A Slip of the Trigger
**Immediately follows "Swift Justice"**
"The boys with their feet on the desks know that the easiest murder case in the world to break is the one somebody tried to get very cute with; the one that really bothers them is the murder somebody only thought of two minutes before he pulled it off."
Raymond Chandler
CHAPTER 1
"Hello?" Private investigator Matt Houston awoke sitting at his kitchen table in his home. While studying for his final exam on fire investigation he had once again fallen asleep, the sudden disturbance of his cell phone causing him to realize that his notebook had a damp spot caused by his drooling as he slept. As he wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt, his brain registered the fact that he was talking to Fred Tucker. "I'm sorry, Fred. Could you repeat that, please?"
"Yeah, I need you to go start at a scene for me. I'm kind of tied up and we're another man down – Pat Billson's got the flu."
"Okay, where is it?" He ripped a fresh page from his notebook and jotted down the address.
"Oh, and a heads up: you might want to wear that vest of yours. Somebody has been firing shots in the area."
"Alright, thanks for the warning." Yawning, Matt hung up and filled a large mug with coffee and popped it into the microwave to heat while he went back to the bedroom for his Glock and ammunition. CJ met him at the door with a fresh t-shirt.
"Fred or Michael?" She yawned and looked at the clock: 1:14AM.
"Fred." Matt yawned as he took off his shirt and replaced it then headed to the bedside table for the Glock. "He said some idiot's been firing shots." He checked the gun and picked up a couple of extra magazines for it. "Love you, Babe." He heard the microwave beep as he kissed her.
"Be careful, sweetie. Love you."
"Uh huh." He yawned again as he headed back to the kitchen and filled a travel mug with the hot coffee and headed out the door. As soon as he opened the truck, the PI pulled out his holster and put it on, situating the pistol in it before putting on his vest, thinking to himself, No point in letting them get a free shot when I get there.
As he drew near the crime scene he saw Capt. Frank Withers. Climbing out of his truck he noticed that the fire crew was rolling hoses. Good. It's already hot enough out here without turnout gear. He popped on his ball cap and grabbed his clipboard that contained the gear he needed inside: the various forms that were required as well as graph paper for sketches, a camera, and small evidence bags. The larger bags were stored in his truck. He headed for Capt. Withers to find out what was known so far. It was then that he looked up and saw his friend Lt. Michael Hoyt of the LAPD pull up. "Beat ya to it." He grinned at the cop.
"What in the hell are you doing here?" The weary cop looked like he had never been to bed.
"Nice to see you, too. Fred called me."
"Oh, sorry. So what's going on?" Michael yawned.
"You mean your guy didn't fill you in?" Frank Withers pointed over to one of the fire engines where Det. John Oxford was standing with his hands in his pockets watching the firefighters as they worked to get their gear put away.
"That miserable…" Hoyt stopped. "Would you fill me in, please?"
"Okay. You'll want to come inside." He motioned to the apartment building. Constructed of brown brick, the building dated back to the 1920's and had hardwood floors as well as decorative moldings. It was surrounded by an eight foot high black iron fence. Holding a flashlight and shining the beam into the dark apartment, Withers spoke. "According to the other residents this guy was building maintenance." He started to move through the living room into the bedroom of the small apartment.
"Hold up, Cap." Matt began taking pictures and stooped over when something caught his eye. There on the hardwood floor was a shoeprint that stood out starkly white against the soot. The PI got a shot of it and dropped an evidence marker. "Tell you what; just step back outside and tell us what you know."
"Oh, uh, yeah." Withers and Hoyt both walked outside the front door. "So anyway, the guy is in the bedroom floor wrapped up in a quilt and there's also a gas can in there."
"Nothing says arson like a gas can, huh?" Michael shook his head. "Anything else?"
"Nope, that's all I've got."
"Thanks, Cap." Matt handed his own flashlight to Michael and then turned back inside, carefully walking across the hardwood floor, sniffing as he did so. "I smell bleach."
"Uh huh, I do, too."
Matt pointed. "There…" He walked to the far end of the couch where a yellow commercial-type mop bucket on wheels sat, two-thirds of the way full of dirty, murky water with a mop standing in it. A bottle of bleach sat on the wooden end table and a brown paper bag from which a broom was protruding was next to the bucket. Snapping more pictures, the PI nodded to the bag. "We've got blood and some glass fragments."
Turning toward the bedroom he spied another shoeprint like the first, standing out against the soot. "Firemen don't wear sneakers." Hoyt nodded and the two moved into the bedroom. There in the floor halfway between the bed and the doorway was the body of what appeared to be a man.
"No way in hell he was wrapped up like that sleeping in here. It's at least 80 degrees outside. I've never seen a December like this before. Weirdest weather ever." Hoyt knelt down over the body. "Looks like he got jabbed with something. See right there behind his right ear?"
Matt snapped a picture. "With the damage from the fire it's hard to tell much about it." He turned to his left. "Shine the light over here. There's the gas cap." He took a shot of it and then the mattress that was nothing more than steel coils. He turned to the right. Even in the darkness the bright red of the gas can could be seen. "And there's the can." Michael shone the light on it as his friend snapped a shot.
"You guys in here?" A familiar female voice rang out as the beam of a flashlight swept the apartment.
"Yeah, Cheryl." Michael answered as he and Matt carefully headed back to the door.
"Got any work lights?" Matt stepped out of the bedroom.
"Yes, I do - but who's been processing my scene?"
"Your scene? Finders keepers losers weepers, lady." The tall PI grinned down at her.
"Oh sorry – I forgot about your new gig." Cheryl Crawford giggled. "Finders may be keepers but if you want to be able to see you're gonna help me set up the lights."
"Fair enough. Michael, do you mind?" He held out the clipboard and camera.
"Sure." He took the items and stepped back outside where Capt. Withers and Det. Oxford were talking. "Where in the hell were you, Oxford? I got called out because they couldn't reach you."
"Guess I was having radio trouble."
"And cell phone trouble, too, no doubt."
"It got bumped I guess."
"You're going to get bumped if you don't straighten up."
"Guess we can't all be like your golden boy there." He motioned to the parking lot where Matt and Cheryl had stopped and were knelt down over something. "Rich bastard has enough money to buy the damn state and is down here drawing two paychecks."
"Would you really like to trade paychecks with him, Oxford? Because you're not even worth what he's making here."
"Yeah, right. He probably charges the department $10,000 just to answer the damn phone and there's no telling what he's making off of the fire department."
Withers looked between the two cops as Hoyt stepped right within two inches of Oxford's face. "Two dollars, Oxford. Houston draws a salary from both departments – two dollars a year." Shocked, the other man said nothing. "You go back to the station…." Hoyt seethed as he watched Oxford stalk away. "And be ready to sign the write-up that's coming." The man turned to look at Hoyt then at Houston with an undisguised hatred, before going to his car.
"What is that guy's problem?" The captain watched him go. "I haven't known Houston too long but I've only heard good things about him. He's impressed the hell out of folks down at HQ."
"I don't know. It took me a little while to get used to the idea of working with a PI but he's more than proved himself. He damn near died trying to save my daughter a few years back."
"Well, all I know is he gets results. That jackass hasn't done a damn thing but get in the way since he's been here." He stuck out his hand. "Nice to see ya again." The two shook and Withers ambled back up to the engine and climbed up into the cab.
A couple of minutes later Cheryl and Houston came back with the work lights and the three went back in as one of the ME's assistants pulled into the parking lot followed by Fred Tucker.
Matt, Cheryl, and Michael along with Jennifer Blanchard of the ME's office were taking a closer look at the body. Blanchard pointed out the wound on the back of the head and then proceeded to carefully turn the body over. "He's had some facial trauma and it looks like some of his front teeth got knocked out. I really can't say much else until we get him on the table."
After the ME left, Matt and Cheryl were searching the bedroom and the PI found what looked to be the victim's teeth just under the end of the bed. He and Cheryl bagged and tagged them and continued to work on the room. Michael and Fred stood near the door as the two worked.
By 4:00AM the scene had been processed and Cheryl along with Matt was packing up her gear. As the pair talked and put away the equipment, Michael and Fred were comparing notes. On the way up to their vehicles the cop looked at Fred. "So what do you think?"
"I don't know what actually killed him or who but it was an obvious case of arson."
"I meant Houston – I already figured out the other believe it or not." He smiled.
"I think Rich had the right idea when he asked the boss about him. He's doing one hell of a job." He saw the look on Hoyt's face. "Are you afraid you're going to lose him to the FD?"
"It makes me wonder."
"Don't worry – we'll share." With that he turned and headed to his SUV as Michael caught up to his friend. "Breakfast?" He got a look at the cowboy under the parking lot lights. "Boy, you look bushed. Did we have a late night?" He smiled and wiggled his eyebrows.
"Yep." Matt grinned. "But it was with my books instead of CJ. I fell asleep in the kitchen studying for my final."
"My how things change." Hoyt burst into laughter.
"Shut up, cop." Climbing into the truck he yawned. "See ya at the Waffle Hut."