It surprised Mattie when Brody answered before she could.
“Juanita Banks works at Rancher’s Supply Feeds, where they sell livestock feed and grain in burlap bags. She also cleans rooms at the Blue Sky Motel.”
Brody was good at finding out things about people.
Stella turned to the board and wrote “Interview” on the far right. Skipping down a space, she wrote “Rancher’s Supply Feeds/Juanita Banks.” She turned and scanned their faces. “What do you make of that?” she asked, inviting opinions.
“Could be purely coincidence, but it’s a definite connection,” McCoy said.
Brody shifted in his seat. “Can you imagine the number of people around here who buy feed at that store and have a stack of burlap bags in their sheds?”
Mattie thought the number would be in the high hundreds. Still, it might be worth looking at.
Stella nodded thoughtfully. “Mattie, could you go to the feed store and try to get a handle on that?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Now let’s talk about the evidence from the cell phone. It leads us to some people of highest priority.” She wrote “Cell Phone Leads” in the space she’d left at the top of the list. “I’m keeping names of the kids from the cell phone off the board, since we’re dealing with minors here. Mattie already knows these kids, which is good, because we’re going to have to interview several of them. I’d like you to do that with me.” Stella looked at her.
“All right.”
“I’ll sum up the bulk of the text messages by telling you there was a lot of sexting going on with that phone. Naughty talk, pictures of body parts. Candace was evidently using the porn magazines as examples for creative posing. The boys used code names, but we’ve been able to match up phone numbers with real names. Actually, in all cases, the accounts were set up by their parents. They should be real happy to learn how their youngsters are using the cell phones they’ve been paying for.”
“No different than the fancy cars they buy for them,” Brody muttered, grumbling. Mattie had to agree with him; kids and their cars kept Garcia, the night deputy, hopping during his shift, especially on weekends.
“The best leads we found on the cell phone were the appointments that Candace scheduled with the boys,” Stella continued, “which brings me to the best one of all. She had an appointment with one boy in particular at 3:30 yesterday, up on Smoker’s Hill. You’d already given me his name, Mattie.”
Stella placed the photo with the boy posing alone with Candace on the table. “Brooks Waverly. What can you tell us about him?”
“He’s the football team quarterback,” Mattie said. “High school senior, runs with the jocks. He’s the son of a cattle rancher and lives west of town about ten miles.”
“Any juvenile violations?” McCoy asked.
“None that I know of.” Mattie looked at Brody for confirmation.
“Nope,” he said. “He’s golden.”
Mattie knew Brody meant that the kid not only had a clean record but was a golden boy in the eyes of the school and probably in the eyes of his parents.
Stella evidently was thinking along the same lines. “Well, he won’t be so golden later today. He’s our top priority, but I want to bring in these other two boys as well.” She placed the photo with Candace sandwiched between the two boys on the table. “Casey Rhodes and Joshua Barnaby. They were setting up appointments with her a few weeks ago. What about these guys, Mattie?”
“Both on the football team with Waverly. Rhodes lives here in town, but I’m not sure where Barnaby lives.”
“He’s here in town,” Brody said.
Mattie nodded. “These kids do their share of roughhousing after school and driving around town, but as far as I know, none of them have ever been in any real trouble.”
“There might be a speeding ticket on Barnaby,” Brody said, “but I’d have to look it up.”
Stella paused, lips pursed. Then she looked at McCoy. “I think it’s best if we call the parents and have them bring these kids in to interview. Schedule them one by one. Would you agree?”
McCoy was already nodding. “Since they’re minors, we have to question them with a parent present. If we do it that way, we accomplish two things—notify parents of this behavior and interview the young men at the same time.”
“I’ll get right on it; schedule the interviews for this afternoon. Let’s take them out of school,” Stella said. “Show them and their parents this is serious. We’ll finish this up so I can get on it.”
Stella turned and wrote “Burt Banks” on the board below the word “Interviews.” “Since we’ve gained enough evidence to verify Mattie’s suspicions about promiscuity, I think we have to lean on the victim’s father. Especially since we know he has access to burlap through his wife’s employment.”
“What would be his motive?” Brody asked.
“If he’s been molesting his daughter, he wouldn’t want her to talk. She’s seeking new friends, becoming sexually active with others. Jealousy,” Mattie said.
“He was dodging something when I questioned him about his alibi last night,” Stella said. “Brody, could you check out his alibi for us? See if anyone can confirm his presence at the Hornet’s Nest in Hightower, and if so, the time he arrived and departed?”
“Sure.”
“Anything else for now?” Stella asked, waiting for a moment before continuing. “All right, let’s get to work.”
Chairs screeched as they pushed back and stood up from the table. The autopsy results made Mattie heartsick; here they were, dealing with another murdered child. Robo came with her as she strode to the door. They had an assignment to do, and it was time to get started.
Chapter 9
Mattie pulled up in front of the feed store, a small white clapboard building on the highway. Anchored to the roof was a hand-painted sign in yellow and black that read, “Rancher’s Supply Feeds.” The temperature was mild, so she rolled down her windows and left Robo in the back. This would take only a few minutes.
A bell over the door jingled as she stepped inside, and immediately the thick, sweet scent of grain mixed with sorghum assailed her. Right inside the door, baby chicks, peeping like mad and looking like tiny balls of yellow fluff, scurried around inside a large cardboard box with a heat lamp hanging over it. Mattie scanned the room quickly, taking in the colorful paper bags of livestock feed stacked at the front, the larger burlap bags of feed stashed at the back.
A young man wearing a dusty green canvas apron came from a back room. He stood about six foot three, as tall as the sheriff, but that’s where the similarity ended. While the sheriff was built like a fullback, this kid—probably in his early twenties—was thin as a rail. It looked like a stiff wind could pick him up and blow him away. “Can I help you?” he asked.
“You can. I have some questions about your feed.”
The kid had earnest brown eyes, longish dark hair, and had managed to grow a scruffy beard. “I’ll try to answer them. The owner left for lunch, but he’ll be back around one.”
“And who’s the owner?”
“Moses Randall.”
“And your name is?”
“I’m Jed. Jed Franklin.”
When Mattie shook the hand that he offered, she noticed he had a firm grip and his fingers were bony. “I see you have feed in both paper sacks and burlap bags. What’s the difference?”
He led her down the aisle to show her the different types of feed. “The difference is mostly in whether you want to buy in bulk or not. Most of this stuff comes in the smaller paper bags, or you can buy the larger size that comes in burlap. We’ve got feed here for chickens and other fowl, pigs, goats, cattle, and horses.” The paper bags rustled as he tapped them. “What are you looking for?”