Here Comes the Night (14 page)

Angie Wesner parked her car, took a few minutes to calm
herself, including a big nip from a flask of vodka that was hidden under the
seat. She took a small cylinder of breath freshener from her purse and sprayed
her mouth. Then she got out and walked into the police station.

She reached the front desk and signed in. “I’m here to see
Detective Edgars.”

The officer in charge nodded to another young woman in
uniform and told her where to escort the guest. They headed down a hallway with
an arrow pointing to the Homicide Division.

As they neared the entrance, Angie was startled by the sight
of Buck, handcuffed, being escorted by a uniform out of a door not ten feet
ahead.

They moved directly toward Angie, but Buck was looking down
and hadn’t see her.

Angie’s knees almost buckled, which caught the woman
officer’s attention. She grabbed her arm. “Are you alright, ma’am?”

“Just a little dizzy. Give me a second.” She put her hand on
the wall to steady herself.

When he heard Angie’s voice, Buck’s head shot up. He
straightened and became alert.

As they intersected in the hall, their eyes met for a
instant. Then he looked the other way.

Angie glanced away, too, playing it safe, but the officer
with her seemed to have missed the brief eye contact. Buck had been treated by
a doctor. His face was cleaned up and she could see fresh stitches in several
places.

She looked up at the officer. “I’m alright now.”

They moved on down the hall and Angie was seated in front of
a desk. A few minutes later, Edgars came in, sat down in the desk chair, with
Horse just behind him.

“Thanks for coming in, Mrs. Wesner,” Edgars began. “Can I
get you anything—coffee? A soda?”

“Maybe some coffee. Thanks,” Angie said.

As Edgars poured the coffee, Horse drew up a second chair,
so that Angie was facing both detectives behind the desk.

The coffee tasted three days old but Angie sipped at it
anyway.

Edgars said, “It’s been a tough morning, I know.”

Angie didn’t respond, figuring if she didn’t give them
anything to work with, this would be over sooner.

“We just have a few additional questions that might help us
figure out what happened to your husband.”

“It’s looking less and less like suicide,” Horse said. “At
this point we’ve started operating on the premise that your husband was
killed.”

Angie sighed and put her hands over her face. Finally, she
raised her head. “How can I help?”

“Do you know anyone who might want to hurt your husband?”
Edgars asked.

Angie could write a long list of Gordon’s enemies, probably
half the people he knew, but she just said, “He had enemies, like most powerful
men do.”

“Anybody with a special grudge, or a long history of
acrimony with him?” Horse asked.

“His secretary might have some names for you. He mentioned
people from time to time that he did business with, giving him trouble,” Angie
said.

“Any relatives?” Edgars again.

“He didn’t have any family that I know of. Or, if he did,
they were so distant, he hadn’t talked to them in years.”

“Do you know what your husband kept in his safe?” Horse was
asking.

“His office safe? I don’t,” Angie answered. “His secretary
might.”

“That surprises me,” Horse said.

“What do you mean?” Angie said.

Horse continued. “I would think your husband would have told
you about important documents, perhaps, that were secure in his office safe.
His will? Insurance policies?”

“That was all Gordon’s affairs.” Angie had no interest in or
head for net worth numbers and all the rest of it. Once she got with Gordon she
was looking at more money than she’d ever seen in her life. The notion of
tracking it never occurred to her. There was always plenty. This past year he’d
seemed secretive about some things, but she assumed that was their growing
apart.

“Do you have a safe at home?” Edgars asked.

“Yes, a small one for my jewelry. Some cash. Stuff like
that,” Angie said.

“But you have no knowledge of his business or legal
affairs?” Horse asked.

“Honestly,” Angie said, “even when he told me things I’d
forget, I’m ashamed to admit. If I needed anything, I would go through Indigo,
his lawyer.”

“Do you know how much he’s worth?” This was Edgars.

“Not really. A long time ago, he showed me a portfolio, I
remember, but I have no idea now.”

Horse jumped in. “Was there a prenuptial agreement?”

“Sure,” Angie answered. “Since he had no children or family
left, he wasn’t worried about it, but I insisted on it.” It had seemed like a
smart move on her part at the time. Given the difference in their ages, she did
not want to be seen as a gold digger, especially in Oklahoma, where half the
population went to church
more
than once a week.

It was not until much later that Angie realized she had been
hoisted by her own petard. Once she wanted to leave Gordon, it was clear she
had boxed herself in so she would not receive a penny. Now it seemed
unbelievable she had been so naive.

The detectives stared at Angie, waiting for more. “The
prenup basically says if I leave him or am unfaithful in the marriage, that’s
it. Zero.”

“Did you have the same restrictions on him?” Edgars asked.

Angie fixed a stare on him. “No, he was the one with the
money.”

“How much insurance did he carry?” Horse asked.

Angie was shifting in her chair now. “Life insurance?”

“Yes.”

“He had several policies. They might all add up to several
hundred thousand, more or less. We hadn’t gone over any of this in a while. I’m
just guesstimating.” She did not, of course, add that she had not needed to
know any of the numbers because Gordon was wealthy enough that whatever it came
to would be enough to make her comfortable for the rest of her life.

Then Edgars zinged her. “Do you know Buck Dearmore?”

She frowned. “You asked me that earlier.
”

The detectives said nothing, waited for her to continue.

“What does he have to do with Gordon?”

“Probably nothing,” Edgars said. “But his office was broken
into, too.”

Angie didn’t know how to respond to that. She decided to
segue from the subject of Buck. “I don’t think Gordon liked him that much.”

“How come?” Edgars asked.

“I don’t really know. I think he may have been a little
jealous.” Angie winced at choosing the word
jealous.

The detectives seemed quite interested and waited for her to
go on.

“I just mean Buck Dearmore had plenty of fans and a lot of
people wanted to work with him on loans and such. I think Gordon may have
resented it, that’s all.”

“Did Mr. Wesner ever mention Mr. Dearmore specifically as
being someone he didn’t trust?” Horse asked.

“No,” Angie said.

“So you can think of no one who had any vendettas against
your husband?” Edgars asked.

“No. Some of the other bank officers might know someone.”

“We’re checking that out as well.” Horse said.

Angie knew to keep her mouth shut, but could not resist one
question. “Do you think it was Mr. Dearmore that hit that rodeo star last
night?”

Edgars studied her for a moment. “His car seems to have been
involved. We’re still investigating.”

“Alright, Mrs. Wesner,” Horse stood up. “I think that’s all
for now. We appreciate your coming in.”

“Of course,” Angie said, quickly rising and grabbing her
purse. “Whatever you need.”

Once she was out in the hall, Angie quickly dug her cell out
of her purse and pushed Indigo’s cell on the speed dial. As it rang, she
hurried down the hall, moving away from the Homicide offices.

Indigo picked up after several rings. “Hello.”

“Indigo, it’s Angie Wesner.”

“Oh, how are you holding up, Angie?”

“As well as can be expected.”

“What can I do for you?”

“I just saw Buck Dearmore in the hall down here at the
Police Station. Do you know what they’re holding him for?”

“No, but he did call the office. I just happened to be here
gathering some of Gordon’s documents for the police and talked briefly with
him. I’ve got somebody headed down there now to take care of him. One of my
partners in criminal law.”

“Good, he
is
a part of the bank family and I just
wanted to make sure he had legal representation.” Angie kept her tone casual.
“I’m sure Gordon would have sent someone down.” Then, after a beat. “Why do
they want to talk with you?”

“Just questions about Mr. Wesner’s business and legal
affairs, I assume.”

Angie gave her time to elaborate, but there was only
silence, so she jumped in. “Well, good. I’m afraid I’m pretty ignorant about
Gordon’s dealings. Can you look in on Mr. Dearmore? Make sure he’s alright?”

“Sure, I’ll be glad to. Got to go now,” Indigo said.

“Thanks a lot,” Angie said and clicked off. Her nervous
energy slumped like someone had just pulled a plug on her. After no sleep and
all the aftershocks, it became an effort to walk to her car.

She got in and cranked up the air conditioner. She figured
she needed the cold air to stay awake until she got home.

Running on empty, Tony pulled the Kawasaki into the next
filling station along Highway 152, a mom-and-pop place with a convenience
store. He filled up with gas and went inside.

A few unmatched Formica tables had locals sitting around,
smoking and drinking coffee. A bakery counter offered sugar-infused fruit
pastries, and deep fried egg rolls and buffalo wings steamed in a hot deli
section. The greasy smells made Tony think of the quick stop his parents ran
and lived above, where everyone in the family was on call from seven in the
morning until eleven at night.

The old geezer at the register even looked like his dad.
Gnarly hands, cigarette hanging from his lips, like there wasn’t any law
against it. “That’s $9.62 on the gas. Anything else? Got fresh cinnamon rolls.”
He didn’t seem to care either way.

“You got beer?” Tony asked.

The old man sized him up a moment. “In the case back there.”
He motioned his head toward the other side of the table area.

A small television with a smeared screen was giving the
local news. As Tony opened the door to the refrigerated case, a reporter start
talking.

One of the locals said, “Shh, guys, here it is.” Tony
grabbed a longneck and turned around to see the screen.

Some guy standing in front of University Hospital had a
microphone in his hand. “Doctors here say that barrel racing champion Candy
Myers is still in serious, but no longer critical condition, after being struck
by a car last night while riding horses with her fiancé near the family ranch.”

Tony’s eyes darted around the room, wondering if anybody was
eyeballing him. But the locals were busy watching the t.v. They responded with
quick little cheers, obviously pleased with the news.

“Turn it up,” somebody said.

The local anchor piped in with, “Thanks for that report,
Bob. And now we go to Tammy Willis at the Oklahoma City Police Department. What
have you got, Tammy?”

Tammy looked like someone who regularly did fluff pieces
about runaway dogs who sniffed their way back home, but this morning her
demeanor was serious. “Thanks, Linda. Police here aren’t saying much about the
Ford Mustang found several miles from the scene of the accident, but KOCO has
confirmed that they are testing it for hair and blood samples. The most
shocking news here is that the owner of the car has been identified as Buck
Dearmore, former O.U. football star and runner up for the Heisman Trophy.”

Tony opened his beer and took a big chug.

“Locals are stunned,” Tammy continued, “with this
development. And we found out just minutes ago that Dearmore, the alleged
driver of the car, has been arrested and is now being questioned by Oklahoma
City detectives.”

Tony made a fist and whispered a “yes” to himself. Tammy
droned on as the coffee drinkers shook their heads and debated whether it was
possible that Buck was involved. But Tony had heard all he needed to.

At checkout, Tony got a buzz giving the old geezer the
C-note for his relatively small purchase. The owner’s chin fell. “Don’t you got
anything smaller?”

“Sure don’t,” Tony said with a smile.

“Man, you’re going to clean out my bank here before I’m even
open.”

“You can give it to me for free,” Tony said. No answer. He
got all tens and fives as his change. No thanks for the purchase.

Tony relished this turn of events. He had already checked in
with his P.O. so he wasn’t in violation. He had a fast bike to get him out of
state. Maybe he could even find a new license tag for it if he came across
another bike somewhere. And the cops weren’t looking at him for the accident.
He’d be two states away before they had a clue.

Tony mounted his bike, chugged the rest of his beer and
tossed the long neck bottle behind him. It hit the wall with a clatter. The
quick ingestion of the alcohol, making the old fart change his hundred, then
Tammy’s news put him in a great mood. That was all he had ever asked for, the
occasional break.

The sky was mushy with early morning grays, but the clouds
were clipping along like the relentless winds of the Oklahoma plains. It was
his day, when things would turn around for him.

But even Tony was unprepared for the good fortune ahead when
he looked east, down the two lane highway. Coming his way, headed toward
Oklahoma City, was a 45-foot Safari motor home, towing a gold Porsche. And he
knew the bastard who was driving it.

Inside the station, Edgars and Horse sat down with Indigo to
discuss Gordon’s will and insurance policies. She had spread legal forms out
over the interview table.

“There’s a lot of stuff here that’s more than curious,”
Indigo began.

“Like what?” Horse asked.

“Well, first, the insurance policies are all up to date, but
he changed the beneficiary just last week,” Indigo said.

Edgars perked up. “From who to who?”

“From his wife to his daughter. You can see the e-form
confirmation.”

“His wife didn’t mention a daughter.” Edgars flipped through
the forms and shrugged. “Who is she?”

“I haven’t met her myself. Mr. Wesner was arranging a
sitdown to meet her when he died.” Indigo pulled out a copy of Wesner’s will.
“And this is even spookier. A new will. He only signed it on Thursday morning,
the day before he died.”

“Has he got ESP or something?” Horse asked.

“Hardly. More a ruthless pragmatist than ethereal. But he
was going to meet his daughter for the first time this next week. He wanted the
new will in hand when that happened.”

Edgars was not completely convinced. “Why would he leave
everything to someone he’d never even seen?”

“Blood, I guess. In my experience it can have a powerful
effect.” Indigo sat back and waited for their questions.

Edgars fingered his lip. “There was something…” Then it came
to him. “Oh yeah, he left a note in his desk. ‘Make appointment to see D.’
That’s a capital ‘D.’ That was about his newfound daughter.”

Horse nodded in agreement. “So the next obvious question,
does the wife know about any of this?”

“I doubt it,” Indigo said. “While he was dictating the will,
he as much as told me he couldn’t trust her anymore.”

“Playing around?”

“He wasn’t specific.”

“Man, I wish we had those safe contents,” Edgars said. “What
got him interested in finding the daughter anyway?”

“Other way around. She found him,” Indigo said. “Through
some kind of internet place, I think. He didn’t know she existed until he got a
letter a while back. Of course he scoffed at first, but surprise, surprise, it
checked out. Some ancient fling.”

“How would you describe his state of mind last time you saw
him?” Horse asked.

“Certainly not suicidal, if that’s what you’re asking. Look,
I was one of the few fans Mr. Wesner had. Granted, he was a complicated, difficult,
even grating sort of man at times. Not the happiest. But this new development?
Finding this child when he didn’t think he had any? Believe me, he could not
wait
to meet her.”

Edgars cell phone buzzed. “Edgars.” He listened a moment,
then, “Be right there.” He looked over at Horse. “It’s the lab. They’ve got the
labs from the Mustang.”

They quickly made arrangements to copy Wesner’s documents
and thanked Indigo. Then they headed down to the CSU lab.

In the elevator, Horse said, “I get the idea his lawyer
isn’t heartbroken about the wife getting cut out.”

“Yeah,” Edgars agreed, “but I can’t tell if she’s got her
own dog in this fight or not. The lawyer, that is.”

“She’s a pretty cool cookie,” Horse agreed.

Max Gholston ran his Trace Evidence lab like a titan, and
his favorite task was parsing out pertinent information at the rate that
pleased him. An enormous slob in perpetual suits of what Edgars dubbed turd
brown, his minute work was, nevertheless, always precise and accurate, even
with his log-like fingers. The secret, as he was fond of showing to people, was
a specially designed set of tools and custom made clamps.

Max waited with heavy lids and a sly smile as the detectives
entered his domain. “Afternoon, boys. You’re going to love what we found. Coffee?”

“I would,” Horse said. “I’m beat to shit being up all
night.”

“Yeah, okay. Me, too, then.” Edgars looked around, always
impressed by the office’s slick organization.
A place for everything and
everything in its place.
That was Max’s iron rule. No room for flaky little
interns here. He’d wipe the floor with them if they tested him.

“Here you go, boys,” Max said, handing them their coffees.
The cups were engraved with “C.S.U.-O.K.C. Fingerprint Lab.” On the other side
it read, “You leave it, We lift it.”

“How do you like our new cups?”

“Very clever there, Max. Did you come up with that
yourself?” Horse asked.

“Nope, group vote. I personally favored, ‘D.N.A. Markers:
Read ‘em and weep.’ But I was outvoted by our democratic enclave. They think
they’re smart.”

Edgars hoped to segue right to the point. “What about your
report? Does Buck Dearmore need to read it and weep?”

“As the saying goes, ‘The jury’s still out on that.’ There’s
good news and bad news,” Max said with a grin. “What would you like first?”

Horse said, “Bad. Let’s have it.”

“Alrighty then,” Max said, warming to the task, but talking
slower all the while. “The Mustang got a pretty good wipedown. If my assistant
wasn’t so damn fine as a result of Yours Truly’s training, you’d have squat.
However, and you may not like this, the owner Buck Dearmore’s fingerprints are
nowhere near the steering wheel. They’re in the glove box and the back seat,
but don’t connect him to being the driver.”

“You mean other than the fact that he owns it,” Edgars said.

“Of course, there’s that. But that’s not my area. That’s
yours, isn’t it?”

Horse’s turn to speed him along. “Okay, what’s the good
news?”

“The hair and blood on the grill belong to Candy Myers, and
the horse hair is from her mount, alright. Hell, the car left paint smears on
the poor horse. Talk about a collision.” Max was really enjoying himself now.

“What else?” Edgars prodded.

“Well, here’s where the fun starts. We have a third party,
ladies and germs, someone very unlikely to know Buck Dearmore, the car’s
owner.”

Edgars and Horse leaned forward.

“I ran these tests myself, so I speak with complete
confidence,” Max said. “There was one five-point and one partial found. The
five-point was, get this, inside the steering wheel.” Max gripped his fingers
around an imaginary wheel to demonstrate. “He held that wheel so tight, his
fingers wrapped clear around to the other side, and that’s how he missed wiping
it away.”

“Did you run it?” Horse asked.

“Patience, gentlemen, I’m getting to that,” Max said. “We
put it in the database and got a hit almost instantly. God, these recognition
programs are just amazing these days, you know it?”

Edgars’ leg was pumping up and down at this point. Continents
could drift apart between Gholston’s sentences. “Spill it, Max, you’re giving
me restless leg syndrome.”

“Ooh, testy, testy,” Max said. “I can tell you guys have
been up all night. Okay, let me see here.” He leafed through to a new sheet in
the file. “Here we go. Your newly identified suspect is one Tony Bonner.
B-O-N-N-E-R.”

Edgars took the sheet from him. “Somebody really did steal
his car? Well, fuck me.” He studied Tony’s picture. “Just released from
McAlester six months ago. Here. Know him?” He passed the picture to Horse.

Horse studied it a moment and shook his head. “Still on
parole, though. I wonder if our boy has been checking in.”

Edgars grinned. “Only one way to find out.”