“Looking for something?” I jumped about a foot and threw the jacket back onto the bed. When I turned around, little Jess was grinning at me, her braces gleaming in the hall light.
“Shoot, Jessie, you scared the daylights out of me. How you doin’?”
“I’m fine, Miss James. You looking for Dougie? He’s not here.”
“Actually, kiddo, it’s you I wanted to see. Your dad said you were cleaning your room. Obviously this one isn’t yours.”
She giggled at this, wrinkling her nose at the general filth in her brother’s room.
“Mine’s down here. Come on. I’ll show you.”
I followed her into a brightly lit room painted yellow, with pictures of airplanes and rockets adorning the walls. The room wasn’t spotless by any standards, but it was neat and cheerful and lacked the gloom and raunchiness of her brother’s.
“You like aviation, I see,” I said, settling on the edge of her bed.
“Yeah. I used to want to be a pilot. Or maybe even an astronaut. But now I’m thinking of going into something else.” Her eyes shone with excitement, and I noticed with a pang that she stood with the exact same stance, using the exact same mannerisms as her dad.
“Oh yeah? Like what?”
“Promise you won’t laugh?” she said seriously.
“Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“I’m thinking about going into law enforcement.”
“That’s great, Jessie. You mean like a cop?”
“Or maybe the FBI or CIA. I haven’t decided for sure. I could even be a detective like you.”
“Well, I think that’s great. You’d make a very good law enforcement officer. You know what you ought to do? You ought to ask my friend Martha if some day she’d let you make the rounds with her. That would give you a firsthand taste of what being a cop is like.”
Her green eyes widened behind the wire-frame glasses, making her look like a cute little owl. “You think she’d let me?”
“I could put in a good word for you, if you want. I think she could be talked into it.” I knew I’d owe Martha something really gourmet for this one.
“That’d be neat,” she said. “So, how come you wanted to see me?” She jumped up onto the edge of the dresser, her red tennies swinging freely off the floor.
“I wanted to ask you about the other night when Doug had some friends over. Night before last. Remember?”
“Oh sure. The Three Musketeers. They slept out in the bunk room.” She pointed out the window where what had once been a detached garage now sported a fresh coat of blue paint, with drapes hanging in the windows. Bonnie had made a nice little addition to the house.
“Do they call themselves that?”
“No way. That’s just what Dad and I call them behind their backs.” She tucked a loose strand of long brown hair behind her ear. I’d seen Jess do the same a hundred times.
“Do you know what they did that night, Jessie? Your dad said you might know more than he does.”
“They wouldn’t even let me in,” she said. “They used to, but not anymore. I know for sure they rented an X-rated movie, because I saw it on Dougie’s dresser. And they were drinking too. Alan Stinkerton always brings over a bunch of liquor. They sit around smoking and drinking and talking dirty. They think they’re big shots because they’re seniors and everything.”
I smiled. “What kind of cigarettes does Dougie smoke?” I asked, thinking “Stinkerton” was perfect.
“He used to steal Dad’s tobacco and roll his own. But now he’s strictly a Marlboro Man. That’s how he says it too—‘I’m strictly a Marlboro Man.’ It’s pretty funny, actually.” Of course, I thought. Why wouldn’t he smoke the damn things? Everyone else did.
“It sounds like you and your brother don’t always see eye to eye,” I said. “Like yesterday in the store,” I added, watching her carefully.
She looked away. “He’s a jerk. I know that sounds bad to say about your own brother, but I’m just telling the truth. It’s funny, ’cause I used to look up to him, you know? But not anymore. I think he’s just plain mean.” I decided not to pursue the store incident. She was clearly embarrassed at my having seen her humiliated in public.
“Do you know if he and his friends went out the other night, or if they stayed in the bunk house the whole time?” I asked, getting back to the main point.
“Why?”
“I’m just trying to establish where they were about ten o’clock that night. I thought maybe you’d know, seeing as how your window looks right out there. Maybe you heard them or saw them. Can you say for sure that they were home at that time?”
“Well, not for absolute sure.” She seemed to be stalling for time, deciding how much she should tell me.
“Jessie, this is important. You need to level with me.”
“Is Dougie in trouble? He’d kill me if I ratted on him.”
“To be honest, I don’t know. But I need to know the truth so I can help him if I can. Did you see them leave that night?”
“Not exactly. Actually, I know they were there when I went to bed, because the TV was still on. They were still watching that movie. I fell asleep and I didn’t hear anything again until about two in the morning—I know because I looked at my clock. The reason I woke up is because they were arguing. I heard the bunk house door slam, and I got up and looked out. The lights were on and I could see them through the window. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it looked like Dougie was really ticked off at Alan. Dunk had to break them up because they were that close to fighting.”
“If you had to guess what they were fighting about, what would be your best guess?”
Jessie bit her lip, thinking hard. “Well, Dougie is mad, which means Stinkerton probably did something stupid that could get them in trouble. Like the time he talked Dunk into stealing a case of Budweiser from McGregors and almost got Dunk fired. Dunk had to work without pay to make up for it, and now they watch him like a hawk. Or the time he wrote Dougie’s initials on a stop sign they’d marked up with those stupid swastikas. They never got busted for that, but Dougie was really ticked off.”
The mention of swastikas caused my pulse to hammer. “Any idea where they might’ve been until two in the morning?”
Jessie paused long enough that I knew she was withholding something. “Not really,” she said, looking down at her swinging tennis shoes.
“Come on, Jessie. I need your help.”
“I really don’t know for sure.”
“But you have an idea, right?” I asked, secretly crossing my fingers.
“Well.” She paused, biting her lip. “Sometimes they sneak out and go to their fort. No one’s supposed to know about it. Please don’t ask Doug about it, okay? He’ll kill me for real. And don’t tell Dad.”
“How come you know about the fort, if no one’s supposed to know?”
“Because I followed them one time,” she said, her big eyes gleaming mischievously.
“Weren’t you afraid they’d catch you?”
“Kinda.” She nodded. “I stayed way back, especially when they went through the train tunnel. That was the scariest part because a train can come right through and there’s hardly any space between the wall and the train. Luckily, none came, but I had to wait until they got through the tunnel before I could go through, otherwise all they had to do was look back and they’d have seen me. It took me a while to figure out which way they’d gone.”
“And where did they go, Jessie? Where is this fort of theirs?”
“It’s only about a mile from here, but it’s in this old logging site, and it’s totally private. You can’t tell there’s anything even there until you get up close. It’s pretty cool. They’ve got a boom box out there. They turned it up real loud, which is partly how I figured which way they went. I was afraid to get too close, though, so I didn’t get to see inside.”
“Could you find it again?” I asked. “Could you take me to it?”
“Maybe.” She
sounded unsure. “But I can’t, honest. You don’t know my brother. I have to live with him. If he knew I took you there, I’d be dead. You gotta believe me.” There was serious fear in her eyes, and I wondered just how real the threat was.
“Okay, Jessie. Tell you what. Let’s compromise. Draw me a map. I promise not to tell anyone how I found my way to the fort, and hopefully no one will even know I was ever there. I just want to get a look at it. I won’t touch a thing, honest.”
Jess looked up, her bright eyes calculating rapidly. “You tell me what Dougie did to get in trouble, and I’ll draw you the map,” she said. Maybe the little booger ought to forget about law enforcement and go into negotiating, I thought.
“I promised your dad I wouldn’t tell anyone,” I said. “It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, but he’s trying to be fair to Doug. See, Doug probably hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m just trying to find out who did. Okay?”
Jessie shook her head, obviously frustrated. “It’s not fair. Dad’s always trying to protect him. He always lets him get away with everything. Dougie never does anything good, and he’s the one that gets all the privileges. I do everything right, and I’m the one stuck with always cleaning up Doug’s messes. I hate him!” She jumped off the dresser and fumbled around in a drawer, coming up with a pencil and sheet of paper. Silently, she sat at her tiny desk and painstakingly drew a detailed map to the fort. It took a full five minutes, with a few erasures, but the final product was a work of art.
“I owe you one, sport,” I said, offering a handshake which she returned hesitantly.
“And just for the record, I have a feeling your dad thinks you are pretty special. He’s so proud of you he can hardly contain himself. It could be he tries to bend over backward for Dougie so as not to seem partial to you. You understand what I’m telling you?”
She looked down, slightly embarrassed, but obviously pleased. “I guess so,” she said, playing with her ponytail. “I just get mad sometimes. I wish Dougie would just be nicer, is all. We used to have fun when I was little. But that was a long time ago. I keep wishing he’d change back to how he used to be, but I don’t think he’s going to. You know? I mean, I think I finally realized that he’s not going to get any nicer. I might as well accept it, I guess.”
“You just wait. He may just be going through a phase. Sometimes people do become more considerate as they get older.” I wished I could say something more encouraging, but from what I’d seen of Dougie myself, I didn’t hold out much hope for him becoming a wonderful human being in the near future.
I thanked Jessie for the help and promised once again not to tell anyone about the existence of the fort. I wasn’t sure what I hoped to learn by traipsing out into the woods looking for this hideout, but I knew I had to see it for myself even if it didn’t get me any closer to solving Trinidad’s murder, or the Hendersons’ fire. And I knew just because Pinkerton and his little group of buddies might be neo-Nazi wannabes, didn’t mean they had anything to do with either crime. But the simple truth was, my curiosity was piqued and eventually I knew I’d want to see their little hideaway for myself.
Chapter Fourteen
Since McGregors was just down the street, I decided to have a word with Dunk, the bag boy. As soon as I saw him, I realized I’d seen him numerous times before. He was gangly and tall, with a pimply complexion, crooked teeth and flaming red hair shaved into a crew cut. He stooped, like so many tall people do, his narrow shoulders hunched forward like wounded wings. It was hard to picture this boy ever doing anything remotely athletic, but then again, Jess had said the team was hard up for players. Even so, I doubted Dunk had the competitive drive or energy to want to play. My guess was, he had an athletic father who was reliving his old fantasies through Dunk. Dunk looked like he’d rather be back in bed.
I watched him for a few minutes, while he bagged a lady’s groceries as if he were underwater. Slow, listless and bored. I doubted he got many tips. When she was gone, I walked up to Eileen, the grocery clerk, and asked her if she minded my borrowing her bag boy for a few minutes. Eileen was a large woman with whom I’d had many friendly exchanges over the years. I liked her, and she always made a point of telling me what the specials were. I think she worried that I wasn’t eating enough, because now and then she’d throw in these cellophane-wrapped pie slices the Women’s Elks Club made for fundraisers, and she’d wink and refuse to take my money.
“Well,” Eileen said, looking around the nearly empty store, “I don’t know what anyone would want with him, as much use as he’s been lately, but you’re welcome to him.”
I chuckled, but Dunk narrowed his eyes at her, obviously not taking the good-natured insult with humor. He looked like a boy long accustomed to insult, finding it even when it wasn’t there.
“Dunk,” I said, handing him a business card and lowering my voice, “my name is Cassidy James and I wondered if you’d mind stepping out back with me for a few minutes to answer some questions.”
“Go on back by the dumpsters,” Eileen told me. “That’s real private back there.”
Dunk followed me out, slouching sullenly against a green dumpster. I hopped up onto some piled crates across from him, lessening my height disadvantage. Dunk reached into his back pocket and shook out a cigarette from a badly crumpled hard pack. I wasn’t surprised to see he was smoking Marlboros. They could make a commercial for the damn things in this town, I thought wryly.
“So, what do you want, anyway?” he asked.
“Well, Dunk, I’m sure you’re aware there’s been quite a lot going on around here lately, and I’m just trying to find out where everyone was during these crimes. For example, can you tell me where you were the night before last from around nine o’clock on?”
“I didn’t have nothin’ to do with stealin’ that case of Bud. Did that bitch say I did? I already told her, I spent the night at Dougie Martin’s. You can ask anybody.”
“Well now Dunk, I’ve already talked to quite a few people, and I know you didn’t spend the entire evening at the Martins’. Sure you were there, and sure you came back, but in between, now that’s what I want to hear about.”
He glanced up at me, then resumed staring at his size fourteen tennis shoes. It should be easy to match those shoes to any prints found at the Hendersons’, I thought. I’d have to talk to Sheriff Booker soon.
“I didn’t go nowhere,” he said. “Anyone who says I did is a damn liar.”
“Do you have a boat?”
“No. Why?”
“How about Alan or Doug? I bet one of them has a boat.”
“So?”
“So, I hear you guys like to take night rides sometimes, without the running lights. That true?”
“What if we do? So what?”
“I’m just wondering why you guys didn’t report that fire over at the Hendersons’ when you were so close to it. Was it because you’d taken Doug’s dad’s boat without permission and were afraid he’d get in trouble? Is that why you didn’t report the fire?”
“What makes you think we saw the fire?”
“Oh, we know you saw the fire, Dunk. That’s not even in question. Plenty of people saw you out there, including me. I’m just wondering why you didn’t report it. I told the sheriff just yesterday that I figured you were afraid of getting into trouble because you weren’t supposed to be out in the boat.”
“How could you see us? It was totally dark!” he blurted out. I let this sink in for a minute, savoring his blunder. He began taking agitated puffs of his cigarette, clearly furious at himself, or me, or both.
“So, why didn’t you report the fire?”
“It’s like you said. We didn’t want to get in trouble for taking Mr. Martin’s boat. Anyway, it was nearly out when we saw it.”
“Have you ever heard the saying that if you’re going to lie, you should stick as close to the truth as possible?”
He said nothing, his gaze flicking across the ground as if he were watching some invisible ping p
ong match.
I decided to take a plunge. “I hear it was your idea to set the fire. But somehow I don’t believe it. Still, it’s your word against theirs.”
“No way!” he yelled, his eyes finally coming to life. Behind the dull, opaque walls of green were flecks of anger.
“Did that fucking Pinkerton tell you that? He’s a goddamned liar! No way.”
“They say you were all hot to trot for the older girl. I think her name’s Mary? And that you were making calls, and when her old man said he was going to call the cops, you decided to teach them all a lesson and set their house on fire.”
“That’s not me!” he nearly shouted. “That’s Alan. I never even knew that girl. Who told you it was me? I’m gonna kick their ass!”
“So you’re saying it was Alan’s idea to light the fire, not yours?”
“I’m not saying nothing!” he said, realizing too late that he’d just implicated his friend.
“Look, Dunk. Let’s say I believe you, and that it wasn’t you who thought up the whole idea. Still, there’s clear evidence that you were there. Not many people have shoes the exact same size and brand as you do, and those prints were all over the scene. So you see, it’s not a question of whether or not you were there. What it’s going to come down to is how cooperative you are with the police. I’d like to be able to tell Sheriff Booker that you’re here to help. That’s a whole lot better than being an uncooperative suspect.”
He stood there blinking into the sunlight, clearly searching for a way out of his predicament. I decided not to bring up the break-in at the school or the murder. I didn’t want to send him running until the sheriff or Grimes had a chance to question him. Right now I felt Dunk was primed for a big-time confession, the bulk of which would revolve around selling out his buddies. I didn’t want to scare him away.
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