Take down, p.9
Take Down, page 9
part #1 of Detective Danny Acuff Series
Once I arrived back at work, I immediately began researching Snyder Mining. I did that for the next two days when I wasn't helping Colette on her burglary case, or dealing with some of the other piddly cases assigned to me. I held off doing anything with Harrison’s Drug Store. I was still trying to decide how to handle that.
Each night after work, I made trips from the massive home in west Knoxville to the trailer near Akin, carrying box-after-box into what would be my new home. As I strained and grunted, carrying each and every box by myself, I was reminded again that not having any family or friends was truly a sucky thing.
During one of the breaks, as I tried to catch my breath, I texted Bo and told him he was lucky he was in Nashville. Bo texted back, “Even if I wasn’t in Nashville, if I had known you’d be moving, I can guarantee I would have driven to Nashville!”
I replied to him, “Ass.”
“You know it,” he texted back.
That was Bo. Always the funny guy. By the end of the second night, I was moved into my trailer. I texted Ali late that night that the house was hers, and she replied with a text thanking me for letting her know. She also thanked me three different times for quickly moving out of the home, instead of taking the full thirty days that she had generously offered. She admitted her parents were driving her crazy, but I frankly didn’t care.
By midnight of the second night of moving, I had showered and was just getting ready to go to sleep. My trailer was a wreck. Walls lined with boxes. Closets unorganized with clothes hanging haphazardly. And not a single piece of furniture in the house, except for a cot I’d picked up from a military surplus store. All of my own furniture and lamps had been discarded years ago, as they did not suit Ali’s taste. I had told her she could keep the furniture. I didn’t want any of the gaudy stuff.
I guess most guys would be pissed, leaving without a single piece of furniture. But I was glad that she was stuck with both the furniture and the credit card debt, which most of that furniture had been purchased with.
A small side of me worried about her. I hoped the new man could somehow pull in her spending, but I doubted it. Human behavior doesn’t change, unless someone works really hard on it. Well, at least, the man she seemed to be all about made a big salary. Perhaps he could support her habit.
I lay on my cot, trying to fall asleep. Trying to slow down my mind. Trying to let go of Ali and accept my new life.
It felt weird being alone in a place I didn’t know. This was a feeling I had not felt since I had been in the military. Even though Ali had been gone the past week or so, I had at least on those nights been sleeping in a home that was familiar. It felt like she was there, even if she wasn’t.
On the other hand, this trailer felt bare, unfurnished, and lonely. I lay back on my cot, my head in my hands. I had rolled up a soft jacket to serve as a pillow, as I did not even have one of those.
As my mind raced about the divorce with Ali, the new trailer, and Snyder Mining, I wondered if I would be able to get any sleep at all. I tried for a few more minutes, but I could tell it wasn't going to happen.
So I got up, walked over to my laptop, and began researching Snyder Mining again. I was beginning to get my arms around the company, its history, and how its growth had affected the surrounding counties for nearly a hundred years.
I also began researching the Snyder family, forming a family tree by reading everything from obits to marriage announcements to scholarship awards for some of the kids. I compiled the family history and read up on some of them who had left the area to pursue larger careers. I also began researching the names of the members – mostly men, of course – who served on the Snyder Mining Board of Directors.
Each board member was a prominent man in the town of Akin. The company kept its headquarters in Akin, although most of its operations were outside the town. Nonetheless, it was clear that Akin was the root of its operations.
By 2 a.m., I was finally growing tired. Research will do that to you. It’s the miracle sleeping drug, in my opinion. That’s when my phone rang. I’ll admit as I dashed over to my phone, that I hoped it was Ali. I glanced down at the phone and saw it wasn’t Ali, but Colette instead.
“Did I wake you, Danny?” she asked when I answered.
“No,” I said. “I couldn’t sleep and was doing some research on our friends at Snyder Mining.”
She chuckled. “Good. But you’re going to have to drop that. We have something else that has come up. There has been a hit-and-run in Akin, and whoever struck the pedestrian has killed the poor lady who was walking on the sidewalk.”
“Ah, shit,” I said.
Colette told me where the accident scene was and laid out a couple of the details. I signed off and told her I was on my way. I had no idea then how complicated and complex this hit-and-run case would be. Or, how it would keep me from my pursuit of Snyder Mining, at least in the short term.
I think the ease and simplicity of the Harrison Drug Store case, as well as the slow-moving nature of things in Akin, had caused me to become over confident. This hit-and-run case was about to be a serious wake-up call.
Chapter 25
I arrived at the crime scene ten minutes after Colette called. This was one of the benefits of living in a mobile home close to Akin, as compared to commuting twenty-five minutes from Knoxville.
Colette was there, as were two patrol cars, lights flashing and blocking off the street. The patrol cars had their headlights aimed toward the body on the sidewalk. I jumped from my F-150 and moved toward it. The body was covered by a sheet.
I braced myself as I bent down and lifted the sheet. No matter how many times you do it, it never gets easier to see a body. Whether they’re warm or cold, mangled or pristine, it’s never an easy thing for a detective to see. I shined a flashlight on the body and saw that the victim was a Caucasian female. Probably late 30's, early 40's. Her body was mangled, and she was covered in blood. Despite the blood, it appeared as though she had been dressed in a pair of sweatpants and t-shirt.
Colette squatted by me.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“She’s definitely not dressed for a night on the town,” I replied. “Maybe she got into an argument with her husband and took a walk to calm down?”
“Maybe,” she said.
The body lay on a sidewalk on one of the streets just a couple of blocks from downtown Akin. These were some of the nicest homes in the city. I glanced up and down the road, noting it was well lit with plenty of overhead streetlights.
Given how well-lit the street was, and given that she was on the sidewalk and not on the road, I said to Colette, “It seems almost a strain to believe this was an accident.”
Colette nodded. “I was thinking the same thing,” she said. “It wasn’t like she was hit in the hip or leg and knocked into a yard. This lady was definitely run squarely over and whoever did it, didn’t bother stopping or waiting for authorities.”
“Did they even call 911?” I asked.
“Nope,” she said. “Call came in from a person who drove by and noticed the body. We’re not even sure how long she’s been laying here. Might have been a half hour or more.”
I scanned my flashlight across the yards nearby and quickly noticed two paths of a car’s tires. The car had swung into the yard, then swung sharply back onto the street.
Now that I knew the direction the car had been going, I pivoted my flashlight along the street to what would have been the car’s path prior to her being struck.
It looked as though she had been dragged perhaps six feet along the sidewalk. But this evidence, which in this case was blood and probably some fabric once it was light enough to see, was all on the sidewalk. So a car had swerved off the road, hit her, and maintained a straight course for a short distance. Then, it had swung back onto the road and left the area. I looked back at the path the car had taken and assumed the driver then probably lost control, swinging into the yard before returning onto the street.
“There aren’t any skid marks,” I said, aiming my flashlight back onto the street.
Colette turned, scanned with her flashlight, and said, “Nice observation, Danny. I hadn't noticed that yet.”
“Have we called next of kin?” I asked.
“Yes,” Colette said. “Her husband is on the way.”
Sure enough, right on cue, a car raced toward the crime scene and screeched to a halt. A man jumped out and ran toward us. One of the uniformed officers ran over to block him. I stepped back to the woman and made sure the body was completely covered. I then hurried toward the man, whom Colette was trying to console.
“Oh my God,” he screamed, looking at the body covered with a blanket. “Is she dead?”
“I'm sorry sir,” I said, “but she is.”
“Can't you revive her?” he yelled.
Colette spoke up.
“Sir, I'm really sorry, but she's dead, and has probably been dead for some time. We do not want to move the body now because this is a crime scene. And we do not want to erase or damage any evidence.”
“This isn’t possible!” he said, screaming hysterically.
“It’s alright, sir,” Colette said, wrapping her arms around him and turning him from the scene.
We needed to get the guy to the station, or maybe get some family called up. I could not imagine the grief and shock he must be feeling, assuming he had nothing to do with it.
I hate to be that way, but I’m a detective first, and this woman had clearly been run over by someone on purpose. Now, perhaps it was a drunk, who hadn’t even noticed as his car bounced and jumped across her. But, my instincts told me that this woman had been murdered. And unless I was dead wrong, I was now dealing with my first murder in the Akin Police Department.
Chapter 26
The next day Colette and I canvassed both sides of the street, asking if anyone had seen anything the night before. As I’ve learned almost always happens, we struck out on our canvassing.
Most people weren’t home as we waited after knocking or ringing the doorbell. They were at work or out running errands, probably. Some of the older residents who were home and answered their door had gone to bed at eight or nine the night before and not heard a thing.
Every detective I know hates canvassing, and this is precisely why. But you have to do it because sometimes –one case in a hundred – you’ll get the perfect clue or witness from it.
One of these days detectives may not canvas an area at all. Frankly, I’m still convinced we do it mainly for traditional reasons because back in the day, it was how detectives broke most of their cases.
But these days, our society has changed. Folks don’t know their neighbors, and they certainly mind their own business.
Long gone are the days of neighbors snooping on other neighbors too much. These days, most people are running around as fast as they can, just a rat in a rat race.
We did, however, learn on that first day a few things about the husband. He was an attorney, and he had recently upped her life insurance from $250,000 to $500,000. This is not a good thing when your wife ends up dead.
The husband of the slain woman had another unpleasant check mark in the column against him. He did not know where she was going the night of her death, or even that she had left the house.
He described their marriage as distant and cold and said he regularly went to bed between 9 and 10. He claimed this was becase he woke each morning at 4 a.m. for his job.
“For all I know,” he said, “she's been going out every night.”
“I am a heavy sleeper,” he added.
Colette and I did not press him too hard on the morning of that first day after the wife’s death. He had a funeral to plan, and family had been coming in from far and wide. We knew we had plenty of time to unravel this case.
Clearly, we were not the only ones who thought this was murder. Irwin soon tried to cut in on our case. This man was always trying to seek out glory.
He showed up at about two on the afternoon of the day following the wife’s death, and he was raring to go.
“I asked for some time off from the Drug Task Force,” Irwin said to us. “Captain Carter told me about the case, and it sounds like it was more than just a hit-and-run.”
I noted that Captain Carter had informed him about the details, and I wondered just how close the two truly were. But before I could say anything, Colette lit into him.
“We don’t need your help, Irwin. Every time there’s some kind of big case, you try to take it over. And I have dealt with this for years and years, but now I have Danny to help me on this investigation. I don’t need your help. Bottom line, you wanted that drug task force duty, so you’ve got it. Now get back out to the county before I really tell you what I think of the matter.”
Irwin stammered, but wisely retreated from the scene. I’m not judging him, though. I wouldn’t want to take on Colette either.
While the husband and family dealt with funeral arrangements of Laura Tapper, we began trying to unravel her life. We figured out the broad brush strokes easily.
She was a stay-at-home wife, and she and her husband had never had kids. They did, however, have two Chihuahuas, which were quick to bite and spoiled beyond belief. The tiny dogs wore little coats to keep them warm, even though the home never got below 74.
Showing them off to us, the husband said they were shampooed once a week by a groomer. Mrs. Tapper even brushed their teeth on a regular basis.
While the family buried Laura the next day, Colette and I dug into the inner bowels of her smartphone and computer. We had brought both of them to the station and used part of the police budget to hire a computer technician to break through her passwords.
It was only then that we really began to understand her. Not that this was new. If you really wanted to get to know a person, read and search all the stuff they never tell or show anyone.
It turned out that she was big on the social scene, and regularly attended or hosted parties. Her selfies showed she was stunningly attractive.
Her emails and hidden text messages showed that I was not the only man who found Laura attractive. Laura was flirty in most of her messages, and she seemed to be having an affair with at least one man.
We spent the entire day combing through messages and texts, reaching the conclusion that she was indeed having an affair.
By the end of the second day, we assumed there were two suspects so far.
Suspect one was the husband, who had doubled her life insurance and admitted to a poor marriage.
Suspect two was the man she was having an affair with. There were a thousand-plus (no lie) emails or texts to the man, named Boyd Jennings.
As if combing through that many emails wasn’t enough to deal with, we finally discovered from her emails that she had an ongoing, years-long feud with a woman named Robin Zell.
By the time the victim was buried, we had narrowed her list of killers down to three suspects. Rick Tapper, her husband. Boyd Jennings, her lover. And Robin Zell, her rival.
“We’ve done enough for one day,” Colette said at roughly 6:30 that night. It was dark outside, and had been since about 5:45. You could just sense that the actual frigid temperatures of winter were finally on their way.
“We do have it narrowed down to three suspects,” I said. “That’s a good start.”
“And now the work really begins,” Colette said.
“Indeed it does,” I said.
Chapter 27
High up in the hills of Anderson County, John Snyder watched his men work. He was deep within Snyder Mining’s most secure production facility. The road leading up to it was private property, and a security booth and steel gate blocked the road at its base.
Granted, you could climb through miles-and-miles of woods, hills, and creeks to reach it, but even then a large 10-foot high fence surrounded the perimeter. Most people weren’t that interested in trying to steal something from a coal company anyway.
John was not a man to take chances, though. When they were loading up a special run, as they were tonight, he brought in a couple dozen men, all armed, to watch the fence. They would space themselves out about 30 to 50 yards apart, keeping visual contact with each other, ensuring no one scaled the fence until the loading was done. He didn’t even want any lawman breaching the perimeter.
Within the fenced-in boundaries of Snyder Mining, there was a massive roof more than fifty yards wide and 70 yards long. It covered a reinforced road where tractor trailers could pull up with their steel coal carriers behind them. The roof allowed them to load without having to be in the rain, sleet, or snow.
At least that would be the explanation if ever asked. Snyder Mining had existed just fine without the roof for most of the nearly hundred years of its existence.
John had only installed the covered roof when he switched from selling coal to transporting something a lot less legal. By the time he changed product, he’d become convinced that coal was a dying industry. Furthermore, he knew both his company and his family were racing toward bankruptcy.
John had attempted everything he could to legitimately save his company. He had laid people off, sold mines, and borrowed money on the land that remained. Even so, it wasn’t enough to cover the losses. Everything was happening at the same time: reduced demand, increased government regulations, soaring fuel costs, and skyrocketing transportation rates. The latter doubling after several major railroad companies consolidated.
Watching the scene before him, it still made John mad. All he’d wanted to do was continue the family tradition of being a great coal miner executive.
John checked his watch, wishing the men would hurry up and finish loading their illegal payload. Why was he still in the drug distribution business? It was supposed to be merely a short-term thing. Just something to get the company through the recession and tough times.
