Lebanon when you called. I headed right up 231. Didn’t
take long. Say you have a body in the water?”
This was obviously Wayne Fought,
the TBI agent. He looked around forty, dressed in a short sleeve sport shirt
and khaki pants, a Glock 40 holstered at his belt. He
had the blunted nose of a boxer and almost black eyes that showed no emotion as
he gave Jill and me the once-over.
“It’s a fellow named Pierce
Bradley,” said Driscoll. “He’s pretty well known around Hartsville. The diver
says he’s still in his Jeep where it landed.”
“You said it looks like murder.
What makes you think that?”
The sheriff turned toward us. “You
need to meet the McKenzies .”
He made the introductions and I
shook the agent’s hand, getting a firm grip and a wary eye in the process.
“They’re private investigators out of
Nashville,” the sheriff said. “I’ll let Mr. McKenzie tell you what they saw.”
I briefly related our interest in
Bradley and told Agent Fought what we found at the house on Carey Lane.
His forehead furrowed as he asked
in a voice that snapped, “Did you touch anything inside the house?”
“No. I used a handkerchief on the
door knob. I moved carefully across the living room and only looked at the
blood stains. I’m a retired Special Agent in Charge with the Air Force Office
of Special Investigations. I was likely handling crime scenes while you were
still in diapers.” No way to win friends, but his patronizing tone had grated.
The look I got said it all. Of
course, I could have smudged any fingerprints on the doorknob, but the chances
of lifting usable prints in a situation like that are slim.
If Fought was impressed by my
professional credits, he did a good job of hiding it. He looked around the area
and turned back to Sheriff Driscoll. “I knew your boys had already beaten a
path down here. I hope they left us some undamaged tire tracks.”
“I’d have secured the area from the
start,” Driscoll said, “but I thought we were dealing with a simple accident.”
Fought glanced at
his watch. “Our investigators are on the way from Nashville. Probably be
close to five o’clock before they get here.” He turned to Jill and me. “It’s
our version of CSI. We call it a Violent Crime Response Team.”
“You have a great crime lab,” I
said. “I visited your headquarters when I did a stint as an investigator for
the DA in Nashville after I retired.”
A little flattery never hurt. This
small foray seemed to put me in a little better graces .
Though it warmed him up a bit, we were still far from getting admission to the
inner circle.
“I’m sure you folks have other
business to attend to,” he said. “I’ll need to get a detailed statement from
you, but we can do that later. You have a card?”
I gave it to him. “We can be
available whenever you need us. Look, we’ll stay out of your way, but I’d like
to be here to see the man we’ve been searching for when you pull him out of the
water.”
Agent Fought leaned back against
his car, folded his arms, looked me in the eye. “Okay,
but it’s going to be a while. I need to get with the sheriff and his men and
see what’s happened up to this point.”
I motioned to Jill. “We’ll head on
up the road and be back in a bit.”
We walked up the trail in silence
until we were out of earshot. “Where to now?” Jill
asked.
“Let’s head back up to Bradley’s
house and see if any of the neighbors are at home. Somebody needs to look after
that coon dog, and I’d like to know if they heard anything around there Monday
evening.”
Chapter 9
We drove back to Carey Lane and pulled into the driveway
with the fancy brick entrance. Two doors down, a sheriff’s car sat beside
Bradley’s house, which had been decorated with yellow and black garlands of
crime scene tape.
“Somebody has a nice SUV up here,”
Jill said.
I swung onto the circular drive
that ran in front of a large two-story brick home with white
take long. Say you have a body in the water?”
This was obviously Wayne Fought,
the TBI agent. He looked around forty, dressed in a short sleeve sport shirt
and khaki pants, a Glock 40 holstered at his belt. He
had the blunted nose of a boxer and almost black eyes that showed no emotion as
he gave Jill and me the once-over.
“It’s a fellow named Pierce
Bradley,” said Driscoll. “He’s pretty well known around Hartsville. The diver
says he’s still in his Jeep where it landed.”
“You said it looks like murder.
What makes you think that?”
The sheriff turned toward us. “You
need to meet the McKenzies .”
He made the introductions and I
shook the agent’s hand, getting a firm grip and a wary eye in the process.
“They’re private investigators out of
Nashville,” the sheriff said. “I’ll let Mr. McKenzie tell you what they saw.”
I briefly related our interest in
Bradley and told Agent Fought what we found at the house on Carey Lane.
His forehead furrowed as he asked
in a voice that snapped, “Did you touch anything inside the house?”
“No. I used a handkerchief on the
door knob. I moved carefully across the living room and only looked at the
blood stains. I’m a retired Special Agent in Charge with the Air Force Office
of Special Investigations. I was likely handling crime scenes while you were
still in diapers.” No way to win friends, but his patronizing tone had grated.
The look I got said it all. Of
course, I could have smudged any fingerprints on the doorknob, but the chances
of lifting usable prints in a situation like that are slim.
If Fought was impressed by my
professional credits, he did a good job of hiding it. He looked around the area
and turned back to Sheriff Driscoll. “I knew your boys had already beaten a
path down here. I hope they left us some undamaged tire tracks.”
“I’d have secured the area from the
start,” Driscoll said, “but I thought we were dealing with a simple accident.”
Fought glanced at
his watch. “Our investigators are on the way from Nashville. Probably be
close to five o’clock before they get here.” He turned to Jill and me. “It’s
our version of CSI. We call it a Violent Crime Response Team.”
“You have a great crime lab,” I
said. “I visited your headquarters when I did a stint as an investigator for
the DA in Nashville after I retired.”
A little flattery never hurt. This
small foray seemed to put me in a little better graces .
Though it warmed him up a bit, we were still far from getting admission to the
inner circle.
“I’m sure you folks have other
business to attend to,” he said. “I’ll need to get a detailed statement from
you, but we can do that later. You have a card?”
I gave it to him. “We can be
available whenever you need us. Look, we’ll stay out of your way, but I’d like
to be here to see the man we’ve been searching for when you pull him out of the
water.”
Agent Fought leaned back against
his car, folded his arms, looked me in the eye. “Okay,
but it’s going to be a while. I need to get with the sheriff and his men and
see what’s happened up to this point.”
I motioned to Jill. “We’ll head on
up the road and be back in a bit.”
We walked up the trail in silence
until we were out of earshot. “Where to now?” Jill
asked.
“Let’s head back up to Bradley’s
house and see if any of the neighbors are at home. Somebody needs to look after
that coon dog, and I’d like to know if they heard anything around there Monday
evening.”
Chapter 9
We drove back to Carey Lane and pulled into the driveway
with the fancy brick entrance. Two doors down, a sheriff’s car sat beside
Bradley’s house, which had been decorated with yellow and black garlands of
crime scene tape.
“Somebody has a nice SUV up here,”
Jill said.
I swung onto the circular drive
that ran in front of a large two-story brick home with white
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