Gnosis (23 page)

“No. It’s okay. Let’s just get this over with.”

Dantzler said, “Greg, the three of us are not leaving this room until we clear up a few things about your actions on that night in nineteen eighty-two. If you’re truthful with us, we can get this over and done with in a relatively short period of time. However, if you persist in being dishonest, we’ll be here until the Messiah shows up. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Okay, let’s begin with the gun that was at the scene. You told me you didn’t see it, correct?”

“Yes.”

“Was that a lie?”

“Yes.”

“You’re telling me now you
did
see the gun?”

“Yes.”

“Why did you lie about that?”

“I don’t know. I just . . . did.”

“Where was the gun when you saw it?”

“Between the two victims, but closer to the victim on the right.”

“Did you touch the gun?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You’re sure about that?”

“Yes, yes, I am.”

“How did you know it was small caliber?”

“My grandfather was a big gun collector. He had dozens of guns—rifles, shotguns, pistols—every kind you can think of. He taught me all about the different types of guns. I could tell from looking at the gun in the barn that it was probably a twenty-two.”

Dantzler nodded. “This is good, Greg. See how much smoother things go when you tell the truth?”

“You’ll want to stay on this path,” Milt said from behind. “Don’t stray from it one inch and we’ll all get along fine.”

“When we first spoke,” Dantzler continued, “you told me you were only in the barn for a minute after Angie went back to the car. That doesn’t square with how Angie remembers it. She claims you were in the barn for ten minutes. Which is it?”

“Well, uh . . .”

“Come on, Greg,” Milt said. “This is no time to get squirmy on us. Focus on that path I talked about.”

“I would say Angie is closer to being accurate,” Spurlock admitted. “I don’t agree that it was ten minutes, but it was longer than a minute.”

“How long?” Dantzler asked.

“Between five and ten minutes, I would say.”

“All right, Greg, we’re now getting to the heart of the matter.
Why
did you lie about that?”

Spurlock’s face and neck turned beet red, and his entire body began to tremble. He looked like a man having a seizure or a stroke. His eyes clouded with tears.

“Because I, well, I, uh, sort of touched the bodies,” he finally managed to say. “I know it was stupid, but I did.”

“Why did you touch them?” Milt asked.

“When I bent down next to the bodies, I noticed some money in one of the victim’s jacket. I took it.”

“Jesus Christ,” Milt barked. “How did a numbskull like you ever become a doctor?”

“How much money?” Dantzler said.

“Seven hundred and fifty dollars. It was in a big wad, you know, all rolled up with a rubber band around it. I just . . . took it.”

“Which victim had the money?”

“They both did. The other victim, the one on the left, had more than six hundred dollars on him. It was in his pants pocket.”

“So, let’s do some accounting here,” Milt said. “You pilfered more than thirteen hundred bucks off two corpses? That’s despicable.”

“I’m sorry, really sorry.”

“You say you ‘noticed’ the money,” Dantzler said. “Is that true, or did you go digging through their pockets and find it?”

“It was in plain view,” Spurlock said. “Like, half in the pocket, half hanging out.”

“Did you also take drugs from the scene?” Milt said.

“No.”

“Plant any?”

“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.”

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.”