Risky Undertaking (5 page)

I stepped closer to Luther. “I'm sorry, but I have to ask. Where were you last night?”

He licked his lips. “I was here, Barry. All night.”

I might not be the best poker player in the game, but at that moment, I could read Luther's face like an open book.

He was lying.

Chapter Five

Wakefield buckled his seatbelt. “What do you think?”

I waited until we pulled away from the curb before answering. “I think we have some leads to follow.”

“Yeah, but what about Luther? Seems obvious he's in the clear.”

“I'll grant he looked surprised at the news. But if he's guilty he had to know he tops our suspect list. And rekindling his anger could have created that believable outburst.”

Wakefield whistled through his teeth. “I don't know. If so, the guy deserves an Oscar.”

We neared the gatehouse. The bar on the exit lane was up, but I stopped the patrol car on the grassy shoulder. “Wait here,” I told Wakefield.

The guard stepped out when he saw me approach. “Good morning, officer. How can I help you?”

“When did you come on duty?”

“Seven.” He frowned. “Has there been a break-in?”

“No. Nothing like that.” I looked for a nameplate but the patch on his generic uniform only read Hendrick Security. “Was there someone on duty overnight?”

He nodded. “The eleven-to-seven shift. Joey Abbott pulled last night's.”

“Would you happen to have his number?”

“Sure. We keep a phone list in case a guard gets sick or has an emergency.” He glanced at the patrol car. Two deputies signaled we were doing more than a routine court summons. “Is it an emergency?”

“No. Simply checking out reports of someone driving erratically last night. Thought you guys might have seen something.”

He grinned. “Somebody celebrating the weekend all the way to Monday morning, huh? More than once a resident's come home liquored up and crashed right through that lane bar.” He pointed to the entrance's crossarm.

I gave him my sternest deputy look. “If they're headed out of here that way, you call us.”

“Yes, sir.” He stiffened as if awaiting further orders.

“Joey Abbott's number,” I prompted.

“Yes, sir. Right away.”

When I returned to the car, I asked Wakefield to drive.

“Where are we headed?”

“Back to the cemetery, but I want to talk to the guard who was on duty last night.” I pulled my cell phone from my pocket.

Wakefield turned onto the main highway. “What's his name? Maybe I know him.”

“Joey Abbott.”

“Nah, doesn't ring a bell. Maybe he moved here. But Abbott doesn't sound like a Yankee name.”

“What's a Yankee name?”

“You know. Six times more consonants than vowels. Like Coach K from Duke. Hell, I can't even pronounce his name let alone spell it.”

“Not like Roy Williams of Carolina.”

Wakefield slapped the steering wheel. “Exactly. And Roy's from Asheville. He's one of us.”

I punched in the number. “Well, whether Joey's a Yankee or not, I'm probably waking him up.”

The line rang nearly ten times before a sleepy voice muttered, “Hello.”

“Joey Abbott?”

“Yeah.” He coughed and I heard smoker's phlegm rattle in his throat.

“This is Deputy Barry Clayton of the Laurel County Sheriff's Department.”

“What's wrong?” A note of panic rose in his voice. A call from a deputy usually wasn't good news, especially for parents whose kids were driving or away at school.

“Nothing. Sorry to bother you, but I understand you were on duty at Glendale Forest last night.”

“That's right.”

“Did you notice anyone going out or coming in late?”

The line was silent a moment and then Abbott asked, “You mean a visitor?”

“Not necessarily. Could have been a resident.”

“Sunday night's pretty quiet, especially after the Baptists finish services. I don't remember anything unusual.”

“You sure? We had a complaint about a car knocking over some mailboxes on the county road near your entrance.”

“No. The only late night driver was Mr. Cransford.”

“Luther Cransford?”

“Yes. The man whose wife died. I was working dayside last Monday when the EMTs rushed through.”

“When did you see him last night?”

“About three thirty.”

“You sure?”

“Oh, yeah.” Abbott laughed. “Between you and me and a fencepost, it's the time of the graveyard shift I have the most trouble staying awake. I was close to nodding off when that big Caddy of his came in with the high beams on. Liked to blind me.”

“Had you seen him leave?”

“No.”

“I'm not trying to get you in trouble, but could you have nodded off earlier and missed him?”

“I doubt it. I'd been on the phone with my brother.”

“That late?”

“He lives in California.”

“Did Luther Cransford seem to be driving all right?”

“Yeah. The car wasn't weaving or nothing. I figured he might have been visiting family or something. I gave him a friendly wave and thought no more about it.” Abbott paused. “I guess you could check his car for damages.”

“Well, under the circumstances I hate to trouble him. It's been a tough time. I figure he's been through enough. From your description it doesn't sound like he's our culprit.”

“That's decent of you,” Abbott said. “I saw the picture in the paper of him tusslin' with those Indians. The man deserves a little slack.”

“Then let's keep this conversation between us. I wouldn't want him thinking you reported him.”

“I didn't,” he said with alarm.

“That's right. But people can get the wrong idea. Thanks for your help, Mr. Abbott.” I disconnected, confident the guard wouldn't say anything unless we needed his testimony to press charges.

“Sounds like Luther lied to us,” Wakefield said. “You want to go back and confront him?”

“No. Let's see what the ME has to say first. Did you note the name of the firm where Luther's son works?”

“Yes. Wilder and Hamilton.”

“I want to check out when Darren Cransford came into work today. Do you think you can find a way to do that without raising suspicions?”

Wakefield thought a moment. “I could ask if he was there and say I was a friend who wanted to make sure he made it back to DC safely.”

“Why wouldn't you have his cell number?”

“Good point. How about I'm offering condolences from the department?”

“Two days late?”

“Well, damn it, Barry. It's your idea. Why don't you call and say you're following up from the funeral home as part of your customer service?”

“What time is it?”

He looked at the clock on the dashboard. “Ten thirty. Why?”

“I want to remember when you had a good idea in case it never happens again.”

Wakefield laughed. “Barry, working with you makes all my ideas sound good.”

***

When I returned to Eurleen's grave, the lab techs had finished and were packing up their equipment and envelopes of soil samples. Panther's body had been removed. ME Howard Tuppler and Tommy Lee stood about ten yards down the slope in close conversation. The sheriff waved for me to join them.

“Everything OK?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Good. Fill me in later. Howard's got some preliminary findings you need to know.”

The medical examiner caressed his goatee as he organized his thoughts.

“Just the highlights, Howard,” Tommy Lee said. “The details can come in the written report.”

Tuppler shrugged. “All right. Then here are the Cliff's Notes. Jimmy Panther was killed by a single bullet just behind the left ear. Probably a twenty-two, maybe a twenty-five. I expect the autopsy will find the slug as there is no exit wound. Bad part about a shot to the head with those lighter calibers is the bullet probably ricocheted inside the skull like a damn pinball machine.”

My mind jumped forward. “With no exit wound, can you determine where he was shot?”

He nodded. “We're fairly certain he was killed at the grave. Blood on the ground was consistent with the wound and the flow pattern across his clothing. Traces of gunpowder and particle residue should have adhered to the dirt. I expect the lab tests will confirm their presence. I estimate the time of death between midnight and two this morning.”

“Any sign of a struggle?” I asked.

Tuppler gave a quick glance at Tommy Lee and I knew I'd hit upon a key question.

“Yes and no,” the medical examiner said. “There were no overt signs of a beating. No visible scratches or extensive bruising. But there were abrasions around both wrists.”

“He was bound?”

“Yes. And he struggled to free himself. My guess is someone used PlastiCuffs and didn't care how tightly they were applied.”

PlastiCuffs were lighter and cheaper than metal handcuffs, but could be easily overtightened if an arresting officer wasn't careful. They were disposable and eliminated the need for cleaning whereas metal cuffs could spread disease if not properly sanitized between uses. PlastiCuffs were not part of our standard gear at the Sheriff's Department, but I'd used them in Charlotte when we were dealing with mass demonstrations that could result in multiple arrests.

I turned back to the grave. “Did you find PlastiCuffs beside the body?”

“No,” Tuppler said. “They must have been cut off and taken by the killer.”

“Why?”

“I have no idea.”

“I do,” Tommy Lee said. “Panther was captured by his killer or killers somewhere else and brought to this site for his execution.”

“OK,” I agreed. “But that still doesn't explain why the cuffs are missing.”

“It does if we're meant to think Panther drove here himself and was discovered at the grave. We should start pursuing that hypothesis until evidence or the good doctor here proves differently.”

“You'll get top priority.” With that promise, Tuppler left to join his techs.

“Let's walk a little farther,” Tommy Lee said. “Bring me up to speed on Luther.”

I recounted our visit and Luther's reactions that appeared to be both genuine shock at Panther's death and deceit as to his own activities.

“The guard's testimony doesn't help,” Tommy Lee said. “And we don't know when Luther left his house.”

“You think he lured Panther to the cemetery?”

Tommy Lee stopped walking. “I'll be damned if I know what to think. If Panther drove himself to Heaven's Gate Gardens and Luther ambushed him, why the PlastiCuffs? On the other hand, if Luther abducted him, someone else had to drive Panther's truck because Luther needed his car to return home.” Tommy Lee sat on a marble bench close to the wooded edge of the cemetery. “I've been on my feet for nearly two hours. My knees aren't what they used to be.”

“I hear after the mind, knees are the second thing to go.”

“Smartass. At least I had a mind once. And I've still got enough sense to know we should back away from Luther for the moment. Check any friends close enough to have been accomplices. Hell, even the mayor, although I can't see Sammy Whitlock having the stomach for murder. Then we need to focus on the movements of Jimmy Panther.”

“Have you contacted the Cherokee Police Department?”

“Yes. I gave them enough details so they could notify next of kin.” Tommy Lee stood. “Let's get back to the department, get things working there, and then we'll head for the reservation.” He scanned the headstones dotting the grassy hillside. “Our answers are with the living, not the dead.”

As soon as we walked into the Sheriff's Department, Deputy Reece Hutchins came running across the bullpen to intercept Tommy Lee. “The mayor's been by twice looking for you.”

“Did you tell him I was at a crime scene?”

“Yes. He knew about Panther. Luther called him.”

“Figures.” Tommy Lee stepped around Reece. “Let's talk in my office.”

The sheriff flipped on his Mr. Coffee without bothering to check if either grounds or water were ready. Marge, our chief dispatcher, always prepped the machine when she beat Tommy Lee into the department. He plopped behind his desk and the old metal swivel chair squealed in protest as he leaned back. Reece and I sat in two chairs across from him.

Tommy Lee laced his fingers behind his head. “So, Sammy came running in here right after Luther called him?”

“No,” Reece said. “Not the first time. He came in waving an envelope.”

The chair squealed louder as Tommy Lee rocked forward. “What envelope?”

“One that came to his office last Friday. He was out because of Eurleen's death.”

“All the owners,” I said.

“What are you talking about?” Reece asked.

“What was in the envelope?” Tommy Lee asked.

“A broken feather and a note to stay away from Bell Ridge.” Reece looked at me. “Owners? Did Luther and Archie get envelopes?”

“Yes,” I said. “None signed and no return address.”

“Does the mayor still have his?” Tommy Lee asked Reece.

“No, I logged it into the evidence room.”

Tommy Lee turned to me. “What about Luther's?”

“I've got it as well as Archie's.”

“Good,” Tommy Lee said. “Give them to Reece.”

“You want me to log them in?” Reece asked.

“Yes. Then I want you to take them to the FBI field office in Asheville.”

Reece's eyes expanded to the size of baseballs. “The FBI?”

“Yeah. They're going to be involved sooner or later. We have a dead Cherokee who might have been abducted from the reservation. If it's kidnapping and murder, we're looking at crimes across lines of sovereignty beyond simple state boundaries. I want to be preemptive in establishing our lead role. We have the murder, but the FBI has the best lab resources in the world. I'll call Special Agent Lindsay Boyce to let her know you're coming.”

Reece nodded vigorously. An assignment with the FBI ranked at the top of his bucket list. I saw not only the wisdom of letting Reece be a glorified errand boy, but also the advantage of contacting Lindsay Boyce. She was Tommy Lee's niece and she idolized her uncle. She'd watch his back if the feds tried to throw their weight around.