Murder in Rat Alley

by Mark de Castrique

“Depends upon what was classified,” Nakayla said. “I can start that search immediately. But you asked what should we do first. The internet is important, but it’s still going to be there tomorrow or next week.”

  “Then we need to see Cory as soon as possible. I was letting her have some time to come to grips with the DNA confirmation.”

  Nakayla set her cup aside. “No. I guarantee you she’s ready to move forward.” She stood. “I’ll call and see if she’s available.”

  Before Nakayla reached the phone in her office, there was a knock on the door, and Cory entered. I got to my feet.

  “Can we talk a minute?” She spoke just above a whisper as if we were in a crowded room and she didn’t want to be overheard. Her red-rimmed eyes betrayed the brave front she’d shown Newly and Tuck Efird.

  “Certainly,” Nakayla said. “Would you like some coffee? Or maybe a cup of herbal tea would be better.”

  “No, thank you. I guess Tuck and Newly told you the DNA had come back as a positive match.”

  Nakayla gestured for Cory to sit. “Yes. We’re very sorry.”

  Nakayla and Cory shared the sofa, and I returned to my chair.

  Cory shrugged. “Better to finally know. And Newly said the FBI would probably take the lead from Sheriff Hickman.”

  “Sam and I were just talking about that. We’re ready to help any way we can.”

  “There’s a window,” I said, “before the FBI gets fully engaged. We’d like to get a head start. Fill the gap between Hickman bowing out of the case and the blackout the feds will impose upon their investigation.”

  “That’s what Newly said you would say.”

  “What else?” Nakayla asked.

  “He said if you were going to be involved, you should begin now. Even Tuck agreed.”

  Nakayla and I exchanged glances. In their own way, the two police detectives had called on us to offer their endorsement without admitting they had encouraged Cory to engage us.

  “Have you been contacted by the FBI?” I asked.

  “Not yet. I believe I’m on a short call list, but since the murder was before my birth, I’m probably nothing more than an interested descendant. They’ll probably reach out to my aunt first.”

  “Then call Special Agent Boyce,” I said. “Say you’re requesting to be kept informed of their progress. Go on record as trying to work through channels. You don’t have to say anything about our involvement. We’ll deal with that when the time comes.”

  “Do you think my job with Hewitt will be a factor one way or the other?”

  “Boyce might be a little more guarded in what she tells you, which wouldn’t be that much regardless of Hewitt. But knowing he’s lurking in the background will be an incentive for them to give the case attention. And when we show up as working for Hewitt rather than you, it will reinforce his behind-the-scenes presence.”

  “I haven’t clued Hewitt yet on our arrangement,” she said. “I also need to alert my aunt that the FBI will be contacting her.”

  “What’s your aunt’s name?” Nakayla asked.

  “Nancy. Nancy Gilmore. Her husband was killed in Vietnam shortly after Frank disappeared. She never remarried.”

  “You’ve told her about the DNA?”

  “Yes.” Cory wiped her nose with the back of her hand. “I was doing all right till I heard Aunt Nancy crying. She claimed she wasn’t surprised. That she’d spent the last few days going through his things. She’s kept them all these years.”

  I leaned forward. “His things? What things?”

  “Books. Some clothes, though most of them went to the Salvation Army years ago. She also kept his letters.”

  “Letters from whom?”

  “Mostly from him to my aunt. He was renting a small apartment in Asheville. That’s why some of his things were with her. Her husband was on his first tour of duty in Vietnam, and Frank had stayed with her till he got the job with NASA. He wrote to her once a week.” Cory looked at Nakayla. “Aunt Nancy said Frank also had a girlfriend down here, and she wrote him letters after he disappeared in care of my aunt. After a couple of months, they stopped coming.”

  “What did they say?” Nakayla asked.

  “Aunt Nancy says they’re unopened. She wouldn’t read her brother’s mail.”

  I looked at Nakayla. “We need to see those letters. Otherwise, the FBI will take them, and we might never know the contents.” I turned to Cory. “Any chance your aunt will be coming here?”

  “No. Not unless I bring her. She couldn’t drive this far on her own. And once the forensic examinations are complete, my uncle’s remains will be interred in the family section of a cemetery in Roanoke.”

  “Then we need to get up there,” Nakayla said. “Were you planning on seeing her any time soon?”

  Cory nodded. “I’m going up tomorrow. It’s Saturday, although Hewitt told me to take whatever time I need.”

  “Would you like some company? Sam will even drive.”

  “Only if you let me pay for gas and your hotel room.”

  “Gas will be fine,” I said. “But we’ll chalk the hotel up as my gift to Nakayla. I’m such a romantic.”

  My partner laughed. “I was searching for the one word to describe you. Thanks for reminding me that’s not it.”

  Cory left, and Nakayla went down the hall to the restroom. I was in my office on the computer checking the hours for the Pisgah Astronomical Research Institute. I was anxious to see the site where the skeleton was unearthed. I discovered PARI was open but only had guided tours on Wednesdays and Saturdays. Tomorrow was Saturday, but we’d be in Roanoke. However, a self-guided tour option was available today and would be a good way to get oriented to the place without being limited to some prescribed sequence. Besides, I doubted if the site of a skeleton had been inserted into their tour highlights.

  I was clicking on the icon for directions when I heard the hall door open. Expecting Nakayla, I called out, “Let’s head over to PARI. They’re open this afternoon.”

  A gruff voice answered, “Love to, but I’m in court this afternoon.”

  I looked from the computer screen to Hewitt Donaldson grinning in my doorway.

  “I understand you are now in my employ.”

  I swiveled away from my desk. “The best money can buy.”

  He waved a crisp dollar bill in the air. “True. If this is the amount we’re discussing.”

  “And at your hourly rate, that would buy me what? Ten seconds?”

  “Yes. But I talk fast.” He handed me the dollar. “So you’re going to PARI this afternoon?”

  “With the FBI in the game, I don’t want to delay.”

  He nodded his agreement. “You going to see Sheriff Hickman?”

  “Not today. Hickman might tell the FBI, and we want to stay under the radar till we see what Cory’s aunt has.”

  “Cory told me about the letters. You’re smart to prioritize them.”

  I held up the dollar. “See the brainpower this bought you. Now run along to court.”

  Hewitt just stood there. We stared at each other for a dollar’s worth of the high-priced lawyer’s time.

  “What?” I asked. “What are you waiting for now?”

  “To quote Lucas Beauchamp at the end of Faulkner’s Intruder in the Dust, ‘My receipt.’”

  Chapter 4

  Highway 215 made my cruise control as useful as my appendix. The incessant twists and turns kept my foot jumping between the brake and the accelerator such that I felt like I was dancing rather than driving. My Honda CR-V rarely exceeded 35 miles per hour.

  As the crow flies, the Pisgah Astronomical Research Institute wasn’t that far from Asheville, but the winding two-lane blacktop must have doubled the mileage. More than an hour after leaving the office, we turned onto a paved road marked only by a sign set on a stone wall with a
stone column at its left edge. Half of the sign was a monochromatic teal drawing of a radio telescope rising above a forest. On the righthand side, the four words PISGAH ASTRONOMICAL RESEARCH INSTITUTE were stacked and aligned so that read vertically, the first bold letter of each word spelled PARI.

  The road now ran through a narrow, unpopulated valley and was the straightest stretch we’d driven in the past fifteen miles. But with each yard we traveled, the smell of charred wood intensified. I wondered if we’d spot smoldering trees before reaching the former NASA facility.

  Both appeared simultaneously.

  The land widened into a small bowl, and the forest gave way to a grassy enclave. Smoke hung on a back ridge where charcoal silhouettes of skeletal trunks with crooked limbs stood stark against the hazy blue sky.

  In the foreground rose a tower of white girders holding aloft a massive dish. It was the largest radio telescope I’d ever seen. To the right were several blue buildings that looked like they housed equipment. Graders and earthmovers were parked adjacent to them. About fifty feet away, the ground had been scraped and leveled for what appeared to be a pending construction site. Beyond it, smaller dishes dotted a grassy slope.

  More dishes were on the left. One had a smiley face painted on its concave surface.

  The largest building lay at the end of the road. It was constructed of blue brick, and the PARI logo and the words VISITORS CENTER hung over its entrance.

  “I guess we’d better check in,” Nakayla said. “Let’s see what they mean by a self-guided tour.”

  On a hot August Friday afternoon, the prospect of visiting a site bordering the burnt-out remnants of a forest fire had all the appeal of a colonoscopy. Only three cars were parked in the lot, and their distance from the visitors’ entrance suggested they belonged to the staff.

  The gray-haired white woman behind the counter in the small lobby seemed overjoyed to greet us. “Welcome to the Pisgah Astronomical Research Institute. Have you been with us before?”

  I said no and wanted to add that we hoped to book a flight to Venus on the next spaceship out. But she’d probably heard enough UFO jokes for one lifetime, and even I realized it was rude to mock someone’s livelihood. Besides, the Visitors Center entry room, small though it was, looked serious enough with quality items for sale—star charts, telescopes, planetariums, and model rockets. The curious kid in me still harbored a fascination for outer space.

  “We’ve been meaning to visit,” Nakayla said. “The forest fire made us realize how much we would have regretted missing the opportunity should this wonderful facility have been destroyed.”

  The woman shook her head. “It’s been quite a week.” She lowered her voice. “Do you know they say the fire was deliberately set?”

  “No. Who would do such a thing?” Nakayla asked.

  “Well, I don’t know if whoever started it meant to destroy PARI, but some of the locals tell the most ridiculous lies about us.”

  “Like what?” I asked as innocently as I could.

  “That there’s an underground city beneath us. That we harbor aliens whose flying saucers come and go like cars driving in and out of a parking deck.”

  I shook my head sympathetically. “What would give them such crazy ideas?”

  She sighed. “Well, this was a secure government site until PARI took it over. Guards coming and going. Lots of black government SUVs. I’ve lived in the area all my life, and I admit before I worked here it was a little spooky thinking that some secret project was underway. We wondered if the Russians had a nuclear missile with our zip code. You know what I mean?”

  “Had to be scary,” I said. “Also had to be scary with a fire bearing down on you.”

  “We had to evacuate. We were so afraid that the flames would cut off the only road in and out of here. Fortunately, the fire came from the opposite direction, but then when we heard about the body, I thought one of our staff had been killed.” Her eyes grew wide as she relived the horror.

  I gave a slight nod to Nakayla to continue the conversation. She leaned forward better to see the woman’s name badge.

  “Janet, that must have been awful. Was it someone you knew?”

  “No, thank God. This morning, the sheriff told us it was someone who worked here years ago. Back during the Apollo program. I’ve only been here ten years. That’s after the government sold it.”

  “What do they think happened to him?” I asked.

  “The sheriff said he was probably”—Janet wet her lips and then whispered—“murdered.”

  “How would they know?”

  She looked out the door to the earthmovers. “A road grader turned up a skeleton. All the heavy-duty equipment was up at the edge of the tree line cutting a wide path of bare dirt to keep the grass from catching on fire. Doubt if it would have worked. We’re just lucky the wind shifted. Anyway, since the skeleton was buried, the sheriff knew it was a homicide.”

  “Did anybody know him?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “Almost fifty years ago? I doubt it, unless it would be one of our volunteers.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “We have several retirees who lead the guided tours. One of them actually worked here. But he won’t be in until tomorrow.” She gestured to the sign on the counter. “We only have the tours on Wednesdays and Saturdays. If you want to bring your own group, then we can make other arrangements.”

  “And if we want to look around today?” Nakayla asked.

  “Admission is ten dollars a person. You can roam inside and out. We do close at four today, but that gives you over an hour.”

  I reached for my wallet and handed her a twenty. “We’d be interested in talking to the tour guide who actually worked here when NASA ran it. We can’t come back tomorrow, but do you know if he might be scheduled to work next Wednesday?”

  Janet slid a three-ring binder in front of her and flipped it open. Viewing it upside down, I could see it was a calendar for the month with names assigned to each date.

  “Yes, Joseph Gordowski is leading the two o’clock tour. He worked here as well as other tracking stations.”

  “Sounds great.”

  “Would you like to make a reservation? The charge is the same, but the spaces do fill up. That way, I can match you with Joseph.” She moved the binder aside and turned to her computer keyboard. “Could I have your names, please?” She entered them and then studied her screen. “Sam Blackman. That name sounds familiar.” She studied me more closely.

  “I’m afraid I’m a common name and a common face.”

  She smiled. “Well, as Abe Lincoln said, God loves the common folk. That’s why he made so many of us.” She handed us some brochures. “Enjoy your visit.”

  Although I was anxious to walk up the hillside to where I suspected the skeleton of Frank DeMille had been unearthed, Nakayla and I headed for the exhibits.

  PARI proved to be a scientific center with not only displays of items from the Apollo missions but also exhibits of communication satellites, scores of meteorites, and even a tire from the space shuttle. As we passed along a return hallway, a door abruptly opened and hit my shoulder. I stepped back as an elderly white man in work coveralls stepped into the corridor. Tufts of silver hair encircled his bald pate, and he peered at me through glasses so thick, his eyes looked more owlish than human. The large eyes fixed first on me and then on Nakayla.

  “So sorry. So sorry. There’s even a sign on the inside of this door reminding us to open it slowly. I hope I haven’t injured you.”

  “No, I’m fine,” I said.

  He shook his head. “Sometimes I get ahead of myself. When you’re my age and the sands are rushing through the old hourglass, you try to make every minute count.”

  “Are you a volunteer?” Nakayla asked.

  “No. Believe it or not, I’m still working. Got to be useful. I mean what�
��s life if you’re not living it for a purpose? I’m helping upgrade the computer data system here. PARI’s moving into secure storage for all sorts of data for all sorts of clients. The common need is for security. Can’t have those Russian hackers breaching this system. Not while Theo Brecht is on the scene.” A twinkle flashed in the eyes behind the thick lenses. “But I didn’t mean to knock you over in the process.”

  “Sam walks into doors all the time,” Nakayla said.

  “Sam Blackman.” I offered my hand, and he shook it with a surprisingly strong grip. “And this is Nakayla Robertson.”

  “Good to meet you both. And thanks for visiting. The more people learn about this place, the broader the support. It really is a scientific treasure.”

  “We’re impressed,” Nakayla said.

  “Then I’d better let you continue your tour. And I’ll try to stay out of your way.” He stepped aside and let us pass.

  We returned to the main entrance.

  Janet looked up from her computer. “Enjoy yourselves?”

  “Fascinating,” Nakayla said. “Is it okay if we take a close look at the radio telescopes outside?”

  “That’s fine.” She laughed. “Just don’t climb them. We’d hate to have to call the fire department to pull you out of the upturned dish.”

  “The one with the smiley face is more my speed,” I said.

  “That’s his name. Smiley. I think the Department of Defense created that. A greeting to the Russian satellites that kept us under observation.”

  “Should we wave?” Nakayla asked.

  “As far as I know, they’re still spying on us. Me, I keep my head down.”

  We descended the exterior steps and then headed up the hill behind the building. The grass was beaten flat by the treads of the earthmovers, but the soil wasn’t overturned. It wasn’t until we neared the edge of the woods that we encountered the buffer of dirt for the untested firebreak.

  “Last-ditch effort,” I said. “Literally.”

  We walked on the grass bordering the exposed soil until we came to an area cordoned off with crime scene tape and temporary orange plastic fencing.