The air fills with shrieks of anger and a cacophony of cuss words. Within seconds the group becomes a blur of swinging hands, kicking feet, ripped clothing, and flying chunks of hair. The two uniform cops do their best to break it up and regain control but it’s clear they have their work cut out for them. Then one of them heightens the interest by taking out his Taser.
Aaron, Hurley, and I step back toward the desk out of the way seconds before the Taser fires. The prongs fly out and bite home accompanied by the electrical static noise of 50,000 volts of electricity. Someone screams—it’s a low, male sound—and falls to the floor. The ploy is successful; the group immediately grows quiet and breaks up, distancing themselves from the victim.
I hear Hurley mumble “dumbass” under his breath just before the group parts enough for me to see who got fried. There on the floor, his body rigid with agony, is Taser cop’s uniformed partner.
Chapter 24
An hour later we have managed to clear out the various members of the Heinrich-Conklin debacle and I’m sitting in the office library with Izzy, Hurley, and Bjorn, who has just made it onto my hit list by finding and eating the pint of Ben & Jerry’s I had hidden in the break room freezer.
“I’ve got all the insect evidence from the bodies collected,” Izzy tells us, “but the only forensic entomologist in the state is on vacation and won’t be back for another four days. I can try to find someone else but I’m not sure how long it will take so it may be a while before we can get any data.”
“Great,” I say. “Somehow I don’t think patience is a strong suit for anyone on either side of that family. I don’t understand why they can’t just work it out between themselves. Hell, there’s plenty of money to go around. Why not just split it up evenly between all six of them?”
“Because that would make too much sense,” Izzy says. “The more money these rich people have, the more they want.”
“Frigging spoiled rich people,” Hurley mutters. “I hate them.”
His comment cheers me at first because I suspect it might be driven by his jealousy toward Aaron. Then I remember the rumors I’ve heard about Hurley’s past. Prior to coming here he worked as a homicide detective in Chicago. But a brusque run-in with a well-connected, rich man whom Hurley suspected of killing his wife cost Hurley his job, even though the man was later arrested and convicted of the crime.
“Well, I’m ready to switch gears and get back to focusing on Shannon’s case,” I tell the group.
“Speaking of which,” Hurley says, pulling a slip of paper from his jeans pocket. “That shrink gave me a list of names for the patients who had appointments on the day of Shannon’s murder. They all agreed to talk to me as long as they wouldn’t have to testify.” He unfolds the sheet and shows it to us. I recognize five of the names, including Jackie’s, and note that Hurley has made checkmarks beside all but one of them.
“What do the checkmarks mean?” I ask.
“It means I’ve spoken with them and verified their appointments. The only one I couldn’t reach was the noon appointment, this woman named Catherine Miller,” he explains, tapping a finger next to the name. “But since we know Shannon was killed sometime after noon, I don’t think it matters. The shrink’s alibi is looking pretty solid. So we’re back to the husband.”
“We’ll see,” I say, frowning.
“I hear your brother-in-law is representing him,” Hurley says.
“Yes, I asked him to.”
“You’re that convinced he’s innocent?”
“Not one hundred percent, but I can’t see him doing it. And so far the evidence is still circumstantial, isn’t it?”
Hurley gives me a conceding nod. “It is, but there’s a lot of it. We dumped the calls from Shannon’s cell phone.”
“And?” Izzy and I say at the same time.
“It’s mostly calls to her mother in Tennessee, a sister in California, and some local calls to friends, work, and such. There was one call to Erik on the day he showed up at Dairy Airs and argued with her. But there was also an incoming call from him at five forty-five on the day of her murder. He conveniently forgot to tell us about that.”
“See,” Bjorn tosses in. “I told you the husband did it. It’s always the spouse.”
Hurley gives me a self-satisfied smile.
I try to recall what Erik told us about his whereabouts and activities the day of the murder. “Wasn’t that when he said he was having dinner with Jacob Darner?” I ask Hurley.
“It was, and while he did have dinner like he said, Mr. Darner says he left the restaurant around five-forty, meaning Erik was on his own when he made the call and, as far as we know, for the rest of the night.”
“You say he called Shannon, but did he talk to her?” I ask.
“The call only lasted thirty seconds so I’m guessing he got her voice mail.” I open my mouth to ask the next obvious question but Hurley beats me to it. “And no, he didn’t leave a message.”
“Have you asked him about the call?”
Hurley shakes his head. “I planned to interview him at the station this afternoon but I got tied up checking into some other stuff and then the fracas here started.”
“So all you really have is more circumstantial evidence.”
“For now, but give me time.”
Izzy gets up and tucks his chair in under the table. “Well, while you two battle things out here I’ve got a ton of paperwork to finish. Let me know if anything of interest comes up.”
Taking my cue from Izzy, I also get up and push my chair in. “I have some things I want to follow up on. I still want to go back to Shannon’s house and look around. I have a feeling there’s something there I’m missing.”
Hurley says, “We can do that tonight if you like.”
“That would be great.” I’m delighted at the prospect of spending more time with Hurley, even if it is at a murder scene. Sometimes you take what you can get. “Unfortunately my only set of wheels at the moment is Bjorn here and I need to get him back to the cab garage. Would you be willing to be my chauffeur?”
He glances at his watch. “I’m meeting with Luke Nelson in ten minutes and expect it to take a half hour or so but I can pick you up somewhere after that.”
Bjorn, having finished off my Ben & Jerry’s, says to me, “I got a bulge here in my pants that needs tending to.”
Hurley’s eyebrows shoot up halfway to his hairline. He opens his mouth to say something, but I cut him off. “Don’t. It’s better not to know some things.” I turn to Bjorn. “Don’t worry, Bjorn. I’ll take care of it.”
Hurley grins wickedly and says, “Anything I can help with?”
Though I’m pretty sure he means it as a joke, Bjorn is under no such illusion. “Hell, no, you can’t help,” he says irritably. “I don’t want another man having anything to do with my wanker.” Just in case Hurley might be dense enough to miss the meaning, Bjorn grabs his crotch and gives it a jiggle.
Hurley, barely containing his laughter, says to me, “How about if I meet you at the cab garage at six-thirty? That way you and Bjorn here can have some private time together.”
Bjorn and I pull up to the cab garage a little after six. The place is dark and looks deserted. Bjorn has trouble finding his personal car in the lot in part because it’s a moonless night. Fortunately there is only one car in the lot that can be his and as I’m steering him toward it, he looks at me with a frown and asks, “Who are you again?” He scans the parking lot with a bewildered expression. “Are we going somewhere? And where’s Beatrice?”