The Promise (43 page)

“Yet,”

              Parker knew his detective. He understood that Gallagher was looking for something more definitive to bring all these links to the Allison Taylor case and use them to solve it. But, it was still too fuzzy to do so.

“What else did they find in the car, Mike?”

              Gallagher continued, “There were more portfolios of girls in the trunk bringing the number of young women posing illicitly for Dr. Morgan to over fifty students.

We also secured some videos of some of the girls in sexually explicit modeling for him. There was also no evidence in the car that what Dr. Morgan was involved in had anything to do with a prostitution ring at the Colony school.

He seemed to have his own sick game going with these girls. Somehow, he made them feel obligated to him, some sort of debt, and they had to repay him with a sexual favor, in this case, posing inappropriately. We have no evidence of any other kinds of sexual favors, but, that doesn’t mean they didn’t occur.”

              The Chief looked away. It was obvious these revelations were nauseating to him. After a long pause, he asked, “Anything else, Mike?”

              “Yeah, there is one other thing, there were no other files found in his car and all his keys were missing, except of course, his car keys. His wife said he had a rather extensive key ring for all his valuables, including his school files.

No trace of any of them.”

              “What do you make of it, Mike?”

              “Whoever killed him wanted to leave these pictures behind and nothing else. He turned to Elie, “Malcolm Oden?”

              His partner shuddered, “God, I hope not. It could be him or it could be one of the girls he blackmailed, or several for that matter. They could have been clearing out his files to protect themselves. Maybe it was one of the girls whose picture was not left at the scene. How would we research that?”

              Parker agreed, “I think Elie has a point, Mike. I tend to go more with the teenage girls theory. I think Oden is dead.”

              Elie grimaced, “I pray Oden is dead.”

              Gallagher added another scenario, “Could have been a parent, protecting their young.

At any rate, we can close the book on Theotis Morgan. No files, no more evidence from the car and no more headmaster. Just more loose ends in a case that continues to swirl with mixed messages.”

              The Chief came over and put his hand on his detective’s shoulder, “You’re like Roy Rogers, you always get your man!”

              “I think that was the motto of the FBI, boss.” corrected Gallagher. “Not the cowboy. But, I’ll take Roy any day.”

              Elie commented, “I liked Dale Evans. What was the name of her horse, Gallagher?”

              Without hesitating, Mr. Trivia swung into action, “Her horse was named, Buttermilk. Roy’s horse, of course, was Trigger. They had a jeep named Nellybelle, driven by Roy’s sidekick, Pat Brady. Their theme song was, ‘Happy Trails to you,’ Roy’s real name was Leonard Slye. He was born in Cincinnati, Ohio in 1911. His sidekick was Gabby Hayes, his,”

              His partner cut him off, “Awggggrhh! I should have kept my mouth shut!” She laughed. 

The Chief laughed, too. “If minutiae were important to this case, Mike Gallagher would have solved it by now!”

             
“Minutiae!” sputtered, Gallagher. “These are significant details of an American hero! You two have no soul. Where’s your sense of patriotism?” He mock glared at both of them.

They just kept laughing.

              “I hope you find Margaret Williams soon, Mike. I will feel more comfortable with her behind bars again,” stated the Chief.

              “You and me, both!” chimed Elie.

              The detective waved at them as he exited. He wasn’t worried about Raven or Roy Rogers. He wanted to find out who was packing a deadly .38 caliber gun before he struck again.

Chapter Seventy-nine---A major Development

             
Another week passed. No news.

Gallagher noticed he was losing weight. He also realized some of his hair was starting to fall out.

The pressure he felt to solve the Taylor case was beginning to wear him down physically. He kept going over all the evidence he had and was rewarded with one dead end after another.

As he sat in his office, he picked up Mick and whined, “I know we are missing something obvious here, buddy. Help me out on this. Do you see anything I don’t?”

Unfortunately, the mascot was just as stumped as his master.

              The phone rang. It was Elie. “Hi Gallagher, I like my new place. Is it okay if I put something on the walls? Whoever hid here before me had no sense of style.”

              The detective laughed, “Sure. Knock yourself out. I’m glad you feel safe over there.”

              “I need to drop my car off at the shop this week. I may need a ride back…”

              “We can coordinate that, no problem. What’s wrong with it?”

              Elie’s voice dripped with sarcasm, “It’s old. I need a new car. But, since you and I are getting paid the big bucks, it may be just a pipe dream.”

              “Yeah, I know. I’m Trump, you’re Oprah…”

              “Boy, wouldn’t that be nice, Gallagher!” she chortled.

              “Heck, we wouldn’t know what to do with all that money, partner.” He reasoned.

              She couldn’t agree less, ”Speak for yourself, cowboy!” Before he could yodel back, she interjected, “Any news?”

              “Nah, Raven is still flying solo. Arch gets out of the hospital tomorrow and goes home. Dr. Morgan is still dead. Your car is set to join him.”

              Elie laughed, “Maybe if we solve this case, we will get a bonus or something. I could buy a new car!”

              Gallagher corrected her, “This is the Athens police department, not Beverly Hills. With your bonus, you’ll be lucky to buy a set of used roller blades. Think about moonlighting at 7/11. It’s your only shot.”

              “Gee, thanks, Gallagher. I feel so much better now. I’ll be in contact.”

              He hung up the phone. The thought of Elie on roller blades amused him. The idea of himself being on roller blades made him laugh aloud, gliding over to a crime scene on those things…

              Jerry Simpson was at the door, “Mike, we found Redding Shaw.”

              The detective was a little perplexed. “Found him? I didn’t know we were even looking for him…”

              “We weren’t. But, someone else was.”

              Gallagher swung around in his chair and faced the officer, “What are you saying, Simpson?”
 

             
“He was found dead in his car. about an hour ago. Some jogger called in.”

              “Where was he?”
 

             
“In his driveway. We don’t know the time of death. But, we know the method.”

              “Let me guess, Jerry, two bullet holes in the back of the head?”

              The officer nodded affirmatively. But, this time we may have gotten a break.”

              Gallagher was all ears, such as?”

              We found the gun in the bushes, a 38 caliber. It’s at the lab being analyzed for ballistics and prints. Keep your fingers crossed.”

              Who’s working the case?”

              Simpson responded, “Detective Harris. He’s our last homicide detective. You and the other two are tied up with plenty of responsibility right now.”

              “Harris is a good man. I trust him implicitly. Tell him to give me a call. Thanks, Jerry.”

              Gallagher leaned his chair backwards and stared up at the ceiling. He had no words to adequately describe his feelings at that moment. His head hurt.

He thought about that Southwest Airline commercial. It would be nice to get away for a long time right about now.

Chapter Eighty-A murder suspect Surfaces

             
The funeral for Redding Shaw was held and Gallagher only attended to see if he could gain any insights into the Taylor investigation.

Although he didn’t wish for any man to die, he had little use for Archer Taylor’s ex-partner.

Elie went with him, so as the two of them observed the crowd carefully, they paid scant attention to the eulogies and more to whom they saw and what they saw.

One thing was obvious to both of them, Justin Shaw was an emotional mess. He was slated to speak, but collapsed on his way to the dais. He had to be helped out by two of his brothers.

Arch Taylor was absent.

Due to the critical recovery time he needed from his heart attack, his doctor advised him to send flowers instead.

Romy Shaw, Redding’s wife, cut an intriguing figure. She wore a large hat, seen often in Southern Living magazines, with a splash of red and white coloring on her red suit. She had been known in town for her flamboyant personality and it remained true even for a funeral.

As she eulogized her late husband, one got the feeling she was doing as much stand-up comedy as she was memorializing him. Her use of southern metaphors was classic and brought smiles to her family and friends as she described Redding as a typical Southerner who lacked as much common sense sometimes as a, “biscuit in search of some serious gravy!”

People smiled at her homilies because they knew the truth about the Shaw marriage, it lacked intimate marital bliss, to say the least.

Both Redding and his wife were known as the, “marriage of elegant expediency!” due to their wealth and station in the community. They had more partners than stock portfolios.

So, this funeral was really a celebration of final liberation for Romy Shaw, not a statement of grief. Still, she tried her best. She actually cried at one point. The consensus was divided as to the motive behind that display of public emotion. You could get equal odds on her being sad or happily relieved. She stood to inherit a lot of money.

              There was nothing else about the service that made an impression on Gallagher and his partner. Everything seemed ordinary as funerals go.

As the cortege pulled out for the cemetery, the detective and the policewoman got into his car and headed back to the office. They were anxious to see if any fingerprints found on the murder weapon would be found.

If so, their main hope was to link those prints to a person with a name they could arrest. Gallagher held out little hope based on the multiple frustrations he had encountered up to that point in the case.

              As they walked through the office, Jerry Simpson greeted them, “How was the funeral?”

              Gallagher waved back, “Well, you know, a casket, some flowers, nice words,”
 

             
Elie added her own insight, “A goofy broad who somewhat resembled a wife!”

              Simpson laughed, “Oh, so you met the famous Romy of Athens?”

              The detective smiled, “Yeah, she makes, ‘Gone with the Wind,’ look like a morality play!”

              Elie reminded him, “Uh, Gallagher, ‘Gone with the Wind’ was a morality play!”

              He shot back, “Well, it wouldn’t have been if Romy Shaw played Scarlett!”

              Simpson looked at both of them, “You two should be married, nice chemistry!”

              Gallagher frowned, “Don’t use the word, ‘marriage’ around me, right now. It’s in my distant past. I am certain my lovely wife is ready to trade me in. Is there any news on the Shaw murder weapon?”

              “Yeah, the Chief is looking it over now.”

              The detective made a beeline to Parker’s office. His hopes were high there were prints on the gun. The news both exhilarated and disappointed him at the same time.

              “Hello, Mike, Elie, we have a match on the murder weapon. The prints found on the gun belong to someone we are familiar with.”

              Gallagher was almost afraid to ask, “Who?”

              Parker just shook his head from side to side, “Malcolm Oden.”

              “Bullshit!” Gallagher heard himself say. “There is no way.”

              Elie shrunk back into a corner of the room, almost in a fetal position. She was scared to death. “This can’t be.” 

              “Well,” Parker continued, “Fingerprints don’t lie. They are his. I’ve put out another APD with his description on it. I think we have no choice now but to get a judge to exhume the body and,”

              Gallagher interrupted him, “Chief, there is no body, remember? He was cremated.”

              His boss reddened in the face, “Damn! That’s right, Mike. I forgot. What in the hell do we do now?”

              All three stood there at a loss for words.

              The phone rang,

“Hello, Parker here,” He listened for a moment and then commanded the caller, “It is imperative you get containment here, understand?” He hung up the phone and turned back to his two partners in law enforcement, “That was Officer Howell. They spotted a girl who resembles Margaret Williams. They are pursuing her down South Street. They have two other cars joining them for backup. I think they’ll get her. Now, back to Oden,”

              But, Elie was gone again. She bolted out of the room and before either the Chief or Gallagher could stop her she exited out the back stairs and down to the street.

              “Let her go,” advised the Chief. “She needs to process this news. I should have waited to tell you alone and have you break it to her gently. How is this bastard still alive?”

              Gallagher shrugged, “I have no idea. Now, because the mortician who worked on him is dead, we are going to have to do it the hard way. Catch him before he kills again. This is unbelievable.”

              The phone rang again, “Yeah?” Chief Parker answered, after a few seconds he slammed the phone down into the receiver. “Double damn! They lost her. Margaret Williams got away.”

              His detective said the four simple words that people have said for centuries when confronted with a seemingly impossible situation, “I need a drink.”

But, by the time his boss heard the last word of that sentence, Gallagher was gone.

The drink was calling him.

Chapter Eighty
-one---Arch Taylor bares his Soul

             
Since Elie was at the garage trying to get her hopeless car fixed, Gallagher went alone to see Archer Taylor.

He had promised Allison’s father he would see him as soon as he got home from the hospital. As a professional courtesy, he felt it would be a nice gesture. As the detective walked slowly up the walk to Archer Taylor’s mansion, he tried to smile at the security guard but his face hurt too much.

He promised himself, “
I am never going to drink again for the rest of my life”…”

His head was pounding as he staggered to the door where a servant lightened his burden by opening the door for him before he even got there.

The detective entered and was escorted upstairs to see the furniture mogul. Arch looked good. He had the color back in his face and he smiled broadly to the detective. “How the hell are you, Gallagher!” he bellowed.

The volume of the greeting made Gallagher’s head wince even more.

              “As good as can be expected, Mr. Taylor. Good to see you home…”

              “Well, I don’t plan on being here on a daily basis much longer. I’m just tired a lot. I keep falling asleep on a moment’s notice. It’s that damn heart medicine. I’m anxious to get back to work. I need to take my mind off things.”