Page 31 of Bone Echo

“NO!” She covered her mouth with both hands then hung her head, her shoulders shaking.

“Did you have someone kill him?” Clamping her lips tight, she shook her head again. “Are you sure about that? Four hours is a long time to get groceries.”

Laura turned mute again, sitting in her chair like stone, staring into space.

Dudley’s brother was out there, somewhere. Probably dead. Who could survive an attack that left that kind of carnage?

And he didn’t have a single clue where to find him.

It was senseless. Insane. Rage filled him so he lost track of what was going on inside the interrogation room. He raised his balled fists and almost smashed them through the one-way mirror before he regained control. He needed a drink.

Footsteps echoed on the tile floor, and Jack squeezed his shoulder with a hand the size of a Virginia ham. “You okay, buddy?’

“I will be. Give me a minute.”

“Sure thing. Laura clammed up.”

“I saw. What about a lie detector test?”

“She didn’t say yes. But she didn’t say no.”

“Then let’s get busy. Time’s running out for my brother.”

Night was already upon them and the hours were ticking away. Dudley pushed through his rage and hurried down the hall with Jack where the rest of the team had gathered. A table with coffee, soft drinks, pizza, and doughnuts stood against one side of the wall, and hard metal chairs were in a haphazard semicircle around a cork-board that held photos of the scene.

Seeing them, his stomach turned. It seemed impossible that only this morning he had called Charlie to arrange to meet after his shift at Big Jim’s Brews near the river. He would never share another beer with his brother. The knowledge unleashed a flood of grief that threatened to swamp him.

Buck up. You can do this.It was Charlie’s voice echoing from the past. Dudley stiffened his spin and grabbed a cup of coffee. The idea of food turned his stomach.

Normally, he would be the lead detective, but considering the presumed victim was his brother, Jack would take the lead.

Commander John Evans strode into the room. He’d been in charge of the homicide squad for fifteen years, a gray-haired and seasoned man who was both street-wise and savvy.

“The intruder picked the lock and entered through the back door leading into the den.” He pointed to a diagram of Charlie’s house. “From there, he went through the kitchen, kicked over the cat’s water dish, probably accidentally, and then entered the workshop through the door from the kitchen into the garage.”

He moved the pointer to Charlie’s worktable. “From the position of the victim’s work table and the arrangement of tools and supplies on it, we can safely conclude the intruder would have surprised him from behind.”

Coward,came to Dudley’s mind. But the attack in broad daylight and the evidence of a brutal killing told him something else: this looked like a professional hit from somebody out for revenge.

The question was,why?

With no results yet from the evidence they’d gathered, the facts they knew were sparse. Commander Evans went through the timeline as they knew it. Laura’s had changed, so hers was mere supposition.

The guys who had stayed at the scene to question neighbors reported that Charlie’s closest neighbor had not been home, and none of the other neighbors had seen any suspicious vehicles or persons in the neighborhood. The privacy afforded by the large wooded lots in the neighborhood also provided isolation that would allow anyone with ill intent to sneak around undetected.

“Keep digging,” the commander said. “Question the neighbors again, and focus on finding the closest neighbor. This time, ask questions about the Stephens’ relationship, too. I want a team at the beauty salon where the wife works. It’s Curl Up and Dye off Poplar. Somebody, somewhere, saw or knows something.”

Dudley had never been more grateful for his commander’s never-give-up, positive attitude. It boosted morale, even his own.

Still, his need for a drink was overwhelming. By the time the criminal investigation squad left headquarters, it was two in the morning, and raining.

“You okay?” Jack said. “You need me to stick around a while?”

Dudley waved him off. “Go home and get some rest. I’m fine.”

He wasn’t. He stood with the rain soaking his hair and clothes while he watched his partner head for home, a neat bachelor’s pad in a shabby, crime-ridden neighborhood, which was about all he could afford on a cop’s salary.

Home for Dudley was a small green cottage in an older section on the east side of town that had failed to enjoy the gentrification taking places in other parts of Memphis. His lawn needed mowing, as did most of his neighbors’ yards. The paint on his green shutters was fading, his roof need replacing, and his wife was losing interest. Fast.

---