Fifteen Coffins

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘How about if I have another word with him?’ he said finally. ‘Will that satisfy your curiosity?’

  ‘You do that and he’s likely to recall what he said before and repeat it back to you. If I can get him to open up, he may tell me a different story altogether. He does that and it gives you something to go at him with.’

  ‘I don’t know what you hope to gain. He didn’t see the shooter, Syd. He was on the other side of the building the whole time.’

  ‘Then it shouldn’t bother you if he talks to me.’

  ‘It doesn’t bother me.’ He broke off, his voice having risen. ‘I just don’t know what you think you can achieve by going down that route.’

  ‘Ben,’ she said softly. ‘I’m not trying to second guess you. I’m not trying to cause any trouble for you. The fact is, I’m stuck. And because of that I’ve gone back to basics. I’m going through the entire thing right from where it all began back inside the Moon Falls high school, and I’m ticking off anyone and everyone whose name popped. It doesn’t matter if he was on the other side of the planet when the shootings occurred. He made himself a part of the story, and I have to interview him if only to eliminate him.’

  Sydney looked up at the cloudless sky, so bright it hurt her eyes. Finally she had started to act like the investigator she was, and she wasn’t about to allow Benton to deter her, no matter how close they had once been. Tens of thousands of feet above her, an airliner left thin contrails in its wake, marking its passage across the blue canvas. Idly wondering where the plane was heading, Sydney liked the thought of jetting away from all this.

  After an even lengthier pause this time, Benton relented. ‘I think you’re wasting your time, Syd. But you want him, you got him. Don’t forget to check your six. Someone out there may still be watching you.’

  ‘I’m hardly likely to forget,’ Sydney told him. ‘Especially as I have no idea at all if whoever is watching me is the same person who murdered Sonia and Gerry Kasper.’

  ‘And if they are?’

  ‘Well, then I guess they’ll find out the hard way that they don’t screw with Sydney Merlot.’

  Benton chuckled, though it sounded half-hearted. ‘You don’t know when you’re beat, do you?’

  ‘I’m not so sure,’ Sydney replied. ‘But I sure as shit haven’t reached that point yet.’

  Forty-Five

  Sydney had previously used her FBI badge inside the high school to buy time with Rebecca Wade. On this occasion the receptionist asked her to wait by the desk, until eventually the Principal walked out to greet her. Edwin Zelaya, a well-groomed man who smelled of expensive product, wore a pale blue linen suit that looked too pretentiously stylish to have any authentic style. His handshake was slick, and the touch of his flesh made Sydney feel a little nauseated. He showed her into his office close to the reception area.

  ‘I was going to have you turned away if you came back here to my school, Ms Merlot,’ Zelaya said through teeth too white and even not to be caps. ‘But I thought better of it. Decided you and I should talk.’

  ‘I can’t think why.’

  ‘You entered my school under false pretences last time. You had no right to do so, nor did you have any authority to speak with members of my staff. That was discourteous of you.’

  ‘I never claimed any authority. There were no false pretences. I showed my badge as I usually do to back up my assertion of being a Federal agent. If others misinterpreted that as my claiming to be here officially, or they made assumptions on the production of those credentials, you can’t possibly hold me accountable for their misunderstanding.’

  Zelaya smiled and wagged a finger at her. ‘No, no, no. That will not do, Ms Merlot. We both know what you did; tricking your way in here. As far as I’m concerned, that is no longer even open to debate. I’m more curious as to why. You spoke with Rebecca Wade, and this time you’re looking to talk to our janitor.’ He emphasised the word as if it were somehow distasteful to him. ‘Tell me, why are you here? What do you hope to gain from what you are doing? And how helpful has Mrs Wade been to you?’

  Sydney regarded him closely. She wondered whether his curiosity went beyond his position as school Principal. She also wanted to know what was the very best he hoped to achieve from this half-hearted inquisition.

  ‘What I hope to gain is the truth, Mr Zelaya. Is that not of interest to you?’

  ‘The truth about what?’ he asked, ignoring her question and taking a belligerent tone. ‘A terrible tragedy that broke the hearts and minds of this town and which has already been resolved?’

  ‘I get that it was tragic. And that the town felt it at the time and still does. But I’m not so sure about it being adequately resolved.’

  The man shot his cuffs and spread his hands wide. A garish watch coiled around his left wrist like a gold snake. ‘Ms Merlot, the perpetrator of this heinous crime died right out there at the front of my school. Gunned down by the police. We caught him on camera killing, and then dozens watched him die right in front of them. There can be no doubt about that.’

  ‘On the contrary, there’s plenty of doubt, only you’re choosing to ignore it. As for Mrs Wade, you don’t have to worry about her. Sadly, she stuck to the party line and gave me absolutely nothing.’

  ‘That is pleasing to hear. Yet you appear to have come to us with a closed mind. Did you even consider the possibility that the reason she offered you nothing of consequence is because there is nothing to give?’

  ‘I did, yes.’

  The principal nodded and flashed those brilliant white teeth of his again.

  ‘But then I dismissed the idea,’ Sydney continued, taking no small amount of pleasure from watching his smile falter and shut itself down. ‘Rebecca Wade was merely following instructions. The school and its governing body, together with the local union reps, closed down all free discussion on the subject. Then again, shutting down the opposition seems to be the order of the day around here.’

  ‘But in this case there is no opponent,’ Zelaya insisted, leaning forward to clasp his hands together on the desk in front of him. ‘We had the FBI, county sheriff, and our local police department here that day, and for several days afterwards I might add. Much longer than I cared for, to be truthful with you. Yet nobody questioned what happened here, Ms Merlot. Not until you came along, that is.’

  ‘Oh, but they did. Dexter Muller did.’

  Again the smile. ‘Which is to be expected, no? What father wants to believe he raised a son capable of destroying life so wilfully?’

  Sydney breathed out through her nose, nodding slowly. ‘That’s the crux of this in some ways. From every account I’ve heard personally, Kevin Muller was not capable of any such thing. Far from it, in fact. You factor in his lack of motive, his inability to obtain the weapons, and you are left with genuine doubts. Yet nobody wants to even consider the likelihood of there being questions to answer. I have to wonder why that is. And as we’re here, let me begin with you, Principal Zelaya. Why are you ignoring the very obvious chinks of doubt? As an educator you must once have had an inquisitive mind, surely?’

  The man bristled, indignation radiating from his eyes as he spoke. ‘Oh, I still do. Very much so. Mine, unlike yours, Ms Merlot, is based in reality. You can raise all the doubts you wish to, claim we are all wrong despite the evidence of our own eyes and the fact that we were all here when the tragedy occurred. But the truth of the matter – if that counts at all in your mind – is that, when the boy who massacred fourteen of his fellow students lay dead and was then unmasked, it was Kevin Muller lying there. Nobody else.’

  ‘Appearances can be deceiving.’

  ‘If aphorisms are all you have to offer, Ms Merlot, then I think we are done here.’

  Sydney shot to her feet. ‘I’ve been done for quite some time. You know, I had my doubts about Dexter Muller’s story. Many of them, in fact. But having encountered certain individuals over the past week, some unpleasant and unsavoury characters like yourself, I have
dispelled those doubts. Far from persuading me otherwise, you’ve all presented a level of apprehension which I find way too intriguing to ignore. Initially, I struggled to believe in Mr Muller’s theory. Today, I’m convinced by it.’

  ‘And I have no doubt you will be proven wrong.’

  Sydney turned to leave, but paused. ‘Principal Zelaya, what exactly are you afraid of? You try to present a confident front, but you’re unpractised at it and as such are completely transparent. You have doubts. I see them in your eyes behind that fake warmth. I can’t make out why you’re willing to perpetuate the myth rather than seek the truth. Truth and justice for the fifteen young students murdered on your campus.’

  For a moment or two, Zelaya met Sydney’s firm gaze. Then his eyes snapped away and the man dropped his head. He held out a hand, gesturing toward his office door. ‘Please see yourself out. And do not attempt to contact Mr Tabbert, or you’ll be hearing from our legal team.’

  Sydney left without further response, letting herself out of the Principal’s room. As she walked past the reception towards the exit, her thoughts twisted and confused, somebody brushed past Sydney and slipped something into her hand. She stopped moving, looked down and saw a folded scrap of paper in her palm. When she turned to look back over her shoulder, a scurrying figure jogged up the stairs, head bowed.

  Rebecca Wade.

  Clutching the item in her curled fingers until she was back behind the wheel of her truck, Sydney opened it up and read the single line.

  Our janitor is on a ‘leave of absence’.

  Wade had to have been alerted to her presence inside the school, as well as the reason for her visit. No doubt word had also spread that Zelaya had insisted on giving her a dressing down rather than having her escorted from the building. It had given the teacher time to react. The inverted commas suggested a doubt over the official explanation for Tabbert not being at work. Sydney mentally began stacking scraps of information on top of other pieces, looking for common threads with which to bind them. She decided to call Benton and run it by him.

  ‘Hey, Ben,’ she said when he picked up. ‘Tell me, were you aware that Dave Tabbert, your star janitor witness, is not at the school?’

  ‘You mean today?’

  ‘I mean it’s been suggested to me that his current leave of absence has nothing to do with him being on vacation.’

  ‘Well, is Chris there?’

  ‘Who’s Chris?’ Sydney crinkled up her forehead.

  ‘Dave’s son. He’s a student at the school.’

  ‘That I don’t know. Not sure I can find out, either. Nobody here wants to talk to me much.’

  ‘That’s hardly a surprise. I’m not exactly sure what to make of Dave not being at work. Probably nothing more than coincidence. Funny you should call about it now, though, Syd.’

  ‘Oh, how come?’

  ‘I just got through talking to Dylan Cole’s father, Brian. I’m not certain, but he may have suspected I was more than shooting the shit with him. Didn’t matter how much I talked about protocol and following through on a complaint, he was most definitely on edge, and clamped up real tight when it came to his boy.’

  ‘What’s that got to do with Tabbert?’

  ‘Only that Brian told me Dylan and Chris Tabbert were close friends.’

  Sydney allowed that to seep into her mind, but was uncertain as to what – if anything – it meant. ‘I wonder if knowing that helps or hinders me, Ben.’

  ‘Sorry. I told you I’d find shit out. I never said it would be useful.’

  Thanking him, Sydney killed the connection, and before convincing herself not to, put in a call to Baxter. Her doubts over his loyalties weighed heavily on her, and before she did anything else, she wanted to at least speak with him. Having questioned his loyalty, she desperately wanted to convince herself of his virtue. The third ring clipped off midway through and a voice that was not Duncan Baxter’s said, ‘Hello, Miss Merlot.’

  ‘Hel… who am I speaking to, please?’ The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it.

  ‘Oh, I’m sure you can work it out, Miss Merlot.’

  Something about the way he said her name. Contempt dripping from the second syllable. Sydney’s hands tightened on the steering wheel and her entire body became rigid. She caught the cry in the depths of her chest before it emerged. Baxter not answering his own cell suggested he was in some kind of trouble. Her thoughts caught in a cyclone, she realised his situation had the capacity to be so much worse than that, and she was certain it was all her fault.

  ‘What have you done with him, Ebben?’ she snapped into the cell. ‘Where’s Duncan?’

  ‘Just you hold on a moment,’ Mayor Jubb’s fixer said in a low, easy voice. ‘What makes you think I’ve done anything with Mr Baxter?’

  ‘You have his phone. That wouldn’t be the case unless he’d come to some harm at your hands. Tell me what you’ve done with him? I swear I’ll have the police and sheriff’s office on your doorstep in ten minutes flat if you don’t answer me.’

  ‘You could do that if you wanted to, Miss Merlot. But be sure to get your facts straight before you go to all that bother, otherwise you might come across as delusional. Your friend Baxter is fine. In fact, it’s not that long ago since I saw him off at the airport.’

  ‘The airport?’ Sydney blurted out.

  ‘Yes. Mr Baxter decided to have himself a vacation; putting distance between himself and Moon Falls for a few weeks to clear his head. See, he’s done the job we asked of him and for that he’s getting his reward. We don’t need him anymore. He was extremely useful in getting close to you and feeding us information, but we’ve moved on to the next stage and his role is effectively over. You can check with your friends at the FBI and they could talk to the Federal Aviation Authority, but Mr Baxter is in the air winging his way to Colorado to visit family. You can catch up with him when he returns if you like. If you’re still around, that is.’

  Sydney heard the words but barely comprehended their meaning towards the end. Her hands were shaking and her mouth hung open as if paused to scream. For a time she had suspected Benton of betraying her, and only much later had her concerns over Duncan Baxter materialised. The man she had let into her home, had confided in, had teamed up with to right a terrible wrong. She had thought of him as an upright citizen, grizzled and frayed around the edges, but solid and dependable for all that.

  Which he was, apparently.

  Only, not on her side.

  Forty-Six

  Dave Tabbert’s property was more junkyard than home. Sitting out on a plot of land part way between Columbia and Sonora, Sydney questioned Benton’s route instructions when she first laid eyes on the place.

  Surrounded by chain-link fencing topped by razor wire, it looked to her as if every square yard of ground was covered by rusting metal of some description. Husks of cars and trucks, refrigerators and freezers, lawnmowers, water tanks, bicycles and motorcycles, all strewn across the dusty soil as far as Sydney could see. At first she thought she had stumbled upon a dump site run by the county, but then she guessed Tabbert bought up scrapped items, removed and sold worthwhile parts, and scattered what remained over his land rather than pay for its removal and environmental destruction.

  In which case, the razor wire and fencing wasn’t in place to protect any of the discarded items lying exposed to the elements. Where there is scrap there is also copper piping and cable. That was where the real money lay, and Tabbert was evidently fiercely protective of it. Although, if he was also having to do janitorial work at the high school, then business couldn’t be too lucrative.

  Sydney expected a dog or two to come bounding out as she pulled up outside a long, wide, poorly maintained mobile home, but nothing ran at her choking on a chain as it went for the throat, nor barked or even growled with vague interest. Her thoughts turned to the myriad homicide cases across the country which began life in rural junkyards, giving her pause for thought. The Steven Avery case, an
d the murder of Teresa Hallbach lodged in her mind right away. The Making a Murderer documentary chronicling Avery’s arrest, trial, conviction, and subsequent appeals, had fascinated much of the nation, leaving many torn over the man’s guilt or innocence. The Wisconsin graveyard for junked autos and countless implements looked so much like the one Sydney found herself beside, she started to question her presence there on her own.

  Benton knew what her intentions were, but that would prove to be of little comfort if this went sideways on her fast. He was stuck all the way out in Mather, an eighty-minute drive from Tabbert’s land. After Sydney had explained her latest plan of attack, Ben pleaded with her not to go on her own, but she’d insisted, reminding him she was an FBI agent and every bit as proficient as him at kicking ass when required. Now that she was here, the Tabbert residence brought chills to her flesh, and she couldn’t help but wish she had a partner as backup.

  Her stomach was still in turmoil after speaking with Ebben. Having originally decided that Duncan Baxter was not working against her and Muller, discovering his duplicity had hit her hard. Sydney was not one to think of herself as infallible, but she could not recall being so wrong so often in such a short period of time. She had erred on far too many occasions since taking on this investigation, and that made her doubly determined to start putting things right.

  As she exited her vehicle, the door to the trailer squealed ajar on hinges that had not tasted oil in a while, and a rusty screen frame so brown the oxidisation looked like paint, flew open with a loud clatter. A tall and wide brute of a man stepped outside, flanked either side by lean but big-boned youths. He wore grubby overalls and a cap bearing the logo of the Iron Workers union, the insignia partially obscured by a thick glob of grease. The two youths had on T-shirts and long cargo pants, no socks on their sneakered feet.

  ‘Help you?’ Tabbert said, sounding as if he wanted to do anything but offer assistance. He ran a hand through a full growth of beard, the fingers of the other teasing the butt of a cigarette.