“Hell, no. But I have to say it sure was a shock when Mooney showed up without his head.”
“So, do you think Billy did it?” Eddie asked.
Alfred looked at Eddie.
“Man, I didn’t know Bill very good. I mean, just when he would come in for a beer, but I sure didn’t take him for the type to do something like that.”
“After the shouting, it got physical?”
“Yeah, after Bill shoved him, Mooney started swinging.”
“How did Billy react?”
“Well, it wasn’t like Bill was tryin’ to give Mooney a beat-down. More like a policeman would try to subdue a violent drunk. By that time I was out of the kitchen, and Lucy was screaming at them to stop, and me and Whitney got ’em separated, and got Mooney out the door.”
“What did Billy do?”
“As soon as me and Whitney got control of Mooney, Bill quit fighting.”
“Who else saw this?”
He looked thoughtful for a moment, “Salesman guy, comes in here once in a while. Calls on the hospital. And a couple of guys Mooney was drinking with.”
“You know their names?”
“Buddy Dwyer and a new guy name of Ramirez. Quiet guy, don’t say much. Kinda weird guy.”
“How so?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know. You know, just sits around with the other construction guys and don’t talk much. Stares at Lucy. Just something kinda creepy about him. Not from around here.”
“Where’s he from?”
“Hell, I don’t know. Back east maybe. Like I said, he’s new. Does drywall, I think.”
“How about Dwyer?”
“Buddy’s a local. His dad’s a barber. Got a shop up on Main.”
“Blue building?”
“Yeah, that’s the one. Buddy went to Cottonwood High. Played football.”
“Were they close to Mooney?”
“Buddy was in the same class as Ed and Lucy. I think he was in their wedding.”
“You said when you saw it was Dick Mooney fighting it was the same old shit. Mooney fight a lot?”
“When Mooney wasn’t drinking he was okay, just laughing and joking and thinking he was the life of the party. Probably trying to impress Lucy. But the more he drank the meaner he got.”
“I’m told Mooney was in a militia.”
Medina smiled. “Militia. Makes it sound important. Him and Buddy, and a bunch of others would go out into the desert and play army. Shoot the shit outta the rabbits and cactus. Thought they were survivalists or something.”
“How about Ramirez?”
“Don’t know about him.”
“Were you working when Mooney got into it with a bunch of bikers a while back?”
“Wasn’t much to it. Mooney was doing his normal crap, getting loud and rowdy. He started it. All those guys were wearing leathers, but they weren’t but a bunch of Phoenix guys that get together, and ride around in a bunch. Makes ’em feel good.”
“What happened?”
“Mooney started in on this one guy. There were some that looked like they could handle themselves, but of course Mooney leaves them alone. He picks this short, bald guy and starts badgering him. Mouthing off. This poor guy feels like he has to stand up in front of his buddies so him and Mooney get it on. Then the balloon goes up and everyone’s in it.”
“Anyone get hurt?” I asked.
He laughed. “The furniture.” He looked at me. “You look like you could handle yourself, you ever fight? In the ring, I mean.”
“Not competitively, but I was taught how.”
“I was Golden Gloves out of Maryvale twenty years ago,” he said matter of factly. “If you were taught, then you know that most guys just shove, and flail around and maybe get lucky and bust a knuckle on the top of another guy’s head. Mooney was like that. He started a lot of fights when he knew someone would step in and break it up.”
“You break it up?”
He smiled, “Yeah, but I wish I hadn’t have. When the little guy got going he was doing pretty good. I shoulda let him whip Mooney’s ass.”
“Anything come of it?”
“Naw, they moved on down the road, never saw them again.”
“Anything else you can think of?”
He shook his head. “Not really.” He looked at Eddie. “Didn’t know your nephew real well, but he seemed like a good kid. Don’t think he is the kind that would take a man’s head. That’s ugly stuff. Scares the hell outta people around here. But most people I hear talking in here, they don’t know Bill very well. They’re just happy to think the guy that did it is in jail.” He picked up his chopping knife. “Look, I gotta get back to work. I got a lot of prep work to get done for the lunch crowd.”
“Is Lucy working today?”
“She’ll be on tonight.”
We both thanked him, and I followed Eddie back out into the sunlight. We got into the car and I started it.
“Golden Gloves, huh.” I said.
“He wasn’t born with that nose,” Eddie said.
10
For lack of any kind of a plan, we drove around Cottonwood just to familiarize myself with the town. The lawyer was right; they did have a very nice hospital. On a chance, I pulled into the front drive of the chain motel that was across the street from the hospital. I went in. There was a scruffy young man in a stained polo shirt and frayed jeans behind the counter.
He gave me a puzzled look. He evidently wasn’t expecting customers.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“Is Howard Sieble still checked in?”
He didn’t look.
“No, sir. Mr. Sieble checked out yesterday.”
“Do you expect him back?”
“Probably not till next month. He comes once a month.”
I thanked him, and went back out.
We drove around some more, had lunch, and by two we were back at the police station.
We sat in the lobby and it was two-thirty before Lawyer Taggart made his appearance. The man was still sweating. He nodded at Eddie, but kept walking. He didn’t look at me. He went to the desk. The same policewoman was on duty. He spoke to her in low tones we couldn’t hear. She glanced at us, then said something. She waved a hand toward one of the doors. Without looking at us he went through it. There was a white, round-faced clock high up on the wall. Seven minutes passed very slowly until he reappeared.
He came up to us. He still wouldn’t look at me.
“They have moved him to an anteroom,” he said to Eddie. “We can see him for a short time there. If you will follow me.”
He turned and started away, not waiting to see if we would follow. We did. The policewoman stepped out in front, and escorted us down a hall and opened a door. She moved aside as she held the door for us. We followed Lawyer Taggart in.
Billy was sitting in a straight back chair, at a table roughly the size of a kitchen table. He was still dressed in orange, his hands and feet shackled together. He looked up as we came through the door, and as he looked at Eddie his eyes filled. He didn’t look any worse for wear except his hair was disheveled, and his eyes were bloodshot.
Taggart said, “Bill, you must understand this is not a sanctioned visit, but a favor from the chief. You must not tell these gentlemen anything you have not already told to me.” He finally looked at me, then to Eddie. “As I have hired you to help me with the investigation.”
“For five bucks,” I said, and Eddie smiled.
“You must disclose,” Taggart continued as if I had not interrupted, “anything and everything that Bill tells you, and anything else you may discover in the course of the investigation. If I learn you have withheld anything, I will have you thrown in here with your nephew. You have half an hour.”
I didn’t have a snappy retort ready, and that was disappointing. He turned and left the room.
Billy stood up and Eddie went around the table and hugged him.
“Have you talked to Mama?” Billy asked.
“Wanted to see you first,” Eddie said. “I wanted to know more about this thing before I call her.”
Billy sat back down, and looked at me. Eddie slid a hip up on the corner of the table. I sat in one of the chairs that were opposite Billy.
“This is Jackson,” Eddie said. “He’s a friend. I asked him to come with me.”
Billy nodded.
“Hi,” I said.
“Ain’t much to know,” Billy said. “I got in a fight with Dick Mooney, and two days later I come in for my shift, and the chief is telling me I was under arrest for killing him.”
“When was Mooney killed?” I asked.
He shrugged, “Mr. Taggart said the state investigators thought he died the next afternoon, after the fight.” He looked from Eddie to me. “I know; you are going to ask if I have an alibi, but I don’t. Lucy Martin, a girl I’m dating, and I were going to go to Sedona for the day, but the other girl at the bar Lucy works at, called in sick, and the boss called Lucy in to do the lunch and night shift.”
“What did you do?”
“Stayed home, watched TV; later on I took a bike ride.”
“Bike?”
“I have a Harley Low Rider.”
“Anybody see you riding?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You wear a helmet?”
“It’s the law.”
“What color?”
“It’s black with a visor.”
“Tinted?”
“Yeah.”
“You wear leathers?”
“Weather’s cool enough for a jacket.”
“So with the helmet and visor down and a leather jacket you pretty much look like any other rider?”
“Pretty much.”
“Anyone stop by the house or call you?”
“No one stopped by. Lucy called my cell phone on her break.”
“We hear that Mooney got in a lot of fights,” Eddie said. “Why do they think you did it instead of some other guy he pissed off?”
“Well, there is the head thing.”
“In the heat of the moment, you told him if he didn’t shut up you’d take his head off?”
“Yeah. I guess I said it. Hell, I don’t even remember. But it’s just a figure of speech.”
“Anything else?”
For the first time he ducked his head.
“What is it, son?” Eddie said gently.
He looked up at his uncle. “I just found out. They found my Kabar in my garage with his blood on it.”
Eddie looked at me. A Kabar is a large military-styled fighting knife. “Physical evidence,” he said.
“It is your knife?” I asked.
“Yeah, it’s mine.”
“And they know it is his blood?”
“They say it’s the same type. Waiting for a DNA match. But I know it’s going to be his.”
“Why do you say that?”
He looked at me. His eyes were red-rimmed. “Because that’s the way this thing is going.”
“When was the last time you held your knife?” I asked.
“October, opening quail season, I took it with me.”
“You use it to clean quail?” I smiled.
“No, of course not.” He didn’t smile at the joke. “I just like it, so I take it whenever I camp.”
“When was the last time you saw it?” I asked.
“When I came back from hunting. I keep it in my camping tote.”
“You packed it away?”
He nodded.
“Who knows where you keep it?”
He shrugged. “I keep all my hunting stuff together in the same place. Wouldn’t take much to find it.”
I looked at Eddie. Taggart had been holding out on us.
“Why didn’t the chief tell us about the knife?”
“He’s a cop,” Eddie said. “Cops don’t always tell you everything. Get a suspect, see if he knows something he’s not supposed to.” He shrugged. “I know that don’t always make sense, but cop ways are hard to break.”
I looked at Billy. “How many people know about the blood on the knife. Obviously Taggart?”
“Yeah, he knows, but we’re not supposed to talk about it,” Billy said.
“You told us.”
He looked at me. “Fuck ’em. Eddie’s my uncle and you’re on my side, right? I didn’t kill Mooney. I can’t say that I’m sorry he’s gone, but I didn’t do it.”
“You want to keep that sentiment to yourself,” Eddie said.
“I didn’t do it.”
“So someone got into your garage and stole your knife, and hunted down Dick Mooney and took his head off with the knife, and brought it back but kept the head?”
“I didn’t do it,” he said for the third time, looking at his uncle.
Eddie looked at me. I looked back at him for a long moment.
Finally I shrugged. I looked back to Billy. “Who has it in for you enough to do something like this?”
“Damned if I know,” he said. “I’m just a small town cop, for Christ’s sake. The worst thing I do to someone is give them a speeding ticket!”
11
He didn’t have much more to add. He couldn’t remember seeing anyone he knew when he was riding his bike. He said he normally rode the back roads, through Clarkdale and up to Jerome, the old mining town that perched on the side of Mingus Mountain. He said sometimes he would eat a burger in Jerome, but for some reason he didn’t this time. I had him specifically walk me through where he had ridden.
He asked Eddie about his mother, and they were talking family when the policewoman came in to tell us our time was up.
Sometimes I forget how old Eddie is. He was looking pretty worn down, so I suggested we find a motel and see if we could check in. Eddie knew of a locally owned place on the main drag, and the woman mopping the lobby floor told us they had vacancies. She checked us in. The Sunflower Inn. The name was precious but the room was just basic. It did pass the clean test.
The room held a distant odor of disinfectant. The good news was it didn’t have the paper strip across the toilet, and the glasses in little paper bags. This told me that someone, probably the woman at the front, had actually cleaned the place instead of just wiping off the toilet seat and the drinking glasses with the wadded up towel the previous customer had left on the floor.
I left Eddie to take a nap, and I drove the Mustang to where Billy lived. The place was locked up. I was inside in two minutes. I walked though, just hoping to see something unusual. There wasn’t anything. Dishes in the sink, the bed unmade. The camping gear was in the garage. The lid was off. There was powder residue on the lid. Someone had checked for prints. Careful not to disturb anything, I went back out and slid into the Mustang.
I retraced his route, as best I could, all the way to Jerome. I don’t know what I expected to discover, maybe see something or someone that might verify his story. There was nothing. It was a pretty drive, though. Coming back down the road from Jerome a broad expanse of high desert unfolded in front of me. The air was clear, and you could see Clarkdale and Cottonwood and across to Camp Verde. In the near distance were the red cliffs and mountains of Sedona.
I decided to look up Dwyer and Ramirez. I stopped at a liquor store, and borrowed their phone book. I looked up King Construction. I drove to their offices. It was a low brick building with a large compound housing two large utility buildings, filled with heavy equipment. This was surrounded by a tall chain link fence. The girl behind the desk wore jeans and an NAU tee shirt. She was twenty pounds overweight and looked as though she had just stepped from the shower, combed her long hair and come to work. She didn’t question me at all. She told me where to find Dwyer. She didn’t know Ramirez. She gave me directions to the worksite where Dwyer was.
It looked like they were rebuilding an old Circle K. Probably going to be a check cashing store. They were framing it out. Tools and debris were scattered throughout its parking lot. There were five guys working. I parked and walked
up to the closest one.
“Buddy Dwyer?”
He looked at me, then pointed at a guy with a Diamondbacks ball cap. The guy was bent over, fiddling with a nail gun. He looked up as I approached him.
“Buddy Dwyer?” He just looked at me. I handed him the card from Lawyer Taggart.
“I’m looking into the death of Dick Mooney,” I said, trying to sound official. “I’ve been told that you witnessed the fight between Billy Bragg and Dick Mooney.”
“Wasn’t much of a fight,” he said handing me back the card. “Mooney wasn’t much of a fighter.”
“Do you think Bill Bragg killed Mooney?”
He looked at me for a long moment.
“Hard for me to believe that.”
“Why?”
“Bragg was a cop. He’d give you a speeding ticket, and bust your ass for DUI, but if he was gonna kill Mooney he’d have shot him, not cut his fucking head off.”
“Was Bragg a friend of yours?”
“Fuck no. He was a cop.”
“Cop is bad?”
“Just another government lackey.”
“Did you belong to Mooney’s militia?”
“It wasn’t Mooney’s.”
“Whose was it?”
“It was a patriot organization. It belonged to all of us.”
“Did Ramirez belong to it?”
“Yeah, for a while.”
“How long?”
“Some guy brought him around. Said he had been in the Army. Only came a few times. I ain’t seen him since I quit it.”
“You quit?”
“I got this new job and hell, I didn’t have time to go running around the fucking desert playing soldier. I was serious, I wanted things to change. One of these days the balloon is going to go up because someone has hacked the grid. Then this fucking country is going to shut down. We gotta be ready. That’s what I thought we would be doing. But they were just a bunch of nitwits. Didn’t take long to get tired of them anyway. They never did anything but spout a bunch of rhetorical bullshit, and get drunk.”
“Was Ramirez like the dipshits, or more serious, like you?”
“Don’t know if he was like me but he sure as shit wasn’t like them.”
“What does Ramirez look like?”
He looked hard at me. “What the fuck do you care? He looked like every Mexican you ever saw. About your height.”
The Librarian Her Daughter and the Man Who Lost His Head Page 5