The same Roger Nelson who had been at the Brass Magnolia last night.
Mark Ellison sounded familiar too, but I knew he hadn’t been in the department when I’d left last fall. It only took a few keystrokes to discover Ellison had died of natural causes.
I nearly dropped my computer when I saw that he’d died five days after the charges against Miles Harlan were filed, and four days before they were dismissed. I could have attributed it to bad timing if I hadn’t already suspected his partner was possibly dirty.
I blew up the photo in his obituary and realized I’d known him. The face in the photograph was younger and thinner than the man I remembered, but I’d met him soon after joining the homicide unit. Keith had taken me to a bar Little Rock detectives often hung out at after hours to meet some of my fellow detectives. Ellison had been gruff, with a reputation for being a hardass that was backed up by his chain smoking and intense personality. A few months later, he hadn’t shown up for his shift, and everyone had known something was wrong. Roger Nelson went to check on him and found him in his recliner, an ashtray full of cigarette butts and a half-finished bottle of beer on the table beside him. The coroner had attributed his death to natural causes. His obituary had asked for donations to the American Heart Association in lieu of flowers.
No one had thought his death might be suspicious. He’d lived his job, which some of the detectives had said was to blame for his three divorces. I hadn’t thought much of it either, other than telling myself I exercised and didn’t smoke, so I wouldn’t end up like him.
Had Ellison been murdered because of his case against Miles Harlan? Based on what Natalie had told me, it was entirely possible.
I did a general internet search for Miles Harlan and discovered he’d been a witness to a murder on a weekday afternoon. The victim, Daniel Kincaid, had been shot in a parking lot.
Then I realized why I’d recognized Miles’s name.
Keith and I had initially been assigned to Daniel’s murder, and I’d interviewed the sole witness—Miles Harlan.
He’d stuck in my mind because he’d made a strange statement. It wasn’t that he’d held back—in fact, he was more than eager to tell me what he’d seen. But I’d gotten an odd vibe, like he was trying to sell me a shitty used car. I’d mentioned my suspicions to Keith, suggesting we bring him into the station and question him further. But Keith had dismissed my concerns, saying he was a low-level commercial developer and that was just the way he talked.
And then the next day, the case had been reassigned to Brad and his partner at the time, and Keith and I had been given another case. They’d justified the transfer by saying Brad had worked a previous case connected to the victim. I’d thought it odd, but it wasn’t unheard of for cases to be reassigned. But now…
Now I had to wonder if the real reason they’d taken me and Keith off the case was because they didn’t want me digging.
I was lucky I hadn’t ended up like Mark Ellison.
James stirred on the bed, and I looked over to see him watching me, his head still on his pillow.
“How long you been up?” he asked, still groggy.
“Not long,” I said. “But long enough to find a new lead.”
He perked up. “Did the dancer come through with the video?”
“No,” I said with a frown.
“You look worried.”
“She’s irritated with me, so she may just be dragging her feet.” I shrugged. “Or maybe the video was gone.” I gave him a hopeful look. “But I found a new lead to chase.”
He scooted up so his back was propped against the pillows. “Whatcha got?”
I walked over and sat on the edge of the bed while I told him about Miles Harlan, including the fact that the case he was connected to had been reassigned to Brad Huffington—one of the guys I’d seen in the bar last night—and his partner.
“You want to talk to Harlan?” he asked.
“Definitely. We know the girls and Buddy were tied to Knox. Is Harlan’s business a front for Knox, or does Knox rent the place from Harlan? Either way, we need to find out.” I took a breath. “And I found another connection between Harlan and the police.” I told him about the fraud case and how one of the detectives had been found in his home by his partner, conveniently dead of natural causes. And that the charges were dropped the next week.
He frowned. “Ten to one, Harlan’s wrapped up in this. There’s no way he’s an innocent. Even if we can’t tie him concretely to Knox, we’ll likely find something to link him to your cop buddies.”
I cringed at him calling them my buddies. The fact that I’d spent five years as Keith’s partner, and that he’d spent more nights in my bed than I could count, made me feel dirty and used.
I must have hid my internal war, because he didn’t comment on it. He just asked, “How do you want to handle visiting him?”
“I think we should drop by his office, but not to interrogate him. We should make an appointment.”
“And you think he’s gonna answer our questions about Knox because we made an appointment?” he asked skeptically.
“No, because we’re not going to use force to get what we want. We’re going to use subterfuge.”
