Next thing I knew, the scene was swarming with deputies and the rocks were burning a hole in my pocket.'
'So now what?'
She shrugged. 'They say that America is the land of second chances. All I want is mine.'
It was an all too familiar refrain that confused need and hope for commitment and effort.
'What happens when that second chance turns out to be another easy score and you want the rush more than the chance?'
The light drained out of her eyes, her mouth quivering. 'That's what scares the hell out of me.'
Chapter Eleven
The pictures Lucy took at Walter Enoch's house testified to the limits of surreptitious cell phone photography. They were off-centered, grainy, and focused like the camera's eye was half-opened. Enoch's body was recognizable but the pictures showed little else of interest. I put that case aside for the one I'd been hired for.
The police reports on Delaney's and Blair's deaths would be the best source of information about how they died. Despite my misgivings about Harper, I was glad for the chance to do what I knew how to do and there was no reason to wait until Monday to get started. I found the business card for Detective Paul McNair that Milo Harper had given me. He answered on the third ring.
'Homicide. McNair.'
It was Saturday afternoon, not a prize shift. McNair sounded distracted. I heard a basketball broadcast in the background, probably a radio on his desk.
'It's Jack Davis. I don't know if you remember, but we worked a joint task force a few years back. I was with the FBI.'
The radio broadcast faded but McNair didn't perk up. 'Yeah. Bunch of meth labs out in eastern Jackson County. Couple of crank heads shot each other up.'
'Right. Been a while. How you doing?'
'How you think I'm doing? I'm in here jacking my meat on a Saturday afternoon instead of being home watching Kansas kick Missouri's ass up and down the court.'
'That's why you get the middle money.'
'You got that right. What can I do you for?'
'I'm retired from the Bureau. Doing some private work. I'd like to get a look at the reports on a couple of incidents you investigated.'
'Depends. Which incidents?'
'Tom Delaney and Regina Blair.'
'Yeah. I remember them. Delaney, he blew his brains out and the Blair chick, she fell off a goddamn parking garage, of all the fucking stupid ways to buy it.'
'Those are the ones.'
'You working for Milo Harper or Jason Bolt?'
'Milo Harper. That a problem?'
'Nah. That ambulance chaser has taken more money out of here on false arrest and excessive force cases than the taxpayers put in. I'll be here all afternoon unless I get a better offer, like my proctologist had a cancellation.'
Kansas City's police headquarters was at Eleventh and Locust on the east side of downtown, a limestone tower built during the Depression. Homicide was on the third floor, the detective's desks arranged back to back in a bullpen, higher ranks in private offices along the wall. McNair was alone, everyone else on duty finding a reason to be out.
He had at least twenty years on the job, his face more jowls than cheeks and chin, his neck and hair faint memories. He was attacking a slab of ribs, ignoring the sauce that speckled his shirt, and listening to the second half of the basketball game between Kansas and Missouri. He was right about one thing. The Jayhawks were putting another beating on the Tigers.
'Hey, Davis,' he said, wiping his hands on his pants. 'Been a while.'
'A few years.'
'This is what I got.' He pointed to two folders lying on the vacant desk that backed up to his. 'Make yourself at home.'
I hadn't recovered from the day before. I could feel the shakes getting ready to bust out like runners down in the blocks, waiting for the starter's gun, and I didn't want them to run their relays in front of McNair.
'Okay if I make copies? That way I can get out of your hair.'
'Like I got any left,' he said, patting his dome. 'Knock yourself out. Copy machine is down the hall.'
I loaded Regina Blair's file into the copier, skimming the Delaney report while I waited. Delaney lived in an apartment building at Thirty-eighth and Wyandotte. A neighbor reported a bad odor. The manager recognized the smell and called the cops.
Delaney's body was found slumped in a chair. He didn't leave a suicide note.
The gun was on the floor. Most people who shoot themselves hold on to the gun.
The autopsy report noted that the bullet's angle of entry was downward. Most people who shoot themselves in the temple aim level or up.
The entry wound was in Delaney's left temple. Delaney was right handed. A right-handed person was much more likely to shoot himself in the right temple than the left. Delaney would have had to turn his head all the way to the right to expose his left temple to the gun. Killing yourself is hard enough without adding a gymnastic degree of difficulty.
Photographs showed Delaney's body in the chair, the location of the gun on the floor, and close-ups of the wound. There was also a series of photographs of his apartment.
The entry wound was described as a hole with a compact area of stippling, a surrounding area of charring, and a bright red hue to the wounded tissues. Based on that, the coroner concluded that the muzzle was less than six inches from the victim when the gun was fired. Most suicide wounds are contact wounds, muzzle pressed against the temple. The distance wasn't typical of suicide but was more likely if Delaney had turned his head to the right and stretched his right hand around to the left side of his head, which could also explain the downward angle of the entry wound. The question was why he would go to such trouble.
Delaney's fingerprints were found on the gun, a Beretta 92F.9mm pistol registered in his name. It had a ten- shot magazine that had been loaded with jacketed rounds. The gun and the ammunition were nothing fancy; typical of what someone would buy off the shelf for home and personal protection.
There were also two unidentified partial prints, one on the handle and one on the barrel. They were smudged enough that there were no clear ridges or whorls, raising the possibility that they had been made by someone wearing a latex glove. The only thing for certain was that these prints didn't rule out anyone or anything.
Powder burns were found on Delaney's right hand, confirming that he was holding the gun when it was fired. Two rounds were missing from the magazine. Only one bullet was recovered from Delaney's body. The missing round was not recovered or accounted for, and Claire Wilson, the investigating officer, concluded that the gun's magazine must not have been full when Delaney fired the gun.
The neighbor who reported the smell coming from Delaney's apartment and the building manager were the only people interviewed and their statements did not expand on the basic facts. Neither knew Delaney and had not seen him in the days prior to his death.
McNair's supplemental report described his meeting with Milo Harper and his review of Delaney's dream video. McNair wrote that the video in which Delaney talked of killing himself confirmed the coroner's determination of suicide and that there was no evidence to justify further investigation.
Milo Harper was worried about being liable for Delaney's suicide but another possibility jumped off these pages even though it wasn't there in writing. Delaney may not have committed suicide. He may have been murdered.
Someone wearing latex gloves could have shot Delaney, then put the gun in his hand and pulled the trigger a second time, firing the gun into something to muffle the sound and then recovering the second bullet to make it
