Justification for Murder (19 page)

L
ynch walked out ahead of Sorensen. Before they left, both turned and looked back at the coffee shop. A bomb could’ve exploded there and the mayhem would have been similar.

“I’ll take care of things here. Can you guys just go and do your jobs?” Virago’s voice was hoarse, strained. She tied her hair in a knot and kneeled down to check on a casing.

“My car,” Sorensen said.

“Sure.” Darcy hid a grin.

“Oh, damn, you don’t have your car here, do you?”

“Nope.”

“Fucking A.”

Longish blond strands moved from side to side when he shook his head. Sorensen passed his hand over his hair and mumbled that he needed a haircut.

Lynch gave him directions as they merged onto Highway 17. He had a strange sense of déjà vu. They drove in silence. Darcy thought about what had just happened, about the victims, wondering if the massacre was the end of it, or if there was more they needed to unearth. Darcy shifted in his seat, pushing away the trepidation he felt at the prospect of never solving the case.

“Man, don’t you know that when you borrow somebody’s car, you have to return it with a full tank?” Sorensen complained, seeing the gas tank dial way below the red mark.

“It wasn’t the most leisurely drive back I’ve ever done,” Darcy said, wondering what Sorensen would say if he knew how fast he had driven to the crime scene.

They took the next exit and turned into a run down gas station.

“Want anything?” Lynch asked, walking toward the convenience store.

“Red Bull. Make it two.”

The store was empty. It was small, but the selection of drinks was rather impressive. He grabbed the drinks for Sorensen and poured himself a large cup of coffee. When he was about to pay, he said, “One more thing.” He found what he was looking for and left the store at the same time Sorensen was capping the gas tank.

“Here.” He put the cold drinks on the cup holders.

“I never would have pegged you as a beef jerky type of guy,” Sorensen said, eyeing the large bag of dried meat Darcy had placed by his feet.

“There’re a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

Sorensen turned the radio on, rotating the dial a few times. Every station was covering the massacre. Each had a different theory.

As they got closer, Darcy gave him directions to the private road. Sorensen stopped the car almost exactly on the same spot Darcy had done that morning. As soon as they got out of the car, the dog came running, wagging her tail.

“Jesus, does he bite?” Sorensen asked, obviously uncomfortable with such a large dog running toward him.

Darcy ignored him. He opened the bag of beef jerky and got down on one knee. The ground was muddy and soft.

“Here you go, girl. Are you hungry?” he asked and gave her a piece.

The dog licked him first, then took the meat from his hand, careful not to bite his fingers. He scratched her behind the ears as she chewed. Sorensen came around the car and rubbed the dog’s lower back. The dog chewed and wagged her tail. When she was done she sat and raised her paw, asking for more.

“I don’t think she’s been this happy in a long time,” Darcy said.

“I don’t think she’s had any food in a long time,” Sorensen said, staring at her protruding ribs.

Darcy dumped the rest of the beef on the ground and headed toward the house. Sorensen opened the back door of the car and grabbed several evidence bags and a few sets of latex gloves. He handed a couple to Lynch when he caught up with him.

Trees surrounded the dirt pathway leading to the front of the house. Some birds chirped, and a squirrel ran in front of them, leaving one tree and climbing another. It was almost a peaceful place. The house stood one story and moss grew, protected by the nearby foliage, on the roof.

Sorensen walked up to the porch. The old wooden stairs creaked under his weight. He knocked on the door. There was no response. He checked the knob. It twisted and the door open with no resistance.

“Is there anybody home?” Sorensen yelled.

“He lives alone. His mother died a few years ago,” Darcy said, and pulled his gun out of his holster before going in.

They walked inside the house and let their eyes adjust to the gloom of the room. There was no hallway. Sorensen opened the closet by the front door and found only an old coat and a pair of rain boots. There was a sofa to the left, no TV, no bookshelves. They both walked through the living room toward the kitchen, and Sorensen tripped on an old rug under the table. The garbage by the sink had a couple McDonald’s bags crunched into balls, and the fairly empty fridge mainly hosted a single case of Red Stripe.

“Interesting beer,” Darcy said.

Sorensen took a look. “Yeah, I would have pictured him for a Bud Light kind of guy.”

Darcy pointed to the left, indicating that he was going to check that part of the house. Sorensen went in the opposite direction. Lynch walked into the small bathroom. The bathtub didn’t have a shower curtain. The medicine cabinet was empty, except for a dirty glass and a toothbrush. There was no toothpaste. He walked into the master bedroom and was about to check the closet when Sorensen almost gave him a heart attack.

“Drop your weapon! Hands above your head.”

Lynch ran out of the room with his gun drawn and saw Sorensen pointing the Glock at a man standing by the front door.

“Mr. Lane, didn’t I tell you to stay away from this house?”

Sorensen didn’t lower his gun but looked at Lynch, fighting to not lose sight of the intruder at the same time. “You know this guy?”

“We met this morning. Meet Alton Lane, Harper’s neighbor.”

Only after Alton placed his firearm on the floor did the two detectives holster their weapons.

“I saw you came back.” The old man explained. “I figured we could finish the conversation we started this morning.”

Sorensen gave Darcy a quizzical look. Darcy ignored it and picked up Alton’s rifle from the floor. “We do. Let us come by your place when we’re done here, all right?”

He walked him to the door and handed him the weapon.

“I could wait here, in case you can’t find your way to my place through the woods.” Alton said, turning back to face them before leaving the porch.

Sorensen rolled his eyes.

Darcy said, “Thanks, but no need. My partner here used to be a park ranger. We’ll come by in a bit.”

Lane nodded, eyeing Sorensen. “I’ll put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

Darcy closed the door as soon as Alton left.

“He’s the nosy neighbor,” he explained. “Let’s do a sweep and then have a chat with him.”

Sorensen nodded and walked back into the guest room. “I’ve never been a park ranger.”

“I know.”

After they cleared the whole house, they met up in the kitchen area.

“I didn’t see anything too weird for a guy living by himself in the boonies,” Sorensen said.

“Me neither.”

Lynch pulled out his phone and dialed Virago. “We need CSU here.”

“You found something?”

“No. That’s why we need CSU.”

“Cute.” She exhaled. “I’ll send one shortly, but make sure you do a thorough pass before they arrive.” She hung up.

They started the thorough search, going over everything methodically, looking for something, anything. Some clue that would tell them why Harper Johnson had decided to not only kill all of those people, but also end his own life.

Sorensen checked the sofa, removed all the cushions, and found a few coins. He then turned it upside-down to see if there was anything taped to the bottom. There wasn’t.

“Why is it that people never vacuum under their sofas?” he asked.

“Do you have any large evidence bags?” Lynch asked.

“No, why?” He put the sofa back to normal and walked toward him.

“I think he was trying to burn something.”

Darcy was kneeling in front of a metal garbage can with what looked like some carbonized pieces of paper. He didn’t dare touch them, in case they disintegrated.

“I don’t even know if this would make it all the way to the lab. You better start taking pictures,” Sorensen said, staring past him.

“It looks like…Damn, I can’t really make it out.”

Darcy squinted his good eye and moved his head in a couple different directions, trying to get a good angle.

“Me neither, but it may be something, since he tried to get rid of it,” Sorensen said, losing interest and moving toward the entry closet. Finding nothing new there, he moved to the laundry room. “If there was anything on his clothes, it’s now long gone. He’s done all the laundry,” he yelled too loud for the small distance that separated them. He closed the dryer’s door with too much force.

Darcy checked all the drawers in the kitchen, even inside the oven and the freezer, but found nothing else as interesting as the burnt papers. Remembering what Rachel had told him, he went back to the silverware drawer and pulled out all of the knives that looked remotely sharp enough to cause some damage. There were only five.

He then went to the master bedroom and checked under the bed first. Besides dust bunnies and a few spiders, there was nothing there. He focused on the closet and the small gun safe he had seen a few minutes earlier during the quick sweep. It probably held three handguns at most. He pulled on the handle, expecting it to resist, but it didn’t. It caught him by surprise, and the whole box moved with his arm.

There was only one firearm, a Ruger Redhawk. He photographed it and then bagged it. He did the same with the two boxes of ammunition and the hunting knife. Before Lynch placed the knife into an evidence bag, he took a picture and sent it to the ME, asking, “Could this knife be Hughes’ murder weapon?”

He placed the evidence bags on the floor and searched the drawers by the bed stand. Nothing. No Bible. No condoms. No book. Nothing. He checked under the pillows and lifted the mattress to see if there was anything under it. Also nothing.

“What’s up with this guy?” he asked out loud.

“I got no idea. It’s so weird. You can tell he lives here, and yet it feels as if he’s a ghost.”

“I say we’ve done enough here. Let’s see if Mr. Lane has anything to say.”

Darcy grabbed the evidence bags and headed for the door.

“Sounds like a plan.”

A
fter locking everything they found in Sorensen’s trunk, they cut across the trees. Darcy’s slick leather-sole shoes were slippery over the moss and fallen leaves.

Alton Lane’s house was at least double the size of Harper’s and displayed a fresh coat of paint. One of the curtains in a second-story window moved. Somebody was peeping at the newcomers. The curtain moved back. Not even a minute later the front door opened.

“Found what you were looking for?” Mr. Lane asked. This time there was no rifle in his hand.

“What do you think we were looking for?” Sorensen asked.

Darcy cringed. He didn’t want to alienate the only person who may shed some light on Harper Johnson.

“Mr. Lane, we could really use your help,” Darcy said before Sorensen could dig a deeper hole.

“What has he done?”

“We’re not at liberty to discuss an ongoing investigation, but we could use your help,” Sorensen said, following Darcy’s lead.

“Yes, of course,” he said, visibly disappointed. “As I said earlier, anything you need. Come on in. The coffee should still be fresh.”

The hallway was ample and opened to a large living room with forest-green walls, hosting a stone mantel fireplace with eight-point antlers above it. Darcy looked around, half expecting to find a set of skis by the back door.

Lane led them to the kitchen. A large skylight filled the room with natural light. He took out three mugs from the cupboard and poured coffee. They all sat around a table made of a tree trunk. It was so varnished and shiny that Darcy wasn’t surprised they didn’t need coasters to protect it from the hot drinks.

“I don’t have milk or sugar, sorry.”

“This is good.” Darcy lifted the cup in appreciation.

Sorensen nodded and, after taking the first sip, said, “Whoa.”

“Blue Mountain. I have it shipped monthly from Jamaica.”

“When we met this morning, you said you didn’t know Mr. Johnson very well,” Darcy said.

“That’s correct. Not a social man. I do a monthly poker game. He came once. I think he felt obligated. We just bet quarters. The man couldn’t play to save his life. He never came again.” He drank in silence for a few seconds, as if he were recollecting something. But then he shook his head and remained quiet.

“Do you know what he did for a living?” Sorensen asked.

“He told me he was a retired cop.”

Both detectives exchanged a glance.

“He wasn’t?” Lane looked from one man to the other. “Well, that makes more sense. I had a feeling he was a dirty cop. Not sure why. Maybe because he wasn’t very chatty, and he never wanted to talk about his job or his past.”

“Can you remember anything else?”

“Well, a few weeks ago he gave me a key.”

He stood up and left the kitchen. When he returned, he had a small key in his hand. He dropped it on the table. Sorensen picked it up using a latex glove without putting it on.

“Why did he do that?” Darcy asked.

“I think he just didn’t know anybody else to give it to. He told me to keep it for him and if anything were to happen to him, to give it to a woman name Elena.”

“Do you know her?”

“No. He gave me her number and told me to call her and tell her that I had something for her from Harper. That she would know what to do with it.” He poured more coffee, took another sip and continued: “A few days later he asked me for the key, then the next day returned it. He did that two more times. In fact, he just gave it back to me again yesterday.”

“Can you give me this woman’s number?”

“Sure.”

He stood again and disappeared.

Sorensen and Darcy looked at each other but waited in silence. Sorensen took out an evidence bag from his jacket pocket and put the key inside.

“It looks like a locker key.”

“You impress me, Sherlock,” Sorensen said.

Alton Lane came back and gave them the piece of paper with the woman’s name and phone number. They thanked him and got up to leave.

Darcy asked, “You told me that you’d seen Johnson go to Sporty’s Bikini Bar looking for company.”

“Yes.”

“Was this something new, or had he been doing this since you met him?”

Alton thought for a while. “He’s definitely been going there much more frequently in the last month or so.”

“Thank you. You’ve been a lot of help.”

“Are you going to arrest him because of the hookers?”

“We’re not vice,” Sorensen said with a sly smile.

“I can call you as soon as I see his car drive up.”

“Thanks, and if you think of anything else, please give us a call,” Lynch said.

Both detectives handed him cards.

“I’ll never forget that coffee,” Sorensen added, shaking Alton’s hand.

Once they were back in the woods, Sorensen asked, “What was that about the pros?”

“This guy only works a few hours a week, has no money, his house is about to collapse with rot, and lately he’s been going to hookers on a regular basis?”

He slipped and grabbed Sorensen’s arm to not fall.

“I told you to not wear heels on the job.”

“I think this guy got some money lately, and we need to figure out from whom.”

They reached Johnson’s property, and the dog was waiting by the car, where Darcy had dumped the beef jerky. She wagged her tail when she saw them but didn’t move.

“We have to take her with us.”

“No way in hell that mutt’s going in my car.”

“I’ll pay for full detailing.”

“And a full tank of gas.”

“Deal.”

The dog jumped in the backseat, leaving muddy paw prints everywhere. The smell of wet dog filled the car.

“Man, you may have to make it two detailings. I doubt that smell’s going to come out with just one.” He wrinkled his nose. “Open the damn windows,” he said, rolling his down first.