“Wonderful,” Hank said, and looked down at the body. It lay face up, a gaping wound in the middle of the forehead. Blood pooled under the abdomen and soaked into the gravel below. A semi-automatic pistol lay near his right hand.
“What can you tell me, Nancy?”
Nancy stood up, straightening her short, pleasantly rounded frame, and craned her neck up at Hank. “It appears the cause of death was a GSW to the head by a small caliber weapon. Gunshot residue on the victim indicates it was fired from a distance of eighteen to twenty-four inches. No more than that.”
“So the killer was face to face with the victim when he fired the final shot,” Hank said.
“It appears so,” Nancy said, turning her eyes back to the body. “There are also two more gunshot wounds, one to the left shoulder, entering the deltoid muscle from the rear at approximately a forty-five degree angle. Exited at the front. Not fatal. No residue.”
“And the other?” Hank asked.
Nancy crouched again and rolled the body halfway over. She pointed to a large blood-covered area at the back of the victim’s shirt. “GSW here, almost dead center of the back, through the spinal cord. There’s no exit wound, so the bullet’s probably lodged somewhere inside the body, possible in the lung or heart area.”
Hank crouched down beside Nancy. “Gunshot residue?”
“No. No residue, but given the area and severity of the wound, a shot like that would’ve brought him down.”
Hank pulled a rubber glove from his pocket and put it on. He picked up the pistol that lay by the victim, held it close to his nose, and announced, “It’s been fired recently. The victim tried to defend himself. Obviously, unsuccessfully.”
Nancy agreed. “Gunshot residue on the victim’s right hand will confirm that.”
Hank put the weapon back down, stood up, and considered the medical evidence. “The fact there’s residue on the shot to the forehead, appears to have made that the final wound of the three. There would be no need to shoot the victim in the back after he’s already dead.” He scratched his head. “Looks like the victim was already on the ground when the final shot was taken.”
King added, “The killer chased the victim into the alley, wounding him in the shoulder first, then brought him down with a shot to the back.”
“And then finished him off with a bullet to the head,” Hank said.
“It appears that way,” Nancy said, as she stood. “The body wasn’t moved after death. The victim died right here. I expect you’ll find the bullet embedded in the gravel under the head once they take a look.”
“Time of death?” King asked.
“One to two hours ago,” Nancy said, pointing toward the street. “Apparently, there’s a witness.”
Hank raised his brows. “A witness?”
Nancy nodded. “A man—on his way home from work. He’s waiting out front. I believe an officer is taking his statement.”
“We have the cause of death and the victim’s name,” Hank said. “That’s the easy part. All we need now is a motive and a perpetrator.” He nudged King toward the street. “Let’s go see what the witness can tell us.”
Chapter 4
Monday, 8:44 p.m.
HANK AND KING were directed to the witness waiting patiently on a bench outside the taped-off area. Earlier, the man gave his name to one of the officers as Victor Stone.
“I apologize for keeping you waiting, Mr. Stone,” Hank said, offering his hand and introducing himself and King as they approached.
Stone rose to his feet, shook the detective’s hand, and nodded at King. “I don’t mind waiting. I’m only too happy to help.”
Hank reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, removed a well-used notepad and pen, and thumbed to a blank page. He made a notation and looked at the witness.
Stone was middle-aged, a patch of grey around his temples, the rest of his head covered by a baseball cap. An ever-smiling mouth, even when he talked, gave his face a somewhat eerie appearance, especially when coupled with a frown. His slim body slouched forward at the shoulders, his blue eyes on Hank, as he tucked his hands into the pockets of his faded jeans and spoke. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s rather unnerving.”
“It certainly would be,” Hank said with an understanding nod and an encouraging smile. “I’ll make this as quick as possible. I need to know exactly what you saw.”
Stone took a deep breath and pointed across the street. “I was on my way home from work—I only live a few blocks away, so I walk. I was minding my own business, not paying any attention to traffic, when I heard a gunshot, and a car squealed to a stop behind me.”
King interrupted. “Which car?”
“Actually, it must’ve been both cars,” Stone said, pointing to the Corolla in the middle of the street. “When I turned, that one was already spun around like that, but another one was stopped a little closer to me.”
“Can you describe the second car?” Hank asked.
Stone nodded. “It was a white Honda Accord. Not sure what year. Recent.”
“Plate?”
“I didn’t think to check the plate. I dove off the sidewalk out of sight behind a tree. If there was shooting going on, I didn’t want to be part of it.”
“Of course,” Hank said. “That’s the sensible thing to do.” He made a note in his pad and looked back up. “Then what happened?”
“The driver of this car,” Stone said, pointing to the Corolla, “crawled out the passenger door and the other guy got out of his. Then they started shooting at each other. The dead guy ran around to the front of his car, then crossed the street, and ran up beside that building.”
Hank looked to where Stone indicated. “He ran past the shoe store?” That was somewhat different from what he had presumed took place.
“Yes, he ran up there and the other guy followed. I heard two shots, and then the killer ran back this way and into the alleyway between the two stores.”
Hank looked toward the alley. According to Stone, the victim went around the shoe store and the shooter circled back and cut him off. “You’re sure that’s how it happened?”
Stone nodded his head adamantly. “Absolutely sure.”
“And then?”
“Then I heard two or three more shots. Not sure how many. Then the killer ran from the alley, got into his car, and left.”
“Can you describe the shooter?”
“It was pretty dark, but when he got out of the car, I saw he wore a plaid shirt. Red. Dark pants. A baseball cap.” He paused. “That’s about all I saw.”
“How tall?” King asked.
Stone shrugged. “Regular height, I guess. Not especially tall or short. I wasn’t paying a lot of attention to that. It all happened quickly.”
“Could you make out any facial features?” Hank asked.
“No. Like I said, it was dark.”
“Did either one of them speak at any time?”
Stone shook his head. “Not that I heard.”
Hank looked at Detective King. “Anything else?”
King shrugged a shoulder. “Did you notice what time it happened?”
Stone frowned and looked at the ground, thinking out loud. “I got off work at 7:00, and it would’ve been shortly after that.” He looked at King. “Maybe 7:10 or 7:15 at the latest.”
Hank made a notation, closed the pad, tucked it back into his pocket, removed a business card, and handed it to Stone. “Give me a call if you think of anything else.”
Stone took the card, looked at it briefly, and put it into his back pocket.
“Do you want a lift home?” Hank asked.
“I’ll be fine,” Stone said, pointing over his shoulder. “I don’t live far.”
Hank thanked him and he and King ducked back under the tape and went to where Rod Jameson stood. Hank told the lead investigator how the chase went down. “Make sure you check all the way around the shoe store for any trace evidence.”