Page 40 of Lie for a Million

A sturdy wooden bridge, supported by thick logs, crossed the creek bed where a dirt road cut off to the McKenna ranch. Sam had driven across it when he’d visited Roper’s family. But at the time he’d paid the crossing scant attention. The bridge blended into the landscape as it likely had for decades.

They had driven past the bridge when the older boy touched Sam’s arm. “Stop,” he said. “It was here. I remember that dead stump by the water.”

Sam braked and pulled off the road. The bridge was a dozen yards back—a distance from which the syringe could have easily been thrown by a good arm or dropped into the water and washed downstream.

His heart drummed as he climbed out of the vehicle with his phone ready to take pictures. Roper McKenna had been high on his list of suspects. The horse trainer had just been moved to the top.

* * *

Charlie sat at his office computer, pasting the new photo of Jasmine the elephant into his website. He’d caught her at a moment when she was lunging at one of her tormentors with her ears spread like wings and her eyes blazing fury. The tusks he’d photoshopped into place made a nice addition, even though he would have to explain their absence later.

Of course, he’d cropped the bottom edge of the photo to hide the leg irons that kept her from moving more than a few steps. He’d also removed the log fence from the background and replaced it with a fiery sunset. The result was a dramatic photo guaranteed to stir the pulse of any big game hunter. Photoshop was a wonderful invention.

Bids to shoot the elephant were still coming in. Charlie knew enough about the market to single out the serious customers—hunters who were decent shots and wouldn’t freeze when the critical moment came. They would also need the cash to pay up-front.

With a click, he saved the photo to the page. This image should bring in even more high rollers. He would wait another week, then close the bidding and pick an offer that was both high and safe. With such a big, dangerous animal involved, he couldn’t afford to let anything go wrong.

Too bad Miss Jasmine Culhane wouldn’t be here to see her namesake go down. Charlie had lusted after Jasmine for years, ever since she’d sat in the front row of the high school algebra class he’d taught. But after she’d become involved with the animal rights group that had raided his ranch, he’d been cured of his obsession. He had her red Corvette as a consolation prize. And there were plenty of other women out there who’d appreciate a good man with money.

After sending the image out to his potential clients, Charlie shut down the computer, rinsed out a glass, and poured himself three fingers of Jack Daniel’s. Sipping, he meandered out onto the wide verandah and stood at the rail.

His kingdom spread before him, a modest stretch of untrimmed grassland dotted with clumps of sage, mesquite, and a few acacia trees he’d planted himself—not so different from the African savannah where animals such as lions, leopards, giraffes, and zebras roamed free.

Two vultures, then a third, circled against the cerulean sky, riding the warm updrafts. Charlie had never been to Africa. As far as he knew, neither had any of his clients. But he’d done plenty of reading—books by men such as John Hunter, Jack O’Connor, and Peter Capstick. And he’d watched all the movies. He was selling the big game safari fantasy. That meant making the experience as realistic as possible.

Ten years ago, when he’d first told his grandmother that he wanted to quit teaching and start a game ranch, the old woman had been horrified. She’d even threatened to disinherit him and donate the property to a nature sanctuary. These days, he seldom thought about the old woman. When he did, he wondered what she might think of her grandson’s successful business. Would she be proud or ashamed? But that no longer mattered.

A band of feral hogs trotted across the yard, as bold as you please. Almost a dozen sows, piglets, and rank, husky boars were so close that Charlie could have hit them with the toss of a stone. Attracted by the smells from the compound, the hogs were a nuisance. But since they were on his property, Charlie’s hired men could legally shoot a couple to feed the big cats. He would let them know, or maybe do the job himself.

Tonight he’d be turning out an aging lioness for the hunt. Her teeth were mostly gone, but she still had enough spunk to put up a fight. The hunter was starring in a new TV adventure series and wanted the experience of killing a dangerous animal. It would be Charlie’s job to see that he got his money’s worth.

After that, it would be time to prepare for the elephant shoot.

* * *

Sam drove back to Abilene with the syringe wrapped in the shirt and sealed in the evidence bag. The chain of custody required that it remain in his possession until logged into Evidence. And even without that rule, he couldn’t trust the mail service to protect it from loss or contamination.

After photographing the spot where the syringe had been found, he had driven the boys home and taken their fingerprints, along with their mother’s. The prints would be used to eliminate any that might be found on the evidence.

The task of collecting Roper’s prints from his truck in the parking lot had left Sam conflicted. Until now, he had liked and respected the man. Part of him still hoped to find Roper innocent. But he had a job to do. And assuming the syringe was the murder weapon, any trace of Roper’s fingerprints or DNA on it would make an ironclad case for his guilt.

Still, there were questions. Why would a man as smart as Roper dump the weapon so close to his home, where it could be easily found? Maybe he’d needed to get rid of it in a hurry. Maybe he’d been missed at home and someone had come out looking for him.

Or maybe he’d been framed. Maybe the real killer had dropped the syringe in the creek for a reason. Sam hoped the lab would find some answers. But there were no guarantees.

Nick met him in the parking garage. By then the workday had almost ended, but the evidence desk was manned around the clock. “So you think you’ve finally got a breakthrough,” he said.

“That remains to be seen.” Sam took the evidence bag, along with the fingerprint samples, out of a cooler in the vehicle. “I’m trying not to get excited until we hear from the lab. It’s spent weeks in the water, so we’ll be lucky to find anything on the outside. But there could be traces of fentanyl inside the syringe. That’s what I’m hoping for. That, and any DNA in the needle that could be Frank’s.”

“Let’s get this logged in and routed to the lab,” Nick said. “I can try to rush them, but they’re busy down there. You may not hear for a few days. Will you be staying in town?”

“I planned to drive back tonight. It’ll be late when I get there, but I’ve got a good place to stay. I can’t fault Mrs. Culhane for her hospitality, though I know she’ll be glad to see the last of me.”

“Well, a man’s got to eat. Share a pizza with me before you start back. There’s a good little place around the corner. My treat.”

“I won’t turn that down.” Sam sensed that his boss and former mentor wanted to talk. He was curious and more than a little apprehensive. Was he about to get some bad news?

After logging the syringe into Evidence, they left the building and walked to the small restaurant. It was early for the dinner hour, and the place was quiet. The décor was traditional, with red-checked tablecloths, candles in wine bottles, and travel posters of Italy on the walls. In their booth, Nick ordered a large deluxe pizza and two Michelobs to sip while they waited.

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