Trick or Deadly Treat (18 page)

“Were there any fingerprints on it?”

“Wiped clean,” D'Angelo said. “The killer tried to get the blood off, too, and it looked clean to the eye, but the blood traces showed up in forensic tests. From the way Latimer told it to me—which he didn't want to do, by the way, but he didn't have any choice; the defense has as much right to the evidence as the prosecution does—it looks like Susan and the killer were standing in front of her desk, probably arguing. The killer grabbed up the dog, walloped Susan with it, and then realized she was dead. He cleaned the blood and his prints off the dog and took whatever he used to do that with him. Then he got the idea of busting open the cabinet where the drug samples were kept to make it look like a burglary.”

“And Hank Baxter's prints were on that cabinet,” Sam said.

“Yeah. That's why the cops zeroed in on him.”

“But he explained why they were there.”

“The cops are saying that's just another attempt to mislead the authorities. That's the way they're going to tell the story.”

Sam was thinking so hard he figured his brain was about to start hurting. He said, “Who's the witness that put Hank on the scene?”

“Actually, they've turned up three,” D'Angelo said. “All of them work there in the same complex of doctors' offices. They say Hank got there a few minutes after noon.”

Sam bit back a groan and said, “That lets Woods out, because he was there before lunch, accordin' to Raylene. If he killed Susan then, Hank would've found her body and called the cops.”

“Yeah, but Woods could have come back after Hank left.”

Sam remembered Phyllis saying the same thing. It was a viable theory, he decided, and knowing what had caused the trouble between Hank and Woods might go a long way toward supporting or disproving that theory.

Sam instinctively sat up a little straighter as Jack Carlyle emerged from the building. Then he remembered he was trying not to be noticed and slumped lower again.

“I've got to go,” he told D'Angelo, “but Phyllis and I will be at your office in the mornin'. If we can't be, I'll let you know.”

“All right,” the lawyer said. “It sounds like you and Mrs. Newsom are doing a good job, Sam. Keep it up.”

“We'll try,” Sam said. He broke the connection as he watched Carlyle get back into his car.

Sam was torn then. He didn't know whether to follow Carlyle or wait and see if Meredith came out of the building next. After a few seconds he decided to follow Carlyle.

The man drove back down Santa Fe toward the highway. With Sam about a hundred yards behind him, he got onto the
interstate and headed east, toward Fort Worth. Sam wondered if Carlyle was going back to his office.

Carlyle got off the highway after only a couple of miles, though, and turned south into one of those exclusive housing developments. It looked like Sam's guess about where Carlyle lived might be right after all. Sam couldn't follow him into the gated community, so he couldn't confirm that hunch, but he felt fairly confident about it.

There was nothing left for him to do now except head back to Phyllis's house and make sure it was all right with her for them to go to D'Angelo's office the next morning and confront Hank Baxter with what they had found out.

Sam hoped D'Angelo was right and that Hank would cooperate. The trial, if there was going to be one, was still a long way off, but one fact was undeniable:

Hank Baxter was getting one step closer to the possibility of prison with every day that passed.

P
hyllis was glad to see Sam when he came in late that afternoon. Not only was she eager to talk over the case with him, but she was relieved that he was all right. Whenever you were tailing someone, there was always the possibility they could realize it and get angry because they were being followed. Sam's background as a coach had left him very physically fit, especially for his age, but there was no denying that he was getting on in years and didn't need to be scuffling with anyone, especially not someone who was thirty years younger than he was.

Sam was fine, though, despite her worries. He sat down at the kitchen table and told Phyllis everything he had seen and found out while she cleaned the refrigerator. Buck sat on the floor beside him, and Sam scratched the Dalmatian's ears as he talked.

The information about the murder weapon was new to Phyllis. She winced a little as she imagined the heavy brass
paperweight slamming against Susan Baxter's skull. The bowl of moldy leftovers she'd just pulled out from the back of the refrigerator didn't help with the image in her mind.

“That's an indication the killing was a spur-of-the-moment thing,” she said as she emptied the bowl into the trash can. “The murderer grabbed whatever was handy and lashed out with it. A crime of passion.”

Sam nodded and said, “That's the way it sounds to me, too, but if the killer had been there before, he might've known about the dog paperweight and planned on usin' it. That's not as likely, but I don't think we can rule it out.”

“You're right about that.” Phyllis paused in thought, then said, “What if it really was just someone who came in there looking for drugs to steal?”

“Some junkie without any other connection to the case, you mean?”

“That's right. Most crimes are just that simple and brutal and ugly.”

“Maybe so, but I hope for Hank Baxter's sake that's not the way it is here. If we can't prove somebody else did it by nailin' the real killer, there's a really good chance he's gonna be convicted and sent to prison.”

“Well, we're certainly not going to give up hope,” Phyllis said.

“Is there any reason we can't go to D'Angelo's office in the mornin'?”

“Not as far as I'm concerned.”

As it turned out, though, Jimmy D'Angelo called Sam that evening and changed the plan himself.

“Hank wants us to meet him at his clinic in the morning,”
the lawyer explained. “He said he needed to be there to check on some things anyway, and whatever we wanted to talk about, we could do it there.”

“You didn't tell him about Woods?” Sam said.

“Not yet. I want to see his reaction in person.”

That made sense to Sam, and when he told Phyllis about it, she agreed. Meeting at the clinic was just as easy as going to D'Angelo's office. Easier in some ways, in fact, because of the traffic and parking situation down on the square.

“I'm gonna take Buck with us,” Sam said to Phyllis after promising D'Angelo they would be there. “Maybe Hank will go ahead and check his leg.”

“You have an appointment with another vet to do that,” Phyllis pointed out.

“Yeah, but if Hank does it, I'll just call 'em and cancel and pay for the missed appointment. I'm hopin' things will work out so Hank is Buck's vet from now on, so I'd just as soon he take care of it if he will.”

“Well, if he says no, I suppose you can still take Buck to the other vet.”

“That's what I was thinkin'.”

*   *   *

The next morning there was a light mantle of frost on the grass in the backyard when Sam let Buck out, and the Dalmatian's breath fogged as he roamed around the yard. Winter was on its way. It was less than two months until Christmas.

After breakfast, Phyllis and Sam got into Sam's pickup, with Buck riding between them on the seat. He wore a harness designed for walks and car rides with a leash today and
seemed to be looking forward to wherever they were going. His tongue hung out of his mouth and he looked around excitedly. Sam ran the seat belt through the halter and fastened it, and he put his arm around the dog for added security while Phyllis drove.

The meeting was set for nine-thirty. They got there a little early and went inside, taking Buck with them. Holly was the only one in the office, and she seemed to be surprised to see them.

“Mr. Fletcher,” she said, “I thought you were taking Buck to the other vet to have his cast removed.”

“I may still do that,” Sam said, “but I thought since we had to be here anyway and Dr. Baxter is gonna be here, too, he might be willin' to go ahead and look at him.”

Holly's eyes widened. She said, “Dr. Baxter is going to be here?”

“That's right,” Phyllis said. “You didn't know?”

“He hasn't been here since before the funeral,” the redhead said. “I haven't even talked to him since then.”

“Maybe he feels like he needs to start doing something to stay busy,” Sam suggested. “Anyway, he's supposed to be here in a few minutes, and so is his lawyer.”

“Oh. Okay.” Holly looked distracted now. “Why don't you have a seat and wait for him? I . . . I have to take care of a couple of things.”

She slipped off her stool and hurried down the short hall behind the counter, disappearing around a corner into one of the other corridors. Phyllis and Sam looked at each other, and Sam's shoulders rose and fell in a silent but eloquent shrug. They went over to the bench along the front wall of the waiting room and sat down. Sam held Buck's leash.

Jimmy D'Angelo came in next, just a couple of minutes later. Sam switched the leash to his other hand, stood up, and shook hands with the lawyer.

“Hank's not here yet?” D'Angelo asked.

“Haven't seen him.”

“I hope he shows up. I shouldn't say this about my own client, but the guy's a little flaky, you know?”

Phyllis said, “He's just lost his wife, and he's under a lot of pressure.”

“I know. Believe me, I know. In my business, I see people in trouble all the time. Nobody needs a lawyer when they're at their best. I remember one time—” D'Angelo stopped and waved a hand. “Nah. We don't need to get into that. But while I've got you here, maybe you wouldn't mind signing something for me.”

“What'd you have in mind?” Sam asked. “Sometimes when a lawyer wants you to sign something, it doesn't always turn out too good.”

“In this case, it's just a document saying that you're working for me in return for good and valuable consideration.” D'Angelo grinned. “I've got a check for each of you. One whole dollar, just to make things legal. Don't spend it all in one place.”

Phyllis and Sam looked at each other and shrugged. They signed the documents D'Angelo produced and took the checks. They were official investigators now.

Just as they finished that bit of business, D'Angelo glanced through the door and said, “Here's Hank now.”

A few moments later, Hank Baxter pushed the door open and came in wearing jeans and a thick flannel shirt. He looked like he hadn't shaved in several days. Phyllis saw D'Angelo
purse his lips in disapproval for a second, and she figured he was thinking that he couldn't allow Baxter to go into court looking like that.

“All right. I'm here,” Baxter said by way of greeting. “What's this all about?”

“It's about your case, Hank,” D'Angelo said. “I told you that. Some new information has come to light—”

Baxter held up a hand to stop the lawyer and said, “Hold on a minute.” He came over to Phyllis, Sam, and Buck, and his demeanor changed completely. He hunkered down in front of Buck and began to pet him. The dog leaned forward and licked Baxter's cheek. Grinning, Baxter asked, “How's he doing?”

“Mighty good,” Sam said. “He's due to get that checkup, and I was hopin' you'd take care of it, Doc—I mean, Hank.”

“Well . . . I guess I can do that. We can talk while I'm working. Bring him on back.”

Baxter stood up and led the way behind the counter and around the corner into the big room that included a lab setup and a surgical table. He pointed at the table to indicate that Sam should put Buck on it.

Holly was back there with a cell phone at her ear, but she wasn't talking on it. With a frustrated sigh, she closed the phone and slipped it into her pocket. Baxter said, “Give Mr. Fletcher a hand with Buck, would you, Holly?”

“Sure,” she said. She helped Sam lift Buck onto the metal table.

“Where's Tommy this morning?”

“Running late, I guess. I just tried to call him, but it kept going straight to voice mail. He probably let the battery on his phone go dead again. He's really bad about that.”

Baxter washed his hands at a stainless-steel sink, then came over to the table and said, “All right. Let's take a look at that leg.”

He unwrapped the elastic wrap around the cast, then examined the shaven skin near the cast front and back and pressed around on the area.

“Looks good, and he's walking well with the cast. What's this new information you say you've got, Jimmy?”

“I'll let Mrs. Newsom and Mr. Fletcher tell you about that, since they're the ones who turned it up,” D'Angelo said.

Sam nodded to Phyllis to indicate that she should pick up the story.

“Dr. Baxter, is the young woman who works in your wife's office reliable?” she asked.

“Which young woman? There are several, you know.” To Sam, Baxter added, “You might want to hang on to him, just in case he doesn't like the thermometer.”

Sam took hold of Buck as Baxter took the dog's temperature.

“I'm talking about Raylene,” Phyllis said.

“Oh.” Baxter nodded. “Yeah, I suppose she's reliable enough. I don't remember Susan ever complaining about her very much. And it was always just minor stuff, the sort of boss/employee friction that comes up from time to time but doesn't really mean anything.”

He checked the thermometer and nodded.

“Raylene told me that Kyle Woods was at your wife's office on the morning of the day she was . . .”

“The day she was killed,” Baxter finished. “You can say it.”

“All right. Woods was there. In fact, he was with Susan when Raylene left early to go to lunch.”

D'Angelo said, “Did you know that, Hank?”

“Did I know that Woods was there that day?” Baxter shook his head. “No. I didn't have any idea. And I'm surprised that he was. Susan barely knew Woods. He was with me once when I stopped by there.”

“Maybe Woods had a medical reason for seeing her,” D'Angelo suggested. “Can you think of anything like that?”

“I don't keep up with Kyle Woods's health. As far as I know, though, he's not sick and wouldn't need a surgeon.”

Sam asked, “Your wife didn't mention that he'd been there when you saw her later that day?”

“She never said a word about it. Hold on a minute. Let me get this.”

Baxter peeled the plastic off a fresh roll of bandage and rewrapped Buck's leg.

“All right,” he said with a smile. “I think he's going to be fine, Mr. Fletcher. The leg is healing nicely, and the cast should come off in three weeks.”

Sam returned the smile and said, “Might as well call me Sam. I reckon Buck and I will be comin' here from now on whenever he needs anything.”

“I'd like to think that's true,” Baxter said. “But it's not really up to you or me, is it?”

“It's up to the court,” D'Angelo said, “and we've got proof that a guy with a grudge against you was at your wife's office not long before she was killed.”

“But I was there after that, and she was alive then.”

“Woods could've come back. Maybe he threatened her, and she told him he'd better get out because you were coming by there. So he left, waited until you were gone, and then went back in to continue the argument.”

“Argument about what?” Baxter asked.

“You tell us, Hank.” D'Angelo pointed a blunt finger at his client. “It's time for you to come clean about what was going on between you and Woods.”

Baxter's beard-stubbled jaw tightened. He said, “You don't know what you're asking, Jimmy. You want me to incriminate myself.”

“Whatever you're talking about, it can't be as bad as murder, now, can it?”

For a long moment, Baxter didn't reply. Then he sighed and said, “I suppose you're right. Anyway, I didn't really do anything. As soon as I found out what Woods was up to, I told him I wanted no part of it. All I did was run some tests for him, perfectly legal tests.”

Sam drew in a sharp breath as if he'd realized something. He said, “You ran tests on Texas Maximus's . . . well, to see if he could sire pups.”

“That's right,” Baxter said with a surprised frown. “How did you know?”

“He'd been gettin' complaints from people who had their dogs bred with Texas Maximus. The pups had little defects that kept 'em from bein' top show dogs, but Woods wouldn't return any of the money people paid him for the stud service. The pups were turnin' out like they did because Texas Maximus wasn't really their daddy.”

Baxter nodded and said, “That's right. Woods was artificially inseminating the bitches while he had them at his place, using sperm from some of his other dogs. Several of the dogs that had been bred with Texas Maximus didn't turn up pregnant after the first try, and he started worrying enough he had me run the tests.”

Phyllis said, “But surely Texas Maximus had sired pups in the past.”

“He had,” Baxter agreed. “But about a year ago he came down with an infection and ran a high fever for several days. I got him through the illness all right, and he was perfectly fine again, except for the low sperm count and extremely limited motility. It's not impossible for him to sire pups, but the odds against it are very, very high.”