Chapter12
Detective Ferris knelt by the body, ignoring the buzz of the portable lights that had been set up to illuminate the crime scene. Cedar Springs was lit up like broad daylight, giving the media barely contained by the police tape a clear view of the dead man. Ferris wrinkled his nose, then pulled a jar of Vick’s out of his pocket. He smeared a thick line of it across his lips and breathed in through his nose. It didn’t work as well in confined spaces, but on the open street, the heavy scent of eucalyptus covered the body’s smell well enough.
Gloves on, he moved the victim’s clothes gently with his finger, examining each stab wound one at a time and writing his findings down in a little book. The rookie he’d been assigned to train was standing back and watching silently. Ferris liked this latest rookie. Calm and keen, she didn’t jump to make a conclusion, wasn’t so bent on proving herself that she opened her mouth before she had the answers. She spent more time observing than she did talking, which was a first for Ferris. Of all the rookies that had shadowed him, Grace Mercer was the only one who he would have considered breaking his no partner rule for.
“What do you see?” Ferris asked when he finally stood, stepping out of her way and waiting patiently for her to spend some hands-on time with the body.
“The first thing that stands out is the number of stab wounds, which usually suggests rage.”
“But?”
“But there’s more blood on the clothes here, here, and here, and less here and here. There are also directional droplets from the back of the business where we know that Jake Berrington was parked, so it looks like the number of stab wounds has more to do with the man getting away from the perp rather than emotions.”
Ferris nodded. He noticed that several of the Crime Scene Techs and the Coroner were listening carefully, and he could see that a few of them were mentally scratching their heads. He wasn’t surprised. They had a person of interest and a video that proved both men were in the immediate area thirty minutes before the video of Jake Berrington peeling out of his parking space they’d pulled from a camera on Akard Street.
There wasn’t much to see besides the car barreling toward McKinney Avenue, but Ferris was certain that his audio-visual tech could finagle the video and get more from the footage. There was a brief glimpse of Eric Price trying to use a slim Jim to open the Corvette, but the attacker is in the shadows, and there was nothing visible except the victim stiffening, then turning and running out of the frame. There were no working cameras on Cedar Springs Road despite the construction. What they did have looked bad for Jake Berrington, but Ferris wasn’t one to jump to conclusions, even when they were logical ones.
Ferris waited, knowing that Mercer didn’t need to be prompted to continue. She was still examining the wounds, and Ferris could see her mind working. She was seeing what he’d seen.
“How tall is Jake Berrington?” she asked.
“I have his DMV records showing six-foot-two-inches.”
“And the victim?”
“Five-eleven give or take.”
“That’s what I thought. None of this is adding up.”
There was murmuring among the techs. They were waiting for her to say something that they didn’t agree with, ready to tease the rookie. But Ferris stopped them with a look and motion to Mercer.
“Come over here,” he said quietly.
She followed him without hesitation. They stood out of earshot of the others, and Ferris listened to her theory.
“The man who killed Eric Price was shorter than six-two,” she began, flipping through her notes. “The initial stab wounds should have been in a downward motion, but they’re straight in and out. Whoever killed Price was five-nine or five-ten, tops.”
“I thought that too. What else did you see?”
“There’s no hesitation, and the stab wounds are in lethal places. All of them. The first stab punctured the lung, which would have made it almost impossible for Price to call out for help. He shouldn’t have been able to run, but he did his best.”
“He was in excellent shape.”
“Right.”
“So, the perp had to have surprised him. But if he had an altercation with Berrington shortly before his death, why would he be surprised that Jake came after him for trying to break into the Corvette? Unless he knew that Berrington was inside the store where the Corvette was parked.”
Her eyes flicked over to the media, waiting with microphones drawn and watching them.
“It couldn’t have been Jake Berrington, then,” she said.
“I agree.”
“Should we tell them?
“No.”
“Do you have a plan?”
“I don’t. But I spent a lot of time with Jake after his parents died, and he was convinced that they’d been murdered.”
“The people around him are dropping like flies.”
“He mentioned that too. I thought he was being paranoid, but now I’m not so sure.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We’re not going to tell the press.”
“If the real perp thinks that we’re after Jake, then he’ll have his guard down.”
“Yes. And I want to look into the Berringtons again.”
“Do you think Jake Berrington was right?”
“I had him pegged as grief-stricken and reaching, but it never did sit well with me. He was too in control of himself to be hysterical.”
“Wasn’t he Special Forces?”
“Almost. He had an old football injury that he couldn’t keep healed. It was in his records. He was honorably discharged at the end of training. He returned home a few months before his parents were murdered.”
“But he can take care of himself.”
“That’s what I’m getting at. If Jake Berrington is in the wind, we’re not going to find him. I have a feeling that anonymous tip was a way to try and flush him out.”
“That makes sense.”
“We won’t have much time to look into this, and we’re going to need some help.”
“Do you think this is related to that car explosion in Deep Ellum?”
“Stranger things have happened, so I’m not going to rule it out. I have a feeling this entire thing is bigger than we realize. This is definitely a contract killing. The stab wounds are much too precise to be dumb luck. Not that many times, at least.”
The media was getting antsy, itching for more information than they already had thanks to some bigmouth that had already been asked to leave the scene. But they wanted more, or at least, confirmation that what they “knew” was the truth.
In this world of twenty-four-hour news, there was constant competition to have all the answers before anyone else did. It led to the media reporting on mere speculation, with the story changing wildly from hour to hour. This case would be no different, but Ferris was planning on using that fault to his advantage. He needed time, and the media circus was going to help him.
“Do you want me to go talk to them?”
“Have at it,” Ferris said with a smile.
Grace Mercer winked at him, stripping off her gloves and pocketing them inside out before pulling her long, blonde hair into a higher ponytail and almost skipping down the block to where they waited.
Ferris could tell the instant that they caught sight of her and her badge, and he almost laughed. Grace Mercer knew that she looked young and bubbly, and she was using that to her advantage. They would take anything she said at face value because she was gorgeous, and they would assume she wasn’t smart enough to manipulate them. It was fun to watch.
Ferris left her to it, stepping around the corner and taking out his phone. He dialed a number, then held his breath while the phone rang. It was early, and it was Sunday, which was a bad combination when you needed something fast. But he had new information, and he knew that there was something fishy going on. If he was a betting man, he’d lay odds that this case was going to get bigger before it blew up, but he didn’t know quite how. He needed help, and he knew exactly who to call.
“Reeves,” a groggy man answered.
“This is Tom Ferris with Dallas County,” he said.
“Yes?” the man said, sounding a lot more awake all of a sudden.
“It turns out that I’m going to need your help after all. When can you be here?”
“I’ll be there by lunch.”
“Perfect,” Ferris said, but the line had already gone dead in his ear.
He shrugged and hung up. Grace had the media on the edge of their seats, eating up every word. It was time for him to do his part and make sure that the media bought her story.
He hurried after Grace, putting a hand on her shoulder mid-sentence and motioning her to the side. She feigned concern, excusing herself while the cameras followed her a short distance away. Ferris scowled and pointed at the group of techs still standing around waiting for Ferris to finish so they could begin logging and removing evidence. Grace looked back at the crowd of reporters and shook her head and mouthed the word, “sorry.” Without another word, she walked toward the techs, and Ferris made his way to the cameras.
They were clamoring, microphones shoved at him while they yelled questions in his direction. He waved them off, still scowling as if in frustration. They went silent. They were holding their collective breath, waiting for him to speak. They knew who he was, and with his reputation, they were sure that he would have the information they wanted. He was looking forward to disappointing them.
“I’m sorry, but we don’t have anything further at this time. This is an open investigation, and we will be investigating this death fully before we comment. Thank you for your time.”
He turned. A slow smile spread across his face at the frenzy he left in his wake, then he jerked his head toward Grace, and she scurried to his side. They walked to the unmarked sedan and got in, shutting the door and welcoming the silence.
“We’re good,” Grace said, laughing.
“Damn good,” Tom said.