by Cliff Black
“That would be a weird homecoming,” I said.
“McLaughlin claims he only did what was right. Says he kept in touch with the boy’s mother and sent her money every month to help with expenses.”
This was a turn of events I could never have predicted. “He has a son?” I asked.
“That’s what he says. The rich old goat told me his son has been part of McLaughlin Enterprises almost from the beginning. Says he’s a ‘chip off the old block.’ McLaughlin wants his son to inherit the business. Arthur had a brush with cancer a couple of years ago. He wants to get it resolved while he’s alive. He says his wife would give everything to her granddaughter.”
“What am I missing? What’s his problem with Melanie?” I asked.
“Simple, Arthur's wife owns half the business, and she doesn't know about Arthur’s son. He’s never told her because he likes to hold the possibility she had a lover over her head.”
“What lover?”
“The one who fathered McLaughlin’s daughter, Mary, who was born eight and a half months after their wedding.”
“I guess I’m a little slow tonight. Why in the world didn’t Arthur have tests done if he thinks he’s not the father?” I asked.
“He didn’t say this, but I think it’s because his wife inherited money. He didn’t want to break up the marriage. He wanted his wife to finance his business venture, and at the same time he liked having a way to exert control. He enjoys carrying grudges.”
“Inheritance. That’s what this was all about?”
“In a nut shell,” Ezzy said, “Unless McLaughlin was making it up on the fly, and given the circumstances, I don’t think he was, the old man practically admitted he tried to get Philo to make the girl disappear after he found her. Carter wouldn’t cross that line. He wasn’t willing to kidnap her or harm her in any way.”
I was unimpressed. “Nice guy,” I said. “Maybe I’ll let him wear sunglasses next time I stake him out.”
“The story McLaughlin’s giving the FBI is that he and Carter surprised Smith at the camp trailer and Smith escaped. Carter went after Smith, and McLaughlin stayed with the girl.”
“That’s total B.S.,” I said. “Smith led us on a snipe hunt while Carter delivered the girl to the trailer. I expect Mister Carter may spend some serious time behind bars, unless he can convince the feds he didn’t know what either Smith or McLaughlin was up to.”
Ezzy said, “Kidnapping is a federal offense, and Carter should have known better than to take the girl across a state line, but she is eighteen, so unless we can prove she was taken against her will . . . . I hope someone can put together an airtight case against Carter and McLaughlin.”
I thought about that and then said, “Yeah, but what evidence do we have? Who’s gonna have jurisdiction? Who can give testimony that isn’t tainted?”
The next day, I drove to Cortez again after my one o’clock class. I called the Cortez Police Department as I neared town and asked if they had a James Wilson or a James Smith in custody.
“No, we do not. Who is this?” was the reply.
I didn’t tell them. I asked for Sergeant Collins and was told he was out on an investigation.
I figured I might as well drive by Wilson’s place and see what was going on. When I got to the old motel, there was a fire truck there, and two firemen were poking around in the blackened remains of three of the units. I sat in my truck and looked at the mess. There came a rap on my side window. Sergeant Collins was standing there.
I rolled the window down, and he said, “You’re like a bad penny. I’m beginning to think Corporal Brown’s right. What brings you to the scene of the crime?”
“I wanted to talk to a man who was living here.”
“Man named Wilson by any chance?”
“That would be the one. I figured you’d have him in jail. When your office said he wasn't there, I came here.”
“Well, isn’t that a coincidence. What did you want to see him about?”
I ignored his question and asked, “What happened?”
“Your Mister Wilson was smoking in bed and went to sleep, or maybe it was suicide. There’s not much left of him. Why did you want to talk to him?”
“Did you hear about the kidnapping in Durango yesterday?” I asked.
“Don’t tell me you got mixed up in that too. First it was Shelly Quintanna, then that kidnapping, and now this? You do get around. You haven’t told me why you wanted to talk to Wilson.”
“He was the kidnapper.”
Collins looked over at the firemen sifting through the blackened mess. Then he turned back to me and said, “The FBI agrees, if that's any consolation. What made you think he’d still be here?”
“I didn’t. I figured you’d have him in jail.”
Collins said, “I still want to know how you got involved.”
“It’s kind of a long story. I told you I was working on a missing person case, didn’t I?”
“Seems like you did.”
“The kidnapee is my missing person. She was right under my nose and I didn’t have a clue. Today, I’m only trying to get everything bagged up. I knew it was a long shot, but I wanted to talk to Wilson. Are you right sure it was Wilson that died in this fire?”
“Somebody did, and it was Wilson’s room.” Collins hesitated for a few seconds, looked again at the blackened remains, and then said, “I have an unhappy feeling there’s a reason why you asked that.”
“Yeah, there is a reason,” I said. “Your James Wilson is the James W. Smith who died in a cabin fire over in Nevada last year. And that James W. Smith is the same Jimmy Smith whose wife was thought to have died in an automobile fire eighteen years ago. That wife, incidentally, changed her name and became the Candace Appleton whose body was found in Utah a couple of weeks ago. I think there’s a pattern there, Collins. My guess is, if someone died in this fire, it was neither James Wilson nor James W. Smith.”
“We’re looking for Wilson’s truck. You’re saying maybe he’s in it?”
“His pickup?”
“Yeah, he drove an old, gray, Chevy pickup. We have the license number.”
“I doubt he’s in that. You might do better to watch for a seventies Cadillac with an amateur white paint job”
“Collins didn’t even question me. He stepped away and spent a minute on his radio. When he came back, he said, “Dang it Corbin. Why couldn’t you have stayed home today? I’ve planned to take two weeks off starting Monday. I’m about to get my toe nails fixed and then the wife and I want to fly down to Mazatlan and lie on the beach for a week. I don’t need this pain in the butt to go along with the pain in my toes.”
“Sorry about that. We didn’t know Wilson’s cover was blown until late last night. I thought someone would have called you to pick him up. When did the fire start?”
“Oh, we got a call all right, but it was way too late to do any good. Ten forty-four was when the alarm came in.”
“I guess there was no way we could have stopped him then. Sheriff Miller predicted Wilson would be long gone. It figures this is the way he’d do it.”
“Miller again? How was he involved?”
“I called him when this whole fiasco started. We weren’t sure it was a kidnaping then, but Ezzy has a nose for what doesn’t smell right. He rented a helicopter and made it possible for me to find the girl before any more harm came to her. He also took care of organizing the cavalry–and the Indians.”
Collins snorted at that. “I think I’m glad you don’t have my phone number.”
“Maybe you should give it to me,” I said.
“Not dang likely, but since you know so much about this Wilson character, where will he go? How will he get there?”
I thought about that for a minute and then said, “I don’t think he’d dare go back to California or Nevada. There’s nothing for him in Utah, either. My guess would be Arizona, New Mexico or Texas. Maybe down close to the border–just in case. As for how he would get there. I thi
nk he’ll be driving that big old Cadillac I mentioned. That’s what I’d look for. It’s a ‘70 to 75 model Coupe de Ville. I think it’s the car Candy Appleton had.”
Chapter Thirty-Six
Collins walked away talking on his radio again. I started my truck, thinking I should leave, but then I remembered I had more bad news for the sergeant–depending on whether Shelly was still around–so I turned off the engine and watched.
After about twenty minutes, Collins came back to my pickup. “How come you’re still here, Corbin?”
“I figured pretty soon you’d want to ask me some more questions, and if I stayed you wouldn’t have to drive all the way to Durango.”
Collins looked at me with a sour expression. “You being a smart aleck?”
“Maybe a little. No offense meant.”
“Okay, tell me something, smart aleck. If this cadaver ain’t Wilson, do you have any idea who he is?”
“Not a clue,” I said. “Sorry. If I was you, I’d check with your homeless drifters. See if they’re aware of anyone missing.”
Collins moved away and talked on his portable radio again for several minutes. Then he came back to my window.
“Speaking of someone missing,” he said, “did you know Shelly Grafton is gone without a trace?”
“When?”
“Sometime in the last few days. I stopped by her house on the way out here this afternoon. New owners were there carrying small stuff inside. They were expecting a moving van shortly. I asked about Shelly, but they didn’t know where she’d moved to. I called the bank. They said she’d cleared out her accounts and quit. They wouldn’t tell me when, but I talked to her less than a week ago.” There was a long pause, and I could see his gears turning. Finally, he said, “I’ll bet this is what you figured I’d ask about, isn’t it?”
I was thinking Shelly must have been ready to boogey on a moment's notice. It seemed like a long time since I'd told her to get out of Dodge, but it was only yesterday morning. I said. “You still think she killed her husband?”
“I’m doubly sure of it now she’s skipped out. Are you ready to tell me what you know?”
“I don't know anything, but I can suggest a place to look for a body.”
“I’m listening.” His voice said this wasn't being one of his better days.
“I think you’ll find Barry under the pond.” I said.
“What pond?”
“The one right across that little bit of lawn from the rose garden you dug up.”
“Oh, come on. How could that be? That pond’s not new, is it?”
“I think it is. Shelly tried not to tell me when it was built, but I suspect it was done the same time as the rose garden or shortly before.”
Collins thought about that and then said, “That still doesn’t make sense. Even if the pond was ready for concrete when she killed him, how could she have got him in the ground without the workers knowing? Below the soil she had hauled in, that place is solid rock. What makes you think he’s there?”
“Well, first of all, the bottom of the pond isn’t concrete. It’s a rubber sheet covered with sand and rocks so the rubber won’t show. And second, Ezzy Miller’s dog told me.” I explained what happened the night they dug up the rose garden.
“I suppose you’re gonna tell me Barry was in the freezer while they built the water feature.”
“That’s what I figure.” I said.
“Can’t be right. Barry was a big man. There’s no way Shelly could have got him in and out of the freezer.”
“Didn’t you see the ring in the beam overhead?”
Collins rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I guess I missed that.” He paused again and then said, “That would have been some trick to put a frozen, two-hundred and fifty pound body across a wheelbarrow, and move it down to the pond. It would have been a lot easier while he was limber. I still don't think she could do it without help.”
“She could have rolled him across the patio onto the pool deck, and then rolled him over the back edge, and right down into the pond. Everything was torn up from building the water feature. No one would have noticed any marks left by a frozen body.”
“I guess there’s nothing to do but go dig up the pond,” Collins said. “The new owners will beller so loud you’ll hear them in Durango.” He kicked the ground, then cringed, and swore under his breath from the pain in his toe.
After he recovered, he asked, “Did you know Barry had a history of getting drunk and thumping on his wives? Was that why Shelly killed him?”
I was about to answer but thought better of it. “I think I've said all I want to.”
Collins looked at me. “How long you been sitting on this?” he asked.
“It came to me at the garage sale, when you said you hadn’t dug in the right place yet.”
“I thought you looked like you’d had an epiphany.. Maybe after my toenails get fixed–and after they stop hurting from the operation–maybe if my feet don’t hurt so bad my brain will work better.”
Collins started to walk away, but then he turned back once more and said. “Could you forget about talking to me today–not about the fire–about this other thing?”
“It doesn't matter to me,” I said.
“I’ll have to think about if for a while, but I never did like that shyster Quintana. You could depend on him to defend the worst pond scum in the county. Did you know a couple of years back he represented one of those cop killers? I like the idea of him buried under that pond with fish crapping in his face, and I sure don’t want to dig him up. He deserved what he got.”
“The new owners don’t have a dog, do they?” I asked.
“Only a little yapper lap dog. Nothing to worry about there.”
“Go get your toes fixed. If it suits you, I never mentioned it.”
When I got home that evening, Nat met me at the door to tell me Alice McLaughlin had been trying to get hold of me all afternoon. I’d been wondering if I should call her and tell her what had happened to her husband. I hadn’t done it because I didn’t feel like I owed Arthur any favors, and I’d likely have to eat the phone bill. I was already way too far in the red on the McLaughlin case. I called Alice anyway.
When I told her who I was she said, “Mr. Corbin, I hope you can tell me what’s going on out there. I got a strange call from Arthur today. He said he was in Durango and would be there for a few more days. He said our arrangement with you was terminated, and I was not to contact you. Mr. Corbin, I try to get along with Arthur, but I don’t take orders. Do you know anything?”
I felt like Arthur deserved all the grief he could get, so I gave Alice a condensed version of what we’d learned and everything that had happened the last two days. It was a good decision.
Alice said, “Why that sneaky old fart. You mean after all the harassment he’s given me over Mary, he had an illegitimate son of his own? And that he actually wanted to get rid of Cherish, so his son could inherit?”
“That’s my understanding, Mrs. McLaughlin. I’m sorry.”
“Well, I’m not sorry. I’m glad to finally get to the bottom of this. That old fool better hope they never let him out of jail. We always tell people we each own half of McLaughlin Enterprises. The truth is, I own fifty-one percent. I insisted on that only because he never accepted Mary as his daughter. Tomorrow I become Chairman of the Board and CEO, and there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.
“The first thing I’m going to do is fire that horse’s ass. The second thing I’ll do is yank his hand out of the till. He’ll find out he doesn’t have money to spend on lawyers. Maybe I’ll let Arthur’s son stay on. It isn’t his fault his dad’s a lying cockroach. I think I’ll spend a little money on DNA tests too. I know Cherish is his granddaughter. I want to get proof and jam it down his throat.”
This turn of events caught me by surprise. It kinda tickled me, to tell the truth. Like I said, I figured Arthur deserved whatever grief he got. I said, “Is it all right if I send a report and a
bill for my time?”
“It’s more than all right. I insist on it. And be sure to add the bonus for finding Cherish.”
“I’ll do that Mrs. McLaughlin, and thank you.”
“Oh, one other thing,” Mrs McLaughlin said, “I want to meet Cherish. Do you think you could arrange that?”
“I’ll have to see. I don’t think she knows she’s adopted. Her mother may not want her to know.”
“She’s eighteen now. She can make up her own mind.”
Alice McLaughlin had obviously made up her mind. “I’ll see what I can do,” I said.
The next day being Saturday, I spent most of the day writing a detailed report of our findings to send to Mrs. McLaughlin. After much turning and twisting, I told her about Mary–Candace Appleton–as well. I knew she wouldn’t like it, but she would like it even less if she found out some other way.
I was out watering the lawn that evening when Sergeant Collins pulled up in his official car. He motioned for me to come get in the car with him. I shut off the water and did so.
Collins said, “This isn’t for release yet, but I’m off tomorrow, and Monday I get my toe nails fixed. I thought you deserved to know. We found that white Coupe de Ville.”
“Where?”
“In the parking lot of the Ute Mountain Casino.”
“I wondered if Wilson was keeping it there. I guess that means he didn’t use it for his escape.”
“He probably did. He was in it.”
“I don’t understand.”
“To be more accurate, Wilson or Smith’s mutilated body was in the trunk. This is what we believe: Person or persons unknown held him down and partially skinned him alive. They cut block letters in his chest, belly, and thighs, and then removed the skin that had been outlined.”