Bite the Moon (17 page)

“
Good morning, Molly. Come on in. I know why you’re here. Dale called me from somewhere on Interstate 10 just a little bit ago.”

I must admit I was surprised. I didn’t think Dale Travis would consider Thelma Wiggins a priority this morning. But sometimes lawyers surprise me and force me to remember they’re human, too. Not often, but occasionally.

I followed Thelma back to the kitchen, where the enticing aroma of sausage and toasting home-baked bread filled the air with a celebration of life. “I figured you’d be here soon after Dale called, so I fixed us both some breakfast. Have a seat at the table. It’ll be ready in a minute.”

She cracked eggs into a cast-iron skillet where they swam and crackled in a pool of melted butter. “I want to thank you for visiting Bobby yesterday. It did him good.”

“
You’ve seen him since then?”

“
No. But he called me last night—first time he’s called in days. Said something about the two musketeers that made no sense to me at all. Then he told me that he ate all of his supper.”

“
Fantastic.”

“
Yes, it is,” Thelma said as she slid a plate in front of me. “And he gave you all the credit. I suppose you must be the other musketeer?”

“
Yeah. Just some silly thing from when we were kids.”

“
Not so silly, Molly. It got Bobby eating again.” Tears welled in Thelma’s eyes, and we finished our meal in silence.

Thelma surprised me by opening her arms for a hug. She clung to me for a moment and then sent me on my way with a whole loaf of homemade bread to take home—if I ever got to go there. When I pulled up to the coffee shop, I was a few minutes early, but Travis was already there. He was sipping from a thick, white mug, looking as polished and prosperous as a diplomat.

Before I could even say hello, he was off and running. “I’ve already checked. Judge Krause’s not in yet, but they expect her any minute. Now, here’s the game plan. I’m going to roust the judge as soon as she arrives. I want you to go out to the sheriff’s department and get copies of any documents you can on Happy’s death. Anything. And I’ll call you when we get a hearing set. Keep your cell with you at all times.”

He threw back his head and drained his coffee cup. He slapped the mug on the wrought-iron table and picked up his briefcase. “While you’re out there, see if you can find out where they sent Happy. He could be at the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office in San Antonio, or Travis County could have taken him up in Austin.” Without a goodbye, he was gone, power-walking across the street to the courthouse.

I drove out to the Sheriff’s Office and danced with the bureaucracy. I was heading back to my car when my cell phone rang. Once again, I was not able to blurt out a greeting before Travis started talking. “What did you get?”

“
Just the preliminary incident report and it doesn’t say much. Just the time, the place and the name of the victim. I begged and pleaded, but they insisted nothing else was completed.”

Travis grunted. “Where’s the body?”

“
I don’t know. They pled total ignorance to that question.”

“
Liars. They just want to be difficult because they know they’re wrong. The hearing is set for 3:00 this afternoon. I want you there at 2:45. And since we do not have full police reports, we’ll need Happy’s girlfriend here, too. Don’t trust her to get here on her own power. Drive out there, pick her up and bring her in. And keep that cell with you at all times. Don’t even go to the bathroom without it. I need a constant, reliable line of communication with you today. See you at 2:45.”

The hearing was more than five hours away. Maybe now I could take a nap? Fat chance. I was too keyed up for sleep. I had to keep busy. I spent my leisure time vacuuming the house, dusting the furniture and rearranging a disaster area in one of my closets.

While I did these mindless chores, I tried to fill my head with positive thoughts.
This afternoon
,
I told myself,
Bobby gets out of jail. Today is the day the judge will dismiss the case. This evening, Thelma is going make dinner for her son, smiling and humming with the same cheerful abandon she knew before Stuart died.

I tried all the positive reinforcement I could muster, but it was no use. A niggling premonition of doom chewed on every upbeat morsel I could produce and spat it back out at my feet.

I needed less than two hours to drive out to Happy’s, pick up Heather and get back to the courthouse. But I knew I couldn’t be late and gave myself a cushion for the unexpected by leaving the house at noon. As I traveled down the road, the weather alternated between patches of light drizzle and stretches of sunshine, aping the yo-yoing of my thoughts.

Flashing colored lights approached me from the rear. I pulled over, expecting the sheriff’s department vehicle to speed past me. To my surprise it pulled up behind me and came to a stop.

I couldn’t have been speeding. Or was I? What was the speed limit here anyway—forty-five, fifty-five? It changed back and forth so much on these little country roads that I never knew for sure.

A uniformed Hays County deputy stepped out from behind the steering wheel.
Is he really unsnapping his holster? Oh jeez, he is and he’s drawing his freaking gun, too.

I rolled down the window as fast as I could. “Officer, what’s wrong? What’s the problem? Was I speeding?” I couldn’t believe it. He was approaching me in the elbows-locked stance.

“
Get out of the car, ma’am. Now. Right now. Keep your hands in my sight at all times. Push the door open slowly. Step out of the vehicle. Slowly. One foot at a time. Step up to the front of the car and put your hands on the hood.”

I followed his instructions with impeccable care. I had too much respect for guns to do otherwise. I leaned on the sloping hood of the Beetle and hoped I wouldn’t slip down. He approached from behind. He put a hand in the small of my back to hold me in place as he wedged one foot between mine and tapped on them.

“
Feet apart. Feet apart.”

I spread them as far as my skirt would allow. The steadiness of my position on the hood grew more precarious. The passenger side door of the cruiser opened and the head of Lieutenant Hawkins popped out.
Crap. What was he up to now? And what the heck was he doing with a Hays County deputy?

He sauntered toward me with all the grace of an overfed duck. My anger grew with every step he took.

“
Well, Mullet, looks like you’re in a heap of trouble now.”

I started to rise up to snap out a witty rejoinder but felt the deputy’s hand pressing me back into position.

A car drove by, slowing down to let its passengers stare with open mouths and questioning eyes. Man, this was humiliating. “What do you want, Hawkins?” I snarled like a cheap gangster from an old black and white movie.

The deputy shoved me forward. I stiffened just in time to keep my face from striking the metal surface.

Hawkins put the tip of his index finger on my chin and turned my face toward his. “My, my, my, Mullet. Looks like you’ve been in a bit of a scuffle.” He pushed up the sleeve of my blouse. “And looky here, more signs of a struggle on your arm. Cuff her, deputy. We’re taking her in.”

“
Are you crazy, Hawkins?” I shouted.

The deputy grabbed my right wrist and jerked it back. As he twisted, fire burned in my shoulder, my elbow, my wrist. He slapped on the cuff and the pressure eased.

As the pain subsided, I spat out, “Hawkins, have you lost your mind?”

The deputy grabbed my left arm and put pressure on my thumb. For a moment, all I could see was pure white with brilliant shooting sparks. I fell forward—face first—on my car. The deputy jerked me backward off the car. I clenched my teeth to suppress a scream.

Hawkins stepped into my space, his oversized belly bumping into my breasts. “You are a person of interest in the Happy Parker homicide, Mullet.”

“
Homicide?”

“
You betcha. As I said, Mullet, you are in a heap of trouble. Stick her in the back, Deputy. I’ll follow in her car.”

Holding my cuffs, the deputy pushed me forward. When I stumbled over the loose gravel, he bumped my rump with his knee. As he pushed down on the top of my head to stuff me in the car, I hollered out, “Hawkins. Do you know how to work a shift?”

Hawkins laughed and climbed into my poor little car.

As we pulled out, I twisted my body around to peer out the back window. My car jerked a bit as it started out but he did not appear to be abusing my transmission too much. Hawkins’ arm came out of the driver’s side window. I saw the little daisy-filled vase that brightened my dashboard go flying out of the car and smash on the side of the road.

Transporting me from the cruiser to inside the station did not bring out the deputy’s chivalrous side. He manhandled me as if I were twice his size. Hawkins followed with my purse swinging from one of his beefy fingers. My cell phone rang. I liked my phone’s ring. But in this setting, the reggae beat beach tune sounded stupid. Hawkins raised my purse in the air to eye level and stared at it.

“
Hawkins, can I get that?” I asked.

He thrust a hand into my bag and pulled out the phone. He looked at the screen and said, “Oh, don’t worry about it, Mullet. It just says ‘Travis cell’ is calling.” The ringing stopped and he pressed a couple of buttons. “And it looks like this is about the twelfth time he’s called in the last fifteen minutes. Hunh, when I heard that before I thought the jerking of the gears was firing off a CD in your car.” He laughed, tossed the phone back in my bag. “If he called that many times, he’ll call again.”

“
Could you at least call him and let him know where I am?”

Hawkins tilted his head to the side. For a brief moment, I thought he was seriously considering my request. “Nah, he’ll keep. It’s best if you keep men guessing, Mullet.”

I was hustled into a dingy little room where cheap plastic, molded chairs in a putrid shade of orange flanked the sides of a long, scarred table.

“
We’ll take your cuffs off now, Mullet. But if you act up, we’ll fasten you to the chair or to that ring in the wall back there.”

I bit off the smart-ass retort I wanted to fling in his direction and focused on the relief of having my hands free again. The two men left the room, pulling the door closed behind them.

Hawkins returned right away—my cell phone in his hand. I thought he was going to let me make a call after all and stretched out my hand for the phone.

“
Oh, no, Mullet. No. No. No.” He propped one foot in a chair and rested his elbow on his knee. He punched in a number.

“
KSAT-12? Good. Can I speak to Gina Galaviz, please? Thank you.” He grinned at me while he waited. “Look, Gina. I thought you might want to know that the investigator for the defense in the Bobby Wiggins case was just picked up today by the Hays County Sheriff’s Department for questioning as a person of interest in the homicide of Happy Parker.” Hawkins grinned at me again while he listened. “Oh, yes. I did say homicide.” He pushed a button disconnecting the call.

“
You are a pig, Hawkins. What do you expect to accomplish with this little farce?”

Instead of responding, he smiled and stabbed another number into the phone. It just amazed me that he could get those chunky fingers in the right place on those tiny buttons. “KGNB? Good. Is this David Ferguson? Great. David, I thought you would want to know that an ex-cop from your ’hood who’s investigating the Bobby Wiggins case for the defense has just been picked up in Hays County as a person of interest in the murder of Happy Parker.” He terminated the call and turned to me. “Any more questions, Mullet?”

I sat mute.

“
Thought not. See ya later.”

My eyes followed his back as he left the room. I was alone again. At first I was content to sit still and rub life back into my reddened wrists. But as the minutes crawled by, my anxiety grew.

What was happening in that courtroom? I was certain that Dale Travis was about to be ambushed by the prosecutor. I wanted to warn him. But there was no telephone in sight and no place to hide one.

Why was Hawkins calling Happy’s death a homicide? There must be an autopsy report—at least a preliminary one. They must have rushed that through this morning. And if it was a rush job, there had to be something obvious overlooked at the scene. The Medical Examiner did not bow to law enforcement pressure to announce conclusions unless there was no room for doubt.

And does all this mean Heather is right? It must. Faver and Parker’s murders had to be connected. If so, it had to boil down to that bloodstained T-shirt Happy found in his kick drum. Did the police find that? They couldn’t have or I would not be sitting here right now. I’ve got to find that T-shirt. I wonder if Heather knows where it is. If she does, she may be the next to die. I’ve got to get out of here.
Lost in thought, I didn’t realize I was on my feet pacing and rubbing my right arm until the door banged open.

“
Ms. Mullet,” the deputy barked. “If you cannot retain your position in your seat, you will force me to restrain you again. And rubbing on that ugly tattoo ain’t going to make it disappear.”