Deke knew Rick had not wanted to take leave from the department, but he and his dog had been deemed unfit for street duty after the shooting. There’d been talk of wanting a desk job but Rick had resisted, opting to keep his options open while on unpaid leave. “Better to retrench and return,” he’d said last year. “If we’re not working the streets we’ll go insane.”
Rick had returned to school where he now was finishing up his undergraduate degree. Tracker spent his days always close at Rick’s side. He’d become an honored mascot at school, no one ever questioning the right of a retired police dog to sit in class.
With Tracker on his heel, Rick entered Deke’s office. Tracker jumped up on a worn leather couch and closed his eyes, though his ears remained perked.
Deke rose. “Welcome.”
Rick shook Deke’s hand. “I hear you have another victim.”
“That’s right.” Deke settled in his chair as Rick carefully eased into the seat across from him.
Rick had taken a bullet to the hip. Even after six months, he struggled with discomfort and pain.
“What can you tell me about Lexis Hanover?”
“I didn’t know her all that well. She was in the math department and I’m in the history department. But the school is like a big small town. Everyone knows everyone else’s business. She was liked and respected. Some of the students have already started putting flowers at her office door.”
“Anyone have a beef with her?”
Rick crossed his legs, resting his ankle on his knee. He laid a manila file on his thigh. “None that I heard of, but I can ask around if you like.”
“I would. I want to know anyone who might have had a grudge. She died hard.”
“Has the medical examiner looked at her yet?”
Deke checked his watch. “She will soon. You’re welcome to sit in if you like.”
“What about your partner?”
“Busy with personnel, getting the last of his retirement papers squared away. Tonight is his retirement party.”
“You and KC have been partners six months?”
“Give or take.”
He shifted his weight as if moving away from the pain. “Must be odd working with a guy who worked with Buddy.”
“It’s been an experience.” All the Morgan kids had worked under Buddy’s shadow. He’d been a damned legend in Homicide. But Deke had born the brunt of most of the comparisons.
“So what do you have for me?”
Rick flipped open the file. “I’ve been digging nonstop. Interesting case.”
Deke leaned back in his chair. “I can tell by that twinkle in your eye that you found something.”
“Buddy had two big breaks on this case. The first came eight weeks after Annie vanished. Her bones were found in the woods. Not much of her left. Head and hands were missing. But a silver heart-shaped necklace was found with the bones and later identified as Annie’s.”
“Not much forensic evidence.”
“The arm bones did show severe unhealed fractures. Best guess was that she’d been beaten to death.”
“Like my current victims.”
Rick raised a brow. “Similar, as a matter of fact. Without the skull it is impossible to tell about facial injuries but her extremities were shattered with a hard object.”
Deke leaned back in his chair. “What are the chances it’s the same killer?”
“Killers do go dark for any number of reasons, and then for equally unknown reasons they reactivate.”
“What was Buddy’s second break?”
“Four days after Annie Dawson’s body was found a confidential informant named Max Quincy who was in county jail on theft charges told his guards that he had information on the Annie Dawson case. Said he’d trade his information if charges were dropped.”
“And Buddy went for that? The story was all over the news and radio. How many CIs or false witnesses did they have to sift through?”
“A few. But Buddy didn’t pass up any leads. He talked to every nut that called in with a tip, including Max.”
“And what did Max tell Buddy?”
Rick pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to Deke. It was Max’s rap sheet with a photo of the blurry-eyed informant staring toward the ground. He sported a day’s growth of beard and his hair stuck up as if he’d run his fingers through it a hundred times.
“Max is the man that broke the case. He’s the one that refocused the cops onto Jeb who had been questioned after Annie had vanished but never arrested for lack of evidence.”
“I know they’d gotten a lucky break but a paid CI?” Paid CIs could be valuable, but cops always weighed the CI’s greed versus the truth.
“In exchange for his testimony, Max had the charges dropped and he received a small cash sum.”
“How did he know Jeb?”
“They were drinking buddies. Saw each other in the bars all the time. Max remembers Jeb talking about Annie a few weeks before she vanished.”
“I came across some letters.” He gave Rick a rundown on the letters’ backstory along with copies.
Eyes bright with interest, Rick studied the letters. “Are you going to have them authenticated?”
“That’s what Lexis Hanover was doing when she was killed. The letters she had were taken. But our Ms. Wainwright kept copies and some originals. I’ve given those to Brad Holcombe in Forensics.”
Rick shuffled through the pages. “It pays to be suspicious.”
“Brad should have an analysis within days.”
Rick frowned. “Have you told Georgia about the letters? She’s good with handwriting.”
“Let’s have Brad take a crack at them first.” He reached for a mug and took a sip. Cold coffee tasted bitter. “Has she asked you about the case files?”
“She’s called and offered to bring me dinner.”
“She’s slick.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“So why tell me about Max?”
“Because he’s alive and well and after a little checking I found out that he’s in lockup once again. Thirty years has not done much to mend his ways.”
Deke took the piece of paper with Rick’s handwritten notes. “So Max says he saw Jeb before Annie vanished and Jeb was talking about Annie.”
“He wouldn’t be the first killer who couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”
“After a chat with Max the cops searched Jeb’s car trunk and found the bloodied tire iron.”
“A blood test reveals the type is O, a match to Annie, and B+, a match to Jeb. The cops believe they have found their man. When he’s arrested, he’s drunk. Buddy talks to him but gets nowhere fast. Tosses him in the drunk tank until he sobers up.”
“Buddy’s under pressure to get a confession.”
“Sure. But you know Buddy didn’t bow to pressure. Fact, he welcomed a good fight. No, he was gonna get a righteous confession or none at all. I watched the interview tapes. A lean, mean Buddy is on his game. Jeb is confused. At first he says he didn’t hurt Annie. And then he cries. Jeb is hungover and sick but at this point he has enough sense to demand an attorney. Buddy gets him a public defender. The PD has alone time with Jeb and then Buddy reenters the room. Jeb is really not well now. Buddy promises he’ll feel better if he tells the truth. The attorney warns silence but Jeb takes “better” to mean booze and confesses to killing Annie. After that he found himself on a runaway train that could not be stopped.”
“Exactly.”
“DNA is not back yet, is it?”
“I just checked. A day or two more.” Deke opened his desk drawer and pulled out his gun and slid it into his holster. “Why don’t we go have a chat with Max.”
Rick grinned. “Tracker. Want to go ride in a car?”
Tracker’s eyes opened and he barked. Rick rose and helped the dog off the couch. Tracker wagged his tail and barked again. “You want me to drive?”
Deke rattled the keys in his hand. “I’ll drive.”
Fifteen minu
tes later, Deke, Rick, and Tracker arrived at the city jail. The three were taken to an interview room while the guard located Max.
“You can’t miss this part of the job,” Deke said, staring at the gray walls.
“I miss it all.”
“Ever thought about requalifying?”
“Sure. I’ve thought about it. And I think if I hit it hard I could make it happen. But Tracker’s done. And if he can’t work, I’m out. We’re a team.”
“How’s his hip?”
“Giving him trouble. The supplements help a lot but he’ll never run again like he did.” Loyalty ran deep in Rick. He’d stayed in Nashville for the family. Given up a job he’d loved for a dog he loved. Lost a woman because of his brother Alex. Deke had allowed Rick to step into Buddy’s shoes but now realized that hadn’t been fair. It was his job to hold the Morgans together.
Before Deke could comment, the doors swung open and a handcuffed older man wearing an orange jumpsuit entered the room. The man’s body bordered on withered and the long gray hair tied at the nape of his neck had thinned to stringy strands. Fading tattoos covered his arms.
A uniformed guard held him by the arm and guided him to the bench by the table.
“Max Quincy?” Deke asked.
The old man studied him with squinted, leery eyes before grinning. “You got to be Buddy Morgan’s boy.”
“That’s right.”
“That man had an unforgettable mug. And when he was pissed he could scare Satan himself.”
Legends cast long shadows. “You were a CI for Buddy.”
“That’s right. Gave him good information. Helped him crack all kinds of cases.” Max sniffed and sat back in his chair with the confidence of a man holding all the cards.