Lethal Invitation Read online

  Soon. Very soon.

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  Demetrius had barely returned to his office with the printout of the name and address of the man whose fingerprints were on the shell casing when Dan burst into his office waving a paper of his own.

  “I just got a call from a lady who saw someone walking along the wash behind the victim’s house last night. I’ve got her address. She said we could come this afternoon to get more specifics.”

  Demetrius nodded with a partial grin. He waved the paper he held in his hand. “And I just got back from a visit with forensics, a bright youngster named Dusty Rhodes. He confirmed the shells were from two different guns, but guess what? Last night’s shell had fingerprints.” He paused as his grin expanded. “I’m getting ready to see if the guy has a rap sheet. Let’s see what it says, then we need to go pay him a visit.”

  Dan returned the grin while walking around the desk to join the senior partner. “Call it up.”

  Demetrius punched in the name the computers upstairs had assigned a 93% chance of being the owner of the prints, the high probability due to two partials rather than one—and what added to the tingling in Demetrius’ shoulders was that he was from Tucson.

  The electronic version of the man’s rap sheet jumped onto the screen. The most recent mug shot showed a thin, disheveled man about fifty years old with long hair. He sneered into the camera, the bitterness evident on his face.

  Together the detectives read the charges, court proceedings and jail time starting at the top. The first arrests were from years earlier, disturbing the peace twice and public intoxication once with a mere thirty days in jail.

  Demetrius scrolled down to read the next page. “Now we’re getting somewhere.” He pointed to the screen as the charge popped up and read aloud as Dan followed along. “Armed robbery. Two years with the Arizona Department of Corrections. Currently out on parole. Can’t own or possess a firearm.” He tapped the screen. “Let’s go talk to Mr. …” He scrolled to the top to see the name. “John Fillmore.”

  “I’m with you.” Dan leaned over the desk and wrote the last known address.

  Together they walked to the motor pool car parked in one of four reserved spaces next to the downtown office building. Demetrius twisted, turned and squeezed himself into the driver’s side of the midsized car then grabbed the handle to slide the seat back as far as possible. Dan chuckled as he watched the big man trying to get comfortable.

  In ten minutes they pulled to a stop behind an older, blue Ford pickup in front of an unkempt, east side mobile home with several dilapidated cars parked on what would have been a lawn had there been any grass. Behind them, a black and white with two uniformed officers responded to their call for backup. Before they exited, Dan pulled a nine-millimeter Sig Sauer from his shoulder holster to make extra sure it was operable just in case. Demetrius did the same with his Glock.

  Demetrius, in a shirt, tie and sports coat, and Dan in slacks and a button-down shirt, were flanked by two uniformed officers. The detectives climbed the flimsy steps. Each man stood on the small platform to the side of the rickety door, neither knowing exactly how this was going to play out. They were here, after all, to question a suspect in a murder. Demetrius knocked loudly. All four men were tense. A half-minute ticked by with no response so the big detective knocked again. Their nervousness increased when they heard movement from inside.

  Chapter 12

  The door opened slowly. To the men’s relief, no gun or any other indication of danger appeared, only an exceptionally tall, skinny, sixty-something-year-old man clad only in boxer shorts. His longish, gray hair was mussed and he looked like he had just awakened. With eyes squinting at the brightness, he looked at each of the detectives in turn, then ducked and leaned out to see the backup officers. He yawned and shrugged. “You got the wrong guy.”

  “Perhaps. Are you John Fillmore?” Demetrius moved closer to lean into the darkened interior of the trailer house, looking left and right to make sure there was no one else lurking in the shadows.

  “Yep.”

  The big detective stepped back and nodded. “While we’re here could we ask you a few questions?”

  “I guess so.” The man yawned again and stretched his bony arms high, then rolled his head from side to side. “Outside or inside?”

  The man’s lack of concern was puzzling enough to turn down what Demetrius took to be an invitation to enter. “Would you mind stepping out? You can sit on the steps if you like.”

  “Fine by me,” answered Fillmore with unconcerned resignation.

  When he stepped out the door, Demetrius estimated the man’s height to be at least six-foot-seven inches. Demetrius and Dan backed down the stairs to stand on the dusty, powdery dirt.

  The suspect plopped down to sit on second step of the platform. He coughed, then hawked and turned his head to spit a nasty blob into the dirt next to the trailer. With bony elbows on bony knees, he gazed with squinted eyes at Demetrius. “Ask away.”

  “Mr. Fillmore, do you own a weapon?”

  The man cocked his head as he looked up at the standing detective. “Nope.”

  “Not so much as a handgun?”

  “Nope.”

  The detective changed tactics. “Do you know there was a murder on the north side of town last night?”

  A shrug was the only answer.

  Can you tell me where you were last night?”

  “Sure can.”

  Demetrius waited but no further answer was to be offered. It was plain he would have to work to get any information. “So, where were you last night?”

  “At work.” The man rubbed his nose and eyes, then hawked and spat another glob.

  “Do you mind if I ask you where you work?”

  “No.”

  As before he answered the specific question and nothing more, which irritated Demetrius.

  “Okay then, where do you work?”

  “At the QT station on Speedway west of Houghton Road.

  “Been there long?”

  “Only two weeks.”

  “And you were there last night?”

  “Yep.”

  The man was exasperating. “From when to when?”

  “Started at eight, got off at four. If you want to go there you can see the security tapes that’ll prove I was there all night long.”

  Finally, some volunteered information. If the tapes showed this man was there all night he couldn’t have pulled the trigger. The coroner placed the time of death between eight and nine which matched Mrs. Smallwood’s statement that the professor always returned on Tuesday nights at eight-thirty because the class lasted until eight. They had only found one possible footprint and it suddenly dawned on Demetrius that this man’s feet were much larger than the tennis shoe print the forensics department was working on this very minute. He looked at Dan, noticing the raised eyebrows. It was apparent his partner was also questioning the possibility Fillmore was the killer. Demetrius focused on the thin, bare-chested man. “Do you have any idea how your fingerprints might have found their way on the bullet that was used in the murder?”

  For the first time, the tall man showed some concern. “My fingerprints?”

  “Yes. Your fingerprints. Any ideas?”

  He spread his hands wide with upturned palms. “I don’t know nothin’ about that, but I can tell you I ain’t killed nobody.” He stood suddenly, which made his four visitors nervous, so he raised his hands again. “If you let me get dressed, I’ll take you to the station to see the tapes.”

  “Very well.” Demetrius turned to one of the uniformed officers. Go with him into the house then escort him to the QT station in your car. We’ll follow you.”

  ◆◆◆

  John Fillmore, wearing raggedy pants, a T-shirt with a Dallas Cowboys logo and sandals over bare feet shuffled into the QT station followed by the detectives. The three men waited patiently by a brightly colored chest freezer advertising ice cream bars as the clerk at the counter took sever
al bills and made change for a customer. When the customer left, John stepped to the counter. She obviously recognized him and gave a nod of greeting and what might have been a smile, though it looked more like a grimace.

  Fillmore placed both palms on the glass at the top of the counter with a rotten-toothed smile of his own. “Hey ya, Judy. Is Teddy in the office?”

  The woman nodded again while cocking her head toward the back. Without another word, John led the way to the manager’s office. Demetrius and Dan waited next to the big refrigerated units with glass doors displaying plastic bottles of soda. They could hear every word, although they could only see John’s back.

  “Hey ya, Teddy. These men want to see the surveillance tapes from last night to make sure I was here and not out causing trouble. Would that be okay with you?”

  Demetrius heard a chair squeak, then a short, heavy-set man followed John from the office. He eyed the detectives suspiciously.

  “What’s going on?”

  The big man took a step forward. “Good morning. I’m Detective Demetrius Crown of the Tucson Police Department and this is my partner Detective Dan Robertson. It is just as Mr. Fillmore says. We would like to see the tapes.”

  The short man puffed his chest. “And what if I say no?”

  Demetrius smiled disarmingly even though he felt like reading the man the riot act. It seemed like lately everyone wanted to play the television lawyer. They watched shows then pretended to know the law and the intricacies of search warrants and the like. The detective’s calm voice betrayed none of the hostility he felt.

  “You are not required to show them to us and we cannot demand you to do so. This is a friendly call. Please rest assured that you are in no way being implicated in a crime. We are only attempting to ascertain if Mr. Fillmore was here between the hours of eight and midnight last night.”

  “Yeah, Teddy. They think I killed somebody, but the tapes’ll prove it couldn’t have been me.”

  The manager looked at his employee with something akin to a frown, then exhaled a breath of relief as he turned to the detectives. “Okay then, come on in.”

  The detectives followed the man into the cramped office space, then squeezed to stand shoulder-to-shoulder behind him as he sat at the small desk cluttered with papers and empty soda cups. Both men leaned in as the computer began to display the images on the screen. Technically, there were no tapes, only digitized images playing from the computer’s hard drive.

  Teddy held the fast forward button and all three men watched the fast motion images until the imprint on the screen showed 7:59pm. Everything on the screen became surprisingly clear as the replay switched to regular time. The image showed the upper body, from behind, of a man in a ball cap. It appeared to be John Fillmore helping a customer. The customer left, then, within seconds, another approached the counter. This time the cap-wearing man turned in profile. Demetrius clucked his tongue, it was definitely John.

  “That’s him all right. Would you please fast-forward to nine o’clock?”

  John was there on the screen as he was at ten, eleven and midnight.

  Dan exited the office followed by Demetrius. John was waiting for them.

  “Well?”

  The big detective stepped to the man. “That verifies you were here.” He glanced over his shoulder to see the store manager standing close so he gestured for John to exit the store. When they were outside, he stopped and folded his arms, waiting for the man to face him. When he did, Demetrius looked him square in the eye.

  “But it doesn’t answer the question of your fingerprints on the shell casing.” He waited, studying the man for some hint that he might know something he had not yet divulged. Demetrius was disappointed because John simply stared back with bloodshot eyes.

  Shortly the disheveled man yawned and twisted his back first to the right then to the left. It cracked audibly. “Can I go back home now and get some sleep?

  Demetrius continued to watch him, convinced only that he didn’t actually pull the trigger. In the back of his mind, he was sure the man was hiding something. He motioned for one of the uniformed men to join them. “Take Mr. Fillmore back to his house.” Then turning to John, he added, “We’d appreciate it if you’d not leave town for a few days until we can look into this further.”

  A shrug was his only answer before the not-quite-a-suspect but not-completely-exonerated man shuffled to the squad car. Demetrius turned to Dan. “What do you think?”

  “Same as you I reckon. He didn’t pull the trigger but his prints were on the casing. Could it possibly be something so innocent as maybe him looking at a box of shells in a sporting goods store before the real killer actually bought and used them?”

  Demetrius shook his head at the remote chance. He admitted to himself that fact is stranger than fiction when it came to murder. “I suppose. Let’s dig a little deeper to see what we can find. In the meantime, let’s go see the lady you talked to.”

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  Edward walked to his meteorology class fully expecting it to be canceled due to the death of the professor. He was surprised that the university already had a substitute for the final five weeks of the semester and was even more surprised that it was the local weatherman from Channel Four. Edward recognized him as a gregarious on-air personality he had seen on the local news.

  He watched the students in the class from his front-row seat, many of whom were learning for the first time of the death of their beloved professor. He worked hard to keep a passive face at the wails and tears coming from his fellow students. Losers one and all.

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  Demetrius held Wanda’s arm as he rang the doorbell at the Smallwood home. They’d been invited earlier in the day by Lucinda to meet with the family as each of their two sons and two daughters had arrived from their scattered locations. The door was opened almost immediately by James, the eldest of the sons. Upon seeing the Crowns, he stepped onto the porch to give each a hug, then ushered them into the house.

  The members of the family had been able to catch early flights from various locations around the country. They stood and each, in turn, greeted their guests. Some hugged, others shook hands and everyone in the room felt the sharing of love and grief. Demetrius and Wanda had watched all except the oldest of the children grow into adults. They had attended, at Carl’s invitation, countless piano recitals, ball games, plays and choir concerts. Each of the four children had moved to distant locations with jobs and families of their own, but the friendship with the Crowns continued even though they only rarely had occasion to interact with their ‘adopted’ brother.

  Most returned to their places next to spouses and more than a few grandchildren who sat in well-behaved solemnity. Lucinda stepped to the Demetrius and Wanda at the first opportunity to give each a hug. She pulled them to sit on a piano bench next to the fireplace.

  “So glad you could come.”

  Demetrius noticed her eyes were red-rimmed, but the abject grief and uncontrollable sobbing of the previous evening were gone. Her smile surprised him. He glanced at the rest of the sons and daughters to notice that they, too, had expressions of … , he could hardly believe it, contentment.

  Demetrius was shocked. Their father had been executed only the evening before, yet they gathered as a family without the wailing and anger he expected.

  Wanda reached for Lucinda’s hand. “Is there anything we can do?”

  The new widow shook her head and allowed a small frown to escape, then with a hastily returned half-smile, answered, “No. The funeral is all planned. It will be at the big church on Ina Road at ten o’clock Saturday morning.” She glanced to a few family members before focusing on Demetrius. “We’d like you to be a pallbearer. It would mean so much to us. Would you be willing to do that?”

  Demetrius stifled a choke as the emotion hit him like a freight train. He saw her smile, then one by one, as he glanced around the room, the smiles on the faces of each of the children.

  “I’d be honored
.”

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  His tie partially loosened, Demetrius sat at the kitchen table with his sleeves rolled up and huge forearms resting comfortably on the polished wood. His hands were clasped as he sat in stoic silence. Wanda explained to their three children the plans for the weekend.

  “There will be a viewing Friday evening, then the funeral will be at ten on Saturday with a graveside service following. Lucinda said there will be a family dinner back at the church after the graveside and we are invited.”

  Chalice cocked her head. “But we aren’t family.”

  Demetrius looked up from staring at his thumbs. “We may not be blood relations, but we’re family. He’s the father I never had and the grandfather on my side that you kids never had.” He glanced at Wanda with a smile. “We’re family all right.”

  He turned in his chair to the china cabinet against the wall. On the shelf between the lower and upper sections rested the book Carl had given him only a few weeks earlier. He placed it carefully on the table and opened the cover. Turning quickly to the fourth page, he held it up for the kids to see. It was his picture in cap and gown on graduation day. With a grin, he flipped through the pages for everyone to see. “Lucinda gave me the assignment to call all of these to invite them to the funeral too.” Then, as his grin expanded, he added, “At least we won’t be the only black family there.”

  Chapter 13

  Dan met Demetrius as he got out of his car in the parking garage next to the Violent Crimes Division office building. The man wore an uncharacteristic frown.

  Demetrius stepped out of the car, then leaned against the open door. “Hi, Dan. What’s up?”

  “You don’t want to go in there right now. The lieutenant is on a rampage, yelling and screaming and carrying on.”

  Demetrius clucked his tongue at the visual. “Why? Was there another murder last night?”