Lethal

Chapter 15

Since Honor’s house was outside the city limits, the sheriff’s office had jurisdiction. The deputy, who was that department’s singular homicide investigator, was a man named Crawford. Doral had failed to catch his first name.

Doral was retelling how he’d come to find the body of his brother when Crawford looked beyond his shoulder and muttered, “Dammit, who’s that? Who let him in here?”

Doral turned. Stan Gillette must have talked his way past the uniformed officers stringing crime scene tape around the perimeter of the Gillette property. He paused only briefly on the threshold, then, sighting Doral, made a beeline toward him.

“That’s Stan Gillette, Honor’s father-in-law.”

“Great,” the detective said. “The last thing we need.”

Doral echoed the detective’s sentiment but kept his feelings from showing by assuming an appropriately somber expression as the older man approached.

The former Marine didn’t even glance at Fred’s body, which had been zipped into a black plastic bag that was presently being strapped onto a gurney for transport by ambulance to the morgue. Instead he barked as though issuing a subordinate an order:

“It’s true? Honor and Emily have been kidnapped?”

“Well, they’re not here and Coburn was.”

“Jesus Christ.” Stan ran his hand over his burred head, around the back of his neck, uttered a string of curses. Then he fixed a hard stare on Doral. “What are you doing here? Why aren’t you out looking for them?”

“I will be, soon as Deputy Crawford frees me to go.” He gestured toward the deputy and made a cursory introduction. “He’s investigating—”

“With all due respect to your investigation,” Stan said, interrupting Doral and addressing the deputy with none of the respect he mentioned, “it can wait. Fred died in the performance of his duty, which is a risk that every police officer accepts. He’s dead and nothing can bring him back. Meanwhile two innocent people are missing, most likely kidnapped by a man believed to be a ruthless murderer.”

He tilted his head toward Doral. “He’s the best hunter in the area. He should be out looking for Honor and Emily in the hope of finding them before they are killed, not standing here talking to you about somebody who’s already dead. And if you had any gumption at all, you’d also be out tracking the fugitive and his hostages instead of languishing here in the one place that they’re noticeably not in.”

His voice had risen with each word so that his statement ended on a full-blown shout that brought all the activity going on around them to a halt. Everyone turned to stare. Stan, his color high, his posture rigid with righteous indignation, seemed not to notice.

To his credit, the deputy didn’t wither under Stan’s blistering criticism. He was several inches shorter than both Stan and Doral, and was as physically unimposing as a man could possibly be. But he stood his ground. “I’m here in an official capacity, Mr. Gillette. Which makes one of us.”

Doral could tell that Stan was about to blow a gasket, but Crawford didn’t flinch. “I’ll have the ass of whoever let you past the crime scene tape, but as long as you’re here, you could try to be helpful. Talking down to me and issuing orders won’t get you anywhere except escorted off the premises, and if you resist, you’ll be arrested and taken to jail.”

Doral thought Stan might even be on the verge of taking out the knife for which he was famous and using it to threaten the gullet of the deputy. Before that could happen, Doral intervened. “Cut him some slack, Crawford. He’s just received distressing news. Let me have a word with him. Okay?”

The deputy shifted his gaze from one man to the other. “Coupla minutes while I’m talking to the coroner. Then, Mr. Gillette, I’d like you to walk through the house with me, see if you can spot anything that’s missing.”

Stan glanced around at the disarray. “How could I possibly determine that?”

“I understand, but it wouldn’t hurt to look. Maybe you’ll notice something that gives us a clue as to why and where Coburn took them.”

“That’s the best you can do?” Stan asked.

The deputy merely returned his steely look, then said, “Coupla minutes,” and moved away. But suddenly he came back around. “Who notified you? How’d you get here so fast?”

Stan rocked forward and back on the balls of his feet as though he didn’t intend to answer. Finally he said, “Yesterday Honor told me that she and Emily were sick. Obviously she was coerced into saying that, purposely to keep me away. This morning I was worried about them and decided to drive out and check on them. When I arrived, I found the house surrounded by police cars. One of the officers told me what it’s feared has happened.”

Crawford sized him up again, said, “Don’t touch anything,” then turned away to consult the coroner.

Doral nudged Stan’s arm. “Back here.”

They moved down the hallway. Doral went past Emily’s bedroom, but Stan paused at the open door and then went in. He walked over to the bed and stared down at it for several long moments, then slowly surveyed the room with his eagle eyes.

Looking troubled, he rejoined Doral and followed him into Honor’s bedroom. In the salty language of the military, he expressed disgust over the damage done to it.

“Listen,” Doral said, needing to get this out before Deputy Crawford reappeared. “Promise you won’t fly off the handle.”

Stan promised nothing, merely stared at him.

Doral said, “Crawford noticed something and commented on it.”

“What?”

Doral indicated the bed. “Looks like two people slept there last night. I’m not making anything of it,” he added hastily. “I’m just telling you that Crawford remarked on it.”

“Suggesting what?” Stan asked through lips that barely moved. “That my daughter-in-law slept with a man wanted for seven murders?”

Doral raised one shoulder, the gesture both noncommittal and sympathetic. “Is there a chance, Stan, the smallest chance, that she, you know, had met this guy before he showed up here yesterday?”

“No.”

“You’re sure? You know everybody Honor—”

“I’m sure.”

“Every woman that Fred interviewed yesterday—neighbors, women who work at the trucking company—pretty much agree this guy’s a stud.”

“If Honor is with Lee Coburn,” Stan said, his voice vibrating with anger, “she was taken against her will.”

“I believe you,” Doral said, contradicting his insinuation of only seconds earlier. “The good news is that her and Emily’s bodies weren’t found here along with Fred’s.”

For the first time Stan acknowledged Doral’s loss. “My condolences.”

“Thanks.”

“Have you told your mother?”

“I called my eldest sister. She’s on her way out to Mama’s place now to break the news.”

“She’ll be heartbroken. First your dad and Monroe. Now this.”

Doral’s father and the second eldest of the Hawkinses’ eight children had died in an offshore rig accident several years ago. Mama would take Fred’s death hard. Doral could imagine the weeping and wailing. His sister was better equipped to handle that scene than he was. Besides, he had problems of his own to deal with.

“There’s something else you should be aware of, Stan,” he said, speaking in a low voice.

“I’m listening.”

“Before you got here, Crawford was asking a lot of questions about Eddie.”

Stan was taken aback and instantly wary. “What kind of questions?”

“Leading questions. He noticed that Eddie’s clothes were strewn all over the place. Old files had been rifled through. He said it looked to him like Coburn was after something that had belonged to Eddie. I dismissed it, but Crawford kept coming back to that.

“The photo of the four of us, taken after the fishing trip?” Doral continued in a hushed voice. “Crawford noticed that it had been removed from the frame. He bagged the whole kit and caboodle as evidence. Yeah,” he said, noticing Stan’s surprise and displeasure.

“Did you challenge him about it?”

“He said they might be able to lift Coburn’s prints off it.”

“Flimsy excuse. Anything in the house could have Coburn’s fingerprints on it.”

Doral raised both shoulders. “I’m just telling you. It was a picture of Eddie, and Crawford’s stuck on the idea that Coburn was searching for something that related to him.”

“But he didn’t say what.”

Doral shook his head.

Crawford chose that moment to interrupt. Coming into the room, he said, “Mr. Gillette. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

Stan drew himself up. “Is that supposed to be a joke?” Without waiting for a response, he launched a verbal attack. “As a citizen and taxpayer, I’m demanding that you do whatever is necessary, using whatever resources you have, to bring my daughter-in-law and granddaughter home safely.”

Crawford’s face turned red, but he kept his voice even. “We all want Coburn apprehended and the safe return of your family.”

“That sounds like pro forma bullshit,” Stan said. “Save your banal promises for somebody stupid enough to take heart from them. I want action. I don’t care what guidelines your handbook says to follow. I want this criminal found, killed if necessary, and my daughter-in-law and granddaughter returned to me unharmed. We can make nice then, and not until then, Deputy. And if I’m not getting through to you, I can go over your head. I know the sheriff personally.”

“I know what my duties are, Mr. Gillette. And I’ll perform them in accordance with the law.”

“Fine. Now that we know where each other stands, you do what you’ve got to do, and I’ll do likewise.”

“Don’t go taking the law into your own hands, Mr. Gillette.”

Stan ignored that, gave Doral a pointed look, and, without another word, marched out.