Chapter Twenty-Four Judson
Chapter Twenty-Four
Judson
Gabe had never been a good liar. When I’d been at his house for dinner last month, I saw the tension between Maria and him.
Maria’s smiles were too quick, and Gabe had drunk a little too much.
She hadn’t screamed or yelled, and he hadn’t downed enough beer to numb himself, but there was trouble.
I’d chalked the vibe up to having a bad day.
Now I could see the Durants relied heavily on Raine.
But poisoning Maria made no sense if money was the reason behind it. If money was the motive, Raine would be the number one target.
Raine.
I’d thought a lot about Raine over the years. I’d wanted to reach out and tell her I was sorry we fell apart. But pride and lousy timing had always stood in the way. And then she’d married Ken. That was a play I’d never seen coming.
I strode into the impound lot and presented my search warrant to the deputy. “Black truck impounded yesterday.” I rattled off the plate number. The deputy gave me the keys.
The truck sat at the back of an outdoor lot surrounded by other vehicles impounded for violations that ranged from traffic to drugs.
I opened the front door of Gabe’s truck and began to search the floorboards and console.
Earlier, I’d opened his old arrest file and confirmed suspected facts. And learned a few new ones.
He’d skipped college and started his own landscaping business. Initially, he’d done well. When we were all counting pennies in college, Gabe had money in his pocket. By age nineteen, he had more work than he could handle. But Gabe had a way of screwing up a good thing.
When Gabe had been arrested for the bar fight, a detective like Sam Hutchinson wouldn’t normally bother to interview any of the parties. But Hutchinson had pulled Gabe into a small, gray interview room.
His questions quickly pivoted from the fight to the death of Raine’s mother, Eloise Hale. At the time of her death, Mrs. Hale had had dementia and required around-the-clock care. Though her mind had failed, her physical body was strong. Her sudden death had been unexpected.
Hutchinson had interviewed Raine and me after Mrs. Hale’s death. We’d found her body in the dry creek bed on the Hale land.
Raine had known her mother better than anyone and had theorized that Mrs. Hale had escaped her room and gotten outside during the caregivers’ shift change.
She’d vanished on the property before anyone realized she was gone.
We all believed that Mrs. Hale had fallen, struck her head on a rock, and died.
Our interviews with Hutchinson had been straightforward and short.
Why had Hutchinson brought up Eloise Hale’s death with Gabe years after the fact? Had he suspected foul play but didn’t have enough evidence at the time?
I thought back to the video recording conducted in the police interview room.
Plain beige soundproof walls, a laminated table, and two plastic chairs.
Gabe’s chair was backed against the wall and faced the camera.
Detective Hutchinson’s chair was angled so that he was closer to Gabe.
I’d used this setup. It was designed to build trust and rapport between the cop and suspect.
Gabe’s right eye was swelling closed. His T-shirt was ripped, his shadowed jaw scratched. Still slightly intoxicated, he didn’t fully register the gravity of this moment.
Detective Hutchinson had Gabe in his crosshairs—he sat back and crossed his arms over his round belly. “Tonight, you proved you have a hell of a temper. Am I right, Gabe?”
Gabe’s angry expression shifted to defensive. “The guy pushed me.”
Detective Hutchinson adjusted the half-glasses on his nose. “Surveillance footage shows you hitting Mr. Gibson first.”
“Bullshit. He hit me first.”
“Camera says otherwise.”
“Let me see it.”
“If I had a computer monitor in the room, I would. In the meantime, help me out now, and I’ll see if I can get us access to a screen.”
Gabe shifted and rubbed his nose. “Cameras don’t catch all the angles.”
“You’re right about that. Lots of blind spots.”
Gabe flexed scraped knuckles.
“Tell me about Mrs. Hale,” Hutchinson said.
Gabe leaned forward, clasping his fingers. “Mrs. Hale? She died two years ago. Why are you asking about her?”
Hutchinson leaned back, folding his arms. Instead of answering, he said, “She didn’t have any physical health issues beyond the dementia. Good heart. Good appetite. Caregivers described her as strong. And then she escapes. And is found dead in a creek bed with a head injury.”
“That was an accident.” Gabe sat back.
“You and your mother live on the estate?”
“Yeah. Since I was twelve.”
“Did you go up to the main house much?”
“No.”
“You worked in the Hale House.”
“Not in the house. On the land. I cut the grass.”
“Did you cross paths with Amy Stocker? She was a caregiver.”
“Yeah, I knew her. Raine hired her to work weekends.” Gabe shifted, tipped forward. “What does this have to do with anything?”
Detective Hutchinson had an easy, smooth voice that had coaxed many confessions. “Don’t know. I had you here, so I thought I’d ask. Crossing all my t’s and dotting my i’s, if you know what I mean.”
“I don’t know anything about Mrs. Hale.”
“Didn’t say you did. But I got video footage that proves you can be fast and loose with the facts.”
“I was having a few beers. Keeping to myself. A guy hassled me.” Gabe tossed out the words as if he believed them.
“I hear ya, buddy. Long week working in the hot sun. All a guy wants to do is kick back.”
“Yeah.”
Detective Hutchinson let silence stretch between them. “Where is Amy Stocker these days?”
“I don’t know. I heard she left town.”
“I saw someone in the bar fight footage that looks like her.”
“I don’t know about that.”
“Hard to miss her. She still looks a lot like Raine Hale.”
“I didn’t see Amy in the bar.”
Memories of the video lingered as I searched the floors and under the seats. In the back seat under the floor mat, I found an AirTag. Interesting. Was Maria tracking her husband?
I opened the glove compartment. Vehicle owner’s manual, prescription anxiety pills, and a billy club.
I shifted my focus from the cab to the truck’s bed to the cross-bed toolbox. A lock dangled from the latch. I requested bolt cutters from the deputy.
When he placed them in my hand, I snapped the lock.
Inside the toolbox were more basics. Clippers, a small toolbox, ratchet straps and tie-downs, and a small chainsaw. After I’d emptied it all, I saw the small packet of white pills wedged in a corner.
“What do you think that is?” the deputy asked.
“Not sure.” But I had a good idea. “The lab needs to confirm.”
I put the items back in the utility box.
My mind drifted back to the video footage Hutchinson had obtained. The film had proven Gabe had started the fight, and something I hadn’t been expecting—Amy had been in the bar that night.
She hadn’t approached Gabe. But from her corner of the bar, she’d kept a close eye on him until the fight. A broken beer bottle. Shattered glass. Blood. Then she’d vanished into the crowd.
Gabe’s case went to the district attorney, and he was charged with assault. Because he’d used the bottle’s jagged edge as a weapon, the charges were upgraded to a felony. He’d done eighteen months of a four-year sentence.
The questions about Mrs. Hale died away. And Amy had been forgotten.
I hadn’t thought about Amy over the years. Memories of her were buried under bigger issues.
I took the pills into evidence.
As I waited for the deputy to log it in, I searched social media and found Amy Stocker easily. She was in real estate. She listed all kinds of accolades. I hadn’t seen her in years, and her headshot caught me off guard.
She still looked like Raine Hale.