AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Or someone makes themselves at home and comes inside,” I said, remembering what Lydia had said about neighbors popping in and out all the time and the doors being unlocked.
“Whoever it was, Hargrove brought him back to the office,” Jack said. “If it was me I’d be trying to rush them along and get them out the door so I could leave for work.”
“Unless it’s someone you know well,” I said. “Someone who said it was important they talked to you. Hargrove would make the time then.”
“Yeah,” Jack sighed. “You’re right. This is personal. It’s emotional. Whoever the killer is didn’t come over with the intention to kill. They didn’t bring their own weapon. They used what was on hand. Tempers flared and anger got the best of them.”
Jack took my arms and moved me. He stood right in front of the desk and he positioned me in front of him. And then I looked around for the closest thing to grab.
“The helmet,” I said, pointing to the shelves where several red helmets sat. It was his trophy wall, that archived every state championship he’d won over the last thirty years. There were seven floating shelves that held red helmets with the year stickered on the side, along with the team pictures and the trophies. But one of the helmets was missing. I’d noticed it the day before, but I hadn’t been thinking of it in terms of a murder weapon.
“Something like that would cause the fracturing on the skull. It’s rounded so the impact point is spread out across the surface instead of leaving a sharp impact point, and it would also explain the red flakes we found. It was paint.”
“And Coach Hargrove wouldn’t think twice about turning his back,” Jack said.
“Because he trusted whoever it was,” I said, nodding.
I reached up to the shelf and said, “It’s a little tall for me to reach. I’d have to stand on my toes to reach the shelf. The killer would lose the element of surprise if it wasn’t a quick and smooth motion to crack the helmet in the back of his skull.”
“So we’re looking for someone taller than you,” Jack said, lips twitching. “That narrows it down.”
“Shut up,” I said, smiling. I reached up and took one of the other helmets from the shelf, feeling its weight and then passing it over to Jack. “So your back is turned to me and I slam the helmet into your skull, immediately rendering you unconscious. And then you fall forward. Maybe across the desk? Or maybe straight to the floor.”
“Coach wasn’t a big guy,” Jack said. “What was he? Five ten or eleven?”
“Ten,” I said. “Seventy-nine point three kilograms. He was in good shape. Lots of muscle so that put him on the heavier side.”
“What is that in American?” Jack asked.
“A hundred and seventy-five pounds,” I said. “Of dead weight.”
“That’s not easy to do from any position,” Jack said. “Much less if the killer had to pick him up from the floor.”
“Where was the gun?” I asked. “If I’m the killer and I just knock a guy unconscious I’d probably be freaking out a little if it was the result of pure emotion. I’d be scrambling, trying to figure out what to do. You’ve only got two choices at that point. You can do the right thing and call in the EMTs and wait with him until he regains consciousness. Or you can finish him off. This person decides to finish him off.”
“So they have to figure out how they’re going to do it,” Jack said, taking up my train of thought. “The sawed-off shotgun is the easy choice. If you know that Coach has one and where it is.”
“Yeah,” I said, getting a sinking feeling in my stomach. “We need to go talk to Joe Able. One thing that’s not explained is how he avoided the blowback of blood spatter and brain matter. We’d have noticed the inconsistency in pattern if he’d been standing over the body to pull the trigger.”
“Yeah, that takes a cooler head,” Jack said. “You have to know how weapons work and the best way to avoid being covered in evidence.” Jack moved behind the desk where Coach Hargrove had been sitting in the leather chair. “I get him lifted and settled in the chair. Go get the gun. Time is of the essence I’m guessing. How long would someone stay unconscious with a head injury like that?”
“It could be anywhere from fifteen minutes to hours,” I said. “It would depend on the damage done to the brain, which I wasn’t able to observe in the autopsy since his brain was gone.”
“The killer might be thinking they don’t have a lot of time,” Jack said. “So they’re moving fast. Go get the gun and then take the time to position him. There were powder burns on Hargrove’s right hand, so he was definitely holding the weapon when it was fired.”
“So how do you do it?” I asked.
“Easy,” he said and crawled under the space beneath the desk.
It was a tight fit for someone Jack’s size. “Joe Able is about your size.”
“Yeah,” Jack said. “It’s definitely a tight squeeze. It’s hard to maneuver, but doable.” He reached out and grabbed the leather chair, pulling it toward him. “Joe Able is in good shape. He’s a big guy. He could easily lift Hargrove and put him in the chair and then pull it to him from down here. But no one’s prints are on the weapon but Hargrove’s.”
“So he positions the gun, pulls the trigger and kills him,” I said. “And then wipes his prints from the weapon?”
Jack grunted and looked at his own gloved hands. “I want to bring the fingerprint techs back out and have them look for prints on the underside of the chair and down here under the desk. Let’s pay a visit next door and talk to Joe Able.”
Chapter Ten
