Murder Mountain

by Stacy Dittrich

  “You seem to know a lot about her.”

  “No, everybody knew that about Karen. Anybody that wanted a piece of ass could get it from her, too. She was a fuckin’ Roseland whore. When she took off back then, we just all figured she left with that Big Al dude.”

  “What makes you think that has anything to do with why we’re here today?”

  “Because! You said you wanted to know about West Virginia, and everybody knew Karen was running meth for Al. She said they paid her a thousand bucks to bring a load of meth back to Roseland. Karen had a big mouth, probably from all those dicks she’s sucked, but she’d talk about West Virginia all the time. Never said where, though, just called it Murder Mountain. She thought that was funny. Bet she don’t now, but she said they was having a bunch of hillbillies shootin’ each other all the time and the local newspapers called it that.”

  I thought it was interesting that he brought up Murder Mountain. Matt Hensley brought it up when I talked to him, also. I had a feeling I would get an up-close and personal look at Murder Mountain, and very soon.

  “Do you know if anyone has seen Big Al recently?”

  “No! Aren’t you fuckin’ listening?” He sounded exasperated. “I told you, he left the same time Karen disappeared!”

  “Why do you think she disappeared?” I pressed him. “How do you know she didn’t take off and move to her dream trailer on Murder Mountain?”

  “Maybe ’cause she didn’t take nothin’. We could walk in her house whenever we wanted, which we did, and from what I heard, she left all of her stuff there.”

  “What happened to her house and her things?” I wondered.

  “I guess the bank took it all and sold it. I dunno. Shit, that’s just what I hear.”

  “What did Big Al look like?” I pressed on. “You said she showed him off to everybody.”

  “He was tall and goofy-looking, not handsome like me,” he smiled hideously. “He had this darkish blonde hair. Never said much, I know that. Anybody ask him somethin’, he’d just grunt back at them.”

  “Did you ever see him drive a car?”

  “Nah, he always rode around in Karen’s crappy white Ford Escort, and before you ask, no, she didn’t leave it. She must’ve taken it with her.” He looked up at me with an almost puppy dog look to him. “Hey, Gallagher, I’ve been pretty cool, even amazed myself, but how come you want to know all this West Virginia shit? What’s it got to do with that dead cop?”

  “I’m asking the questions, remember? So what was everyone’s attitude like when Karen left?”

  “No one gave a shit. I mean, she was like the last-resort piece of pussy when you wanted it, if you wanted to dive in with a board tied to your ass, but I didn’t care less. Neither did anyone else.”

  “Have you ever heard of Bobby Delphy? I guess around here they called him Bob?”

  Jarrod looked deep in thought. I could only imagine the strain those few brain cells in his head were under. I sat down. I could tell that requiring him to think might take a while.

  “Nah, I don’t think so. I mean I heard of a Bob a couple times, but never seen him, or heard anything else.”

  “Back to Big Al. Was he the only one from West Virginia, or were there others?”

  “Only once, he brought some other dude down to the Roseland Tavern. Tom? No, it was Tim—Tim was his name. I remember because we were all standing around playing pool, and he asked me if I wanted to smoke a hoobie— that’s a joint ...”

  “I know what it is.”

  “... and I’m like, hell, yeah. We smoked it in the bathroom; good shit, too. He didn’t say much, either, except he drove up here with Al because he was bored. That was the only time I saw him.”

  “Do you remember if they came with Karen? In her car?”

  Jarrod went into his happy place again, chewing on his lip as he thought about my question. I glanced over at the two-way mirror, wondering if Michael was still there.

  “Come to think of it, I left when they did. I think they left in a pick-up truck.”

  My pulse started picking up. “What color?”

  “I dunno; it was dark. I was drunk and high, but it was dark-colored, that’s all I can tell you. Oh! And loud! I remember thinking they must’ve lost their muffler somewhere. That’s the best I can do, Gallagher. I mean, we’re talkin’ like two, three years ago.”

  Bingo, I thought. I grabbed the still photo from the gas station out of the file and put it in front of Jarrod.

  “Hey! There they are. Why the fuck you askin’ me all this shit when you already know the dudes?” he growled, shoving the picture forward.

  “You’re sure that’s them?”

  “Hell, yes, I’m sure! That’s Big Al, right there: pumpin’ gas. That looks like that Tim guy sittin’ in the truck. Do I get my smokes now?”

  “Yes. You’re doing great, Jarrod. I need you to try to remember if you heard either one of these guy’s last names.”

  “Al’s last name is Davidson,” he said calmly.

  As elated as I’d been a second before, I suddenly wanted to slap Jarrod hard. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that sooner, Jarrod? For crying out loud, if I didn’t see you walking, talking, and breathing with my own eyes, I wouldn’t think you had a brain. You could’ve saved us quite a bit of time if you would have just told me that at the beginning.”

  “You didn’t ask,” he said with wide, innocent eyes.

  “Okay, now I’m asking. What about Tim? Do you have a last name for him? And what do you know about Lizzie Johnston or Andrea Dean being involved with these guys?”

  “Don’t know a last name for that Tim dude. Don’t know anything about that Lizzie Johnston chick, except she’s hot. And Andrea Dean’s nothin’ but a fucking loud-mouthed bitch. She was always in everybody’s business. I did hear she was running around telling everybody that Lizzie chick’s dad was asking what happened to her. Makin’ a big deal about the whole thing, telling everybody she told Lizzie’s dad Lizzie was dead.”

  “Who is everybody?”

  “All of fuckin’ Little Kentucky, that’s who. I told you, she’s got a big mouth. Why? What’s she got to do with this?”

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  Andrea shot her mouth off too many times. This time it caught up with her. I don’t think she had anything to do with the drug operation or West Virginia; she just talked and pissed off the wrong people.

  “Lisa Grendle? Ever hear of her?”

  “Nope. Now, about my smokes. I’ve told you all I know, and from what I hear about these dudes, they ain’t nobody to fuck with. I remember Karen once telling everybody at the tavern that one of their employees pissed them off. She said they put her through a wood chipper and made hamburgers out of the girl. Ate her at a barbeque; said they called them ‘bitch burgers.’ Karen said she was there when it happened. Where’s my smokes?”

  “I’ll go get them, hang tight,” I told him, walking out of the room. The thought of a girl being put through a wood chipper and eaten at a backyard barbeque was just too much for me to believe. If it was true, I was dealing with some sick people. I went into the observation room where Michael was, and noticed the whole room smelled like his cologne. I inhaled as much of it as I could without looking ridiculous.

  “Bitch burgers, huh? Now, I can say that in ten years spent in the FBI Behavioral Unit, I have never heard of bitch burgers. I can’t imagine that’s true, but if it is, dear God, what kind of people are these?” He took a deep breath. “Needless to say, we’ve at least had a break; somewhat. I already checked out Allen Davidson, soon as he said it, and there’s no record of him. It’s probably not his real last name, or the intellectual wizard in there got it wrong.”

  “Wonderful,” I muttered.

  “I want to talk to our boy for a minute. I’ll give him his smokes,” he smiled, winking at me as he walked out of the room, ever so calm—as usual.

  I watched Michael sit down in front of Jarrod and give him his two cartons
of cigarettes, which Jarrod basically ripped out of his hands, saying, “Hey! FBI guy! You ain’t gonna kick my ass again, are you?” just like his old, smart-ass self.

  Michael leaned back in his chair and smiled. “No, Jarrod, not unless you give me a reason to.”

  Jarrod rattled on: “Hey dude, now that we’re alone, man to man: are you fuckin’ Gallagher?”

  Michael’s smile faded and he looked at the window where I was standing, and then back at Jarrod. I, of course, could’ve died right on the spot, but knowing Jarrod, he wasn’t done yet.

  “Can’t blame you, she’s hot as hell. I’d fuck her, even though she’s a cop. C’mon, you can tell me, is she good?”

  I was beyond horrified. This had happened to me before with male officers, but nothing like this; it was Michael. But Michael remained calm and brought the smile back to his face. However, there was a brief moment when I saw a slight flicker in Michael’s eyes when he looked towards the window where I was standing. It would appear that Mr. Jarrod Lawhorn rattled the calm, cool, FBI Agent; and he used me to do it. I may have found a weak spot in Michael.

  “I’m sure you would like to know, Jarrod. But I’ll tell you something. You don’t need to know, and you will never know, because you could never acquire such a high quality specimen like that in your lifetime,” he sneered.

  This was even worse. There were two men in front of me, one of whom I was attracted to, and one who physically repulsed me, discussing what I would be like in bed.

  “Yeah, you’re probably right,” Jarrod conceded. “I got high-quality shit myself over in Roseland. If you ever need me to hook you up, let me know.”

  Michael just laughed. He talked to Jarrod a little, I think to see if somewhere in that brain of his he might remember Allen’s real last name. He also asked about his knowledge of Boz’s murder. He didn’t get anywhere. But, Michael’s years of interviewing definitely shone through. He did an excellent job, and I found myself with a deep admiration for him on a professional level.

  I think Jarrod had really told us everything he knew. It really burned me that he’d had this information during the course of the case and had never said anything, but I guessed that late is better than never.

  We then went over Jarrod’s statement while he was hooked up to a voice stress analysis machine, similar to a polygraph, and he passed. Back in my office, I told him I would be in touch and kicked him loose. I had yet to look at Michael in the face. I was very embarrassed about their conversation, and Michael knew it. I could tell he was about to say something when Coop poked his head in the door.

  “Hey, Coop. I want you to meet Agent ...”

  He interrupted me. “CeeCee? Bobby Delphy’s dead. He hung himself at the jail.”

  Chapter Eight

  Bobby Delphy was dead. I was elated, but unfortunately he’d known plenty about this case and I wondered if, under the right circumstances, he would’ve eventually talked. Coop said that after the bed checks, Bobby had hung himself with his bed sheet. They’d found him an hour later, and he hadn’t left a note or said anything to anyone earlier in the day indicating why.

  After introducing Coop to Michael, Coop left and Michael and I were alone, again.

  “How do you feel about this? Are you okay?” Michael asked, genuinely concerned.

  “I’m fine,” I told him, letting my voice harden. “He did the right thing, as far as I’m concerned. There’s no room in the world for garbage like that.”

  “Ouch,” Michael winced and looked at me strangely, “I hope I never get on your bad side.”

  I highly doubt that‘ll be likely, I thought as I grabbed my phone to check my voicemail. There was a message from Larry Johnston. He’d heard about Andrea Dean and wanted to know if she was connected to Lizzie’s disappearance. I wasn’t in the mood to talk to him just then, so I saved the message.

  As I was putting my papers back into the Johnston file, Michael asked me a question that completely took me off guard: “What’s Captain Kincaid like?”

  “Why?” I said defensively, feeling the jealousy creep back up.

  “Just wondering,” he smiled, toying with me again. He wanted to see for himself if I would react in a jealous manner; he was testing the waters.

  I didn’t smile back. Instead, I looked him straight in the eye and said seriously, “She is the most worthless, ignorant, poorest excuse of a police officer that you will ever see in your life.”

  His smile faded. “You’re serious aren’t you?”

  “I’m completely serious. The rest of us busted our asses working the street in uniform for years before we were promoted to detectives. I don’t know what she did, or who she did, going by rumors of course, to get where she is now. I know she didn’t earn that position, not by a long shot. She was in uniform for eighteen months before she was promoted to Sergeant. Supposedly, she’s book smart, can ace promotional exams, and can give a good blowjob. Put all those together and there is our Captain in charge of Major Crimes; a Captain that is afraid to look at dead bodies and doesn’t know how to investigate a simple burglary. She doesn’t have the experience. So, to answer your question again: yes, I’m serious.”

  “I’m sorry I brought it up. I guess I hit a nerve.”

  “I know she’s divorced, twice, and I think she’s got a boyfriend, but by all means don’t let that stop you,” I said sarcastically.

  “Hey, that’s not why I asked. I’m married; maybe on the last fringes of a marriage, but if I were looking, it wouldn’t be her. Believe it or not, CeeCee, everything you told me just now, I could see the minute I met her. Women like that are a dime a dozen in law enforcement, with exceptions like you, of course. I was just curious about her, that’s all.”

  I didn’t hear anything except “last fringes of a marriage.” Bingo. He clearly was having marital problems, and I was surprised that he’d volunteered that information. Now I knew why he brushed off my personal questions, he called the shots. He would tell me when he decided to, I guess now was the time. I was not having problems, and didn’t want to start. This minor complication of an attraction for Michael was something I needed to overcome, but my heart had skipped when he’d told me that, which only added to my growing concerns. The major concern being I thought I was starting to develop feelings for him.

  The rest of the day was awkward for Michael and me. It was obvious. When he left, I actually felt relieved. Jarrod had occupied our day. Having to listen to him for several hours straight had made my head hurt.

  When I got home and pulled into my driveway, I saw the dead rat still lying off to the side, except up the driveway a little farther. I was irritated with Eric. I didn’t ask him to move it, I asked him to get rid of it. I walked into the house and immediately started yelling at Eric, who was standing in the kitchen. “When I asked you to get rid of that rat, I didn’t mean move it up the driveway closer to the house, for God’s sake! How hard is it to pick it up and throw it over the embankment, or put it in the garbage?”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “What do you mean, what am I talking about? Hellooo! The rat from this morning. I asked you to get rid of it! Why would you just move it up the drive?”

  “I didn’t,” he said, looking confused.

  “Well it didn’t get bored and get up and walk by itself!”

  “It’s in the driveway right now?”

  “Are you listening to me at all? Yes!” I snarled, wanting to slap him.

  “CeeCee, as soon as you left this morning I bagged that rat up and put it in the garbage. The garbage truck already came and picked it up. Now you’re telling me there’s another one down there?”

  “Yes, there is,” I backed off, calming considerably, but feeling ill at the thought of another rat by my house.

  Eric went to the door and began putting his shoes on. “You know, that rat this morning looked like it had been stabbed all over the place. It had big cuts on it.”

  “A stabbed rat?” I shuddered. This wa
s bad.

  “Yup. Could’ve gotten caught under a car or something and crawled up there, but this thing had holes in it. Let me go look at this one. I don’t know where they’re coming from, but I see one maybe once a year. This is unusual,” he mused, walking out the door.

  I should’ve said something to Eric, right then, about the phone call and the car I’d heard, but I didn’t. I thought someone was indirectly threatening me, but why rats? They made me physically sick, that’s why. But how would someone know that? Unless they were assuming that all females hate rats, which I’m pretty sure most do.

  When Eric came back in, he told me the rat looked the same way as the one from this morning, except it was smaller. He bagged it up and put it in his parent’s garbage.

  “You need to put some traps out. About the first time I see one of those things running up the driveway at me, you’re gonna hear about a hundred rounds going off when I shoot it,” I told him.

  “I’ve never seen a rat near the house,” he wondered aloud. I don’t understand this. I just asked my parents if they’re having any problems and they’re not. They said they haven’t seen a rat in years.” He shook his head. “I checked the drainage pipe at the end of the driveway but didn’t see any in there, so I don’t know.”

  As the weeks passed, we didn’t get any more rats at the house. This made me feel better, that maybe it was just a coincidence. Michael and I checked out other leads but ran into dead ends. The weeks also brought Michael and me closer; and Eric and me farther apart. I really didn’t know what was happening or how to stop it. Although I knew Eric suspected something, he never brought it up. I kept telling myself I was doing nothing wrong, I haven’t touched Michael. But again, putting myself in Eric’s shoes I thought, wouldn’t an emotional affair hurt just the same? I knew it would, but how could I change it now? I still loved Eric as much as ever, I never thought it possible to have feeling’s for two people at the same time, but I find myself being wrong again. Eventually, this triangle would come to a close one way or the other, and I shuddered to think about it. I still had the case to focus on.