Kent Conwell - Tony Boudreaux 06 - Extracurricular Murder (23 page)

Actually, hunting is a generous interpretation of our annual venture. We’d take a blanket and a portable TV along with a
container of medicinal whiskey to our respective stands to ward
off snakebite, cold, and boredom in that order. After a couple
of hours, one of us usually found his way to the other’s stand
and we spent the rest of the day discussing snakebites and reminiscing on years past while herds of deer and coveys of quail
strolled idly by our stand.

Now, that’s my kind of hunting.

In the office, I typed my notes, updated my reports, and filed
my expense account. Marty was out, so I left my work on his
desk.

If Tim Briggs and Marvin Handwell agreed to help, then the
next morning by 7:15, I’d be ready to turn over all that I had
learned to the Safford police. I could still be wrong. My case
still had a few holes, but it was a heck of a lot tighter than any
of the evidence against the others.

Just as I started to leave the office, my phone rang. I hesitated, then shrugged. Why not? Maybe it was American Publishers
calling to tell me I’d won $10 million in their giveaway.

No such luck. It was Marty. He was at the police station with
Chief Ramon Pachuca. “Chief Pachuca’s asked me about the
Holderman case. If you’re not tied up, how about coming down
and filling us in on where we stand?”

I cussed under my breath for picking up the receiver. I should
have known better. I took a stab at getting off the hook. “I told
you last night, Marty. It’s about the same.”

“You had a stakeout last night, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but… .

“Then tell us about that.” His voice was growing testy.

I wanted to beg off, but, Marty was boss, and Pachuca was
too valuable a contact to blow off. I put on a happy face and
cheery voice. “Sure, Marty. Be down in a few minutes.”

Grabbing my report from his desk, I cursed all the way to my
Silverado.

The temperature had already begun to fall. The cloudbank to
the north was dark and ominous, promising a chilly night.

The station was crowded with the afternoon shift coming in.
I nodded at a few familiar faces, stopped to chat with one or
two, then made my way to the chief’s cramped office where he
and Marty waited.

Marty snorted. “You get lost or what?”

I winked at Pachuca. “Or what.”

“Huh?” Marty frowned.

“Traffic. It’s bad out there.” I grinned. “You’re our local law,
Chief Pachuca. You oughta do something about all the traffic.”

Pachuca leaned forward, chomping on his ubiquitous cigar,
a cheap, thick roll of tobacco with a horrible stench. “Hey, the
more taxpayers in this city, the more money. Suffer like the rest
of us “

Marty grunted. “Where are you on the Holderman thing?”

I handed him the report. “I just finished this.”

Pachuca leaned back, his eyes narrowing. “So?”

I studied him. I knew exactly what he was wondering.
“Frances Holderman ain’t crying that he’s dead, but she didn’t
do it. She had motive, but no opportunity. Besides, she’s too
short, and she’s right-handed.”

With a grunt, Pachuca rocked forward. “What do you mean,
no opportunity?”

Quickly, I explained the video camera used by the band
directors. “Like most videos, it has a clock in the corner.”

“Clocks can be changed,” Pachuca growled.

“Why would the band director change it?” I paused, then
continued. “From the time the PTA meeting was over until the
body was discovered, she never came out the front door nor
went down the hall. And neither did Fred Seebell.”

“Seebell?” Pachuca frowned.

“Yeah. Holderman had an affair with Seebell’s wife a few
years back.”

He arched an eyebrow, but said nothing. I reminded myself that he and Holderman had been acquaintances. They had
worked on a few committees together.

I continued. “Kim Nally, the PE teacher, had the opportunity, but not the motive. Like Frances Holderman, she’s too short,
and she’s right-handed.”

Marty pulled out a cigarette, paused and glanced at Chief
Pachuca. Pachuca nodded, and Marty lit the cigarette. He blew
out a stream of smoke. “No motive? Didn’t he jilt her?”

“She aborted. Her choice.” I explained how she had instructed George Holderman to find someone who would suck the kid
down the drain, so George went to his wife, who could have
applied for a patent on abortions.

Looking over my report, Pachuca asked about Perry Jacobs.

“No way. He was with another teacher in the restroom. The
teacher swears it. “

He eyed me skeptically. “You been showing how none of
these suspects could have done it. Did you find anyone who you
do suspect?”

“Yeah.” I nodded to the report. “I didn’t put it in there
because I’ve still got a few unanswered questions.”

“Well, who is it?” Marty leaned forward.

I looked from one to the other, wondering just how my theory was going to sound. With a sigh, I barged ahead. “Harper
Weems. He’s in a wheelchair.”

The chief looked at Marty in stunned disbelief, then turned
back to me. “Well now, Tony, I’m going to be real interested in
just how he managed to get to the second floor.”

Quickly, I explained. “He has a twin brother, identical. Now,
I found out that Holderman was a staker for some drug
dealer-”

Pachuca cut me off sharply. “Holderman was what? What in
the blazes are you saying?”

“You heard me.”

He snorted. “Where in the name of-” He sputtered. “Where
did you pick up nonsense like that?”

Marty’s eyes rolled about in alarm.

“Danny O’Banion. You know Danny O’Banion, don’t you?
Austin’s gift from the Mafia or Costa Nostra or whoever.”

Pachuca’s eyes narrowed. He obviously didn’t appreciate my
attempt at humor. “You got that from O’Banion?”

“Yeah.” I waited for him to respond, but he remained silent.
I took that as a sign of grudging respect for O’Banion’s street
smarts. I continued. “Holderman was the staker. He bankrolled
Weems who was the dealer.”

Marty started to protest, but I held him off with a stay of my
hand. “Hear me out. Now, I have photos of Weems trying to sell
drugs to some high school kids last night.”

Pachuca yanked the cigar from his lips. “You what?”

I held up my hand again. “Photos. Pictures, but I can’t prove
there were drugs in the packages unless the two boys he was
hitting on will admit it. Two high school boys. Good kids.
National Honor Society and football players. He was trying to
sell them some, but they refused. I’ll find out in the morning at
seven-fifteen if they’ll be willing to cooperate.”

With a snort, Pachuca glowered at me. “You got shots of
bindles changing hands?”

“Yeah.” I handed him a photo. “At Lupe’s Tacos out on Ben
White, right here in Austin.”

He stared at the snapshot. “Can you prove that bag contains
drugs?”

“No. But, I might be able to in the morning. Like I said,
that’s when I talk to the boys again.”

Before either could speak, I continued. “Here’s the way I see
it. Access to the room where Holderman got whacked was limited. A video camera from outside shows no one entering the
wing. Two students monitored the hall, having everyone who
entered sign in as the district required. No one else entered the
wing. The only one who had opportunity, motive, and the physical requirements is Harper Weems … at least, Harper Weems’
identical twin.”

I leaned forward, trying to lay my theory out convincingly for
Pachuca. “First, Weems deals. The picture confirms that. Second,
his brother lives in an expensive condo, drives a BMW, and is
left-handed. In addition, he’s a tall man, tall enough to have
slammed the baseball bat into Holderman’s forehead at the precise angle and afterward, drive the switchblade in Holderman’s
chest. The two brothers work together. I don’t know, maybe the
brother deals up in Denver. Anyway, Weems and Holderman had
a falling out. His brother comes in, offs Holderman, and disappears. Perfect. After all, there’s no elevator up to the second floor.
How can a crippled guy get up there and back so fast? The only
answer is that the killer wasn’t crippled.”

Marty’s frown deepened, but a faint grin was beginning to
curl Pachuca’s lips. “You mean,” said Marty, “you mean Harper
Weems isn’t crippled?”

“No. He is crippled. I saw the x-rays. Talked to the doctor.
The guy is a paraplegic. He’ll never walk, which gives him the
perfect alibi.”

Pachuca squinted at the ceiling. “So, what you’re proposing
is that Harper Weems called his brother in, and when he knew
Holderman was alone upstairs, sent his twin brother up.” He
paused. I could see the gears turning in his head. I wondered
what holes he had found in my theory. “Okay. Say it was the
brother. Holderman was in this room when all of a sudden, here
comes a teacher who’s been in a wheelchair for years, except
now, he’s walking and carrying a baseball bat.” He shifted his
cigar to the other side of his mouth. “Hey, he’s witnessing some
kind of miracle here that’ll put Lourdes to shame. He’ll have a
thousand questions. And keep in mind, you only have the time
it takes that Jacobs guy to use the bathroom, then walk
upstairs.” He glanced at Marty. “What? Three-five minutes?”

Marty shook his head and snorted. “I figured it was too good
to be true.”

I grinned. “But what if Holderman was facing the desk, and
the killer was hiding in the closet?”

Pachuca frowned. “How do you know he was facing the
desk?”

“No defensive bruises on his forearms, which there would
have been if he had not been surprised.”

Marty sputtered. “But-”

Chief Pachuca held up his hand. “Hold it, Blevins. Tony’s
got a point. A good point. It coulda gone down like that. The
killer in the closet, then sneaking up on Holderman.”

“Right,” I replied. “When he turned, the bat was already
descending.”

For several moments, Chief Pachuca considered my theory.
Marty eyed me skeptically, then turned his attention to
Pachuca. Personally, I think Marty got lost after I mentioned
the video camera. The only thing he picked up on was when
Pachuca pointed out the flaw in my theory.

Pachuca shook his head. “I think you’re stretching it,
Boudreaux. How do you know it was the brother? Weems could
have been in it with anyone. Why the brother?”

“Probably because Weems could slip his brother into the
school easier.”

“How?” His eyes glittered with amusement.

“The window. He opened the window.”

“Couldn’t he have done that for anyone?”

Marty frowned at me again.

“Sure. And his accomplice could have been someone else,
but keep in mind. Whoever it was had to be as tall as
Holderman, about six-one or so, and left-handed. The brother
is both.”

“He could’ve found someone like that.”

“Yeah, but he couldn’t trust him like he could his brother.
Besides, if anyone saw him in the wheelchair, they’d think it
was Harper Weems. People would notice a stranger. Who
would be more natural a partner for a twin than his own identical twin?”

Pachuca arched a skeptical eyebrow. I continued. “Look, Perry Jacobs claimed he thought he saw someone running
down the stairs. He followed, but at the bottom all he found was
Harper Weems.” I paused. “What if it was the brother in the
wheelchair. As soon as Jacobs went back upstairs, he could
have slipped out the window.”

For several seconds, no one spoke. Pachuca studied his folded hands. Marty studied Pachuca. I studied both. “Look, maybe
it is farfetched, but we know the profile of the killer. None
except Weems’ brother meets it. If you eliminate those who did
not have the opportunity, then the only one left is Harper
Weems’ brother, or someone of the same profile, like you suggested.” I paused, took a deep breath, and fell silent.

Pachuca eyed me narrowly. “You’re supposed to meet with
those two boys in the morning?”

“Yeah.”

After several seconds that seemed like hours, Pachuca nodded. “Give me a call after you meet with the boys. I’ll meet you
out at Safford. We’ll sit with Billy Vanbiber. Show him what
you got, and let it go from there.”

Marty grinned up at me. I winked at him.

“Sounds good to me, Chief,” I replied. “Mighty good.”

I felt pretty smug during the drive back to my place. I’d put
together at least a tolerable case against Harper Weems. A few
holes here and there, but at least I’d put together enough of a
case that Chief Ramon Pachuca was willing to pitch in.

The phone rang as I walked in the door.

It was Alice Baglino in Arizona. She had filed charges, grand
theft, against Nelson Vanderweg. “Now, what do I do?” Her
voice quivered with uncertainty.

I tried to calm her nerves. “Just be patient now, Alice. I’ll let
you know when we’re ready to move.”

“Will it be long, do you think?”

From the inflection in her voice, I could tell she was having
second thoughts. “No. Not long. Before Christmas.”