The Avid Angler - The Hot Dog Detective (A Denver Detective Cozy Mystery) Page 9

  Ultimately, he had to admit that he was doing armchair quarterbacking. He didn't know all the facts of the case, he wasn't running the investigation, and he didn't know what else had been discovered. He hadn't spoken to the crime scene techs--all he had was an incomplete compilation of some of their observations.

  And he had no idea whatsoever what the District Attorney was doing. What was his strategy for prosecuting the case? What deals had the defense suggested? What deals had the DA himself offered the defendant?

  He was out of the loop, yet he had the audacity to think that he could solve this case just because he noticed a CSI had discovered some fire retardant chemical on some pine needles.

  He hoped that Baker would come around tomorrow. Then he would be able to tell the lawyer that he simply wasn’t qualified to solve this crime. It wasn’t an admission he liked to make, but he owed it to Baker—and to Maureen Freeman—to let them know the truth.

  He angrily pushed the key into the ignition and started the truck. The ride back to Observatory Park was stop and go, but it gave him time to push his depression into the dark recesses of his mind, where he stored all his other frustrations and failures.

 

 

 

  Chapter 27

  Saturday, December 12, 0612 hours

  What a difference a good night's sleep makes, thought MacFarland as he woke up just seconds before the alarm clock went off. For the first time in many weeks, he had a calm, uneventful night. No dreams, no waking up two or three times in the middle of the night, no clammy sweats from whatever problems were troubling him. Was it simply because he had made the final decision not to take the case? Did he sleep better because he finally accepted his current limitations? Or did he sleep better because he was finally getting used to a real bed?

  He finished prepping his product, made a pot of coffee, and was cooking some bacon in preparation of making an omelet. The strong smell of cooking bacon started to waft through the house. Pierson wandered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Her curly hair was even more disheveled than ever, if that was even possible. She was wearing a faded cotton nightgown that did nothing to flatter her figure. Too bad, he thought, she could look really nice.

  "Whadya doin'?" she asked.

  "Making breakfast," said MacFarland.

  "I can see that, asshole. Why are you making breakfast?"

  "Hey, I'm in a good mood! I wanted to share it with you. After all, it's the Christmas season! Get in the holiday spirit!"

  Pierson groaned and sat down. "Fuck you and your good spirit," she said. "All I gotta say is you better consider yourself lucky you didn't do this on my day off. Waking me up with the smell of bacon would have been grounds for justifiable homicide."

  "Jeesh, why are you in such a bad mood?” He put the plate of cooked bacon on the table.

  Pierson scowled and grabbed the plate. Before she even answered his question, she had devoured half the bacon. MacFarland wondered how she stayed so slim if she pigged out like that on a regular basis. Then he remembered. Pierson didn't cook as much as she wanted to. Instead of eating, she spent her time in the gym. "Running into problems with my snitch murder. Someone powerful is backing the drug gang, but no one can give me a lead on who that might be. The organization is much more sophisticated than most gangs."

  "Is Bozworth any help?" asked Mac. He was afraid to ask if Bozworth was part of the drug gang. He didn't want to know the answer.

  "Bozworth has been great," Pierson said, finally finishing off the rest of the bacon. "I thought you were making eggs?"

  MacFarland looked forlornly at the empty bacon plate. "Yeah, I was," he said.

  Pierson poured herself a cup of coffee and settled back in her chair. "Bozworth knows a lot about what's going on, at least on the street. But he doesn't know much about the organization. Just that it's fairly new, maybe with ties to Chicago, and backed by big bucks. He also told me something very interesting."

  MacFarland looked up from the stove. He was trying to decide whether he should make more bacon. "What?"

  "Bozworth thinks there is another group of cops working this case. Not the murder, but the gang's financial backers. He thinks they’re feds."

  MacFarland furrowed his brow. "Are there Feds working this case?"

  Pierson shook her head. "No way. No one in Major Crimes or Narcotics has any knowledge of liaison with any Federal agency, other than the usual ones. How reliable is Bozworth's knowledge of this sort of thing?"

  MacFarland had to think about that. While Bozworth was not a gang leader, not in the traditional sense, he was a leader among the homeless population. He normally knew what was going on, who belonged, who didn't. To the extent that anyone protected the homeless people of Denver, it was Bozworth. But what did he know about federal agents working the streets? If there were any agents, they would have to be working under cover. MacFarland was fairly certain that even Bozworth would not know every single homeless person in the Denver area. It would be fairly easy for someone under deep cover to infiltrate the community, wouldn’t it? As he recalled, when he was homeless, he had kept pretty much to himself.

  It was also possible that the suspected federal agent wasn't actually in the homeless community.

  "Where did Bozworth say this guy was?"

  "He works downtown. Bozworth says he likes to socialize with the homeless crowd who hang out down there. The guy's a janitor working in a building over on Arapahoe. Actually, I think it's the same building where your wife used to work."

  MacFarland suddenly became silent. "Why would a Fed be doing undercover work there?" he said more to himself than to Pierson.

  "What did you say?"

  MacFarland finished cooking the omelet. Hell with the bacon. She’s had enough. He slipped the omelet onto Pierson's plate. "Eat up," he ordered.

  He started to clean up the dishes. "Aren't you going to make any for yourself?" Pierson asked.

  MacFarland thought about all the bacon she devoured. "No, I'm not really hungry," he said.

  Pierson shook her head in puzzlement. "Suit yourself. The omelet was really good, by the way. You could easily get a job as a short order cook just about anywhere."

  He laughed at her joke, but inside he felt a painful wrench of disappointment. Once he had been a good detective. Now all he was good for was making quick meals. That would be great if that was what he really wanted to do. But what he wanted to do was...

  "Hey, Cyn, could I ask a huge favor of you?"

  "Sure, what do you need?"

  "Would it be possible for you to get the entire case file on the Freeman murder?"

  Pierson stared at him with a blank expression. Finally, in an expressionless voice, she asked, "I thought you were going to give up on that case?"

  "I should. I probably will. It's just--well, there are some things that puzzle me. I can't put the matter to rest until I have an answer or two."

  Pierson sighed deeply, then stood up and brought her dishes over to MacFarland to wash. "I can't promise anything, Mac. I used up a bunch of favors getting the material I already showed you. I don't know that there is much more I can do."

  "Just do your best, Cyn. I promise I won't ever ask for any more favors."

  She stood there, biting her lip and staring at him. "Yeah, like I believe that. Damn good thing for you that you make a great omelet."

 

 

 

  Chapter 28

  Saturday, December 12, 1850 Hours

  It was the end of the week, and it had been a cold, wet week. MacFarland was tired, and though he had given away a lot of his product to his homeless friends, he still had a lot of unsold product. He was clearly over-estimating how much business he would be able to do. It was only after he had unpacked his supplies and put his containers in the dishwasher that he noticed the folder sitting on the kitchen table. It was much thicker than the folder Cyn had given him before. He suddenly realized this was the entire file. He hadn't reall
y expected Pierson to actually get her hands on the file. He was clearly going to owe her big time for this favor. He picked up the file and took it up to his room.

  The first thing he checked was the list of evidence that the detectives had collected. It was not a very extensive list, a lot shorter than he expected.

 

  Item 1 - Revolver, Sig Sauer, .22LR, white and black patterned design; 10 round magazine, two rounds fired, one round in chamber, seven rounds in magazine

  Item 2a, 2b - Two bullets found in Victim's body (no casings recovered)

  2a - Recovered from Victim's skull (Ref. Ballistics report for bullet trajectory)

  2b - Recovered from Victim's chest cavity (Ref. Ballistics report for bullet trajectory)

  Item 3 - Shirt, red plaid, cotton; blood-stains on front, bullet hole on upper left side

  Item 4 - Wool blanket, military olive color; blood stains, plant and soil debris (Ref. Lab report CB36-278-F-3329)

  Item 5 - Set of prints recovered from Item 1 - Revolver; prints are match for Defendant

  Item 6 - Set of prints taken from Defendant

 

  There was also a list of interviews. There were only nine people listed. This struck MacFarland as odd. In most of his cases, there were usually dozens of interviews. The typed interviews were attached to the list. He glanced at the names of the people interviewed.

  Maureen Freeman - Victim's spouse

  Brian Newsome - Victim's partner

  Sarah Newsome - Wife of victim's partner

  Shawn Sprowles - Neighbor

  Debra Downs - Neighbor

  Craig Meacham - Employee of Newsome Jewelry Store

  Devon Brooks - Employee of Newsome Jewelry Store

  Laura Rogers - Employee of Newsome Jewelry Store

  Thomas Ingram - Neighbor

 

  He glanced quickly through the pages of interviews. The neighbors reported that they did not hear any shots fired, nor any sounds of conflict. One neighbor, Debra Downs, reported that she thought she heard a car drive up to the house sometime after midnight on Thursday, but she could not identify the car. Otto Freeman's car was parked in the driveway. Otto had taken his car when he went fishing Thursday morning. Maureen said that he must have driven it home, though she had no idea when. She stated, however, that he had not come into the house. According to the defendant's statement, Otto Freeman had not returned home either Thursday night or on Friday. She had assumed that he had stayed on his fishing trip all weekend.

  MacFarland had read the detective's notes on this interview the first time he reviewed the file. Seeing Maureen's formal statement, however, raised some questions in his mind. How did Maureen not know that her husband's car was in the driveway? It was not surprising that she hadn't seen him in the house, since he had been dead since Thursday afternoon.

  He rechecked Iverson's final report. Iverson wasn't as much of an idiot as MacFarland initially feared that he was. Iverson was convinced that the victim had been killed elsewhere and then moved to the garage. The CSIs did not find any blood evidence in the victim's car, nor any in Maureen's car, which had been parked inside the garage. They had examined the backyard of the house, but neither dogs nor astute Crime Scene investigators had found any blood evidence.

  There was no doubt in MacFarland's mind, nor apparently in Iverson's, that Freeman had been fishing. He had fish scales on his shoes, though there were no fish in his creel. The scales must have come from cleaning fish. But where were the fish he had cleaned? Had he been fishing with someone else? When asked this question, Maureen said she was not sure. Otto Freeman had not discussed his fishing excursions with her. She did mention that he often went fishing by himself. Apparently no one followed up on the question of whether Freeman was alone on his fishing trip or with someone else. MacFarland wished there was some way he could ask Iverson about this omission. He wondered if Pierson had any information about the case.

  The autopsy report was included in the file. It clearly established that the victim had been killed sometime between late afternoon and midnight on November 26. Given the cool temperatures, the condition of the body had been well-preserved. The coroner also confirmed the cause of death was the first shot in the side of the head. There was a rather graphic description of how the .22 slug had rattled around inside the skull, mashing Otto Freeman’s brain to a pulp. Freeman was already dead when the second shot was administered. From this evidence, Iverson had concluded that the victim was shot from the side, probably by someone Freeman had trusted. The body had fallen forward, and then, to make sure the victim was dead, the assailant had turned the body over and shot it in the chest. Iverson wrote in a note that the time between the first shot and the second shot was several minutes, though he offered no explanation why there was a gap in time, nor was there any medical evidence for this gap. Was he trying to explain the lack of blood?

  All of the Crime Lab evidence was kept in a separate report. As usual, there were hundreds of pieces of evidence provided by the CSI team, all listed on an evidentiary list. Every fiber, drop of blood, speck of dust that could possibly be pertinent to the case had been examined, analyzed, and documented. There was even a separate list of all the items of debris that they had found on the blanket. He glanced down the list, looking to see if anything popped out at him. At first nothing did seem out of the ordinary. Until MacFarland noticed that one of the evidence items was duplicated. Item 136 was an innocuous piece of evidence--a piece of lint covered with grease from the garage floor. But so was Item 195. Why weren't the two lint items numbered sequentially? That's when MacFarland realized that something was missing.

  He searched through the folder, several times, but he could not find what he was looking for. He dug out his preliminary copies of the case report. Yes, there it was. Item 136 - pine needles with traces of fire retardant chemical residue, found on the victim's left shoe. He also found the notes the Crime Lab had included on recent uses of the fire retardant, TetraKO.

  All of that was missing from the final case file. He stared at the piles of papers sitting on the table in front of him, his face blank with disbelief.

  Someone had tampered with the evidence.

 

 

 

  Chapter 29

  Saturday, December 12, 2155 Hours

 

  "You made copies of the report?" said Pierson, trying to repress her exasperation.

  "You're missing the important point," MacFarland said. "Someone has tampered with the evidence."

  "Yeah, and the fact that you made copies proves that you had the file," she said. "I only intended that you look at it. See? The operational word is look. L. O. O. K. Look, not copy."

  "Will you calm down? We have a bigger problem. Someone is manipulating evidence."

  Pierson did calm down, and grabbed the list of Crime Lab evidence. She then looked at the earlier Crime Lab report for Item 136. "Okay, it's missing. There are surely several back-ups to correct this. First, the Crime Lab should have their own internal records. Second, the Records Section should have back-ups for the files. Third, there should be some physical evidence in the Inventory Control Unit. The report may be in error, but the evidence should still be there. And of course, the technician who prepared this report should be able to confirm what he originally found.” Pierson spread her fingers in dismissal. "So stop over-reacting. We can get to the bottom of this. It's probably just a minor error in transcription.” She looked at the kitchen clock. "It's late, Mac, let's go to bed. We can discuss this in the morning.

  MacFarland shook his head. "I can't just let this go, Cyn, not even until morning. There are missing documents also, Cyn. This isn't simply a case of someone mistakenly double entering an item. Someone doesn't want anyone to know where Freeman was killed."

  "Assuming you're right, someone in the department did this. Who would have reason to hide that information? Who would have the means to get access to the records, the evidence,
everything that needs to be changed?"

  "How the hell should I know?" asked MacFarland. "I haven't been there in several years. I don't know the players, the politics, who has power and who doesn't. That's where you come in."

  "Me? Haven't I done enough for you? Hell, Mac, are you trying to get me suspended? Chamberlain won't put up with me interfering with another detective's case. I sure know I'd raise holy hell if someone interfered with one of my cases."

  MacFarland got up and poured himself and Pierson a cup of coffee. She tried to push away the cup of coffee. "Oh, Christ in a cape, Mac, it's after midnight! This is why you're so wound up. Lay off the coffee."

  MacFarland ignored her protest. He knew that sooner or later, Pierson would be drinking the coffee. She only had two addictions, and coffee was one of them. The other was solving crimes. "I'm not asking you to interfere with Iverson's case. In fact, I think someone else is already interfering with it. Maybe talk to Iverson, see if he is feeling some pressure."

  Pierson started sipping her coffee. "He has seemed grumpier than usual," she said. "He snaps at everyone, including me."

  "Talk to him."

  Finally Pierson nodded. "Yeah, let me see if I can get him alone. But I'm not going to mention any of the missing documents. If he is involved, I want more proof before I start fingering a fellow officer."

  "I understand," said MacFarland. "You have to work with these guys. I don't want you creating enemies. Besides, as I said, I don't think Iverson is the guilty party.” MacFarland suddenly had an insight. "Didn't the department recently civilianize some of the sections?"

  Pierson nodded thoughtfully. "It's been an on-going process for the past several years," she said.

  "What about the Crime Lab?"

  Pierson pursed her lips. "That was privatized a year after you left the force."

  MacFarland felt his throat tighten with the tension of his hunch. "Who is running it? What company?"

  Pierson furrowed her brow. "Hold on, it's on the tip of my tongue. Damn, what is it? Oh, Colorado Forensics Bureau."

  The name didn't ring any bells in MacFarland's mind. "Do you know anything about them? How long have they been in business?"

  "Holy Mary, Mother of God, Mac, I don't know all this shit! Let me dig around and see if I can find anything out. I do know that CFB has been around for a while. They've done work with the Crime Lab before, I know that. Do you think they might have made the mistakes?"