Fifteen Coffins

by Tony J. Forder

  Sydney pulled out of the slot she was currently occupying and drove closer to the tow truck, pulling up several spaces further along the same line. She then slipped out of her seat and walked briskly down the row. The towing vehicle was parked nose in, so she had to sidle along its entire length to emerge at its front end. Drawing in a deep breath, Sydney stepped forward, turned and studied the cab.

  While it did not appear to have been involved in a recent shunt, neither was it in the pristine condition she would have expected if repairs and a respray had been carried out. The chrome fender and radiator grille were scarred with an array of minor dents, abrasions and scuffs she assumed a vehicle of its kind would normally pick up during the course of its daily use.

  Sydney crouched down, removed her sunglasses and squinted at the various nicks and scratches, examining the dents more closely. What exactly would it take for this truck to send a lighter vehicle careering off the road? Perhaps no more than a nudge if applied at the right moment in precisely the right location of the other vehicle.

  Many US police departments practised what they called a Pursuit Intervention Technique, a manoeuvre resulting in a vehicle being nudged so accurately it abruptly turned sideways, creating a fishtail effect impossible for the driver to control. Given the right circumstances and location, such an action would more than likely send a vehicle spinning off the road. It was also possible that the instigating vehicle had emerged from the collision relatively undamaged, while leaving behind a trail of debris from the struck car.

  Is that what happened here? If so, was Gerry Kasper capable of carrying out the kind of manoeuvre highway patrol and police pursuit vehicles trained extensively for?

  Then she remembered what the accident investigator had told her: there was every indication that her father’s vehicle had been rammed a second time before losing its grip on the road surface. Two collisions, two impacts of metal on metal, yet here she was seeing no evidence of it. Lost in the train of thought, Sydney failed to notice the flicker of movement as a shadow filled the narrow passage alongside the truck.

  ‘Help you?’

  Startled by the voice, Sydney gasped and jerked upright. There, standing at the far end of the truck, was its driver.

  Eighteen

  Sydney’s heart skipped several beats and panic started to form a heavy ball of fear in the centre of her stomach. Her chest fluttered as it rose and fell in rapid succession. She had allowed her mind to wander and guard to drop, leaving the way open for Gerry Kasper to catch her by surprise. She had to think quickly if she was going to prevent him from suspecting her true motives. She swallowed a couple of times, and immediately recalled advice that the best lies always contained a kernel of truth.

  ‘You caught me,’ Sydney said, raising her hands before slapping them against her thighs.

  ‘Yeah, I can see that,’ he said. His voice was deep, harshened by cigarettes if his nicotine-stained fingers and teeth were anything to go by. ‘But doing what, exactly?’

  Kasper moved a handful of steps closer as he spoke, eyes screwed up and overflowing with suspicion. He was a hefty man, but though not overly large he nonetheless filled the gap between the trucks. He wore blue overalls tarnished by spots of grease, oil and dirt, the crew neck of a green T-shirt visible around his throat. Steel-cap boots caught Sydney’s attention more than she would have liked. Kasper’s long, lean face was partially obscured by a dense growth which was more beard than stubble, and his collar-length hair was curled up at the ends and in need of a wash.

  Sydney disliked him on sight.

  Still affected by Kasper having caught her completely unawares, hot blood thrummed in Sydney’s temples. Yet her reaction was instinctive. ‘No offence intended, but my husband’s car got dinged by a truck over at Walmart a couple of days back. Another driver said he saw what he thought was a royal blue tow truck graze against our car out in the parking lot. I stopped to get some gas a few moments ago, saw the truck sitting over here, and had to take a look. I’m sorry, but I couldn’t drive off again without first checking it out.’

  Kasper nodded. ‘I see. Yeah, sure, I get it. But you found nothing, right? And I know this because I’m the only one who drives this truck, and I have never taken it to the mall over on Sanguinetti.’

  Sydney swept her hand towards the front of the cab. ‘I can see there are no paint marks or anything, and my husband’s car was scratched real deep.’

  ‘Uh-huh. What colour?’

  ‘Blue just like I said. Royal blue.’

  ‘No, I meant your husband’s car. What colour is it?’

  ‘Oh, sorry. My mistake. It’s a kind of claret. And I can see no… trace of it here.’ Sydney corrected herself midway through, ensuring she did not refer to the potential exchange of paintwork as “transfer”. That would have come across as too formal and specific. The kind of cop speak any watcher of TV shows would understand.

  By this time, Kasper had joined Sydney, the pair standing side by side looking down at the dull chrome. She was acutely aware of his presence inside her personal space, and wondered if the man was genuinely trying to see things from her perspective, or if he was attempting to use his greater stature to intimidate.

  After a moment, his intense gaze not straying from the truck, the man folded his arms and said, ‘Do I look the type to you?’

  Sydney turned her head. ‘The type?’

  ‘Yeah. The kind of man who would damage another man’s car and then drive away without reporting it?’

  ‘Well… no. But then, I never saw you beforehand in order to make that kind of judgement call. I spotted the truck and wondered about it, that’s all. For which I have apologised. Clearly neither you nor your truck was responsible for damaging the car, so I’ll have to carry on keeping an eye out.’

  Kasper nodded. ‘Not sure if it will do you any good.’

  ‘Oh, why do you say that?’

  ‘Only that in my line of work you get to know the competition real well. And off the top of my head, I have to say I can’t think of another royal blue tow truck anywhere near these parts.’

  Sydney calmed herself. She thought it had been smart to admit to checking out the truck for signs of damage, but ought to have anticipated Kasper’s awareness of other towing services and salvage yards. It was also unsettling having him speak without addressing her directly. More so that he appeared to be looking around to see if anyone else was close by. It was time to back off.

  ‘I suppose it’s always possible they were passing through. Ah well, nothing lost but a few minutes of my time.’ Sydney smiled and offered a self-deprecating laugh.

  He shrugged. ‘I guess. I was in the diner across the way there. Only came back for my cellphone. Left it on charge in the cab. Otherwise I would have missed you altogether.’

  And wouldn’t that have been a crying shame?, Sydney thought. ‘I’m glad you did. If you’d come back a few minutes later and spotted me walking away from your truck, you’d be wondering what on earth was going on.’

  ‘I would at that.’ Kasper said. He had an economical way of speaking that unnerved Sydney, his lips barely moving. ‘Curious enough to note down your licence tag as you drove off, even to have it run by the local police department.’

  This was the point at which Sydney would usually have confronted the man. The implication of his words and the tone used when speaking was that of a threat, suggesting he was considering making good on it. In this specific situation, she had to play the role of a woman out and about minding her own business who happened upon a truck matching the description of one that had bumped against her husband’s car. That woman was unlikely to have picked up on the implied warning, the change in demeanour, nor the challenging look in the truck driver’s eyes as he turned to face her for the first time.

  So instead of reacting forcibly, she smiled at him and gave a casual nod. ‘Well, I have to be going. Sorry for suspecting you of wrongdoing, but if you think about it, I was checking out the truck rather than y
ou.’

  ‘Uh-huh.’ He rubbed a hand across his chin, the hint of a smile on his lips. ‘You sure about that? You sure we’re done here?’

  ‘Of course. What else would there be?’ Sydney swallowed hard.

  The grin blossomed as he continued to rake his stubble. ‘Maybe nothing. But I heard about a certain type of woman who likes to hang around these truck stops. They tend to be on the lookout for something their husbands can’t give them.’

  ‘Is that so? Such as?’

  ‘Oh, you know. A bit of rough. Little bit of excitement. Some blue collar… companionship rather than starched and stuffy white collar, if you catch my drift. I’m just saying, if you’re that kind of woman, I got time if you want to join me in the back of my cab.’

  Sydney couldn’t decide if she wanted to laugh in his face or punch it. It was so hard to play the role of the meek and mild, a woman caught like an animal in this man’s headlights. She wondered what her role was in his sick fantasy. A hooker, or a slut? Either way, he was too close for her liking, and she didn’t want the situation to get out of hand.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, keeping her voice low but firm. ‘I think you have me mistaken for someone else entirely. I told you my reason for being here. I’ve also apologised for getting it completely wrong. I intended no offence, and I believe it’s time for me to leave.’

  Sydney started to walk away. As she took her first step, she felt a hand on her upper arm. His fingers and palm were rough on her bare flesh, and the grip was firm. Every instinct screamed at her to show this man some manners, to grab his wrist and pull it back on itself to the point where he had no choice but to yield. Muscle memory began to react to the situation, and she had to stamp down on it.

  Looking down at his hand and then back up to meet his dancing eyes, Sydney said, ‘You really don’t want to be doing that, Mister. You grabbing me without my permission is an assault, and believe me when I say that I’d win a gold medal if screaming were an Olympic sport.’

  ‘What the fuck are you, lady? A lawyer, or something?’ Kasper’s steady gaze began to waver, but his grip did not loosen.

  ‘That’s exactly what I am. And you have precisely three seconds to release me or I swear I will have you arrested.’

  Sydney gulped down some air. She so desperately wanted to embarrass this dirtbag by pulling a switch around and getting him in some kind of locking hold until he begged for mercy, but she had played her role perfectly so far. The right side of understanding, the right side of angry at being manhandled. No need to ruin the charade for the sake of some petty vindictiveness.

  Kasper held up both hands and took a stride backwards, putting some distance between them. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘no harm, no foul. I thought you were one of those chicks who likes a man to play rough, show her how a real man takes his woman.’

  ‘Well, you were wrong.’

  ‘I guess I was.’

  Rather than brush by Kasper for a second time, Sydney chose the other side of the vehicle to skirt around and was relieved upon emerging into the open again to find she was in full view of the entire rest stop area. She stood in place for a few moments and took a deep breath, considering both the information she had discovered as well as what, if anything, it meant in terms of her father’s death.

  ‘You lost?’

  Sydney put a hand to her chest and turned. ‘Goodness,’ she said. ‘That’s twice you’ve made me jump.’

  ‘That’s twice I’ve caught you loitering by my truck.’

  ‘I was gathering my thoughts.’

  ‘Uh-huh. You need an escort back to your vehicle? Some shady characters frequent the Outpost from time to time.’

  Was there further sub-text there?

  Sydney met his gaze. ‘I think I can manage. But thanks for the kind offer.’

  ‘No problem. Be happy to see you safely to your car if you change your mind.’

  ‘I think I’ll stretch my legs, catch a breath of fresh air before I leave. Please, you go about your business. I’ve detained you long enough.’

  The man smiled properly for the first time since stumbling upon her. ‘The air is not so fresh hereabouts,’ he said, nodding towards the traffic thundering close by on the highway. ‘If I were you, I’d find somewhere cleaner to do your breathing. Better for your health all round.’

  Kasper appraised her long enough to make it awkward, then dipped his head and strode calmly back towards the diner. Sydney watched him all the way. She had been determined that he not see which vehicle was hers. Something about him referencing the Sonora PD made her suspect he had a contact among their numbers. A cop or a civilian worker willing and able to offer up the vehicle record details in exchange for cash or favours.

  The tow truck driver did not look back over his shoulder. As the diner swallowed him up, Sydney couldn’t help but wonder if this was the man responsible for her father’s death. A man whose nerves had to be frayed, and suspicion an acceptable emotion in his legal fight against his wife. Or a guy who had accidentally come across a complete stranger intent on his vehicle, and whose reaction and words were far more innocent than she had ascribed to him.

  As she backed out of the parking space and headed for the exit, Sydney took one final look back at the diner. Gerry Kasper stood by a window staring straight back at her.

  Nineteen

  Still shaken following the confrontation with Kasper, Sydney ignored the call for food from her stomach and instead drove directly to Duncan Baxter’s house back in Moon Falls. She was happy to be on safe ground once more. Similar conflicts with people were an accepted part of working in law-enforcement, but out of context the incident with the man she suspected of killing her father had left her feeling disjointed.

  Baxter’s home proved to be a deceptive two-storey property approached via a winding driveway which led through a thicket of trees, opening out to reveal first a garage and then beyond it the house itself. The angle of slope on the vast roof told Sydney that only the back enjoyed a second floor. Unimpressive when viewed side-on, the place presented itself more fully as she walked around to the front and knocked on the door.

  Which, barely seconds later, was not so much opened as almost yanked off its hinges. The man who stood there was no more than average in both height and build, but he was rigid and glared at her with incredible intensity. In his own way, he was every bit as intimidating as Gerry Kasper had been.

  ‘Mr Baxter?’ Sydney managed around a dry mouth.

  ‘That depends.’

  ‘On what?’

  ‘On who’s asking.’

  Sydney raised a smile she hoped radiated charm. ‘Sir, I’m Sydney Merlot. We spoke on the phone.’

  Duncan Baxter was in his late fifties if her guess was right. With one brief observation, Sydney broke the man down into his component parts: a full head of hair, albeit closer to white than grey; piercing blue eyes set deep into an ordinary face characterised by a slight curving scar on his chin. Assessing the man’s casual-smart attire, Sydney guessed Baxter was seldom slovenly, even when sitting around inside his own home. The man had standards, which spoke volumes about his character.

  ‘You sounded as if you were keen to help prove Kevin Muller’s innocence,’ Sydney persisted when met only with silence. ‘I wondered if you would be willing to talk further about the students you mentioned.’

  A light flared behind the man’s eyes. Neither her presence on his doorstep, nor the plea for assistance, had appeared to shift the obvious recalcitrance, but the notion of discussing his old students had done the trick. Sydney wondered about that as Baxter chewed it over. Moments later he stood to one side.

  ‘You’d better come in, then,’ he said.

  Baxter steered Sydney through the house into an expansive kitchen with a vast island of units at its centre, around which were grouped a set of wooden stools. He gestured for her to sit, which she did, planting her bag on top of the tiled counter. On the far side of the same range sat a plate on which a partial
ly eaten sandwich had an air of abandonment about it. Next to it, a tall black mug emitted steam from its hot liquid contents.

  ‘I suppose you’ll be wanting a drink,’ Baxter said. His countenance did not appear to be either irritated nor especially peevish, yet his words were uninviting all the same.

  Sydney smiled once more, hoping to put the man at ease in his own home. She was the intruder here, having arrived unannounced, so she made allowances for his gruff demeanour. ‘It’s customary. But if you’re not having one yourself, then please don’t bother on my account.’

  Baxter paused mid-stride, before continuing over to the coffee pot. ‘This brew is fresh enough,’ he said. ‘You take milk or sugar?’

  ‘No, it’s fine as it is. Thank you.’

  Baxter brought her drink over and placed it down in front of her. Sydney noted he took his black as well. She thought he would approve of her choice.

  ‘I was having my lunch,’ Baxter explained. ‘You want something to eat?’

  Sydney did. Only she still couldn’t. Her stomach continued to churn. She shook her head. ‘No, I’m good. But please, do continue with your own.’

  ‘I intend to.’

  He took a quick bite and followed it up with a sip from his mug. With it still raised to his lips, Baxter said, ‘Tell me something, Sydney Merlot. Have you decided to go after all three boys to shake them loose and see which one falls out first?’

  Sydney set her own mug down without taking a drink from it. ‘To be honest, I’m not at all sure how to approach them, nor to what end. It’s one of the reasons why I’m here.’

  ‘Why do people say that?’ Baxter asked, shaking his head sullenly. ‘When you throw something like “to be honest” into a conversation, it makes it seem like nothing else you’ve said beforehand has been. Tell me, are you an honest person?’

  ‘I am. Not all the time, because nobody is. But when I need to be, when it counts, then yes, I am honest.’

  ‘Then you shouldn’t be using phrases like that.’