Neal answered for the group. “Not yet.”
“Autopsy may shed some light on his last few hours,” the doctor said, rocking back and forth on feet that were comically small compared to the rest of him. “Contents of the stomach. Drugs and alcohol in his system. I haven’t found any needle marks yet, but heavy users can be clever. I’ll be thorough.”
“We count on that.” Neal took a step back and motioned for Crawford to take his place nearer the head of the table. Crawford did so and bent over Jorge Rodriguez to closely examine his face. Needlessly. The instant he’d looked at him, he’d seen all he needed to see.
He straightened up and stepped away from the table. “I don’t know him.”
The younger detective stopped swallowing long enough to ask, “You’re positive?”
“Positive. I’d never seen this man before yesterday.” Then, backing away, he said, “I’ll be outside.”
Crawford was pacing the length of Neal’s car when the two detectives exited the hospital a few minutes later. Neal told Nugent that he would meet him at the police station after he drove Crawford home.
They rode in silence for several blocks. Finally Neal said, “It was worth a shot.”
Crawford stared out the passenger window. He had aimed the AC vents directly at himself, and they were blasting cold air, but it wasn’t enough. He felt hot and itchy from the inside out. “As I was leaving, I heard the ME ask what time you were coming back.”
“I asked Judge Spencer to take a look at him, too.”
Crawford looked over at him. “Is that necessary?”
Neal shrugged. “His name wasn’t familiar to her, but she may recognize his face. Worth a shot.”
“You’re repeating yourself.”
Neal said querulously, “I didn’t want you along any more than you wanted to be there.”
“But you have the chief’s size twelves up your anus.”
“Because the city leaders’ are up his. Already the department’s been put on notice that the Hispanic community is gearing up for a full-fledged protest, crying racial profiling, even though two of our SWAT guys are Hispanic. And then there was that appeal from Chet Barker’s widow.”
“Which is the only reason I agreed to come with you.”
“Mrs. Barker wants answers. We all do. Everyone was hoping that when you saw Rodriguez up close, you’d say, ‘Oh, that guy. Now it all makes sense. I know why he did it.’ But you didn’t, so your services are no longer needed. You did Mrs. Barker a personal favor. You’re off the hook.” Neal stopped at a traffic light and turned toward him. “So what’s eating you?”
Under his breath, Crawford said, “Nothing.”
Neal continued to scrutinize him until the light turned green. No more was said until he pulled the car to the curb in front of Crawford’s house. Crawford pushed open the door, eager to get out. “Good luck.” He closed the car door and tapped the roof twice, hoping that Neal would consider the matter closed and drive away without asking any more questions.
If anyone pressured Crawford now, he feared he would implode.
Holly arrived at her office later than usual, having stopped by the Barkers’ house to hand-deliver a condolence card for the recent widow. She had intended to drop it with whomever answered the door and promptly leave, not wanting to impose on the family’s grieving. But Chet’s daughter had invited her to come inside. “Mama will want to see you, Judge Spencer.”
For the next hour, she had shared remembrances of Chet with members of his family, including Mrs. Barker, and had been touched, in view of their personal tragedy, that they expressed concern for her safety and well-being.
By the time she reached her office, two policemen sent by Sergeant Lester were set up at a portable table, searching through her court records and case files for any mention of Jorge Rodriguez.
“Nothing so far,” Mrs. Briggs told her. “And I myself ran a search of his name before they even started.”
“Judge Waters put all his records on thumb drives before he retired,” Holly told her. “Be sure they see those, too.”
“I’ve already handed them over. I also spoke with someone in the Dallas firm and brought them up to speed. Everyone there is worried about you. Frankly, so am I. Forgive me for saying so, but you look completely done in.”
“I just came from a visit with Mrs. Barker.” She knew her eyes must still be red from crying.
“Why don’t you go home? Why did you even come in today?”
“Actually I prefer being here and staying busy to sitting at home, dwelling on yesterday. I’m fine.”
The older woman looked skeptical, but didn’t argue. “You’ve had numerous calls from media. As instructed, I referred them to Sergeant Lester.”
“Thank you. For everything.”
“And Ms. Vidal has called here three times.”