As I sipped my coffee before our morning meeting, I did an online search of my college graduating class. There might have been a Rob Thurston that I hadn’t remembered. Ninety-seven young men had graduated with me, but none were named Robert Thurston. I checked the junior class and came up empty too. I was sure that name and story were his way of finding out who, if anyone, was at my house during the day. What I didn’t know was why that man was looking for information about me. I had to tell Marie something, yet nothing I could say would put her at ease. I couldn’t tell her that the stranger who came to our home, spoke with her, and pretended to be an old classmate of mine might be a murderer. That wouldn’t go over well, yet I had to warn her to be cautious and not answer the door unless she knew the person. Of course, she would wonder why. I had to come up with something without worrying her too much.
I stood and grabbed my coffee cup. “Time to go.”
Rue stood, too, and led the way out the door.
The morning briefing between shifts was uneventful, and no new homicides had been reported overnight. No fresh leads had come in on Kim’s murder or the murder of the pawnshop couple either. Our day would likely consist of contacting local rental car agencies to see if their fleet had a black sedan with the first three plate numbers of 117. It would be up to Royce to decide whether we would look beyond Savannah for a car like that.
Before anything else, I planned to call Tech to ask Tom if he was able to enhance Rue’s picture of the man at the cemetery. After that, the boring task of conducting an internet search then contacting car rental agencies would take up most of the morning. Royce charged into our office as I was about to call Tom.
“Saddle up. There’s been another murder.”
“A shooting like the others?” I slipped the lanyard attached to my badge over my head and secured my gun.
“I don’t have those details since 911 just received the call five minutes ago. First responders aren’t even on the scene yet. All I know is that 911 was told there’s a lot of blood.”
Royce gave us the address, and we headed out. The home on East Park Avenue between Price and Broad was less than ten minutes from the station.
We were told that the victim was a forty-seven-year-old single male named John Keller, who was discovered when the neighbor noticed his overhead garage door open early that morning. It was an uncommon sight, so the neighbor walked over and found the man dead on his garage floor.
According to Royce, the first responders and Tapper were on their way.
We reached the residence at 8:40 a.m. and found officers securing the perimeter of the property. After parking, Rue and I walked up the driveway and into the garage. A light-blue Volkswagen Beetle was parked on the right and showed evidence of the struggle resulting in Mr. Keller’s death. Glass from the driver’s-side window had sprayed across the floor, and the door had a significant dent in it. Blood coated the car’s roof, and a tooth lay on the floor. The victim’s head was severely damaged, and he lay in a pool of sticky half-dried blood. That told me the attack had happened sometime overnight.
There wasn’t anything Rue and I could do other than assess the scene and stay out of the way. I approached Officer Rush, one of the first officers to arrive.
“Do you know who called 911?”
He jerked his head toward the older man sitting across the street on his porch bench. “He flagged us down when we got here.”
“Thanks, pal.”
Devon and I crossed the street and approached the man. His face was pale, and I was sure he was in shock from the horrific sight he had stumbled across.
I’d forgotten to ask Rush the man’s name. “Sir?”
He looked up, still dazed. “Yes?”
“We’re Detectives Cannon and Rue. We’d like to ask you a few questions about Mr. Keller if you don’t mind.”
He nodded.
“Officer Rush said you’re the one who found Mr. Keller and called 911.”
“I did.”
I pointed my chin at the bench. “Mind if we sit?”
“No, go ahead.”
Rue took his turn, and I pulled out my notepad. “Can you walk us through this morning, Mr.…?”
“It’s Clyde, Clyde Robertson.”
“Okay, Clyde, just start from the beginning.”
We listened to Clyde’s account of the morning after he was up and dressed. His regular routine was to go outside, grab the paper off the driveway, and read it over breakfast and coffee. That morning was no different until he saw that John’s overhead garage door was open. From his home, he could see the car parked inside and thought that John had just forgotten to close the door before walking into the house.
“That stuff happens, you know.”
I nodded for him to continue.
“Out of curiosity, I walked over, then I saw a body lying farther in on the garage floor. I ran in, and even though I knew it had to be John, I couldn’t identify him.”
I winced as I thought about how John’s face looked. His identification would be verified the typical way—by the driver’s license in his wallet, if there was one—but it wasn’t our job to pull it out. We would wait for confirmation from Tapper.
“So you called 911 immediately?”
“Yes, as soon as I got back to the house. I don’t own a cell phone.”
That was a relief since some people took pictures at crime scenes and shared them on social media.
“Do you know John’s work hours or what he does?” Rue asked.
“He works at that big-box hardware store three miles away.”
“Dillons?”
“Yep, that’s the place, and he works second shift. I usually see him pull into his garage when I close the curtains for the night and go to bed.”
“And that’s when?” Rue asked.
“Around ten fifteen most nights.”
“Did you see him pull in last night?”
“Yes. I closed the drapes just as the garage door was going up.”
“No suspicious-looking characters in the area?” I asked.
“I didn’t see anyone, but the nearest streetlamp is three houses down.”
“Okay, thank you, Clyde.” I handed him my card and said to call if he thought of anything else.
We returned to the modest house across the street, and as we were careful to avoid stepping on blood evidence, we approached Tapper.
“Any idea of his TOD?” I asked.
“Last night, I’d say. He’s already in rigor.”
“Your take on the manner of death beyond the obvious?”
Tapper shook his head. “I’d have to get him cleaned up first. There’s too much blood to tell, but I haven’t turned him over yet either. Ask me this afternoon.”
“Got it,” I said. ‘Have you made a positive ID yet?”
Tapper jerked his head toward the box of gloves. You can look in his wallet if you want. I’ll pull it from his pocket. Feels like a cell phone is in there too.”
“Sure, and we’ll take both,” Rue said.
My phone rang, and I stepped out to the sidewalk to answer it. It was Royce.
“What have you got?” he asked.
“A badly beaten man. He’ll need a dental ID, but his driver’s license shows he’s the occupant of the home. Money is in his wallet, and the door leading into the house is still locked, so I’d rule out robbery as a motive. The neighbor’s account was that he saw Mr. Keller pull into the driveway last night and watched as the garage door started to lift. That’s when he closed the curtains and went to bed. He said he didn’t see anything amiss.”
“How about hearing something?”
“Doubt it. He’s an elderly man, but we’ll check with the other neighbors before we head to John’s place of employment.”
“Okay, keep me posted.”
“Will do,” I said then hung up.
Before knocking on doors, we returned to the cruiser and pulled up the background check software. I typed in John Keller’s name and address.
“Okay, we have a hit. He’s spent time behind bars for assault and battery, primarily on women.”
“One of those guys, huh?” Rue groaned.
“So he does know how to fight to a degree but obviously not as well as his assailant.”
“Hmm. So his attacker is either bigger and stronger or knows how to fight better.”
“Or both,” I said.
Rue and I canvassed the neighborhood, and no one reported hearing anything other than some dogs barking around the time in question. That told us Mr. Keller wasn’t likely shot.”
“Unless…”
“Unless what?” Rue asked.
“Unless the killer used a silencer.”
Devon shook his head. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Let Tapper rule on the manner of death first. We don’t need to be looking for someone who doesn’t exist.”
I had to agree and step back from my sunglasses-man theory. John’s death could have been caused by a dispute between neighbors, workmates, or even relatives. We had to look at his cell phone contacts and check his text messages too.
We headed to the precinct to dig in. The rental car agencies would have to wait unless Royce assigned Bentley and Lawrence to that task.