Wildburn (A Whicher Series Novella) by John Stonehouse

Author:John Stonehouse
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: John Stonehouse

At the rear of the courthouse, the first-floor interview room is a cramped, stark space.

Under harsh lighting, Evelyn Lopez is seated at a chipped metal desk. She's wearing a charcoal suit, short black hair framing a tough Latina face. Juanita Jones sits at her side in a plastic chair—sleeveless dress and the sweater gone now, replaced with county-issue blue coveralls.

Lopez flicks through a sheaf of papers ranged in front of her on the desk.

Juanita's eyes burn a spot on the floor.

“The judge wants a report,” Lopez says.

Whicher nods.

“There'll be no decision regarding additional charges until the report is back.”

The marshal looks to Juanita, and back to the attorney.

“They may still indict for missing court,” says Lopez.

“Have you spoken with your client,” Whicher says, “about anything else?”

She picks up a pen, clicks it. “About Torero?”

“Butch called you?”

“Mister Jones and I have spoken.”

“About the homicide at the house?”

“That conversation is privileged,” Lopez says. “In the meantime, the judge is ordering a move to the county detention center.”

Juanita looks up, suddenly. “Please,” she says, eyes locked on Whicher's. “Don't let them send me to jail.”

The marshal shifts in the cramped plastic seat.

Juanita presses one hand over the other. “I had nothing to do with it. I swear to God...”

The attorney clears her throat. “What's your business here, marshal?”

“This afternoon, I interviewed the owner of the house in Torero.”

Juanita stares.

Lopez turns the pages of a yellow legal pad, searching a scrawl of lines. Her pen stops. “Brandon Lynch...”

“Right,” Whicher says. “Lynch is working at a temporary drill site in Gaines County. He can't leave the site, on account of his job.”

The attorney lets her gaze settle on the marshal's face.

“He claims he has witnesses to being on the site in Gaines from around three in the morning, the day before yesterday. Before that time he was on a rig in Scurry County. He says he went straight from one site to the other.”

“Meaning what?” says Lopez.

“Meaning he claims to have an alibi—he couldn't have been at the house.”

“It couldn't have been him?”

“There's a gap in the timing,” Whicher says.

“Go on.” Lopez taps the pen on the pad.

“He says he left the site in Scurry, slept a couple hours at a truck stop in Lamesa. And then drove straight over to the next site, in Gaines.”

The attorney writes fast on the yellow pad. “Are you investigating my client over this?”

“Brandon Lynch says she has a set of keys to the house.”

Lopez leans back from the desk—the slightest blanche to her face.

“I never asked him for keys...” Juanita says. Her voice breaks off.

“Is there a time of death yet on the victim?” Lopez says.

“Estimated sometime yesterday morning.”

“Sometime?”

Whicher nods. “A neighbor thinks they heard a gun shot, around eight.”

“We need time of death,” the attorney says.

“Lynch was on the site in Gaines at eight. Witnesses to prove it.”

“Who has the body now?”

“Motley Coroner.”

“We need an accurate time of death.” Lopez presses her lips together, eyebrows arched.

“I took a phone call from the Motley Sheriff's Office,” Whicher says. “After I got done with Brandon Lynch.

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