Chapter Four
On Wednesday, Detective Hallie Flores sat at her desk, looking over the Maricopa County Medical Examiner’s Office autopsy report on her laptop regarding the dead building inspector Horace Eckhart.
The findings indicated that Eckhart—who seemed to have been ambushed by his attackers—died as the result of two gunshot wounds to the head, causing massive damage and blood loss.
The manner of the decedent’s death was ruled a homicide.
Hallie wrinkled her nose. Not that I was expecting a different conclusion, she thought, having seen firsthand what had happened to Eckhart, knowing that it was done with willful intent.
Unfortunately, they were still trying to determine the identities of the two men believed to be responsible, while stealing the victim’s car almost just for effect.
Who were they working for? Were they part of an auto theft ring?
Working as a pair for an opportunistic, easy mark at a parking garage?
Or, as Special Agent Cooper Reid seemed to suspect, might Eckhart’s murder have something to do with his being investigated by the Feds for public corruption? She was keeping an open mind both ways.
Overall, Hallie was sure it was only a matter of time before they caught the culprits—and anyone else involved in the execution-style slaying of the building inspector.
She stood and headed over to the Phoenix Police Department’s Laboratory Services Bureau (Crime Lab) for a better read on the weapon used to kill Horace Eckhart—and whether or not it could be linked to any other crimes.
Hallie stepped inside the Crime Lab and made her way to the firearms section. She went to the station of laboratory technician Iisha Mínguez.
Iisha, who was thin and in her midtwenties, with a brunette shaggy haircut and hazel eyes, smiled and said, “Hey.”
“Hey.” Hallie flashed a soft grin, having sent her a text that she was on her way. “What do you have for me?”
Iisha sighed. “As you know, the bullets that killed Horace Eckhart came from a Korth 2.75-inch Carry Special .357 Magnum revolver. Well, we were able to match them positively with the recovered shell casings from the crime scene. Beyond that, the bullets themselves were fired from a gun barrel with five lands and grooves that had a right-hand twist.”
“I see.” Hallie took mental notes. “Were you able to determine if the gun had been used in any other local crimes? Or even in any other state, for that matter?”
Iisha twisted her lips. “We entered the ballistic evidence into the ATF’s National Integrated Ballistic Information Network, hoping for a hit—but didn’t get one yet.”
“Okay.” Hallie hadn’t held her breath that the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms and Explosives automated ballistic imaging network would indicate that the shooter had used the gun before.
In reality, there were way too many illegal firearms on the streets these days—giving offenders ample means to rotate weapons for use.
Still, she feared that short of the unsubs discarding the Korth 2.
75-inch Carry Special, they might well use it again.
Possibly in relation to the murder of Horace Eckhart.
Hallie regarded Iisha and said, “If anything changes, let me know.”
“I will,” she promised.
Hallie popped over to the forensic DNA section and then the latent print comparative section and spoke to lab technicians about possible DNA or fingerprints recovered from the crime scene.
In both instances, aside from that which belonged to the victim, there was no identifiable DNA or print evidence to point a finger in any direction.
Leaving the Crime Lab, Hallie suspected that the unsubs wore gloves during the hit, as if professionals. She wondered if this was more about the bribery case or the debts that Eckhart found himself buried under.
WHILE AT HIS DESK in the field office, Cooper got a call from Hallie Flores, updating him on the ballistics evidence on the gun used to kill Horace Eckhart. It left no doubt that this was an execution and very likely planned—with one target, in particular.
This still left Cooper wondering if Eckhart’s involvement in public corruption had proven to be his undoing. Or if his financial obligations had caught up to him.
In seeking some clarity there, Cooper asked Hallie to meet him at Preminger’s Financial Services on West Washington Street—a known loan shark operation, whose willingness to supply large amounts of quick cash with high interest rates reeled Eckhart in like a fish, enticing him to take out a substantial loan to partially cover his debts as another source of cash apart from committing bribery as a building inspector.
Maybe Eckhart was overdue on payments and his lender grew impatient and chose to make an example out of him for other potentially delinquent borrowers.
Cooper pulled his SUV beside Hallie’s Ford Mustang.
They got out at the same time and he said, “Aside from overextended credit cards and a second mortgage taken out by Horace Eckhart, he leaned heavily on a loan shark to keep himself afloat, amid his gambling debts and others. Could be that Eckhart bit off more than he could chew—and choked on his own desperation while juggling payments. Or lack thereof,” Cooper added, a catch to his inflection.
Hallie ran a hand through her hair. “So let’s check out this lender and see if a couple of goons were sent out to teach Eckhart a fatal lesson.”
Cooper nodded, ready to look past the expected denial while trying to read between the lines for possible guilt.
They went inside and into a small low-lit office with a ceiling fan in motion and two wooden desks, one containing a laptop.
Seated in a brown high-back leather chair at the other desk was a sixtysomething male with a medium build, gray hair in a comb-over style and an anchor beard. He looked at them with blue eyes and asked, “How can I help you?”
Cooper whipped out his ID and responded, “FBI Agent Reid.”
“I’m Detective Flores,” Hallie said. “Who are you?”
“Oscar Preminger,” he answered. “I own the place. What’s this all about?”
Cooper said succinctly, “We’d like to ask you a few questions about Horace Eckhart.”
“Eckhart?” Preminger cocked a thick brow. “Heard that he ran into harm’s way. Can’t say I was too happy with the news.”
“Or maybe you were happy about it,” Hallie challenged him. “Since Eckhart owed you money, maybe you grew impatient for a return on your investment.”
Preminger’s mouth hung open. “You think I killed him?”
“You tell us.” Cooper peered at him. “Perhaps you hired someone—make that two men—to do the job on your behalf,” he suggested.
“No way,” Preminger insisted. “Believe it or not, I run a legitimate business here. Yeah, Eckhart was in hock for two hundred grand plus interest. But wanting him dead?” Preminger’s eyes narrowed.
“I don’t think so. Apart from being bad for business, having him killed would not get me back my money. You’re barking up the wrong tree.”
“For your sake, we’d better be,” Hallie chirped. “Murder is really bad in our line of work, too,” she said sardonically.
“I don’t doubt that for a minute, Detective,” Preminger told her. “That puts us in the same ballpark. Whoever offed Eckhart should have to pay the price. And maybe when the dust settles in the desert, I can still collect what’s due me from his estate.”
“You may have to wait in a long line,” Cooper warned him. “As it is, Eckhart had many creditors—and likely left little to repay his debts. But even had he wanted to, someone took away that opportunity to make things right.”
Preminger grumbled at the thought as Hallie and Cooper left his office.
“What’s your read on him?” Hallie asked in the parking lot. “Think Preminger could have hired the unsubs to take out Eckhart?”
“I’m not discounting it entirely,” Cooper responded.
“But I didn’t get the feeling that Preminger would take things to that level—even if he stood to lose a lot by Eckhart defaulting on the loan.
Preminger would pay an even higher price himself were he to be indicted for conspiracy to commit murder. ”
Hallie nodded. “I was thinking the same thing. I’ll keep digging, while searching for the killers—and see where this leads…and if anyone else is involved.”
“All right.”
They walked back to their vehicles. Behind the wheel, Cooper contemplated where things stood in his investigation.
If it wasn’t the loan shark, someone else was pulling the strings in perpetrating cold-blooded murder.
He intended to find out who, while believing there was more to Eckhart’s death than a simple carjacking.
It brought him back to where he had started—a public corruption investigation that had turned into a homicide case.
LEXI WAS AT WORK that morning, doing an architectural drawing for her clients Aidan and Nadine Pacheco, who were building their own home as successful entrepreneurs.
Using computer-aided design or CAD software, she was able to come up with some amazing concepts for the two-story Mediterranean-style residence they had in mind.
She added shadows and textures on the surface to enhance the visuals and further gave context to the presentation drawing by broadening it out to include trees, plants and the richness of the desert landscape.
Lexi smiled at the work in progress, feeling confident that she would win over her clients. How could they not fall in love with something they helped create through their own unique vision?
When her cell phone rang, Lexi lifted it off the adjustable-height glass-top workbench.
Swiveling on her ergonomic drafting chair, she saw that the video request caller was her elderly neighbor, Eleanor Palakiko.
Lexi wondered if something was wrong in prompting the call.
Knowing that she lived alone and had no relatives nearby, Lexi had given Eleanor her phone number, in case she needed anything.