Chapter 10
JAGG
Due to non-custodial interview laws, we couldn’t question Sunny until she received medical care.
While medics checked her out and Colson interviewed Erickson, Darby and I secured and processed the scene.
The medical examiner arrived twenty minutes later, along with Officer Haddix—our so-called “additional resources,” a part-time patrolman dragged from bed.
That’s how small-town departments worked: short-staffed, underfunded, and overextended.
One person did everything, which often led to careless work.
That was one reason I got called in on most local homicides.
This one just happened to land in my lap.
The body was bagged and sent to the morgue, where it would wait—autopsy scheduled for tomorrow, if we were lucky.
Not long after, the medic gave me an update. Sunny was banged up with cuts and bruises and a pair of bruised ribs. It took eight stitches and sixty minutes to close the gash on her arm.
The medic said she’d denied any pain pills.
I wondered if any of those injuries had happened when I’d tackled her. Then, I promptly forced away an emotion I didn’t feel often—guilt—and reminded myself it was part of my job. What the hell was she thinking trying to run?
Her fault.
Not mine.
Now two hours later, I was back at the station with Darby—who’d thrown up when he saw the body up close—and Colson and Sunny behind us.
I combined the last dregs of the station’s coffee with a pain pill, a combination surely to have me gripping my own bottle of antacids before bed.
Assuming I even made it home, because, as my churning gut had indicated, the “Slaying in the Park”—as it had already been dubbed by the media—was becoming more unusual with each passing moment.
“I put her in interview room one.”
Mid-stride down the hall, I glanced over my shoulder at Colson coming down the hallway behind me. “Interview Room One” was the name given to the conference room when a situation called for it. Small town budgets, small town buildings.
“She needs to be interviewed immediately,” I said. “I already don’t like this thing.”
“Agreed. What did Jessica say?” Colson asked.
Jessica Heathrow was the county medical examiner, who’d bagged up the body. Smart as a whip.
“Cause of death is gunshot wound to the head, perforation of the brain. The shot that blew off half his face passed through. The one through the eye did him in.”
“The bullet didn’t lodge in his brain?”
“Nope. Blew out the back of his head.”
“You find the other casing?”
“Only the one. Bagged it up. Will get it logged and sent to ballistics at sun up, and we’ll search again for the other.”
“Probably in the woods under a pile of deer shit. Is her gun bagged up?”
I nodded.
Colson shook his head. “She was carrying a gun with her at midnight in the city park. A freaking nine millimeter. Ruger, right?”
I nodded.
“What the hell is a woman doing carrying that thing around?”
I reminded him that almost everyone in Berry Springs carried a weapon of sorts. Hell, everyone in the South did, for that matter. A concealed carry license was as common as a driver’s license. To his point, though, a nine millimeter was a significant weapon, especially for a “woman.”
“I meant,” Colson corrected, “who carries a gun with them during a jog? Because that’s what it appears she was doing based on her clothing and running gear—forget that it’s the middle of the night. If it was self defense, again, who carries that kind of gun?”
“Someone who takes security very personally. The fire power alone suggests a fair amount of knowledge about guns.”
Colson’s brows squeezed together. “The most common Ruger pocket pistol for concealed carry is a 380, not a nine millimeter. I understand carrying one in her purse or something, but jogging with one in her waistband? Why not carry a taser or a shiv like a normal person?”
It was something I filed away as interesting, too. Very interesting.
“What about the knife found next to the victim’s body?”
“Bagged up, too.”
“No blood on it?”
“No.”
“No knife wounds on the vic?”
“Nope. And the medic said her wound wasn’t from a knife.”
“A random knife on the scene. This just gets weirder and weirder. We need to figure out if it’s hers or the vics, then verify the prints.”
I nodded. “You started trying to track down his next of kin yet?”
“Not yet. That’s next on my to-do list.”
We didn’t know much about the victim other than what I’d pulled from the wallet in his back pocket.
His name was Julian Griggs. A five-foot-eleven, brown-eyed, organ-donating twenty-two year old Berry Springs resident.
His wallet contained two credit cards, a debit card, a coupon for a free ice-cream at Donny’s, two sticks of wintergreen gum, and six dollars cash.
According to the fast-food receipt in his pocket, he’d had a double-cheese burger, large fries with extra ketchup, and a large soda two hours before Sunny Harper blew off his face in the park.
A ring of keys were in his right pocket, along with some lint.
He’d been wearing a black T-shirt, navy blue shorts and white joggers, now speckled with blood.
A password-restricted cell phone from his other pocket and one private social media account gave us nothing.
A black Chevy was parked at the trailhead, which was assumed to be his considering the keys found in his pocket unlocked it.
I told Darby to run the truck plates to confirm, and if so, gather a list of his previous addresses so we could begin the arduous task of finding the next of kin to contact.
If that failed, I instructed him to check Julian’s birth certificate or check for marriage licenses.
All that after he found out everything he could on Sunny Harper, of course.
“Erickson was positive he saw her shoot the guy in the face?” I asked.
“That’s what he said. Said he was driving home from the hospital—”
“What was he doing at the hospital?”
“His niece just had her first baby—”
“You verify that?”
“Yep. He said he saw someone in the woods, verbatim ‘lurking under a lamppost.’ Struck him as odd considering it was midnight, so he turned into the park. That’s when he saw Sunny Harper with Julian in a bear hold, with a gun to his head.
According to his statement, he then pulled into a parking spot, called us and heard two gunshots.
He grabbed his gun—idiot—and approached the scene.
Said there was a dead body at Sunny Harper’s feet when he walked up.
He pulled his gun on Sunny and threatened her until we got there minutes later. ”
I shook my head. It was unbelievable how many times well-meaning citizens inserted themselves into dangerous situations in an effort to help when what they should have done was leave it to us.
The fact that Sunny Harper had overpowered Julian Griggs, almost double her weight, was shocking.
I’d been on the receiving end of her strength and while it was nothing short of impressive, combining that with the fact she’d been carrying a nine millimeter and her refusal to talk, and something just wasn’t adding up.
“Wanna take a bet on self-defense or murder?” Colson asked.
“A hundred bucks on self-defense.”
“I’ll take that bet. The woman was in the park with a gun at midnight, got the drop on the vic, then shot him twice in the head… and she’s just weird on top of that. I’m going with murder, with jilted ex-girlfriend.”
We shook on it.
Colson gazed at the closed door of the conference room. “Would be interesting to know if either Julian or Sunny Harper believed in voodoo.”
It was one of the first thoughts that crossed my mind while processing the scene. What were the odds that a man had been shot yards from the newly-discovered “Voodoo Tree,” and the evening of Lieutenant Seagrave’s funeral? Coincidence?
Just then—
“Hope you brought a string of garlic.”
Colson and I turned to see Officer Haddix striding down the hall.
“Huh?”
“Wards off evil spirits, ’cording to the wife, anyway.” Haddix jerked his chin to the conference room. “The girl’s notorious around here. Y’all don’t know?”
“What are you talking about?”
“Sunny Harper. She’s been pulled over seven times in the last six months for traffic violations. Speeding, running red lights. Got out of every ticket. Every single one. Not even a warning.”
“How?”
“Have you looked at her? I’m proud to say, however, I wrote Miss Harper her first ticket a few weeks ago.
Know what happened next? She convinced Judge Carter to throw it out.
She’s got some sort of power over men. Saw her at Frank’s a few times.
Never pays for a single drink or food, but always leaves alone. Dick tease.”
“Is she ever with anyone?” I asked.
“Don’t think so. Rumor is she’s some sort of loner. A hermit. Lives in a cabin in the middle of the woods.” He snorted. “That she probably got for free. Same goes at the coffee shop she frequents, by the way. Dax, the owner, told me she hasn’t paid for a single coffee.”
“Sounds like you sure keep tabs on Miss Harper.” I said.
“Naw. Not me. Can’t stand women like that.
Breeze through life on nothing more than a wink.
” He scowled. “And what’s with those eyes, anyway?
Gold specks in green eyes so bright they look like they’re plugged into an electrical socket.
Has to be contacts. She always wears those low cut shirts too. Anyway.” He shrugged.
Colson and I exchanged a glance.
“How do I not know about this? The tickets?” Colson asked.
“You think anyone wants to admit to having their balls handed to them?”
Someone yelled Colson’s name from the end of the hall. He shook his head. “Whatever, dude.” He glanced at the clock. “I’ve got to figure out who to call to verify Julian Griggs’ body.”
“Darby’s on research work now. Go find him.”
He grunted, turned, and started down the hall. Haddix followed suit.
“Colson,” I hollered after him. “What are you going to do with her?”
Without looking over his shoulder, he threw his hands up. “She needs to be interviewed right now. You’re best around. Go see what you can get out of her.”