High Court (Cid Garrett P.I. Book 2)

by Alexie Aaron

  “There was no one there,” Luminosa said stubbornly. “If there was someone, she would have warned us, helped us. Who would stand there and watch us die?”

  “Someone was there,” Faye insisted. “I don’t know if it was a girl or a woman. I got information that there was a lass in the field.”

  “Lass in field? No,” Luminosa said, moving closer to Faye. ‘Lass in field’ is what my Miguel called Heaven after my husband Pedro told him about the Elysian Fields before he left for Vietnam.”

  “I’m not sure I know what the Elysian Fields are, but I will find out.”

  “Pedro told the children that if he didn’t return from the war, he would wait in the Elysian Fields until it was their time to die. He hoped to return, and for everyone to live long lives, but he was a realist. Family was very important to him. He was in heaven when he was surrounded by his children. Elysium is Pedro’s heaven, a place for a fallen hero to wait for his family to join him after they had lived full lives. Miguel had a problem pronouncing things. He called it ‘lass in field.’ We all laughed. My children are there with Pedro. It is up to me to find justice.”

  “If this is true, your Miguel isn’t in Elysium yet. He’s here…”

  “Where? I don’t see him,” Luminosa said, twisting around and around until her form resembled a rotini pasta.

  “Not here as in here but over in Stepner in the Gazette building. I can’t see him, but he’s there helping me to solve the mystery of who killed all of you.”

  “Ask him,” Luminosa pleaded. “Miguel would know. Miguel saw.”

  “Not necessarily, I was murdered, and in this limbo in which our souls wander, I don’t know who killed me, let alone who I am,” she confessed. “I can’t move on until I do.”

  “So I’m not crazy?” Luminosa asked.

  “Your understandable rage has…” Faye hedged. “You’re attacking those that…”

  “I am crazy,” Luminosa answered for herself. “What do I do with this rage, this injustice, this pain?”

  “Let us help you. Amongst the builders, there are three men and a lady who want justice for you too. But they can’t work for fear of what you will do to them.”

  “I no kill the guards. I find one. I tell.”

  “They’re not dead. You helped save the guard in Cabin 4.”

  Luminosa untwisted and took the form she was used to seeing in the mirror back before the slaughter.

  Faye saw a beautiful dark-haired woman with lines at her eyes that Faye imagined would crease when she smiled. She was full-figured with very strong arms. There was a faint glimmer of something on her chest before it faded. “Could it have been a cross?” Faye asked herself.

  “I go. You tell these men to find the killer and bring him here. Then I will rest.”

  “It may take some time,” Faye warned.

  Luminosa lifted her hand as if to push away the excuse and stopped. “Tell them I give them time, but not too much time.”

  Faye nodded.

  Luminosa disappeared.

  Faye waited. Noon came and went without a replay of the Bautista murders. Luminosa was keeping her word.

  Chapter Twelve

  Cid fought sleep as the alarm on his watch went off. “Why is it set for three?” he asked himself. It took a moment for him to realize it was for 3 PM and not AM. Working with PEEPs had conditioned him to sleep at odd hours. Falling asleep wasn’t hard, waking was a whole ’nother ballgame. Cid needed a caffeine infusion. He reached for a Dr. Pepper after he realized he forgot to buy coffee. He didn’t used to be a coffee addict, but working alongside Ted had changed that. If it wasn’t coffee, it was sugar his friend dined on. Of course, Ted’s genetics allowed him the calories. Cid’s did not.

  Cid downed the drink and waited for the fog to clear. Yesterday had been a long one; it bled into today, and this afternoon, he felt like a week had gone by since he left home, instead of just a day. He pulled the bent business card out of his jeans pocket and focused on the number and dialed.

  “Stepner County Sheriff’s Department,” a congenial female voice announced. “If this is an emergency, dial 911.”

  “Hello, this is Cid Garrett. I believe Sheriff Grady would like to see me this afternoon. Does he have me scheduled for a distinct time or…”

  “One moment please,” she interrupted and put him on hold.

  Hold music, no matter the kind, would never soothe the savage beast. Cid would rather have dead silence, but this was not the way of the world.

  “Mr. Garrett, the sheriff says he will be in the office until five. You’re welcome anytime.”

  “Thank you, I’m heading over… Mind telling me where you are in relation to the High Court motel?”

  The receptionist gave him the directions. He liked listening to her voice. It was easy on the ears. He gathered his stuff and stopped and took a look at himself in the mirror. Dark eye circles and black stubble adorned his face. “Not going to win any beauty pageants today, but time is at a premium,” he said to the mirror before he left.

  Stepner was a busy little town. Cid had to circle the block before he found a place to park. He walked into the governmental building that housed the County Sheriff and the County Jail. The brick building was solid, and as the door closed, any sound from the outside world was muted to the point of nonexistence. Cid walked into the carpeted lobby which held the entrances to two other county government offices and a massive staircase. He walked over and pulled open the glass door with the Stepner County Sheriff’s emblem on it. The sound of fingers typing on keyboards instantly filled his ears. Before him was a counter which served to divide the reception area from the busy office. The deputy in charge of reception strode over to him.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes, I have a loose appointment with Sheriff Grady.”

  “You must be Cid Garrett. He’s waiting for you. Please follow me,” she said and buzzed open the reception door.

  Cid was led through a large room where several deputies were interviewing people. A few were just filling out reports. He noticed that all of them had one eye on the door Cid was about to go through. The deputy knocked, opened the door, and waited for Cid to walk in before closing it after him.

  Sheriff Grady looked up and got to his feet. “Come in, son, pull up a chair. You look like a coffee would help that knitted brow of yours.” The sheriff went to his personal coffee maker and poured Cid a mug. “Take anything?”

  “Black will be fine,” Cid said, too tired to go through the particulars of how he drank his coffee.

  Grady handed him the mug.

  Cid handed him the flash drive. “On this you’ll find the complete six camera feeds from yesterday. Maybe your deputies will spot something my tired eyes didn’t see. It’s date- and time-stamped.”

  “Thank you, this goes beyond the call. But from what I learned today, it’s normal for a man of your caliber. I hope you don’t mind, but I put in a call to your county in Illinois and talked to Acting Sheriff Tom Braverman. He confirmed my suspicions that you’re a real handy guy to have on hand, no pun intended. In the spirit of full disclosure, Sheriff John Ryan and I go way back. He’s got some stories that will keep you up at night.”

  “I imagine he does,” Cid said. He didn’t contribute any more stories; he just waited for the sheriff to continue.

  “When I was a kid, my dad, William Senior, had this job that I’ve been elected to. He used to tell us he felt like he was on vacation until the vacationers arrived, and then it became work. Nothing untoward happened on his watch. He ran the department with half the personnel I have, and everyone was happy. That was until someone called into the station that they heard a lot of gunfire coming from the High Court motel. He arrived just after the state police. Technically, High Court is on their patch, but it’s also on ours,” Grady explained. “He didn’t tell us what they found up there, but it changed him. He became withdrawn and angry with the townspeople he would normally call his neighbors.�
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  Cid sipped his coffee, his ears taking in the story while his eyes watched the changing expressions on the sheriff’s face.

  “Silvester Dodd of the State Police arrived on the scene. He was a piece of work. Dodd bullied my father until he let him run lead on the investigation. Telling him about all the state-of-the-art forensic equipment they had. Said, ‘Don’t the victims deserve the justice I can give them?’ Well, the bastard took the case and closed it in a week. My dad tried to reopen it, but there was a lot of pressure coming from the town hall and the state house. For the sake of keeping his job, he had to declare it a cold case and move on. But he never did. After he passed, I found his tiny situation room at the top of the garage. Cid, he worked on that case until he died.”

  “He sounds like a dedicated man.”

  “A haunted man,” Grady said. “And now I find myself in his shoes. But this time I’m going to solve this thing. To do this, Cid, I need honesty. This is not a time to be close-mouthed. If I think it’s a rutabaga and it’s a turnip, I’m depending on you telling me.”

  “How can I be of help?” Cid asked.

  “I know you’ve only been here just over a day, so I’m not expecting you to know everything. Just tell me what you do know,” he instructed.

  “The property is haunted by a very powerful, dangerous, angry spirit.” Cid waited, and when the sheriff didn’t kick him out, he continued, “With the help of the video I shot and the special camera I had Jesse Holden use, we were able to see what happened that fateful day from Luminosa Bautista’s perspective. But that’s not going to help much, because she was the first to be shot.” Cid dug into his pocket and held up another flash drive. “Would you like to see what evidence I have?”

  The sheriff got out of his chair. “Please.”

  Cid sat down at the county computer, locked out the network, installed a video player, and loaded the contents of the flash drive.

  He got up. “Sit here and press play.”

  Grady sat down and took a deep breath before starting the film evidence. Cid watched his face as the images moved by. Grady paused and asked, “The first blur?”

  “We think it’s Miguel Bautista. Let me turn up the sound. You can hear her.”

  “Who?”

  “Luminosa.”

  “My god.”

  The two watched and listened until the film was finished. Afterwards, Cid showed the sheriff a slide show of stills and showed him the time stamp. “I could send this to a friend of mine, and he could do a split screen, so you can watch the tri-spectrum camera and the video at the same time. Also, he could apply filters so we may be able to see some things more clearly, but the dark masses won’t change much.”

  “I know you haven’t had a lot of time, but why haven’t you done this already?” Grady asked.

  “I signed a nondisclosure contract. I believe what I’m doing now will get me fired.”

  “It won’t, because I’m not going to tell anybody. No one’s going to believe me anyway. Cid, I want you to come with me. It’s about time I shared my father’s obsession with you.”

  Cid got into the sheriff’s cruiser, and the two drove a short distance away into an old but well-kept neighborhood. Grady pulled into a long drive and parked behind the house at the detached garage.

  “Give me a moment to alert my mother we’re here.”

  “Your mother is still alive?”

  “She’s ninety-five and sharp as a tack. She has live-in care, Miss Augosa, my children’s former Sunday school teacher. Miss Augosa comes in at night. My mother is fine on her own until then.”

  “Will!” Mrs. Grady exclaimed as she opened the back door. “What a pleasant surprise. Who’s that youngster with you?”

  “His name is Cid Garrett. He’s a carpenter. He’s going to look at the attic stairs for me,” Grady lied.

  “They seem fine to me,” his mother said.

  “Mom, you haven’t been climbing those stairs, have you?” Grady asked in alarm.

  “No, but last time I did, they were fine. Your father saw to that.”

  “Yes, he did. But let Cid have a look anyway,” he pleaded.

  “Well, alright. You two come in after, and I’ll have some hot cocoa and cookies waiting.”

  “Yes, Mom,” Grady said obediently.

  “Nice to meet you,” Cid said, taking the arthritis-riddled hand tenderly in his.

  Grady saw his mother blush. He wasn’t sure how he felt about this. He said gruffly, “Garrett, let’s get those stairs sorted.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Cid followed him through the side door of the garage, around the older model cars parked inside, to the back where the stairs to the attic were. Cid followed the sheriff up slowly.

  “What are you doing?” the sheriff asked impatiently.

  “I’m checking the stairs. You don’t have a problem lying to your mother, but I do. By the way, you should replace the third step from the bottom. The carpenter ants have been having a field day with it. It’s not dangerous, but it wobbles.”

  Grady took out a notebook and wrote it down.

  “I could fix it for you.”

  “Nah, I’ll get it. But thanks for the offer.”

  “The reason I lied is that I didn’t want to bring up the motel thing. It was a low point for all of us Gradys.

  “I understand.”

  The sheriff clicked on the overhead lights, and the two moved through the clutter until they came to another door. The sheriff took out a key and unlocked the door. “I keep it locked. There’s evidence in here.”

  Cid followed him in, but when the florescent light was pulled, Cid took a step backwards. There on the wall were pictures, maps, articles, and different colored yarn strands, pulled tight, leading the eye through several scenarios. Pieces of cardstock with dates on them were pinned along the timeline. “Wow,” Cid said. “He was thorough.”

  “My dad was no slouch. He didn’t need a forensics department; he had his brain.”

  “Unfortunately, these days, I understand you need forensic evidence to get a conviction.”

  “Oh yes.”

  “Did you follow up on any of his lines of reasoning?” Cid asked, looking at the biker club line.

  “A few, but I ran into dead ends. There is something major that I’m missing. My father believed that someone with high connections was involved, either voluntarily or by relation. A big cover-up was in place before he could really get his hands into the investigation.”

  Cid looked at a line that ended with five pictures, all taken from what looked like a high school yearbook. “People of interest?”

  “Suspects. Why don’t we just say suspects? This here is Mark Lamb, son of the mayor at the time,” he said, tapping the first picture. “Next, Inspector Silvester Dodd’s son Henry, or Hank depending on who you talk to. This here is Roland Wilson. His father was a multimillionaire and was on the town council at the time of the investigation. Roland is still our senator. And finally,” he said, tapping the last two pictures, “Ken Smith and Jason Lake. They were what I’d call local thugs with rich daddies.”

  “Why did your father pick these boys?”

  “From what I got from reading his notes, my father was under the opinion that drugs, youth, and money were contributing factors to the murder. My dad, for some time, had been trying to find out how these so-called recreational drugs were getting into our small community. People assumed that the rich summer people were bringing them here with them, but my dad thought that it was possibly something more sinister than that. Stepner is a day’s drive between two big cities: one known for the cops looking the other way and the other with a big youth drug problem. He thought, perhaps, they were either meeting up at High Court or the mules would be staying there overnight. The local boys would pick up their supplies there, and in due course, Stepner had a local drug problem.”

  “Why did he zero in on these five?”

  “They hung out together, and they were known to my d
ad. More than once, they were brought into the station on a legit charge, only to be plucked out by expensive lawyers.”

  “Where are they now?” Cid asked.

  Grady smiled. “These three are still here. Ken Smith and Jason Lake have been missing since the murders. They are either dead or living quietly abroad.”

  “So, you’re telling me that Mark Lamb, Hank Dodd, and Roland Wilson are living in Stepner?”

  “Stepner County. They have big places up around the lake. The Lambs weren’t that wealthy when Mayor Lamb held office, but his son is. Mark is the mayor now and owns a lot of expensive real estate, a few dealerships and half of downtown. Hank Dodd’s father put him in rehab a few times, and the kid seemed to straighten out. He runs the only boat storage business around here. Haven’t heard a complaint, so I assume he does a good job, or his son does. Hank is up there in years, as are all these players. That leaves Roland Wilson. He followed daddy into a political career for a while and then did a lot of lobbying for big tobacco and the drug companies. I think he’s retired now with missus number five. He insists on being called Senator Wilson as is custom around here.”

  “You brought up age. My immediate question was, could these men at, what, seventy-something subdue two army-trained security guards?”

  Grady rubbed his face as he thought. “Maybe, depends on the motivation and if any of them had any training. The hits the guards received had a lot of anger behind them. Hank’s got a bad knee. I think, if any of this original set of suspects are involved, they have hired someone to do their dirty work or, possibly, passed it on to one of their sons.”

  “Or it could be one of these other lines of inquiry,” Cid said, motioning towards the wall. “I have an idea.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “I have a friend who could conduct a discreet computer investigation of all of this. I could take pictures of the wall, and he’ll work on it. He’s very fast. Hypothetically speaking, he could go where you and your deputies can’t.”