Page 11 of One Little Memory
“Phoenix.” Chief Bowers beckoned him over, and he joined the knot of men. “You know Jagger Colson. He’s the ADA assigned to this. You guys played football together in high school. And, of course, you know Mayor Jenkins.”
Phoenix nodded to the mayor and then the lawyer. Jagger had been in the twelfth grade when Phoenix had joined the team. He’d only been fifteen and a freshman. They weren’t friends because they had moved in different circles, still did, but he knew Jagger to be a good guy and a great lawyer if rumors were to be believed. “Why is an ADA here already? It’s a little early, isn’t it?”
“I asked him to come,” Jenkins responded. “I was with Jagger when we got the call that Gus Marchand was dead. I think we need him involved from the beginning on this one. Gus wasn’t everyone’s favorite, but his brother is well thought of in the community, so we need to make sure we run this case by the book.”
Don’t fuck this up.That was the gist of what the mayor said without saying. Message received. A case like this might not break the mayor, but it could screw up his re-election chances. It didn’t help the situation that the mayor had just given Arthur Marchand the key to the town in a big public ceremony. Arthur had done some major fundraising for the new community center that the mayor was building. The mayor couldn’t afford to have his favorite citizen be pissed off. Too many others would follow suit.
He was surprised, though, that Jagger had come willingly. He’d always seemed like a stand-up guy to Phoenix. This whole thing seemed a bit like Jagger was…ass-kissing. Not something he generally associated with his old high school teammate.
“Why don’t you take a look at the scene, and we’ll go from there?” Chief Bowers suggested.
“Sounds good.” Phoenix moved toward the ramshackle little house, careful not to walk on tire tracks in the muddy ruts on the long driveway, not that it mattered since there were all kinds of footprints already there. He cursed again.
Off to the side of the porch was Gus Marchand. Phoenix squatted to start his cursory review.
The man was flat on his back, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky. A large red stain had turned his dirty gray shirt the shade of brown, not unlike the marshy driveway. Someone had shot him center mass. Death had to be quick with a shot like that, but the interesting part, or at least interesting to Phoenix, was that there were bruises starting to appear on the body.
Gus’s face was darkening on one side, and it looked like his right arm might be broken as well. Someone had done a number on him before finally pulling the trigger. Who the hell would want to torture Gus Marchand? Sure, the man was an asshole, but he didn’t interact with enough people for someone to want him dead. At least, it was news to Phoenix if he did.
He heard footsteps behind him. “Damian,” he said, assuming it was the local medical examiner, “do we have a time of death?”
“Sometime last night,” Jagger said as he came to a stop beside Phoenix.
“Sorry, thought you were Damian.”
Jagger nodded. “Listen, I know it’s a bit unusual that I’m here, but there’s more going on with this than I can discuss at the moment. Drop by my office when you get the chance. We can talk.”
Phoenix studied his former teammate’s face. Jagger’s blue eyes were watchful. He had been the same back in high school. He didn’t miss much if Phoenix remembered correctly. “You investigating Gus for something?”
Jagger hesitated. He dropped his voice. “I can’t speak about it here.” He glanced over to where Arthur was standing with a couple of uniformed officers. “Come by when you can.” He turned to go.
“Do you know who might have done this?”
Jagger shrugged. “I can’t give you a man, but I might be able to give you a reason.”
“I’ll be by a bit later.”
“Sounds good.” Jagger picked his way down the driveway, careful to avoid the tire tracks. Phoenix stared at the retreating man and wondered what the hell was going on. Finally, Jagger disappeared behind the emergency vehicles.
“Detective?” Arthur Marchand called.
Phoenix held up his hand. “Just give me a minute, Arthur.”
Damian Kennedy, the medical examiner, was walking towards him. “Hey, Phoenix. I’ll get you what I know asap. I know you’ll be under pressure from the big boys on this one.”
“Thanks. Any idea when he died?”
“Since I just arrived, I can’t say, but if I had to guess from just looking at him?” He touched the corpse to check for rigor mortis, or so Phoenix assumed. “He’s still in rigor, so probably twelve hours ago or so. Definitely before midnight if that helps.”
“Yeah, thanks.” He nodded and stepped aside so Damian could do his thing. He took the opportunity to make his way to Arthur. With a nod, he dismissed the uniformed officer standing close by. “Mr. Marchand. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Arthur took a handkerchief out of his back pocket and dabbed at his brown eyes. He was several years younger than his brother, probably in his sixties if Phoenix had to guess. He hadshort hair that was salt and pepper in color, and he was wearing a pair of work pants with a button-down shirt. It was the same uniform Phoenix had seen him in every day since Arthur had moved to town when Phoenix had been just a kid.
“Phoenix, thank you. I appreciate that. I know my brother could be…grumpy, but he was still my brother. I’ll miss him. I can’t imagine who would want to hurt him.” He crammed the fabric square back into his pocket.
Grumpy. That was one way of describing it. “Can you tell me who your brother hung out with?”
“Lloyd Bondy. Those two were thick as thieves.” He paused. “I guess I’ll have to call Lloyd and tell him the news.”
