Persons Missing or Dead

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Persons Missing or Dead Page 6

by Cliff Black


  I sailed the plane ticket to Philo then opened his wallet. I pulled all the bills out.

  “That’s my money!” Carter yelled.

  “You forget I have a broken window and a bullet hole to patch.” I tossed the wallet to him.

  He checked to see if his credit cards were there, jammed it in his pocket, and asked, “Where’s my car?”

  “Right where you left it. It’s blue.”

  “Are my guns in here?” He tapped his briefcase with his toe.

  “Your pea shooter is in there with no bullets. That silenced gun is illegal. I wouldn’t want to be an accessory to a crime. I’ll hang on to it for you.”

  “You better hope we never meet again, Corbin.”

  “Please, don’t threaten me. I’ll have bad dreams.”

  Chapter Ten

  I hadn’t had time to settle down after Carter left when my phone rang. It was Ezzy’s wife, Evelyn.

  “Do you have time to come over here? Ezzy has something he’s anxious to show you.”

  “Sure,” I said. “Should I come right now?”

  “Ezzy worked last night and he was late getting home this morning. He told me to wake him at five. He should be presentable by six.”

  I looked at my watch. It was almost four-thirty. “I can be there by six,” I said.

  “Can you stay for supper?”

  “My can of beans will be terribly disappointed, but yeah, I’d appreciate some home cooking.”

  I ran into town and bought something to wear. While there I dropped off yesterday’s clothes at the cleaners. Between my tussle with Philo and the sage-brush fire they weren’t fit to wear to a dog fight. I took a shower and dressed in my new clothes.

  Nat called to say I had received a private investigator’s license from New Mexico, and I took time enough to fire up my laptop computer and read over Carter’s McLaughlin file. There wasn’t much that Philo hadn’t told me.

  As soon as I finished reading, I left for Dove Creek. I wouldn’t make it by six. Through the windshield I saw huge cumulus clouds with dark, flat bottoms building over Blue Mountain to the west. I glanced back and saw they were piling up over Sleeping Ute Mountain too. Rain was always welcome in the Four Corners, but not right now. I was in a hurry.

  When I got to Ezzy’s place, Oscar barked at me until Evelyn came out and spoke to him. I’d made the right decision in giving him up.

  “I’m sorry he barked at you,” Evelyn said. “Oscar, don’t you remember Daniel? Don’t you remember the long ride you took in his motorcycle bag?”

  “Maybe he does remember.” I laughed. “That would be reason enough to bark at me. I’m happy to know he has a good home. He deserves someone who wants him.” Oscar came closer. I stuck out a hand for him to sniff, and his tail started to wag.

  “Oh, we want him,” Evelyn said. “We always said we’d get a dog if we had children. I guess you can be the first to know. We're expecting.”

  “Hey,” Ezzy shouted from the living room. “I wanted to tell him.”

  “Tough luck, Daddy. I’ll let you tell my folks.”

  “How about my folks?”

  “I get to tell them.”

  “I take it this is a happy occasion?” I said.

  “You bet it is,” Ezzy said. He came out on the porch and sat down in a wicker chair to pull his boots on. “We’re both twenty-seven years old. It’s about time we had a family. We’ve waited while I was in college and Evelyn was working, and we’ve waited until I got out from under a crooked sheriff, and we’ve wondered about the state of the world. We decided it’s now or never.”

  “Well congratulations to you both. I’m a little jealous, but I have Natasha.”

  “What happened to your face?” Evelyn asked.

  “Just a few scratches.” I didn’t want to get on that subject. At least not yet. I had probably broken a few laws. I wasn't sure how the Millers would react.

  “Pretty big scratches.” Evelyn said with a jaundiced eye.

  “Come in the house, Geronimo,” Ezzy said. “I’ve got something that will make you forget all about your face.”

  I followed him into his living room. We sat down on the couch, and he picked up a manila envelope.

  I think your search for Candace Appleton is over,” he said. “A body was found in Utah two days ago, just across the state line along Highway 666. A farmer saw the remains by the right-of-way fence while he was cutting hay.”

  Ezzy pulled the contents from the envelope as he said, “Monticello sent these over by bus this morning. They got here as I was getting off shift. I stayed a while and talked to the guys in Utah about it. I tried to call you.”

  “I shut my phone off when I hit the sack.”

  Ezzy laid some eight by ten color photos down on the coffee table. He passed the first one to me and said, “That’s what’s left of a body after seven or eight months in the open.”

  I saw bones and rags. The arms and hands were gone, as was one foot. The upper leg-bones and hips were partially covered by the remains of blue denim jeans. There were scraps of pink cloth and part of a bra around the rib cage. The skull, with a few patches of black hair, looked intact and still attached to the spinal column. The most telling thing was a twisted nylon stocking around the neck bones.

  “Is that nylon stocking what I think it is?” I asked.

  “Murder one.”

  “Any idea who did it?”

  “I was hoping you could shed some light on that.”

  “The old guy in the trailer next to mine might know something. When I was trying to learn about Candy, he said he knew quite a bit about the lady. Problem is, he wanted five hundred bucks to tell me what he knew.”

  “Maybe I can slip a hint to the Utah cops to interrogate him.”

  “Tell them to get him away from his wife. He won’t talk if she’s there.” I looked at the photo again and asked, “What’s the thinking on the missing parts?”

  “They found some of the arm bones and the foot bones. They were scattered. Probably coyotes or buzzards.”

  I turned my attention back to the eight by tens. “There’s not enough here to make an identification in two days,” I said. “What else did they find?”

  “A winter coat and a purse. Plastic lasts forever.”

  I thought about the coat and asked, “A winter coat? Why wasn’t she wearing it?”

  Ezzy said, “It may not have been hers. It’s a bit macabre, but the thinking is the killer removed it, so the elements and the critters could get to the body.”

  Evelyn called Ezzy to the phone. While he was gone, I looked at photos showing the contents of the purse. Among the usual lipstick, comb, brush, tissues, mirror, etc., was a Nevada Club ID card with Candace Appleton and a small photo printed on the face.

  When Ezzy came back I asked, “No other identification?”

  “What’s missing?” He asked.

  “A wallet with a driver’s license and money, maybe some photographs. The usual,” I said.

  “We’re thinking the killer took it. Leaving the ID card was maybe an oversight.”

  “You think it really is Candy Appleton?”

  “Seems likely.”

  “I phoned A. A. McLaughlin this afternoon. He claimed not to know Ms Appleton. My search may be over, but I’d sure like to know who she really was, and why she was here in the Four Corners.” I put the photos back in the envelope and handed it to Ezzy.

  “Those are yours, Geronimo,” he said and handed it back. “I figured you might want them. I have a set.”

  We went out on the porch, played with Oscar, and talked about Ezzy’s new job until Evelyn called us to supper. In idle moments, my mind kept puzzling on the Appleton photos.

  After supper Ezzy and I went back out on the porch, and I told him about my late night visitor, and what I’d learned about James W. Smith and Candace Appleton.

  Ezzy said. “Did you really stake Carter over an ant hill?”

  “Yeah, I did. There were a few ant
s crawling on him before it was over. Quite harmless, but I have to say the technique is effective.”

  Ezzy asked, “Do you think Carter will stay out of it now?”

  “I’m not sure,” I answered. “He’s lucky he didn’t have to walk back to Louisville. I don't think the Cherokee Way allows for what I did to him. My Apache blood took over.”

  “You’re way more Indian than I am even if you don’t look it,” Ezzy said.

  “Have you learned anything about Smith?” I asked.

  “Best I could find out, he maintained slot machines. Five years ago he worked in a dental lab. The cops in Reno don’t miss him much. He was a para-military gun nut.”

  “Interesting,” I said. “Did I tell you Carter thinks Smith faked his own death, and that the body burned in the cabin was actually Carter’s partner?”

  “Is he serious? What do the Nevada cops think of his theory?”

  “I got the impression he didn’t share it with them.”

  “Probably a pipe dream,” Ezzy said, “but if it’s true, Smith might be the murderer.” He nodded toward the envelope of pictures.

  A noisy thunder storm hit. We went inside. Conversation ceased while we watched through the front window.

  When it slacked off I said to Evelyn, “By the way, I met your cousin yesterday. She took me to a movie.”

  “And?”

  “She’s interesting–and different.”

  “I hope you don’t mind--”

  “Oh!” I exclaimed. “I told Shelly I’d come to her game. I forgot. What time is it?”

  “Quarter to eight,” Ezzy said.

  “I’m outa here. Maybe I can get there before it’s over.”

  Chapter Eleven

  I had to think I wasn’t ready for a relationship if I so quickly forgot an appointment with a woman as attractive as Shelly Grafton. Granted, a lot had happened in the twenty or so hours since she’d dropped me off at the trailer court, but still . . .

  I ran into a brief but intense rainstorm five miles out of Dove Creek. My windshield wipers couldn’t keep up. I had to slow down. Otherwise, I pushed the speed limit. It was nearly nine o’clock by the time I got to the field, found a place to park, and walked to the bleachers. Between clouds and the late hour, it was dark enough they’d turned the lights on. There was a fair crowd, but plenty of empty seats. I found a spot behind home plate on the top row. The air felt muggy.

  Shelly was on the mound, face glistening with sweat, hair damp and stringy, sweat staining the collar of her jersey. I watched her throw two screaming fast-ball strikes. The umpire called the batter out. Shelly’s pitches impressed me. I could see why she'd struck out Barry Quintana.

  “What’s the score?” I asked the closest man to me.

  “Two to nothing,” he said. “That pitcher has a no-hitter going. Only one more batter to get past, but it’s Silver City’s cleanup hitter. They walked her last time.”

  A woman with shoulders like a bull came to the plate. The crowd and the players got quiet. I heard the woman on third say, “You can do it, Shelly.” The batter took a couple of practice swings then dug in and waited. Shelly stood on the mound with the mitt curled on her left hip. She shook her head at the catcher’s sign a couple of times then pulled the ball from her mitt, took a breath, and pitched a fast ball–high and inside. The batter almost fell getting out of the way. Ball one.

  The catcher handled the pitch and returned it to Shelly. The instant the batter was back in the box, Shelly fired another fast ball straight down the middle. The batter swung late and missed. Strike one.

  The on-deck batter said, “Don’t let her get to you, Bearcluff. Send it out of the park.”

  Shelly took her time. I expected another fast-ball. That’s all I’d seen her throw, but the next pitch was a change-up. The batter swung too soon but got a piece of it. The ball curved foul past the third base line. Strike two.

  “She’s getting tired,” my neighbor said to no one in particular.

  I thought, If this is how she pitches tired, she must melt the cover off the ball when she’s fresh.

  Shelly took a while before she made the next pitch. When it came it was another fast-ball–high and inside. The batter fell down evading the pitch. She got to her feet cursing and pointing her bat at Shelly. Ball two.

  Again the catcher handled the ball and fired it back to the mound.

  The next pitch came quickly for a second time. It was a curve low and inside, but still, I thought, in the strike zone. The batter let it go by. The ump yelled, “Ball three!” The crowd groaned, and there was a lot of shouting at the umpire. The guy next to me whipped off his glasses and held them out.

  Now Shelly had a full count against a dangerous batter. She stood for a long time with the ball and her mitt on her hip. She looked tired. She put a foot on the rubber, and the batter backed out of the box. Mind games. Finally, they were both ready. The pitch was a medium fast ball, right down the middle. The batter swung with a grunt, and I heard a good solid crack as the bat met the ball and sent it straight at Shelly’s head. “Duck!” I yelled. Shelly ducked. She also got her mitt up and caught the ball. Hoooeee! She really was good.

  The batter started toward the pitcher’s mound with her bat in one hand, but she stopped as Shelly’s team ran to the mound shouting and screaming. Over the tumult, I heard the batter yell, “Next time, Quintana.”

  Shelly heard and made a half-hidden gesture. I don’t think many saw it, but I had a good view from my spot behind the plate. I wondered how much real venom poisoned their rivalry, and how much was acting for the crowd.

  I had passed Shelly’s Jag walking to the bleachers, so I made my way there and leaned against her car to wait. I thought again of the pictures Ezzy had given me. I couldn’t concentrate. A great weariness had engulfed me.

  I smelled rain. A bolt of lightning danced between earth and sky to the southwest. I unconsciously began to count. I counted ten seconds–about two miles. If I was any judge, it was on course to hit Cortez dead center.

  I stood there, sensing air movements, feeling the humidity, trying to keep my eyes open. I wondered where Nat was, and if a storm was also closing in on Durango. I was about to see if I could raise her on my cell phone when I saw Shelly and her catcher coming. Each of them carried one end of a laundry basket that held a bag of bats and balls and the catcher’s protective gear.

  “Great game, Shelly,” I said as she approached.

  “Oh, hi, Daniel. I thought you hadn’t come. I didn’t see you in the bleachers.” She turned to her catcher, “Ann, this is Daniel Corbin. Dan, this is Ann, Colorado’s best catcher.”

  We nodded, and I said to Ann, “She tough to catch?”

  “Yeah,” Ann said, “but we've been together three seasons now. I've adapted. This is her fourth no-hitter this year. Impressive, huh?”

  “I’m impressed,” I said. “I came late. I wish I’d seen the whole game.” Turning to Shelly, I said, “I’m sorry I was late. I drove over to Dove Creek and had supper with Ezzy and Evelyn.”

  “What happened to your face?” She reached to touch my bandage.

  “Long story. I had a visitor waiting when I got home last night. We had a disagreement.”

  “Man or woman, Daniel?”

  “A private eye from back east. I don’t know any women who leave marks like these.” It instantly occurred to me that maybe I did know such a woman. I hoped the darkness would hide my embarrassment. She didn’t react, but I sensed the comment hadn’t gone unnoticed.

  “What did you do to him?” Shelly asked.

  I cocked my head and said, “Staked him over an ant hill.” Sometimes telling the truth is the best way to obscure the truth.

  “Oh, bull.” She paused, “Wait a minute. Is that why Ezzy said call you Geronimo?”

  “Close. . . .” It was time to change the subject. “Hey, the guy I was sitting by must be a fan of yours. He knew you had a no-hitter going. He also told me that last batter was their cleanup hit
ter and dangerous. I was afraid she’d take your head off as well as spoil your no-hitter.”

  “That stupid umpire was blind. Bearcluff was out on that curve ball. I shouldn’t have had to throw that last pitch.”

  “It was a strike,” Ann said.

  “I thought so,” I said, “and I was right behind the plate. Did you see her start after you with the bat?”

  “If she’d kept coming, she’d have caught the ball right between the eyes.”

  “I thought I saw a little animosity there,” I said with a touch of sarcasm.

  Shelly didn’t say anything, but I sensed her anger. Finally, she said, “One of these days . . .”

  “Well, you made a great catch,” I said. “And congratulations on the no-hitter. I’ll call you next week. You must be tired.” She wasn’t the only one. I was dead on my feet.

  She said, “Not as tired as I tried to look. Do call me. Right now a long soak in my hot tub is calling.”

  Shelly and Ann picked up their basket and carried it to the back of the car.

  I took the opportunity to make an exit as fat rain drops began to fall. My head was pounding.

  I spent the weekend in Durango. Natasha was at a soccer camp, so I was alone. It was time to face my gremlins. I spent Saturday on yard work. Sunday I mopped what should have been Camille’s kitchen floor. A floor she would have kept clean and shiny. I also vacuumed the carpets and organized the clutter. Nat kept house like a teen-ager.

  Nat came home Sunday afternoon and immediately jumped in the shower to get ready for a date. I felt like the odd man out. I wanted to visit with her and tell her of my adventures with Philo Carter.

  I drove back to Cortez Monday morning. I could have waited for Nat to wake up, but I knew when she did, she’d only rush off to work. I left her a note telling her I was leaving. I needed her more than she needed me.

  It was a little past five o’clock when my phone rang. I answered and a man said, “Will you be available for a conference in a couple of hours?” I could tell by the gravel voice it was Arthur McLaughlin.

 

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