Dead Wood - By Dani Amore Page 0,7
if they have any other suspects?”
“I don’t know. They aren’t saying.”
This was about as bogus as it got. Mr. Barre wanted me to make him feel better. He wanted me to make him feel like he was doing something for the daughter he’d grown apart from. Now, when it was too late, he was trying to make things right. I had no intention of taking his money.
I started to tell him that, but he cut me off.
“I just want you to keep an open mind about it and check it out. I’ll pay whatever your rates are and your expenses. If you honestly find out Hornsby had nothing to do with it, and can give me some kind of proof, we’ll shake hands and go our separate ways.”
He pushed back a little and folded his arms across his chest.
I write on my notepad: no. No way. Nuh-uh.
I said, “I’ll think about it.”
• • •
When I was younger, I used to be very impatient. My Dad tried to teach me how to make model airplanes but I would race through, gluing all the parts together without waiting for them to dry. I would crack open the new box after breakfast and be done before lunch. My plane would always end up shoddily built with a sloppy paint job and the little decals were always crooked. It might be a few weeks later, or sometimes even a few months later when my Dad would finish his. And naturally, it was the picture of perfection. It took quite awhile, and quite a few botched P-47s for me to realize the problem.
Now I sometimes had become the opposite, perhaps in reaction to what my impatient youth had taught me. I tended to wait, and think things over. Maybe even over think them a bit. It was probably because I had children of my own and if there’s one thing a parent needs, it’s patience.
So despite the fact that I had no intention of taking on the case, I decided to think it over. It seemed to me that Clarence Barre was dealing with the death of his daughter the only way he knew how. In his case, it happened to be blaming a man who was most likely innocent. Not something of which I really wanted to be a part. Even if it meant turning down a paycheck.
I also had to admit that I liked the earnest honesty of Clarence Barre. Maybe it was the way he looked me in the eye, or the obvious pain that hung on his weathered face.
Or maybe it was that damn Kenny Rogers hair.
Six
After Mr. Barre left my office, I logged onto the Internet and searched for newspaper accounts of Jesse Barre’s murder. I found nothing in the local paper, but that didn’t surprise me. The Grosse Pointe newspaper was legendary for not publicizing any stories of crime. Why? Because on the scale of priorities, Grosse Pointe residents placed property values on the same level as breathing. Perhaps even a nudge higher. A weekly report of all the petty crimes that occurred mostly on the direct border with Detroit, more frequently that most would like to admit, might make people think twice about plopping down a half-million dollars on that picturesque Tudor with three fireplaces and an annual tax that could make a grown man choke on his bacon-wrapped filet mignon.
Anyway, I found what I was looking for on the Detroit Free Press website. The articles there gave me the basic facts: the murder took place at Jessica Barre’s studio on Kercheval, just a few blocks from the border with Detroit. It was an abandoned shoe repair shop that she’d converted to a guitar-making studio. The murder took place at approximately 11 P.M. Forced entry. Blunt force trauma. DOA. The article said it appeared to be a robbery but didn’t elaborate. The murder weapon – a heavy hammer that belonged to the victim, was left next to her body.
It was all very straightforward to me. Although Grosse Pointe was by and large a very safe community, when you spent that much time right on the border with Detroit, sometimes bad things could happen. On the Alter border, it was pretty common for bicycles and children’s toys to be snatched from the yard. Patio furniture was even known to sometimes get up in the middle of the night and walk across the border into Detroit never to be heard from again. Same goes for grills and portable basketball hoops.
The