“No. The pills were in a small plastic bag in one of the victim’s pocket. It fell out when I took the money. I never touched those pills, much less steal any of them.”
“Why did you tell the investigators the bodies had been moved?” Dantzler said.
“So no one might think I’d been around the bodies.” Spurlock lowered his head. “Am I in trouble?”
“Well, let’s see, Greg,” Milt said. “You tampered with a crime scene, you stole evidence, and you lied to the police. By taking the cash, you prevented us from possibly getting fingerprints off the money, which might have helped us catch the killer. So, yeah, I’d say you could be in some trouble.”
Spurlock slumped in his chair, as though he was being crushed by a heavy weight. Tears began to stream down his cheeks.
“Will I be prosecuted?” he said. “Am I going to jail?”
“I can’t say right now,” Dantzler said, closing his notepad. “It depends on what kind of mood I’m in when this is all said and done.”
“Good thing you didn’t ask me,” Milt said, sitting next to Spurlock. “If it were left up to me, you’d spend the next few years getting butt injections rather than giving them.”
“Please don’t send me to jail,” Spurlock whined. “I couldn’t survive in there.”
“You can go, Greg,” Dantzler said, standing. “Just don’t go too far. And be available if I need to speak with you again. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
The minute Spurlock was out of the room, Milt burst into laughter. “I’d say we scared that poor putz into going straight. From this day forward, he’ll be the most honest person in this town. We’ll never have to worry about him again.”
“I only wish he’d been truthful back then. Had he been, Eli Whitehouse would never have spent a day in prison.”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Milt said. “Those fingerprints on the murder weapon-that was powerful evidence against Eli. Nothing Spurlock did in the barn would have changed the outcome.”
“I hope you’re right.” Dantzler opened the door. “The cash and pills-obviously the killer planted the stuff.”
“Thirteen hundred bucks,” Milt said, draping an arm around Dantzler. “Pretty good haul for a kid. Sure hope he spent it wisely.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After concluding his interview with Greg Spurlock, Dantzler jumped in his car and drove to Devon Fraley’s duplex on Crosby Drive. He made the short trip from downtown in less than fifteen minutes, arriving just as Devon’s body was being loaded into the ambulance. Mac Tinsley, the coroner, was standing in the yard conversing with the driver. Dantzler nodded at the two men as he walked onto the small porch and entered the duplex.
Rarely did he arrive at a crime scene after the body had been removed. Given his choice, it would never happen. Like all good homicide detectives, Dantzler felt there was much to be discerned from seeing the murder victim in his or her original death position. Photographs were fine, video even better, but neither was a match for seeing the scene prior to the body being taken away. The human eye almost always trumped technology.
But on this occasion, Dantzler’s late arrival couldn’t be prevented. His interview with Greg Spurlock had been scheduled for nine a.m., and he didn’t hear about Devon until five minutes before entering the interview room. Knowing he would likely get to the scene after the body had been removed, he dispatched Sammy Turley, a videographer, to work with Eric and Scott.
Dantzler needed no visual aids to tell him where Devon Fraley had been murdered. One look at the beige sofa told him this was where she had taken her last living breath in this world. Devon had been sitting directly in the center of the sofa, obviously watching television, when her attacker struck from behind. There was dried blood on the top pillow, and a dark stain trailed down the back of the sofa, eventually forming a small puddle of blood on the wooden floor.
“Man, the hits just keep on coming,” Eric said, moving alongside Dantzler. “And this poor lady never knew what hit her.”
“What did hit her?”
“Mac says either an ice pick or possibly a screwdriver. Base of the skull, into the brain. She died instantly.”
“Did Mac venture a guess as to time of death?”
“Between nine and midnight.”
“Who found the body?”
“Her nine-year-old son. Mark.”
“Ah, don’t tell me that.”
“He woke up, checked the alarm clock in his room, knew he was gonna be late for school, so he started running around looking for his mother, wondering why she had failed to get him up on time. Found her down here. He ran next door and told the neighbor. She called nine-one-one.”
“Where’s Mark now?” Dantzler said.
“With Devon’s sister, Terri, and her husband.”
“What about the Mark’s father? Anyone spoken to him yet?”
“According to Terri, Mark’s father has never been in the picture. She says Mark doesn’t even know who his father is. Apparently, the father split when Devon told him she was pregnant, went back to his wife, and has had no contact with Devon or Mark. Terri says the guy was a sperm donor and nothing more.”
“Okay,” Dantzler said, moving closer to the sofa but careful not to step in the blood, “let’s figure out how this went down. Devon is sitting here, eyes on the tube, and her attacker comes from… where?”
“The kitchen,” Scott said, entering the den. “Through the back door.”
“It wasn’t locked?” Eric said. “I can’t imagine a single mom not keeping her doors locked at night.”
Scott shook his head. “Nope. But Devon probably thought it was. The killer used tape on the dead bolt, which kept it from locking. Devon didn’t check it last night-she probably assumed it was locked like always-so the killer just waited until the right time, then came in and did his business.”
“Which means he staked out the place,” Eric said. “Are the techies looking for shoe or fingerprints?”
“They’re on it now,” Scott answered.
“Scott and I will start a canvass of the neighborhood,” Eric said. “If we’re lucky, one of the neighbors saw someone suspicious back there.”
“Folks, we’re dealing with a real pro here,” Dantzler said. “This guy is good, damn good. And smart. He killed those two kids with a twenty-two, Colt Rogers with a bazooka, and Devon Fraley with an ice pick. Different murder weapon each time, not a single hair or fiber or fingerprint left at the scene, no witnesses, nada. Does anyone still doubt that we’re dealing with a professional hit man?”
No one answered.
Later, as they were finishing up, Dantzler pulled Eric aside. “Are you making any progress on the female obits?”
“Wrapped it up late last night. My plan was to give everything to you this morning after you finished with Spurlock. Then this came up. It’s all in a big envelope on your desk.”
“Find anything worth mentioning?”
“Are you kidding? I found nothing of interest. Not even one jaywalker in the bunch.”
“Saints and vestal virgins, huh?”
“I don’t know how many virgins there were, but I can tell you there’s not a criminal in the group.”
“I’ll give it a glance when I get some free time. And listen, Eric, I really do appreciate it. I’ll make sure certain people up the food chain are aware of the time and effort you put in on this. It won’t go unnoticed.”
“Don’t worry about it. I only regret that nothing positive came of it.”
“We gave it a shot and it didn’t work out. It happens. I don’t like coming up empty any more than you do, and I
