My chest got hot with anger, but I stifled the retort I wanted to spit back. Mostly because she was right. If I were in her shoes, I’d have made the same call.
“So why show us all this?” Candice asked.
Grayson sighed again. “Because none of the evidence is stacking up in a way that’s making sense. I’m bothered by the fact that everyone I talk to tells me that Dave McKenzie is this sweetheart of a guy who wouldn’t hurt a fly, but who actually once threw a man down a flight of stairs and killed him.”
“He did that to save my life!” I yelled, unable to hold in the outburst.
“I know,” Grayson said, offering me a sympathetic look. “Which is why I brought you two here this morning. I don’t believe that people simply snap after fifty-eight years and become cold-blooded killers. McKenzie’s profile suggests he’s a good guy. He’s hardworking, loyal, stable, steady, colorful, and honest. He pays his taxes and his bills on time. He’s been with the same woman for thirty-two years. He donates to six different charities and volunteers at Austin Pets Alive.”
“He does?” I said, honestly surprised. I had no idea Dave was a volunteer at the shelter.
“He does,” Grayson said with a slight smile. “The shelter staff love him. He walks every single dog in the place even if it takes all day every Thursday, which I understand is his one day off a week. He plays fetch with the pups, cuddles with them, and comforts the ones who’ve been the most neglected. That’s not a guy who’s going to suddenly snap and pick up an AR-fifteen to murder four people in cold blood. There’s something seriously wrong with the witness statements I have for everyone who’s ever spent time with him, and what the evidence shows, and for the life of me I can’t understand the incongruity of it.”
“The evidence is wrong,” I said. Handing her the mug shot of Gudziak, I added, “Ask Wixom if Gudziak was there. Maybe he was forcing Dave along. Ask him if Gudziak was the one who was really in control.”
Grayson took the mug shot. “I’ll show him a six-pack,” she said, referring to a grouping of mug shots shown to witnesses to avoid implying the guilt of any one potential suspect. “But I’m not putting any kind of suggestion into his mind. He’ll tell me only what he remembers, and I’m going to proceed based on that.”
“Can we at least ride along with you and wait in the corridor or something?” Candice asked.
“I thought you wanted to take a tour of Wixom’s crime scene,” she said.
“We do,” I said. “But we also want to be there when you follow up with Wixom.”
She frowned, undecided.
Sienna, who’d been largely silent for the past few minutes, said, “It couldn’t hurt for them to wait in the hallway, Nikki.”
I smiled at her gratefully, and just like that, she and I made peace.
“Fine,” Grayson said. “But you’re not to say a single word when I talk to Wixom, understand? Not. One. Word.”
I held up my little finger. “Pinkie swear.”
Chapter Thirteen
Grayson called over to the hospital and discovered that Chris Wixom was being visited by his mother, so she decided that in the meantime we should head over to the crime scene. We rode along in her car, which was a welcome change, as she drove at the posted speed limit and didn’t take the turns on two wheels.
I didn’t even have to pray to make it to our destination in one piece.
We arrived to find Wixom’s house barricaded by a patrol car and a whole lot of yellow crime-scene tape. The patrolman on scene waved Grayson into the drive after she flashed her badge, and we parked right at the front door.
Getting out of the car, we stood for a moment in front of the house and I steeled myself for the second time that morning. I didn’t quite know what I’d be picking up intuitively inside the house, but I wasn’t especially looking forward to the task.
Grayson looked to me to see if I was ready, and after a brief nod we stepped forward to the front door. Nikki handed us blue booties to put over our shoes and some black rubber gloves to wear before she punched in a code to the lockbox placed on the handle, then retrieved a key, and we were in.
I came into the coolness of the front foyer and was jarred by the violence that was still reverberating in the ether. It hit me hard and I looked down and found that I was standing in a big patch of dried blood.
I shuddered and hopped to the side. It was awful to look at, but even worse to be standing on top of.
“Where was he shot?” Candice asked, making a motion across her body.
“Once in the upper back, which went through and came out just under his clavicle, and then again in the lower back near his left kidney,” Grayson told her.
“It’s a miracle he survived,” I said.
“It is,” Grayson agreed. “The second bullet did the most damage. It took out a kidney, missed his liver by less than an eighth of an inch, and completely destroyed a good chunk of his small intestine before ricocheting off his pelvis and getting lodged in a rib.”
“Ouch,” Candice said. “Poor guy.”
“Barring an infection, his surgeon told me, he should make a full recovery,” Grayson said, moving to the far side of the foyer to allow Candice and me room to look around.
Well, Candice did the looking, I mostly lifted my arms a little away from my body and stood still, literally feeling out the ether.
“They were in a hurry,” I said, moving away from the front door to follow the trail of what felt like hyperactive energy. No one commented, so I continued to move along the central hallway, which had several rooms jutting off from it.
To the right was a dining room, beautifully decorated with a large stone table and high-backed gray suede chairs. The hyperactive energy lingering in the ether suggested the intruders had never entered here. Moving down the hall, I passed entrances to the living room, a giant kitchen, a den, and finally the master bedroom. I paused at each doorway and sensed that the only room the thieves had entered was the master bedroom.
Doubling back along the way I’d come, I found Grayson and Candice still in the foyer, patiently waiting for me. Ignoring them, I went to the staircase, which presumably led to the upstairs bedrooms, but the energy of Gudziak and his partner had never taken even one step up there.
“They definitely knew the layout of the house,” I said, feeling a weight settle into my chest. Dave had been here just a few days ago. He would’ve known the home’s blueprint, and he probably would’ve taken some notes on it and maybe even drawn a diagram. I felt so strongly he’d been the source of how Gudziak had known exactly where to look for Wixom’s valuables.
Heading back to the master bedroom, I entered it cautiously. Don’t ask me why; I think it was simply that the energy in the house was wigging me out and putting my nerves on edge. I didn’t know how Chris Wixom was ever going to be able to come back to this house, because this kind of energy can linger for decades. Then again, not everyone is as sensitive as I am, so maybe he’d come back and have only the demons of his memory to battle.
Edging beyond the doorway, I looked around. The scene was the same as it’d been in the crime-scene photos, with furniture, clothes, and personal effects strewn about to create a mess. Drawers had been pulled out and their contents rummaged through. A large mahogany box lay on the ground, as though it’d been tossed there hastily. Moving over to squat down and inspect it, I saw that it was lined with foam, and indented with a series of round imprints.
This must’ve been the case that’d held Chris’s prized watch collection, I thought. Standing up, I moved to the bedside table, where a charger indicated some electronic gizmo might’ve been on the nightstand getting charged. I didn’t know if it’d also been stolen or was perhaps in another part of the house.
My gut said it’d been taken.
Finally I moved to the closet, which was a large walk-in. This would’ve been where Wixom woul
d’ve wanted his safe room, I thought.
Straight across from where I stood in the doorway was that sizable square hole we’d seen in the photos on Nikki’s phone. White chunks of drywall were scattered all over the bare wood floor, which was the only residual evidence of how forcefully the wall safe had been removed.
I walked forward and touched the edges of the hole in the wall. Standing there, I felt the height of the hyped-up energy left by the two intruders. What struck me was that not even one ethereal thread of it felt like it belonged to Dave.
For as long as I’d known the handyman, his energy had always been gentle, strong, stubborn, and filled with mirth and mischief. This energy . . . well, it wasn’t any of that.
Stepping away from the hole, I stared mournfully at the drywall littering the floor. Dave hadn’t been here. No way. I was absolutely convinced of it.
“Hey,” I heard Candice say behind me. “Anything?”
“He wasn’t here, Candice.”
“Dave?”
“Yes. There were two men, but neither of them was Dave.”
Candice was silent for a long minute. “Then it’ll be really interesting to hear what Wixom has to say.”
I turned and moved toward the exit. “Yep.” Nothing else needed saying.
• • •
Before entering Chris Wixom’s room, Candice went over the logistics with Detective Grayson. “We’ll be right outside the door, but we promise not to say a word.”
“You probably won’t be able to hear much anyway,” Grayson told her. “I doubt Wixom is going to be able to project his voice loud enough for you two to hear.”
Candice frowned. “Good point.” Fishing out her phone from her purse, she dialed my number and pointed at me to answer the call.
Puzzled, I tapped at the screen and said, “Yeah?”
“Don’t hang up,” Candice instructed; then she handed Grayson her phone and grabbed for mine. “We’ll put this on mute, but you keep my phone on speaker, okay?”
“That’ll work,” Grayson said.
Candice then dug into her purse again and pulled out her iPad. “If I need to ask Wixom a question, I’ll text it to your phone, Detective, and if you think it won’t compromise your case, you can ask him.”
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “Fine,” she said after a bit of consideration. “But if I don’t ask him your question, don’t try and sabotage my interview by busting in and asking him anyway, you got it?”
I lowered my lids and looked to Candice. “It’s like she doesn’t trust us.”
“Right?” Candice said. “And we’re so trustworthy too.”
Grayson rolled her eyes. “I’m serious,” she said.
“So are we,” Candice and I said together.
Grayson sighed. “I’m going in there before his family gets back from lunch. You two stay put and don’t interrupt.”
I saluted and Candice followed suit. Grayson made a face at both of us and turned away toward Chris Wixom’s room.
After she disappeared through the door, Candice pulled out a pair of earbuds and connected them to my phone. Then she handed me one of the buds and we put our heads close together so that we could each hear.
“Good morning, Chris,” Grayson said. “I’m not sure if you remember me. We spoke last night. I’m Detective Grayson.”
“Detective,” said a hoarse voice. “I’m glad to see you.”
“Oh, yeah?” she said. “That’s nice to hear. Most people aren’t so happy to see me when they’re in the hospital.”
There was a sort of snort like laughing and Chris said, “The last time we met, I remember thinking you might be the last person I talk to. I wanted to make sure you knew who’d pulled the trigger if I didn’t make it.”
Grayson’s voice softened a bit when she said, “I’m sorry you had to go through that, but I really appreciate how helpful you’ve been in identifying the man that shot you.”
“Dave McKenzie,” Wixom said, like he was afraid she’d forgotten it. “That son of a bitch. Did you catch him yet?”
“Not yet, Chris,” she said.
Standing next to Candice, I could hardly hold still. I wanted very much to rip out my earbud and stomp away, because I knew Chris Wixom was lying. I’d felt the ether, and no way had Dave been there, but I couldn’t figure out why he kept insisting that it’d been Dave who’d shot him. But that wouldn’t help Dave or Gwen, so I kept my temper in check and waited to hear where Grayson took this.
“Chris, you said to me last night that there were two men who invaded your home. Did you happen to get a good look at the other man?”
“Yeah,” he said, but then paused to cough and moan slightly. “Sorry,” he said. “My lungs are full of junk from that anesthesia, and it hurts like hell to cough it up.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Grayson said. “I’d give you another day or two to recover before pressing you on this, but the more information we have on these two armed and dangerous criminals, the more quickly we can hunt them down and prevent them from hurting anyone else.”
“It’s fine, Detective,” Wixom assured her. “I want to help. Anyway, the second guy wasn’t anyone I recognized. He was big, maybe six-two or six-three and two hundred seventy pounds. Maybe even two eighty. Built like a linebacker.”
“Hair color?”
“Dark. He had long curly hair, tied back.”
“Ethnicity?”
There was a pause, then, “Honestly? He looked like a native Hawaiian, or maybe he was from Samoa.”
“He was Polynesian?”
“Yeah, that’s it. Polynesian.”
“Any other distinctive features?”
“He had a bunch of tattoos on his arms and his neck. The one on his neck, I remember that one—it was a dollar sign.”
I imagined what Wixom’s attacker must’ve looked like as I listened to his description, and I was even more convinced that Dave hadn’t been at Wixom’s house the night before. I’d never seen anyone resembling a large Polynesian man with a neck tattoo of a dollar sign around Dave. None of his workers or friends fit that description.
“Did McKenzie maybe say the name of the other guy?”
Wixom was quiet for a moment; then he said, “I think he called him Cap. Or maybe Captain. Something like that. I can’t really remember. I was trying to play dead and hold still so they wouldn’t keep shooting me.”
“Cap or Captain,” Grayson repeated. “That’s great, Chris. You’ve given us a lot of detail. It should help us isolate a list of potential suspects. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you could look at a six-pack for me—it’s a photo lineup—and see if you recognize anyone.”
A small jolt of excitement went through me. I knew that Grayson was about to show Wixom the set of mug shots containing Gudziak’s picture. I was very interested to hear if he’d pick him out of the photo lineup. “Okay,” Wixom said. We heard a bit of rustling of paper, and then a very long pause before Wixom said, “I don’t recognize anybody here.”
My hopes sank. “Dammit!” I muttered. I wanted for him to recognize Gudziak.
But then Grayson surprised me by saying, “Okay, so how about in this six-pack? Recognize anybody here?”
Immediately Wixom said, “There. Right there! That’s McKenzie!”
“That one?” Grayson said. “You’re sure, Chris?”
“Positive. That’s the asshole who came to my house last week and took measurements for my safe room, and that’s the son of a bitch who shot me last night.”
Candice and I glanced at each other nervously. Neither of us had known Grayson was going to pull out two six-packs, but then, that was often done these days because eyewitness testimonies were surprisingly unreliable, and witnesses were usually far more likely to point to someone—anyone—in the first set of photos than they were in any subsequent pho
to lineups. We figured that Grayson was simply making sure that Wixom saw whom he said he saw, and that his memory hadn’t been distorted by his ordeal.
“Okay, Chris, that’s great,” Grayson said, and there was more shuffling of paper before she added, “You look exhausted. How about I let you get some sleep, and I’ll check in on you tomorrow?”
“Thanks, Detective,” Wixom said. “I am pretty wiped out.”
Abruptly, the phone disconnected and Candice pulled out her earbud and I did the same. A moment later Grayson appeared in the doorway of Wixom’s hospital room and motioned for us to follow her.
She moved quickly and I could feel the sense of urgency coming from her. Finally, she stopped at the entrance to a small, empty waiting room, and turned to us. “You two may be on to something,” she said.
“How’s that?” Candice asked her, while I tugged at my jacket anxiously. I knew she had something, but I didn’t quite know what yet.
Grayson pulled out two photo lineups and showed them to us. In the upper left corner of the first set of photos was Dave’s driver’s license photo. In the lower right hand corner of the second set of photos was Gudziak’s mug shot. “I showed this one to Wixom first,” she explained, tapping the lineup with Dave’s picture in it. “He didn’t recognize McKenzie, but, as I’m sure you heard, he nailed Gudziak immediately in this second set of photos, fingering him for McKenzie.”
“I knew it!” I exclaimed, slapping Candice on the upper arm.
“So it wasn’t Dave,” she said, glaring at me while she rubbed her shoulder. “He wasn’t the shooter.”
“Not according to Wixom,” Grayson said while she continued to compare the six-packs. “Still, McKenzie and Gudziak do kind of look alike. And Wixom’s on a lot of painkillers right now. He could be mistaken.”
“Oh, come on, Grayson,” I snapped. “Gudziak’s print was on the casing found at the scene, and Wixom picked him out of the six-pack while ignoring Dave’s photo. I doubt that’s a giant coincidence.”