Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  “Yeah, that’s me,” came a voice from inside. “Come on in.”

  Detective Sutton stepped to the side of the small landing to make way to open the door. He went inside and I followed.

  After he and Fred made acquaintances, the detective introduced me. “This is Hailey Sinclair. She’s helping me on this case.”

  He made it sound like I was there on official police business, and I wasn’t quite sure how to react. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Hunter,” I responded, sticking out my hand.

  Mr. Hunter, a man in his late fifties, wearing tan pants and a blue and white checked shirt, bobbed his thinning gray-haired head. “Likewise,” he said, shaking my hand. “Take a load off,” he said in a laidback manner, gesturing toward two gray metal chairs in front of his gray metal desk. He returned to his rolling chair, adjusting it closer to the desk.

  Behind Mr. Hunter were three metal file cabinets, two grays and one solid black. Above us was a ceiling fan turning at the speed of a helicopter. Hanging down a good two feet, it was much too low for the eight-foot ceiling height of the small trailer. Considering my five-two stature, the detective guided me into the far chair where I easily passed under the rotating apparatus. He on the other hand, had to duck under the spinning fan blades before dipping into the chair closest to the door. His dark brown hair blew around in his endeavor and fell across his forehead, giving him an even more attractive look.

  “This is quite an operation you have going here,” the detective said casually.

  “Thank you. I’ve worked my tail end off for it. The first barn is used for production. The second barn houses some of my more in-demand inventory to help speed up delivery. It also serves to store supplies bought on bulk and all my equipment. This place makes me a good living.” Mr. Hunter paused for a moment and held his gaze on the detective. “You know, I don’t think you’re here to buy a shed or hear about my business, so what can I do for you?”

  “Fair enough,” the detective acknowledged. “I’d like to find out as much as possible about one of your employees. Bill Sinclair.”

  “Bill? What about Bill? What’re you wantin' to know about him?”

  “Let’s begin with how long he’s worked for you.”

  “Oh, gosh, let me think.” He leaned back in his chair and went into thought mode. “Hell, I don’t know why I’m rackin’ my brain. I’ll just look at my employee records.” He reached into a side drawer and pulled out a black, rectangular book and thumbed through it until he reached the S’s. “Two years and three months, give or take a few days.” He closed the book and tossed it on the desk in front of him.

  “Is he a good worker?”

  “The best. I ain’t had no problems with him. Well now, I’ll have to take that back. A few weeks ago, Bill got into it with one of my other employees and Bill ended up throwing a punch at Larry Ellis. I wrote Bill up for causing the fight. Nothing really came of it though.”

  “Any idea what the fight was about?”

  “Yeah, Larry is part of the insiders. That’s what we call the guys that manufacture the kits. Bill’s a part of the outsiders. That’s the workers who go out and puts the portables together. One of the sheds was supposed to be on concrete. Bill started assembling the product, but the shed was going to hang over the pour. Bill thought Larry messed up the measurements. Bill was big time pissed off about it. Turned out Bill loaded up the wrong kit. Everything worked out in the long run.”

  “Any other problems with Bill?”

  “No, not that I know of. Bill mostly checks in with me in the morning and then he’s gone off for the day, puttin’ up the buildings. So, I ain’t around him too much. As far as I know he ain’t a problem. None of my customers have complained, I’ll put it that way.” He paused for a moment. “I will say this, though, Bill didn’t show up to work today and he ain’t called in either. Did he get himself into some sort of trouble?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out.” The detective was taking notes as he went along. He looked up from his pad. “Has Bill missed any other workdays recently?”

  “Yeah, now that you mention it, he called in this last Wednesday morning and said he and Doug went earlier in the morning over to the Richland property and did the pour because his wife was sick, and he needed to take her to his mother’s house down in Hillsboro.”

  The detective shot me a look. We both knew Bill hadn’t taken Kenna down his mother’s house. But at the same time, the information coincided with Irena and Belinda’s first story about Bill going down to Hillsboro to persuade his mother and sister to lie for him that Kenna was there because of pregnancy sickness. Now we knew he’d even went so far as clobbering his sister in the process to make sure they complied.

  The detective turned back to Mr. Hunter. “Have you ever met Bill’s wife.”

  “No, I haven’t.” Mr. Hunter’s gaze bounced between us. “Is Bill in trouble?”

  “We’re only investigating right now, Mr. Hunter,” the detective explained. “Who all works on the crew with Bill?”

  “Well, now, what you need to understand is that these portable buildings are mostly put together right here on the premises. It’s only a two-man operation once they leave the plant. I have three, two-person teams that go out and erect the sheds. Bill was previously working with Tom Johnson. But about six months ago, Tom got a better job at Hal’s Auto workin’ as a mechanic. Hal’s good at that sort of thing. Anyway, once Tom left, I paired Doug Reynolds with Bill. They’re about the same age and they get along well enough. So, it seemed a good match. I ain’t had no complaints.”

  “Do you have someone working here that goes by the name of Dozer?”

  He nodded. “Dozer is the same person as Doug Reynolds. Bill gave him that nickname because he can level the ground in a New York minute. That man is crazy good on a skid steer and a backhoe. He’s damned good on a forklift too. He’s also good at cementin’. If someone upgrades from the buildings being placed up on blocks to a solid foundation, Doug’s my man. He knows all about settin’ forms and pourin’ and levelin’ concrete.”

  “What can you tell me about Doug’s personal life?”

  “You know, it ain’t like I socialize with anyone. Pretty much all I know about Doug is that he ain’t married. Ain’t got no kids. And he’s heavy into wrestling. I think he got Bill interested in wrestling, too.”

  “Do you have Doug’s phone number and an emergency contact listed in your records?”

  “Why I sure do. I got phone numbers for all my employees, along with emergency contacts. You can never tell when someone might get hurt on the job and you need to get in touch with someone.” He flipped through his black book again, first giving Doug’s number, then the emergency contact info. “Here we go. It’s Arlon and Daisy Reynolds. They’re his parents, according to my records.”

  The detective made notes and then went through several more questions, then he said, “Thank you for the information and I appreciate your cooperation. Now, I’d like to speak with Doug Reynolds, as well as Larry Ellis.”

  “Well, it ain’t no problem for you to speak to Larry. But Doug called in – that would’ve been the same day Bill had to deal with his sick wife – and said some family member was possibly dying up in Iowa … or was it in Ohio? I can’t recall which right now. Anyway, Doug asked to take off work for a few days to go up there. It was fine with me, considering the slab needed to cure before erecting the building on it anyway. But seeing as you two are here, I’m startin’ to smell a rat, especially considering Bill ain’t here at work today and he ain’t answerin’ his phone.”

  “Are you positive it was Doug who called in and asked for time off?”

  “Well, he said he was Doug. I didn’t have no reason to believe it wasn’t Doug … and he ain’t here at work.”

  “You didn’t recognize his voice on the phone?”

  “No, when Doug called, it was before the crack of dawn, and I was sound asleep. He said he’d managed an early morning flig
ht out and needed a few days off. According to him, the slab was already poured, and he was getting ready to leave for the airport.”

  “What time did he call?” the detective probed.

  Mr. Hunter scratched his head, going into thought mode. “Oh gosh, like I said, it was early. I’m positive it was still dark out. It might’ve been around four or four-thirty, maybe even earlier. I’m not sure. After we hung up, I went back to sleep and didn’t wake back up until my alarm went off at six.”

  “How did they do the pour in the dark?” the detective posed.

  “They used the rodeo arena lights to do the pour. Doug wanted it to be curing while he was out of town.”

  “But you don’t know for certain if it was Doug who phoned you?”

  “No, I can’t rightly say for sure. It was a man’s voice, who said he was Doug. And like I say, Doug ain’t here.”

  “What’s the Richland property?” Detective Sutton asked, switching topics.

  “That’s the six-hundred-plus-acre farm a little further south of here. Seth Richland is huge into rodeoing. He has an arena set up down there. Lights all around the place so he can practice rope’n after dark. He needed a shed for some of his tackle and other equipment. That’s what the boys were workin’ on. We’re doin’ the Behemoth model for him. It’s our biggest shed, twenty by thirty feet, and Mr. Richland wanted it on concrete. I called down there to make sure Doug and Bill had, in fact, done the pour. Sure enough, Seth said they had. So, there wouldn’t be nothing to complain about.”

  “I’m going to need Mr. Richland’s address and phone number,” the detective said matter-of-factly. But I could tell his thoughts had kicked into high gear.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Hailey

  After wrapping up with Fred Hunter, the detective spoke briefly with the other workers, and particularly with Larry Ellis. No one had any additional information, and Larry only mouthed off about Bill losing his cool. But considering we already knew Bill had an anger management problem, Mr. Ellis had little to offer.

  Upon leaving Fred’s Sheds, we turned south and worked our way over to Seth Richland’s estate. The sprawling acreage extended over rolling hills and deep green valleys, all encompassed within a white-painted, pipe fence. Several large tanks provided water to the herds of cattle and teams of horses. Crushed gravel crackled underneath the tires as we drove to the side of a large, two-story Spanish-styled home and came to a stop.

  “Wait in the truck,” Detective Sutton requested.

  “Okay,” I agreed, watching him work his way down a bricked path and up to a heavily carved, arched, black-painted door.

  Not long after he rang the doorbell, a woman I barely caught a glimpse of came to the door. They spoke a moment or two and then she closed the door and he returned to the truck.

  “Mr. Richland won’t be home until later tonight. His wife said we could drive down to the arena and look at the pad.”

  Following a narrow path alongside the house, Detective Sutton eased the truck down approximately one-quarter of a mile until we came to an oval-shaped, fenced-in area, containing nothing but chewed up dirt caused by the hooves of horses and calves. The arena had bleachers on one side and a huge wooden barn on the other.

  We disembarked the truck and walked toward the stable where the switches were for turning on the outside lights. Inside, two stalls were occupied by horses. They got excited when we came in and began prancing around in their stalls. While the detective threw on the outside lights, stuck his head outside and looked around, then flipped them off, I petted both horses. Then we worked our way down to the end and went out the back side. We tromped through the grass by a windmill and worked our way over to the newly poured cement pad. The structure hadn’t been erected yet, but two stacks of pre-assembled material had been offloaded on one side. Construction was scheduled to begin in the morning, according to Mr. Hunter.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked Detective Sutton. I had already formulated my theories but was curious to see if he was considering the same ideas.

  “Well, from where we’re standing, you can’t see the house because of that huge barn. There’s also quite a distance between here and the house, not to mention several large oak trees. I’m thinking these overhead lights could be turned on without attracting attention to the homeowners, especially if someone were here in the middle of the night when everyone was fast asleep. Unless I’m way off base, I’d bet Bill conned his good friend, Dozer, into digging a hole with that backhoe,” the detective gestured to a nearby piece of equipment, “and then he put Kenna in there. Then they cemented her up and left before the rooster crowed. That’s what I’m thinking.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’m thinking the same thing. Do you think the hole contains Dozer, too?”

  “That’s a reasonable assumption, considering Dozer’s missed several days of work over a supposed family illness. We need to pay a visit to his parents and see if they can shed any light on the subject.”

  After leaving the Richland’s estate, the detective drove over to Arlon and Daisy Reynolds’ house, where Dozer’s parents lived. He pulled into the driveway of their very modest, brick home located at the south edge of Benbrook.

  “Wait in the truck,” he requested of me once again and I complied.

  Once he was invited inside, he glanced back at me and then crossed over the threshold, leaving me to wait a long time. As the minutes dragged on, I worried it was getting late, so I called my mom.

  “Hey, it’s me. I’m still out and about.”

  “How long are you going to be? It’s getting near Adam’s bedtime.”

  “I don’t know. At least another hour.” My estimate provided another thirty minutes for the detective with the family. Additionally, we were a good twenty minutes away from the office where I still needed to pick up my car. And then there was the commute over to my parents’ house.

  “Good Lord, Hailey. What are you doing?” my mother asked with a judgmental tone in her voice.

  An answer refused to quickly come forth, causing a long moment of dead silence in the phone line. “Umm, I’ve been with that detective, making sure Bill stays in jail. We’ve been going over everything that happened with Kenna. He thinks she’s dead after all.”

  “Well, good job, I guess. That awful man needs to stay in jail. Do you want me to keep Adam overnight?”

  “I don’t know. If it’s going to be much longer, then yes. I’ll give you a call and let you know.”

  Five minutes later, the detective was back in the truck. “Well, they generally only touch base with Doug about once a week, so they hadn’t really noticed he was missing. After I told them about Bill and Kenna and what I suspected, they tried calling Doug’s number and couldn’t reach him. I told them to keep trying. Naturally, they’re both worried sick.” He shook his head and sighed deeply. “I hate this part of my job.”

  “I can imagine,” I sympathized, watching as he physically slumped against the steering wheel, clearly upset with having to be the bearer of possible bad news. “Well, maybe he’s okay and they can get in touch with him,” I said in a hopeful tone to make him feel better, although I suspicioned that Doug might be cemented next to Kenna.

  “Yeah, I hope so,” he said, straightening himself and leaning back in the seat. He started the engine, backed the truck out of their driveway and headed toward Fort Worth. “Sorry to keep you out so late. I hope this hasn’t caused a problem with your parents.”

  “No, I called my mom a few minutes ago and told her I was running late. Actually, I need to call her back.” After selecting her from my favorites, the phone began ringing. “Hey, I’m about thirty minutes out so I’ll pick Adam up.”

  “Okay, we’ll see you in a few.”

  Detective Sutton scrunched up his face. “You’re not back in the apartment, are you? I thought you were staying with your parents?”

  “No, I’m back home. Ryan and I have reconciled.”

  He stared straight ahead a
nd gripped the heck out of the steering wheel. “I thought you weren’t going to put up with a cheater. Weren’t you upset about him catting around and taking large sums of money from the ATM? What happened to getting a divorce?”

  “It turned out he was set up.” I explained about the likely roofie, and the videos Ryan had collected from Bottles Up Distillery and Shannon Lowry’s apartment manager. “The money was to pay for the recordings,” I added. “So, you see, he didn’t cheat on me after all.”

  He kept his focus on the road and remained quiet. “Well, congratulations,” he said after a long while.

  “You don’t sound very happy for me,” I couldn’t help noticing.

  “I am happy for you. It’s a good thing you’re back with your husband, especially considering you have a child together.” He sighed. “I guess I’m a little embarrassed right now. You see, I thought maybe you and I might be connecting. That’s why I agreed for you to come along with me.”

  “Oh,” I muttered. The idea had never occurred to me, and in response my mouth dropped open. It suddenly occurred to me that I had invited myself to Hillsboro, as well as today’s adventure. “I didn’t lead you on, did I?”

  “No, no, not at all,” he insisted. “Well, you did ask me if I were married, and you had filed for a divorce. I suppose I read something into that. I apologize for my misinterpretation.”

  “You said you were married once but wouldn’t ever be again.”

  “Well, I wasn’t asking you to marry me,” he pointed out. “I just thought maybe we were getting to know each other.” He waited a beat. “It’s been five years since I’ve been in a meaningful relationship. Since then, I haven’t even gone on a date. I’d completely sworn off women. But lately, I’ve been feeling lonelier than usual. I enjoyed our trip to Hillsboro, and I’ve enjoyed being with you today.” He sighed. “It felt good to share my time with you.” He swallowed. “It was only my own imagination. You did nothing wrong.”

  “I’m sorry. If it weren’t for Ryan, I would be interested. But you see, I love him … and Adam loves him. We’re good together.” He looked so hurt that I could hardly stand it. “You’ll find your perfect someone. She’s out there for you. I have a few single friends. Would you like for me to introduce you?”