House Standoff Page 20

  “Why?”

  DeMarco said, “You shouldn’t be investigating this.”

  “What are you talking about?” Turner said.

  “You know what I’m talking about. For all I know, you or your girlfriend sent these guys.”

  “You better shut your mouth,” Turner said.

  Turner glared at DeMarco for a moment, then kicked Tommy’s gun into the parking lot, under a car so Tommy couldn’t reach it. While still aiming his pistol in the general direction of the men near DeMarco’s room, he took out his phone and made a quick call. Call completed, he asked the men lying on the ground: “What are your names? And why did you attack Mr. DeMarco?”

  The fat man said, “We’re not saying anything without a lawyer.”

  A second Sweetwater County sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot a moment later. DeMarco noticed there was a wire mesh screen separating the front and back seats in the cruiser. A deputy got out of the cruiser and Turner pointed at the men on the ground. He said, “Ray, take these two down to the jail in Rock Springs. They’re being arrested for aggravated assault. Read them their rights and let them get a lawyer if they want one. I’m going to take statements from these two,” Turner said, jerking a thumb toward DeMarco and Tommy. “I’ll be down in the morning to talk to the prisoners.”

  Ray handcuffed the fat man and the weightlifter, escorted them to his cruiser, and took off. Turner walked over to DeMarco and Tommy. “Now tell me what happened.”

  DeMarco said, “I had dinner at the Grill and when I got back to my room, those guys were waiting for me. They rushed me and one of them swung a pipe at my head.” DeMarco pointed to his room door. “Take a look at the door and you’ll get an idea of how hard the guy swung.”

  “Why did they attack you?”

  “I don’t know. I asked them and the fat guy with the long hair told me to go fuck myself.”

  Turner turned to Tommy and said, “Who are you?”

  Tommy said, “My name’s Tommy Hewlett.”

  “Show me some ID.”

  Tommy pulled out his wallet and handed Turner his driver’s license. Turner studied it for a second and said, “Boston?”

  “Yeah,” Tommy said, but didn’t elaborate.

  “What are you doing here in Waverly?”

  “I’m on vacation, just driving around seeing the country. I’m pulling a trailer—it’s parked over there in the lot—and the generator failed. I’m just waiting for parts so I can fix it.”

  “So how did you get involved in this?”

  Tommy said, “I’d just driven into the parking lot and saw those two guys attack this guy.” Tommy pointed at DeMarco. “So I pulled my gun and fired a shot into the air to stop them. I didn’t know what was going on, but I could see they were trying to kill him, or if not kill him, seriously injure him. After that, we just held them until you arrived.”

  DeMarco noticed that Turner didn’t ask why Tommy would be carrying a gun. In Wyoming, a man packing a weapon wasn’t considered abnormal.

  “And that’s it?” Turner said.

  “Yeah,” Tommy said.

  To DeMarco, Turner said, “And you don’t know why they attacked you?”

  DeMarco didn’t answer Turner’s question. Again, he said, “You shouldn’t be investigating this. You have a conflict of interest.”

  Turner just shook his handsome head. “I’m going into Rock Springs tomorrow morning to question those guys. After that, and depending on what they tell me, I may call you down to the sheriff’s office in Rock Springs to provide formal statements.”

  Before Turner left, he put the pipes used by DeMarco’s assailants in an evidence bag and took a photo of the crack in DeMarco’s door.

  After Turner left, DeMarco said to Tommy, “This fuckin’ place. I was hoping someone other than Turner would respond to the 911 call. It’s like I told him, for all I know Lisa Bunt hired those guys to kill me.”

  Tommy hesitated for a moment, then said, “You know, DeMarco, you might want to give law enforcement around here a little more credit than you’re giving them.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “What I mean is, Turner has a boss and maybe you should go talk to him. You’ve threatened Turner with getting the FBI involved and talking to the media, but the straightforward thing to do is talk to Turner’s boss and tell him what you know.”

  “Turner’s boss is the sheriff of this redneck county. He’s Hiram Bunt’s buddy. What do you think he’ll do if I tell him that Hiram’s wife might have killed Shannon, and then maybe hired those two thugs to kill me to keep me from revealing her affair with Turner?”

  Tommy said, “I don’t know what he’ll do. But you shouldn’t assume that everyone out here is corrupt. The sheriff may know Bunt and may take campaign contributions from him, but that doesn’t mean he’ll be willing to overlook the fact that one of his deputies is the wrong guy to investigate a murder. Go talk to the man and see what he says.”

  35

  Jim Turner took a seat at a table in an interview room at the Rock Springs detention center. On the other side of the table was the fat man he’d arrested the night before and the fat man’s lawyer. The fat man’s name was Donald Mullen, “Donny” to his pals. Before speaking to Donny, Turner had taken a look at his record and talked to a cop in the Rock Springs Police Department. He learned that Donny owned a bar that catered to a shady clientele and ran a small string of prostitutes, but his major source of income was from distributing heroin, meth, and marijuana. The Rock Springs cops, however, hadn’t been able to pin an actual crime on him because Donny was apparently brighter than he looked.

  Turner said, “Donny, as I’m sure you’ve already figured out, you and your boyfriend are going to jail for aggravated assault.”

  “He’s not my boyfriend,” Donny said, clearly offended that Turner might think he was gay.

  “Whatever,” Turner said. “I got two eyewitnesses, the weapons you used, and a photo of a door that shows you guys swung a pipe hard enough to kill a man. So maybe they’ll charge you with attempted murder and not simple assault.”

  Donny’s lawyer, a bored public defender, said, “So if you got all that, why are we here, Deputy?”

  “Because I want to know why your client assaulted Mr. DeMarco.”

  Turner had to know the reason. Specifically, he had to know if Lisa had hired the guy, although he couldn’t imagine how she would know a man like Donny Mullen. But because he was afraid of what Donny might say, he’d decided to interview him alone and hadn’t turned on the tape recorder in the interview room.

  “And what does my client get if he cooperates?” the lawyer asked.

  “I’m not sure,” Turner said. “But I imagine if Donny here is willing to testify against his boyfriend—”

  “Goddamnit, he’s not my boyfriend.”

  “—and also testify that someone hired him or conspired with him to attack Mr. DeMarco, then he could get a lighter sentence.”

  The lawyer turned to Donny and said, “Go ahead and tell him, Donny. You’re pretty much screwed here, so it can’t hurt.”

  “Yeah, all right. There’s this girl, this Indian girl. She’s, uh, sort of a friend and she told me DeMarco was hassling her. She wanted me to get him to back off.”

  “What’s this girl’s name?”

  “Lola Clarke.”

  Turner had to stop himself from saying Thank God.

  Turner said, “I don’t understand. What’s this girl’s connection to DeMarco and what was he hassling her about?”

  Donny said, “It had to do with some dead writer, something about how Lola stole the writer’s fancy earrings, and DeMarco was going to tell the cops and Lola was afraid she’d get arrested.”

  “I see,” Turner said. “And you, being the nice guy you are, just decided to help this poor India
n girl out.”

  “Yeah,” Donny said.

  Turner knew Donny wasn’t the sort to help anyone unless it was in his own self-interest. He knew Lola Clarke had a drug problem and suspected she bought her drugs from Donny and was most likely one of Donny’s whores. And maybe Donny decided to help her when it came to DeMarco because he was afraid of what she might tell the Rock Springs cops about his various criminal endeavors.

  It was a crying shame the girl had sunk so low. But Lola Clarke conspiring with Donny was infinitely better than Lisa having done so. Then it occurred to him that maybe Lola had done more than steal the Doyle woman’s earrings. Maybe Lola had been so desperate for money that she’d killed Doyle to steal her laptop. Then another thought occurred to him: Even if Lola hadn’t killed Doyle, it would be better if she went to jail for murder than Lisa Bunt.

  Turner said, “Okay, Donny. I’m going to tell the prosecutor to cut you some slack if you testify that Lola conspired with you to attack Mr. DeMarco, and if you testify against your buddy. I don’t know what kind of deal you’ll get, but less time in jail is less time in jail. And if you can come up with a better reason for why Lola wanted Mr. DeMarco harmed, that might go a long way.”

  “What better reason?” Donny said.

  “The dead writer,” Turner said. “Could Lola have had something to do with that?”

  “Nah, no way,” Donny said.

  “Well, think about it,” Turner said. He’d planted a seed; now he’d allow some time for it to grow.

  Turner left the interview room and made a call. “Ray, would you mind swinging by Sam Clarke’s motel in Waverly and arresting Lola Clarke for conspiracy to commit murder. Bring her to the jail here in Rock Springs so I can talk to her.”

  Turner left the detention center, and since he’d skipped breakfast, drove over to a Starbucks to get coffee and a breakfast sandwich. As he was munching on the sandwich, he glanced at his watch. This time of the morning Lisa was normally out riding, but in case she was with her husband, he texted her. We may not have a problem when it comes to DeMarco. Something happened last night related to Lola Clarke. So don’t do anything you’ll regret.

  She immediately texted back. What happened last night?

  I’ll tell you the next time I see you.

  His last encounter with Lisa hadn’t ended well. After they’d made love . . . No, “made love” wasn’t right. She went after him in bed like she’d been living in a convent the last ten years. Sex with her was always good, but yesterday it had been incredible; the lady had a lot of experience and no inhibitions. But as they lay there afterward, Jim just enjoying the sight of that marvelous body, she started in on him again about how he had to do something about DeMarco. She’d apparently thought that he’d be more malleable after she’d screwed his brains loose. But again he’d told her that he had no intention of killing anyone, and that they’d just have to hope for the best. To this she’d responded. “Hope for the best, my ass. I didn’t get to where I am today by hoping for anything. And I’m telling you, if you don’t have the balls to protect me, I’m going to deal with this on my own.”

  But maybe now, with this thing with Lola, no one would have to do anything.

  Knowing it would be at least an hour before Lola Clarke arrived in Rock Springs, he decided to drop in on the sheriff and tell his boss what he’d learned from Donny Mullen. As he was parking his cruiser in the lot in front of the sheriff’s building, he saw DeMarco walk out of the building. What the hell? A minute later, while still sitting in his car, he gets a call from the sheriff’s secretary saying the sheriff wants to see him immediately.

  36

  DeMarco’s phone alarm went off at five. He slapped the offending device to make it stop ringing and reluctantly got out of bed. He used the bathroom, brushed his teeth, and splashed some water on his face to force himself fully awake. He hated getting up so early but he wanted to talk to Congressman Wilbur Burns back in D.C. before Burns went off to do whatever it was he did on a normal workday. Not that any workday in our nation’s capital seemed normal these days.

  Burns came on the line saying, “I heard about what you did in Wyoming, breaking into Sonny Bunt’s house. I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised that a guy who would work for that bastard, Mahoney, would—”

  “Congressman, doesn’t it bother you that Sonny killed a BLM agent?”

  “Of course, it bothers me. And if he really killed the man and is convicted, then jail’s where he belongs. But what you did . . . Hell, why are you calling me?”

  “I’m calling to ask you to get me a meeting with your pal, the Sweetwater County Sheriff. If he doesn’t meet with me, I’m going to give him a major media headache.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  DeMarco began by saying, “Congressman, you’ve got a real mess out here in Waverly.”

  DeMarco went on to tell Burns about Shannon’s journal, what he’d learned from it, and how it was possible that one of three women had murdered her: Lola Clarke, Lisa Bunt, or Carly Turner. “The problem is that the man investigating Shannon’s murder is sleeping with two of those women and will probably do anything to protect them.”

  “So what do you want from the sheriff?” Burns asked.

  “I want him to assign a different person to investigate Shannon’s death. Jim Turner can’t continue to be involved because he’s got a conflict of interest, and for that matter may be complicit in the crime. In other words, I’m willing to give the sheriff a chance to do the right thing, and if he doesn’t, then I’m going to the press.”

  Sheriff Clay Webber—short gray hair, thick white mustache, skeptical blue eyes—was dressed casually in a dark blue polo shirt and jeans. His badge was clipped to his belt, but he wasn’t wearing a weapon, which surprised DeMarco. His office contained a large mahogany-colored desk and a couple of plain wooden visitors’ chairs; on one corner of the desk was a photo of a pleasant-looking middle-aged brunette and two pretty younger women who appeared to be in their twenties. The walls didn’t have any plaques or certificates or anything else to glorify Webber’s long career. His desk had a computer monitor on it, a phone, and a simple in/out basket. There was a single manila file folder in the basket. DeMarco got the impression that Webber was a no-frills, all business, organized guy.

  Webber studied DeMarco for a few long seconds when DeMarco entered his office, then pointed him to one of the visitors’ chairs.

  “All right, DeMarco,” he said, “say your piece. Wilbur Burns told me what you told him, but I want to hear it directly from you.”

  DeMarco dropped a copy of Shannon’s journal on the sheriff’s desk. Before arriving at the sheriff’s office he had two copies made, one for the sheriff and one for Tommy who wanted to read the journal. DeMarco said, “That’s a copy of a journal Shannon Doyle kept while she was in Wyoming researching her book. So you can read it yourself and see if you come to the same conclusions I did.”

  “How’d you get a copy of her journal?”

  DeMarco hesitated, then said, “A friend of mine hacked into Shannon’s iCloud account.”

  Webber shook his head. “You’re a real piece of work. That stunt you pulled with Sonny Bunt’s rifle and now this.”

  “That may be,” DeMarco said, “but let me tell you what the journal says.”

  For the second time that day, DeMarco told how Shannon was aware that Jim Turner and Lisa Bunt were having an affair, how their affair would ruin them both, and so maybe one of them had killed Shannon. He told how Lola Clarke had stolen Shannon’s earrings and may have murdered Shannon to steal her laptop and purse because she was an addict. Lastly, he discussed how Carly Turner was under the mistaken impression that Shannon had been sleeping with her husband, had threatened Shannon, and Carly may have killed Shannon in a drunken rage. He decided not to tell the sheriff that Harriet had seen the killer. For one thing, Harriet couldn’t
identify the person. Maybe later he’d tell Webber what Harriet had told him, but for now he’d let the investigation proceed without involving her.

  The sheriff didn’t say anything for a moment, then said, “And you’re planning to run to the media and tell them all this stuff?”

  “That’s what I was planning but a friend of mine convinced me that I should give you a chance to do the right thing and investigate Turner and these three suspects on your own. My worry is that I know you’re close to Hiram Bunt.”

  “What makes you think I’m close to Hiram?”

  “Because I’ve heard he supports you politically and because you took his side in the standoff against the feds.”

  “I didn’t take his side. I just didn’t jump into the middle of his fight with the government. That was a federal problem, not mine, but I didn’t approve of what he did.”

  DeMarco figured that the sheriff might be telling the truth: he didn’t approve of Hiram defying the federal government, but on the other hand, why should he take the feds’ side in an issue that might cost him votes?

  “Okay,” DeMarco said, keeping his tone neutral.

  “How ’bout these two men who attacked you last night?” the sheriff said.

  “You know about that?”

  “Of course, I know. I know about every crime committed in this county.”

  DeMarco said, “I don’t know how they fit into this yet. I’d never met those guys so one possibility is that one of the suspects, like Lisa Bunt or Carly Turner, could have hired them. The problem is that the guy investigating the attack on me is Turner.”

  Webber stroked his mustache as he studied DeMarco, “Okay, DeMarco. Because of these complaints you’re making, I’m going to remove Jim Turner from the investigation and assign another guy to take the lead. I don’t know if you’re telling me the truth or not but—”

  “Read the journal,” DeMarco said,