Lethal Invitation Page 11

  “We’re sure not getting much to go on. The guy whose prints were on the shell brass has proof that he wasn’t there. Nobody heard a shot that night and the lady who supposedly saw someone in the wash was old and half-blind. We were hoping the shoeprint would help, but… .” The unfinished sentence made his point.

  Dusty cocked his head. “Sorry.”

  Dan smiled at the young technician. “Not your fault, my friend. Something will turn up. It always does.” He paused as he thought for a moment. “Well, almost always.”

  ◆◆◆

  The bright morning sun caught Edward full in the face as he exited the sandstone building. He squinted and raised his hand to shield his eyes. He was in a bad mood and the stark brightness of the Arizona sun was nothing more than a reminder of how much he hated Tucson. Even in the winter, it was hot.

  The criminal justice class this particular morning had been more boring than usual, which only added to his misery. The deed had been done almost a full week earlier. He refused to call it a murder, or even a killing because a murder should have at least scared the pathetic, crippled man. Edward still had the gun hidden in the back of his bedroom closet and although he’d had every intention of getting rid of it that night, he just couldn’t bring himself to part with the ugly thing.

  His desire to kill, rather than being satiated, had actually grown in intensity. He stood at the bottom of the steps and watched the students on the sidewalk with interest, fantasizing what their faces would look like when he pulled the gun from his pocket and pointed it at their heads. His finger itched at the thought.

  He breathed deeply, then trudged toward his next class with hands in pockets and back slightly bent under the heavy backpack. Somehow, he could feel someone watching him. Turning his head as he walked, he noticed a huge black man unashamedly observing him from a bench in the shade of a huge eucalyptus tree. The man’s face was square and his nose was broad and flat and his dark eyes seemed to hold a degree of mild interest. He gave Edward a barely perceptible nod and a minuscule smile. Edward continued walking as he studied the man, then as he passed, turned his attention to his next class. He didn’t know who the man was and quickly decided it was simply a chance encounter. After ten steps, he’d already forgotten the man and was once again caught up in his miserable existence as a University of Arizona college student.

  He sat with complete disinterest in the front row of the meteorology class. He liked this new teacher, he supposed, but admitted to himself that Dr. Smallwood had been a much better instructor. His thoughts turned again to that night. How could the man in the wheelchair have been so relaxed? He’d seen the gun and had to know what was coming. It shouldn’t have been like that. He should have begged for his life. He should have promised anything for a chance to live. Edward looked in disgust at his hands on the desktop of his metal and plastic chair, then was surprised as the substitute professor announced, “That’s it for today. See you on Wednesday.”

  He waited patiently in his chair for the rush at the door to subside, then strolled to the back of the classroom. In the hall, the same big black man in a coat and tie leaned against the wall. He looked like he was waiting for someone. The man stared directly at him, then nodded and approached. Edward waited, unsure who the man was or what he wanted.

  He observed apprehensively as the big man extended his hand, then he reached with his own, tentatively, out of habit. The huge hand dwarfed his, and he felt immediately small and insignificant. He looked up at the giant.

  “Demetrius Crown.”

  Who was this man and why was he taking an interest. Edward didn’t recognize the name and couldn’t remember ever seeing him before.

  “Edward Mitchell.” He was immediately embarrassed at the uncharacteristic squeak in his voice. He sounded like a fifteen-year-old boy going through puberty.

  The giant smiled, presumably at the squeak. Edward shifted his weight from foot to foot, anxious to be on his way, but the man glanced around and motioned toward the door. “Would you please accompany me outside so we can talk?”

  Together they walked through big, double glass doors that were propped open because of the pleasant weather. The big man led him to a concrete bench seat, motioning toward it in obvious invitation to sit. He reached into his coat pocket and produced a leather wallet. With a flip, it opened, showing a gleaming, golden badge.

  “I’m a detective with the Tucson Police Department. If it’s all right with you, I’d like to ask you some questions.”

  It took all of Edward’s ability to keep his face impassive. How could this be? He’d carefully planned the whole thing. There was nothing out of place. Time and again he’d replayed every minute of the night. There was nothing tying him to the deed. He was sure of it.

  He was inwardly relieved that his voice had returned to normal as he replied, “Sure. What can I help you with?” He consciously refrained from licking his lips.

  The big man replaced the wallet before straightening his jacket. “One of your professors was murdered last week. I’m just following up on some loose ends.”

  Edward interrupted, playing the part he’d rehearsed in the unlikely event he was ever questioned. He wished he’d rehearsed more, but at the thought, decided he was smarter than any dumb cop. He could pull this off. In practiced action, he widened his eyes in an expression of shock. “Surely you don’t suspect me!”

  The big man shook his head slowly. “No. You aren’t a suspect any more than any other student might be. But now that we are on the subject, can you tell me where you were on November sixth?”

  Edward frowned. “November sixth? That was like…” He looked skyward in exaggerated thinking. “…Monday or so of last week?” He knew full well what day it had been. After all he had planned everything down to the minute.

  “Tuesday, actually.”

  The man was calm. Not in the least bit accusatory. Maybe this was just what he had said, following up on some loose ends.

  Edward brought his hand to his chin, the classic thinker’s position. “I was at the library Tuesday night.”

  “Did anyone see you there?”

  Edward smiled, forcing himself to relax as an innocent person would if he had an airtight alibi. “There were a ton of people there, but I don’t know that anyone would remember me. I was studying by myself.”

  He shrugged then sat up straight. After the proper amount of time, he lifted his head with eyes wide, then reached for his backpack on the ground at his feet. He placed it on his lap and quickly unzipped the flap. “I checked out a book while I was there.” He extracted the book and thumbed through the pages. About half-way through, a small, cash-register-type of receipt appeared. He looked at it for a moment then passed it to his seatmate.

  The big man took his time perusing the printed information, then smiled as he handed it back. “Glad to have that out of the way. You understand we have to ask those questions?”

  Edward nodded. “Sure. No problem.” He started to rise, happy the interview was over and he could be on his way. He’d have to go over the night again. To his knowledge, no cops had been asking any other students in the class the same questions. What could have brought this detective to question him at this time?

  The cop lightly touched his elbow. It was an obvious request to remain seated. The inward nervousness returned. Now what? He had an alibi. There is no way they could suspect him. He settled his weight back to the bench.

  “Did you notice any of the professor’s students who might have been frustrated or angry at him for any reason?”

  Edward thought quickly of the blockheaded future cop from his criminal justice class. This might be a good opportunity to steer the cops on a wild goose chase.

  “There is one guy. His name is William Johnson I think. He was arguing with Dr. Smallwood a couple of weeks ago.”

  “Hmmm. Can you give me a description? There are probably more than a few students with a name like William Johnson.”

  Edward described the
boy while watching the detective write the particulars in a pocket notebook. When finished, he started to rise again but as before, was stopped with a hand on his elbow. What now? He relaxed again on the bench, hoping this guy would get finished and leave him alone.

  The big, black detective was quiet for a moment, then gazed at Edward with interest. “What I really wanted to talk with you about was my story.”

  Edward studied the man’s face while wondering what that was supposed to mean. Why would he care about a low-life, loser cop’s story? He simply nodded, encouraging the man to continue.

  The detective leaned back on the bench and intertwined his fingers over his belt buckle while crossing his ankles. He looked out over the spacious, grassy mall where hundreds of students lounged in the comfortable morning sun. His face showed peace and calm as he turned to Edward with a self-satisfied smile.

  “I was a student here twenty years ago, but not a very good student. I had no intention of graduating, I only needed to pass enough classes to stay eligible.” He pointed to the old chemistry building, short and squat in comparison to the newer and much taller buildings which surrounded it. “I was asked to see Dr. Smallwood in his office. He offered to help me—to be a mentor—someone I could go to when I had a problem. At first, I was mad, then just as quickly I could see that what he was telling me was the truth. Because he was willing to help, I was able to graduate. In many ways, you could say I owe him my life.”

  Edward stared across the mall to the red brick building. So that was what this was about. Somehow this man knew the professor had called him to his office. He obviously also knew he’d turned down any offer to help. The possible outcomes of this visit were streaming at high speed through Edward’s brain. There had to be a way to turn this to his advantage. He was smart and he could play this for all it was worth.

  A minuscule smile came to his lips. “What was your major?”

  “Justice studies.”

  The giant of a man continued looking at the chemistry building. He seemed a million miles away. In a flash of insight, Edward knew how it would be. What better position could he be in than to be friends with the detective on the case? If he could stay close, he’d know what the police knew, he could always be one step ahead. And if he decided to kill again? The thought was answered in that split second. They would never catch him.

  “That’s my major,” he announced with a smile. “Well, really pre-law, but that’s my undergrad degree.”

  The detective nodded. He no longer looked across the mall, but studied the younger man intently.

  “That’s a good major.” His smile dissipated, replaced by the tiniest of frowns. “I have to ask. Why did you turn down Dr. Smallwood’s offer of help?”

  Edward breathed deeply and glanced at the old building across the way in a show of concentration. “I’ve wondered that too. I guess I was too arrogant and full of myself. If I had it to do over again, I’d jump at the chance, but I was blinded by my own pride. I can see now he was only trying to help.”

  The smile grew larger on the big man’s face. “The professor asked me to continue to mentor students. You don’t know me, but if you’d like a second chance, I’m willing to take his place.”

  Bingo. Edward smiled. “I’d really like that.” He stood from the bench and reached his hand. The detective did the same.

  After a dinner invitation and one more handshake, the big detective strolled toward the edge of campus. Edward watched the man’s back as he retreated, his coat and tie so out of place on the campus dominated by the younger crowd.

  “We’ll see who the smart one is,” he mumbled under his breath. Then he smiled at the thought of the fun he was going to have matching wits with the man. It was time for a test to see how this new situation would develop. He had the clothes, the oversized tennis shoes and the Glock holding five more rounds hidden in his closet. The feeling of power had returned. He felt it embrace him and he welcomed it. Tonight. He would kill again, tonight.

  Chapter 15

  The traffic light turned from yellow to red as Demetrius applied the brakes and stopped his car. He noticed the time on the radio’s digital display. It was already nearly six o’clock. He’d worked late trying to find something about the professor’s murder, but no matter how many times he went over what little they knew, he couldn’t see any connections. The only hard evidence they had was the shell casing with Mr. Fillmore’s prints, but he was obviously not the killer, or at least not the one who pulled the trigger.

  The big detective absently tapped his hands on the steering wheel in time with the old-time rock and roll music coming from the radio. He wasn’t consciously listening because his mind was preoccupied with the case. The phone in its belt clip vibrated and quacked like a duck. He extracted the phone. The caller ID told him it was Wanda. “Hi, Hon.”

  “Hi. You’re late. I’m just calling to check on you.”

  He could hear the concern in her voice. In their earlier married life, she had constantly worried at the danger of his chosen profession. No matter how much he tried to reassure her, she couldn’t break the worrying habit. She was less nervous now that he wasn’t on the streets in uniform, but if he was late and didn’t call, he heard about it. He should have called when he left the office ten minutes earlier but was so engrossed in the investigation it had slipped his mind.

  “Sorry. I’m on my way home now. Should be there in just a few minutes.” He heard her breathe a sigh of relief and loved her all the more because of it.

  “Okay. Glad to hear it. The kids are all home and I’d like for us to eat together.”

  Demetrius smiled. She was so good. Years earlier when the kids were small, she had asked the Smallwoods what they had done for all their children to turn out so decent. The answer was to eat their meals together at every opportunity. The Crowns had adopted that philosophy. He thought of his kids and how good they were. Not perfect of course, but good, and he was proud of them. “Be right there.”

  His thoughts turned again to his mentor and friend, then just as quickly to Marcus and the responsibility he had assumed when he’d agreed to be a mentor. Marcus was a good boy and had a lot of potential and it was good to see him take responsibility for his own education.

  Demetrius then thought of the new boy, Edward. What was it the professor had written? Something about him being very smart but lacking direction. The boy had been pleasant this morning and jumped at the chance to have Demetrius be his mentor. The big detective was humbled at the thought.

  ◆◆◆

  Both detectives squinted at the bright November sunshine as they exited the double glass doors of their office building. They had spent the morning going over every aspect of the Smallwood murder and were no further now than they had been at the start of the day. The Lieutenant had glared at them both during their morning conference. Although he made no mention of the case, his dismay at their lack of progress had been apparent.

  On the sidewalk, they turned left to walk together toward the little downtown diner where Dan’s girlfriend worked. The men stopped as Demetrius pushed the button at a crosswalk stoplight. They waited in silence. There seemed to be nothing more to say. After all, they had explored everything they knew and had talked in length about the case to no avail. At this point in time they were talked out.

  The light turned green for them to cross. With purposeful stride, the men started across. At the midway point, Demetrius’ phone vibrated. The caller ID indicated the office. As he reached the curb he pushed the button. “Crown here.”

  “Detective Crown, we just got a call of a body found on the railroad tracks. The investigating officer said it was a close shot to the back of the head and a discarded pillow was found at the scene. The Lieutenant wants you to get out there right away.”

  He glanced at his partner. “New case. Might be connected.”

  They turned to the street but the light had already turned to red. Dan punched the button, shrugging as Demetrius watched him with a
frown. They edged closer to the curb, then at a break in traffic, jogged across while the lighted picture of a pedestrian blinked in bright red.

  Demetrius drove while Dan, cell phone pressed against his ear, received directions to the murder site from dispatch. They finally reached their destination on the south side of the railroad switching station east of downtown Tucson. They drove to a squad car with lights flashing on a dirt road next to the tracks.

  Demetrius stepped into the dust and grunted at the powder that suddenly obscured his polished shoes. The air seemed heavy and thick with the smell of burned diesel, unburned coal and a host of other unrecognizable smells. He removed his jacket and threw it back into the car before proceeding across the tracks to the uniformed officer.

  He stood next to Dan between two shiny rails with feet spread on two thick, black crossties. He surveyed the scene but saw no body, only sparse desert vegetation, scrubby and thin. He glanced to the uniformed officer who stood at the side of the tracks. “Whatcha got?”

  The cop pointed to a medium-sized mesquite tree twenty feet away. “He’s over there under the tree. I didn’t want to disturb the footprints.” He motioned them closer. As they stepped to his side, he continued, “These are my prints here.” He pointed to the ground. “I walked straight to the man and straight back. No one else has been here. It was called in by a railroad man who saw the body as his train went by.”

  Demetrius smiled in approval. “Good work.” He stepped closer to see the footprints. “You can come in with us if you like. Just stay behind and don’t touch anything.”

  Three men in single file walked carefully to the tree. Ten feet away the body lay face down in the green winter grass growing in the shade of the tree. A small hole was evident at the back of the victim’s head and a pillow with burn marks lay across his back. Demetrius, unwilling to step any closer for the time being, searched for the man’s hands to see if the thumbs were there, but he couldn’t tell because the pillow covered his closest hand and the one on the offside was under the body.