Walnut Grove that
afternoon. After repeating the information I had given him verbally beside the
lake, I followed up with our questioning of Bradley’s neighbor, Jackie Varner.
“When was this?” he asked, brow
furrowed.
“While we were
killing time yesterday, waiting on your crime scene investigators.”
“And she thought the visitors drove
a small sports car with a rakish sweep to the front end?”
“That’s right. I can’t say how
reliable that observation was, but at least it’s a place to start.”
He paused a moment before saying,
“Is that your complete statement?”
I looked around at Jill, who
nodded. “Yes,” I said.
He switched off the recorder and
leaned back in his chair. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll let you know if we need
anything else from you.”
“There’s one other point I didn’t want
to mention on the tape, because it’s pure speculation at the moment,” I said.
“Our client was tailed yesterday by a man we think had an interest in the
missing papers in Bradley’s possession. That adds to our belief that this
murder may have had something to do with our case.”
“Mr. McKenzie, I spoke at length
with Sheriff Driscoll yesterday about Pierce Bradley’s background. We have
several areas of interest to look into.”
I didn’t like the dismissive way he
moved his hands. “The sheriff gave us similar information,” I said,
“specifically Mrs. Cook and two men he’d had altercations with.”
“Yes, and the circumstances of the
crime—nighttime, a secluded location likely known only to someone familiar with
the area—tell me the person we’re looking for is a local.”
I couldn’t argue that point, but
the circumstances also indicated an accomplice had been involved. An accomplice who could be local, or from anywhere.
“Have you had a chance to question
any of them yet?”
Fought eyed me like a biology
teacher contemplating a frog. “I’m not sure how far I should go with you,
McKenzie.” With the formalities over, he had dropped the “Mr.” tag.
“We’re quite willing to share
anything we have,” I said, leaving off the implicit question of why can’t you
do the same?
“Sheriff Driscoll filled me in on
your background. I know several guys at Metro. I talked to the lead
investigator in that Fed Chairman murder case. He gave you a glowing
recommendation, said I could trust you.”
He referred to Phil Adamson. After
our talk yesterday afternoon, I hadn’t been so sure he would still feel that
way.
“On the other hand,” Fought
continued, “another source said you were really bad news. I should avoid you
like a night shift on New Year’s Eve.”
“You must have talked to Detective Tremaine or one of his buddies. I made some remarks about
him a couple of years ago I shouldn’t have. They were made in private but
showed up on page one of the morning newspaper. It was a miscommunication that
got blown all out of proportion.”
“Tell you what. You bring me some
solid evidence tying Bradley’s murder to your Marathon auto case, I’ll put our full resources on the trail of your missing papers.”
“Fair enough,” I said, though at
the moment it sounded like an invitation to climb Mount Everest and bring back
a snowball. “You haven’t told us who you’ve talked to so far.”
He gave a sigh of resignation. “I
went with Sheriff Driscoll to Patricia Cook’s house last night to inform her of
her brother’s death. She appeared genuinely shocked, broke into tears. I agreed
I’d try to hold off any further questions until after the funeral.”
“When will that be?” Jill asked.
“Not until the ME turns the body
loose.”
I leaned an elbow on the table and
thought about the murder scene. “Have you come up with anything from the Jeep?”
He considered that for a moment, then made a decision in our favor. “They’re working on it
now in Forensics. Come on. We’ll go down and take a look.”
The right side of the building
housed
afternoon. After repeating the information I had given him verbally beside the
lake, I followed up with our questioning of Bradley’s neighbor, Jackie Varner.
“When was this?” he asked, brow
furrowed.
“While we were
killing time yesterday, waiting on your crime scene investigators.”
“And she thought the visitors drove
a small sports car with a rakish sweep to the front end?”
“That’s right. I can’t say how
reliable that observation was, but at least it’s a place to start.”
He paused a moment before saying,
“Is that your complete statement?”
I looked around at Jill, who
nodded. “Yes,” I said.
He switched off the recorder and
leaned back in his chair. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll let you know if we need
anything else from you.”
“There’s one other point I didn’t want
to mention on the tape, because it’s pure speculation at the moment,” I said.
“Our client was tailed yesterday by a man we think had an interest in the
missing papers in Bradley’s possession. That adds to our belief that this
murder may have had something to do with our case.”
“Mr. McKenzie, I spoke at length
with Sheriff Driscoll yesterday about Pierce Bradley’s background. We have
several areas of interest to look into.”
I didn’t like the dismissive way he
moved his hands. “The sheriff gave us similar information,” I said,
“specifically Mrs. Cook and two men he’d had altercations with.”
“Yes, and the circumstances of the
crime—nighttime, a secluded location likely known only to someone familiar with
the area—tell me the person we’re looking for is a local.”
I couldn’t argue that point, but
the circumstances also indicated an accomplice had been involved. An accomplice who could be local, or from anywhere.
“Have you had a chance to question
any of them yet?”
Fought eyed me like a biology
teacher contemplating a frog. “I’m not sure how far I should go with you,
McKenzie.” With the formalities over, he had dropped the “Mr.” tag.
“We’re quite willing to share
anything we have,” I said, leaving off the implicit question of why can’t you
do the same?
“Sheriff Driscoll filled me in on
your background. I know several guys at Metro. I talked to the lead
investigator in that Fed Chairman murder case. He gave you a glowing
recommendation, said I could trust you.”
He referred to Phil Adamson. After
our talk yesterday afternoon, I hadn’t been so sure he would still feel that
way.
“On the other hand,” Fought
continued, “another source said you were really bad news. I should avoid you
like a night shift on New Year’s Eve.”
“You must have talked to Detective Tremaine or one of his buddies. I made some remarks about
him a couple of years ago I shouldn’t have. They were made in private but
showed up on page one of the morning newspaper. It was a miscommunication that
got blown all out of proportion.”
“Tell you what. You bring me some
solid evidence tying Bradley’s murder to your Marathon auto case, I’ll put our full resources on the trail of your missing papers.”
“Fair enough,” I said, though at
the moment it sounded like an invitation to climb Mount Everest and bring back
a snowball. “You haven’t told us who you’ve talked to so far.”
He gave a sigh of resignation. “I
went with Sheriff Driscoll to Patricia Cook’s house last night to inform her of
her brother’s death. She appeared genuinely shocked, broke into tears. I agreed
I’d try to hold off any further questions until after the funeral.”
“When will that be?” Jill asked.
“Not until the ME turns the body
loose.”
I leaned an elbow on the table and
thought about the murder scene. “Have you come up with anything from the Jeep?”
He considered that for a moment, then made a decision in our favor. “They’re working on it
now in Forensics. Come on. We’ll go down and take a look.”
The right side of the building
housed
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