Cry From The Grave
Chapter 24
"That would be correct," Sheilah Grimshaw confirmed. "The blood is a match to Hibbler, so we can bank on that as the murder weapon."
"The issue, of course, is why it was tossed into the seminary bushes, but that's not in your wheelhouse," Ballack replied.
"And you said you had another thing to ask me?"
Ballack steeled himself. "There's no other way than to just say it." And he told her about that morning's ambush at Innsbrook.
"Wow," she replied. "That's a heavy toll, but of course, I'll be glad to get out there immediately with one of my team members. Do you need us to ask around if anyone noticed a thing?"
"Thanks, Sheilah. That's a good idea, and it'll save us time. I doubt anyone did. The closest house was a sixth of a mile down the road. Sorry I didn't think of doing that sooner. The gunman might have tried to clean things up on the outside, but that would have exposed the perp. There should be plenty for you to do. Just do your thing. We've got to go back out and clean up the interior before the ex nails us for property damage."
"Not like you inflicted it," Sheilah reminded him. "I'll let you know what I find." She rang off as Tori steered the Sprinter to a halt.
McAlister's Deli was a noisy atmosphere on a Sunday afternoon, but Ballack and Tori got their sandwiches in a reasonable time. Both ordered club sandwiches, and the famished duo munched eagerly on the turkey, ham, and bacon smothered in honey mustard on wheat.
Ballack was readying himself to tackle his sandwich's final quadrant when he noticed an older man with salt-and-pepper hair and two-day stubble shuffling past their table with a drink in his hand. He did a double-take and couldn't believe it.
"John?" he asked aloud as the man turned, wide-eyed.
"Cameron Ballack! In living color," said the man, nearly spilling his iced tea.
"John Rearden, I thought that was you!" Ballack smiled, offering his hand. "Tori, you remember John?"
"She'd better," he responded.
"Voice really familiar," Tori said, extending her hand as she wiped some extra mustard from her lip. "Face not so much."
"It's the legendary John Rearden from the Post-Dispatch!" Ballack crowed.
"Holy smokes, John," Tori gushed. "Our biggest deliverer of post-arrest coverage since the St. Basil's case. No wonder I didn't recognize you. What did you do? Sleep under a tanning bed for a week?"
"Florida. My brother lives on Marco Island. Just got back from ten beautiful days on the Gulf Coast."
"Have a seat, John," motioned Ballack. "For always singing our praises in print, we should be buying you lunch. What are you doing out this way?"
"Good to see you both," Rearden grinned as he eased into a seat next to Tori. "Actually, I'm going out towards Fenton. Heading there to see my nephew, who happens to be in a tournament at the Soccer Park, and this way I'll get to see my sister Jan and her husband, too."
"Are they local?" asked Tori.
"No, they're from Noblesville, Indiana. Suburb of Indianapolis. Ben's a junior in high school and is dying to nail down a scholarship offer from IU. Ranked the second best sweeper in the state. His school--Guerin Catholic--lost in the state semifinals three weeks back, but they got a bid to this Super 8 Invitational that got extended into Sunday. High school teams from all over the Central States region. So that's where I'm heading. Just stopped here for a bite on the way out, and lo and behold I find you."
"Don't you live out this way?" inquired Ballack.
"Yes, sir. Right off Bopp Road behind St. Clement Church."
A thought popped into Ballack's mind. "Hey, John. You used to have a beat that centered on the courts, right?"
"That's correct, but that was way back. Straddled the years of the first George Bush and then Clinton."
"Which could turn out to be perfect," said Ballack. "Do you happen to recall a place called the Delmar Psychiatric Clinic some time ago? Swam through a few lawsuit rivers because of a certain Dr. Dean Hibbler?"
"Recall it? That was a major write-up on my end when I covered legal issues," said Rearden, soaking himself in the memory. "As I remember, lots of negligence accusations, and there were about eight patients over the course of Hibbler's last four years that committed suicide or had tragic deaths that were deemed preventable. He voluntarily stepped down before the case went to trial." He stopped, his appraising eyes darting back and forth between the two detectives. "Now, hey! Hibbler! That's not the doctor that was just found murdered in that hospice yesterday, is it?"
"Cornered us," Tori chuckled. "That's our present case as of twenty-seven hours ago. We're just wondering if there's a connection between his murder and someone wrapped in his past."
"Wouldn't doubt it," Rearden muttered. "You two have pulled up stranger stuff than that. Do you need me to look into it for you? I'm off today and Monday, but I could inquire Monday afternoon at the clinic or go back in my notes from back yonder."
"You keep all your notes?" sputtered Ballack.
"Thirty-two years in the business and I do it all old school," Rearden stretched in his chair. "I have files in my basement and I think I know where to go if I have anything on it."
"What do we owe you?" Tori asked.
"Come on, you two. You've given me some great copy the last couple of years. I'm not going to charge you money for this."
"No," Ballack said cagily, "but you might want something to keep you warm on these colder nights when you write up the story after we make an arrest and close this case down."
"You're pretty confident there, Detective."
"What are you drinking these days?"
"Jameson, usually, but if I extract good information I never turn down a good Glenfiddich."
"Ouch. My wallet feels lighter, but consider it a deal."
"Your cell number still the same?"
"As before."
"I'll be in touch," Rearden said as he got up to leave, rapping his bony fingers on the table top. "Good bumping into you both. I have to move or I'll miss the kickoff of Ben's first game today."
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