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Officer Mallory rubbed his eyes with his index finger and thumb. “Why are you reporting a crime as serious as murder in Galveston, if it was committed—according to you—in Kansas?”
“Because the man who murdered my father lives in Galveston.”
“Is that right?” The man sighed and took up his pencil once again. “When did this murder take place?”
Hunter watched him carefully, almost predicting his response. “Eighteen years ago.”
The officer closed his eyes and shook his head. “All right, mister. I know there is no statute of limitations on murder. But if the murder was committed in Kansas, you have to talk to the people there. If they determine the person you allege actually committed this murder, they will notify us and we will arrest him and see that he’s transported.”
Hunter gritted his teeth and tried to hold onto his temper. He was getting mighty tired of police treating him with this condescending attitude. He hadn’t run into a cooperative officer since Emily had first disappeared.
“This man is committing fraud against the citizens of Galveston as well. Apparently he’s been doing this for a while. If you arrest him for that, I will have time to wire the authorities in Ellsworth.”
“And you have proof of this man’s fraudulent activities here?”
“Some. I’m still wor
king on it.” He knew no officer of the law would arrest someone for criminal activities if there was no proof, but he was desperate to get Louis behind bars and away from Emily.
Mallory leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “You a bounty hunter?”
“No. Ten years with the Texas Rangers, but I’m out now.”
“Why? For mental instability?” He smirked, making Hunter want to wipe the look off his face with his fists. But that would get him nowhere except in a jail cell.
“No.”
The officer stared at him for a full minute while Hunter tapped his foot, waiting for the next insult. He would take any number of slurs if it would protect Emily.
“I know I’m going to be sorry I asked this, but what is the name of this man who committed murder eighteen years ago in Kansas, but is now committing fraudulent business practices in Galveston?”
“Louis Smith.”
The officer pushed his chair back and glared at him. “Okay, Mr. Henderson, our interview is over.” He stood, threw the pad and pencil back on the shelf, and headed toward the door.
“Wait! How can you, an officer of the law, ignore my charges?”
Mallory turned back, fisting his hands on his hips. “I’ll tell you how. You just named one of the most well-known citizens in Galveston. He’s been doing business here for more than five years. He’s respected in the community and gives a lot of money to charity. If you were going to make these charges, you should have picked a different man to accuse.”
“I accused the man who did it,” Hunter shouted.
“And you have witnesses to this murder?”
“Yes.” He stabbed his chest with his thumb. “Me.”
“You?”
Hunter gave him a stiff nod.
The officer’s eyes widened and he looked as though he was about to burst out laughing. “And you waited eighteen years to report it? Or did the Ellsworth police chase you off like I’m about to do?”
“I was thirteen years old. I was shocked, unable to talk about it for years.” He began to pace. “I spent the last ten years in the Rangers looking for Smith.” He paused. “Not that I knew his name.”
“How are you so sure he’s the same man? Eighteen years is a long time.”
“Eighteen years ago, I sat huddled under my father’s desk when a robber came into the bank where my father was manager and demanded money. At my father’s instructions, the teller handed the money over. Then the thief turned and shot the teller and my father in cold blood. He never saw me under the desk when he looked around the room, but I saw his face clearly. It was Smith.”
Mallory shook his head. “I find your story hard to believe.” He held up his hands in surrender when Hunter opened his mouth to speak. “I don’t doubt your father was killed in a bank robbery, but a young boy witnessing a murder—that he told no one about—and then eighteen years later thinking he saw the man . . .” He shrugged.
