The Watchman (7 page)

We sat in a shabby booth near the window while waiting for the food. Amos placed a thick manila folder on the table and shoved it across to me.

“What's this?”

He grinned. “I made a copy of the case book for you.”

He pulled the envelope back, opened the flap, and fanned glossy photos before me. “Brought the crime scene shots. I'll have to take 'em back, but you can make copies at Walmart if you like.”

I shook my head. “Thanks, I don't need copies, but I do appreciate getting a look at them. Hope you don't get in trouble over this.”

Having the photos and investigation details was the next best thing to being at the crime scene.

“Not hardly. This case is as cold as a dead Alaskan salmon.”

The first photo of the car's interior caught my eye. Sometimes people try to fake their disappearance by leaving blood samples behind. Not so in this case—too much blood. It's hard to fake the splatter. All outward appearances indicated Abigail Armstrong died from wounds sustained in her car.

An expensive handbag and car keys lay on the floorboard. Obviously, robbery wasn't the motive.

“Where did they find the vehicle?”

Amos shifted his large frame and fingered the snapshots. “In a very rough neighborhood on the south side. Some kid was trying to remove the tires when the police spotted him. A crack house sat across the street, and a meth lab operated one block down. We've cleared the drugs from that area at least a dozen times. They come back like roaches.”

We didn't have a problem with gangs in Hebron, or as far as I know, in most parts of Wyoming. My theory is it's just too cold to hang out on street corners. However, we do have a drug problem. Meth was a big deal here.

I looked over the case book copies. “Any reason to believe she might have been a user?”

“The blood stains had no trace of drugs. Since we didn't have a body, we couldn't be certain. None of the evidence pointed in that direction.”

The pictures bothered me, so I turned them face down on the table. “Did anyone question her doctor? Most physicians suspect when a patient is an addict.”

“The doctor said Abigail Armstrong wasn't the type to do narcotics. Much too level headed. Those were her words, not mine.” He tapped the envelope. “It's all in here.”

I handed the photos back to him and placed the file on the seat beside me. “Having access to your interviews will be a big help, save me a ton of time. Since she left home after getting a phone call, it's a sure bet she knew her assailant.”

“You're probably right. Now all you have to do is find out which of the ten thousand people in town placed the call.” He followed the comment with a smart-aleck grin.

“What's the theory in the department?”

“The popular guess—a stalker killed her. Abigail Armstrong was a looker. She must‘a been forty but could have easily passed for thirty at the time she vanished. We checked Lincoln Armstrong inside and out, but we couldn't find a motive. We never found an affair on either side. If he did it, he's one smart
hombre.
”

“He is that. Intelligent, I mean. Armstrong didn't kill his wife. Trust me on that.”

“If you say so.” He gave me a mock salute.

“Any evidence she was being stalked?”

“A couple of neighbors remembered a man parked in a car outside the Armstrong property several times the week she vanished. They couldn't agree on the model or even the color. We didn't have enough information to find the guy.”

“Did you follow up on the country club angle?”

“Sure we did. It wasn't my case, but I helped Art, the detective who caught the assignment. We interviewed the staff and every guest there that night. Considering who she was, and the press frenzy, the mayor was on our backs. The people we talked to all agreed she seemed fine when she arrived, but her mood changed just before she left.”

Marie called us to pick up our order, and we dropped the case while we ate.

“I hope my reward in Heaven will be a mountain of cheeseburgers just like this,” Amos said and wiped his mouth with a paper napkin. “With a hill of banana pudding on the side.”

I chuckled. “You're a man of simple needs, Amos Horne.”

“Hey, guys. You plotting the downfall of the Republic?” A slender brunette laughed and slid into the booth beside me. The collar of her blue police uniform couldn't quite hide the ugly white scar that ran across her throat. Jessie Bolton and I were old friends. I'd been the officer on duty the night her husband tried to kill her.

“Nothing that easy, Jess. I'm trying to rescue an abused family.”

“Anybody I know?” She took one of my fries and dragged it through Amos' ketchup.

I shoved the rest of the fries in front of her. “Do you know Rachel London?”

She dropped the food back on the tray and wiped her mouth with a napkin. “Yeah. I've met her, and I've met the judge. Ask me if I'm surprised. Mrs. London had the look of a whipped puppy.”

“What are you doing these days,” I asked. “Still patrolling the streets?”

She shook her head. “Mostly babysitting drunks in the county jail. It's worked out better for me. Regular hours and I get to spend more time with my two kids.”

“Have you had lunch?” Amos asked. “Noah will spring for a burger if you want.”

“Thanks, but I was on my way out when I saw you guys. Wanted to say hi since I haven't seen you in a while.” She leaned in and kissed my cheek. “Take care, big guy.”

The touch of her lips on my cheek told me all was not well with Jessie. Her husband would finish his prison sentence in ten months. And she knew he would be coming after her.

I watched her leave with more than a little concern. Jessie needed to get out of Hebron soon, without leaving a trail her husband could follow.

Amos tapped his finger on the Armstrong case book. “You gonna solve this, Noah, and make us look bad?”

“That's what I'll try to do. Not to make you look bad but to help a very sad man find out what happened to the woman he loved.”

“That would be Armstrong.”

“You never cease to amaze me with your perceptive grasp of the obvious.”

“You have to remember, I'm just an underpaid detective, not a big-bucks P.I.”

If only he knew how seldom a client like Armstrong came along. The lunch crowd began to trickle out to go do whatever they did. I leaned back in the booth and smiled. “I get paid for my infinite knowledge of the criminal mind.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Speaking of Judge London, what's the scuttlebutt at the precinct on him?”

A dark expression came over Amos's face. “We catch 'em. He lets 'em go. The D.A. hates him with a purple passion, but lawyers love to get their clients before London. He's the guy who sentenced Jessie's husband to five years for capital attempted murder.”

“London's wife and son are clients of mine as of last Friday night. That's why I cancelled dinner.”

“Yeah, I figured that out from what you told Jessie.” Amos shook his head. “You trying to redefine stupid? London's trouble with a capital T. Deal me out on this one, buddy. I want to retire with a full pension. If I were you, I'd back off while I still could.”

I peered across the table at my old friend. “You wouldn't if you'd met his family.”

 

 

 

 

5

 

Noah's Home, Hebron, Wyoming

Tuesday afternoon the doorbell sounded, followed by an impatient knock. I opened the door and Jake Stein's solemn face stared up at me. “It's about time. I've been trying to reach you all day.”

“Yeah, I tried to return your call a couple of times. What's up?”

Jake threw his coat on the tree by the door. “London pressed charges against you for breaking and entering.”

“How did you find out? I haven't been served.”

“I was at the courthouse and got wind of it. Told them I was your attorney and spoke to the D.A. He gave me a look at the tape from London's security system. Doesn't look to me like they have a case. They must prove intent to commit a crime. No evidence of that I can see.” He stopped and stared at me. “You didn't take anything, did you?”

I shook my head. “Come on in the kitchen. I've got a pot of fresh coffee.”

Jake followed and took a seat in the breakfast nook. “The D.A. agreed to a hearing before Judge Josiah Burns Wednesday morning at nine. He's the visiting judge the city uses when London isn't available. In this case, London is the alleged victim so Burns is sitting in. Burns is honest and he dislikes London even more than I do. That's off the record.” Jake accepted the coffee mug and took a sip. He rolled the coffee around in his mouth like a wine taster. “This isn't bad for Food Mart coffee.”

“Thanks for the compliment, I think.”

“Well, it isn't imported French roast, but it'll do, kid.” He glanced around the room. “I like what you've done with the place. Is boring your style of choice or is this an accident?”

“What can I tell you? I'm a bachelor.”

“So am I. That doesn't mean you have to live like a plebeian. White walls without accessories only work in a monastery. Really, Noah—”

I held up my hand. “Stop complaining. Grab your cup and come to the dining room. Maybe it will be more appealing to your refined sensibilities.”

Jake shadowed behind me and pulled out one of the upholstered chairs at the dining table, his eyes alight with pleasure. “Don't tell me you did this?”

I shook my head. The area contrasted greatly with the rest of my home. The room had style with warmth that invited you in. Filled with rich colors and textures, the walls painted in a fashionable gold shade that accented the fabric in the drapes. “McKenna Thornton,” I said.

“You should get her to do the rest of the house.”

I glared at him, and he dropped the subject. He knew the history between McKenna and me.

He took the last sip of his coffee, and I returned to the kitchen and brought back a carafe to refill his cup.

“What are you going to do about your clients?”

“Our clients,” I said.

“OK, what are you doing about
our
clients?”

“Trying to gather the information you wanted. It takes a little time to obtain all the records and get the doctor's report.”

“Don't get defensive.”

“I'm not―”

“You are. Tell me why.”

I ran my fingers through my hair and stalked to the window. I hated the way Jake could read me. “I'm frustrated. I can't do anything but wait. Meanwhile, London is scheming ways to get his family back. Patience is not my long suit.”

“How well I know. Just don't do anything stupid.”

“I don't do stupid.”

“You say that to the man who's defending you for a breaking and entering charge? Give me another word for that.”

“Rachel needed the combination to London's safe. That's why I went there.”

“Did you get it?”

“Yes.”

“And you didn't take any money?”

“No, that's against the law. I just grabbed the combination for Rachel and left.”

He shook his head “Breaking and entering is against the law. You're turning my hair white.” With a final sip of coffee, he stood and walked to the door. “See you tomorrow.”

I saw Jake out and returned to the kitchen. My coffee was cold, and I was still worried. My chosen profession got to me some times. I wasn't infallible. And mistakes in this case could hurt two innocent people. I couldn't mess this up.

 



 

 

Hebron Courthouse

I arrived for my hearing on time, wearing an innocent smile and my best suit. Jake joined me outside the courtroom and we entered together. Even with Jake's confident smile, nerves gnawed a hole in my stomach lining like rats at a block of Limburger.

Assistant D.A. Walker Maddox, and a lackey I didn't know, represented the people. This would be an informal hearing, just the judge, D.A., bailiff, and court reporter.

Since Judge Burns was a visiting judge, he didn't have chambers in the building so we used the courtroom.

The spectator seats were empty. London was nowhere in sight. Must have decided not to grace us with his presence

A door behind the bench swung open, and the bailiff stood at attention as Judge Josiah P. Burns took his seat at the bench. “Take a seat, gentlemen, and we'll get underway.”

The judge reminded me of my Boy Scout troop leader when I was ten. Tall, dark skinned, with closed chopped gray hair—regal in his creaseless black robe and no-nonsense attitude.

Judge Burns shot a look at both Jake and Maddox. “If you're ready, let's get started.”

Maddox nodded and passed a single sheet of paper to the judge, and then handed a copy to Jake. “Your Honor, on Monday morning, December twelfth, Crown Heights patrol officers stopped Mr. Adams three blocks from Judge London's residence after someone breached his security system. We have the security disk from the judge's home, which clearly shows Mr. Adams inside the premises. We believe Mr. Adams entered with the express purpose of burglarizing the estate but was frightened away before anything could be taken.” Maddox paused as if waiting for applause. Judge Burns gave him an impatient wave to proceed.

The D.A. sucked in a quick breath. “We further believe Mr. Adams has a personal vendetta against Judge London. On Friday, December ninth, Mr. Adams placed a 9-1-1 call claiming he heard a child screaming in the judge's residence. The call resulted in the arrest of Judge London for child abuse. The charges were dropped that same night.”

Judge Burns held out his hand. “Do you have the CD?”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Maddox handed the disk over to the bailiff who opened a door at the back of the court and pushed a large television to the right of the judge's bench. He switched on the television, inserted the CD into the player, and punched play.