TWENTY-TWO

Janie dropped the still soggy phone on Hemphill’s desk. “Found it in Westwood Creek.”

Connor Hemphill knitted his brow. He grabbed a paper tissue, scooped it up, and plopped it in an evidence bag. “Why didn’t we find it?”

She lifted the straps of her purse back onto her shoulder. “Don’t know. If it belonged to one of the crooks, they probably started at the place Wellington was apprehended and fanned out. I started at where I thought he, or whoever it was we saw, entered the woods.”

“Whoever? What do you mean?”

Janie explained that none of them got a good look at the man in the alley. “We all concur he wore dark blue jeans and a dark hoodie.”

Hemphill held up a finger. He opened the file and flipped through a few pages. “Wellington wore black jeans and a black long-sleeved shirt. No hoodie.”

“Doesn’t matter. The man we all saw didn’t match Wellington’s description. Shorter, stockier, probably older.”

“All in your reports, right?”

“You don’t have them, Connor?”

He scratched his ear with the eraser of his pencil. “Um, no. Hornsby does. He pulled us off that case for now and put us onto a new homicide.”

Why would he do that? She kept silent for a moment. Then, she pointed at the cell phone. “Think you can glean anything from it? I thought about packing it in raw rice, but there may be fingerprints. Of course, mine are now on it, but you have those on file.”

“We do?”

“Don’t ask.”

Hemphill laced his hands behind his neck. “Does this have anything to do with the ride in a police cruiser and the morgue?”

“No comment.”

His chair hinges screeched as he pushed toward his desk again. “Thanks for this, Janie. You’re absolutely sure the man you saw was different?”

“I honestly think so. Do you have a photo of Wellington?”

He gazed into her face for a minute. “Blake does, and there might be one on Hornsby’s desk.” He rose from his chair. “I must warn you, though. He was strangled so his face is contorted.”

She scrunched her nose, making her readers shift. “I can handle it. I used to look at Jack’s crime scene photos all the time. Some were gruesome. Besides, I raised three kids and have babysat six grandkids, though four of them are now up east.” Her focus dropped to her hands. “I miss my son in New Jersey daily.”

“My mom tells me the same each time we talk on the phone. And she’s only in west Texas.”

She waved the thoughts away. “Anyway, what I meant is that there isn’t a bodily fluid that can ooze out of any orifice to make me squeamish. Nor much blood and guts for that matter.”

“If you say so. Remember, you didn’t see me do this.” He went into Hornsby and Blake’s office and shuffled through the papers on their desk. In a minute, he returned with the folder, pulled out the photo, and slid it toward her with an expression on his face as if it was pornographic.

She harrumphed and picked it up. Stared at it for several minutes.

Hemphill tapped his fingers on the arms of his chair. “Janie? What is going on in that brain of yours?”

She handed the photo back to him. “Not the same man.”

“Hold that thought.” Hemphill whistled at Phil and motioned him to come to his desk area. The rookie had just finished all the paperwork with the Wrights and sent them on their way.

Phil Edwards wandered over and stood by the desk. He extended his hand. “Hi, Mrs. Manson.”

She took it firmly in hers. “Phil, call me Janie, please. Oh, and congratulations, by the way.”

He gave her a small dip of his head.

“You want to repeat what you said, Janie?” Hemphill shifted his focus between them.

She tapped the photo with her fingernail. “Not the guy we saw running past us in the alley.”

“You’re absolutely certain?” Edwards dashed a glance to Hemphill and back to Janie.

“Yep. Wellington was what? Five-ten?”

Hemphill wet his thumb and flipped through the file. “Close. Five-nine-and-a half.”

Edwards arched his brow. “Very good, Mrs. M.”

She smirked. “Thank you. You may wish to check with George and Betsy Ann, but I’m thinking the man we saw couldn’t have been over five-seven, and stockier. Well, in the waist, anyway. If you want my opinion, the one we saw wasn’t a kid. He definitely liked a six pack or two on occasion.” She rounded her hands over her stomach.

Edwards turned to Hemphill. “Then who could it have been?”

Hemphill popped his neck. “The guy we just fished out of the San Gabriel comes close to matching the description in height and weight.”

Janie cocked her head. “Oh, really?”

Hemphill rose and buttoned his jacket. “Hornsby needs to be read in on this pronto. Janie, will you formally give your amended statement to Phil?”

“Sure.”

“Thanks. Phil, get in touch with Mr. McGuffy and Mrs. Hunt and ask them to describe the man they saw as far as stature and height.”

Janie swatted his instructions away and crossed her leg. “I already asked them. Betsy Ann didn’t have a clue. She’s only five-two so everyone seems tall to her. George, though concurred with my description.”

Hemphill turned to Edwards. “Ask them both, anyway. For the record.” He placed the file back on his superior’s desk. He’d barely made it back to his own station when Hornsby entered the detective den with a hot cup of coffee. He gave Janie a nod, and leaned toward Hemphill. “After you are finished here, I need to speak with you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Hornsby strolled into his office.

Hemphill gazed at Janie and grimaced. He mouthed, “Oops.”

Janie motioned with her hands folded together in prayer, winked, and left the room.

~*~

Connor stood at the door. Hornsby removed the phone receiver a half inch from his ear and motioned him in. Hornsby then returned his attention to his caller. “Yes, sir. I will.”

Connor entered and stood with his hands clutched in front of him.

After he hung up, Hornsby motioned for him to sit down. “Hey, Connor, want to tell me what’s up?”

Connor plopped into one of the visitor chairs. “There may be a connection between the vic in the drink and the robberies at Sunset Acres.”

Hornsby set down his pen. “How’s that?”

As Connor explained Janie’s response when he’d shown her the photo from the file on Hornsby’s desk, Hornsby’s jaw twitched. “So, what do you think, sir? Worth pursuing?”

Hornsby pressed his spine into the back of his chair. “Not really. She just described about fifty percent of the men in this county, so of course they’d vaguely match. Not only that, it was nighttime during the manhunt, a lot was happening and the scene proved chaotic. You know witnesses are not reliable under those circumstances.”

“This is Janie Manson we’re talking about.”

“I get that, but I still don’t see a connection. Not one that will stand up anyway. Gates wants this tied up with a bow fast so we look good to the other mayors and the press, which is why I’ve taken it over.” He leaned back. “You are a proficient detective, Connor, but I’ve been at this a lot longer. We can’t waste time on bunny trails.”

“Yes, sir.”

“It appears Gates will turn over the I.A. to me when Blake leaves. Which is another reason we need to wrap things up with a bow.”

“So, you don’t think there’s a possibility of a third burglar who later was executed and dumped in the river?”

“No. That’ll prove to be a drug deal gone bad as you first believed.” He leaned forward and placed his hands on the desk. “Holden had a history of robberies. Whenever he got neck-deep in debt over the ponies or football pools, he’d make some quick cash on the side. Not too farfetched to think he got his impressionable nephew involved. Kids want fast money today as well. According to his parents, he had a fashion-conscious fiancée at the community college who wanted a big, fancy wedding. Plus, his clunker needed a major tuneup.”

Connor heaved his chest. “Right. So, you honestly think he committed suicide?”

“Kid got scared. It happens. When Everett and Gonzales searched his car, they found a pair of diamond earrings under the upholstery and the wires to a big screen TV matching the description of the one taken from the same apartment, that of Mrs. Jane Stephens.”

“Yeah. The clerk at E-Z Pawn in South Austin called in this morning and recognized Jacob Wellington from the news. Tried to unload the VCR and TV four days ago.”

“See?”

“What about the ace-bandage, sir?”

Hornsby shrugged. “May have been on the other ankle or on a knee. Who knows? Mercy E.R. isn’t known for thoroughness. Last year, they got a fake pearl out of a toddler’s nose and missed the one in his ear canal until he ran a one hundred and one fever and cried all night. Recently, while patching up a guy’s arm from a bar brawl, they missed the two broken ribs. Didn’t see the bruises because they never removed his undershirt, so they never did an X-ray. Guy was too plastered to feel anything until the next morning when he rolled over on the cot in the drunk tank.”

“Sanford, right?”

Hornsby smirked. “Gee, how’ja guess, cowboy?”

Connor pushed off from the chair and stood. “You and Blake must love doing the I.A.”

Hornsby rolled his eyes. “Protocol. Has to be done. Doubt we’ll find anything unusual, though. Hear Aaron might pull through by the way.”

“Great news. The Go-fund is topping thirty thousand already.”

“Excellent. His family can use it.” He glanced at his watch. “We need to hustle. Have Edwards continue looking in the database for our floater. You follow up with forensics.”

He swiveled back to his computer screen, an indication the conversation had ended.

Connor frowned. Janie had gotten him all worked up over nothing. Gosh, darn it, man. You are a seasoned investigator. If Blake was here, he’d be laughing at you right now.

Then again, Janie had talked Blake into going undercover with her, which is why he ended up on admin. The woman had smarts, and she could be very persuasive. He decided to talk to her friends off the clock. He poured himself a cup of coffee and headed back to his desk.

Edwards came over. “Something you should know, sir.”

Connor took a long sip and grimaced. “Ugh. Who made this liquid tar?”

Edwards chuckled. “Everett’s new brew. Sumatra something. Lots of sugar helps.” He leaned in, his hands on the desk, arms locked. “That man and his son, the Wrights from Houston?”

“Yeah?”

“The dad swears he’s seen that guy before. The one from the river? Can’t place him, but if he does, he’ll call us.”

“Houston, you say? Check their police database and see if we can obtain a facial recognition. I know, the fish had their meal, but perhaps...”

Edwards returned to his own desk adjacent to Connor’s. “I’m on it.”

“Also check on the progress of that DNA report through the database from Austin. That might help us narrow it down a bit.”

He snapped his fingers. “Oh, I forgot. Forensics called, but not about the DNA. Bullet definitely came from a Glock. Plus, they said the vic had a scar on his right forearm. Their guess is a tattoo recently removed.”

“Did you get the dimensions?”

“Yeah. Got ’em somewhere.” He thumbed through his notes.

“Keep that in mind in doing your search.”

“Right. Thanks.”

“I’ll go over the recovery team’s findings and check on your mysterious tan string. Be back later on today.”

“OK.”

Connor grabbed his jacket and shook his head as Edwards wheeled his chair closer to his computer monitor with a serious, wide-eyed expression. “Rookies.”