by Judith Lucci
Wendell held his temper. His heart raced. What was wrong with Hamilton. "What are you talking about? Did you pay attention?” he scoffed. "She practically accepted classroom space. We’ve got them both sewn up. It's just a matter of time." Wendell’s voice expressed more confidence that he felt.
Hamilton grinned at the sardonic look on Wendell's face. "We'll see. Lily Lucci has a lot of friends and very long tentacles into local law enforcement and everything else around this dumb, backward county. If anything, and I do mean anything, comes up after yesterday... well, you'll be toast." He smiled derisively at Wendell.
Wendell's blood pressure skyrocketed. "I told you. Nothing will happen. I've got Massanutten sewn up. The guys that did the work over there for me are in line – and they’re well paid, so there's nothing to worry about." He tapped angrily on his desk and waited for a reply. Hamilton remained quiet and sipped his whiskey.
Wendell counted to ten and held his temper. He took a deep breath and spoke, his voice caustic. "We've nothing to worry about on that front. The boys owe me and there’s a big payoff for them down the road. And we know the resort needs us to build those new condominiums."
Henry Hamilton said, "I only hope your relationship with the resort, and the local ‘mafia’ goes as you expect it will. If it doesn't, it'll open up a can of worms that you don’t want to deal with." Hamilton paused. "And, just for the record, I won't deal with it." His voice was final, his tone indignant. His eyes looked out of his window at the distant mountains.
Wendell was incensed. His face was flushed. "Is that a threat, Henry? Because, if it is, you’re threatening the wrong person," he hissed, his voice scathing.”
Henry Hamilton rose and stood behind his desk. He was an imposing figure. "I have a meeting. Get your stuff done before you bother me again."
For moment a flash of fear cascaded through Wendell Hallet's body. He knew he needed Henry Hamilton and his law firm. He couldn't do it alone. Besides, if he had figured things right, Hamilton wasn’t a man to be crossed. Wendell decided he had enough trouble for the present.
“Okay, man. You know I always appreciate your help. I’ll catch up with you later,” Wendell’s voice was submissive.
Henry nodded but didn’t look up. “Shut the door on your way out.”
Chapter 17
Kenzie sat at her desk in her basement office and stared at the fire. Her mind was cluttered, and she needed to unclutter it so she could determine who had killed Sam.
Solomon lay on the floor next to her, sleeping. She jumped when her cell phone rang. It was her office in Roanoke. She picked up her phone. It was Fred, her assistant.
"Fred, did you guys get back the lab reports?" Kenzie could hear anxiety in her voice.
Fred’s voice was deep and low. "Yeah. Some of them. We got the soil and geological samples back." Fred paused. “It was what we thought.”
“And?” Kenzie waited as patiently as she could.
"They don't match." His voice was matter of fact. The soil we scraped from the bottom of the boulder doesn’t match the soil samples we gathered, six in total, from that region of the mountain.”
Kenzie's heartbeat quickened. "So, that means the soil gathered from the boulder we scraped on the Diamond Jim slope at Massanutten doesn't match the geological samples founds in the areas we tested around the Diamond Jim, right?”
“Yeah... the soil is different.” Fred’s voice was non-committal. He wanted to hear Kenzie’s reply.
“Or, better said, it doesn’t match the soil on Massanutten Mountain. Is that your interpretation?" Kenzie’s fingers gripped the phone. Solomon walked over towards his mistress and lay beside her.
"That's correct, Kenzie. But, the mountain is huge. It doesn’t match the soil anywhere near where the body was found on the Diamond Jim ski slope.”
“Got it,” Kenzie said, her heart racing. “Any idea where the soil came from? Or the rock?”
Kenzie took a deep breath. "So, it's logical to assume the soil and the stone came from another geographical area. Could they tell where?"
"Not yet, but the laboratory tech thinks that the rock was in a riverbed somewhere. It was flattened on one side. He said the soil had a sandy loam consistency. They sent it for further analysis."
Kenzie had become more confidant now that Sam’s death wasn’t an accident. "When will they be back? Did the lab give you any idea?"
Fred sighed. "Unfortunately, they went to the crime lab in Richmond. So, you know what that means..." Fred's voice faltered. He knew Kenzie hated to wait for results from Richmond which often took weeks to months.
Kenzie shook her head impatiently, her long, dark hair moved from side to side. "I was afraid of that. But did they give us any idea when we would get the report?" She tapped her foot anxiously. Kenzie didn't like to wait. When she was on to something, she wanted to move, and move quickly. She wanted the soil information immediately. Patience wasn’t her strong suit.
"Nope. They didn't give us a specific time, but I did put a rush on them." Fred's voice apologetic.
"Terrific. That means, at the very best, three weeks." Kenzie stood and walked over to look out the sliding glass door. Oftentimes the snow and peaceful scene calmed her nerves. Today, that didn't happen. She was stressed.
"Sorry, Doc. I did the best I could but, in the great scheme of things, I think we're looking at three to four weeks."
Kenzie continued to stare out her sliding glass door as a beautiful doe emerged from the woods. She bent down and retrieved two apples from a basket near the door. She slid the door open, walked outside and placed the apples on a table in her backyard. The deer watched her carefully. Kenzie returned inside and stood at the door. "You did the best you could, Fred. Is there anything else?"
Fred reviewed the information in his head. "Nope, but you do understand that our forensic tech person here is certain the rock samples and dirt samples are not indigenous with the mountain, correct?"
Kenzie laughed. "Yeah, I got that. That, in and of itself is huge. I just hoped we could narrow our playing field to search for suspects if we knew where the samples came from. But still, I can make a logical argument that the boulder was placed there to deliberately injure and kill Sam Painter."
"That you can. The lab here is sure of that. Is there anything else I need to know or ask about for further information? It sounds as though you’re positive Sam Painter was murdered." Fred’s voice was despondent. “Which is a huge shame,” he added.
Kenzie hesitated. “Yeah. But I’ll need the new information on the soil and rock samples when it comes back.”
“Yeah. It’s coming. Anything thing else happen today? Any new evidence?”
Kenzie reviewed the day in her mind. “Yeah. Let me tell you about what I learned from Parker today, one of the ski instructors who’s also on the ski patrol.”
“Oh, I know Parker. He’s a good guy. What did he say?”
"Parker doesn’t believe Sam just crashed and burned. He assured me the boulder couldn't have been there yesterday morning before the Snowcat came through to groom the slope."
Fred processed this. "I’m not surprised to hear that, but I did wonder. What time does the Snowcat come through?”
“He said about dawn. Maybe about seven in the morning – which is early. Very early. I think someone must have had that thing close by – perhaps they dropped it off the night before.” Kenzie pondered that possibility. “That would mean they’d been checking out Sam for a few weeks – you know, to get an idea of his schedule and habits.” Anger jumped through Kenzie’s veins.
Kenzie heard Fred curse under his breath. “For sure. No big machinery could've maneuvered around that rock. It was way too big. Did Parker have any idea how they got the boulder up there?"
Kenzie’s response was quick. "No. He did not. There were no tracks. Of course, they blow snow up there all the time and Benson and I will go back up there tomorrow to look around again. I lost my daylight this afternoon, so I couldn’t finish
looking around."
"I see. What do you expect to find? Any ideas who’s behind it?”
"Well, as I said earlier, it's my theory that whoever planned to kill Sam had moved the boulder up there earlier and knew it was directly in the path an experienced skier would use. Parker agrees with me that Sam’s momentum wouldn’t have allowed him to stop that quickly based on the hairpin turn.”
“Yeah. I figured that when I came down the slope in a snow mobile. It was a difficult turn.”
“Yeah. The Diamond Jim is the most difficult slope at Massanutten,” Kenzie reminded him. “But,” she said, her voice excited, “we did find a coffee cup from the Woodstone Café with a little coffee left in it."
Fred whistled. "That’s awesome. It'd be a bonus to get some DNA."
Kenzie smiled to herself. "Yep, that's what I'm hoping. Any chance you can get down here this evening, pick up the cup and take it back up tomorrow for analysis?"
"You got it, Doc. I'm coming to Massanutten tonight so how about I stop by your house and pick it up." Kenzie could hear the smile in his voice. She knew he’d been planning to come anyway.
Kenzie smiled to herself. "Sounds like a date with Angie. Somehow, I knew you wouldn't mind the trip." Kenzie laughed, her voice light.
"You're right again, Kenzie. I'll see you later this evening." Fred grinned. “You can read me like a book, boss.”
"Hang on a minute, Fred. Is my tox report back?"
"Nope. Negative. Not yet. They’re re-running some of the samples. The lab tech said tomorrow afternoon."
"Good enough. Thanks, Fred. I'll see you later and drive carefully.”
“See you soon, Kenzie.” She heard Fred click off. She stood at her door and watched the deer eat the second Apple. Solomon stood next to her and whimpered. He wanted to go out.
Kenzie shook off her depression over Sam’s death and reminded herself that even in our cold, dark and often cruel world there was still the beauty of nature. That would have to be her comfort this evening. For a moment she held back tears for Sam Painter, for Sam's dead wife and for her own dead husband Gabe. The tears burned behind her eyes. The four of them had been inseparable for ten years before their deaths. Finally, when she couldn’t stand it any longer, she sat down by her fireplace and let the hot tears roll as she rubbed Solomon's back. The black lab placed his head on her lap and looked into her eyes. He was all she had left from Gabe except for her memories. She let the hot tears roll from her eyes until they rolled no more. It’d been a good cry.
Chapter 18
Peewee walked into the cave on the Western slope of Massanutten Mountain. He shivered and hugged his arms to his body for warmth. The cave, even at ground temperature was at least thirty degrees warmer than the outside air. He searched the road with his eyes. He thought he'd heard a truck. For the life of him, he couldn't understand why the boss had insisted they meet that day.
Peewee had been a member of the Hillbilly Mob for about two years and he was sick of it. He’d joined when he was angry with local police to soothe his ruffled feathers. He’d quickly become disillusioned. Peewee was a pretty good guy who hated to hurt any living thing —whether it be human or animal. He’d been raised by his grandmother and been taken to the Baptist church every Sunday. Some of the Christian values had stuck with him so he was looking for a way out.
He had no problem stealing or taking from the rich to help the poor or unfortunate. In fact, when he joined the Hillbilly Mob, the mob recruiter had likened them to a twenty-first-century Robin Hood. But so far that hadn’t been the case – at least as far as Peewee was concerned. In his mind, they stole from everyone and kept the money for themselves.
It was a truck he’d heard. He recognized the truck. It belonged to Ty, the founder of the gang. Ty was semi-retired now and no longer in charge. He’d recently gotten out of jail for abducting, assault and battery with the two ladies that owned the art gallery. It served him right in Peewee's mind. Ty was a mean, old, nasty man with a dirty, scuzzy beard.
Ty’s pickup was old. Rust showed around the vehicle's dents and highlighted multiple fender-bender accidents. The ceiling of the truck had fallen and was in pale gray tatters. The engine sounded like the sound of a food processor. Even though Ty had spent part of his life as a mechanic he didn't seem to care for his truck at all.
Peewee watched the beaten-up truck pull over next to the Hillbilly Mob’s cave hideout.
The old man pushed open his truck door and painfully exited the vehicle. Ty was old, probably in his late seventies, and hadn't exactly led a healthy life. He had an enormous beer belly which had to make walking on his thin legs painful. Even in the bright sun his skin appeared sallow, almost to the point of having a yellow hue. He looked like a man who'd drunk and smoked his entire life and of course he had.
Peewee offered a tenuous smile. He never knew how Ty would react. What he did know was the old man was meaner than a snake and that he’d killed better than a dozen people.
"What are we doing here? Do you know what this is about?" Ty asked, his voice harsh. "Why’d Hamn call us together for?"
Peewee shrugged his shoulders and pointed towards the cave. "It's a lot warmer in there, old man. I built a fire," he offered, his voice pleasant.
Ty picked his way around the icy areas and walked into the cave. It was so cold outside, and the ground so frozen his work boots didn't even scratch the snow. "Good. It's too cold to be outside, especially at my age." He looked over at Peewee. "Let me follow you. I think they ruined my eyes in jail. I can't see nothing anymore."
Peewee nodded and pulled his small flashlight out of his back pocket. "Careful here, man. It's real slick."
"Yeah, yeah. I hear you. I ain't dead yet," Ty scoffed. Then he started to cough. It seemed to Peewee he could hardly get his breath. The old man stood outside the entrance of the cave, his head bent as his shoulders shook from a hoarse cough."
"Man, you sick?" Peewee backed up because he didn't want to catch whatever Ty had.
Ty caught his breath and followed the younger man into the cave. A small fire burned a short distance away. Peewee had spread a couple of blankets over some large rocks. All in all, the scene was inviting, much better than the twenty-degree cold weather outside.
“So, um, when did ya get out of jail?” Peewee really didn’t care. He just tried to make conversation.
"They just ‘bout killed me in that jail. I think they tried to," Ty said, his face tired from coughing. Peewee noticed his breath was short.
"How long you been out? When did they release you?" Peewee tried to look interested, but he disliked the old man.
"’Bout three weeks ago, just before Christmas," Ty answered, his voice hoarse. "I can't believe they kept me in jail all those months. I didn't hurt anybody.”
Peewee didn't say anything. He knew if Ty had had his way he would have killed those ladies from the art gallery. He watched as Ty unzipped his down jacket and reached in his shirt pocket for a cigarette.
Peewee shook his head but remained silent. The old man could hardly breathe, much less smoke.
Ty lit his Marlboro Red and inhaled deeply. He closed his eyes and savored the rush from the nicotine. He thrust the pack towards Peewee. "Want one?"
Peewee shook his head. "Nah, don't smoke no more. Lost my taste for it. If I lit one up now, it’d make me sick."
Ty shook his head. "Man, we ain't ever had no Hillbilly Mobster didn't smoke. We’d have thrown you out in the old days. Must be something wrong with you." Ty stared at him with rheumy old eyes. “What are we doin’ here today. I saw the Shenandoah gang down at Woodstone this morning. They shoved some stuff in some man’s drink. Are we gonna be part of that?”
Peewee shrugged his shoulder but remained quiet. Even though the old man could hardly breathe he knew he was most likely heavily armed. Ty would slit his throat, skin him like a deer and no one would ever find him. "I think I hear Hamn's truck. Wait here and enjoy your smoke."
Peewee couldn't wait
to get out of the cave and away from Ty. The old dude gave him the creeps. He walked over to his old green pickup truck, shaded his eyes from the blinding winter sun, and looked down the road. Sure enough he saw the monstrous black beast headed up the non-paved road on the Western slope.
He stood outside the cave where he waited and watched the shiny, black Dodge Ram truck climb the mountain. The truck was massive. It had double stacks and dual wheels and was loud. A couple of minutes later, the current leader of the nefarious Hillbilly Mob emerged from his truck. Hamn was fearsome. The guy was a giant. He stood over six feet tall, weighed over 300 pounds and every square inch of his body was tatted. He wore gauges in his ears, and his eyebrows were pierced. He wore a North Face jacket and expensive Rocky work boots. He also wore a stocking cap over his massive, bald head. Fearsome was the best word to describe him. Hamn was cruel, brutal and malicious.
He walked over and clapped Peewee on the back. “Peewee my man. Happy New Year, bro. How goes it?"
“Good, man, all's good," Peewee mumbled. "Ty’s on the inside getting warm. Looks like prison wasn't good for him."
Hamn muttered an obscenity and went into the cave. Ty was huddled over the fire smoking his Marlboro. He braced himself against the rock and stood when he saw him.
"What's up, dude? Why’d ya call us out here on this freezing day? Is too cold for anybody to be out?" Ty hugged his skinny arms into his body for warmth.
Hamn ignored him but looked him up and down. "You doing okay, Ty? You look right rough. How long you been out?"
"Got out just ‘fore Christmas but spent the last month in the infirmary. Got pneumonia there, double pneumonia. They took me to the hospital three days. But I'm okay."
Hamn shook his head. "You don't look okay, dude. You sure you're up for some action?"
"Yeah, man, yeah, I need to work. I ain't got nothing to do. What you got?"
Hamn nodded and practically danced around in the snow. "We got us $50,000 job. And we gotta do it soon, like tomorrow?"