Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (15 page)

A
summer thunderstorm was crashing down when Detective Nichols ran into the sheriff’s office the morning of August 8th. Once inside, he dripped across the tile floor to his office. As he passed the line-up room, he saw Dory ushering three men inside. One was Henry Covington; the other two were from the usual parade of miscreants. Dory had managed to get all three men to dress in identical T-shirts and jeans. He watched as she hung numbered signs around their necks.

Detective Nichols opened the door to the line-up room and signaled for Dory to see him when she was finished. She walked into his office a few minutes later.

“Did Deputy Fuller find anything in Covington’s apartment?” he asked.

“No gun that matched,” Dory said gloomily. “The
boss is going to have a hissy. Covington had three pistols and four rifles, all registered. We sent them to the lab, but Rob said he doubted they had been recently fired. No cordite smell. Rob did find a box of the ammo of the kind used to kill Ferris, but of course that’s common.” Dory looked positively depressed.

The sheriff walked into his detective’s office. He frowned at both his detective and his office manager and asked what Deputy Fuller had found at Covington’s place.

“We got nothing,” Dory said and Ben’s mouth quirked in a tight line.

Deputy Phelps knocked on the door frame. “Mrs. Anderson is here for the perp walk,” he said.

Sheriff Bradley and Detective Nichols walked out into the waiting room to greet her.

“Good morning, Mrs. Anderson, thank you so much for coming down to the station,” Ben said. “We have a line-up of suspects in the room we’d like you to take a look at.”

Mrs. Anderson was dressed in a white cotton blouse and navy blue skirt. Her hair was white and curly, baby fine. Her skin was lined, but her pink cheeks still looked soft.

“I’ve seen line-ups in detective stories on TV,” she said, smiling. “I never thought I would be the one to point a trembling finger and say
, ‘That’s him.’ ”

“I certainly hope you can identify the man for us,” the sheriff said and she took his arm. He led her to the one-way view screening room.

“Can they see me?” she asked, sounding a bit fearful.

“No, they can’t. Don’t worry. We’re not going to release them until after you’re safely back at home. I don’t want to risk my star witness,” the sheriff reassured her with a grin.

Mrs. Anderson took her time looking at the men standing in line. Detective Nichols switched on the small mike, “Turn left.” Two of the suspects turned left, and one turned right. Wayne rolled his eyes. Under his breath he murmured, “Your other left, idiot.”

“Take your time, Mrs. Anderson,” Sheriff Bradley said, soothingly.

“Turn right,” Detective Nichols told them. They did so and both Ben and Wayne looked intently at Mrs. Anderson. “Face front,” the detective told the three men.

“Do any of them look like the man you saw come out of the Booth Showhouse on August second?” the sheriff asked.

“I think number two. The one in the middle?” Her voice was uncertain, and she seemed to be asking for confirmation. “But I couldn’t swear to it, I’m sorry.”

“That’s okay,” Ben
said. “You did very well. Thank you again for coming.”

Detective Nichols watched from the window as the sheriff escorted her out of the building to her car, standing beside it until she pulled out of the parking lot.

“All of you, in the conference room. Now!” the sheriff yelled when he came back inside the building. Once they were assembled he said, “Mrs. Anderson pointed to Covington in the line-up, but said she couldn’t swear it was him. Do any of you have anything I don’t already know?” he asked, glowering. “Somebody better have something.”

Deputy George Phelps
raised his hand. “I do, sir. After I got through the list of the fraternity brothers, I reviewed the CCTV footage, like you said. At four thirty-six p.m. on the day Tom Ferris was shot, the Final Touch florist brought in their arrangements. The camera shows them unloading the van in the parking lot. Two young women brought in the flowers. A man walked up to them and must have offered to help, because he picked up the largest arrangement and brought it inside. The flowers were so tall, nobody saw his face.”

“
You
are a jewel,” the sheriff told him. He turned another frown on Dory, Detective Nichols, and Deputy Rob Fuller. “So, while the rest of you were disobeying orders, writing requests for court orders based on nothing but
conjecture
or coming up empty, George here got our guy. Please tell me it was Covington who carried the flowers inside the Booth Showhouse.”

Deputy Phelps blushed and nodded.

“You’re certain you recognized Covington?” Wayne asked, intently.

“It was him
.” George was beaming. “He got out of his car and I ran the plate. It was his vehicle.”

“Did you see him leave the Booth Showhouse after that?”

“No, there’s nothing on the tape showing him leaving. He must have left by way of the side door and was most likely the guy Mrs. Anderson saw.”

“All right, excellent. We’re back on track. And I got Captain Paula to give me Ryan Gentry’s computer and one other item
—Ryan Gentry’s belt. Detective Pascoe thought he was thrown from the window by somebody who lifted him by his belt.”

After the buzz of questions died down, Wayne said, “I’ll get the belt to Emma Peters and have her check it for fingerprints and DNA. Obviously we’d expect Ryan’s fingerprints to be on it, but if Henry Covington’s prints or DNA are on that belt, we have him cold for that killing.”

“Do we have someone in town who could get into that computer?” Deputy Rob Fuller asked.

“The Mont Blanc Police Department has a forensic IT guy who comes by every couple of weeks. He rotates there from the Nashville post. I’ll try both places,” Dory said. Turning to Ben she asked, “Sheriff, do you want me to retract my request for the
court order and apologize to the judge?”

“No,” Ben said. “Thanks to Deputy George here, it looks like we’re on the verge of solving the Ferris case. When we started this one, I told Detective Nichols what we had was a new case on top of an old case—like two sleeping dogs. It appears we’ve stirred up the dogs
.” He smiled.

“Don’t get cocky yet,” Wayne said. “We don’t know what, if anything, the
lab will give us on the belt. Without that, we’re back at square one with the Ryan Gentry case.”

“What’s your theory for that one?” Dory asked.

“I think it might’ve involved fixing college football games,” Ben said. Several pairs of eyebrows went up. “I met with Nellie Franz, the housekeeper for Sigma Chi. She told me there was an awful lot of money sitting around in Henry Covington’s room. Way more than young kids should’ve had.”

“Was Covington on the football team?” Wayne asked.

“He sure was. Played tight end.”

“Okay. How does that involve Ryan Gentry?”

“Ryan Gentry was the treasurer for the fraternity. I think Townsend may have laundered some large deposits through the Sigma Chi account. Thus, the need for the IT guy.” Ben stopped talking and narrowed his eyes at Dory.

“I’m on it,
boss,” she said, and darted from the room.

The sheriff and Detective Nichols were walking into the interrogation room when Deputy Phelps appeared with Covington in cuffs. He shot them a questioning look. Ben nodded, indicating he could join them for the interrogation. Deputy Phelps turned on the audio equipment and sat down. Henry Covington was dressed in jeans and a faded blue shirt with a button-down collar. His light brown hair was disheveled and he needed a shave. His gray eyes regarded them with wariness. Detective Nichols indicated a chair across from Ben.

“Sit down, Mr. Covington.”

The sheriff spoke first, announcing the names of everyone present for the audio capture system. “Sheriff Bradley, Detective Nichols, and Deputy George Phelps present to interview Henry Covington on August eighth about his involvement in the death of Tom Ferris. Covington, you were informed of your rights when you were brought in yesterday, correct?”

“Yes,” Henry
said with a nod.

“Say it aloud that you’ve been Mirandized,” Detective Nichols insisted.

“I’ve been informed of my rights, okay?” Covington glared. He sounded sulky, aggrieved.

“You’ve been identified as leaving the Booth Showhouse five minutes after Tom Ferris was shot to death,” the sheriff said. “We have you on tape coming into the house helping the florist bring in the arrangements. And we have you exiting the house through the French doors on the side. You turned around and closed the shutter dogs. We’ve sent those prints to the state lab.”

“We’ve got you, Covington,” Detective Nichols said bluntly. “You shot Ferris in the back. We’re assembling evidence showing that this wasn’t your first murder. You killed another fraternity brother of yours at Sigma Chi fifteen years ago.”

Covington’s face blanched slightly. For the first time, he started to look uneasy.

“You’ve got squat,” he replied, recovering quickly. “You haven’t got any real evidence or you would’ve already arrested me rather than just hauling me in here. I want my lawyer. I already asked for him yesterday. I’m not saying anything more until he gets here.”

“Okay, who is it?” the sheriff asked.

“Rod Coniglio, with the Townsend practice. Here’s his number.” Covington handed the sheriff a small white business card.

“Premeditated murder carries an automatic life sentence in Tennessee, unless there’s some extenuating circumstance,” Sheriff Bradley’s voice trailed off. Henry Covington didn’t say a word.

“You better start talking, Henry.” Detective Nichols got up and began to pace the small room. Standing behind Covington, he leaned forward and said, “You didn’t shoot Ferris on your own initiative. Somebody told you to shoot him. If you want to get a reduced sentence and get paroled before your son’s on Social Security, you need to tell us who told you to kill him.”

Covington shook his head and started to stand up. Detective Nichols grabbed him by the shoulder and pushed him back into his chair, hard.

“You sit your ass down,” he said, eyes snapping. “We’re not done here yet.”

They heard a tapping and the sheriff tilted his head toward the door. Both Detective Nichols and Deputy Phelps rose and followed him
out of the room.

Dory was standing in the hall. “His lawyer’s on his way,” she said.

“Let’s wait in my office.” Ben led the two men down the hall. Deputy Phelps sat in the chair, the detective leaned against the wall, and Ben paced until they heard the buzzer indicating Rod Coniglio’s arrival.

“Show him to the interrogation room, Dory
,” the sheriff said over the intercom. “Meet him back there please, Wayne. Let me know what happens. You’re dismissed.” The sheriff nodded at Deputy Phelps.

Detective Nichols opened the door and gestured for the man to precede them into the room.
He was expensively dressed in a silver-gray custom-made suit, white shirt, and purple silk tie.

P
ausing at the threshold, he asked Detective Nichols, “Why are you holding my client? What’s he been charged with?”

“We have evidence he shot Tom Ferris in the back and killed him.”

“What evidence? Do you have the murder weapon?”

“We have definitive proof that he was in the Booth Showhouse at the time of the murder.”

“So, you have opportunity. That’s it?” Coniglio waggled his eyebrows, looking amused. He sat down next to Henry and put his hand on his client’s shoulder. “You don’t have means? You don’t have a motive?”

“Your partner Townsend ordered the killing.” Detective Nichols spit out the damning words. His eyes bored into Rod Coniglio’s. The attorney shook his head, gave Wayne Nichols a supercilious smile
, and looked at Henry.

“Whatever you think you may have on my client or on Townsend comes under the heading of privileged communication. We’re leaving.” He and Henry Covington stood up and both men turned to leave.

Detective Nichols stepped back and watched them go. The smooth son-of-a-bitch was right. All they had was circumstantial evidence. Without the murder weapon they didn’t even have enough to make an arrest. He slammed his hand on the conference room table.

They had already searched Covington’s condo and his car and came up empty. He could have disposed of the gun, but Wayne thought he wasn’t the type. All the guns he had were registered and in a special locked cabinet at his place. They were obviously Henry’s prized possessions.

He buzzed Ben and they agreed to have Deputy Phelps follow Covington and his attorney. He hoped they could find evidence on Covington and Townsend’s involvement. He wondered if they’d played their hand too soon.

“D
ory,” the sheriff called out as he and Detective Nichols walked toward the front office.

“Yes, Sheriff?”

“We’ve got to find that murder weapon. I’ve just had an idea. Does Henry Covington have a hunting cabin?”

“He might. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Do it now.” The sheriff’s voice was low. “When Rob searched Covington’s apartment he found every gun he’d had since his first twenty-two rifle. I’m betting he’s still got the murder weapon, but he’s going to get rid of it now that he knows we’re on to him. We have to find it before he does.”

Sheriff Bradley and Detective Nichols had their heads together and were deep in conversation when Dory walked back into Ben’s office half an hour later. Both men perked up, looking at her eagerly.

“Good call, boss. Henry owns a hunting cabin up on Pinhook Hill, close to the summit. I found a map. Just coordinates, latitude and longitude. There’s a lot of logging roads up there. It’s going to be tough to find at night.” Dory waited for his answer.

“Deputy Fuller,” the sheriff called.

“Sheriff?”

“Come in here, Rob.”
When everyone was assembled, the sheriff said, “We’re going to keep following Henry. We need to have at least two cars on him. Deputy Phelps took the patrol car. He just called in. At the moment, Covington is at the Townsend firm on Main Street. George is going to stay on him until I tell him otherwise.”

“He’ll spot the patrol car,
boss,” Deputy Rob said.

“I know, I want him to. Once Henry leaves the office, he’s going to try to ditch him. Rob, I want you in an unmarked car. You’ll take over as lead once he spots George.”

“He might go to Randee Scofield’s place,” Detective Nichols said.

“Agreed. If he goes to see Randee, let us know by police radio. Dory, I want you to call her. See if she’s ever been to the hunting cabin and if you can, get directions.”

“We’re betting he’ll head out of town after dark on Old Hickory Boulevard going north,” the detective said. “Once he’s past the entrance to White’s Creek State Park, he has to enter that whole spider’s web of logging roads to reach his hunting cabin.”

“What vehicles are we watching for?” Deputy Fuller asked. “He was driving a 2011 white Lincoln town car at the Booth Showhouse.”

Wayne Nichols looked at his notes. “He’ll probably drive his truck up north. It’s a white 1996 Ford F-250 four-wheel drive. It might have a camo wrap. Dory will get you the license numbers.”

“On it,” Dory said.

“After you take over following Covington, Rob, I’m going to have George switch vehicles and drive up to White’s Creek,” Ben said. “It’s the closest little town on the road to Pinhook Mountain. Dory, give him the map, will you? Once Covington turns off the main road, you and George will veer off, call us and find a place to park. He’ll spot you if you stay with him once he enters the fire roads.”

When he knew Ben had finished speaking, Wayne said,
“Rob, it’s possible you and George might be in the car for ten to twelve hours. Stay concealed. I don’t want him spooked. Keep in touch with us by radio. This man is armed and dangerous. Watch yourselves,” he added.

“Ten to twelve hours?” Deputy Fuller sounded dismayed. “What if George has to pee?”

“Just take an empty bottle. Don’t leave the damn car,” the sheriff snapped. George had abandoned his post at a suspect’s house during their previous murder case because he had to pee.

“I figure we’ve got about two hours to get a precise location on that hunting cabin. Wayne, you and I are going to be waiting for Covington when he arrives. What ideas do you two have to get the address?”

“I can call the township. Probably they have a plat map they can fax over,” Dory said.

“Good idea. Wayne?”

“He might have listed the address on a hunting license. I’ll check the DNR records. And I think they’re required to have a house number on a post, in case of fire. I’ll get the number.”

“Good. While you two do that, I’m going to make a call.” Once Wayne and Dory departed, Ben dialed Mae’s phone. He didn’t catch her on either line or her cell and was only able to leave a message. “Mae, it’s me. Listen, we’re closing in on Tom Ferris’ killer. Wayne and I are going on stakeout to catch him in the area north of the Pinhook State Park. We may be gone a day or two before he shows up. I
don’t want you to worry if you haven’t heard from me.”

Dory stuck her head in his door. “In case it didn’t dawn on you, Sheriff, if Rob and George are following Covington, and I have to leave the office to meet with Randee, who’s supposed to be on duty?
I’ve been telling you for months we don’t have enough help around here.” This was not the first time Dory had urged Ben to add more staff, but this time he had no argument. She was absolutely right.

“Okay. I’ll call John over at the Rosedale PD
and ask him to send two floaters over for the next week. Whoever he sends, I want one on phones to release you. I’ll put the other one on patrol to cover George and Rob’s usual routes. Will that do it?”

“No
, it won’t. Rob’s taking the detective exam in three weeks and if he passes, we’re going to be short a deputy. Plus, I have ambitions beyond running your office.”

Ben tried to contain his frustration. By allowing Dory to take Evangeline
Bontemps to dinner and go with Wayne to the biker bar, he had given her way too many ideas.

“How am I supposed to get any experience if you have me chained to the desk?”

“Seriously, Dory, ‘chained to the desk’? You make it sound like a torture chamber. Just tell me what you want.”

“I want you to take a look at the applications I’ve been collecting for deputies. Here’s the folder
.” She plopped it on his desk. “While you’re going through those, I’ll call John’s office at Mont Blanc and get a time you can talk with him to request the floaters. We’re going to need them here by five today.”

“Okay. I’m also going to call Captain Paula, give her an update and see if the deputy who took me to off-site storage might be interested in working for us.”

“Okay, what’s his name? I’ll do some background.”

“
Her
name is Cameron Gomez.”

“Well, well, well, good for you Bradley. We could use some more estrogen around here. I suppose she’s cute too.”

Ben nodded, grinning. “I’m taken, but she would give Wayne and Rob some hope.”

“I just hope she’s enough of a bad ass to control you guys.”

Ben sighed. Things in his office were getting more complicated by the day.

With the address for Covington’s hunting cabin
, obtained from the plat map office, in hand, Sheriff Bradley and Detective Nichols drove away from the station at five o’clock, leaving Dory to brief the two floaters, Ned Thompson and Jackie Forte. Jackie would be on phones; Ned would cover the usual patrol routes. To Ben’s surprise, when he called Cameron Gomez, she was very interested in applying for the deputy position. She said she’d have to tell Captain Paula, though, who might not be too pleased. Ben left a voice message for the captain telling her their plan for the evening, relieved she was unavailable to comment on his probably foolhardy venture.

Deputy Phelps called in several times over the next two hours. He followed Covington when he left the law offices on Main Street. Henry stopped at a local biker bar and Randee met him there. An hour later, Randee rode out on her bike
, heading in the direction of her house. George said he’d then followed Covington to his place. As Henry opened the door to his townhouse, Phelps said he peeled out of the parking lot ostentatiously and returned to the station.

“Why did you make a production of leaving Covington’s apartment?” Ben asked.

“I wanted him to think we were done for the night.”

“Good thinking, George,” Ben said, wondering if there might be more to Deputy
Phelps than he had thought.

By sundown the sheriff and his detective were already past the entrance to Pinhook State Park, heading up to White’s Creek. They were a good hour or so ahead of Covington. Around eight, Deputy Fuller called to say that Henry had left his place, switched cars, and was headed north on Old Hickory. Rob said following Henry’s camo-covered Ford truck was going to be a piece of cake.

“I’ve gotta hand it to you, Sheriff,” Wayne said. “You called this one right down the line.”

“Yeah. So far, so good. Now if he does what I expect, he’ll get to the cabin and take the gun out, intending to hide or bury it. When he walks out of the cabin with the gun, we’ll jump him.”

“Can’t we break into the cabin?” Wayne
said with a grin. The detective loved pushing the envelope.

“No. We don’t have a warrant. I’m hoping a window will be open. If he comes in and meets two armed lawmen, he’ll hand over the gun. If that doesn’t work, we’ll watch from the undergrowth until we can get inside. The cover is pretty dense up there.”

The sheriff asked the dispatcher on the police radio to give him the weather report for Pinhook Mountain. A few minutes later he had his forecast. A line of thunderstorms was moving in.

“Well
, my luck is officially over.” He felt a tinge of foreboding.

Wayne Nichols nodded. He had heard the forecast too. Soon after that, the radio buzzed with static. It was hard to hear Deputy Fuller’s voice.

“Say again,” the sheriff said, with a sinking feeling.

“Suspect not alone. Accompanied. Repeat, suspect is accompanied.”

Sheriff Bradley and his detective looked at each other. Wayne Nichols pulled out his gun and twirled the bullet chamber.