The Territory (Josie Gray Mysteries #1)(37)
“Is that blood on the floor?” Winning asked from her seat at the table.
Marta held the black light closer, and there was no doubt.
Josie asked Winning to turn on the kitchen light. They stood and stared at the drop of blood, now just barely visible in the dust and dirt that had collected at the bottom of the doorway.
Josie flipped the light back off and pointed to the dollop of blood. “It’s perfectly round. Imagine two men carrying Red through the door, one at his head and one at his feet. The blood would have dropped from the back of his head, straight down from the bullet wound.”
Marta took additional pictures and measurements around the door, then scraped the dried blood from the threshold and collected several flakes with a cotton swab. She dropped them into a small glass vial and said she would get the blood to the laboratory drop box that night to request a DNA scan.
“So, somebody carried Red’s body into the trailer and laid him down on my couch?” Winning asked.
Josie noted the surprise in her voice. She hadn’t made the coroner’s findings public, so no one knew the bullet had exited Red’s skull, and Winning certainly didn’t know Josie had just dug the bullet out of her pine tree.
“Any theories on why someone would do that?” Marta asked Winning.
“Why would the people he ran with do anything?” Winning responded.
Josie said, “Generally, when a murder victim is staged, the killer is either trying to send a message or create a diversion. Was the killer sending a message to you?”
*
After searching Red’s house again and finding nothing new of any interest, Otto left and drove to Paul Fallow’s house. He lived north of town in a small, ritzy subdivision with half a dozen stucco homes, each with three thousand to four thousand square feet of living space. By comparison to his neighbors’ homes, Fallow’s was a fairly modest beige-colored two story with wooden lintels and Spanish arches. Otto parked and knocked on the front door but heard no movement inside. The garage door was open to display two white midsized Acura sedans, so he walked around the back of the house, where he found Fallow in golf shorts and a light blue tank top, raking sand.
Otto stood at the corner of the house for a moment and watched Fallow walk the perimeter of a Japanese garden, about ten feet by ten feet, raking gray sand in a pattern to form concentric squares. His wife, a high school English teacher, sat on a mat at the center of the yard in the lotus position with her eyes closed. Otto wondered how in the world a guy like Fallow ended up in a group like the Gunners.
Fallow looked up and saw Otto as he approached the backyard. Fallow waved slightly, and then he tiptoed across small rocks positioned strategically to get him out of the garden without disturbing the sand.
Fallow used a bandanna tied around his neck to wipe the sweat off his face and pointed toward the front of the house. “She’s deep within,” he said in a whisper. “Let’s not disturb her.”
They went inside Fallow’s home and sat in a blue room filled with puffy beige furniture. Oversized paintings of pastel geometric shapes covered most of the wall space. Otto felt his body sink a foot into the couch cushion and worried he wouldn’t be able to push himself up and out. He pulled his steno pad and pen out of his shirt pocket and rested them on his knee.
“Can I get you a cold beverage?”
Otto realized he was suddenly annoyed with the man sitting across from him.
Otto ignored the question. “We received some new information about the Gunners. It’s time you come clean on what you know about Red and his guns.” Otto waited for a reaction—something more than the wide-eyed stare Fallow was offering. When Otto got nothing more, he pulled several pictures out of the steno pad that he carried and offered them to Fallow, who stood to retrieve them.
“That’s Red in the top picture, standing next to a couple of men who are confirmed members of La Bestia. That second picture? That’s Miguel Gutiérrez, a member of La Bestia. We have him locked up in the Arroyo County Jail for murdering his uncle in broad daylight at our Trauma Unit.”
Fallow’s face turned white and his lips curled down. He looked as if he might vomit.
“These are some bad fellows that old Red was dealing with, Dr. Fallow. I don’t think you want to mess with these guys.”
Fallow looked up suddenly, his eyes bright and teary. “Who says I’m messing with them! I don’t know these men. That was Red’s business! Go talk to Hack Bloster if you want details. I want no part of this.” He clapped his hands together as if the topic were closed.
Otto didn’t move. “Go ahead and look at that last photo. That’s a picture of a police officer that pissed one of those other fellows off. Notice his head is gone? It’s in the trash can to the right of the body. Don’t think you can clap your hands and this will go away.”
Fallow leaned forward and stared at the picture in his hands.
“We suspect these individuals killed Red Goff. We’re taking the position that anyone associated with the Gunners is in grave danger.”
“This is so unfair. I did nothing wrong.”
Otto cleared his throat. “Mr. Fallow, I need to know who Red was working with.”
He looked up, his eyes pleading. “I swear to you, I don’t know. I’m pretty sure he and Hack were trading guns. That’s all I know, and that’s a guess on my part. They never allowed me into their private meetings.”