Twenty-Eight Detective Walter Duncan
Twenty-Eight
Detective Walter Duncan
Liv isn’t returning my calls. I’m worried as hell.
I tell myself she might be sleeping in, but my gut says something isn’t right.
Thankfully, I feel way better this morning. That run to catch Melanie Hardeman messed me up but good.
I smile as I think of how Liv took care of me.
“She’s a good one,” I say aloud. Truth be told, sometimes I still talk to Stella. It makes me feel less lonely when I’m alone at the house like this.
Mario Sanchez arrived home at eight this morning. He and his buddies drove through the night to be home in time to rest and prepare for a birthday party this afternoon. One of his pals is turning thirty. He called and said I could come to his house whenever I’m ready.
Just as I’m loading up to head that way, my cell vibrates with an incoming call from dispatch.
“Duncan.”
“Detective, this is Officer Rajas. There are six people waiting here at headquarters to see you. Reeves and Hyatt—the two in the BOLOs are among them. I’ve sequestered all six to the conference room.”
“Keep someone watching them,” I urge, my heart rate picking up. “I’m on my way.”
I’ll text Liv as soon as I get to headquarters and park. No time for texting now. I need to focus on driving.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m striding through the entrance and headed for the conference room.
Patricia Shelby’s husband, new baby in his arms, sits in the lobby.
I don’t slow. No time. At the conference room door, I give the officer standing by, Officer Loudon, a nod of dismissal and enter the room.
I close the door behind me and look over the assembled group.
The six study me, their faces clouded with fear and exhaustion. None look as if they’ve slept in days.
I settle at the head of the table and say, “Who wants to start?”
Janie Hyatt raises her hand. “I guess I started this, so I should finish it.”
Interesting way to put it. “All right. I’m listening.” They can write their statements later. I figure it’s better if I hear what they have to say before we do anything official.
“When I learned Fanning would be released on probation rather than serving the last five years of his sentence, I had to do something. I could not let him go free.” She sends a pointed look around the table and then at me.
“Pedophiles don’t change. They can’t. There is no rehabilitation.
They’re either carrying out their sick desires or they’re dead. There is no in-between.”
I say nothing. My opinion is the same.
“We—the seven of us—got together and decided to take care of him.”
“Number seven being?” I ask rather than dive into the admission of planning a murder.
“Mario Sanchez.”
I nod for her to go on, but then I hold up a hand. “First, I need to advise you all of your rights.” When several start to argue, I interrupt, “It’s the law.”
I recite their rights and then motion for Hyatt to continue.
“I believe Melanie has already told you how we decided who would do what.”
“She did.” Anticipation and a weird kind of dread is thumping inside me. I’m having trouble feeling good about all this.
“Dana and I decided to take the final step. This was our plan, and we didn’t want to put that monkey on anyone else’s back. So it wasn’t one of the steps that could be drawn by the others.”
I suspect she means they didn’t trust anyone else to do the job.
“What part did Sanchez draw?”
Hyatt and Reeves share a look before Hyatt explains. “He was supposed to help us, but then he backed out. Said he couldn’t do it.”
All this time, Liv and I have wondered about Sanchez. Seems he bowed out. Understandable, I guess, since he and his wife have a baby on the way. Or maybe he has another reason I don’t know about yet. Like his own plan.
“We picked Fanning up,” Hyatt says, “when he came home from work one night and drove him to the cabin. The one you and your partner visited.”
So they had cameras.
“Trail cams,” she confirms before I can ask.
“Was Fanning in the barn when you set it on fire?” I ask. No need to beat around the bush.
“He was. Our mistake was in leaving before it burned to the ground. There was no wind. It had rained like hell the night before. We weren’t worried about the fire reaching the cabin or the woods.
But we didn’t go far. When we returned a little while later, the fire was basically nothing but smoldering embers.
We hoped and prayed that meant the job was done.
The ash was too hot to dig through looking for whatever was left of him, but the answer was obvious.
My old blue truck—the one I kept at the cabin—was gone. ”
“We’ve stayed hidden since then,” Reeves says.
“We couldn’t be sure what he would do. But after what happened to Patricia, and then when Melanie told us about her coming clean, we decided it was time to end the charade.
” She draws in a big breath before she goes on.
“We would have killed him—we tried. But we failed, and we have no idea where he is now.” Hyatt puts an arm around her and pulls her close.
That certainly explains a lot. No matter that both Shelby and Hardeman have spoken about this plan, it’s damned mind-blowing to hear it in detail—particularly recounted in such a calm manner. “Can you tell me if he was injured in any way? Before the fire.”
Apparently he was capable of driving.
“There was a big gash in his left arm, but he had that before we picked him up. I have no idea how he injured himself.”
That likely explains the blood in his house. I scrub a hand over my face. “This is . . .” I’m not exactly sure what to say. In all my years as a detective, I have to admit I have never heard a story quite like this one. Damn.
“I appreciate you all coming forward.” My thoughts are racing. I need to find Liv and fill her in. More importantly, we need to find that bastard. I hope to hell he drove off and died somewhere. The trouble is, nothing has come back on the BOLO for the truck. He could be any-fucking-where.
I clear away all the other thoughts and force myself to focus on the moment.
“I need you all to write your statements and then sign them. I’ll have an officer standing by to provide any assistance you may require.
You can leave once that’s done.” I get to my feet. I have to get out of here and find Liv.
“Is that it?” Hyatt asks.
I survey the frazzled-looking group. “For now.”
I locate Officer Loudon, who was watching the door when I arrived. “Make sure they all write their statements and sign them before they leave. Put the statements on my desk.”
“Will do.” Loudon gives me a confirming nod.
“And close out those BOLOs I issued for Hyatt and Reeves and their vehicles—except the one for the old Ford truck.”
“Yes, sir.”
Sanchez is expecting me. I need to hear his side of this. Not to mention I’d like to know his reason for dropping out of the plan. A part of me still thinks there is more to him than I know. Something about his escape all those years ago that is not in the case file.
Sanchez is waiting at the front door of his home when I arrive.
I apologize for running late. He shows me to his private study.
To be so young, he’s earned a surprising number of awards from the firm where he works.
Most of Fanning’s victims have done fairly well for themselves despite the horror of their childhoods.
“So,” Sanchez says once we are seated around his desk, “how can I help you with this investigation? I’m assuming since you’re here that you haven’t found Fanning.”
I shake my head. “Not yet. You’re the last of his victims we have to interview. In fact, I’m running behind because the other six showed up at headquarters to confess the plan they attempted to carry out. Sounds like you dropped out.”
Sanchez nods. “I wanted to be a part of it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk my responsibilities.” He shrugs. “My friends and I had this excursion to Mexico planned already.” He shakes his head. “Their plan just wasn’t the right thing to do. I decided to leave justice to you.”
Smart man.
He smiles then, though the expression is a sad one. “You thought I had something to do with his disappearance.”
I shrug. “We considered the possibility the same as we did for the others. Taking him to Mexico and burying him seemed like an interesting option.”
Sanchez laughs. “I can’t say that I wouldn’t have enjoyed doing just that, but no, we didn’t. I haven’t seen or heard from that bastard since the trial. If the world is lucky, no one will ever hear from him again.”
Sanchez’s wife appears with two glasses of iced tea. Her rounded belly makes me think of Liv. I hope she can work things out for the best. Whatever that might be.
“Was there anything else, Detective Duncan?” Sanchez meets my gaze again. “I get the feeling there’s something more you want to ask me.”
I smile. Perceptive guy. “You know, I’ve read over your statements repeatedly. The ones you made when you were ten years old and then your testimony at the trial. You told your story carefully, ensuring all bases were covered, but it feels like you left something out.”
His eyebrows rear up. “Really. My lawyer and the district attorney seemed to think my testimony was powerful. You know, unimpeachable.”
“That’s true. Maybe it’s just me.” I look him directly in the eyes.
The truth is, after Liv and I learned what the other victims were up to, I began to wonder about Sanchez all the more.
Mostly because something about his original story just didn’t sit right with me.
“I feel like there’s something else you need to tell me.
” I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s the fact that you were a skinny ten-year-old.
Little for your age. And you bested a forty-something-year-old guy who was experienced in handling kids—each one of them larger than you.
You not only bested him, you left him in bad shape. How did you manage to do that?”