Mattie took a seat at the table behind them and told Robo to lie down beside her. He did so immediately but remained crouched, ears pricked and alert.
“I’m glad you’re here, Mattie,” Stella said. “We’ve had a great deal of information come in from forensics this morning. I’m getting ready to start going through it.”
Brody cleared his throat and twitched his shoulders, rolling his head from side to side as if to release tightness. Stella pointed to the upper middle of her grid where she’d written “Victim 2: Mike Chadron.” Her finger moved down the grid as she described each point.
“The ME has agreed with me that Mike Chadron doesn’t look like a suicide. He doesn’t have gunshot residue on his hands, and there was no gunpowder stippling at his temple. Most importantly, though, there were no prints on the gun. It appears to have been wiped clean, and suicide victims don’t wipe their weapons after shooting themselves.” Stella gave them a grim smile. “So we’re ruling it death by gunshot wound to the head, manner undetermined. I’m assuming this is another homicide, and we’re going to work it that way.”
“The crime scene was unorganized,” McCoy said.
“Yes. In fact, we can say that about both our crime scenes.”
“Not done by a pro,” Brody said.
Stella moved her hand to the upper left side of her grid where she’d written “Victim 1: Grace Hartman.” “We’ve uncovered quite a bit of information about our first victim, and I’ve narrowed down a few key points here. First, I got word that the blood type at the cabin matches Grace’s. Let’s assume she was killed at the cabin, moved a mile away, and buried.”
Mattie raised a hand to interrupt. “I just talked with her father. There’s a ring from one of her fingers missing, a plain gold band with a ruby. He said it’s the only ring of value that she wore.”
Stella’s brow raised as she turned to write the information on the grid. “What can we make of that?”
“Theft?” Brody asked.
“Could be. Or maybe a trophy? Whatever the reason, it could become valuable evidence if it turns up.” Stella pointed to the next items on the grid as she read them aloud. “Her car is missing. There’s no identifiable history of drug involvement. And last, she stalked our second victim.”
Stella faced her audience. “Let’s talk about that.”
“The Hartman ranch is adjacent to the national forest and farther north from Ute Canyon Road,” McCoy said, “past the road where you turn off to go to the cabin.”
Mattie leaned forward. “She would have driven right past the turnoff on her way to school that morning. What if she saw Mike Chadron’s car and decided to follow him?”
“I think it’s likely,” Stella replied. She turned back to her grid and pointed to the upper right, where she’d written “Injured Dog.” “What is our dog’s name, Mattie?”
“Belle.”
“Yes, Miss Belle,” Stella said as she wrote in “Belle” at the top of the grid. “Here’s what we know about Belle. First, she was used as a mule. Second, she was shot with the same gun that shot Grace and Mike Chadron. Which now leads me to jump over to our final spot on the grid . . . the weapon.”
Stella indicated the far right of the grid where she’d written “Walther P22” at the top. “Ballistics has tied this handgun to all the bullets retrieved from our victims. This information would be invaluable if we knew who fired this weapon, but unfortunately we don’t. Yet.”
She paused to give them a pointed look and then continued. “This .22-caliber handgun is an interesting little semiautomatic weapon. It’s small and light and so might be carried for self-defense, which, thanks to its serial number, I happen to know is exactly why it was originally purchased.”
This new information caused a spike in Mattie’s interest.
“Dr. Dennis Brinkman, a dentist living in Phoenix, purchased the gun and kept it in the glove compartment of his car. In March of this year, he reported it stolen, which a Phoenix detective that I spoke to this morning verified. There’s a report filed, all tidy and legal. His car was broken into while he was playing at a golf tournament there, and the gun was the only thing taken at the time.”
McCoy turned to Brody. “I wonder if that’s one of the tournaments you went to, Chief Deputy.”
Mattie saw the back of Brody’s neck flush deep red.
“They have all kinds of tournaments in Phoenix,” he said. “I’d have to check the dates.”
“Follow it up,” McCoy said. “I’d like to make sure that gun was truly stolen and out of Brinkman’s hands. See if you played golf with someone who knows him. Let’s verify if his word is reliable.”
Brody shrugged. “All right.”
Stella pointed to another spot on the grid. “The most promising evidence we have at the moment is the brass casing that Robo found.”
Though Robo had relaxed down and laid his head on his front paws, he now lifted his head, pricked his ears, and stared at Stella.
“Yes, I’m talking about you,” she said, giving Robo a half smile. “Firing pin and ejector marks on the casing show it was fired by this handgun. They’ve taken a fragment of a print off the casing and are running it through AFIS. We can hope for a match.”
“Wow! Good work, Robo. You, too, Deputy.” McCoy turned to acknowledge Mattie.
Mattie shrugged slightly and looked down at Robo, who’d broken into a light pant. She hated group recognition, and it appeared to make Robo nervous, too. But she knew that the Automated Fingerprint Identification System might need something larger than a fragment to successfully pull up a match. The system also needed to contain the shooter’s fingerprints, and since the database contained primarily known criminals, a first-time offender might not be in it.
“Let’s go back to Mike Chadron now and finish him out.” Stella pointed back to the grid under Victim 2. “He and his dogs were seen at the cabin prior to, and the morning of, the Grace Hartman shooting. Trace cocaine was found on the table inside the cabin. Belle was carrying balloons filled with cocaine, and we might infer that those balloons were filled in the cabin. By Chadron? By Grace Hartman? By Chadron’s killer? Anyone else care to take a guess?”
“From what we’ve learned about Grace Hartman, I believe we can eliminate her,” Mattie said. “I’m convinced she wasn’t the type of person who would abuse her dog, or any dog, for that matter.”
“How about Mike Chadron?” Stella asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine,” Mattie replied. “The vet thinks he took good care of his dogs, but he’s also showed up with more cash than usual lately.”
“He could do it, all right,” Brody said.
“And you know that because . . .” Stella said.
“Came from poor white trash, lived on the west side. He worked as a cook at the local greasy spoon. Had ambition to get ahead, make a living off his dogs. Had the motive and the opportunity. Yeah, he could do it.”
Brody’s reference to poor white trash made Mattie uncomfortable. A lot of good people lived on the west side. But she held her tongue; now wasn’t the time for a debate.
“Okay,” Stella said. “Let’s say that Chadron participated in drug running. Let’s say that he was using his own dogs as mules. How did Grace Hartman’s dog end up with cocaine in her belly?”