He knew Frank was carrying his handgun in his waistband, and he probably had a second firearm somewhere in his jacket. Mike was carrying some kind of semi-automatic handgun in his waistband, and he’d watched as Reverend Powell slipped a gun similar to the one he’d given him in a shoulder holster then drawn a vest over it, concealing it.
If Tom Hoffman saw that they were packing heat he didn’t indicate that he cared. He was seated in a back booth and he nodded at them as the four men approached him. “Good morning, gentlemen,” he said.
Introductions were made and Frank drew up an extra chair. A waitress approached and Tom Hoffman asked for a pot of coffee. Once coffee was served and the small talk was out of the way, Tom got right down to business. He looked at Vince. “Reverend Powell tells me you ran into a little bit of trouble out in California when you got home last week.”
Vince nodded. He told the cop a simplified version of the attempt on his life. “That’s why I called Mike,” he said. “I thought he’d be able to help, and he did. He hired Frank as my bodyguard until this thing blows over and that’s why we’re out here, to see if any progress has been made on my mother’s murder.”
“Plus, the Irvine P.D. suggested to Vince that he might want to get out of town as soon as possible while they continue their investigation on that end,” Mike reiterated.
Tom Hoffman listened, rubbing his chin as he nodded. “Do you mind if I call Irvine P.D. to verify your story?”
“Go right ahead,” Mike said.
“I’m asking Vince,” Tom Hoffman said, not breaking his gaze from Vince.
“No,” Vince said, feeling under the pressure of scrutiny from Tom Hoffman. “I don’t mind.”
Tom Hoffman turned to Mike and Frank Black. “And what do you hope to gain by coming out here, Mr. Peterson?”
“Some more information on Maggie Walter’s death,” Mike answered. “And for Vince and Reverend Powell to go through the rest of Maggie’s belongings to try to uncover some part of her background that might give us some answers to what’s happening.”
“And what exactly is happening, Mr. Peterson?” Tom Hoffman looked both wary and on the defensive.
“Somebody is trying to kill Vince,” Mike said. He took a sip of coffee and met the law enforcement officer’s gaze. His features were set in grim determination. “Maybe the same person or persons who killed his mother. I’d like to find out why.”
“The person who killed Maggie was a deranged drug addict,” Tom Hoffman said, practically spitting the words out. “Probably broke into her house to find money for drugs and she surprised him. It’s an open and shut case. Even the state police think so.”
“Who’s investigating her death?” Mike asked.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Tom,” Reverend Powell said gently. “They’re only trying to help.”
Tom Hoffman turned to his friend. “And I’m trying to get to the bottom of this, Reverend! I don’t know this man from Adam. And I’m not going to give him an ounce of information until I call California and verify Vince’s story.”
“Why would you think I would lie to you about somebody trying to kill me?” Vince asked.
“You tell me,” Tom Hoffman said. He leaned forward, jabbing an index finger at Vince. “You think the wacko who tried to kill you and your little girlfriend are the same people that killed your mother? What basis do you have for that? For one, your mother was cut the hell up! Some deranged weirdo tortured her, then cut her up and painted satanic symbols on the wall in her blood! That’s a hell of a lot different than some guy taking a shot at you in a crowded parking lot. And believe me, the State Police, even the FBI, are going to agree with me.”
“That may be true,” Mike said calmly. “But we would like to investigate all of our options. All we’re asking for is a little bit of cooperation so we can at least rule that out.”
“What makes you think I can help you?” Tom asked, still looking defiant.
“You’re close to the investigation,” Mike said. “And we may be able to help.”
“If you’re withholding information, I’d like to know,” Tom said, gripping his coffee cup tightly. “Withholding information on a federal crime is a criminal offense.”
“We’re not withholding information,” Mike said. “We’re just as baffled by all of this as you are. We’re just—”
“Then why did you say you might be able to help?” Tom sneered.
“Tom,” Reverend Powell said, his voice soothing. “Please. For my sake, if you can help us in any way, please… all we’re asking is for a little cooperation.”
Tom glowered at them. “If it weren’t for Reverend Powell I’d haul all three of you to the station,” he said. “I’d turn you all over to the state police. You know that, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Mike said, his voice calm. “But you wouldn’t get anywhere. We don’t know anything about Maggie’s murder. That’s why we came to you.”
“We need your help, Tom,” Vince said, hoping a word or two from him would make a difference.
Tom shot Vince a glare that pinned him to his seat. It looked like he was just about to say something when Mike interrupted him. “I’d like to ask you a question about a crime involving a pair of skinned dogs that were found a few months ago. Is that okay?”
Tom whirled back to Mike, a look of surprise on his face at the sudden change of subject. “Why? That doesn’t have anything to do with Maggie’s murder.” Vince caught the look on Tom’s face and could tell that the mention of the skinned dogs had registered something: a look of stark fear.
“Humor us,” Mike said. “And if it’s what we think it might be, I’ll tell you why it might relate to Maggie’s murder.”
Tom’s eyes were narrowed in suspicion. He licked his lips nervously, glanced behind them and around the restaurant as if to see if they could be overheard. He hunkered down over the table and the others leaned forward. “Okay, I’m just going to spit it out. You’ll probably think I’m crazy, but I know what I’ve seen, and I trust the people I’ve heard this from. I also trust that Reverend Powell will believe what I have to say, too.”
Reverend Powell nodded and encouraged Tom Hoffman to continue.
“Okay, here it is then,” Tom Hoffman said. He took a sip of coffee. “Those dogs that were found skinned to death in that field this past April? Well, I was the first officer on the scene when the call came through. Now, I’ve seen dead animals before. Live around here, you get used to seeing road kill and such. But these dogs… they looked like they were definitely killed by humans. Someone had not only skinned them, but their blood was completely drained from their bodies.”
“How do you know that?” Frank asked.
“There wasn’t a drop of blood at the scene,” Tom Hoffman answered, looking at Frank briefly before turning his attention to the rest of them. “One of the veterinarians said that he couldn’t determine where the dogs were killed, but that didn’t matter. We didn’t find any blood at the scene. The vet, he thinks whoever killed them drained it with a syringe or something.”
Mike and Frank nodded. Hank searched their features. “Does this mean anything to you?” he asked.
“It might,” Mike said, nodding at Tom. “Go on.”
“The lady that lives across the road from the field the dogs were found in claims she didn’t hear anything the night before,” Tom said quietly. “Neither did her neighbors. I had a list of possible suspects, kids in the area that I thought might have been responsible. Misfit gothic kids, Marilyn Manson fans. I paid them a visit, questioned them. They claimed they didn’t know anything about it. I asked some of them if they knew anybody that could have done something like this. They wouldn’t talk. One of these kids, a high school dropout named Clint Jackson, has a history of domestic battery against his mother. He’s also the suspect in some vandalism at the local high school where he painted occult symbols on some lockers. I told him I had him dead to rights on the vandalism charge, told him he could be facing some serious charges if he didn’t tell me what he knew about the mutilated dogs. At first he wouldn’t talk. Then he got kinda scared and he and one of his other friends kept giving each other these side-glances. His friend, a kid named David Lindsey, told Clint, ‘We can tell him. Those guys aren’t here anymore. Besides, they ain’t gonna know.’ I asked who ‘those guys’ were, and Clint finally told me what happened. He said that a few weeks before, a couple older kids he hadn’t met before started hanging around Nino’s on Main Street, where these kids like to gather. Clint and his friends started talking to them, and were invited to their car to smoke some grass. Well, they had lots of dope with them, and Clint and David thought this was just great. They spent the next few weeks with these guys. Said they were staying in a motel on Route 772, that they were sorta passing through town. They’d go to their room a few times and hang out, get high, watch TV, shoot the shit, that kind of thing.”