said we could stay as long as we wanted. Is there a problem?”

  “Not with me there’s not. Have you boys eaten? Rosie made pizza and I can tell you it’s to die for,” Jerrell said.

  Rosie was behind the bar. She said, “Kitchen’s closed, but I can heat you some of the leftovers if you want?”

  Jack ignored her and asked, “Who’s driving the Geo out there?”

  A slight man in his mid sixties to early seventies came forward. He had a thick head of wavy white hair and wore bell-bottom blue jeans and a Linton-Stockton High sweatshirt. “That’d be me,” he said and introduced himself.

  “Detective Bob Parson. Retired from Greene County Sheriff’s Department. Sorry I couldn’t be here before now. I was in a trial on an old case and will be back there in the morning. Chief Jerrell called and told me you caught the guy.”

  Jack remembered Parson was the Greene County Detective that had worked the Leonard DiLegge case. “Leonard DiLegge, aka Wizard?” Jack said.

  “That’s right. I retired after that one. I knew Wizard from my days working in Narcotics,” Parson said. “I was the reason he was in prison. Then they moved me to Violent Crime unit right when he got out on parole. I always knew he’d turn up dead somewhere. I shouldn’t say it but I’m not sorry the bugger drowned.”

  Jack said, “Detective Parson, I’m glad you came, but I
think it’s a little premature to say we caught the guy that killed DiLegge.”

  Parson said, “Troy, you told me this was definitely the guy. Son, I had that one cleared as an accidental drowning. What’s going on?”

  “Don’t ask me, Bob. Ask them,” Jerrell said. “You said you’ve seen this Anderson guy out in the county before. You said he’s been bumming around out there for a couple of years.”

  Parson said, “Oh, yeah. The guy you described is a vagrant. I had a couple dozen calls on him stealing out of people’s gardens and taking clothes and such. Even broke into a shed about five or six years ago and made himself at home.”

  Jack pulled up the BMV picture of Anderson on his cell phone. “What about this guy?” he asked Parson.

  Parson took a long time before saying, “Can’t honestly say I recognize this guy, but it could be him. I never really saw the guy up close and personal. I just had his description from other deputies and the people that called in on him. He’s been out there at least five or six years.”

  Jack took the phone back. “Do you know if he was ever arrested?”

  “I’m retired,” Parson said. “I wouldn’t be here now if you hadn’t told me you got him, Troy. I’m getting back home. Good luck with this mess.”

  Parson walked out and Jack heard the lawnmower engine of the Geo start up and fade away.

  Jack heard the elevator humming the doors open and Shaunda came from the kitchen. “Let’s get this done. I’ve got Pen to bed and I want to get some sleep. It’s been a very long day.”

  Jack said, “I don’t have any questions tonight. I think we’re done for today.”

  “Amen to that brother,” Jerrell said and walked behind the bar. He put a bottle of Scotch and several glasses out before Rosie pushed out from behind the bar.

  “I’ll do that. This is still my place, and I think we all need one.”

  Chapter 34

  Jack woke well before sunup after a restless night. He’d had too much Scotch. He missed Katie. He hated what he was thinking and what he might have to do. It wasn’t the first time he was sick of being a cop.

  He’d asked Angelina to do an extensive background on Shaunda Lynch and Rosie Benton. He’d learned that Shaunda’s parents were not legally married, and ironically, they were religious chauvinists up to the day they died five years past. An aunt was the only living family left besides Shaunda and Penelope. What was most interesting was the aunt, Eunice Lynch, who, according to Angelina had never married, lived in Hutsonville, Illinois.