A Witness Above

by Andy Straka

  “You still get along with your ex-wife?” he asked.

  “We're not on each other's Christmas card list, if that's what you mean.”

  “You fly hawks, don't you, like your pal Toronto?”

  “One. A red-tail.”

  “Big bird,” he said. “You boys get off on it when they kill something?”

  How could you explain working with a bird of prey to someone like this? You couldn't—not really. “She has her moments.”

  “Your daughter mention anything to you about having problems? Anything to make you think she'd be usin’ drugs?”

  “Nope.”

  “Well her mama don't seem so surprised.”

  I decided I'd risk probing a little more. “Ferrier mentioned that the drug trade's picked up down this way.”

  He glared at me. “Some.” Now I was stepping on his toes.

  “How are you dealing with it?”

  He waved his hand and suddenly looked tired. “How else? Best we can. Most of these new operators, gangs and whatnot, they're pretty sophisticated. Know how to come and go and all the back roads and places where they can slip across state lines. DEA came in a couple years back and mounted an operation. That made some dent. But it's like the moonshiners. If we brought in enough manpower and equipment to really do the job, people'd start complaining we was running a police state.”

  “Land of the free,” I said.

  He grunted again.

  “So what's your working theory on the Turner murder?”

  “My workin’ theory?” He chuckled. “Simple. What goes around comes around.”

  “It was over drugs then?”

  “Ten to one.”

  “If you don't mind my asking, I assume you have a tape recording of the anonymous tipster.”

  “We do.”

  “Mind if I have a listen to it?”

  He stuck his chin out, thinking it over. “Don't see why not. … You can come by tomorrow and I'll listen to it with you myself.”

  “I'd appreciate that.”

  His face hardened. “But listen, you mess with my case and I'll come down on you so fast it'll make your ears spin.”

  “As long as I can still listen to Frankie Vallie.” Might as well try the humor one more time.

  He still didn't get it. “Shit, I know you're not even tellin’ me half of what you know right now.”

  I said nothing. Silence had to be safe.

  One last grunt, standing to usher me out. “I'll have someone take you back to see your daughter,” he said.

  8

  As jails go, Affalachia County's must have ranked higher than most. The corridor walls were coated with fresh paint. Sterile light shown on a clean concrete floor. The lock-ups themselves enjoyed no air-conditioning, of course, but the usual odor of sweat, urine, and old Jim Beam was missing.

  I waited in a small room used for questioning. No windows, a wooden table, three folding metal chairs. No video camera, I noticed, either. But I couldn't be sure what might be hidden. The light came from a single row of fluorescent fixtures embedded in the ceiling.

  Nicole, led by the same deputy who'd greeted me earlier, baby-stepped into the room clad in a blaze-orange jumpsuit, shackles, and handcuffs. Standing, she was tall, only a couple inches shorter than myself. Gone was the makeup she had worn the last time I had seen her. She looked scared.

  “Daddy,” she said when she saw me. Her brown eyes brimmed with tears.

  I stepped toward her and we hugged. “I'm here, Nickita.

  You doing okay?”

  She didn't answer. She sat down in one of the hardback chairs. The deputy removed the shackles and closed the door behind him as he left.

  “They treating you all right?”

  She nodded, wiping a sniffle with the back of her hand.

  “Can I get you anything, a soda?”

  She stared blankly at the floor. “Maybe a tissue.”

  “No tissues, but will this do?”

  I pulled a handkerchief from my pocket, she nodded, and I handed it to her. She dabbed at her cheeks.

  “You sure you're okay?”

  “I'll be all right. Just give me a minute,” she said.

  I waited.

  “Probably shouldn't have even called you.”

  I shifted in my chair. “Why not?”

  She let out an exaggerated sigh. “I don't know. I just didn't know who else to call.”

  We could start with her mother, but I let it go. “You and your friend cut out on me the other night.”

  “I know. I'm sorry. We had some important things to talk about.”

  “It must've been a shock to hear about Dewayne Turner. You knew him, didn't you?”

  She said nothing.

  “Okay. We'll come back to that. You want to fill me in some more on what happened today?”

  She nodded. “Like I told you, they stopped me out on the road. I know I shouldn't have tried to get away, but I thought they were going to give me another ticket for speeding and I've already got too many points on my license. They had their guns out, waving them in the air like I'm some kind of criminal. Made me get out of the car.” She closed her eyes.

  “What happened then?”

  “They made me turn around and put my hands on the car. One of the cops felt me up.”

  I looked at her skeptically.

  “Well that's what it felt like, Dad. Like he was violating me or something. I know. I know … they've got to check for weapons and stuff.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “They started asking me questions. Where was I going? Where had I been the last couple days? They had one of those dogs with them, you know, that, like, sniffs for drugs and they started searching through the car.”

  “Was that when they found the drugs?”

  “The dog must have found it. They were poking around under the car by one of the back wheels. I saw them pull something out. It was wrapped in white paper and plastic. I'm telling you the truth, I had no idea it was there.”

  “You ever seen cocaine before, Nicky?”

  She shrugged to indicate she had. What she'd seen though had probably been the sugarlike dust snorted or smoked by users, not the uncut pure stuff that had been hidden beneath her car.

  “You heard from your mom?”

  “Yeah, right.” She rolled her eyes. “She came down a couple hours ago and made a big deal about how shocked she was. She and her stupid boyfriend. I don't think she even believes me.”

  “I take it you two aren't getting along.”

  Another shrug. “You don't want to know.”

  “That's a lot of equity for someone to have stashed under your car. Where were you going when they stopped you?”

  She instinctively tried to fold her arms but was unable to with the cuffs on. “Same place you found me Friday. Over to Uncle Cat's to play pool.”

  “I didn't know you played pool.”

  She shrugged. “It's a decent way to meet guys.”

  “What time did all this happen?”

  “I don't know. Maybe four o'clock.”

  “And you knew nothing about the drugs under the car?”

  “How many times do I have to say it? No.”

  This was not the same Nicole who had helped me train Armistead to the lure a couple weeks before. We were on her home turf. Most parents, when faced with such uncertainty, at least had the advantage of working through prior difficulties, maybe some positive memories of happier times they could try to draw on. All I had were snatches of visits, a put-on happy face, a put-on smile. Nicole, in my mind, had somehow jumped straight from innocent honesty to the wary, dissembling adult seated before me. Absence had caused me to miss the in-between.

  “I'm in no position to lecture you, Nicole,” I said. “But don't you think you have better things to do than hang out in a place like Cahill's and shoot pool?”

  She clenched her teeth and chewed on a nail. “No.”

  “Your lawyer been in to
talk with you yet?”

  “Sure,” she said. “With whiskey all over his breath. What a creep.”

  “What did he say about your case?”

  “Whatever. He was worse than Mom, trying to preach to me about the law, put the fear of jail into me. Wanted to know how something like that could be in my car and me not know anything about it.”

  “You tell him what you told me?”

  “Of course.”

  “What did he say then?”

  “He said he would work on it. Then before he leaves, this black woman comes in, says she's like, the commonwealth's attorney or something, some big deal. Says it's her job to try to find out what happened, but I don't have to talk to her if I don't want to.”

  “Did you talk with her?”

  “Some. Radley was there too. What difference does it make? I didn't do anything. I was like just driving down the road minding my own business. What else am I supposed to say?” She pushed her chair from the table and stood up.

  “Look,” she said. “Thank you for coming, but this is like just some big mix-up or something. No emergency.”

  “You don't figure a potential life sentence to the women's correctional facility up in Fluvanna constitutes an emergency?”

  “Life?” She looked at me warily and sat back down. “What are you talking about?”

  I scanned the room again for hidden cameras, microphones, anything. “I had to talk to the state police and the sheriff about Dewayne's body. Do you know where Armistead and I found it?”

  Her eyes closed. She bit her lip, opened them again, and looked through me at the wall. “Where?”

  “The same place you and I went hunting a few weeks ago, up at Cat's uncle's farm.”

  She shrugged.

  “You don't have any idea how his body got there?”

  “You must be kidding, Daddy. You don't think I had anything to do with what happened to Dewayne, do you?”

  “You tell me. What did happen to him?”

  “How should I know?” she said. “He disappeared.” She ran her fingers through her hair.

  “He had your phone number in his wallet, Nicole.”

  “So?”

  “How did you two know each other?”

  She stared at the wall for a moment as if she were thinking about something else. “… From school. He was on the guys’ team back when I was playing basketball.”

  “Would you call him a friend?”

  “No. Yes. I don't know. Maybe.”

  “More than a friend?”

  “That's none of your business.” She smiled. “Maybe he was going to ask me out,” she said.

  “Did he ever ask you out?”

  “Sort of. Not really.”

  “The police also found a pair of sunglasses with his body. They look just like the ones I saw you wearing last month.”

  She shrugged again. “They aren't mine. Mine are in their case. Go look in my top dresser drawer at home.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes, I'm sure. He had a pair that looked just like them and so does Regan.”

  “Regan. The girl you were with the other night.”

  “Yeah, right. She's a friend.”

  “Okay. You have to admit though, Nicky, the place where he was found and the fact that you were there with me is quite a coincidence.”

  “Look, if you want to go playing Sherlock, why don't you start by talking to the people around this place? Dewayne was arrested the night before he disappeared. I'll bet some of these cops know more than they are telling.”

  “Cops always know more than they are telling.”

  “Yeah, well, you oughta know.”

  I said nothing. It was the first time I had ever heard her refer to me in such a way. I had to remember to ask Ferrier if Forensics found that Turner had been beaten or mistreated some other way before being shot.

  I studied Nicole for a moment. “The police tell me Dewayne Turner was a drug dealer.”

  “Even if he was, he stopped,” she said.

  “You know that for sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?”

  “That night when he was arrested.”

  “You ever do drugs yourself, Nicole?”

  “What?”

  “I said, you ever do drugs?”

  “No.”

  “Drinking?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Really Dad, hello. Like, welcome to the world. What do you think?”

  “Tell me about Regan Quinn.”

  “What about her?”

  “She ever do drugs?”

  “No. She better not.”

  “The place she's working's kind of known for it,” I said.

  “That doesn't mean she's doing it.”

  “Did Regan know Dewayne?”

  “What is this, the Inquisition? Why don't you go ask her?” She scraped her chair on the floor and turned to look at the wall.

  We sat in uncomfortable silence. Then she faced me again. Her voice softened. “I almost forgot. I was going to ask you, how's my baby Armistead doing?”

  “She's just fine.”

  “You didn't bring her with you, did you?”

  “I did, in fact. We're staying out at Jake's.”

  “That's great. I mean …” For a moment she had almost looked hopeful.

  “What, honey?”

  She stared at the floor. “Nothing. Never mind.”

  “There's something I want to show you.” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the silver chain and cross. The rosewood carving was crude but beautiful. “Have you ever seen this before?”

  Her eyes grew wide. “Where'd you find it?”

  “It was in Dewayne's hand when he died.”

  “Oh.”

  “You know whose it is?”

  “I'm not sure,” she said.

  “But you've seen it before?”

  She nodded.

  “Where?”

  She shifted in her chair, looked at the door, then at the ceiling. “I think they give them out at his church or something.”

  “You've been—to the church. I mean?”

  “A couple times.”

  “And Dewayne was no longer dealing drugs?”

  “I told you he wasn't.”

  I stood and looked at the bars, steel restrictions I had put others behind many times. “Well one thing's for sure, Nicky.”

  “What's that?”

  “If you're telling the truth, whoever put that coke under your car's got a lot of money invested in you being locked up. Either that, or they're going to be a tad upset when they find out their cash crop is gone.”

  9

  The dirt driveway to Jake Toronto's farm was pitted with puddles. The beams from my headlights bobbed up and down, and I scraped my mirrors on sumac as I splashed around a curve and came up the hill to the meadow at the edge of the woods where his trailer perched on a concrete slab. Naturally, he'd heard us coming, and stood in the glow from his porch light, mug in hand, with his retriever, Hercules, on the makeshift deck.

  The years had been kinder to Toronto than to me. He still was fit enough to do two hundred sit-ups and pushups every morning and remained as physically intimidating as ever. The dog bounded from its spot and began barking and leaping happily at the truck.

  “I think Herk remembers you guys.” He grinned as he stepped from the deck himself and clasped my hand. “Considering the stop you had to make, you're not as late as I'd thought you'd be.”

  “Some stop.”

  “Let's get a look at this girl of yours.” He made a beeline for the box in back.

  I opened the door for him. He had already slipped on his falconer's glove, and reached in. Armistead, still hooded and half-asleep, stepped up easily to his hand.

  “There she is … She looks great, Frank. Nice job. How's her weight?”

  “Forty-one ounces this afternoon when I checked.”

  “Perfect. She all set for some real hunting th
is week?”

  “I think she's ready.”

  “Good. I've got one of the mews ready for her out back. Jersey's been pretty quiet today. Maybe tomorrow you and I can take the two of them out and run them through their paces.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “But first, I want to hear what's going on with Nicky.”

  We gathered up Armistead's supplies and I followed him around the trailer to the back. There was a barn there Toronto had built himself, with a metal roof, an open foyer, and three separate rooms for raptors. A hand-carved wooden sign over the entrance read Maher-Shalal-Hash-Baz, a gift from one of Toronto's old Jewish friends in New York; the Hebrew name meant a great many things, one of which was “easy prey.”

  Inside one of the rooms Jersey sat quietly. Even hooded in the darkness, she was an impressive bird. Slightly larger than Armistead, almost uniformly slate gray with a black crown, as opposed to the red-tail's dark brown and white blending to chestnut red. The goshawk flew deftly through the forest canopy and could drop like lightning on her target, either on the ground or another bird in flight.

  After we settled Armistead into her own mews, Jake led me around front again to the trailer. We passed through a screen door into his living room, a narrow rectangle carpeted in nondescript berber, a sofa, small TV, and a pair of director's chairs the only furniture. One end of the space consisted of a double window with plastic blinds down but open; the other led into a compact kitchen housing a stove, a sink, and a microwave. A round oak table with three side chairs took up almost the entire room. We both sat.

  “Gonna be warm the next couple days. Leaves have started to turn, but this won't help them drop,” he said, handing me one of the two beers he'd plucked from the fridge. It tasted just right.

  “Indian summer.”

  “Uh-huh. You guys over on the leeward side of the mountains are used to the warmer weather. But give me a frosty morning with trees stripped bare and a bird in the hand anytime.”

  I nodded.

  “So Nicky's in jail?”

  “That's right.”

  He shook his head. “Jeez, after finding that body on Friday, now this. You doin’ okay?”

  I snickered. “Well as can be expected I guess.”