temples. His mouth wrinkled into a wry imitation of a grin. “The Billy Smoke killing.”
“You’re always one step ahead of me, pardner.”
“I got wind that Oscar Sweetwater wasn’t satisfied with our findings.” The chief of police sighed. “When we don’t make an arrest, nobody likes it. Including me. But the FBI and the state police agree with my department on this one. It’s a no-brainer, Charlie. You know the basic facts. Billy’s wallet was missing. He was murdered during the process of an opportunistic robbery. And the senator had the bad luck to show up before the guy scrams. So he gets mugged and robbed. Lucky for Colorado we didn’t lose Patch Davidson.”
“You a big fan of the senator?”
“Not particularly. But he’s got tons of seniority, and that helps the state.” Parris looked back toward the charred terminal building. “It was Patch Davidson that got us the federal money for this new airport. Which makes just about everybody happy, and that will get him another two or three thousand votes come next election.”
“Anybody not happy about the new airport?”
Parris shrugged. “Any new construction on this scale is bound to piss somebody off. There’s been some complaints from a couple of environmental groups. But they haven’t been able to make any headway in court.”
A possible arson at the new airport was interesting, but Moon reminded himself that nosing around in Scott Parris’s business was not going to help him get his job done. He directed the conversation back to the tribal chairman’s concern. “Billy Smoke’s stolen wallet—was it holding any plastic?”
“We determined that Mr. Smoke had been issued a Visa and Conoco. Both had been used by the victim within a few hours prior to his murder. So the cards must’ve been in his wallet when the perp bashed his skull in.”
“And so far, nobody’s used either card for a purchase.”
“You got it. But that ain’t so surprising. Few hours after he does the dirty deed, the bad guy finds out he’s assaulted a United States senator. That makes the killing of Billy Smoke more than just your average run-of-the-mill homicide. The criminal knows that half the cops in the country will be on the lookout, waiting for him to make a dumb move. So you know what he does with Mr. Smoke’s credit cards.”
Moon nodded. “Drops ’em into the nearest sewer.”
“You bet.”
“If I remember right, you’ve got the murder weapon.”
“Your memory’s working just fine.” Parris jammed his hands into his pockets. “Fourteen-inch piece of rebar. Found blood on it—Billy Smoke’s and Patch Davidson’s.”
“But no prints.”
“Life is full of bitter disappointments.” Parris looked sideways at his friend. “So where do you go from here?”
“I’ll go do some rooting around.” Enough to satisfy Oscar Sweetwater. “I’ll see a few people. Ask some questions. Then I’ll call the chairman.”
Parris was recalling former cases they had worked together. This canny Ute had a way of stumbling over things. “Charlie?”
“Yeah?” Moon kicked at something among the glass shards. It looked like a flattened piece of metal. Soft metal.
“If you should pick up anything important—you’ll let me know.”
“Sure I will, pardner. But don’t hold your breath.” Moon squatted to have a closer look at the object. It was a flattened piece of lead. He looked up at the chief of police. “What do you make of this?”
Scott Parris picked up the chunk of metal with plastic-tipped forceps. He gave it a professional once-over. “I sure hope this wasn’t a bullet, because it’d have to be at least half an inch in diameter. Hell, that’s all I need—some gun nut shooting a fifty-caliber machine gun in my jurisdiction.” He found a plastic evidence bag in his jacket pocket.
“Could be a slug from one of those old black-powder buffalo guns. Maybe some Daniel Boone?type shot a hole through the terminal window, punctured
“You’re always one step ahead of me, pardner.”
“I got wind that Oscar Sweetwater wasn’t satisfied with our findings.” The chief of police sighed. “When we don’t make an arrest, nobody likes it. Including me. But the FBI and the state police agree with my department on this one. It’s a no-brainer, Charlie. You know the basic facts. Billy’s wallet was missing. He was murdered during the process of an opportunistic robbery. And the senator had the bad luck to show up before the guy scrams. So he gets mugged and robbed. Lucky for Colorado we didn’t lose Patch Davidson.”
“You a big fan of the senator?”
“Not particularly. But he’s got tons of seniority, and that helps the state.” Parris looked back toward the charred terminal building. “It was Patch Davidson that got us the federal money for this new airport. Which makes just about everybody happy, and that will get him another two or three thousand votes come next election.”
“Anybody not happy about the new airport?”
Parris shrugged. “Any new construction on this scale is bound to piss somebody off. There’s been some complaints from a couple of environmental groups. But they haven’t been able to make any headway in court.”
A possible arson at the new airport was interesting, but Moon reminded himself that nosing around in Scott Parris’s business was not going to help him get his job done. He directed the conversation back to the tribal chairman’s concern. “Billy Smoke’s stolen wallet—was it holding any plastic?”
“We determined that Mr. Smoke had been issued a Visa and Conoco. Both had been used by the victim within a few hours prior to his murder. So the cards must’ve been in his wallet when the perp bashed his skull in.”
“And so far, nobody’s used either card for a purchase.”
“You got it. But that ain’t so surprising. Few hours after he does the dirty deed, the bad guy finds out he’s assaulted a United States senator. That makes the killing of Billy Smoke more than just your average run-of-the-mill homicide. The criminal knows that half the cops in the country will be on the lookout, waiting for him to make a dumb move. So you know what he does with Mr. Smoke’s credit cards.”
Moon nodded. “Drops ’em into the nearest sewer.”
“You bet.”
“If I remember right, you’ve got the murder weapon.”
“Your memory’s working just fine.” Parris jammed his hands into his pockets. “Fourteen-inch piece of rebar. Found blood on it—Billy Smoke’s and Patch Davidson’s.”
“But no prints.”
“Life is full of bitter disappointments.” Parris looked sideways at his friend. “So where do you go from here?”
“I’ll go do some rooting around.” Enough to satisfy Oscar Sweetwater. “I’ll see a few people. Ask some questions. Then I’ll call the chairman.”
Parris was recalling former cases they had worked together. This canny Ute had a way of stumbling over things. “Charlie?”
“Yeah?” Moon kicked at something among the glass shards. It looked like a flattened piece of metal. Soft metal.
“If you should pick up anything important—you’ll let me know.”
“Sure I will, pardner. But don’t hold your breath.” Moon squatted to have a closer look at the object. It was a flattened piece of lead. He looked up at the chief of police. “What do you make of this?”
Scott Parris picked up the chunk of metal with plastic-tipped forceps. He gave it a professional once-over. “I sure hope this wasn’t a bullet, because it’d have to be at least half an inch in diameter. Hell, that’s all I need—some gun nut shooting a fifty-caliber machine gun in my jurisdiction.” He found a plastic evidence bag in his jacket pocket.
“Could be a slug from one of those old black-powder buffalo guns. Maybe some Daniel Boone?type shot a hole through the terminal window, punctured
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