Miranda stood to the side, watching Jake and Jones work. She couldn’t hear what they were saying, but she didn’t need to. She’d participated in the same back-and-forth discussion, making those same notations,many times before.
Jake squatting beside the body, pointing and motioning. Trajectory of the bullet downward. The shooter appeared to have been standing behind the seated victim. Theory supported by blood spatter at the victim’s feet.
Jones nodding, examining the victim’s hands, his position in the chair. No sign of a struggle. Victim either didn’t hear the shooter arrive or had already greeted them.
Both studying the taped mouth. The word written on it. Pre-or post-mortem? Post, obviously.
What of the word? A clue to motivation? Or a message for someone? The police maybe? Or someone else?
Jake standing. Moving his gaze over the landscape. Slowly. Taking it in, making his calculations. Best way in and out: the road. The bayou sliced through the property, cutting it off. On one side the trailer park, on the other side another residence. Perp would have wanted to get in and out quickly.
If they tried to pin this on her, she’d have that going for her, she thought. No car, no means of a clean getaway. What would they surmise she’d done with the gun?
The bayou. Yes, of course. Kill Wheeler, dispose of the gun, call it in.
At the sound of car doors slamming, she turned. The crime-scene van, Buddy, two more cruisers.
The team made their way over. Buddy went directly to confer with Jake and survey the scene close up.
Then he made his way to her. He stopped beside her, but didn’t glance her way. After a moment of silence, he spoke, tone low. “What are you doing, Miranda?”
Not how, but what. “Standing here watching something I should be a part of.”
“Aren’t you already? A part of it?”
She looked at him but he kept his gaze focused on Wheeler and the activity surrounding him. “If you have something to say to me, Buddy, spit it out.”
“You know how this looks.”
“I found Wheeler. I didn’t kill him.”
“Especially on the heels of Stark. And our last conversation.”
He’d accused her of being on a twisted trip down memory lane. A psychological one, she’d thought. If she was reading him accurately, he was taking that a step farther.
“You can’t truly think I killed Wheeler?”
He looked at her then, gaze steely. “I’m going to need to formally question you.”
Miranda knew what that meant. Questioned at HQ. Being observed, videotaped. The entire department knowing what was going down.
“Fine,” she said. “What time?”
“I’ll have Taggert take you in.” He motioned the young patrolman over. “I’ll be there when I’ve finished here.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
6:20 P.M.
Buddy finally arrived. He carried a manila folder and a steaming cup of coffee. She could smell it and her mouth watered. “Sorry to keep you waiting so long, Miranda.”
Classic bullshit. “Two hours, Buddy? Seriously?”
“It’s been a busy day.” He crossed to the table, dropped the folder on it. “Can we get you something?”
A lawyer, Miranda thought, but held back. She wanted to get a sense of where this would go first. “Guess that depends on how long I’m going to be here.”
“That depends on you, Miranda.”
More bullshit. “A bottle of water would be nice, something from vending.”
He set his coffee on the table, stepped out into the hall, then returned a couple minutes later with the water and a Snickers bar. He stopped at the video camera and flipped it on.
“This is official,” she said as he took a seat across from her.
“It’s not playtime. One of ours is dead.”
“How could I forget? I was the one who found him and called it in.”
He took a sip of the coffee. “Why don’t we get started.”
“No Jake?”
“Not this time.”
What did it mean? She sifted through the options, uncomfortable with them all. Jake knew more than she was willing to share with Cadwell … yet. But would Jake feel the need to keep her secrets? After their last conversation, she thought not.
“For the record,” he began, “why were you out at Clint Wheeler’s place today?”
“As I told Jake—Detective Billings—I was running. I came to his mailbox and stopped to say hello.”
“Stop and visit, just like that? I didn’t know you two were close.”
“We weren’t. But we were colleagues, former colleagues that is. I heard music coming from around back, so I followed it. You know what happened next.”
“For the record, please.”
“I found Clint Wheeler dead.”
“You and Officer Wheeler had some history together, did you not?”
“You know we did.”
“Yes or no.”
“Yes.”
“What was the nature of that relationship, apart from being HPD colleagues?”
If he thought he was going to make her squirm, he was mistaken. “When I was fifteen Officer Wheeler busted me for possession of marijuana. It’s all a matter of public record.”
“But there’s more to the story, isn’t there?”
She narrowed her eyes slightly. “Also a matter of public record.”
He shifted on the wooden chair. “You spent six months in juvie, all because of Officer Wheeler. Isn’t that right?”
“No,” she countered. “I spent six months in juvenile detention because of choices I made. Bad ones.”
“Would it be fair to say you hated Clint Wheeler?”
“I did, a long time ago.” She settled her gaze on his. “I grew up and left all that childishness behind.”
He changed tack. “Tell me about the crime scene.”
“You were there.”
“From your eyes, Detective Rader. You’re one of my best investigators. What would your report say?”
Miranda clicked through the facts. “Man, shot from behind, bullet’s trajectory downward, suggesting perpetrator was standing behind the victim. Wound and blood spatter support that assessment. No sign of a struggle by Wheeler, which suggests he either knew the perpetrator and thought he had nothing to fear, or the perp somehow sneaked up without being heard. An improbable option, even with the radio.”
She went on, falling into the rhythm, using the opportunity to go over the facts herself. “Cooler was open and full. Dixie long necks. The beer was warm.”
“Excuse me?”
“It was warm, I checked. That means the cooler was open for a while before I arrived. A pretty fall day, they would have held their temperature longer.”
Buddy made a note and she moved on. “The most interesting, and unusual, aspect of the scene was the tape on Wheeler’s mouth. And the word written on it.”
“Liar.”
“Yes. Obviously a message, but what and to whom are the questions.”
“What’s your theory, Detective Rader? Why label Clint Wheeler a liar?”
Because he was, jumped to her tongue. She said instead, “I don’t have one. What’s yours? You’re chief of the Harmony PD.”
“You know how this works. I ask the questions and you answer. Real easy.”
Miranda folded her hands on the table in front of her. “Like I said, it seems like the perp was sending a message, maybe about Wheeler himself, maybe police in general. Are we done here?”
“Hardly.” He shifted in his seat. “How’d the killer get in and out?”