TWENTY-ONE

Connor Hemphill took the call. He motioned to Phil Edwards. “Got a floater.”

Edwards looked up from his mountain of paperwork. “Who?”

“Male. Approximately forty years old. Shot execution style from the back, right through the heart. Fingerprints scraped off, and teeth knocked out, too. Ready for your first case?”

“I guess.” The newbie detective grabbed his jacket and followed his partner, who tapped on Hornsby’s door.

“We’re headed out. Looks like a new murder.”

Hornsby peered at him over his computer monitor. “Where?”

“San Gabriel River. They just pulled him out.”

“Really?” Hornsby’s eyes narrowed. He returned his attention to the computer screen. “When it rains, it pours. Keep me posted. I have to report to Gates in a few.”

“Right.” Connor motioned for Edwards to follow him down the hall to the parking lot. He stopped with his hand on the knob.

“Something wrong?”

“Nah. It’s...well. Blake always wants to come when there’s a new crime scene. Figured Hornsby would as well. But hey, to each his own.” He pushed the fire door open and headed outside. “Newly back on duty, he’s probably trying to get up to speed by reviewing all the recent cases.”

Ten minutes later, the two detectives pulled up and parked on the shoulder of the road above the riverbank. They slapped plastic covers over their shoes and put on disposable gloves before they shuffled down the short bluff. The coroner was already bent over the body and two patrol officers corded off the area to protect the crime scene.

“Hey, Mark. What we got?”

The coroner squinted as his gaze rose to meet the approaching detectives. “Hey Connor. Phil, I hear congrats are in order. First case?”

Phil Edwards dug his hands deep into his pockets. “Yeah. Thanks. Know when he bought it?”

Mark laughed. “Eager beaver, aren’t you? New ones always are.” He lifted the tarp. “No more than a day, I’d say. Fish and turtles have had a few light meals already. Eyeballs are almost gone. Of course, the bloody fingertips and mouth probably chummed them to the body.”

Edwards coughed into his fist as his complexion took on a slight tinge of green.

Connor winked at Mark and crouched down. “So, he was dead before he hit the water?”

“My guess is, yes. Bet I’ll find no water in his lungs when I do the autopsy.”

“Possibly a drug deal gone wrong?”

“Yes, from the look of things. Definitely a professional hit.” He tilted the body toward the water. “One entry wound, back of the shoulder approximately one and a half centimeters down to the left of the spinal cord. Gunshot. Probably tore through his lungs and lodged in the left ventricle of the heart. Death would be fairly instantaneous.”

“No exit wound, huh? Not too close a range, then?”

“I’d say about twenty feet or so. And perhaps at a lower angle. I’d guess this guy had headed up the embankment when the perp shot him in the back.”

“Uh, huh.” Connor scanned the river bank he and Phil had just descended.

“By a Glock from the look of the entry wound,” Mark continued. “I’ll know more when I dig out the bullet.” He stared into Connor’s face a moment.

Connor scratched his ear. “Hmm. Right.” He glanced at Phil, whose cheeks still paled. “You OK, kid?”

Edwards gave him a small head bob and looked away to the ripples glistening on the river.

The coroner chuckled as he flipped the edge of the cover back over the victim, then returned his attention to Connor. “Already checked his pockets. Nothing, not even coins. Photos already taken. Can we bag him and tag him?”

Connor rose to his feet. “Yeah, go ahead.”

“I’ll have a full report to y’all tomorrow morning.”

Connor puffed the air out of his cheek. “Nice job strapping rocks to weigh down his arms and feet.”

“Yeah, isn’t it? New use for duct tape.”

“Who discovered this?”

“A man checking a trotline with his eight-year-old son. Their hook snagged his leg. Otherwise, he may not have surfaced for another week. They’re over there.”

The two huddled under one of the cypress trees. The boy looked as if he’d been crying. Their canoe propped at an angle on the bank.

“Phil, come on. Let’s go talk with them.”

Edwards listened and took notes as Connor gently coaxed information out of the two witnesses. Neither knew much. They lived in Houston and were on a short camping trip for a little father-son bonding time. They were camping in the Tejas River Park along Lake Georgetown at one of the primitive sites. They followed the hike and bike trail to the riverbank, launched their canoe, and paddled downstream.

“How long have you been here?”

“Second day. We set the trotline yesterday evening about sunset.”

The man, who identified himself as Joe Wright, said he and his son, J.J., came down to check their line in the hopes they’d caught a catfish for dinner. Edwards took down their names and contact information.

“Will you do us a favor and contact us before you leave for home. We may need to ask you a few more questions, and there will be paperwork to complete.”

The boy tugged his father’s sleeve. “Dad, I wanna go home, now.”

The man stroked the child’s hair. “We’ll talk about it, OK?” He focused on the two detectives. “I think it would be best if we went to the police station and got this behind us.”

“If you think so. How about later on this afternoon? Say four-ish?” Connor handed Mr. Wright his card and wrote the name of a family counselor in Georgetown on the back, just in case. Both detectives shook their hands, dismissed them, and wandered back to the riverbank.

“The recovery team is combing the immediate crime scene. Let’s canvass the area along a mile upstream. Afterward, we’ll cross over at the pedestrian bridge and start down the other side. Come on, Phil. Time to show me your eagle eye.”

Edwards rushed to catch up with him. “What are we looking for?”

“Anything that doesn’t naturally belong in or near a riverbank.”

An hour later, after they had headed back, Edwards noticed a thread dangling from a barbed wire fence a half-mile downstream from the bridge. “Hey, look at this.”

Connor trudged up the bank. He got out his gloves and an evidence bag. With a pair of tweezers, he lifted the tan string off the barb. “Could be stitching from a pair of jeans.”

“Or a uniform? The state troopers wear khakis, right?”

“Possibly. Though I’m not sure why any would be around here. It could be off a hiker’s shorts for all we know. We need to get this back to forensics. Maybe they can determine how long it’s been there. It very well may be a lead. Excellent job.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Connor slapped Edwards on the back. “Come on. Let’s finish up and then go for some barbecue. I’m thinking a thick, juicy sloppy joe. Whatcha say?”

The rookie detective’s grin widened. “You read my mind. An hour ago, my appetite was gone, but now I’m starved.”

Connor’s laugh echoed off the river’s ripples.

~*~

Blake answered on the third ring. “Hi, Janie. What’s up?”

“Thanks for influencing Chief Gates.”

“You’re welcome. You’re a prime witness, you live in the community, and you were the one who put two and two together when it came to the white van.”

“Connor Hemphill tells me they ran the plates. Bogus. The vehicle identification number had been removed as well.”

Blake put the cell phone to his other ear and pulled over to the shoulder of the highway. “Janie, you know I’ve been assigned to lead up the I.A. investigation on the deaths of both burglars.”

Janie laughed. “Weird we’re working on the same twenty-four-hour period but on two separate cases. I miss you.”

This time Blake chuckled. “So, it goes. Even so, if you discover anything that might pertain to my investigation...”

“Back at ya. Somehow the two are connected, and I don’t mean because Wellington and Holden committed the burglaries. Somebody wanted them silenced.”

He rubbed the vein that began to throb in his temple. “I know, Janie. I know. It’s my job to discover who. I have under fourteen hours to do so, which is impossible. Guess I’ll be packing it along with my swimming trunks.”

“Oh, boy. My daughter will not be pleased. I’ll say a prayer for you, Blake.”

He smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “Thanks, Janie.”

He pulled out his notebook and the police sketch. Who was this guy? Whoever he was, he knew too many internal things at the Alamoville Police Department not to be connected. Which meant someone in the police department had informed him, maybe even plotted with him to snuff out Wellington and make it appear as suicide. That realization left a boulder in the middle of Blake’s stomach. If this had been an inside job, discovering who lay behind it wouldn’t be easy. The idea any one of the officers on the force could be involved in something like this was enough for him to upchuck that candy bar.

He popped two antacids and took a swig of water, which registered just below the boiling point after sitting in his car for a few hours in the Texas heat. He tapped the steering wheel as he edged back onto the highway. He had to give his findings to Gates before the tri-county area mayors’ pow-wow at six over a catered chicken fried steak dinner. Blake couldn’t decide which he looked forward to the least. Gates’s reaction or Mel’s when he told her about taking work with him on vacation.

He’d better dash by the florists before they closed. Plus, order Mel’s favorite take-out meal as well. She knew him well enough to know he’d be buttering her up, but it might still soften the blow.