by Robin Lamont
“You can’t prove anything.”
“Oh, really?” replied Jude cheerily. She pulled out her cellphone and scrolled through a few photos. “Not bad, considering the light,” she noted. “What do you think?” She held the phone out to Sylvia still perched on the john and forwarded through two or three pictures. The photos were murky, but Sylvia’s red hair and pale complexion at the moments she happened to turn in Jude’s direction made her instantly identifiable.
“So? I’m with a few friends,” said Sylvia dismissively.
Using her fingertips, Jude zoomed in, enlarging a grainy image of Sylvia holding out cash, and then in the next photo, a small bag containing a white substance being pushed into Sylvia’s hand. “Un hunh. Just a few girlfriends hanging out and buying heroin.”
“What do you want?” Sylvia demanded.
“I want the truth. Was Tim using heroin regularly?”
Sylvia maintained her scowl, but Jude seemed to have gotten through because she finally replied, “No, I don’t think so.”
“Do you know Heather Buck?”
A roll of her eyes said yes.
“Was Tim supplying Heather?”
“God, no. It was the other way around.”
Jude nodded. She thought as much. “Heather’s the junkie, right? And she got her stuff from Bobby G.”
“Still does, as far as I know. None of this better get back to Bobby,” Sylvia warned.
“It won’t. So, where did Tim fit in?”
“I told you the truth before, we weren’t close or anything. We’d see each other here once in a while and sometimes we’d shoot the breeze at work. I got the feeling Tim had a girl since he didn’t seem to be on the prowl. But then, Heather showed up. One night a few weeks ago, we were all here, he had a few beers and started putting the moves on her. I tried to warn him. I mean, everybody knows that Heather and Bobby are a thing. But she seemed pretty hot for Tim. Of course, I have no doubt that she was still sleeping with Bobby. Big mistake in my book.”
“Did Bobby know about Tim?”
“He had to – he was here with them a couple of times. But he’d never let on that he was jealous. He was all joking around and like that, but underneath … he didn’t like it one bit. He sees Heather as his property.”
A different picture was beginning to form in Jude’s mind. “Was there a fight or confrontation between Bobby and Tim?”
“Not that I saw.”
“Any reason to think that Bobby might have hurt him?”
“Wouldn’t put it past him.”
Jude thought back to the previous evening when Bobby had kept her from getting run over. The event was a chaotic mess in her memory – the world going suddenly and inexplicably black, the screech of tires, the nausea as he sat her down on the stoop. But she remembered a few things: Bobby’s dismissive laugh as he jingled his keys, his car as he pulled away … and the damage to the fender. Jude gave Sylvia a hard look and said, “The police found Tim’s car in Roxbury today. It looks like someone might have run him off the road.”
“No shit,” said Sylvia, her eyes wide.
“No shit,” echoed Jude. “And somebody stripped everything out of his car to make it look like Tim didn’t exist.”
She waited to see if the tech had anything to say about that, but there was a knock at the door and an irritated voice, “Are you almost done in there?”
“Yeah, yeah,” answered Jude. Then back to Sylvia, “What’s Bobby’s last name?”
“Gravaux.”
“Where does he live?”
“Aw, come on. Please don’t ask me that.”
Jude held up her cell phone and waved it at Sylvia, who rubbed her face with her hands and sighed, “He’s got a place on Summer Street in Montpelier. That’s all I know.”
“You’d better be telling me everything.”
“I swear. Go ask Heather. She can tell you more than me.”
“One more thing. You told me about one of the lab dogs that Tim had gotten attached to.”
“Yeah, Bailey.”
“And you said that Bailey died as a result of the drug dosage.” When Sylvia looked down, Jude queried her further. “What did they do with him? Necropsy?”
“I assume so.”
“You don’t know?”
“Well, I never saw it. Dr. Ostrovsky told us Bailey had died in the night. He said he’d taken care of it, so I assume he did the necropsy and disposed of the body.”
“Where do you dispose of the carcasses?” asked Jude.
“There’s a freezer in the basement. A company comes a couple times a week to pick them up.”
“Lovely.”
Sylvia got up. “Are we done?”
“Not quite,” said Jude, moving between her and the door. “Was Tim at the lab when Ostrovsky told you about Bailey?”
Sylvia thought back, and said, “Uh, no. I think that’s the day he didn’t show up to work.”
“What day was that?”
“Wednesday.”
“So, he did come to work on Tuesday?”
“He came in.”
“And did he leave with everyone else at the end of the day?”
“Yeah. But I saw him after that. I was on the closing shift, cleaning up, and Tim came back to the lab. Said he’d left his cellphone in his locker.”
“And then he took off again?”
“He offered to close for me.”
Jude looked at the girl incredulously. “They let you lock up the lab at the end of the day?”
“Not the actual lock up. We just notify Dr. Ostrovsky or Mr. Beyer, and they do it.”
“So, who locked up that night?”
“Mr. Byer. He was the last one out.”
After a moment’s thought, Jude asked, “It didn’t strike you as a little odd?”
“I think I already told you. The last few days before he left, he seemed a bit off, so it made sense that he forgot his phone. And I thought maybe he just wanted to check in with Bailey who was pretty sick by that time. I’ve seen stuff like that before and I’m kind of used to it – not that I’m proud of that or anything. But Tim wore his heart on his sleeve, especially when it came to the animals.”
“Anything wrong with that?”
“Give me a break. No one thinks it’s fun seeing the animals get sick. But you people think you’re so high and mighty.”
“Why? Because we don’t want to see animals abused?”
“How many times do I have to tell you? We don’t abuse our animals at Amaethon.”
“Well, somebody there is treating them badly. Just before Tim disappeared, he told me he had evidence of major violations of the Animal Welfare Act.”
Sylvia’s eyes darkened with concern and she seemed to lose her footing for a moment. “I haven’t seen that,” she said haltingly.
“Maybe because you’re not looking for it.”
“That’s not true. I care about those animals,” she parried, and in an effort to retaliate said, “Anyway, I got news for you. A few more days and the protocol is done. And when it is, every single animal in there will get euthanized and dumped in the freezer. Just like Bailey.”
When she left Galvey’s, Jude wandered through town, trying to shake off the overwhelming feeling of helplessness. A few more days. There wasn’t enough time to save the lab animals. There might have been if Tim had gotten her the evidence he promised. There might have been enough time to get it to the USDA or leak it to the media, shut down the testing, and maybe get them released. She clung to a sliver of hope that Tim had made a video and she could find him in time. Even if Sylvia was telling the truth and she had never seen any abuse, Tim felt that he had something big – and then he disappeared. Jude wasn’t much of an optimist, but it didn’t stop her from being tenacious. She had to find him.
&n
bsp; She went through what she knew. Sylvia had just provided a motive for Bobby G to get rid of Tim: Heather was his property, and Tim had stolen her. There was the damage to Bobby’s car. How far would the drug dealer have gone to enact payback?
On the other hand, she was almost certain that Bailey had not died as Ostrovsky claimed. Too convenient a story. No, Tim had taken Bailey. It would explain the hairs on the back seat of the car. How he had gotten him out was anyone’s guess. But Ostrovsky knew, of course he knew. He comes into the lab the next morning, finds one of his dogs missing, and the new tech – the one who had such a fondness for dogs – doesn’t show up for work. Yet Ostrovsky lies to his staff to cover up what Tim had done. And where in God’s name was Bailey?
Jude thought that if she could find the beagle, she could find Tim … or at least some answers.
* * *
Later that night Jude rummaged through her duffel bag, holding up one t-shirt after another and sniffing each one to see which was the least gross. She hadn’t expected to be gone this long. When she got to the bottom of the bag, she gave up, promising herself that she’d wash out a few by hand and hang them over the shower rail. In the morning. Now, however, she was ravenous, not having had a real meal since … had it been breakfast? Did she even eat yesterday? Luckily, she’d packed a bag of trail mix for an emergency like this; she tore it open with her teeth and brought it over to the bed. Dinner, while she made some calls.
She dialed the number she knew by heart. As soon as she heard, Hello, Jude rushed into, “Hi, Maddy, it’s Jude. Sorry to call so late, just had to see how my Finn dog is doing? I miss him so much, I–” The answering machine was still going. I’m not here to answer your call right now, but please leave a message at the tone. The shelter hours are Monday through Sun—
Jude ended the call and whispered into the empty room as close to a prayer as she could, “Please take care of my boy. Thanks, Maddy.”
She tried Lucas and got another recording, this one a succinct, Leave a message.
This time, she did. “It’s me. I just wanted to tell you that I’m sorry about what I said before. I didn’t mean it. But I guess you know that. I hope you know that. Anyway … it’s late. You don’t have to call me back tonight. I’ll try you again tomorrow. I know it looks crazy that I’m still here, but I think I’m getting somewhere. And the six thousand dollars … it’s not what you think. Look, I can’t get into details now, but … I’ll talk to you.”
Jude ate trail mix until her stomach rebelled. Then she threw today’s t-shirt onto the pile on the floor and got under the sheet, listening to the yips and howls of a nearby pack of coyotes. The pack might have been scrounging garbage cans in the neighborhood or on the hunt for a wounded deer, and for many, the feral sounds could be frightening. But Jude found them oddly comforting, knowing the animals were free.
CHAPTER 18
Jude spotted Haydon with an older uniformed officer at the last booth in the diner. As she navigated past the busy waitresses, she surmised that based on the number of chevrons on his sleeve, Haydon’s booth-mate was of superior rank. So, she thought it not wise to interrupt. There was a free table across the aisle from the officers, and she took up her position there instead. The sergeant’s eyes flickered in her direction, but he refused to make eye contact.
The men had finished their meals, and the captain – or whatever he was – tossed his ketchup-stained napkin on the table and said he’d be right back. As soon as he was out of earshot, Jude leaned forward to catch the trooper’s attention. “Hey, Haydon,” she said.
He stared straight ahead, his jaw muscles working overtime.
“I have some information you need to hear.”
“I’m having lunch,” he said under his breath.
“But you’re done, right? Can I come over and sit down?”
“No,” he hissed.
Jude moved her chair an inch closer. “Your office said I’d find you here. It’s really important that I talk to you. Your theory that Tim called somebody to pick him up from the crash site doesn’t hold water. There’s no cell service on Loop Turnpike. Ask Willison.”
Haydon signaled for the check.
“Secondly, I learned that Heather Buck and Bobby G were an item before Tim came along, and Heather hooking up with Tim did not make your local heroin dealer too happy. I met with Bobby a couple of days ago and–”
“I told you to stay away from him.”
“And I saw the car he drives – it’s blue – and it has a huge gash on the side.” When Haydon didn’t appear impressed with her sleuthing skills, Jude asked, “Did you get the results from the paint chips?”
Haydon lifted his head at the returning figure of the captain. “Not yet,” he said.
“When do they come back?”
“When they do,” he answered tersely.
“I think we should get a sample from Bobby’s car to see if the paint matches.”
“A couple of days ago, you thought it was Kurt Buck.”
“I didn’t know about Heather and Bobby then.”
His eyes on the captain, Haydon said out of the corner of his mouth, “Not now, Brannock. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”
The captain eased his way onto the slick, green leather seat. If he’d caught any exchange between them, he didn’t comment. “I got this,” Haydon said as the waitress slapped the check on the table.
The officers rose from their booth and headed to the register at the front. Jude jumped up from her seat. “There’s something else,” she said, trailing after Haydon. “The dog hair in Tim’s car? From one of the test dogs? His name is Bailey, and I’m positive that Tim took him.” Haydon’s straight back and broad shoulders kept moving away from her. She knew that she hadn’t gotten the sergeant at an opportune time, but she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t listening to her. Persevering, she said, “But then, at the lab, Dr. Ostrovsky told the other techs that Bailey died in the night and he took care of the body. Why would he lie like that?”
Haydon paid the check while the captain eyed Jude as though she were a curiously amusing, but unfamiliar species. The sergeant had had enough. He wheeled around and barked, “Go home, Ms. Brannock. You’re not supposed to be here, according to your boss.”
“But what about–”
He leaned in close to her and said, “Get some help.”
Grabbing his sleeve, she pleaded her case, “That’s why I’m talking to you.”
“I mean personal help,” he said, firmly removing her hand from his uniform. “You look like hell.”
Back in the car, Jude examined herself in the rearview mirror. Haydon was right, she did look like hell. There were dark purplish bags underneath her eyes and her hair was a stringy mess. A few pimples had broken out on her forehead. She touched them gingerly to make sure they weren’t an optical illusion. She was a vegan, for Chrissake – she never had skin problems.
Damn Haydon. She thought he was on her side. He saw the bloody tissues in Tim’s motel room, he saw what happened to Tim’s car. And he must suspect foul play if he sent paint chips out for analysis. But now, suddenly he was acting like she was a nuisance. Until she remembered. Oh, yeah. She was an animal rights activist, presumptively unbalanced, militant, and rudely intolerant of well-established social norms. Law enforcement did not take people like that seriously – not unless they were the target of an investigation. And of course, Tim was in the same category. If there was no solid evidence of a crime, what was one less animal activist?
“Screw you, Haydon,” said Jude out loud.
She snapped the rearview mirror back into place and headed to Summer Street in Montpelier. If Haydon wouldn’t do it, she would – find Bobby Gravaux’s car, take pictures, and try to get some paint samples. With the evidence in hand, she’d make another run at Haydon.
Summer Street originated in the middl
e of Montpelier not far from Galvey’s and wound through several blocks of two and three-story houses, each separated by shared gravel or dirt driveways and plots of green. Many of the houses had been adapted to multiple residences with separate entrances.
Jude drove the length of the street before she spotted a blue car that looked like the Grand Prix that Bobby had driven off. She couldn’t be sure; it was dark that night and right on the heels of her vision episode. She made a U-turn and went by again. It was parked in front of a three-story clapboard house. Believing it merited a closer look, she pulled to the curb farther down the block and went back on foot. At first glance, she concluded that she’d been mistaken. There was no damage anywhere she could see, so it couldn’t have been Bobby’s car. But then, she noticed a Boston Red Sox sticker on the back windshield and a memory bubbled to the surface.
Wait a minute.
Jude bent down to inspect the wheel guard over the right front tire. It bore none of the underside rust that was visible on the door frame. In fact, it looked brand new, as did the headlight. The replacement fender would have been unnoticeable but for the fact that the paint job wasn’t an exact match to the rest of the car. Close, but not perfect. Dammit. Bobby had gotten the car repaired.
Overcome with frustration, Jude had a good mind to pick up a stray brick, heave it through the windshield, and send Bobby back to the auto body shop. And as if her criminal fantasy summoned them, two officers in a town police car cruised slowly down the street. Jude rose from her crouch, pretending to have “found” her car keys. The driver of the squad car gave her a brief nod and she smiled back. When they disappeared around the corner, she quickly lost the smile. The thought of doing damage to Bobby’s car had given her an idea.
* * *
Auto body shops.
The mechanic wiped his grease-stained hands on his coveralls and went into the office to take the call. “Service,” he yelled to get over the thumping of the air compressor.
The woman at the other end sounded upset.