The Tenor Wore Tapshoes (31 page)

"It's over a month old," said Nancy. "Of course it didn't taste good. What's this stuff?" Nancy pointed at a cloudy film covering most of the roll.

"Moosey was licking the glazin' off," said D'Artagnan. "That didn't hurt it none. I mean, it's still the BV-watchamacalit.

"Outstanding!" I said. "I'm sure Pete will be pleased. You guys better get it down there before any more of it disappears."

"Yessir!" said Moosey, stuffing the roll back in the bag.

"Yessir!" said D'Artagnan.

* * *

We met the locksmith at Rob Brannon's house. He'd been waiting for us, but indicated that he hadn't been there long. He opened the lock in about a minute and we knocked on the door to see if Rob was actually home, but more importantly, to find out the status of the two Rottweilers that Rob owned—Lucifer and Gabriel. Hearing nothing, we went in the unlocked door and looked around. I asked the locksmith to wait in the kitchen in case we needed him again.

"What are we looking for?" asked Nancy.

"Most of the crimes are virtually untraceable. Even if we do find diesel fuel or a twelve-gauge, it wouldn't prove anything and we could only charge him with malicious mischief. We might even convict him of it and he'd probably have to pay a fine. The problem is that he'd still get the money from the bond."

"Why?"

"I called Matthew Aaron, the District Attorney in Boone, and he says that even if Rob misled the vestry, he was under no legal obligation to disclose all the information since he wasn't acting as their attorney. All he was required to do by law was to convey the opinion of the accountant, which, unfortunately, he did. He told the vestry that it was Randall Stamps' opinion that they should sell the stock certificates. And it was."

"Which brings me back to my first question," said Nancy. "What are we looking for?"

"We need to find something that points to the pit-bull. If Rob had that dog here, and we can prove it, we'd have him on a murder charge and the money would be forfeited. You can't keep ill-gotten money you acquired in the commission of a crime. The other crimes weren't directly related to getting the cash. The murder was. Rob had to shut Randall up because Randall had seen the letter about the bond."

"So…?"

"A food dish maybe. Some evidence the dog was here. That would do it. I'll take the basement."

"I'll start up here."

Rob Brannon had a small, two-bedroom, one-story, arts and crafts style bungalow with a basement built in the 1920s. It was perfect for a single guy who didn't need much room, and our search went quickly.

"Nothing," I said, blinking dust out of my eyes as I came up the basement stairs.

"There's some stuff on the porch," Nancy said. "But it probably belongs to his other two dogs. There are a couple of food bowls and some chew toys."

"Any leashes?"

"Nope. Just an old muzzle hanging on a hook by the door. He probably took the dogs with him."

"I doubt it. Two big dogs like that don't travel easily. Look around for some mention of where he might have boarded them."

I looked through the kitchen drawers while Nancy picked up Rob's Watauga County phone book.

"Got it," she called a minute later. "Under 'kennels' in the yellow pages. He has one circled. Blue Vista Kennels on Highway 105 just outside of Boone."

Nancy dialed her phone and handed it to me.

"This is Detective Konig in St. Germaine," I said to the female voice. "Can you tell me if you're boarding two Rottweilers for Robert Brannon?"

"Yes we are," came the answer. "Mr. Brannon brought them in on Tuesday morning."

"Did they happen to have their own leashes with them?"

"Oh yes," she said, "they were both on leashes. Muzzles, too. We don't mess around with these two."

I smiled. "Thanks for your help."

I turned to Nancy, still grinning. "The muzzle."

Chapter 25

"Hi, Gwen," I said, as Nancy and I walked into the veterinary office.

"Hello, Hayden," she answered coldly. "Nancy."

I didn't take the time to explain why I wasn't deserving of her scorn, but cut right to the chase.

"I need that pit-bull, Gwen."

"Sorry. I sent it off to the lab in Greensboro. They do all our work. The dog didn't have rabies, though. I got the report this morning."

"Good to know," I said, "but we're after something else. Will they be sending the dog back?"

"No. After the animal is tested, it's destroyed."

"Destroyed?" asked Nancy in horror.

"Burnt."

"Have they disposed of it yet?"

"Probably," Gwen said. "I can call if you want."

"If you would."

"Just a moment." Gwen disappeared into her office. Nancy and I waited impatiently and when she came out, we could tell it was bad news.

"They destroyed it last night."

"Oh, man," said Nancy. "That's bad."

"I still have the collar. I took it off before I sent the dog to Greensboro."

"Gwen," I said, "Your beauty is only exceeded by your genius! Where is it?"

"It's in the back. I'll get it."

"Let me go with you," said Nancy, following her through the swinging door. "So we don't lose any evidence."

* * *

Nancy had bagged the pit-bull's collar. I had the muzzle from Rob Brannon's house. When we got back to the station, Nancy checked them both for fingerprints. There was a good one on the muzzle, right on the strap that hooked over the dog's ears. There was a print on the collar, as well, but it wasn't Rob's. It was probably Gwen's.

"First things first," I said to Nancy. "Can we connect the muzzle to Rob?"

"That's not a problem. It was found in his house and the print is his. All attorneys are fingerprinted and it came back as a match in about three minutes."

"Then the problem," I said, "is connecting the same muzzle to the pit bull that killed Randall."

"What about DNA?" asked Nancy.

"Hmmm. Doggie DNA?"

"Why not? Isn't the process the same as identifying human DNA?"

"I don't know. Let's find out."

It only took three phone calls and a transfer to find out that Nancy was right and five minutes later I was walking out of the office, on my way to Durham where a friend of mine worked in one of the many laboratories at Duke University. He indicated that a DNA comparison could be done in about an hour and if I could get there by three o'clock, he'd see if he could push it through before the end of the day. I didn't know if there was enough DNA on the items to make a match, but I was willing to give it a try.

"You want me to come with you?" Nancy asked.

"Nah. I'll do it. I'll call you as soon as I know something."

"You'd better."

* * *

Gary Thorndike came out of the lab, wearing the signature white coat of a lab techie and holding a clipboard in his hand.

"I think we have good news. Or bad. Depending on what you want to hear. You didn't tell me what you wanted to find."

"It's better that way if you have to testify, Doc," I said. "What's the verdict?"

"Well, there were quite a few epithelials—skin cells—on the collar. I don't know for sure, but I would say that the dog was not in good health. The collar rubbed away some of the skin as well as the hair and there was some blood on it as well. The bottom line is, we got a good DNA sample from the collar."

"And the muzzle?"

"That was more difficult. We checked the leather, but couldn't get any clean samples. We finally did get one off the metal. A pit-bull, like most dogs bred for fighting, produces an abundance of saliva. We got a good specimen."

I waited expectantly.

"And the muzzle definitely was on the dog that killed Randall Stamps."

* * *

I called Nancy on the way home and gave her the news.

"Excellent!" said Nancy. "Should I pick him up?"

"Why don't you go ahead and get a warrant for his arrest. He'll be back into town tomorrow. You can arrest him then. Tell you what," I said. "Wait until lunchtime. Tomorrow is Thursday. He'll be eating at the Ginger Cat."

"Good plan, boss."

"Wait till I get there, will you? I'm meeting Meg around noon."

"Will do."

* * *

I walked into the Ginger Cat precisely at noon. Meg was, as usual, waiting for me and holding a table. I was gratified to see Rob Brannon standing in line, waiting for his order.

"Hayden," he called to me as I came in the door. I gave him my biggest smile.

"Afternoon, Rob."

"No hard feelings?" he asked. "About the church, I mean."

"I'll let you know. I haven't decided yet."

"There was another matter I needed to talk to you about," Rob said.

"Yes?"

"My office was broken into. Probably yesterday or the night before."

I shrugged, doing my best Andy Griffith impersonation. "It seems to be happening to everyone. We just can't seem to get a handle on these crimes. Was anything taken?"

"I don't know yet. I haven't done a complete inventory." He raised his voice just enough for the rest of the lunch crowd to hear. "You know, maybe the town council should consider hiring a real detective. Maybe he could solve some of these crimes you can't seem to 'get a handle on.'" The crowd inside the Ginger Cat had quieted to hear the exchange.

"Well, let me know," I said, cheerfully. "I'll be happy to fill out a police report for your insurance company."

"Yeah. Seems like you're real good at that," said Rob with a smirk and a wink.

I smiled at him, walked over to our table and sat down by Meg. She had already ordered, and my French Onion soup was steaming up at me from my paper placemat.

"How can you let him…" she started, angrily. I held my finger up to my lips, my smile silencing her outrage, while at the same time, directing her gaze toward the door as Nancy came in with Dave.

"Robert Brannon," announced Nancy loudly, pretending to look around the room.

"Yes," said Rob.

Nancy walked up to him, grabbed him by the back of the neck and shoved him up to the bar, holding his face down on the counter while she frisked him quickly with her free hand.

"Ouch," cringed Meg. "That had to hurt."

"Hope so," I said.

"Rob Brannon," continued Nancy, still holding his face against the counter, "you're under arrest for the murder of Randall Stamps. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney…"

"I know my rights," said Rob, through clenched teeth. But Nancy was enjoying this. She put the cuffs on him and spun him around.

"If you cannot afford one, one will be provided for you. If you give up these rights, anything you say can, and will, be used against you in a court of law. Do you understand these rights as I've explained them to you?"

All the other patrons had become deathly silent.

"I said…" Nancy continued.

"I understand. May we leave now?"

"Sure, Rob. We're going over to Boone for arraignment. I don't think there will be any bail."

"We'll see," he said, glaring at me.

"Good soup," I replied, saluting him with a spoonful.

Postlude

"Have you talked to your ghost lately?" Meg asked.

"He came by once after that time in my office. But I haven't seen him in about a month."

It was the end of November. A cold, wet November that invited everyone to start hating winter even before it arrived. Things were almost back to normal in St. Germaine.