Bite the Moon (18 page)

My butt hit hard plastic at the speed of light. The deputy glared at me as if daring me to defy him.

I smiled and put the sweetness of a sugar bowl into my voice. “Sir, when do you think Mr. Hawkins might come back and talk to me?”

“
When he’s good and ready,” he said as he slammed the door.

Another perfectly good smile wasted on a man with no appreciation for the finer things in life.

Dale Travis lived by the philosophy that a person is late when not fifteen minutes early. People were a perpetual disappointment to him. When the courthouse bell tolled at half-past two and there was no sign of Molly, he was irritable.

He punched in Molly’s number on his cell. No answer. For the next fifteen minutes, he paced the hall and called her number at the end of each lap. At 2:45, Thelma Wiggins stepped out of the elevator and into the hall, heading toward the courtroom.

“
Molly’s late, Thelma,” he said.

“
And hello to you, too. Dale. Nice to see you again,” Thelma replied.

Chagrined, Dale held out his arms for a hug. Thelma took two steps back. “Sorry, Thelma. I forgot,” Dale said. “Listen, I need Molly but I’ve got to get into the courtroom. Here’s my cell. Can you keep calling her until the hearing begins?”

“
Sure, Dale. Go on inside. Molly will be here.”

*

By 3:00, Thelma was concerned, too. This was not like Molly. Molly was prompt. Molly was dependable. The hot glow of hope that brought her bouncing to the courtroom today faded to a flickering light. Something was wrong. With great reluctance, she turned the cell phone off, walked into the courtroom and slid into the row behind the defense table.

Dale turned to her with a question on his face. She shook her head. His jaw tightened. His lips pursed. He spun around in his seat.

From afar, it sounded like sleigh bells coming down the hall. As the noise neared, the clanging grew harsh and the whispered shuffling of shackled feet scraped on Thelma’s heart. A chain of orange jumpsuits linked at the waist came through the side door. Deputies led them across the courtroom and seated them in the jury box.

Bobby looked bewildered and distressed as he sat with his fellow prisoners. Then his eye caught his mother’s and he smiled. He lifted his cuffed hands to give her a thumbs-up. In the process, he jostled the man next to him who gave him a quick, hard elbow into the side. Bobby winced. Another little piece of Thelma died. The chains struck up another discordant symphony as the prisoners stood when the judge entered the room.

*

Dale argued his case for the dismissal of all charges against Bobby Wiggins for the murder of Rodney Faver. When he finished, the judge turned to the prosecution.

“
Your Honor,” District Attorney Ted Kneipper intoned, “the state believes this motion is premature. The investigation into the death of Happy Parker and his possible involvement in the murder or Rodney Faver is ongoing.”

Judge Krause bowed her head and studied the papers before her. Travis used this lull in the proceedings to study his opponent. There was a reddish tint high on his cheekbones—he was excited about something. Not a good sign. His jawline was pink and stubble-free. That shave was less than an hour old. That was even worse—the man obviously had plans to strut before the TV cameras.
What surprise is he going to pop on me now?

The judge broke Dale’s reverie. “Motion denied,” she said.

Dale Travis sprang to his feet. “Your Honor, we request a ruling on our second motion.”

“
Proceed, Mr. Travis,” she said with a nod of her head.

“
Your Honor, we ask that you reconsider the denial of bail for our client in light of these recent developments. The appropriateness of the charges against Bobby Wiggins has been seriously brought into question by Happy Parker’s written deathbed confession to the crime with which Wiggins is charged. The presumption of the innocence of my client demands that he be released pending further investigation.”

Ted Kneipper was on his feet. “Your Honor?”

“
Yes, Mr. Kneipper.”

“
The State would like to submit to the court a copy of the Medical Examiner’s report regarding the death of Happy Parker.”

“
Objection, Your Honor,” Dale Travis barked. “The defense has never seen this document. In fact, we were unaware of its existence.”

“
With apologies to the court, Your Honor, the State only received this report moments ago.”

“
We’re not at trial, Mr. Travis. Objection overruled. You may submit the report, Mr. Kneipper.”

Kneipper handed a copy to the bailiff. “Your Honor, you will see from this autopsy report from the Bexar County Medical Examiner’s Office that the manner of death was homicide.”

“
Objection, Your Honor.”

“
Overruled.”

“
As you see, Your Honor,” Kneipper continued, “despite the presence of a suicide note and the conclusions of the officers at the scene, Happy Parker’s death was not caused by injuries sustained in a motorcycle accident, whether intentional or not. There is a bullet lodged in Happy Parker’s skull. And since no weapon was recovered at the scene, the assumption is clear: Happy Parker did not pull the trigger. A person or persons unknown fired that fatal shot.”

“
Do you have a suspect, Mr. Kneipper?”

“
No, Your Honor, but the investigators are questioning a person of interest up in Hays County as we speak.”

“
Your Honor,” Travis said, “the presence of a person of interest in Hayes County is even more reason to grant my request for bail.”

“
On the contrary, Your Honor,” Kneipper said. “Investigators have found nothing to link the murder of Rodney Faver to the Happy Parker homicide.”

“
The note is a clear link,” Travis argued.

“
At this time, investigators suspect that the person of interest may have played a role in Parker’s death for the sole purpose of diverting suspicion from Mr. Travis’ client,” Kneipper explained.

An unpleasant thought formed in Dale’s mind. He turned and scanned the courtroom. Molly Mullet was not there.
Of course not. Molly Mullet is the person of interest now in custody one county north of here.

“
That is an outrageous allegation, Your Honor,” Travis protested.

“
Motion for bail denied, Mr. Travis. If you have no further business for this court, we will move on to the next case.”

Dale retrieved his cell phone and bolted out to his car. Thelma stayed in her seat, unwilling to leave while Bobby was still there. She felt broken and hollow. But she turned toward Bobby, stuck her thumb in the air and smiled.

An hour passed. Then an hour and a half. Toward the end, I was entertaining myself by looking for bunnies, dogs and people in the peeling paint—sort of like the childhood game of looking for shapes in the clouds, only a lot more depressing.

Finally, the door eased open and in walked Lieutenant Hawkins looking very pleased with himself. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Mullet.”

Yeah, right
,
I thought. But I smiled and said, “No problem, sir.”

“
I was wondering if you could tell me where you were on the night that Happy Parker died.”

“
How about you tell me where you think I was, Hawkins. That will save us some time. And after you do that, I would like to call my attorney.”

“
You’re not under arrest, Mullet. You don’t have a right to call anyone.”

“
Well, then, if I’m not under arrest, then I think I’ll just go on home.” I placed my palms on the table and pushed myself to my feet.

“
Sit, Mullet. I’m not joking around with you here. This is serious.”

I slid back into my seat and stared at him. “What’s troubling you, Lieutenant?”

“
You were out at Happy’s place before his murder. You were out at Happy’s place after his murder. I want to know where you were in between.”

“
I’m at a disadvantage here. You keep calling Happy’s death a murder, but the cops on the scene said it was an accident. I don’t know why you are saying otherwise.”

“
Sure you don’t. Look at you, Mullet. Your face. Your arms. You want to explain how that happened?”

“
I’d love to. But first I need to talk to my attorney.”

“
You need to talk to an attorney? You were a cop, Mullet, you know how this works. Asking for a lawyer is like waving a red flag with ‘guilty’ written on it in big, bold white letters. If you didn’t do it, what do you have to hide?”

“
Lieutenant, have you ever for one moment considered that Happy’s murder and Rodney Faver’s murder are connected?”

“
It’s crossed my mind.”

“
Do you realize that means Bobby Wiggins could not be responsible for Rodney Faver’s murder?”

“
I ran that thought up a flagpole and saluted it a time or two.”

What is it with this guy? One minute he’s spitting out ghetto slang, the next he’s recycling phrases from my grandmother’s trash bin.
“Then why aren’t you out there looking for who killed them both?”

“
I am, Mullet.”

I laughed. He must be kidding. He made me for both homicides? But I looked in his eyes and saw no amusement lurking in the shadows. “You think I killed them?”

“
Just the other day, you spent a considerable amount of time target shooting. And you were damned good.”

“
Did Eddie tell you that?”

Hawkins did not respond.

“
Oh, come on, Hawkins. Get real. If I killed Faver, why in heaven’s name would I be working to get Bobby Wiggins off the hook?”

“
Stranger things have happened, Mullet.”

“
Be logical, Hawkins.”

“
I am being logical. Perps often insert themselves into an investigation to find out what we know—what we’re thinking.”

“
If that were the case, Hawkins, it would be pretty stupid of me to be working on the side of the defense, wouldn’t it?”

“
Perps are stupid. That’s why they’re perps.”

“
I’m going home, Hawkins.”

“
No, you’re not. Make one move and I’m cuffing you to the chair.”

Outside of the ratty little interview room, a tempest was brewing. Loud voices struggled to talk over one another. In the midst of all the din, I heard the welcome voice of Dale Travis.

“
You stay right here, Mullet,” Hawkins said as he opened the door and left the room.

With the door ajar, the voices outside the room were now distinct. “I demand to see my client immediately,” Dale shouted.

“
She’s not your client. She works for you,” Hawkins said.

“
The two are not mutually exclusive, officer. I do not discriminate on any basis.”

“
Are you implying that I do?” Hawkins asked.

“
I’m sure your record speaks for itself. I demand to see my client now.”

“
Your client is not under arrest and therefore she is not entitled to an attorney at this time,” Hawkins countered.

“
Then charge her or let her go,” Dale insisted.

“
She’s a person of interest and I have not finished questioning her.”

“
Hawkins!” Ted Kneipper’s voice rang out from the doorway.

I peered out the crack of the door to make sure it really was Kneipper. It was. Something very odd was going on if he came all the way up here to tug on Hawkins’ leash.

“
The attorney is within his rights,” Kneipper said. “Release his client.”

The look Hawkins shot at Kneipper was lethal. I was sure glad he was not looking at me. With clenched fists, Hawkins turned and stomped out of the room.

Travis put his arm around my shoulders, plucked my purse from the property desk and escorted me outside. The media frenzy instigated by Hawkins’ telephone calls was in full tilt in the parking lot. Microphones poked in our faces. Flashes burned circles on our retinas. Video cameras followed our every move. Each shouted question was answered by a “no comment” from Dale.

I huddled deep under his arm, my head hung low. I now understand why so many people made the futile gesture to cover their faces as they struggled through hordes of hungry reporters.

Dale deposited me in the passenger seat of his car, walked around and climbed behind the wheel. The pack moved in and surrounded us. Dale popped his car into reverse and eased backwards, scattering reporters and cameramen in his wake.

“
How many points do I get if I hit one? Do I get double if they’re carrying heavy equipment?” Dale laughed.

I couldn’t believe it. I’d been tormented and harassed and he was grinning ear to ear. “Dale, what about my car?”

“
Don’t worry. Oops, almost clipped that one. My paralegal is driving your car back to New Braunfels.”

“
But does she know how to work a stick?”

For a moment, his grin faded. “I don’t know. I never thought to ask.”

Oh, my poor car
.