Read Online Matters of Doubt by Warren C Easley - Free Book Online

in homicide and the ME. Lieutenant Harmon Scott was still puffing from the climb up the stone steps when he introduced himself. Scott had thinning brown hair, narrow eyes that squinted at me from behind thick glasses, and a belly that hung unapologetically over his belt. He looked more like a used car salesman than a cop, except for his eyes. They were the color of fog and had that glaze of practiced indifference that cops everywhere eventually adopt.
    His partner, Detective Aldus Jones, was younger, trimmer, and still looked like he enjoyed his job. Smooth ebony skin accentuated a mouth full of perfect, white teeth, which he periodically flashed in a brilliant smile, even at a murder scene.
    Scott and Jones looked the situation over, then separated us like I predicted. Jones took Picasso, Scott took me. We sat down at the table on the patio. Jones and Picasso had grabbed a couple of chairs and were face to face over by the gate. The uniforms were putting crime tape in place, and two medical techs and a young female photographer, who had just arrived, were setting up shop next to Conyers’ body.
    Scott pulled a spiral notebook from his shirt pocket and armed a ball point pen with thick, stubby fingers. “So, Mr. Claxton, I need your address and what you do for a living before we start.”
    I complied, adding, “Before I moved to Oregon, I was a deputy DA for the city of Los Angeles for twenty-two years. I worked closely with Pete Stout down there. Major Crimes.” It was a shameless plug, but I wanted to get it in. It would add weight to my statement, and we needed all the help we could get.
    Scott raised a single eyebrow and grunted but didn’t write anything down. “Are you Mr. Baxter’s attorney?”
    â€œI am, but on a different matter.”
    â€œI see. What different matter?”
    â€œI’m afraid that’s privileged.”
    He nodded and jotted something down. “Start when you arrived here, and tell me exactly what happened.” After I took him through the events and answered several questions, he said, “Why did you come to Mr. Conyers’ house in the first place?”
    â€œI was going to sit in on a meeting with him and Danny Baxter.”
    â€œWhat kind of meeting?”
    â€œAs far as I know, they were going to discuss some aspect of the disappearance of Danny’s mother, Nicole Baxter.” I told him about the message Danny had received but didn’t explain what had happened to it. Picasso would cover that. The less said about our discussion before I called 911, the better. “She’s been missing for eight years,” I continued. “They found her remains over on the Deschutes River recently. I’m sure you heard about it.”
    Scott’s eyes came up from his notebook and narrowed down to slits. “Right. Know the case. Were you invited to this, uh, meeting?”
    â€œNot directly. Danny left word where he’d be and left it up to me as to whether I’d attend.” That was close to the truth, and I saw no gain in implying I’d just barged in on the scene.
    â€œWhat was Mr. Conyers’ relationship to Mr. Baxter’s mother?” I was pretty sure that was a question to which Scott already knew the answer.
    â€œI believe he was Mrs. Baxter’s boyfriend at the time she disappeared.”
    â€œI see.” The eyes narrowed again. He was circling for the kill. “And how would you characterize the relationship between Mr. Baxter and Mr. Conyers?”
    â€œI have no direct knowledge of that. I’ve only known Danny for a week or so.”
    â€œWhat about indirect knowledge?”
    â€œI couldn’t say.”
    A brief smile flickered across Scott’s face, but he kept his eyes down as he jotted something in his notebook. Then he looked up. “Did you, uh, happen to see anything lying around here that could have been used to kill Mr. Conyers?”
    â€œNo, I didn’t.