Open Season (30 page)

No, wait. Call Daisy’s mother and find out which dentist she used.

She looked up that number, but the phone rang and rang, and no one answered.

Jennifer flipped to the Yellow Pages, located
Dentists-Dentistry,
and began dialing. She couldn’t give up now. She’d failed at a lot in her life, but she couldn’t fail at this.

D
ogs aren’t allowed in public buildings unless they’re service dogs,” he said for the fifth time when they were on their way to Huntsville.

Daisy looked over her shoulder at Midas, who was asleep on his blanket in the backseat. “They’ll let him in unless they want to take my statement in the parking lot.”

Jack had argued the whole time she was putting Midas’s dishes in his car, along with a supply of food and water. He had argued when she clipped the leash to the puppy’s tiny collar. He had argued when she spread the blanket on the backseat and deposited Midas on it, along with his stuffed duck and rubber chew toy. He had argued until she got into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt, and then he’d gotten behind the wheel without another word.

As far as Daisy was concerned, the subject of Midas was closed. Anyone who would kill another human being wouldn’t hesitate to kill a dog; Midas was under her guardianship now, and she wouldn’t leave him in the house alone, helpless and unprotected.

“I’ve been thinking about that night,” she said, absently watching the mountains as they drove. “I saw their faces when they came out of the club, because the neon sign was shining down on them. There were two of the men, with Mitchell between them. The third man was waiting in the parking lot. Then a car pulled in and the headlights caught them, and I saw the faces of all three because they looked at the car. I didn’t know any of them, but I can describe them.”

“Just get the details straight in your mind, and hold them there.” He reached over and took her hand. “Everything will be all right.”

“I know.” She managed a smile. “You promised my mother.”

They reached the building that housed the Madison County Sheriff’s Investigation and Patrol offices at nine-thirty. It was a two-story sixties-type building, yellow brick on bottom and pebbled concrete on top, with long, narrow, vertical windows. The sign on top said
Forensic Sciences Building.
The departments of forensic sciences and public safety were also in the building.

“Huh,” said Daisy. “I might have known it would be here.”

He looked puzzled. “Why?”

She turned and pointed. “Because you just passed a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop.”

“Do me a favor,” he said. “Don’t mention it to them.”

He put his cell phone in his pocket, then gathered
Midas’s paraphernalia while Daisy got the puppy out of the car and carried him to a little patch of grass. He obediently squatted, she praised him, and he pranced at her heels as if he knew he’d been a very good boy. He didn’t like the leash, though, and caught it in his mouth. Every few steps he’d stop and bat at it. Finally she picked him up, cradling him on her shoulder as if he were a baby. Content, he licked her chin.

No sooner had they stepped inside the building than a female deputy said, “You can’t bring the dog in here.”

Daisy immediately stepped back outside and waited. Unwilling to leave her out there by herself even though he was certain they hadn’t been followed, Jack said to the deputy, “Please call Detective Morrison and tell him Chief Russo is here with the witness,” and went back outside himself to wait with her.

The summer heat was already broiling, and the humidity was so high the air felt thick and heavy. Daisy lifted her face to the sunshine anyway, as if she needed the light. They didn’t say anything, just waited until Detective Morrison came outside with a quizzical expression on his dark face. “Deputy Sasnett said you brought your dog—” He broke off when he saw the puppy, his expression changing to a grin. “That isn’t a dog. That’s a ball of fluff.”

Jack offered his hand. “I’m Jack Russo, Hillsboro’s chief. This is Daisy Minor, the witness I told you about. Where she goes, the ball of fluff goes.”

He shook Jack’s hand, scratched his head, and said, “I’ll be right back.” Five minutes later, having cleared the way, he led Jack, Daisy, and Midas to his office.

Midas was an angel, sitting on Daisy’s lap while she calmly told the detective what she’d seen Saturday
night. Yes, she was certain the man in the middle was the man who had introduced himself to her the week before as Mitchell, and, yes, she was certain that was his photograph in the paper. She described what he’d been wearing, to the best of her memory: jeans, boots, and a light-colored western-style shirt. Detective Morrison quietly passed Jack the crime scene photos. The clothes were dirty, since the body had been buried, but they were as Daisy had described them. That meant Mitchell hadn’t changed clothes from the time Daisy saw him in the Buffalo Club parking lot, which definitely upped the chances that he had been killed that night.

“Do you want to see them?” Jack asked Daisy.

She shook her head, and he passed the photos back to Detective Morrison.

Jack’s cell phone rang. He took it out of his pocket, looked at the number showing in the window, and said, “It’s the office. I’ll take it outside.”

He stepped out into the hall before hitting the
talk
button. “Russo.”

“Chief, this is Marvin.” Tony Marvin was the first-shift desk sergeant. He sounded uneasy, as if he wasn’t certain he should be calling. “Kendra Owens just called from the library. Jennifer Nolan, the mayor’s wife, called wanting to speak to Miss Minor, and when Kendra told her she wasn’t there, Mrs. Nolan became very agitated. She said Miss Minor’s life was in danger, that she’d overheard the mayor on the phone with a man named Sykes. Mrs. Owens said Mrs. Nolan seemed convinced they intended to kill Miss Minor. Since you had us put that protective detail on Miss Minor’s mother and aunt this morning, I thought you should know about this.”

The little hairs on the back of Jack’s neck stood up. “You’re exactly right, Tony. It’s looking like the mayor’s in trouble up to his ass. Have Mrs. Nolan picked up; take her statement.” He paused, thinking. “Keep her there. Put her in one of the interview rooms and hold her.”

“Mrs. Nolan, Chief?”

“Her life could be in danger, too.”

“You mean this isn’t just a case of Mrs. Nolan hitting the bottle way too early?”

“I wish it was. Get a deputy out to the Nolan house as fast as possible.”

“Yes, sir,” said the sergeant. “Uh, what do you want me to do when the mayor hears about this?” Tony said “when,” not “if,” because in a small town there was no “if.”

“Stall him. Blow him off. Make it sound as if she’s drunk and you don’t believe a word she’s said. I don’t want to spook him until we have her statement.”

“Okay, Chief.”

“And don’t put anything on the radio about it; telephone contact only. That’ll buy us some time.”

Jack disconnected and called Todd, and brought him up to speed. “Jennifer Nolan’s statement will give us reasonable grounds for getting a court order on those phone records, so if you don’t already have them, now we can get them legally. She gave us a name, too:
Sykes.”

“It’s always nice to do it legally,” Todd said dryly.

“Before, I was just curious and uneasy. It’s different now.” Now that he knew there was a crime involved, everything had to be by the book. He didn’t mind bending the rules—or outright breaking them—when it was personal, but it was more than personal now. He
didn’t want this case thrown out of court because of a technicality.

“I’ll see what I can find on Sykes. If he’s had so much as a speeding ticket, I’ll find him.”

Jack stepped back into the detective’s office and told them what was going on. Detective Morrison made quick notes, his left hand bent in that peculiar position so many lefties used. “If your mayor was involved with Chad Mitchell, he isn’t particular about his friends. Mitchell was a bottom-feeder; we’ve had him on resisting, possession, attempted rape, theft, B and E. We got him last year on date rape, but the prosecutor couldn’t make it stick. He never did any major time, six months here, a year there.”

“Possession,” said Jack. “Of what, exactly?”

Morrison consulted his file. “Marijuana, mostly. A small amount of cocaine. Rohypnol, clonazepam, GHB.”

“He was big on the date-rape drugs.”

“How does Mayor Nolan fit in with this?” Daisy asked. “He wasn’t one of the three men I saw with Mitchell, but he has to be involved somehow.”

“My guess is Sykes was one of the three, though, and Sykes is tied to the mayor in some shady deal they’re working.”

“That’s the most logical scenario,” said Morrison, getting to his feet. “Miss Minor, you said you saw them briefly, but clearly. I know it’ll take a lot of time, but I’d like you to look at our mug shots, see if you recognize anybody. Don’t guess; be
sure,
because if you aren’t, the defense lawyer will tear the case apart.”

Midas had been an angel the whole time, sitting in Daisy’s lap, but when she stood up to follow Detective Morrison, he decided it was time to do some exploring
and began wriggling madly in his effort to get down. Daisy set him on his feet, and he immediately made a dive for the detective’s shoes. “Quick, where’s his duck?” she said as she rescued shoelaces, which was more difficult than it should have been because Detective Morrison started laughing and shuffling his feet, sending Midas into a spasm of joy at the new game.

“Here.” Jack separated the duck from the rest of puppy things he’d brought in with him, and tossed the duck across the floor. Seeing a new target, and one that was evidently running from him, Midas abandoned Morrison’s shoes and bounced after the duck. When he captured the escapee, he gave it a hard shake, then tossed it over his head and pounced again.

“I’m sorry,” Daisy apologized. “I just got him yesterday, and he’s only six weeks old, so I couldn’t leave him alone, especially not knowing if whoever was looking for me might hurt Midas if he couldn’t find me.”

“Yes, ma’am, some folks are mean,” the detective agreed. “It’s best to be safe. Tell you what; since you have the puppy, I’ll bring the mug shots in here for you to look at. That way he won’t get too excited, seeing a lot of people at once.”

“That’s a
real
good idea,” Jack said, grabbing the duck before Midas could get to it, and tossing it again. His black eyes bright with glee, Midas bounced and pounced, then dragged the duck back to Jack and dropped it at his feet.

“Well, look at that,” said Morrison, marveling. “Didn’t take him long to catch on, did it?”

Jack was still throwing the duck when the detective came back, his arms laden with pages of mugshots. Entranced with the game, Midas ignored Morrison’s return.

Daisy settled at the desk with the photographs in front her, for the first time realizing the enormity of the task. This wasn’t a matter of looking at fifty pictures, or even a few hundred. There had to be
thousands
of them, and the photographer seemed to be particularly unskilled, because the photographs could scarcely have been more unflattering to the subjects.

She closed her eyes and pictured the three men she’d seen, then picked out the most distinctive face: long, narrow, with prominent brow ridges. He’d had long, dirty blond hair and long sideburns, a distinctly unappealing style. Hair could be changed, though—she was an expert on that—so she disregarded that and concentrated on face shapes. She could also automatically disregard anyone in a minority. By adapting the system she’d learned in a speed-reading course, she began skimming pages and turning them at a faster clip, occasionally pausing to study a face and then move on.

After fifteen minutes, Midas lay down on her feet to take a nap. Daisy stopped to glance down at him, and Jack used the opportunity to ask, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee? A soft drink?”

“I don’t recommend the coffee,” said Morrison.

Daisy shook her head. “I’m fine.”

Morrison said, “Then I’ll leave you to it. I have some calls to make, so I’ll borrow an office and check back when I’m finished.”

Minutes ticked by, marked only by the soft swish of the pages as she turned them. Midas eventually roused, and Jack took him outside. When he came back, with the puppy prancing on the end of the leash as if he’d done something wonderful, Jack said, “It’s time for lunch. You need to take a break.”

“I’m not hungry,” she said absently.

“I am.”

She looked up in amusement. “You ate four times what I did at breakfast.”

“Which is why you need to eat. If I’m hungry, you have to be.”

“In a little while.” She turned her attention back to the pages, blinked, put her finger on a photo, and said in a positive tone, “That’s one of the men.”

The man’s hair was shorter in the photo, but his sleazy sideburns were still long, the color was still dirty blond, and the Neanderthal brow ridges hadn’t changed.

Jack briefly studied the photograph, said, “I’ll get Morrison,” and disappeared out the door.

Daisy sighed and gently rubbed her eyes. One down and two to go. The other two wouldn’t be as easy as this one, either, since he was the most distinctive of the three.

Morrison came back on the double and looked at the photograph Daisy pointed out. “George ‘Buddy’ Lemmons. I know this joker. We’ve had him on B and E, assault, robbery, vandalism. He’s another bottom-feeder. He usually pairs with . . . ah, hell, what’s his name?” He went out of the office and they heard him call down the hall, “Hey, Banjo, you remember Buddy Lemmons? We got him for wrecking that old lady’s house over on Bob Wallace last year. What was the name of the other perp?”

“Calvin . . . something Calvin.”

“Yeah, that’s right.” Morrison came back into the office muttering, “Calvin, Calvin.” He sat down at his computer and typed in the name. “Here he is. Dwight Calvin. Is he one of the other men?”

Daisy went around and looked at the photograph on the computer screen. “Yes,” she said positively, studying the slight, dark-haired, big-nosed man.