Dantzler dug into his coat pocket and pulled out two envelopes. “These are search warrants. One for the bar and upstairs apartment, one for the Lexus. Given the circumstances and the fact you’ve asked us to file a missing persons report, I don’t need these warrants to search the premises. However, for the sake of protocol, I’m giving them to you anyway.”
“Search warrants?” Sally said, taking the two envelopes from Dantzler. “Why on earth do you need search warrants? Johnny’s not here. I already told you he’s missing.”
“I can’t discuss the details, Sally,” Dantzler said. “What I can share with you is that we’re in the middle of an investigation involving Johnny Richards. That’s why we need to search the bar, apartment, and car.”
Sally’s confusion was quickly replaced by anger. Her face reddened and her eyes welled with a new wave of tears. Kicking the stool, she stood and aimed a finger at Dantzler.
“You have no cause to harass Johnny,” she screamed. “He has done nothing wrong. Johnny Richards is the nicest, kindest gentleman I have ever known.”
“Then he has nothing to worry about,” Dantzler said, not wanting to extend the argument. “Let us do our thing and we’ll be out of here.”
“Will you at least put out a missing persons report?” Sally said, bottom lip trembling. “Can you do that for me?”
“Yes.”
Dantzler was about to say something to Laurie when Craig McKinley, one of the uniformed officers, came into the bar.
“We found something of interest in the vehicle, sir,” McKinley said. “In the trunk, wrapped in a plastic bag. A forty-four.”
“Same caliber the killer used to take out Colt Rogers,” Laurie said.
“Bingo.” Dantzler said. Then to McKinley, “Log the weapon and take it to ballistics. Tell them to match it against the bullet that killed Colt Rogers. And tell them I want the results yesterday.”
“You got it,” McKinley said, turning and heading for the door.
Dantzler’s cell phone chirped. The caller was Captain Bird. “Yeah, Rich, what’s up?”
“You and Laurie need to get to TAC Air ASAP,” Bird said. “There’s something here you need to see.”
“Can’t it wait, Rich? We’re about ready to begin searching the bar and apartment.”
“Forget that for the time being. What I have to show you is far more interesting.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE
Johnny Richards’s body lay on its side in the Jetta trunk. His hands were tied behind him, his legs bound at the ankle. There was a single bullet entry to the back of his head.
Just like those two kids in the barn, Dantzler thought to himself. What goes around, comes around. Maybe there was justice after all.
“What did Joe Louis say?” Bird said. “You can run but you can’t hide. Looks like the Brown Bomber was right.”
“Who found the body?” Dantzler asked.
“Couple of executive types arrived back from a business meeting in Houston,” Bird answered. “Their car was parked next to this piece of shit Jetta. One of the guys noticed blood pooled beneath the trunk. He reported it to the lady at the front desk. She phoned us. Officers Bradley and Cline were first on the scene. They popped the trunk, found Johnny-boy.”
“Who do you think did this?” Laurie said.
“Believe me, we’ll never know the answer to that one,” Bird answered. “And you know what? I don’t give a shit. This murder has been on hold for more than thirty years. It was destined to happen sooner or later. Somebody got even, that’s all I can tell you. Old debts were collected. And with the enemies Richards made over the years, the crowd he ran with, there’s no way we’ll ever know who pulled the trigger.”
“But Richards was a pro,” Laurie reminded. “He was clever enough to stay alive all these years despite having a target pinned on him. I can’t help but wonder how he ended up like this. I mean, who could have outsmarted him?”
“Someone he trusted,” Dantzler said. “Someone with a private plane. Richards contacted the person, asked him to fly in and pick him up. Once the plane showed up, Richards would have instructed the man to fly him wherever he felt safe enough to live. But… he got a bullet rather than a boarding pass.”
“How did the shooter get Richards into the car?” Laurie asked.
“Easy,” Dantzler replied. “He tells Richards the plane needs to be refueled, or he needs to grab a bite to eat. Something believable. Richards agrees. Remember, he trusts this person. At some point, the guy pulls a gun on Richards, orders him to drive to some deserted place, ties him up, puts him in the trunk, and shoots him. He drives back here, parks, gets in his plane, and flies home. Execution accomplished.”
“The moral of this lesson is be careful who you trust,” Bird said, adding, “but whoever the shooter was, he has my sincerest thanks.”
Laurie said, “If ballistics can match the forty-four we found in Richards’s Lexus with the slug that killed Colt Rogers, then that should bring down the curtain on at least one of these last two murders.”
“You found a forty-four?” Bird said. “It’ll match. You can take that to the bank.”
Dantzler stepped away from Laurie and Bird, took out his cell phone, and punched in Kirk Foster’s number. Kirk answered immediately.
“Call your boss and have him signed the proper papers,” Dantzler said. “It’s time to bring Eli home.”
After Dantzler put his phone away, Bird approached him, a stern look on his face. “You’re jumping ahead of yourself, aren’t you, Jack? Way I see it we only solved the Rogers murder. That’s it. We can’t be certain Richards killed Devon Fraley, although there is a high probability he did. But nothing has changed regarding Eli. His prints are still on the gun used to commit those murders in ’eighty-two. The bottom line is, we don’t have the answers to who killed those two kids in the barn, answers we need in order to prove Eli’s innocence.”
“No. But I know where those answers are.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Dusk. To the west, the sun dipped deeper into the horizon. In a matter of minutes, it would disappear completely. The evening sky hung low over the city like a protective blanket. The air was still, as though the Earth and everything on it had ceased to breathe. The only sound came from a regal robin proudly perched on an overhead wire.
Dantzler cut the engine and climbed out of his car. The adrenaline rush that fueled his energy had long since passed, leaving him weary to the bone, hungry, and badly in need of sleep. But none of this mattered now. This was, he knew, the final step on a journey that began when a dying man proclaimed his innocence in a prison gymnasium.
Slowly, he pushed away from the car and walked toward the duplex.
Up those steps, behind the door, was where he would uncover the truth. In there, the secrets would be revealed. Here, at last, he would find answers that had eluded him. Who killed those two kids in 1982, why they were killed, how the killer managed to get Eli’s gun, and why an innocent man would quietly agree to spend his life in prison.
Those answers would come from the lonely, tortured soul who for three decades had lived in his own private hell.
Tommy Whitehouse.
Tommy opened the door before Dantzler stepped onto the porch. He was dressed in cut-off jeans, tank top, and white sneakers. He held a plastic cup in his left hand. After motioning Dantzler into the house, Tommy closed the door, moved in front of Dantzler, and held up the cup.
“Dr. Pepper,” he said, sitting. “Straight. You can check it if you like.”
Dantzler sat in the chair across from Tommy. “Your father is being released from prison, Tommy. He should be home sometime tomorrow.”
“Rachel called thirty minutes ago. She and Kirk are already on their way to the prison. They’re flying down in a private jet. She hopes to have Eli home by midnight.” He swallowed hard and looked away. “She asked me to go with them, but…”