Fifteen Coffins

by Tony J. Forder

  Sydney checked her wristwatch. It was the gold piece her father had bought her when she turned twenty-one. Another snapshot from the past to remind her of the man she had lost. Since his death she had steeled herself for such encounters, but each of them so far had taken a bite out of her resolve. It was no more than a thirty minute drive to Pinecrest Lake, and with the appointment made with perhaps the last person to have spoken with her father, Sydney buried herself in his work until it was time to head up the 108.

  High in the Sierra Nevada’s, in the heart of the Stanislaus National Forest, Pinecrest Lake sat in what was once a vast meadow surrounded by tall, granite outcroppings. With summer officially over, the swimming and boating and sunbathing enthusiasts were largely absent, but experience had taught Sydney that fall was probably the best time of year to visit the area.

  She’d travelled up to Pinecrest many times over the years. Emerging from the parking lot beneath the rich canopy of shade and shelter provided by numerous tall white fir, cedar and sugar pine trees standing guard, was always her favourite moment. When she laid eyes on the water itself and the mountain peaks rising all around it, the sight never failed to raise hairs on the back of her neck. It was no different this time. The lake was basking in the sweltering Indian summer, while the forest took on the golden colours of the season and painted the glimmering reflections on the water from a different palette. The view this afforded was enough to take her breath away.

  The snack bar stood away to her left. As she mounted the steps leading up towards it, Sydney spotted a woman moving anxiously from foot to foot in the shadow of a red awning. The two women smiled at each other and politely shook hands. Kasper appeared closer to fifty than forty if the lines on her face and neck were anything to go by, but she was hard-muscled and brown as a nut. Her grip was firm, her manner open and easy going. They each ordered and paid for their food at one window, then shuffled a few feet across to their left to wait for their ticket numbers to be called out.

  It wasn’t until they were seated with their snacks that Sydney broached the subject they were there to discuss.

  ‘Your name and file is the only one I can’t put a case number to,’ Sydney explained. She broke a piece of fried chicken apart, blew on a chunk and popped it into her mouth. It was as delicious as she remembered. ‘But speaking to you was the very last thing my father did as an investigator, so I thought I would follow up on it and try to find out more about how he seemed that evening. He liked to pull at every thread, and I guess I kind of inherited that trait from him.’

  Kasper swallowed down a couple of thick fries before nodding. ‘I can understand why, Sydney.’ The two women had already agreed on a first name basis for their conversation. ‘But I have to say, I don’t think your father was all that interested in what we discussed. He seemed fine in himself, I have to say. We’d only just met, but he was cheerful and professional. But when he left, promising to call within a day or so, I wasn’t entirely convinced that he was going to take on the case.’

  Kasper revealed that she had been looking at ways of using her husband’s many infidelities to apply leverage against him in their ongoing divorce proceedings.

  ‘What had your lawyer told you about that?’ Sydney asked, already realising this was not the kind of case her father enjoyed investigating.

  ‘That was your daddy’s first question, too. My lawyer is not exactly proactive. It feels to me like he prefers to wait for things to happen so as he can react to them. He never specifically advised me to progress with that line, but neither did he suggest I ought not to.’

  ‘So your lawyer definitely did not have his own investigator looking into it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Did you ask him why?’

  ‘I’m afraid I didn’t. I thought I would take care of it myself. I assumed it would be less expensive, too, if I’m being perfectly honest with you. Lawyers sure know how to jack up their prices.’

  Sydney nodded, satisfied with the explanation. ‘Tell me something about the divorce and the reasons for it.’

  Kasper took her through it. Her husband had, during the ten years of their marriage, turned into a deadbeat who liked to drink, and then enjoyed slapping her around when he was good and drunk. Over the course of their decade together, he had become a paranoid control freak, trying to keep her close when she was not working one of her two jobs, and constantly insisting she must be sleeping around behind his back.

  ‘Yet you believe he is the one having affairs,’ Sydney said, attempting to see what her father had seen.

  ‘Not affairs.’ Kasper shook her head, her expression pained but at the same time resigned. ‘Not as such. Gerry likes to skip around on his drinking nights, and there are always one-night stands to be had in these parts if you look hard enough for them.’

  ‘And you know this how, Sonia?’

  ‘He doesn’t try real hard to keep it a secret. Twain Harte ain’t a small town, but it ain’t a big one, neither. Word gets around. I heard it through other people. People who had the best of intentions when they told me.’

  ‘I take it the divorce proceedings so far have not been harmonious.’

  ‘No, they have not. Acrimonious would be the right choice of word. He is still trying to hit back at me with any dirt he can find. Still looking for men I may have been sleeping with.’

  ‘I hate to ask this,’ Sydney said. ‘But have there been any?’

  Kasper shook her head again. ‘Not a one. I don’t think too highly of myself these days, Sydney. I refuse to put myself out there only to be shot down, and nobody within twenty miles of my home town is going to come sniffing around with Gerry still in the picture.’

  Sydney worked it through. It was possible for such investigations to become inflammatory, even volatile and physical. Her father had been no coward, but tackling someone like Gerry Kasper would have given him pause. She liked to think he would have made the right decision. Had he been granted the time in which to do so.

  ‘Have you engaged another investigator since my father was… was killed?’ she asked the woman.

  ‘Not so far. Tell the truth, I feel a bit lost and out of my depth. Your father was the only one who truly listened when I spoke about it.’

  ‘Do you still want to go ahead?’

  The woman’s face became creased as she considered. ‘I think so.’

  Reaching a snap decision, Sydney spoke up. ‘Sonia, I have a couple of things to take care of while I’m up here. I’m actually completing my father’s open cases at the same time as shutting down the business. When I’m done with that, which should be within the next week to ten days, I’d be happy to see this through for you if you want me to.’

  Bright sunshine glinted off Kasper’s hair as it bobbed. ‘Yes. Yes, I would like that. Thank you, Sydney. But I have to ask… why would you bother?’

  ‘To finish the very last thing my father started.’

  Sydney smiled and patted the woman’s hand. She thought about Kasper’s husband and imagined him to be the archetypal bully and wife beater; the kind of man who had a big mouth, quick fists, but a slow mind. She liked the idea of taking the bastard down.

  Then a thought struck her. It made little sense, but enough to catch her imagination. She glanced up at Kasper and said, ‘Sonia, what does your husband do for a living?’

  ‘He drives a tow truck.’

  Sydney swallowed, her mouth instantly dry. She took a sip of her bottled water. ‘This his own business?’

  ‘No. He works for a friend. Gerry and Ralph have been close since they were kids together.’

  ‘Does Gerry own his own vehicle as well?’

  ‘Yup. He has a flatbed truck. It’s not been running for a few months, though. Engine problems, and Gerry has been waiting for the right replacement parts to come in cheap. Why d’you ask?’

  ‘No reason. Just collecting background information. If I’m going to look into your husband, I need to know more about him.’

  Which
was not entirely true. Sydney was imagining something. She was imagining Gerry Kasper sitting drunk and bullish outside what was now his wife’s home. Imagining him spotting Sidney Merlot leaving the house and climbing into his SUV. Imagining Kasper jumping to the wrong conclusion and believing the man he had seen leaving Sonia’s house had only moments earlier stepped from her bed back into his smart clothes. Imagining the irate husband setting off in erratic pursuit, and on a quiet stretch of road with tight curves heading into Moon Falls, losing control of himself.

  The man’s own vehicle was not in use. But that did leave a tow truck, a vehicle big enough and heavy enough to cause all kinds of damage to a small SUV and its driver.

  Eleven

  A trip to Baskin Robbins had always been high on Sydney’s list of treats when she was a kid. She remembered with great affection her excitement when the store on Mono Way in Sonora first opened its doors. She was eleven or twelve at the time, and right throughout her teens and on into adulthood she had enjoyed the varied frozen delights they served up. In her mid-thirties, the dessert was a guilty pleasure in her battle against weight gain. But on her drive back from Pinecrest, Sydney decided she owed herself one.

  Though her father had been gone for a couple of weeks, when she walked into the ice-cream parlour, he was occupying every spare seat. Together they had visited BR across a long period of time, and he was as much a part of the treat as he had ever been. It was funny how the mind played tricks like that. But he was in her thoughts, of course. And his presence was always welcome.

  Peanut butter and chocolate was her current favourite flavour, and Sydney sat looking idly out at the parking lot while she devoured two full scoops from a tub. The tiny plastic spoon eked out the experience, but it was hard to savour each mouthful with her mind filled to overflowing. The thought that she had potentially already identified the person whose vehicle shunted her father’s SUV off the road, caused her throat to constrict and the muscles in her stomach to pulse. It was a reaction to the adrenaline pumping through her system, and she was having difficulty in containing those deep-rooted feelings.

  Before waving goodbye to Sonia Kasper, Sydney had made a note of the more important details relating to the woman’s husband, as well as asking Kasper to text her a recent photo of the man. The information she had included the name of Gerry’s employer, plus the address at which he was currently staying in Jamestown. Sydney’s immediate train of thought wondered if the damage caused by the collision had since been repaired, or if Kasper was still driving his two-ton truck around with telltale signs of what he had done chewed out of its bodywork.

  A more likely scenario was that Kasper, perhaps together with his employer friend, Ralph, had rectified any damage and given the cab a fresh coat of paint. It was hard to imagine the man leaving himself open to suspicion in such an obvious way by having evidence in full view of anyone who cared to take an interest. But she’d had to ask herself how thorough a job had been done on it. News of her father’s death would surely have sent a spark of fear coursing through Kasper’s veins, perhaps forcing him to carry out a temporary cover-up. If she managed to get a close look, then even her untrained eyes were capable of spotting any residual damage.

  If the man has anything to do with it at all. You’re reaching, and stretching so far you’re in danger of toppling over the edge.

  The thought rattled through her head, causing Sydney to wince. A headache was forming in the centre of her forehead, and she didn’t know if it was due to stress or the coldness of her dessert. Rationally, she was right to doubt herself. Gerry Kasper was almost certainly innocent of anything other than being an asshole to his wife. It was only his thuggish nature as described by Sonia that caused Sydney to think of him in such a negative light in the first place. And no thought, not even the best of them, was as substantial as cold, hard facts.

  Still absent-mindedly scooping the melting ice cream into her mouth, Sydney’s thoughts moved across to her earlier disagreement with Benton Lowe. Sheriff or not, he had no right to talk down to her the way he had. It was not only disrespectful, it was also hurtful. Their intimate relationship had been little more than a brief beat in her life, but the resulting friendship had endured long afterwards. It seemed as if she had lost that friend, perhaps forever. Sydney did not like the feeling. Not at all.

  As her mind strayed back to him, she couldn’t help but ask herself if he was also more right than wrong. Despite his obvious disinclination to hear more about Dexter Muller’s theory, the right thing for her to have done at that point would have been to offer to discuss it again in a more intimate setting, over a beer, and in a calm and rational manner. Instead of that she had approached the FBI, perhaps suggesting to Benton that in addition to taking the girl out of Moon Falls, you could also take Moon Falls out of the girl.

  The thought irritated Sydney. Enough to add a counter-balance to the argument raging internally. Benton had acted like an asshole from the moment she had mentioned Muller. So what if she had not subsequently covered herself in glory? That idiot had started it.

  With the spell provided by her positive mood broken, Sydney tossed her cup with a whole half scoop left inside. The heat hit her like a physical blow as she stepped outside the chilled store. In the truck she let the loud and wheezy air-con blast out for a few minutes, while her thoughts struggled to attain a sharper focus. There was a lot going on in her life. Perhaps too much. What she had to do was start approaching the evidence as if she were working one of her own cases. That clarity of thought brought to mind something the high school teacher, Rebecca Wade, had told her.

  Sydney checked her note book, then pulled out her cell and thumbed in a number. It rang out to the point where she thought an answering service would cut in, before being answered curtly.

  ‘Duncan Baxter speaking.’

  ‘Hello, Mr Baxter. My name is Sydney Merlot. Rebecca Wade gave me your name and contact details. I understand you were colleagues together at Moon Falls High.’

  ‘We were. For a while. What can I do for you, Ms Merlot?’

  ‘I was wondering if you would answer a few questions, sir.’

  ‘Are you a journalist, Ms Merlot?’ the man asked testily. His accompanying sigh told Sydney he thought his time was being wasted.

  ‘No, sir. I’m not.’

  ‘Would you tell me if you were?’

  ‘I would. But again, I’m not. Mr Baxter, I am currently on sabbatical from my position as a Special Agent with the FBI. I’m acting as an investigator for my late father’s company. Would it be possible for me to drop by to have a few words with you, sir?’

  ‘Possible, but not acceptable to me. I don’t like entertaining visitors. Ask your questions. I’ll answer them if I have a mind to.’

  Sydney took a breath. Wade had told her the man would not be easy work, and it seems she had understated her case. Nonetheless, if Baxter was willing to share his opinions, it was starting to sound as if they would be worth listening to.

  ‘Then I’ll get right to them, sir,’ she said, composing herself. ‘Rebecca informed me you were a person who had no trouble in expressing himself, and that you did so about your students on numerous occasions. She didn’t intend it as a slight, Mr Baxter. Rebecca Wade considered you to be both brave and redoubtable.’

  ‘Is there a question coming any time soon?’

  Sydney bit down on a retort. Instead, she turned her voice to honey. ‘Sir, Rebecca Wade was of the opinion that among its student ranks, Moon Falls High had a fair number of young men who were, shall we say, less than kind. Cruel, perhaps. Even psychotic.’

  ‘And I would be the first to agree with her.’

  ‘Mrs Wade intimated as much. As a current employee of the school, Rebecca declined to share those names with me. Pressure brought to bear from above, as I’m sure you understand. She believed you’d be willing to, though, given you no longer work there or in education at all.’

  ‘I retired early, and I’m grateful for it. Bec
cy was correct in thinking I would be willing to share my views with you, Ms Merlot. But it’s not a one-way transaction. Tell me why you want to know.’

  Due to the sensitive nature of the investigation, Sydney had considered inventing a feasible story and feeding it to Baxter if he asked. Now that they were talking, she got a sense that he had his bullshitometer constantly stuck on its highest setting. If he suspected she was lying to him, he would end the call without a word. That was what she would do in his shoes.

  ‘Sir, in terms of who was responsible for the shooting at the school, there is an alternative theory being considered.’

  ‘Not by the police or sheriff’s office there ain’t. Otherwise I’d be talking to them instead of you.’

  ‘You’re absolutely right about that. It was Dexter Muller who offered up the notion. He believes his son to be innocent. Obviously he has a vested interest, but if his take on how it went down is true, then somebody else killed those youngsters that day, Mr Baxter. I was wondering if you would be able to shed some light on who that individual might be.’

  After a moment’s pause, Baxter said, ‘I can think of a few young men who lacked empathy, were shallow and irresponsible, prone to outbursts of violence, and displayed narcissistic tendencies. Bad seeds who will end up becoming bad men. But only three come to mind who also had the capability to go on and gun down their fellow students.’

  Baxter’s voice was deep and gravelly, its distinct tone mesmerising. Sydney had no doubt that he had once held the attention of those students in his class. ‘And you would be willing to name them?’

  ‘I would. Not that it’ll take you much further, Ms Merlot.’

  ‘And why do you say that, sir?’

  ‘Their names are Dylan Cole, Mitchell Copping, and Luke DeVeer. Cole is the son of a well-respected sergeant with the Sonora police department. Copping is from deeply rural stock with a questionable lineage and a fascination with guns bordering on the obsessive. The DeVeer kid is a self-entitled prick from a self-entitled family whose name reaches far and wide in these parts.’