Chapter 13 #2
Lucky waited until Keys and Starbucks were through the doorway that led to the apartments.
“I’m not even going to ask,” he grumbled, rubbing one hand on his temple and the other on his daughter’s sleeping back.
Stephanie was almost seven months now. Turning back to Pumpkin, Lucky answered, “I’ve barely slept since Friday, our President is in jail, and my oldest son is still upset about the fact that he didn’t get to go on a pirate ship with Uncle Jumper and Uncle Pirate.
” Pirate and Jumper, who had been walking into the clubhouse at that exact moment, paused and then started to slink back out the double entry doors. “So no, Pumpkin, I am not ‘good’.”
Pumpkin cringed, and not just because he felt guilty that he wasn’t able to do more to help his VP out. He’d been in such a cloud of bliss yesterday that he’d barely thought about Steel’s predicament. Which was fucking awful of him and made him a terrible brother.
“Get your asses upstairs,” Lucky called out, and not in his usual good-natured way. It was a good thing his daughter could sleep through a nuclear strike. “And, Keys, you better be wearing your fucking cut!”
It felt wrong to be in Church without Steel at the head of the table.
Pumpkin didn’t think the VDMC President had ever missed Church before.
And the fact that he was now, because he was in jail, made his absence all the more egregious.
A part of Pumpkin felt like none of them should be in there without Steel.
What would it feel like when someone else sat in that chair?
Pumpkin understood Steel’s need to spend as much time with Jenna as possible, and not just to help take care of her.
If Dosia was sick… No , Pumpkin couldn’t even think about that hypothetically.
It was unbearable. Knowing it was reality for Steel was nearly as painful.
Scar had not left the jail cell since Steel had entered it. Pumpkin didn’t know if DEA Agent Dickhead was aware of his presence, or cared. Ghost had remained at the station with Jenna so Bulldog could attend the meeting.
Lucky was sitting in his normal seat, to the right of Steel’s. He wasn’t even touching Steel’s gavel, which had been a present from Jenna when the club had been formed and that was likely the only reason Steel even used it.
“Keys,” the VP groused. “What do you have?”
“Not much,” was not the answer any of them wanted to hear. “Even with the rush the DEA put on it, forensics takes a while. So I did a bit of digging on my own.”
The television screens on the walls came to life. A 3D computer model of a motel room appeared on the screens.
“I built a rendering of the motel room from the crime scene photos,” Keys explained. “Chip and Tom also headed over to get me some more accurate measurements.”
Many of them looked to Keys with raised eyebrows, because neither Tom nor Chip were club members and therefore shouldn’t have been told club business.
“It’s Steel,” Keys argued before anyone could say anything. “I didn’t give them details but I needed all the help I could get on such short notice.”
Lucky and Bulldog exchanged a look before Bulldog shrugged his shoulders. Lucky let out a long sigh. “I’ll allow it, but you should have informed me first before you did so.”
Keys nervously pushed his glasses up his nose. “It was three in the morning. I didn’t want to disturb you.”
Lucky indicated for him to continue.
Keys started typing quickly, ducking his head down below the monitors in front of his chair.
The motel room on the screen spun as two people appeared in the room.
Neither had details, like hair or eye color, but it was obvious one was a tall man and one was an extremely skinny woman.
They kind of looked like gray Tootsie Rolls.
As the image continued to spin, a red line came through the window and ended as a dot on the woman’s forehead. Both people in the room remained standing, though.
“From what we were able to determine, this is the angle of the bullet through the glass,” Keys explained. “I got a look at the shell casing the police found?—”
“Wait,” Papaw interrupted. “He didn’t check his brass?”
Keys shook his head.
Papaw scowled. “Steel would never be so sloppy.” Realizing what he’d said and Keys’ stunned expression, he added, “Not that I think he did it. Don’t get your panties in a bunch, kid. I’m just saying, if he did, he wouldn’t have been so sloppy.”
Keys cleared his throat. “Um, right.” The screens split into two separate images.
On the right was the model of the motel room and on the left was a crime scene picture of a bronze shell casing in grass with an L-shaped ruler beside it.
“It’s a 51mm, but without the bullet, there’s no way to determine what model gun was used.
“If they did their homework, it would be an M40-A1,” Angel stated, and Papaw nodded.
“Why?” Lucky asked. “Marine snipers generally use MK-22s.”
“Not when Steel was trained,” Papaw explained. “In the 1990s, we used the M40s. It wasn’t until the mid-2000s that we changed over.” He pointed to the television screen. “They didn’t leave a shell casing because they’re sloppy. That bullet will trace back to Steel somehow.”
“Does Steel have a rifle?” Bulldog asked the room as a whole.
No one seemed to have that answer. Pumpkin had only ever seen Steel with his SIG Sauer M18. Keys had other weapons stashed for when the club might need it, but none of that was registered or could be traced back to the club.
“Are there any fingerprints on the casing?” Bulldog asked Keys when no one could answer his other question.
Keys didn’t look happy to say, “It hasn’t been processed yet.”
Bear’s face darkened from his usual jovial expression as he sat forward. “How much do you want to bet that Steel’s fingerprint will be on there?”
There were no takers.
Lucky cracked his neck. “We need that shell casing. If Steel’s fingerprint is on it, it won’t matter what alibi we give him, he’s going down for murder.”
“Were you able to give Toni Steel’s alibi?” Bulldog asked Keys.
The kid nodded. “She had it Saturday morning. Said she’d be talking to the prosecutor first thing this morning.
” He made a face. “But it’s flimsy at best. All I did was prove what time Steel and Jenna arrived on property Thursday afternoon and that there was no evidence he left again before Friday morning.
Jenna is Steel’s only alibi at the time of the murder.
Ollie was still at Angel and Cage’s. I can prove his phone was on property, but again, that can be argued. ”
“And Jenna gave her statement to Carlos on Friday when I took her over.” Lucky rubbed his forehead like he was getting a headache. “He was helping Jenna bathe at the time of the murder.”
“Well, unless they have a photo of that with a credible timestamp, his fingerprint on the shell casing is going to trump a spouse’s alibi,” Demo said, pointing to the monitors.
“Keys, where is this?” Angel asked. “The murder didn’t happen in Mount Grove, did it?”
Keys shook his head. “Cottonville. DEA had them in that seedy motel off of I-99.”
“And where is the tower they think the shot came from?”
The image on the televisions zoomed out, following the red line from the model of Dixie Gilbert’s forehead, out the window, down a line of trees, over a hill, and finally to a cell tower.
A graphic of a large purple thumbtack landed in the grass at the base of the tower. “This is where the shell casing was found.”
That seemed like a good distance away, and outside of the police’s normal search radius. Pumpkin frowned. “Why would they even search all the way out there?”
“They didn’t at first,” Keys answered. “From the initial report, they were only searching the parking lot and questioning witnesses. Fang claimed from the very beginning that he heard nothing beyond the breaking of the window glass and then Dixie falling. There was no gunshot or muzzle flash. When other guests of the motel claimed the same, the police started searching beyond their initial radius. Problem was, there was nothing there. You saw,” Keys added to no one in particular.
“That cell tower is the only thing between it and the motel window. There’s no other perches from that height and trajectory.
According to the report, Agent Strouse went out there on a whim and found the shell casing. ”
“Where is that shell casing now?” Lucky asked Keys.
Keys typed on his computer some more. “Harrisburg.”
Lucky looked down the table at Ranger. “You up for a little B and E?”
Ranger smiled. “Absolutely.”
“You can’t just take the casing,” Demo argued. “We need to replace it with one or somehow clean it. They’ll come down on all of us if they discover the casing is missing.”
“I don’t want you going alone,” Bulldog told Ranger.
“Ghost has gotten as much rest as you and Lucky,” Ranger argued. “I’ll be fine on my own.”
Pumpkin hated that he couldn’t volunteer to go with his club brother. But he’d barely managed a flight of stairs this morning, let alone breaking into a DEA field office.
“I’ll go,” Starbucks volunteered. “I have my four hours of auctioned labor this afternoon and am free after that.”
It wasn’t like they could break in in broad daylight anyway. Scar could, but then walls, doors, and locks didn’t seem to apply to the club brother. Pumpkin doubted he would be leaving that jail cell anytime soon, though.
“We’re hoping Toni is able to get Steel released on Jenna’s alibi and Keys’ security footage. But I still don’t want a possible shell casing out there with evidence pointing to Steel.” Lucky looked at Ranger and then Starbucks. “Leave no trace. Keys will be on coms.”
The three brothers nodded.
“Is there anything else that points to Steel?” Lucky asked Keys .
“Just the witness claiming that Steel said he’d kill Dixie. But I can’t find him anywhere.”
“Keep looking,” Lucky ordered, his exhaustion evident. “Bulldog and I are going to head back down?—”