Free Not in the Heart by Chris Fabry Page A

’67 Mustang. Out in the open, like he wanted us to find it. Yellow tape went up and that was it.”
    â€œAnd he was asleep in the trailer?”
    Sawyer nodded. “Still had half a bottle left, too.”
    â€œWhat about a car? If he was just a drunk on the street, did he have transportation?”
    Sawyer nodded. “Rusted-out Mazda. Looked a lot like him. It wouldn’t even turn over. But that little piece of the puzzle wasn’t important.”
    â€œChandler and the prosecutor said he found out where she lived, waited outside, snatched her, and killed her. But why?”
    â€œHe threatened her. It’s in the court transcript.”
    â€œWas there forensic evidence in the car?”
    He opened a grape jelly packet and scooped it into his mouth with a butter knife. “We found her hair. Her purse. One shoe. It felt conveniently haphazard. Looked like a drunk had tried to pull off the perfect crime. Ineptly meticulous. To me, it didn’t fit.”
    â€œYou find a dead girl in the dump and evidence everywhere and you don’t think it fits?”
    â€œHow did he abduct her without anyone seeing? How did a drunk get her back to the dump? And why bring her back there? Why not dump her body in a river or the swamp?”
    I shook my head. “The case was open and shut. The guy’s guilty.”
    â€œMaybe so. But I’ve got more questions. Where did he get the revolver with the serial number filed down? And who keeps a murder weapon in a kitchen cupboard? What about the owner of the salon where Diana worked? That guy is a piece of work.”
    I gave him my best reporter’s quizzical stare, the one where I furrow into a unibrow. Always worked with political figures and heads of businesses to get them to elaborate without me even asking another question.
    â€œThe manager of the salon owned three of these places across town. Now it’s just one. Shady is an understatement. Actually, it would be a compliment. I heard he had the girls do more than cut hair, if you know what I mean. Sleazeball. And he had a brother who’s now in jail.”
    â€œWhat’s the manager’s name?”
    He folded his napkin and closed his eyes. “Curtis Tompkins. Brother’s in prison for dope dealing, but that was the plea deal. He was guilty of a lot worse.”
    He gave me the name of the salon, but I had that in my notes.
    â€œWhat did Chandler say about these inconsistencies?” I said.
    â€œTwo and two make four, and when things fit as neatly as this did, investigations shut down. But it wasn’t just Chandler. The prosecutor, Boyle, was up for election that year. He wanted a quick conviction. Push it through. Get the ink dry on the headlines.”
    My cheek throbbed and I popped a couple more Advil and washed them down with the watery orange juice.
    â€œIt smelled to me like something else was going on but for the life of me I don’t know what. As soon as we found the body, the reports were written and everybody went home.”
    â€œIf you were so sure it wasn’t right, why didn’t you follow up?”
    He shrugged. “Like I said, he was probably guilty of something. And I did have other work. But it’s bugged me over the years. Why did he pick her? There were other people on the street. Why go for her?”
    â€œDid the defense bring any of this up?”
    â€œThe defense was inept. Conley got shafted on all sides. Unless he really did do it.”
    â€œWhich makes the most sense to me.”
    The food arrived and he dove into his eggs with abandon. I dove into my pancakes like a timid swimmer, pushing small bits to the right side of my mouth, away from the pain. Despite the good detective’s concern, the conversation made me think Sawyer was a sour-grapes guy who didn’t mind stirring things up for his old partner. Maybe Chandler had cheated him out of a dozen donuts. Still, there was something about his