“True,” said Steve. “Although she has the motive, and possibly the means, she has two alibi witnesses, both of whom are unrelated to her.” He set aside the Walters and X factor sheets.
“Next,” said Emily.
Steve held up the next sheet. “Deputy Blackburn,” he said. “He was the last person to see her alive. So, we know he had the means. Blackburn investigated the case, and he could have easily corrupted the evidence and made it point toward Scottie, keeping himself off the hook. Additionally, we have what appears to be forged evidence documenting that he considered the inconsistency of the kicked-in door during his original investigation. A perfect example of covering his tracks.”
Booger responded negatively to this assumption, “But he had no motive. As a person who has worked in the criminal justice arena for my whole life, I truly believe most law enforcement are good, honest people trying to give back to society with integrity. However, as a black man in America, I also know certain police officers are capable of performing horrendous acts. Moreover, it appears Deputy Blackburn himself killed an unarmed black man without cause a few months ago, and as you said earlier, Ackerman already warned us he is a no-good, piece-of-shit cop. But I simply can’t wrap my head around the theory he decided to randomly kill a young white woman just because he thought he could get away with it. We have to find a motive before we can bring this allegation to light.”
Booger started a new list on a sixth sheet of paper, which he labeled and underlined “Items to investigate.” He placed “find a motive for Deputy Blackburn” directly under the heading.
“That leaves us with just Whitmore,” Steve said.
“Don’t forget about your client, Scottie Pinkerton,” Emily interrupted. “After reading everything, I think he did it. Maybe you two defense-oriented souls are just a little too deep into this conspiracy theory to see the truth. The only evidence on your side is a picture of an undamaged door and a feeling in your gut. On the other hand, the evidence against him is immense.” She listed the facts off frankly. “The 911 call, the DNA, the fact he showered before they arrested him, the scratches on his face, the bloody shoe prints. I could go on and on.”
“She has a point,” Booger said. “Although I trust my gut immensely, I have to concede there is a possibility it is wrong this time.”
“I agree it looks bad, but we can’t give up,” Steve said. “I swore an oath to represent this man to the best of my ability and to work as hard as I could on his behalf. Until we uncover every stone and investigate every path of evidence, I am not willing to quit on him.” He gestured at the sheet in front of him. “Look at Whitmore. We know he sent me those threats; he even admitted it to Deputy Blackburn. We know he lived near enough to ride his four-wheeler over to Scottie’s house in a short amount of time. We know he was on the scene shortly after the crime happened, and in every cop movie or TV show, they say the perpetrator always returns to the scene of the crime. We also know he had the motive. He stands to inherit twice as much money now that Ashley isn’t around.”
“Yes,” Emily interjected, “but his statement says he was at his parents’ house that morning.”
“True,” Booger said. “But after reviewing the file, the thing I found interesting was not what we did find, but what we didn’t find. There was no statement from the parents supporting his alibi. It appears Deputy Blackburn just trusted Whitmore when he said he was at his parents’ house. A good investigator would have followed up with the parents to confirm the story. You never remove a suspect from consideration just because he or she gives you an alibi. You wait until you obtain corroboration from an independent source that the alibi is true. I think the first thing on our list is to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore. Let’s pay them a visit tomorrow to see what they remember happening the morning their daughter was murdered.”
“Sounds good. I’m free,” Emily said.
“I have a court appearance in the morning and some other matters to take care of at the office,” Steve said, “Let’s meet here around 2:00 p.m., and we can all drive out to the ranch together.”
CHAPTER 35
The main entrance to the Flying W Ranch had a wrought iron arch over the entryway, held up by two similarly constructed posts on each side of the road. A six-foot-tall wooden fence was connected to the outside of the posts, which then ran off in each direction away from the entrance and around the residential area of the property. The words “Flying W Ranch” were welded across the center of the arch. The “W” in the middle-had wings coming out from each side, giving the impression the letter could fly away at any moment if it so chose.
As they passed under the gateway, the trio saw the main house sitting atop the hill in the distance. The driveway was paved asphalt that ran from the gravel road of the county line all the way up to the house—almost a mile in length. The house itself looked large, even from a mile away. It must have been at least six thousand square feet and overlooked the valley below, where Steve assumed all of their cattle were kept. To the right of the house was a barn and stable.
As they rounded the circle drive in front of the house, Steve noticed three ranch hands heading toward them from the barn. He was beginning to regret their decision to surprise the Whitmores.
The large cowboy leading the group stopped right beside Steve’s car. “Can we help you?”
“My name is Steve Hanson. With me are Harold Thomas and Dr. Emily Babbage. We would like to talk to Mr. and Mrs. Whitmore, please.”
“You guys are the ones snooping around town and bringing back bad memories, aren’t you?” As the man spoke, two more men came from around the back of the barn and joined the phalanx of ranch hands headed Steve’s way.
“I suppose that is us. But look, we don’t want any trouble.” Steve raised his arms in a placating fashion. “Like I said, we just want to talk to the Whitmores.”
The lead hand crossed his thick arms. “Well, Mr. Whitmore passed away a couple of years ago, and I don’t think my ma’am would like to be bothered right now.”
As he said this, an elderly voice came from the direction of the front door. “Walter, calm down. These nice young people are just doing their jobs.” A kindly-looking old woman stepped onto the front porch and waved. “You three don’t mind him. Come on inside.”
“Sorry, ma’am,” said the lead hand as he tipped his hat in her direction. Suddenly, all the men turned and sauntered back to their respective jobs.
As the three would-be intruders walked toward Mrs. Whitmore, she asked, “Can I get you some tea or coffee? Or something else to drink?”
“An iced tea would be great,” Steve said and the other two agreed as well.
Steve, Booger, and Emily introduced themselves before following Mrs. Whitmore through the house and out to the back patio. She showed them to some seats and excused herself to get the drinks for everyone.
As Steve sat on the porch, he admired the land laid out before him. At the far corners of the property, he could see the houses the Whitmores built for their two children. Steve was amazed at how far and wide the property spread. He had never realized how much area ten thousand acres actually encompassed. It was immense. He was surprised that he smelt nothing onerous despite the fact tens of thousands of head of cattle were on the property.
Soon, Mrs. Whitmore returned and handed everyone a glass of tea. She sat down with them and asked, “How can I help you folks?”
“We just have a few questions for you,” Steve said. “We won’t be here long, and we truly appreciate your willingness to help.” Mrs. Whitmore nodded somberly.
“First, I would like to say that we are all very sorry for your loss. I don’t have children of my own, but I imagine there could be nothing worse than losing one before your own passing.” “Thank you,” Mrs. Whitmore said.
“We are also sorry to hear about your husband,” Steve said.
“Thank you for that as well. I truly appreciate your manners, young man. So many young people today are in such a hurry to do this or do that, they forget how to be respectful. I find it refreshing.” Mrs. Whitmore looked at each of them in turn. “That said, I would appreciate it if you would stop dilly-dallying. Ask me whatever it is you came out here to ask me. Talking about Ashley’s passing still upsets me to this day. I would like to get this over with as quickly as possible… I am sure you understand.”
“Yes, ma’am. Of course,” Steve said. “Let me add I am sorry we have to put you through this.”
“Young man, you have a job to do. I get it. I respect it. Ask away.”
“We would like to know what you were doing on the morning Ashley was taken from you.”
“Oh. That is a morning I will never forget.” Mrs. Whitmore became teary-eyed and paused for a second. “Brent had driven his four-wheeler over to have breakfast and give me my birthday present. My birthday is August 11. We were out here on the back porch celebrating when the sheriff’s patrol car pulled up to
Ashley’s house down there.”
“You saw the police car arrive at her house?” Steve asked.
“Yes. I know it’s pretty far off over there, but you can see it.” She pointed at the house in the distance. “The emergency lights on the patrol car were on, so we could see it clearly. As soon as we saw the red and blue lights, Brent got on his four-wheeler and drove straight down to see what was happening. As a matter of fact, I happen to have a video of the whole thing.”
