HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2)

Home > Other > HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) > Page 17
HELL'S HALF ACRE a gripping murder mystery full of twists (Coffin Cove Mysteries Book 2) Page 17

by JACKIE ELLIOTT


  Terri set down her coffee. “I didn’t even know it was there until . . . well, until they found the remains. But Katie Dagg, my neighbour, found him. She was doing some research for her new job at the museum. She must have been terrified, poor kid. I used to babysit her when she was little.”

  “You know the family well, then?” Andi asked, sitting back and letting Terri talk. She knew from experience when to just let the conversation flow.

  “Not really well. Just Katie. Doug and I couldn’t have any children of our own, so we loved having her to make a fuss over. Katie was a sweet kid, and she’s grown up to be a lovely young woman.”

  Jim steered the conversation back. “Do you remember the family who lived there before the Daggs?”

  Terri nodded. “I remember Art Whilley. He was living alone at the old cabin when I married Doug. He was an odd man. A loner. Doug knew him well, and Ann, my mother-in-law, helped Art when he was a child. He was a very smart boy, she used to say. But the other boys at school bullied him terribly, and Ann was sure they abused him at home. But back then, there was very little anyone could do. Folks turned a blind eye to that sort of thing.”

  Jim nodded. “I know. We let people sort out their own business, didn’t we? Didn’t think we should interfere with families. Goodness knows how many kids suffered.”

  “The parents died before I moved in. Art . . . well, things were wild at that house. We called the place ‘Hell’s Half Acre’. The bikers who used to race at the gravel pit hung out there. The parties got out of hand. And one day, there was a fire. Doug rushed over, but he couldn’t save Art. The poor man died in the fire. Doug was cut up about it. I think he was Art’s only friend growing up.” Terri stopped and stood up. “I have some old photographs. I found them after Doug’s mum died. Let me get them, and I’ll make us some more coffee.”

  Andi’s phone buzzed. She checked her messages and saw one from Andrew Vega. She didn’t read it, just tucked the phone back in her pocket.

  Terri came back with three more cups of coffee and an envelope.

  “Ann, my mother-in-law, she never threw anything away. She was a schoolteacher in Coffin Cove and had hundreds of pictures of the children she taught. We had mountains of paperwork to go through when she died, but I never could bring myself to throw away photographs, especially if Doug was in them.”

  She pulled out some crumpled photos and handed them to Andi. “See, that’s Doug there, and beside him, that’s Art Whilley.” The photographs were faded but in colour, and Andi saw a well-built blonde man standing with his arms crossed, leaning on a red car. He was grinning broadly at the camera. On one side of him was a thin, pale man, with almost white hair, looking in the photographer’s direction, but not smiling, and on the other was a tall dark man with long hair. He was scowling. In the background was a younger man, laughing.

  Andi peered closer at the picture.

  “Is that Lee Dagg?” she asked, pointing at the scowling man.

  “No, that’s his older brother, Wayne,” Terri said. “The blonde one, that’s Art. And it’s his Mustang. And that’s Daniel Ellis in the background.”

  Andi saw Jim stiffen slightly. Probably because these were familiar names.

  “I didn’t know Lee had a brother,” Andi said, handing back the pictures.

  “Yes, Wayne owns the house. Lee and Nadine are just tenants, of sorts.”

  “I thought you said the Whilley family owned the house? What happened to Art?”

  Terri sounded sad. “Oh, it’s a tragic story. Art died in the fire, Wayne disappeared and Daniel died too.”

  “What?”

  “OK, you have to understand that Coffin Cove back in those days was, well, lawless. There was a real drug problem, and we were overrun by bikers. Even Doug was in a gang. I put a stop to that nonsense when we got married, but some of them were involved in some nasty stuff. The cops didn’t take much notice of the town, we didn’t have a detachment back then, and they were an hour away. So we were basically left to fend for ourselves.”

  “Art doesn’t look like gang material,” Andi remarked, picking up the picture again and looking closely.

  “Art was different. I mean really different. I told you Ann thought he was abused when he was little? His mother, Barb, was a monstrous woman, apparently. Ann couldn’t abide her, and my mother-in-law rarely had a bad word to say about anyone. She said Barb never fed Art properly, so Ann would call him in to eat with Doug. That’s how they became friends.”

  “What are you all talking about?”

  Andi looked up and saw a man, with his arms folded, much like the photograph, stood in the doorway. He was older, with faded tattoos on his forearms. And unlike the photograph, he wasn’t smiling.

  He nodded at Jim. “You be careful what you say,” he told Terri, “she’s a reporter.”

  Andi inwardly groaned. That damn article again.

  Doug sat down. Andi could see he was careful, making sure he dusted off his pants before sitting.

  “What have you got there? Old photographs?” he asked.

  “I was just telling Andi about Art Whilley,” Terri said.

  “Oh yes? What do you want to know about him? He’s been dead for years.”

  Andi and Jim exchanged a glance. Doug sounded defensive.

  Terri said, “I was just telling them what a dreadful childhood he had. And how you and Ann helped him.”

  Doug grunted. “His mother was a bitch. Art was neglected. He was dirty, and he didn’t get enough food. My mum would have him in for dinner, but we could hear Barbara screaming at him after.” He shuddered. “She was hideous. She never washed. She had this long greasy hair and she stank. She was enormous too. I remember one time, it was in the summer, she was sitting on the porch of their shitty cabin, and she wanted to go to the bathroom, but she couldn’t get up. So she screamed for Art to help her. But instead of going in the cabin, he helped her down the steps, and she just lifted her dirty old dress and just peed. Right there!” He shook his head. “Best thing that ever happened to him when she died. Massive heart attack. Never woke up.”

  “What about Art’s father?”

  “Fred Whilley? Fucking spineless, that’s what he was. Letting that bitch treat his son like that? It wasn’t right.”

  Terri frowned at Doug.

  “Sorry about the language, but who mistreats a kid like that? Anyway, he died shortly after his wife. Art was about sixteen or seventeen, I think. We were close friends for a bit — my dad passed away when I was young, so we had something in common. And Mum made sure he had food. He lived there for years on his own.”

  “He stayed in the house after his parents died?” Jim asked.

  “Yep. Nowhere else to go. And no other relatives. I think he was happy on his own,” Doug said. “Nobody worried much about that. He was nearly an adult, so . . .” He shrugged. “Art and I kinda drifted apart when he started hanging around with the Daggs.”

  “You didn’t get on with the Daggs?” Andi asked. She was intrigued by this story. Terri had fetched a plate of cookies and was busy brushing up crumbs as Doug munched on them. His hostility seemed to have faded.

  “Oh, I like Lee. He’s OK. Wayne, not so much. He was in a biker gang.”

  “You were too,” Terri interjected.

  “For the love of God, woman, it wasn’t a gang, we just rode together,” said Doug, exasperated.

  Andi laughed. She was starting to like this couple.

  “As I was saying, Wayne was in a biker gang — high up in the ranks —and they were into selling drugs. Everyone was into drugs back then. Everyone smoked weed and some took those magic mushrooms.”

  Doug paused. “I didn’t mind the odd puff, but I preferred a beer. Mind you, Coffin Cove, in those days, was full of hard drinkers. The pub back then, the Timberman’s, you remember, Jim? It wasn’t like it is now. No lounge or food or anything. Just about every week there was a fight. Either loggers against fishermen or bikers against everyone. There was a lot o
f booze and a lot of drugs, and everyone had a lot of money. Fishing was booming and so was forestry. You know, fishermen would come in and offload their catch and have rolls of notes on a Friday, and by Monday they’d be broke. But they didn’t care, they’d just go out and do it all again. It was nuts. And you know, there were always enough assholes around to take money off the idiots. And Wayne Dagg was one of ’em.”

  He shook his head in disgust. “He didn’t deal in weed. Wasn’t enough money in it for him. He preferred the hard stuff. They — him and Art — were dealing this new kind of drug. I guess you’d call it a ‘designer drug’ now. They sold tiny crystals stuck on little strips of cardboard. Some kind of acid — you know, the stuff that makes kids think they can fly and they jump out of windows?”

  “You mean LSD?” Andi guessed.

  “Something like that. Except it was supposed to be really pure. Give better trips and all that.” Doug snorted. “Everyone was raving about it. And Art was right in the middle of it. He was smart. He was always reading, and Mum used to give him books on chemistry and all kinds of stuff. He was always working on something in that old workshop at the back of Dagg’s place.”

  “You think he was making the drugs?” Andi asked.

  “I don’t know for sure. He was definitely growing mushrooms for a while. All I know is Wayne Dagg and the bikers were at that place all the time.”

  Doug shook his head and rubbed his face with his large hand.

  “I’m sure glad those days are over,” he said. “My poor old mum used to say that place was hell on earth for Art when he was a kid. But when the bikers were there, we called it Hell’s Half Acre.”

  “Can’t have been pleasant living next door to Hell,” Andi commented.

  “No, it wasn’t. Mum slept with a loaded shotgun next to her bed. And there were some nights we didn’t sleep at all.” Doug turned to Terri. “My lovely wife here didn’t know what she was in for when she moved in, did you, dear?”

  Terri gave a short laugh. “Wasn’t any worse than where I was living. My dad was one of those drunk loggers. Coffin Cove wasn’t a place for women back then. It was like the Wild West. Some women got tired of the Saturday night beatings and moved to Hope Island just across the bay. It was safer there — until the men got it into their heads to take a boat over and get their women back.”

  “Holy shit!” Andi was amazed. “What happened?”

  “All those women knew how to use a gun. There were several black eyes and a few women got quite a beating and, well, there were stories of worse — but the men backed off when one of them started firing. It was one of those rare occasions when the cops showed up. Not that they did anything. The cops were afraid of the bikers, mostly, and left them alone. But the women made a complaint, and I guess it forced the cops to follow it up. In the end they tried to charge one woman with disturbing the peace, but when she turned up in court with two black eyes, the judge dismissed the case.”

  Andi was so engrossed in Doug’s stories, she’d forgotten to take notes. She leaned forward and pulled her notebook from her purse.

  Doug put his hand over hers.

  “I don’t mind telling you these stories, but don’t you go putting our names on anything, now. I wouldn’t be happy about that.”

  His tone was friendly enough, but his face was hard.

  Jim said, “We’re not here to dredge up old stuff, Doug. And nobody’s name will be mentioned. We’re just trying to find out why Ricky Havers disappeared and why and how his remains turned up at that old chapel site.”

  Doug released Andi’s hand.

  “Can’t see what it has to do with Art Whilley,” he said. “He’s dead now, and Wayne Dagg disappeared. He’s probably dead now too. It’s been peaceful here since Lee moved in. And I’d like to keep it that way.”

  “So do you think it’s just coincidence that Ricky’s body was found on Dagg’s land?” Andi asked, opening her notebook with her pen poised, despite Doug’s narrowed eyes.

  Doug shrugged. “No idea. Why don’t you ask Dennis?”

  “Did Dennis Havers know Art Whilley?” Jim asked. Andi guessed he was thinking about the company documents Sandra had given her.

  Doug’s face lost any trace of friendliness. “Dennis hung around with Wayne Dagg,” he said curtly.

  Andi was scribbling. “Was Dennis a biker?” she asked.

  Doug laughed. “Dennis? No. He was just a bully. He kept all the dirty work at arm’s length. He and Wayne made sure they controlled Art. They even got rid of his only girlfriend.”

  “Who was that?” Andi asked.

  “Nadine Dagg. Well, Nadine Turner as she was then.”

  Jim and Andi stared at him.

  “To start with, she was Lee’s girl—” Doug began.

  “But she wasn’t . . . let’s say, the loyal type,” Terri interrupted.

  Doug nodded. “Back then she was a real looker. She was officially Lee’s girlfriend, but she was a real flirt.”

  “Hmm.” Terri glared at Doug.

  Doug shifted in his chair. “I only ever had eyes for you.”

  “Right.”

  “Ok, so what happened?” Andi said hastily, sensing the chilliness.

  “You’ve gotta know what Nadine’s like. Even when she was young, she had her eyes on the prize. She liked money.”

  “Still does,” agreed Terri.

  “And she didn’t care what she did to get it. Lee was an apprentice with his dad and was making a decent living. But Wayne and Art were in a different league. So Nadine starts hanging out with Art, and they hook up. Wayne warns him off because he’s looking out for his little brother. Eventually Nadine went back to Lee. I think it was all too wild, even for her. It was the beginning of the end of Art and Wayne’s . . . association. The fire was shortly after that.”

  “Can you tell us about the fire?” Jim asked.

  Doug sighed. “It was bad. We were used to fireworks going off at all hours, but we heard an explosion and our house shook. It felt like a propane tank went up. Anyway, I rushed outside, and there’s Art’s cabin on fire. There were bikers all over the place, trying to get out. I . . .” His voice faltered. “I saw Art inside. It was so hot, though. There was no way I could get to him. It burned all night long and the next morning there was nothing but a pile of ash.”

  “No fire trucks?” Andi asked.

  “No. Back then we were out of the fire protection zone. No fire trucks and no police.”

  The room was silent. It wasn’t a pleasant story.

  Andi frowned and sucked the end of her pen.

  “So how did Wayne come to own the house? Or the land, I suppose?”

  “Nobody knows,” Doug said, and he stood up and stretched. “Wayne must have persuaded Art to sign it over, or maybe he bought it, I dunno. But the title was registered in Wayne’s name. All I know is he wasn’t around the night of the fire and nobody’s seen him since. Lee never mentions him, and I don’t ask.”

  Andi hesitated for a minute and looked at Jim, wondering how much she could push this. “You know, I do have a couple of questions.”

  “Alright, then.” Doug stared at her.

  “Did Summer Thompson have anything to do with . . . well . . . any of this?”

  “Summer? You bet she did,” Doug answered immediately. “Summer was going with Dennis for a while, before she went out with Daniel Ellis.”

  Andi felt a rush of excitement. Her intuition hadn’t let her down.

  “She was Dennis’s girlfriend?” Andi repeated, just to make sure she had heard correctly.

  “For a while,” Doug said. “But then she started going out with Daniel Ellis.”

  Daniel Ellis. That name kept coming up.

  “And what happened to Daniel?” Andi asked.

  “Dead,” Doug said. “Fishing accident.”

  “Was he part of the biker gang?” Jim asked. “Or involved in the drugs?”

  Doug shook his head. “He was to start with. But Daniel wasn’t li
ke that. And when he and Summer got together, she didn’t want him to have anything to do with Dennis or drugs. Art didn’t like Summer at all. Daniel was nice to him, not like Wayne, but he never saw Daniel anymore after he took up with Summer.”

  Jim put down his coffee cup.

  “Thanks for talking to us,” he said and held out his hand. Doug took it and they shook.

  Andi was still making notes. She finished and went to hand the old photo of Art Whilley and Doug South back to Terri.

  “You keep it,” Terri said, “if it helps.”

  Andi smiled and put it in her purse, and then turned to Doug. “Just one more question, Doug. What did the bikers call themselves?”

  “The Knights,” he said.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Katie Dagg gritted her teeth, and when that didn’t work, she buried her head in a pillow. She was in her room with the door closed, but she could still hear them. It was just as bad as it had been during most of her childhood, when she’d sit in her bedroom while Lee and Nadine screamed at each other.

  She thought she might go downstairs. Maybe she could get them to sit down and talk civilly to each other? They didn’t belong together. They didn’t love each other. So why were they still in this house making each other miserable? It couldn’t be for her sake.

  Deep down, she knew it was all about money. Lee earned it — most of it — and Nadine spent it. It had always been that way. Nadine wanted things. If someone at work had a new truck, she wanted a new truck. If a couple went on holiday, she wanted two weeks all-inclusive somewhere. And if she didn’t get it, she screamed at Lee. Nadine had been obsessed with renovating the house when she saw Terri South’s elegant home and had racked up Lee’s credit card to the limit.

  As far as Katie could make out, this particular argument was about a dress. A belly dancing outfit, to be exact. She didn’t know how much it had cost, but the price tag had sent her normally reserved father completely over the edge.

  “For fuck’s sake, Nadine,” she heard him bellow, “thousands of dollars on a dress that makes you look like a common hooker! Where’s your self-respect? Or did you leave it in Dennis Havers’ bed?”

 

‹ Prev