Chapter 5

In this concluding chapter there are some ... well legal details that may not be strictly correct procedure. Please don't beat me up over it; I'm not a lawyer; just a guy trying to write a story.

Constructive comments, critiques, and emails are welcome and I thank you for taking the time to make them.

The Hard Case Tavern is a large shotgun type space; in that it is narrow and long. No more than thirty feet wide it ran seventy feet to the back wall. There were small two person type tables along one wall and across a six foot wide aisle was an open front bar top with stools for the customers that ran almost the whole length of the room. At the far end of the room was a wide space that had five or so larger tables.

I'd called Frank at 8 PM and he and three patrolmen were waiting for me in front of the building. At my suggestion, Frank was dressed differently than when he worked. A nice sports coat, a pinstriped shirt and dress jeans made him look like a regular guy out to have a drink. I motioned for him to come with me since he didn't look like a cop and that the three patrolmen should wait outside.

Entering The Hard Case, I knew for two reasons that the big man at the end of the bar was Wiley Thornton. For one, he matched the description that Jasper and Boyd gave me. And the other reason was he was bending the ear of Sammy Hands, the manger of the tavern. Sammy works for Mr. Sigliaire and Wiley was trying to make a point as to why Vito should hire him. I pointed Wiley out to Frank and we walked to the end of the bar where Wiley and Sammy were standing.

"Let me buy you a drink Wiley," I offered. I motioned to the bartender.

"I know you?" Wiley asked. He sort of puffed up like he was trying to impress or intimidate me.

"Not yet but you will." The bartender sat Wiley's new drink down. I stuck my fingers down inside his old glass, pulled it toward me, emptied the ice and remains of the drink into the sink behind the bar and stuck the glass into a clear plastic evidence envelope like the ones the police use. I handed the bag to Frank, he signed and noted the time and date on the bag. "Hi Sammy, I'm Matt Steele. Give us a little room please."

"Mr. Sigliaire called and said you would be coming in." Then Sammy turned, walked to the end of the room and went into a door with the word Office on it.

"You're not very smart Wiley. I mean bragging about how you can make hits on people and other illegal things. Not very smart when you don't know who might be listening.

"So what if I talk," Wiley said and took a sip of his new drink. "Can't be arrested for talking."

"Not necessarily so big guy," I answered. "Jasper and Boyd aren't happy you let them rot in jail so they rolled over on you; told us about Robinson and the jobs you did for him."

"Big deal, it's their word against mine. A good lawyer will get the case dropped." Wiley stood and said, "I'm done talkin to you punk. Now get out of my way."

He stood and walked toward me and when I wouldn't move he took a big round house swing at my head. One rule of bar fights, or any other fights for that matter, is you don't leave yourself open for a counter attack. I stepped inside Wiley's wide punch and put a short right hand deep into the V under his ribs where the sternum ends.

A sharp blow to the solar plexus will disable even the largest tough guy. My well place fist drove the air out of Wiley's lungs and paralyzed his diaphragm for a few seconds. Wiley bent over, trying to catch his breath; just the result I had intended.

I slid my jacket aside, let my Glock show and put my hand on the butt of the gun. "Hey Wiley, I've heard all about how crazy you are ... well, I'm a little crazy too. We're just having a good talk here," I continued. "Why don't you stay for awhile?" Wiley looked at my pistol from his bent over position and then into my eyes; he climbed back on his stool. Beside me Frank grunted to show he wasn't happy about me showing the gun.

"It's more than your word against Jasper and Boyd's. You see there were finger prints at the Hamilton fire and on the console of Cynthia Robinson's car. The prints weren't in the system but..." I pointed at the evidence bag, "I bet the prints on that glass will match up. Then we got you Wiley."

Turning a little, without taking my eyes off Wiley, I said, "This is Detective Wends of the St. Louis Police. He's here, among other things, to maintain the chain of evidence on your finger prints."

"You can't take my fingerprints unless you arrest and charge me," Wiley protested. "You got nothin to charge me with."

"So wrong my large friend. That glass is public property after you pushed it aside ... so we can use it. Plus your boy's dropping a dime on you gives Detective Wends here enough reason to take you in for questioning."

Wiley glanced at Frank. "So go ahead and take me in."

"Okay," Frank said, stood up and pulled out his hand cuffs. He put them on Wiley and said, "Wiley Thornton you are wanted for questioning concerning the murders of George Hamilton and Cynthia Robinson. You have the right to an attorney ... and finished reading Wiley his rights.

"Now Wiley, I've ... we ... have a deal for you," I said. "Between your boys rolling over on you and these fingerprints," I pointed to Wiley's glass. "You're going to pay for killing Hamilton and Cynthia Robinson. How bad you pay is up to you."

"What do you mean how bad," Wiley said. He wasn't as arrogant and fearless as he had been.

"Testify that Robinson hired you and paid you to kill Hamilton and his wife. Detective Wends and I will tell the DA how you cooperated and get you a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"You're going down Wiley. I'm pretty sure the detective and I can get the DA to take the death penalty off the table. You'll still go to jail for a long, long time but at least you'll be alive." I looked at Wiley. "What'da you say Wiley?"

Now it was Wiley's turn to stare at Frank and me. After a few seconds, that seemed much longer he answered me. "I think I'll wait and talk to my lawyer."

Frank nodded and used his radio to call the patrolmen waiting outside to come in. We watched as the cops lead the suspect out to a patrol car. They would take Wiley to Central Booking at Police Headquarters downtown on 9^th street. Frank would have to go the headquarters and do the paper work on the arrest. He poked me when we got to his car.

"You realize that as soon as Thornton meets with his attorney, the attorney will demand the report on the finger prints," Frank said in an exasperated voice. "And we won't have anything to give him. Thornton will walk and I'll be lucky not to be walking a beat again. Matt, I'm too old to go back to foot patrol."

"Not true," I replied shaking my head. "I checked with an attorney friend of mine who works for Markham and Sylvester."

"You mean that damn high priced criminal defense firm?" I nodded and continued.

"My buddy, he wants to stay anonymous, said that we have to charge Thornton and then the DA has to get the Grand Jury to indict him and a prosecutor assigned before we have to hand over the evidence. Don't charge him; just hold him for questioning for 48 hours."

"What good would that do? I can't manufacture evidence and all we have is Jasper and Boyd's statement."

"You interrogate Thornton, with his attorney present, but follow my lead," I answered and grinned. "We'll get him Frank, I'm sure of it."

Frank set a large digital tape recorder on the table and turned it on. We were in an interview room at the Police Central Booking building; in the days before political correctness it was an interrogation room.

"For the record, I am Detective Frank Wends of the St. Louis Police and will be recording this interview. Also present are the perp ... I mean suspect Wiley Thornton." Frank pointed at Wiley's attorney and said, "Please identify yourself for the record counselor."

"Attorney Phillip Stone, Public Defender's Office, representing Mr. Thornton."

Frank said, "Thank you Mr. Stone. Looking at me he added, "Also in attendance is Matt Steele, a consultant on this case for the St. Louis Police Department. Mr. Thornton you are a suspect in the murders of a Mr. George Hamilton and Mrs. Cynthia Robinson; do you have anything you would like to say at this time?"

Before Stone could respond, Wiley said, "Prove it." He sat back in his chair and put his shackled hands on the table in front of him. He looked unafraid and pleased with himself.

Frank's cell phone beeped at him, letting him know he had a text message. He punched a button, looked at the message and stood up. "Excuse me," Frank said and stood up. Holding up his phone he said, "This is something I have to attend to. I'll be right back." He reached over, turned off the recorder and left the room.

Now it was my turn to put the pressure on Wiley. "We've got you seven ways from Sunday Wiley," I told him. "When the results of the fingerprint test come back, you'll be placed at the scene of both murders." I looked from Wiley to his attorney and back. "Unless of course you are innocent," I offered. "And we both know that ain't so."

"We will of course expect you to turn over any exculpatory evidence that you have," Stone interrupted me before I could continue. "In fact, I would like to see that evidence before you continue to talk with my client." He sat back, now he was the one that looked very pleased with himself.

"I'm not an attorney," I replied. "But I believe that since Mr. Thornton hasn't been charged or indicted that the state isn't required to give you investigative results."

"He hasn't been charged? Then why is he in jail?"

"We brought Mr. Thornton in for questioning," Frank answered as he reentered the room with a well dressed young woman. She was tall, slender and very pretty; she would have been a huge distraction if the situation wasn't so serious. Frank pushed a button and turned the recorder back on.

"Wiley if you decide to tell the truth, you'll a nice prize." Turning to Frank I said, "Detective Wends please tell our contestant what he'll win."

"This is Assistant District Attorney Geraldine Sawyer." He pulled out a chair for the ADA and she sat down across from Wiley and his attorney. "If you give us a statement as to your involvement and the person or persons that hired you she will personally talk to the DA in your behalf." Frank sighed and added, "You're going down Wiley; your might as well make it as easy on yourself as you can."

Stone pulled on Wiley's arm and they put their heads together to talk. After several minutes, Stone looked at Sawyer and Frank. "You have to take the death penalty out of the equation. Then my client will make a statement."

ADA Sawyer waited for about 15 seconds before she responded; I'm sure it seemed longer to Wiley. "If Mr. Thornton will be truthful and forthcoming the DA's office will not be seeking the death penalty." Stone whispered something to Wiley and turned back to Sawyer. "However," Sawyer continued, "A life sentence or life with the possibility of parole after twenty five years is very probable and acceptable."

I looked at ADA Sawyer, trying to catch her eye. Geraldine, Gerry, and I had worked together several times while I was still a Detective First Class for the St. Louis Police. We were friends and that is why I'd asked her to participate in our little play. Her statement was a little less than I'd hoped for; I'd wanted her to apply the screws to Wiley. I guess she had rules and such that she had to follow and so far she hadn't stepped over the line.

We hadn't officially told Gerry about the little escapade with Thornton's drink glass, so technically we hadn't stepped over the line either. I didn't have the same rules and since it was me doing the talking at the bar, Frank had sort of turned his head.

Everyone was quiet for a while and then Frank said, "Thornton?"

Turning back from talking to his lawyer Thornton said, "Okay. What'da you want to know?"

"Did you murder George Hamilton and Cynthia Robinson?" Gerry asked. "And if so why?"

Getting a nod from his attorney Wiley answered. "Yeah, I did them two. The broad's husband," at a look from Gerry he said, "A guy named Robinson, hired me to put them down. He paid me a hundred Gs to do it."

"Would that be Jonathan Robinson, Cynthia Robinson's husband," Gerry prompted. Wiley nodded. "A verbal answer is necessary Mr. Thornton."

"Yeah, that's the guy."

"Did he say why he wanted them dead?"

At first Wiley shook his head, saw the look on Gerry's face, remember her instructions and answered, "Naw, he just said to do em both. First Hamilton and a few weeks later the wife."

"How did you murder them?"

"That Hamilton guy had a boat he kept up on Alton Lake. I disconnected the air pump that keeps the, what'da you call it ... oh yeah, the bilge free of gas fumes. Then I scraped the insulation off the starter wires and when he turned the key it caused a spark.