Six-Gun Investigation Read online

  Zane’s gaze sharpened and he looked her up and down. “I’m sure you are.”

  He held the door for her to enter the interrogation room.

  Jim sat stiffly. He’d placed his pearl-gray Stetson on the table in front of him and was fiddling with the rattler tail that dangled from the silver rope hatband.

  Anna noticed that his hands shook. She wondered if Zane saw it.

  Zane pulled out a chair and nodded at her, so she sat. He grabbed another chair. He looked cool and professional, but she could feel the tension radiating from him.

  In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever felt this much tension in a room. She tried to make herself invisible. She had to know what was going on between Zane and his father.

  Zane turned on the tape recorder and went through the required information quickly.

  “Mr. McKinney, where were you between seven o’clock and seven-thirty on the night of Sarah Wallace’s murder?”

  Jim fiddled with his hatband.

  “Please stop that. The rattling will interfere with the tape.”

  “You remember when I got this big boy’s rattles? You and Sloan and I went on that camping trip over to Sandy Creek?” He smiled at Anna. “He slithered into our tent.”

  “Just answer the question.”

  Jim nodded and clasped his big weathered hands on the table. “Where was I? Like I told you last night, I was having dinner at home.”

  Anna was sitting on the same side of the table as Zane, so she saw his left hand clench into a fist in his lap.

  “Was your wife with you?”

  Jim hesitated a fraction of a second. “Yes.”

  Anna glanced at Zane’s profile. Had he picked up on Jim’s hesitation?

  “You and Mom—Mrs. McKinney had dinner together.”

  Jim looked down at his hands. “Stella had already eaten. She was in her room. I heard the television.”

  Her room. Did they not share a room? A bed? Jim was a big, vibrant, attractive man. Had Stella banned him from their marriage bed? Anna felt a growing sympathy for Jim McKinney. He was responsible for his actions, but she couldn’t help thinking that his family was judging him a little harshly. And she was having a hard time picturing him as a murderer.

  “So she can’t verify that you were home.” Zane was pushing. In a courtroom the defense would have objected, claiming asked and answered.

  Jim looked up. “She could. I don’t know if she will.”

  “Did you kill Sarah Wallace?”

  Smoky blue eyes met slightly darker ones. Jim sat up straight. “No, I did not.”

  “What were you doing at the inn that night?”

  “I heard she was murdered and Carley was injured, so I went over to offer my help.”

  “Had you had any contact with her, either that night or earlier?”

  Jim frowned. “With Sarah? Didn’t she go to Vegas after her mother was killed?”

  “Just answer the question.”

  “I hadn’t seen Sarah Wallace in sixteen years.”

  Zane unclenched his fist, although his jaw still worked. “Where were you on the night of Lou Ann Wallace’s murder?”

  Jim’s jaw dropped. “What’s that got to do with this?”

  “Come on, Dad—” Zane’s jaw clamped. Anna could see the muscles working. He was the Ranger, interrogating the suspect. He hadn’t meant to call him Dad.

  He sucked in a deep breath. “The two murders are virtually identical. It stands to reason that they’re connected. I’m asking everyone to account for their whereabouts on both occasions.”

  “Well, you know my answer to that. I’d been drinking—a failing of mine. I don’t remember where I was. Last I remember I was sitting in the living room and downing shots of Jack Daniel’s.”

  “What time was that?”

  “Around eight.”

  “And you don’t recall staggering through the Matheson Inn just a short while before Lou Ann was found?”

  Jim shook his head.

  “That will be all for now.” Zane turned off the tape recorder and stood. “Okay. You can go.”

  Jim stood. “Son?”

  Anna felt Zane stiffen, saw his jaw clench again. “Yes?”

  “Get by to see your mother. She’s pretty upset about Sarah Wallace’s death.”

  “I can see why she would be.”

  Anna stood up and held out her hand to Jim. “Mr. McKinney, thank you.”

  Jim bent over her hand and kissed it lightly. She thought she heard a sniff from Zane.

  “Anna, words can’t express how deeply sorry I am for your loss.” He nodded at her, then seated his hat on his head and left the room.

  As soon as Jim left, Anna turned to Zane. “Well, that was painful to watch.”

  He wiped a hand down his face and took a long breath. “What are you talking about?”

  “You were rude and gratuitously mean to your father.”

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “Yes, you were. If you conducted all your interviews like that you’d have a personnel folder full of complaints.”

  “I have never had a complaint about the way I do my job.”

  “My point exactly.”

  “So you’re defending the one man in Justice who is the most likely to have killed your mother and your sister.”

  Anna looked into Zane’s eyes. Behind the stoic professional demeanor, she thought she detected a glimmer of sadness. “I guess I am.”

  “Why? Did he dupe you with his charm?”

  “Your father didn’t kill them.”

  Zane’s gaze sharpened. “How do you know that?”

  “I don’t know it. But he was a Texas Ranger. I can’t believe he’s a murderer.”

  “Well, I can.” Zane scowled at her. He didn’t want to have this conversation. Anna’s intrusion into his case was getting out of hand. Now that the interview with his father was over, he couldn’t believe he’d actually agreed to let her sit in.

  Well, not again. He’d have to find her something else to do. He thought about telling her she could go back to Dallas, but the idea of letting her out of his sight sent alarm bells ringing through his head. Two separate break-ins told him she was in danger, probably from the killer.

  “I don’t believe you,” Anna said.

  “Don’t believe me? About what?”

  “That you really, in your heart, believe your father committed these murders.”

  “My father is a two-bit lothario whose affairs crushed my mother and destroyed our family.”

  “That’s a long way from murder. You really are prejudiced against him. Why not just go ahead and arrest him?”

  Zane regretted his outburst. What was it about her that made him say things he’d sworn to himself never to talk about?

  “Just one little reason. Evidence. Just like when your mother was killed, there’s too little evidence to hang a murder charge on.”

  “Who saw him at the Matheson Inn that night?”

  “The night of your mother’s murder? Carley Matheson. She was watching TV in the lobby—”

  The cowbell over the door to the station rang furiously. It was Donna Hendricks.

  He winced. She was here because he’d ignored her. He hadn’t sent anyone to take her statement.

  Beside him, he felt Anna perk up. He almost smiled. She was obviously a reporter. She could smell a good story.

  “Anna, wait for me out here. I need to talk with Donna Hendricks alone.”

  “I want to sit in.”

  He shook his head and gave her a stern look. “No. Not this time.”

  Her eyes widened and she swallowed. She obviously knew she wasn’t going to win this battle.

  “Fine,” she whispered as Donna breezed by the reception desk and straight back to where they were standing.

  “Hello,” Donna said. “Dianne, right?”

  “It’s Anna, Mrs. Hendricks.”

  Donna waved her hand dismissively. “Of course. Zane McKinney, I’ve been waitin
g for someone to contact me about my statement.”

  Zane watched Anna walk through the reception area toward the coffeepot.

  “Come in here,” he said to Donna, opening the door to the conference room. “I’ll take your statement right now.”

  Donna sashayed past him. Her figure in the obviously expensive silk pantsuit was trim and shapely. If it weren’t for the carefully made-up bags under her eyes, the spidery veins across her nose and the deeply scored lines between her nose and the corners of her mouth, she’d have been an attractive woman. But her battle with alcohol and drugs was clearly etched into her face.

  She frowned as she glanced at the chairs, then ran a finger across the wooden seat of the nearest one. After inspecting her fingertip for dust, she sat primly, her legs together and crossed at the ankles, her hands composed in her lap and an expectant look on her face.

  Zane sat down across from her and turned on the tape recorder.

  “Do we really need that?” Donna asked. “I hate the way my voice sounds on those things.”

  Zane shook his head slightly. “Sorry, Mrs. Hendricks. I have to have a record of our discussion.”

  “You shouldn’t have dismissed me last night.”

  “I apologize. But I had two crime scenes and not enough people to keep them secure.”

  “Well, what I have to tell you will save you a lot of time.”

  Zane assessed her. “That would be nice.”

  “I thought you’d appreciate it. Leland does not have an alibi for the night of Sarah Wallace’s murder.”

  Zane sighed inwardly. She’d said the same thing the night before. “Mrs. Hendricks, we have Mr. Hendricks’s statement.”

  “Well, he’s lying!”

  “All right. How do you know this?”

  “Because I saw him.”

  Zane rubbed his temple. She was giving him a headache. “Why don’t you start at the beginning, Mrs. Hendricks. Tell me what went on that night.”

  “Certainly. I was working on paperwork in the office of my diner when my co-owner Rosa Ramirez came in and told me that Leland had called. He’d asked her if we had any pecan pie. We’d run out earlier in the day.”

  “Why would Rosa report Leland’s dessert cravings to you?”

  Donna lifted a manicured hand and patted her perfectly coiffed red hair.

  For the first time he noticed her hand—beyond the silk nails and the rings. The long fake nails made her hands look slender, but in fact they were broad and sturdy. He had a vague memory from his childhood, watching the local rodeo. In her day, Donna Taylor had been quite an accomplished barrel racer. That took strength, more strength than one would expect, given her expensive efforts to look young and elegant. He took out his PDA and made a note.

  “What are you writing?”

  Zane smiled. “Just a note to myself. Try the pecan pie.”

  Donna beamed. “You always were a flirt, Zane McKinney. A lot like your father.”

  Swift anger coursed through him. No. He was nothing like his father. He composed his face and tamped down his feelings. “You were going to tell me why Rosa reported Leland’s call to you.”

  “Because she has instructions to report to me about anything and everything Leland does.”

  Zane frowned. “Why’s that? Y’all have been divorced for—what?—seventeen years. Why so much interest in your ex-husband?”

  Donna’s hand clenched into a fist and she brought it down on the wooden table—hard enough to bounce the tape recorder. “Because he kidnapped my baby—his own baby! He was broke. He’d been ruined in the oil crash. He let my little boy be murdered—” she paused and touched the corner of her eye, as if to wipe away a tear “—just to try and get his hands on the life insurance policy he’d taken out.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “I want to know every move he makes. I want to make his life a living hell, like he made mine. And someday I want to prove that he did it. And when I do—” She looked at her fist, and consciously relaxed it. Then she raised her gaze to Zane’s. “Every day I want to kill him.”

  “Mrs. Hendricks, I’d like for you to write out your statement about Leland’s involvement in your child’s disappearance. I want you to take your time and give me every detail you can remember—”

  “I remember everything.”

  “But do that later, when you’ve calmed down. Right now we need to focus on why you think Leland has no alibi.”

  “Chef had just taken some pecan pies out of the oven, and I was sick of all the paperwork. I decided to get out of the office for a while and deliver Leland’s pie myself.”

  She dreamed of killing him every day, and yet she personally delivered his pie. Zane didn’t think he’d ever seen a weirder relationship.

  “What time was that?”

  “Oh, probably about ten after seven.”

  “Did anyone go with you?”

  “No.”

  “Meet anybody? Wave at anybody? Talk to Leland?”

  She shook her head.

  “You do realize that leaves you without an alibi, too.”

  She didn’t even blink. “Rosa knows what time I left and what time I got back.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to Rosa. Now, back to Leland.”

  “When I got to his house, I saw him running across his backyard, toward the inn.”

  “Are you sure it was him?”

  “Please. I was married to him for fourteen years. I am absolutely certain.”

  “How was he dressed?”

  She hesitated. “In black. I can’t tell you specifically what he was wearing. But I can tell you where he was heading. He was going to the Matheson Inn to kill Sarah Wallace.”

  Chapter Five

  Anna hadn’t lasted ten minutes in the reception area. The coffee was old and burned, and the magazines were old and dog-eared. And of course in such a small town, the interrogation room didn’t have one-way glass. She couldn’t even watch Zane questioning Donna Hendricks.

  She’d toyed briefly with the idea of wandering into the sheriff’s office, just to see if there were any interesting files lying in plain sight, but the office door was closed and anyhow the transcriptionist was right there, speed-typing on the computer at the reception desk.

  About the time Anna reached the end of her patience, the cowbell over the door rang. It was Zane’s mother.

  Anna smiled at her.

  “I can smell that nasty coffee already,” Stella McKinney said. “I can understand the deputies, but I don’t know how Carley can stand it.”

  “Mrs. McKinney,” Anna started.

  “Call me Stella.”

  “Stella, Zane is interviewing Donna Hendricks.”

  “That’s all right. I was just going to see if he wanted to come for dinner.” Stella looked at Anna. “Oh, Anna, I’m so sorry. You must be devastated, and look at you. I’ll bet you don’t have a change of clothes. You hadn’t planned on staying, had you?”

  “I’m fine, really.” Anna smoothed her hands down the front of her blouse. She’d given it a lick and a promise with the iron provided in her room, but it still looked like it had been worn for two days.

  “Come with me. We don’t have a lot here in Justice, but there is a discount clothing store. It’s only a couple of blocks back to the house. We’ll get the car and I’ll take you shopping.”

  Anna didn’t know whether to be grateful that Stella had offered to help her find some clothes or embarrassed that she was so obviously in need of help. She decided to take it as a sign. She wanted to know more about Zane. Plus, she needed information about the best place to make arrangements for Sarah’s burial. She smiled at the smaller woman.

  “Thank you, Stella. I’d really appreciate that.” As she followed Stella out of the police station she took a deep breath. “You must be so proud of Zane.”

  Stella sighed. “Of course. I’m proud of both my boys. It’s why I’ve stayed with my cheating bastard of a husband, for their sake.”

  Anna rai
sed an eyebrow. It was hard to believe that those bitter words had come from the tiny, delicate woman’s mouth.

  “And it’s why I haven’t killed him yet.”

  It was after five o’clock in the afternoon when Stella dropped Anna off at the door to the inn. Anna had three new outfits, including a black dress that would be suitable for Sarah’s funeral. She also had the name of the director of the Graves Funeral Home.

  As she passed the front desk and nodded at Richie, it occurred to her that the he was the person most likely to know the comings and goings in the inn. She didn’t know if he’d been interviewed, but even if he had, in her experience, people never told everything to the police.

  She needed something to do—some way to help find the person who had killed her sister. If Zane had his way, she’d be cowering in her room, waiting for his careful, methodical approach to yield up an answer.

  But she couldn’t sit still and do nothing. It was why she worked in the field rather than behind a desk writing op ed pieces on issues like global warming and stock market trends.

  So as soon as she deposited her shopping bags in her room, she ran back downstairs.

  Richie had his elbows on the polished wood counter, playing a game on his iPod.

  “Hi, Richie.”

  He started and looked up, then fumbled with the ear buds. To her amusement, his face turned red.

  “Uh, hello, Ms. Wallace. Did you—can I—?”

  Anna decided to put him out of his misery—or perhaps increase it. She leaned against the counter and gave him a conspiratorial smile. “I guess you see a lot, working here until midnight.”

  He shrugged. “Not so much. Justice is pretty dead most of the time. Oh, dude! I mean, ma’am, I didn’t mean to say—”

  “It’s all right, Richie. I was wondering, though, if you could tell me a little about Sarah? Weren’t you here when she checked in? Did you see her again?”

  Richie nodded eagerly. “She got here about five. Went to her room. About an hour later, she called the desk and asked where she could get some food. I told her the diner was her only choice on a Sunday evening. So I ran out and got her a turkey sandwich.”

  “Did you tell Lieutenant McKinney or his deputies about this?”