“Oh gosh,” Tony said. “I’m embarrassed to say I didn’t think to ask her.”
“No problem,” the woman said. “Let me ask our new car sales manager if he can figure out who it was. We sell a lot of cars, but Jack takes great pride in meeting every buyer before the deal is done.”
She picked up the phone, reached the sales manager, and concluded the call surprisingly quickly.
“Good news,” she said. “Jack remembered Ms. Wells immediately. He said Billy Thorngood helped her. That’s especially good news for you. He’s our best.”
“Great,” said Tony, still smiling, but knowing she would have said that regardless of which name the sales manager had given her. “Let’s give him a try.”
The young woman picked up the microphone for the overhead paging system, and in less than two minutes, a stocky man with close-cropped gray hair came charging across the showroom with his hand extended.
“I’m Billy Thorngood,” he said. “How can I help you, uh…”
“Tony. I’m Tony. I’m interested in a new Avalon.”
“Wonderful, wonderful,” Thorngood said. “You’ve come to the right place. Let’s go over to my desk. I’ll pull our inventory up on my computer and we can see how it matches with what you’re looking for. We’ll try to narrow it down to just a few cars so we’re not dragging you all over the parking lot in the cold.”
“I appreciate that,” Tony said, happy to finally be speaking the truth about something.
For the next fifteen minutes, Tony painted himself as a picky and somewhat eccentric buyer, setting the stage for the issue he had come to pursue. At the right moment he asked, “Tell me, does it help or hurt my negotiation on the price if you know I’m not going to finance the car?”
Thorngood replied, “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”
“Well, I know you or Toyota make money on financing the deals, so I just want to be sure that paying cash won’t cost me more in the selling price. Oh, it may help you to understand I’m a friend of Francie Wells. In fact I’m here because of her recommendation. I know she worried about this issue in negotiating her deal.”
“Really? That’s pretty funny because I didn’t think Ms. Wells worried about anything in buying her Avalon.”
“Knowing Francie as I do, I’m surprised. Tell me what you mean.”
“Well, it was just about the easiest sale I ever made. Ms. Wells walked into the showroom, pointed at the red Avalon and said she wanted to buy it. There wasn’t much negotiation about the price. If I remember right, she lived a long way from here. She wouldn’t even let us do the dealer preparation on it. She drove it out of here in less than an hour.”
“Well,” Tony tried to chuckle, “I guess that would explain why she spoke so highly of you and your dealership. She told me dealing with you was really easy. I guess I failed to understand just what she meant. And obviously, she was comfortable that skipping the financing would be no problem.”
“Obviously,” Thorngood said, leaning back in his chair. “In fact, it’s the first cash sale I ever made on a new car.”
“Really?” Tony said, surprised. “I would never have guessed that everyone finances with you.”
“No, no you don’t understand,” Thorngood said, shaking his head. “Francis, uh Francie…right? Yeah, Francie paid in cash. I mean cash. She literally counted out over $38,000 in cash on my desk – uh, that included taxes and fees you understand. No one here was even sure how to handle a sale that way. But we made it work, by God. You better believe we made it work.”
Thorngood laughed out loud and then asked, “You’re not going to do that too, are you?”
“No,” Tony assured him. “When I pay, there’s likely to be a check from my bank involved.”
Tony spent the next twenty minutes extricating himself from the salesman’s clutches, saying he hadn’t made up his mind on which options he wanted and promising to return. Once out the door, he jumped in his Explorer and headed west on I-80. Iowa City was about an hour away.
Curiouser and curiouser, he thought again as he drove, Francie Wells, you are just full of surprises.
Chapter 17
Tony hated parades. He especially hated covering them as a reporter. What can you say about a parade that hasn’t been said a thousand times before? He mostly hated having to fudge the truth. Parades were like Santa Claus: everyone knew the truth, but everyone preferred the fiction. The truth was that the local high school band wasn’t very good, most of the floats were made in someone’s garage and looked it, and the county fair queen looked a little wilted riding on top of the back seat of a Corvette convertible in the hot July sun. These were all things Tony wouldn’t write. He and his boss knew that the parents of all those kids, the readers of the Town Crier, preferred the fudged version.
At least the car is cool, Tony thought, but then it was gone. Not having time to look at the one cool feature of the parade was just another reason to dislike the whole affair. Tony didn’t feel as grumpy as he had every right to be. He appreciated the truly beautiful day and was glad to see that many people watching from lawn chairs and blankets along the route genuinely seemed to be having a good time. And these kids are thrilled to be in the parade, Tony thought as he snapped a photo of an overly adorable troupe of 8-year-olds prancing and spinning through a promotion of Eva’s Dance Studio.
Next came the obligatory fire truck, with firefighters sitting on their perches on the back, tossing candy to the kids lining the curbs. As the children scrambled around him to scoop up the goodies, Tony had to step carefully. He typically started at the front and moved toward the back when he photographed a parade. It actually took less time that way, and it ensured he saw everything while in motion on the parade route.
Up ahead he spotted Nelson’s campaign banner moving toward him, held aloft by two long poles which were held in turn by two young blonde beauties wearing matching shorts and halter tops in red, white, and blue. “I won’t just serve you, I’ll protect you!” the banner proclaimed above “Elect Nelson/Fitzgerald.” Behind the girls and the banner was a black Hummer. Speakers mounted on the top blared a patriotic march tune. There, behind the Hummer, walking back and forth from curb to curb, shaking hands and handing out flyers, was W. Rodney Nelson.
As Tony lifted his Nikon SLR, Nelson paused, raised his hand in a wave, and broadened his smile. Good grief, Tony thought. He’s posing for me. He snapped the picture anyway, knowing Ben wouldn’t use it, favoring a picture of a local cute kid over a politician every time.
Tony turned and matched strides with Nelson as he resumed campaigning.
“Mr. Nelson, Tony Harrington from the local paper. Can I ask you how the campaign is going?”
“I couldn’t be more pleased,” Nelson responded without hesitation. “The people of Iowa have been wonderfully welcoming of me and my family as we’ve traveled the state. More importantly, they’ve been clear in their support of our campaign. The people support our message of good government, supporting the middle class, and ensuring people are safe.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tony said, turning again to continue his walk into the parade stream. “Thanks for nothing,” he muttered when out of earshot.
Tony had of course heard identical comments from Nelson on the news for weeks. Somewhat surprisingly, the fact was the assistant attorney general was right. His message had gotten legs, and he was showing surprisingly strong in the polls. Governor Roskins still led, but it was early in the race and Nelson trailed by just three points. Nelson had been a viable candidate before, but he clearly was using his visibility as a law and order candidate to its best advantage.
Nelson had something else working in his favor. Iowa elects its governors on the midterm cycle, meaning there would be no presidential race on the ballot this fall. In addition, this was the cycle in which neither of the state’s U.S. senators was up for re-election. In other words, the turnout for the governor’s race would likely be low. Tony knew that somewhere behind close
d doors, a campaign strategist had calculated for Nelson exactly how many votes he would need to upset the popular governor. Now, Nelson and his campaign simply had to go out and find that number of people to get out and vote for him. Not an easy task, but not insurmountable either.
Of course, seeing Nelson churned up thoughts of his performance at the Wells trial and all the uncertainty and angst Tony still felt about that entire case. Tony wasn’t sure which gave him more sleepless nights, the thought of an innocent man rotting in The Fort, the thought of the guilty party roaming the streets, or the thought of an unfinished story. He knew his top concern should be for justice, both for Wells and the guilty person. He also knew, as a man who tried to be honest with himself, his concern for the unwritten story was at least as great.
After his encounter with Francie and the trip to the Quad Cities, Tony had tried for weeks to take the story further. Every angle he pursued and every attempt he made to find additional facts ended up running into a brick wall. Short of illegal wiretapping or perhaps kidnapping and torture, Tony couldn’t think of a way to get below the surface of what he was sure was an ocean of unreported facts.
Ben had been supportive of Tony’s efforts as long as he continued to produce other good articles as well. But eventually, even Ben had suggested Tony let it go. It wasn’t easy, but it was made easier by the fact that life was filled with plenty of distractions both at work and in his relationship with Lisa. Soon winter had melted away, spring had come and gone, and a hot, dry summer had moved in. Tony marveled that it was already the Fourth of July.
As he reached the end of the parade, he continued walking the twelve blocks to the county fairgrounds where the annual carnival was cheating people out of their hard-earned money with bad rides and unwinnable games. Despite the dirt and noise, the carnival’s two biggest attributes, Tony knew it would be good for a couple more photos. He would find an ice cream-covered face on a four-year-old, or the terrorized face of a pre-teen on the Tilt-a-Whirl, or just maybe the joyful face of a dad who managed to win a stuffed bear for his pleading child.
Snap, snap…a few questions of the people whose images he captured…a few signed photo releases (which were more courtesies than legal requirements in a public place), and Tony headed back to the Crier to write up the day’s events.
***
“Do I bore you?” Lisa asked, rolling back onto her side of the bed.
“Of course not,” Tony replied quickly, raising himself up on one elbow and sliding the palm of his hand up over her stomach, between her breasts and stopping to lightly stroke her cheek. “I was just thinking…”
“You were just ignoring me, which is something you never used to do,” Lisa replied in a voice that was trying to be kind but was straining to get there.
“I was just thinking,” Tony said, dropping his head back to the pillow and trying to control the frustration in his voice, “about that damn trial. Jeez, Lisa, I covered the biggest story of last year, maybe the biggest story of my life, and I’m not sure I did the job right. The thought has me… has me, I don’t know… discombobulated I guess.”
“What do you mean?” She warmed to the sound of his voice and slid closer. “You did a great job with the coverage. You were thorough and factual and, like always, your descriptions of the courtroom and all the players had me and lots of other people feeling like they were there with you. How can you feel you didn’t do the job?”
“I don’t know…” Tony hesitated. “Are you sure you want to talk about this?”
“We might as well,” Lisa smiled and sat up. “If I can’t keep you interested in sex, then I’d better convince you what a good partner I am for other reasons.”
Tony also sat up as he made up his mind. “Well, for starters, I hope you’ve noticed you have no problem keeping me interested in sex. But more to the point, you know I’ve felt for months there’s more to this case than anyone knows… or is telling.”
“But we’ve been through it all before, Tony. You did everything you could. It’s not your job to prove him innocent, or guilty for that matter. Your job is to report the facts.”
“Don’t I know it,” Tony pulled his knees up and lowered his head onto them. “But it was all just too pat. Too simple. Too cut and dried.”
Lisa groaned. “You have to stop second-guessing the evidence. You know better than I do that when all the facts point to the accused, he did it.”
“I know, I know, but not in this case.” Tony always felt his misgivings most when he began venting them. Now he felt as if he was a stallion bursting through the gate. “That ass Nelson had it all: the weapon, the clothes, the shoes, and even that young girl.”
“So…”
“I’m not finished. What Nelson didn’t have was a motive. Why? Why in the hell would this poor schmuck who’s never ever even had a parking ticket suddenly take a rifle and blow the brains out of two people he barely knew?”
“His sister said…”
“I know what she said. I’m the one who had to tell everyone how she sealed her brother’s fate. But it’s such a crock. She claims she heard him threaten to kill the Ennises over some meth deal. But there’s no evidence Wells was involved in dealing meth. And would a man known for his dislike of confrontations and violence suddenly decide to kill two people over a bag of meth?”
Tony plunged on. “What’s more important is the part I couldn’t report in the newspaper.” Lisa looked puzzled and he continued, “I don’t get to tell people what I see that can’t be captured in a picture… my impressions. As I watched, one of those strong feelings was that Miss Francie was a lying bitch. I’d bet my car… well maybe not my car, but I’d bet a lot that she never heard Ralph say one word about the Ennises.”
“Now wait a minute,” Lisa said, taking her turn to sound irritated.
Tony knew Lisa disliked it when he jumped to conclusions about people. He also knew she was right – he was too quick to form opinions and too slow to change them.
“Okay, okay, I know what you’re going to say. I don’t know her and maybe I’m wrong. But even if I am, I can tell you something I’m not wrong about. I saw her look at her brother, and she feels nothing for him. I also heard what she said in the park that day. Her testimony wasn’t about Ralph. It was about something else altogether. Something involving love, or money, or both.”
“Back up a minute. Are you trying to say you could tell by sitting in the courtroom that a woman doesn’t love her brother?”
“I know how egocentric that sounds,” Tony said earnestly, “but you had to see the way she looked at him. She felt none of the things you or I would have felt if we were sending one of our loved ones to prison for life. No love, no sympathy, no guilt. I’m not surprised she volunteered to testify. In fact, I’d bet she approached Nelson and not the other way around.”
“Well, that should be something you could find out.”
Tony was struck by that thought. His muscles tightened and little peaks of flesh began to form at the base of the hairs on his arms. Lisa was right. As hard as it was to get information from attorneys during a trial, the further it faded into the past, the easier it should be to find out exactly what led to Francie appearing for the prosecution. If she came forward on her own and not because an investigator had identified her and urged her to cooperate, then why? His mind was immediately considering all the possibilities. It made the scene he had observed between her and Peters all the more intriguing, and he said so.
“Oh cripes,” Lisa moaned. “I should have kept quiet. I’ll never get any of your attention now.” Tony turned and looked into her eyes. Her big, soft, hazel eyes. He smiled, “Oh, I think I know some things you can do to get my mind off of Ralph and Francie Wells.” His eyes dropped from her face, to her breasts, to the blanket, gathered in a soft pile in her lap. He thought, Holy shit, this woman has a great body, but said aloud, “Besides, I need to thank you for your ear and for your wonderful idea.”
He then leaned over and whispe
red, “Now where’s that ear I wanted to thank?” He rolled onto her and flicked his tongue across her earlobe. His hands gripped the sides of her rib cage and he kissed her on the side of the neck; then kissed her again, lower; then again, lower…
Later, as they pushed the covers back to cool off, it was Lisa who surprised Tony with thoughts of the trial.
“By the way,” she said, “if Ralph Wells didn’t kill the Ennises, who did?”
Tony almost paused to ask her if she had been thinking about this while they were making love, but stopped himself knowing he wasn’t prepared to answer the same question if she turned it on him. He thought about the question of who did the crime if not Wells. It was a question he had considered many times since the trial, but never too seriously.
Tony groaned aloud. “I’m so sure I’m right on the one hand, and I’m completely clueless on the other. I don’t even know how to begin to find out who really killed them. It looks like Francie and maybe even Peters are wrapped up in this somehow, but even their involvement is a mystery.”
“It all goes back to motive,” Lisa said sleepily. “To know who killed them, you have to know who benefited from it.”
“Of course. I’ve tried to look at that, but I’m still at a loss.”
Nothing Tony had learned in the trial or in talking to his friends in the DCI had given him any indication of a potential beneficiary. There was no inheritance involved at all. The house had been rented, and the couple’s bank accounts were meager. Even the two daughters had been left with next to nothing and now were foster children being cared for by the state. Without another suspect, it was impossible to investigate potential benefits or motives. Now, with Wells serving prison time for the crime, he knew there would never be another suspect coming from the DCI or the Sheriff’s Department.
Burying the Lede Page 15