From Newsprint to Footprints: A River's Edge Cozy Mystery (River's Edge Cozy Mysteries Book 1) (26 page)

Better an extortion charge than a murder rap, and since Jefferson's demands were likely to have been verbal, even Syl's testimony might not be enough to convict. After all, Syl hadn't gone to the sheriff to file a complaint.

The blank paper was taunting me.
You have to step outside the box you're thinking in
.

HALF AN HOUR LATER, I had what a journalism professor once said was the basis for most discoveries, whether delving deep for a big story or working to create a new medicine. My 'what if' list wasn't long, but if any item on it were true, it would change nearly all my thinking about the murder.

What if Hal had been in touch with Jefferson before that night, and he went to Syl's to meet Jefferson? Hal knew about Syl's large contract with the insurance organization. Had he connected Syl to Jefferson?

What if Syl had agreed to pay Jefferson a larger fee if he won the bid, and Syl backed out of the deal? What recourse would Jefferson have had other than to expose Syl as having unethical business practices? Or break into Syl's home to demand payment.

What if Hal had been at the house to harass Syl and running into Jefferson was a coincidence? An odd one, surely, but possible.

Unfortunately, I couldn't prove any of these things on my own. Phone records and email could show a connection between Hal and Jefferson, but it's not like I had access to them.

I looked up from my list. What would Hal's credit card and phone bills show? The sheriff must have them.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

BEFORE I COULD START to delve into my list, a knock door woke me at eight o'clock Friday morning. I had meant to get up earlier so I could call Sandi and share my theories about Jefferson. She had left three messages on my phone last night.

I knotted my bathrobe and looked at Mister Tibbs, who viewed most noises as a call to eat. "You know who it is?"

He gave the kind of adoring stare dogs reserve for their best human buddies.

I peeked out the curtain on the door. Syl gave the peace sign.

"Give me two minutes."

This time I would get dressed before letting a man into the apartment.

Spit bath done and a clean navy blue top over beige slacks, I opened the door and gestured that he should come in. "Not as fancy as your place, but it'll do."

He glanced at the kitchen on the right and living room ahead, before walking toward the couch. "Sorry, thought you were up long before this."

"I've been up," I lied, "just taking it slower today."

He sat on the couch, and I moved to the recliner across from him.

"You think it's all done?" he asked.

"Since I'm not sure of all that's gone on, I don't know." I met his eyes. "I had to tell the sheriff what you said, about Just Bill wanting some kind of payoff from you."

"I believe the formal word is extortion."

"Whatever. Last I heard he hadn't confessed to killing Hal."

"The sheriff and your good friend Masters spent more than an hour with me last night. Now that they have Bill Jefferson's fingerprints, they could compare them to a couple of unidentified ones that turned up at my place."

"Really? Where?"

"A full hand print on the small banister on my back steps. He could easily say it's from another time he stopped by. But there was also a partial on an inside wall of the barn, near where that broom sat. When they dusted for prints after Hal's murder, the sheriff said it appeared that a lot of places on the property had been wiped down. Jefferson missed some spots."

I sat back in the recliner.
This is good, but it's not enough to convict Jefferson of killing Hal.

Syl cleared his throat. "So, your buddy Fred could have seen Bill that night. Why wouldn't he speak up?"

I managed to shrug. "Maybe Fred saw him do it or got there immediately afterwards, and this Jefferson guy threatened him." My mind churned.
But why get my hoe?
How did Fred even know I had gotten the work with Syl? Sandi had only called me about the job that afternoon, and Hal didn't have his tantrum in Hy-Vee until late evening.

Since I had no answers about Fred, I pushed Syl about Jefferson. "What else does Jefferson do for a living besides help people write contract proposals?"

"He told me he used to be an investment advisor, and a hedge fund he was part owner of collapsed during the recession. I should have taken that as a sign that he might be desperate for money."

I looked at Syl directly and asked, "It never occurred to you that Jefferson could have been in your driveway the night Hal was killed?"

He shifted his position on the couch. "He's a wheeler-dealer, but until he came after you today, I figured he was only mad as hell at me." He paused. "Even now, it doesn't fit. Why come at night? If you'd asked me three days ago, I'd have said he was as likely to have been there the night Hal died as you or your friend Sandi."

"I guess I see your point." And I did. Why would anyone connect Jefferson with Hal? "Maybe he was going to break into your house."

Syl had a grim expression. "Probably the best explanation. It seems like, if he'd knocked hard at the door, I would have woken up. Maybe not."

I nodded and didn't say anything.

Syl stood. "I didn't come by to grill you. I, uh, thought I'd tell you again you're welcome to keep working, but you don't have to."

I stood. "I should have offered you coffee."

"No need. Stooper's going to put in those plants you wanted in before you go to your brother's for the weekend. He said if he doesn't do it right, you can always move them."

I followed Syl to the door. "That's a mouthful for Stooper. When did you see him?"

Syl grunted, and smiled. "He talks to me. Maybe he's just tongue-tied around you." He stopped smiling. "I took him to breakfast. Something the sheriff said made me think they were hard on Stooper."

"You knew where he lived?"

"No. He gave me his mobile number. I think he's been waiting for you to ask him for it." Syl took a folded piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to me.

I wasn't sure how to take that, so I simply said, "It'll probably be Tuesday before I'm back out to your place."

Syl went down my steps quickly. Jefferson's possible role in Hal's death stayed in my head as the coffee took forever to drip. Whatever altercation happened at Syl's place the night Hal was killed, it couldn't have been quiet. There had to have been conversation after Hal was dead, like Fred telling Jefferson how to frame me. But why? Why would Fred do that?

Syl was amiable and had been good to me, especially taking me to the sheriff's office the day Masters showed up with handcuffs. But I didn't know anything about him or his life in Los Angeles.

I had liked Syl, but maybe he wasn't to be trusted any more than his aggressive colleague. Okay, he didn't kill anyone, but he should have figured out it was Jefferson stopping by and told me about him.

I had my list to work on, but most of my questions would be hard to delve into on my own. I wasn't sure I wanted to inject myself into the sheriff's investigation again. I was off the hook, and I might put myself back in the bait bucket.

I probably had to accept that unless a murder weapon with his prints turned up, all Jefferson could be arrested for might be trespassing. And trying to tackle me, of course.

I COULD NOT LEAVE it alone. After coffee, I drove toward the diner for breakfast. I no longer needed to worry about innuendo in Hal's death, but even if the sheriff found a murder weapon, Hal's presence at Syl's didn't make sense. Why go there in the first place? Because he was mad Syl had hired me? Hal was impetuous. Maybe more so when he was drunk.

It didn't seem likely that Jefferson expected to find anyone there besides Syl. According to Fred there had been no vehicles other than Hal's and Syl's. That meant that the murderer had parked nearby and walked onto Syl's property. But he had to go back to remove Hal's car. Unless Fred had taken it. Fred never mentioned that he knew what happened to Hal's car. But could I trust anything Fred told me?

I decided to think one thing for sure. Hal's death couldn't have been planned. He was a jackass, but Jefferson wouldn't have had time to know that.

I walked into the diner, intending to sit by myself at the counter. Before I had closed the door, the place was quiet. I glanced around, finally locking eyes with Aaron Granger. He was standing beside a booth, apparently putting a tip on the table as he prepared to leave.

Talking resumed as I walked toward Granger.

"Any news?"

He didn't speak for several seconds, then said, "Nothing concrete. Your attacker's still in the county jail, but my bet is he'll be out on bail later today."

"Big bummer."

Granger walked to where I was and then moved past me toward the cash register.

"I don't even know where he lives. Is it near here?"

Shirley, walking by with an armload of dirty breakfast dishes, responded. "No, sugar. He lives in Ames."

I lowered my voice, still talking to Granger. "But he's not allowed to come talk to me, is he?"

He'd been pulling bills from his wallet, but stopped and met my gaze. "Judge would usually stipulate that. I hear he has a highfalutin lawyer. Probably tell him the same thing."

I sensed it was the first time Granger had thought of me as a victim. While I don't like to think of myself that way, I figured he should remember part of his job was to protect me, not just look for lawbreakers.

Instead of sitting at the counter, I walked out with Granger. "What about his car? Where did he park yesterday? Was there anything incriminating in his car?"

"Sheriff'll have to talk to you about most of that. His car was just down the road apiece. Near your walnut trees."

I stopped. "No kidding."

Granger kept walking. "I'd hang out with people for a few days, not work in yards alone, or whatever you do."

I called to his back. "I'm going to Ambrose's for a few days. Hope the SOB forgets all about me by the time I get home."

I thought Granger could have at least said he was sorry for giving me a hard time, but that was probably expecting too much.

Once seated at a booth, I ordered bacon and eggs and deflected Shirley's questions. She'd probably be mad at me for a month.

Jefferson's car was in the trees yesterday, so he might have used that spot before. Fred had not seen a third vehicle. Jefferson must have parked his car in the walnut trees that night. That's why he knew it could be a place to hide Hal's car.

So Jefferson walked to Syl's, probably to break in, maybe just to make Syl answer the door. If he wanted to break in, he might have brought tools to do that.
You're not in a B movie
.
Jefferson didn't have lock picks.
He didn't seem like the kind of guy to rely on an open window. So he had to bring something he already had, something easy to carry.

I went over everything Fred had told me. Did he mention where he saw Jefferson walk when he left? No, Fred thought he might have walked toward the barn. Fred had not mentioned a weapon. It seemed it might have been visible, since Jefferson had just killed Hal.

My mind churned. What could Jefferson have hit Hal with? Though I didn't like to think about the autopsy, the information on the size of the wound indicated that he was hit with something like a pipe. Certainly not a rock. Did Jefferson bring something with him? He likely did not expect to have to fight with someone, but breaking into Syl's house seemed like a good bet.

He must have discarded the pipe or whatever before Fred saw him. Surely Fred would have mentioned seeing a weapon.

I straightened up so fast I almost knocked over my coffee.
The crowbar from the bushes!
If Jefferson had pitched it as Fred walked up, it could have landed there. He didn't want to hang around more that night or let Fred see him with the crowbar. The night Jefferson hit me, he wasn't initially looking for the broom. He wanted the crowbar.

I racked my brain. I'd finally thrown out the small pieces of junk I'd been finding around the yard. There had been no crowbar in the pile, and I'd forgotten all about finding it. It could have even been what Jefferson hit me with. Thankfully, not as hard as he hit Hal.

I mopped up the coffee splashes I'd left on the table, left Shirley a bigger tip than usual, and walked outside. My hands were sweating. Could the crowbar be back in Jefferson's car? Who would keep a murder weapon?
Someone who thinks they'll never be caught.

My phone almost slipped from my sweaty fingers. I was too excited to wait until I got home to call the sheriff.

"Melanie, unless you got something, we're kinda busy here."

"I have an idea."

"Go on."

"I saw Granger and he said where you found the car. Oh, maybe I shouldn't have said he told."

"Half the town knows. Keep going."

"If Jefferson was at Syl's to break in, he would have needed a way to do it. Was there anything in his car, um…"

"Melanie, we people in law enforcement tend to look over vehicles pretty well."

"Did he have a crowbar with his flat tire stuff?" I didn't want to say I'd found one in a bush and then hadn't thought to tell sheriff.

Gallagher's tone was sharp. "Why do you say that?"

"It's just reporter's instinct. I read the autopsy report. A crowbar could make that wound. Jefferson didn't expect to need a weapon, but he might have had something to use to break into Syl's house."

"If I find out you really know something and you're holding back, you'll spend more than a few hours in my jail."

I'd hung up before I realized my prints could be on the crowbar.

I wasn't content to wait, possibly for days, to see if the sheriff not only found a crowbar in Jefferson's trunk but linked it to the murder. Days? It could take weeks. I'd hear sooner if my prints were on it. Surely Jefferson would have cleaned it.

One of Hal's autopsy pictures came to mind, and I nearly vomited my breakfast.

Even before they knew about the crowbar, someone needed to develop a link between Hal and Jefferson, and it had to be through Syl's contract.

I called Sandi on her mobile. "You at the paper?"

"Nope. Just coming back into town from visiting cemeteries."

When I said nothing for several seconds, she laughed. "Oh, God. Not visiting people we know. It's Memorial Day coming up. Holmes wants photos of a bunch of cemeteries that have veterans, not just the big one in town."