by W L Ripley
“Who the hell is banging on my door? Fuck off.”
“Sheriff’s Deputy, Paradise County.”
Deputy Sheriff? He peaked through the window and saw the police unit and then the female cop, Bailey.
“What do you want?”
“Talk to you.”
“Go away.”
“Two ways to do this,” she said, through the door. “Let me in and we talk and maybe reach an understanding, or I get help and we process you.”
Process him. What the hell? He ran a hand through his hair, telling her to let him put on some clothes. He pulled on some jeans and a tee-shirt, no shoes, then went back to open the door, letting Deputy Bailey in.
The deputy came in and dropped a bomb.
Son of a bitch. Tommy was scared, terrified. Shit, why didn’t he think things through? The fucking cunt had bow-dicked him.
Sue, the ranger lab tech, called Jake with the forensic information Jake requested. Lab techs, like Sue, were the brains that never slept or took vacations. Unlike field officers, lab techs loved their work, enjoyed solving puzzles and extricating gold from minute bits of forensic evidence. Having a good relationship with these people was a must and sped up investigations.
“The blood samples belong to your friend, Gage,” she said. “They match the DNA on the toothbrush you sent. Doesn’t tell us much. People bleed in their homes. However, there’s a couple of other things involved here that are of interest. One of the blood samples you sent doesn’t match Mister Burnell’s or your father’s DNA. But it does match the DNA of the female hair sample you sent.” There was a pause before she added, “One wonders why you have a female hair sample or how you procured it.”
“Professional investigator.”
“And an asshole who uses his ex-girlfriend to investigate the DNA of whoever this present woman may be.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Got your check for the bail bucks. How’d that turn out?”
“They dropped the charge.”
“Can I do anything else for you? Wax your car, shine your shoes?”
“As a matter of fact – ”
Sue laughed at the other end. “Okay what have you got?”
He told her about the sediment samples, the cigarettes and the blood on the gravel.”
“Fed-Ex it overnight and I’ll see what I can do.”
“You’re the best, Sue.”
“Sure. Anyone ever tell you that you’re lovable in an irritating way?”
Chapter Forty-Two
“I don’t know how we proceed with the information you have from Haller,” Buddy said. They were in Buddy’s office at his new position with Paradise PD. His office more spare then Cal’s. “In fact, you have no information and this is a county matter. These people don’t like you, Jake and forget charm. You can’t even spell ‘tact’.”
“Pam said she still loves me.”
Buddy made a face, pointed at Jake. “You.” Shaking his head. “There’s something wrong with your head, man. How’s that supposed to help sort this out?”
“I have evidence from the Mitchell plant and some DNA information.” Jake shared his information about the blood samples and his visit to the chemical plant.
“Where do you get DNA analysis?”
“I sent it overnight to a lab tech friend of mine in Texas.”
“The big surprise is you have friends,” said Buddy. “It’s good to know but its circumstantial,” Buddy said. “Any family member, even and especially Haller’s DNA is going to be in Vernon’s house and the grain elevator.”
“True. But if it matches we have a thread to pull on see where it goes. You and I are going to get the PA to open Gage’s homicide investigation as an incident occurring in town and include the grain elevator.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“I’m going to vote for Kellogg.”
“You don’t get a vote, Tex.”
“May decide to live here.”
“Don’t threaten me like that.”
The phone rang. Buddy put it on speaker.
“Buddy,” the dispatcher, a female, said, “Get in here, quick.”
Buddy left the room and was gone for a couple of minutes. When he came back into the office he said, “You’re not going to believe this.”
“What?”
“Fat Boy Haller made bail and then skipped.”
One damn thing after another.
First, Jake would find out who provided the bail money. That might give Jake insight into Fat Boy’s peculiar confidence. Attorney Jessup gave Jake the name of the bail bondsman and it was the same one Jake had used, named ‘Fritz’ Delmar.
Fritz Delmar looked more like a farmer than a bail bondsman, thick wrists and broad shoulders, weathered skin.
“I used to work on a ranch in Oklahoma,” said Delmar. “Work petered out and I went into this work, which, so far has been mildly lucrative since you showed. You’re kind of a boon for business but you’re the first client I ever had on both ends of these things. What can I do for you?”
“I want the name of the person who provided the bail money for Fat Boy Haller.”
“Yeah, I’m screwed if he’s not found.”
“Want him found?”
“Hell yes. I’m out a hundred grand I don’t have laying around.”
“I’ll find him for you.”
Delmar thought about it. “You have any experience?”
“Some.”
“Yeah, what?”
“Texas Rangers.”
Delmar snorted. “Shit, whyn’t you say so? I’ll pay you two thousand you bring him back.”
“Instead of the usual ten to twenty percent, right?”
“You done your homework. You know, I can find him myself.”
“And risk injury and time away from the office.”
“Had to do it before. I have my own guys.”
“I’ll bet they’re great finding drunks and meth heads. Besides, I may already know where he’s hiding.” A bluff, but Jake played it.
Jake smiled. Delmar made a sour face.
“Shit,” said Delmar. “You work awful hard at being difficult.”
“Not really all that much work.”
“It’s a deal then,” said Delmar. “Maybe I’ll have more for you do this right.”
“I’m just in it for the sport.” Jake Morgan, manhunter. Wearing a lot of hats these days. Jake saying now, “Again, who was it provided the bail money for Haller?”
“The person who provided the cash wished to remain anonymous. They paid extra to ensure their anonymity.” Delmar smiled in triumph.
“So you’re not going to tell me.”
“You bring back Haller and I’ll tell you then.”
“Quit jerking off. You’re going to be out more than the cream on top. The name?”
Delmar shaking his head and saying, “Plus, you find Haller for two grand.”
“I’d hate to play poker with you. All right, I’m in.”
Delmar held up two fingers like a ‘V’.
Jake smiled. “You’re kind of a hard case yourself.”
“I think,” said Delmar. “This could be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Jake knew it was important to be the first person to find Noah ‘Fat Boy’ Haller or at least be first to find his corpse. In Jake’s mind Haller’s death was the most likely scenario. Someone didn’t want Haller around to talk. Haller too thick to understand that whoever bailed him out was the first step to have him disappear or ‘disappeared’ believing Fat Boy would either be killed or allowed to head out for a place he couldn’t be found. The former was the likely end. No loose ends.
With Haller in the wind Sheriff Kellogg issued a statement regarding plans to capture and prosecute Fat Boy. The Mitchell estate was offering a reward which would surely complicate things with phony leads and drunken cowboys and farm hands getting in Jake’s way.
A possible
ending could be a shootout where Fat Boy Haller was killed. No way was Haller going to be allowed to return and talk. Jake pretty sure Kellogg was in on the dodge. But first, Jake had another string to pull. He drove up to the school to see Leo the Lyon.
Leo was on his plan period and Jake caught him in his office, working out a math lesson plan with Mozart playing on a Bluetooth speaker.
“Mozart?”
“Stimulates the mind,” Leo said, without looking up. “The rhythmic meter is mathematically embedded.” Looking up now, Leo said, “Oh, it’s you. Allow me to translate. Mozart good. Make kid smart.”
“You actually plan your classes?” asked Jake.
“Some of my students have a different attitude towards the learning task than did you, Mister ‘I’m da quarterback’.”
“Who is the most knowledgeable person in town on Paradise lore and history?”
Leo gave Jake a pained expression.
“Besides you,” Jake said. “You are obviously without a peer for our generation, but I need a senior citizen.”
“That’s easy enough. That would be Vienna Dalrymple.”
“Missus Dalrymple’s still alive?” Jake remembering his teacher.
“Not just living, thriving. Seventy-four and getting younger every day. She is religious about her daily journal, though she calls it her ‘diary’. She calls about once a week and asks how things are going at her ‘beloved school’.
Mrs. Dalrymple had been their high school English teacher. Taught at Paradise High School for 45 years before retiring. Leo gave her a call and she agreed to meet with Jake.
“Said she would be interested in hearing from one of her ‘problem students’,” Leo said with a smile.
Vienna Dalrymple met Jake at the door of her Victorian style home. She had prepared tea and a plate of Danish cookies. Jake didn’t drink tea but accepted the proffered cup. It was better than expected.
“So,” said Mrs. Dalrymple. “What are you doing these days, Jake?”
“I work for the Texas Department of public Safety.”
“On the highway department?”
“Texas Rangers.”
Her eyes widened, put a hand to her throat and she said, “Oh my.” Saying it as if it were further evidence of the collapse of Western Civilization. Jake sipped his tea to cover his smile.
“I have three more diplomas than anyone would’ve guessed,” Jake said.
She laughed. “I’m sorry for my reaction, Jake. You were so... I don’t know, distracted by a certain young lady as I remember.”
“I need some information from you, Missus Dalrymple, if that’s okay.”
“I don’t know much about Texas.”
“This is local stuff. Do you remember a man named Franklin Yoder?”
“Frank? Why yes, I do. He and my Roy were good friends. Such a shame about him.”
“What was a shame?”
“The way he was railroaded by that Vernon Mitchell, may that nasty man rest in peace.”
“Whatever happened to Yoder? He seems to have disappeared.”
She set her teacup down. “It’s the oddest thing. It was like he and his wife vanished from the face of the earth. So sad. Roy and I tried...but, wait a minute.”
Mrs. Dalrymple left, and Jake could hear her in another room, shuffle of books. Jake tried the cookies. Delicious. Maybe put a few in his pocket. She’d expect him to still be on the dodge and up to mischief. Mrs. Dalrymple returned with a couple of brown notebooks and began leafing through them. Jake sat quietly sipping tea wishing it was coffee.
“Yes,” she said, happily. “Here it is. January 4, 1975.” She began reading from her diary. “Roy and I return from Christmas vacation with Roy’s family. We are very concerned we have not heard from our friend, Frank Yoder, nor his wife, Caroline, since they failed to show for the school Christmas party two weeks ago.” She looked up from her reading. “Caroline was on the faculty then. She taught Home Ec. They call it FACS now.” She continued her reading. “Roy called today and learned that Franklin’s phone had been disconnected. Roy was worried enough he took action and drove to the Yoder’s home only to find it abandoned and a Public Notice taped to the front door. The notice proclaimed that the home and farm were ‘placed into receivership by a bankruptcy judge effective, Jan. 1, 1975. Sale of property and contents will be sold at public auction, tentatively for March, 1975’.”
She closed the journal and her eyes became sad as if looking off into the distance past and reliving the emotions.
“I never saw either of them again.”
Jake sat forward. “They disappeared without a word?”
“Yes. And Vernon Mitchell bought the place. I think, and I shouldn’t say this as it was a rumor, but I believe Vernon Mitchell pilfered their cattle and sold them to make his fortune. Franklin didn’t have insurance on his stock, and they had a bad year with their crops.”
Both of them, thought Jake.
Jake told Mrs. Dalrymple about his attempts to find Franklin Yoder and was unable to run him down or even find a family member.
“Frank was an only child,” she said. “His father and mother died leaving Frank the farm.”
“Anything else?”
She sighed. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Any other dealings of consequence between Franklin and Vernon Mitchell?”
“Well, yes there is.” She placed a finger alongside her cheek. “Vernon dated Caroline prior to her marriage to Frank.”
“How did that end?”
“Badly. Vernon was a ferocious young man. A drunkard and a bully.”
Thinking about that, Jake said, “Did anyone investigate the Franklin’s disappearance?”
“I believe the sheriff did so. Wait.” She leaved through the brown notebook found what she was looking for. “Here,” she said. She turned the notebook around and handed it to Jake.
The article headline was: Paradise County investigates Disappearance of Local Couple. Jake read silently, digesting the single column report. The first sentence caught his eye.
Paradise County Sheriff, Robert Burnell, has opened an inquiry into the disappearance of long-time Paradise county residents, Franklin and Caroline Yoder.
Gage’s dad.
“Friends of the Yoder’s assert the couple left for a Christmas break vacation to Florida around December 22 or 23, 1974. This was an annual trip and it did not surprise their friends they were gone.
During this period the Yoder’s farm and property was seized by the court and will be sold in the spring of 1975 at public auction...”
Jake put down the notebook. “Sorry for the loss of your friends.”
Mrs. Dalrymple shook her head. “It was most disturbing. They lost their farm and Vernon took it over. Since that time the gossip mongers have concocted disquieting scenarios to explain away their disappearance. One of the ridiculous theories by these ninnies is that Frank killed Caroline and then killed himself because their daughter was actually Vernon Mitchell’s bastard child.”
Jake held up a hand and turned his head to one side. “Wait. There’s a daughter?”
“Oh yes. I believe I have her address. Her name is Christine McKee. She was adopted by an aunt, who was single at that time. I doubt she knows what happened, but you can try. She was quite young when her parents disappeared. Not yet of school age. Do you mind my asking why you’re interested?”
“I believe the Yoders were murdered and so was Gage Burnell and possibly the two things are related.”
She put a hand to her breast and her mouth fell open. “How horrible. Poor Gage. Such an entertaining young man. He was the clown of your little group. I once gave him an assignment to read a passage of James Joyce’s Ulysses. He made a rather inappropriate yet humorous remark concerning Joyce’s writing style.”
“Do you remember what he said?”
She nodded, smiling, then shaking her head. “Gage was very sharp but never used it to his advantage. He was a carefree spirit, almo
st in rebellion to his button-down father, a fine man. It was a very funny review, but I had to be stern with him and make him re-write. His initial response was, ‘A boring screed written by a potato-eating drunk. I use my copy as a door stop’.”
“Sounds like Gage.” Jake feeling a pang of regret that his friend was no longer alive.
“Pardon me for a moment and I’ll get Christine’s address. At least her last known address.” She left and returned with a hand-written post-it that she held out to Jake.
Jake accepted the note and said, “How intense was the relationship between Caroline and Vernon Mitchell?”
“Caroline was a beginning teacher and Vernon was a local boy, rough around the edges. I’ve never bought his gentleman farmer act. He is, well was, a deceitful and duplicitous man who has his tentacles in many businesses in the county. Vernon had his eye on Caroline. She was quite a beauty in those days. She allowed him to escort her around for a brief time in high school before she cut him off when she was dating Frank. Vernon would not let go. Even after they graduated Vernon kept after her. Frank warned him off, threatening to punch him in the mouth but Vernon wouldn’t let go until Frank did just that one evening in town. Frank had to be restrained, I’m told, to prevent him from hospitalizing Vernon.”
Jake sat back. “What about the child, Christine?”
Mrs. Dalrymple colored slightly. “Well, Caroline was pregnant at the time of their wedding. In those days you did the right thing. Caroline would never have considered an abortion. It wasn’t done. Not around here.”
Jake thanked her for her time and prepared to leave. Mrs. Dalrymple prevailed upon him to take some cookies with him. Didn’t have to steal them after all.
Cookies and a shotgun wedding.
Small towns, huh?
Chapter Forty-Four
Deputy Sheriff Sharon Bailey was anxious about her promise to Pam Mitchell not to inform Doc about Tommy forcing, well raping, his daughter. The young deputy couldn’t sleep last night and this morning she chewed both thumbnails down to a raw, pink nub, now throbbing with irritation.