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As Hawke walked down the hall to Judge Vickers office, his phone buzzed. Spruel.
“What did you find out?” Hawke answered.
“Brooks was called from a number at the courthouse. District Attorney Lange’s to be exact. At five-twenty.”
“That’s what I figured.”
“How did you figure that?”
Hawke explained all he’d learned so far from the D.A., Assistant D.A., and the investigator. “I’m headed to check out all their alibis for the times of death now.”
“Keep me posted,” Spruel said before disconnecting.
Hawke continued to Judge Vickers office. He knew the D.A. had called the woman the moment he stepped into the office and her cheeks reddened.
“Trooper Hawke,” she said, straightening papers, not looking at him.
She was several years older than Lange. But she did have a pretty face and the soft body of a woman carrying a few extra pounds. Which Hawke himself liked over a bony woman.
“Mrs. White, D.A. Lange said he was up here with you last night after five. Is that correct?” He stood in front of her desk.
She tilted her head back and gazed up at him. “Yes. He arrived sometime after five and was here for nearly an hour.” Her cheeks deepened in color. “We were having difficulties making the schedules work.”
He could tell there had been more than merging schedules going on, but he refrained from making the woman any more uncomfortable. “Thank you.”
At the door, he pivoted and asked, “Did you happen to call him a week ago Monday? Between six-thirty and seven?”
She ducked her head. “Yes.”
He wasn’t going to ask her anything else. He had a person who could fill him in on any details living only a hundred feet from his apartment.
His stomach growled as he opened his vehicle and slid in. Noon. A good time to try lunch at the Pizza Oven in Prairie Creek.
Pointing his pickup toward Prairie Creek, he called Donner to fill him in.
“The victim last night was shot with the same gun as Sigler. I think it’s time we got a warrant to search Lange’s home, office, and vehicle. It’s the same caliber as the one he claims is missing.” Donner’s tone said he was beginning to believe the district attorney was guilty.
“Judge Vickers is on vacation, and Lange isn’t going to give you permission to search his house.” They’d have to wait for Judge Vickers and it was possible he wouldn’t sign off on it either.
“If we wait, he’ll have time to get rid of the weapon.” Donner was being hasty in his declaring Lange the killer.
“I believe this whole thing is a set-up. Did someone talk to Needham and his wife?” His gut was saying Lange wasn’t a killer. He put them behind bars.
“The detective hasn’t gotten back to me yet. You can’t believe someone that far away did this,” Donner said.
“The man stole his boss’s wife, his old phone is the one that made a call to a person who ended up dead, and it was information about that phone number that caused another death. It’s hard to not see a connection.” Hawke pulled into Prairie Creek. “I’m going to check out Thomas Ball’s alibi. Talk to you later.”
He pulled into the small parking lot beside the Pizza Oven restaurant. It was a pizza, salad, and chicken joint that served beer along with soda. He’d only been in the place once when he’d met someone there to take their statement about a possible poacher.
The interior was dark, like a bar. Dimly lit lights hung from the ceiling above the booths. A pool table and old pinball games sat near the back, that was partitioned off to keep minors away from the lottery game machines.
He took a seat and waited for the waitress to come out of the kitchen. There wasn’t anyone in the eating area. A couple of voices drifted out from behind the walled off lottery games.
A woman in her forties wandered out of the kitchen and picked up the two-sided sheet with the menu. She placed the menu on the table and asked, “What can I get you to drink?”
“Iced tea. Any chance you know Thomas Ball?” he asked.
The woman’s indifference switched to interest. “I do. Why?”
“I wondered if you’d remember if he was in here the Monday before last? It would have been the twelfth.” He picked up the menu.
“He comes in quite a bit. He just lives down the street.” She tapped her mouth with her pen. “I really can’t say yes or no. I’ll see if my husband can remember.”
“I’ll take the personal sized Meat Locker.” Hawke handed back the menu.
She smiled. “I’ll bring the tea right out and get the pizza going.”
Ten minutes after she’d returned with the tea and said her husband couldn’t remember if Thomas had been in that night, a dozen teenagers flooded through the door. He guessed it was lunch time at the high school.
Several saw him and nodded. Others avoided him. His uniform had a way of making people uneasy. Mostly those that had a reason for being leery of the law.
His pizza arrived. He finished off every last piece and decided since he was this close to the lake and Lange’s neighborhood, he’d have a chat with the neighbors about when Lange had returned home last night.
He paid for his meal and headed to his vehicle. A thought struck him. The waitress had said Ball lived close by. It wouldn’t hurt to see if he had neighbors to vouch for him. He put the investigators name into the computer and found his address.
Ball lived three blocks away from the Pizza Oven on a short street of three duplexes. His residence was on the end of the block. They all could have used a coat of paint, and the grass in the yards appeared to have been trampled to death and no flowers anywhere. Either it was all bachelors living in these or working couples who didn’t care what their place looked like.
There was a car in front of the middle building. He parked at Ball’s place and walked along knocking on doors. It was the residence with the parked car that answered. A woman in her early thirties, shoved her dark brown hair out of her face. She had on pajamas and a large sweater. From her red-rimmed eyes and red nose, she was home sick.
“Sorry to bother you.” He pointed to his badge. “I’m Trooper Hawke. I was wondering if you knew much about your neighbor, Thomas Ball?”
“Is he in trouble?” the woman asked, backing away from the cold air entering due to the open door.
“No.” He stepped in and closed the door.
The woman collapsed back on the couch. A bottle of water, box of tissues, and a blanket proved that was where she’d been when he disturbed her.
“Do you know when he came home last night?” Hawke perched on the edge of a recliner and pulled out his logbook.
“Last night?” She blew her nose and wrapped the blanket around her. “His car makes a distinctive sound. I think it was close to nine when he came home. He’s late most nights. He lives alone, and I think he goes to bars after work.”
“Do you live here alone?”
“No. My boyfriend lives with me. He works for the city. I have a job in Alder, but as you can see, I’m not in any shape to be helping people. I’d just make them sick.” She drank some water.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Ina Tragg.”
He wrote her name in his book. “And you think Thomas came home around nine last night? Was your boyfriend here at the time?”
“Yes. He was home right after work. I had him pick up some flu medicine for me.” She blew her nose again. “I hope I’m well enough to work tomorrow. I don’t get paid if I’m not there.”
Hawke stood. “Thank you for your time and answering my questions. I can let myself out.” He walked to the door and exited, hoping he didn’t catch her cold.
Knowing Ball hadn’t come home until nine the night before, he was going to skip checking out Lange’s neighbors and go back to the Brewery in Alder and see if anyone there remembered what time Ball left. Or if he even was there.
«»«»«»
The High Mountain Brewery had half a dozen people eating a late lunch and trying the local brews. Hawke walked in and turned heads.
Desiree Halver, a young woman whose family he’d helped out once, motioned for him to sit at the bar.
He walked over.
She placed a cup of coffee on the counter. “What brings you here, Trooper Hawke?”
“Did you work last night?” He took a sip of the coffee.
“Until eight. When I come in at eleven to help serve lunch, I get off early.” She nodded to the pool tables. “Be right back.”
He watched as she poured three glasses of beer on tap and delivered it to the three men sitting at a table not far from the pool tables.
She returned with the empties and dunked them in the sink of sudsy water. “You were saying?”
“I wondered if you happened to see Thomas Ball in here last night?”
“The district attorney’s investigator who thinks he’s God’s gift to women? No. I remember when he comes in. He’s always hitting on me.” She made a face.
“He said he was and that Delwin Saxon and Bud Trager could vouch for him.” Hawke glanced around the establishment. He didn’t know these men.
“It’s a sure bet those two would have been here. They are here every night.” She nodded to a man stooped over a table by the restrooms. “That’s Delwin. I’m not sure he even went home last night. I’ve been serving him coffee and rolls.”
“Thanks. I’ll go have a talk with him.” Hawke picked up his hat and his coffee and walked over to the table.
“Mr. Saxon? May I have a seat?” he asked.
The man glanced up. The bags under his bloodshot eyes were purple. His face was grayish. He didn’t look well at all. He looked like Hawke’s stepfather the last months before his death. If he hadn’t been drunk and run off the road, alcohol poisoning would have gotten him.
“Mr. Saxon, do you remember if Thomas Ball was in here last night?”
The man raised a shaking hand to his cup of coffee. “He bought me and Bud a round.”
“What time was that?” Hawke asked, pulling out his logbook.
“About eight thirty.”
“Did you see him in here before he bought you a drink?” Hawke had a suspicion buying the man a drink was an alibi.
“I don’t remember seeing him, but me and Bud were busy drowning our sorrows. Can’t remember for sure.” The man steadied his head and peered at Hawke’s badge. “He in trouble?”
“No. Thank you.” Hawke added the fact Desiree hadn’t seen Ball in the brewery before eight to his logbook and stood.
He walked over, paid Desiree for the coffee, and left. The investigator didn’t have a clear alibi for his evening last night.
Out in his pickup, his phone rang. Donner.
“Heard back from the detective who questioned Needham and his wife. Both have alibis. Needham said he turned in his phone to Administrative Services. He and his wife have no reason to want to harass Lange.”
Hawke had thought they were a long shot, but they couldn’t afford to let anyone involved not be investigated. “Thanks. I discovered that Ball has no real alibi for last night. He was at the brewery but not until after eight and he was home, according to a neighbor by nine.”
“The death occurred between six and seven, plenty of time for him to show up at the brewery,” Donner said.
“That’s my thoughts. I know I can get a search warrant from Lange to search Ball’s home and office. If he kept the gun from the first killing, chances are he’ll still have it.” Hawke would love to pin both murders on the cocky investigator.
“Get the paperwork rolling, I’ll meet you at the courthouse to start the search in an hour.” Donner disconnected.
Hawke smiled. He liked the idea of searching the smug investigator’s office, home and vehicle. But what he didn’t understand was what did the man get out of killing the two men and framing Lange?