A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,126
on the sheriff’s investigation into Henderson?”
The guy scrubbed his face, his hand shaking slightly. “Uh… The detective in charge of Chalmers’ murder was assigned to Henderson’s case too.”
It was him. He was the second guy. The triumphant look in Bingham’s eyes when he saw my reaction was confirmation that he knew it too.
Thomas cast a quick glance at me. “He seems determined to pin it on her, but Sheriff Fletcher ain’t buyin’ it.” He huddled in, lowering his voice. “Should we be talkin’ about this in front of her?”
“Why not?” Bingham asked with a shrug. “She won’t be in the position to tell anyone.” An evil grin played on his lips.
Did that mean he planned on killing me after all?
Somehow—call it intuition—I suspected he didn’t. He was playing Thomas like a fiddle and I was the bow.
“So who does the good sheriff like for Henderson’s murder?” Bingham asked.
Thomas gestured to Bingham. “They think you beat ’im for information.”
“Is that so?” Bingham asked with a knowing grin. “Looks like you’re in the clear, Ms. Moore.”
“Not necessarily,” I countered. “They won’t let it rest until they arrest someone, and if you’re responsible, it’s not like you’ll be turning yourself in.”
Bingham looked pleased I hadn’t admitted that I knew he was responsible. What was he up to?
“And Chalmers’ murder?” Bingham asked Thomas. “What’s the word on that?”
“They can’t find any evidence to pin it on her.”
“The bullet casings at the scene?” Bingham asked.
“They weren’t the same caliber of bullets that killed the boy.” He leaned closer, looking worried.
“What aren’t you telling me?” Bingham asked, his voice turning hard.
I was prepared for him to say they were from another gun—my gun—but he surprised me. “They were the same caliber that killed George Davis.” He paused and licked his lip as though debating whether to continue. His back straightened and a resolve filled his eyes. “Fired from the same gun.”
“Barb Chalmers’ boyfriend?” I blurted out in shock.
“One and the same,” Bingham said, and I could see the wheels in his head spinning as he tried to make this puzzle piece fit.
But I didn’t need to take any time. “Deputy Spigot killed George Davis.”
He’d killed George, although not because he was bashing downtown Drum. He’d killed him to keep him quiet. To cover up his own involvement in the drug enterprise.
Had someone picked up the casings at George Davis’s murder scene and planted them at Seth’s? Or did they have access to Deputy Spigot’s gun? One of Bingham’s men? Was it the person who’d taken my gun and key fob?
Thomas tried to sit still, but nervous energy rolled off him.
“Someone planted those casings,” Bingham said. He pinned Thomas with a hard gaze. “Any idea who might have done that?”
A sheen of sweat broke out on Thomas’s forehead. “Some of the casings were missing from the scene of Davis’s murder. No one ever knew what happened to them.”
The quirk of Bingham’s brow suggested this wasn’t new information. He was prodding Thomas to release it for my benefit…and likely to make his newly revealed traitor squirm.
It was working.
“I bet Spigot’s shittin’ his pants,” Bingham said with a grin. He was loving every minute of this.
My horror grew, and it took everything in me to stay in my seat, knowing what Bingham had in store for the man next to me.
“Yeah,” Thomas conceded.
Bingham nodded. “That’ll be all.”
Thomas got up and shot toward the front door.
“So?” Bingham asked with a satisfied grin. “Still worried about your imminent arrest?”
“That doesn’t clear me,” I said.
“But it seems highly unlikely a woman who had never been to Drum before would have the casings from the gun of a Hensen County sheriff’s deputy.” A frown crossed his face. “And as loath as I am to admit it, Bart Drummond didn’t play a part in this.” He tilted his head toward me. “He doesn’t have Detective Daniels in his pocket.” A grin spread across his face.
I felt like an idiot. “You do.”
He’d used Daniels to pressure me to talk. And he’d pretended he was connected to Bart Drummond to make me feel helpless.
His grin spread and he looked ready to spring up from his seat. “Me, own a sheriff’s deputy?” He laughed. “That, my dear, would be illegal.” His smile faded, but he didn’t look as intimidating as before. There was a hint of kindness in his gaze that caught me by surprise. “You have my word that you’re safe from the sheriff’s department.”
“And you’ll take care of the others?” I felt nauseated.