even if they think it’s hogwash.
“Even if they’re damn near certain a witness is lying through his teeth on behalf of an offender, they’re still required to share with the other side what they’ve been told. If an investigator discovers something on his own that favors the suspect, he’s still obligated to share it.”
“Which allows for lots of wiggle room,” Dent said.
“And we—meaning cops—wiggle. But those who flat-out lie or deliberately withhold something are cheating the justice system and the law of the land. They’re called Brady cops.”
Bellamy said, “That’s what Moody did?”
“With Jim Postlewhite. Moody questioned him early on, as he did all the men at the barbecue.” Leaning forward, Haymaker reached into the file and removed the sheet of paper bearing Postlewhite’s name underlined in red.
He slipped on a pair of reading glasses. “Mr. Postlewhite told Moody where he was and what he was doing immediately before and after the tornado tore through the park. He described it in some detail. He told Moody about pushing some kids into a culvert before taking cover himself.
“If you can read Moody’s chicken scratching, it’s all written down here.” He removed his glasses and looked at them. “Postlewhite’s story eliminated Allen Strickland as a suspect.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Allen had helped him shepherd those kids into the culvert.”
“Where was this culvert?” Bellamy asked.
“A long way from where your sister’s body was found. And Postlewhite said that Allen came running over to him and the kids from the parking lot, where he’d been looking for his brother.”
Dent said, “He couldn’t have been two places at once.”
Haymaker nodded. “You had an alibi Dale and Rupe couldn’t shake, so Rupe said they’d nail Allen Strickland instead. But Dale reminded Rupe that Postlewhite could testify that Strickland was somewhere else while the murder was taking place. Rupe told Dale to do whatever was necessary to get Postlewhite to forget that.”
“Oh no,” Bellamy said mournfully.
Haymaker patted the air. “He didn’t have to do anything. Postlewhite had died of a heart attack three days after the tornado.”
“Lucky for them,” Dent said drolly.
“Rupe certainly thought so. Dale knew that the boy had at least a chance of beating that rap.”
“But he never disclosed what Postlewhite had told him.”
Haymaker paused and scratched his cheek thoughtfully. “Dale had been a good cop. Hard, maybe,” he said, glancing at Dent. “But withholding exculpatory facts was stepping way over the line. There was also the so-called accident that prevented Strickland’s brother from testifying. But by then, Dale was in so deep with Rupe he didn’t see a way out.”
“What happens to Brady cops when they’re found out?” Bellamy asked.
“They’re disgraced, exposed as liars. They’re usually terminated. Some are put on a Brady list, which is basically a blacklist shared with other law enforcement agencies.”
“Moody won’t lose sleep over those consequences,” Dent said.
“You’re right,” Haymaker said. “Poor ol’ Dale hasn’t got much to lose. But if it comes out that Rupe violated due process while serving as a state prosecutor, and knowingly sent an innocent man to prison, he might face charges. Especially since Strickland died there. At the very least, his reputation will be shot to hell. He won’t be able to sell a secondhand tricycle.”
Bellamy said, “Does Moody expect us to blow the whistle?”
Haymaker refolded the signed confession and handed it to her. “I made myself a copy, but I would never use it against my friend. Dale left it up to you what you do with the original. Turn it over to the Austin PD. To the DA’s office. Attorney general. To the media.”
“Why didn’t he give it to me yesterday?”
Without compunction, Haymaker said, “He needed time to get himself out of Dodge. He won’t be going back to where he was before, either. We’ve seen the last of him we’re ever gonna see.”
“He’s a damn coward,” Dent said.
“He told me you’d called him that to his face. He also said you weren’t far off the mark.”
Bellamy frowned thoughtfully. “Even if I do share this with the authorities, Rupe will claim it’s all lies.”
“No doubt. Dale’s word against his. But Dale’s notes in the file back up the part about Postlewhite. Every cop knows how important one’s notes can turn out to be. And if that case file wasn’t dangerous to someone, why’d it mysteriously go missing from the PD? Everything added together, it looks bad for Rupe. The King of Cars will be dethroned.”
Then he leaned toward her and, speaking earnestly, said, “One last thing. Dale wanted me to emphasize to you that neither he, nor anyone, ever turned up a shred of evidence that implicated you.”
“He told me that. He also knew that Allen Strickland hadn’t killed Susan. Which leaves us still not knowing who did.”
From deep inside Bellamy’s shoulder bag, her cell phone dinged. She fished it out. “I’ve got a text.” When she accessed it, she murmured, “It’s a photo.” She touched the arrow on her screen and then covered her mouth in horror when the enlarged picture appeared.
It was of Dale Moody. His throat had been sliced open from ear to ear.
Chapter 28
Ray smiled with satisfaction when he thought of Bellamy receiving that text message. Her number had been stored in Gall’s cell phone, which Ray had found in the pocket of his overalls. How lucky was it that he’d taken the “dummy” with him when he ran from the hangar?
See? There was a reason why things happened the way they did. Allen had always said so. He should’ve listened better and believed.
Bellamy and Dent would see that picture of Moody and understand what was in store for them. Thinking how scared they must be made him chuckle. He just had to figure out how to close in on them. Rupe would help. He was good at planning.
Ray’s first problem, however, was to dispose of the body and clean up the mess. He hadn’t known a body could hold that much blood. Dale Moody had bled like a stuck hog, making one hell of a mess in Ray’s duplex.
The last thing he’d expected was to find the detective lying in wait for him when he returned home around dawn. Ray had been trying to hunt down the son of a bitch all night, when Moody had been here all along, waiting to jump him when he came through the front door.
As planned, Rupe had called Ray from the reception following the funeral. Ray had wanted to go, but Rupe had said he would stand out in the ritzy crowd, and that that would be a disaster. Rupe had also suspected that Moody might show up at some point during the observances for Lyston, and he’d been right. Rupe was smart like that.
He’d spotted Moody skulking around the country club. “He had a brief chat with Bellamy. Your enemies are as thick as thieves with each other, Ray.”
Rupe had given Ray a description of Moody’s car and the license number, and had instructed him to be parked within sight of the country club gate, so that when Moody left, Ray could follow. He’d pulled out behind Moody in the car Rupe had loaned him from the glass company where he worked.
Rupe had told him to stay on Moody’s tail and find out where he went, who he talked to, and what he did. But Moody’s cop instinct must’ve kicked in, because they hadn’t gone two miles before Ray lost him.
Rupe had called him repeatedly throughout the night, but Ray didn’t answer. He knew Rupe was calling for an update, but, as far as Ray was concerned, Rupe could go screw himself. He was on a mission of his own. He wanted to find and kill the man who’d sent his brother to prison.
He’d spent the remainder of the night driving to all the places Rupe had called “Moody’s old haunts,” but with
