After spotting the suspect’s truck in the parking lot, they wasted little time before Landon directed them to move in on Davenport’s second-story unit. A battering ram was used to enter the two-bedroom apartment. It was sparsely furnished with evidence of weapons, drugs and drug paraphernalia, bomb-making materials—with the K-9s reacting accordingly—on full display.
Once deemed safe enough to move about, they fanned out in search of the suspect. Landon bypassed the primary bedroom when his periphery spotted something in a bathroom. With his gun drawn, he entered and spotted a fully clothed man lying on the floor in his own blood. A bullet wound in his temple oozed more blood.
Landon recognized him as Fred Davenport, while taking note of the firearm that was lying on the tile floor beside the bathtub. He recognized it as a Korth 2.75-inch Carry Special .357 Magnum handgun—the type of weapon used to shoot to death drifter Lim Ramírez.
When Katie and Zach stepped inside the bathroom, Landon had already determined that the suspect was dead and told them at first glance, “Looks as though Davenport, sensing the walls were closing in on him, decided to take his own life—”
“Too bad,” Katie said, frowning. “Would have loved to get him in an interrogation room to hear what he had to say about Ivan Pimentel.”
“Unfortunately, dead men can’t talk,” Zach remarked suspiciously. “A bit too convenient, don’t you think?”
“It does raise more questions than answers,” Landon conceded. Not the least of which was whether or not looks could be deceiving in the fatal scenario before them. And what Davenport’s death said or didn’t say about Eddie’s status. Or being able to effectively connect the dots between Davenport and Pimentel and his criminal organization under investigation for art theft and forgery.
* * *
UPON SECURING Asearch warrant, after the body was removed by the Lexington County Coroner’s Office, evidence of criminality was seized from Fred Davenport’s apartment. This included a cache of firearms and ammunition, two jars of HMTD, pipes used to make bombs, and illegal narcotics.
As far as Landon was concerned, Davenport had clearly equipped himself with the means to carry out future small- and large-scale bombings in addition to the use of handguns to complete assignments as a hired gun. But his murderous ways had taken a big hit with Davenport’s own life ending mysteriously.
Had he truly chosen to check out before they could arrest and interrogate him? Or had the bomb-and-murdersuspect—and Raquelle’s attacker—been silenced in the same way that Eddie might or might not have been?
Landon wrestled with these questions in his office as a video chat request came on his laptop. He saw that the caller was Nancy Kincaid, a physical scientist from the FBI Laboratory. She had been sent the handgun Davenport allegedly killed himself with and ammo from it to compare with the weapon and bullets used to kill Lim Ramírez.
He accepted it and said, “Hey.”
Nancy, who was in her forties and had short brunette ombré hair, gazed back at him with aquamarine eyes and responded, “Hey. Got something for you…” She took a breath. “The Korth 2.75-inch Carry Special .357 Magnum handgun, ammo, and spent shell casing that you sent to the lab were tested. They matched perfectly with the three bullets and shell casings fired from the gun barrel—with five lands and grooves and a right-hand twist—of the weapon that killed Lim Ramírez. It was the same revolver,” she emphasized.
“Figured as much,” Landon said, sitting back. It lent credence to Davenport using the same gun he murdered Ramírez with to shoot himself. Or was it only made to look this way by someone hoping to tie up loose ends? One in particular. “Did you submit the firearm ballistic evidence into the NIBIN database?” he asked, using the acronym for the ATF’s National Integrated Ballistic Information Network that contained digital ballistic imaging info on gun-related crimes for cross-referencing across the country.
“Yeah, we did.” Nancy smiled. “The gun was traced and originally purchased legally in Huntington, West Virginia,three years ago. It was reported stolen the following year and used eight months ago in a drive-by shooting in Greensboro, North Carolina, which left a teenaged victim in critical condition—but he survived.”
“Okay.” Landon didn’t necessarily believe that Davenport was the culprit or gun thief, suspecting that he had purchased the gun on the black market without asking questions that would never be answered truthfully—and added it to the firearms collection he had amassed as a gun for hire. Along with being an improvised bomb maker and user.
The important thing was that it linked the Korth 2.75-inch Carry Special .357 Magnum revolver to two deaths—both related to Eddie Jernigan’s disappearance—and ostensibly the art-crimes case against Ivan Pimentel.
* * *
RAQUELLE WAS RELIEVEDwith the news that the man suspected of bombing Eddie’s pontoon and accosting her, Fred Davenport, was now dead—an apparent suicide victim. She was admittedly surprised that he would rather die than be held accountable for what he had tried to do to her brother. Somehow in her brief interaction with him, Davenport had struck her as a man full of himself and not one to make it easy for the authorities by taking himself out of the equation.
But then again, what did she know?
“Hope we never have to see each other again,” Julia Ellicott told her lightheartedly when the U.S. marshal had been cleared to end the bodyguard assignment.
Raquelle chuckled. “Me too.”
“You have a nice day.” Julia smiled at her. “And keep playing the piano.”
“I will,” she promised and saw the marshal out.
After changing into exercise attire and tying her hair up, Raquelle went out for a run. The freedom of being in the woods and in touch with nature was something she never wanted to take for granted. Any more than the sanctity of life. Or how it felt to be loved when she and Landon were married. Could they get back there again?
When she got back to the house, Raquelle phoned Landon for a video chat. Her face brightened when she saw his handsome features appear on the small screen. “I was wondering if you’d like to come for dinner this evening,” she asked him without prelude.
His eyes lit up. “Of course I would.”
“Great.” She grinned thoughtfully. “See you at seven thirty.”
“Count on it,” he told her, and they left it at that.
