by A. E. Howe
A few minutes later he came back carrying an old photo album. He put it on the table, opened to a page with half a dozen photos. Most of the pictures featured various people posed around Leonard and a bright yellow Trans-Am.
“I loved that car. Wish I still had it.” He pointed at a picture of himself and a young man with long, light-colored hair wearing cut-off blue jeans and a plaid shirt. “That’s Mark. I let him borrow the car a few times.” He shook his head. “That’s how trustworthy he was. I can’t imagine letting some sixteen-year-old borrow my car today. Let alone a car like that. But the times he took it out, it came back with a full tank and clean as a whistle.”
“Why’d he borrow the car?”
“Ha, why do you think a teenager wants to borrow a hot car? He had a date, man. Of course, that’s kinda funny now. But I guess he was still trying to find himself back then.”
“Was it one of the Daniels girls?” I asked.
He got a thoughtful look on his face. “I think so.” He turned the page in the album and pointed to another picture of Mark and the car. In this picture, taken at night, there was a girl sitting in the passenger seat. The glare from the flash reflecting off of the window made it hard to make out her details. It could have been one of the Daniels girls, or maybe not.
“Do you remember anything odd or out of place?”
“I always thought it was funny that after that first year he never asked to borrow the car again. A couple times I made jokes about it being Saturday night and didn’t he need the car for a hot date? He’d just shake his head and say he didn’t have a date. I guess he tried the dating a girl thing, then realized that wasn’t his way. Tough road to go in those days.”
“Would your wife remember anything from those days?”
“Ex-wife. No, I doubt it. She hated the neighborhood. Her family all lived down in Creekton. She wanted us to live down there too. After we moved here she still spent all of her free time down there with her family.” He pointed to the car again. “Absolutely hated that car. When we got divorced, I think the only thing she really wanted was to force me to sell it. Did too. Bitch.” If his ex-wife was found dead, especially if she was run over by a Trans-Am, the prime suspect would be obvious.
We thanked him for his time and got up to go. Walking back through the garage, I remembered something. “You said that Mark kept in touch. When was the last time you heard from him?”
“You know, he messaged me on Facebook. Wait here.” We waited by my car until Watkins came out to the driveway carrying an iPad.
“There.” He handed me the tablet, pointing to the Facebook message from Mark. It said: Might be down your way in a couple of months. Haven’t decided. I thanked Mr. Watkins for his time and we drove away.
“Not much in the message.”
“No, but he was trying to make some decision. The texts he sent to his ex-boyfriend all point to that too. Something was eating at him.”
Back at the office, I went to my desk to check emails. I found one from Frye. He’d included about fifty text messages that dated back six months. A lot of them were of the “wish you were here” variety. Only the last few seemed to indicate Mark had been grappling with some problem, a problem that involved him coming here. Then I saw what had been bothering me.
Pete had followed me back into the office, still unwilling to face his wife in the early stages of a holiday frenzy. “Hey, Pete, take a look at these. The last dozen in particular, and tell me what you think.” He came around my desk and looked at the email.
“He was upset about something and he was going to come here and deal with it. What else?”
“This one.” The text I pointed to said: Don’t worry, it’s just family business. “Frye read it to me when I talked to him on the phone, but it hadn’t jumped out at me even though he seemed to think it was strange.”
“Family business.”
“Exactly. Whatever he had to do here, or wanted to do here, had to do with his family. I’m going to call Mrs. Kemper again. Maybe he had a cousin or someone who was ‘like family’ to him.”
I picked up my phone and found the number listed as Kemper—Mom. She answered on the fourth ring.
“Yes?”
“Mrs. Kemper, this is Deputy Macklin. I hope you had a safe trip home.”
“Yes, thank you.” Her voice was flat and emotionless. Drugs. Do they still prescribe Valium?
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I had a couple questions I was hoping you could answer.”
“Anything… Anything I can do to help.”
“Did Mark have any family down here?”
“Family? No, all of our family is out here. Even then, there isn’t much. Mark had some cousins on… his father’s side. My sister passed away ten years ago. I still keep in touch with her husband, but I don’t think Mark did. They never had children. My parents are both dead. Heart disease and cancer ran in both our families. I think that’s partly why Mark did the work he did. Said he felt safer spending half his time in hospitals. He used to joke that if he had a heart attack on the job, a doctor wouldn’t be far away.”
“Do you know what he might have meant if he said he had some family business to take care of here?”
She was quiet for a while. “No, really, I can’t imagine.” The words just trailed away.
“Did Mr. Frye get ahold of you?” I felt like I needed to do something to help.
“He did. A very nice man. I wish I’d encouraged their relationship more.”
“He seems lost without your son.”
She started to speak and choked up. “He’s coming to stay when we have the memorial. I’m looking forward to seeing him.”
“I’m sorry I can’t come to the service.”
“Just find the person who did this and put them someplace far away from decent people so they can’t hurt anyone else.”
“I’m going to do my best,” I said lamely. “I’ll let you know when we make some progress.”
“Thank you. Call anytime.” She hung up.
I looked up to see Pete fuming at his phone. “Damn, why did I check my phone? I’d ‘accidently’ left it on vibrate. At least ten messages, most of them stuff I need to pick up. Shit.” He got to his feet. “Better get going. Are the holidays over yet?”
“Haven’t even started,” I said, receiving an over-the-shoulder bird from him.
I looked at the clock. Past noon. I knew I shouldn’t waste my whole Saturday at the office. The place was quiet, almost creepy, on the weekends when most of the administrative staff was off.
I walked into the main hallway, reading a text on my phone and not paying attention to my surroundings. At the academy they taught us we should have situational awareness at all times. Big fail. I was jumped and almost knocked to the floor. The hot fetid breath of my assailant smelled of hot dogs and ice cream. The attack was accompanied by a low and friendly bark.
Dad’s voice shouted from his office, “Mauser, whatever you’re doing, quit it!”
“He almost killed me. I think I peed my pants.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Dad shouted back. Mauser chewed on my arm in greeting. I let him drag me into Dad’s office. Mauser always liked to show off his captured prey. Finally I shook off the monster dog.
“What’re you doing here on a Saturday?” Dad asked, barely looking up from his computer.
“It’s either work the Kemper and McDonnell cases, or I could declare you the prime suspect, arrest you and call it a day,” I said.
He looked up at me. “I wish I could remember something that could help.”
“Kemper said that he was coming here because of family business. Does that mean anything to you?”
“I just didn’t know the kid that well. You know how it is in high school. You may try to hang out with people who are older than you like he did, but you always avoid hanging out with the younger kids. I just ignored him. Probably hoped he’d go away. Maybe you should focus on Dell. I can’t argue with your l
ogic that the cases are connected, but it’s odd because the way I remember it, Mark and Dell didn’t have that much to do with each other. Dell might be the center pin instead of Kemper. It was her house that got burned.”
“The killer is after Dell or something to do with Dell. Kemper finds out and confronts the killer and boom! Then the killer goes about his business burning down the house, which brings Dell to town, giving him the opportunity to kill her. That makes some sense, I guess.” It made as much sense as anything else anyway.
“So why would someone want to kill the nicest woman anyone has ever met?” Mauser was bored by the whole work thing and sat down on my feet, leaning back against me. It’s a Dane thing. “I guess I could talk to her sister again.” I stopped, hoping Dad would talk me out of that crazy idea.
“Ha, good idea and good luck.” He was trying to type emails as we talked.
“Yeah, I’ll call Tim and see if he can be there to help control the harridan.”
“I talked to him yesterday evening. They’re thinking about turning off the life support on his father the first of the week. Might be best if you talk to them sooner rather than later.”
“Thanks,” I said sincerely. It’s always best to know what you’re walking into, and it would be better to talk to them before they had to deal with the funeral and whatever else. I shoved Mauser off of me. “Talk to you later.”
He waved without looking up from his computer screen.
I headed out to my car. The air was warm with only a trace of fall. I rolled the windows down and dialed Tim’s number. Pleasantries over, I told him I was hoping to talk to his mother and get some more background about his aunt.
“You really think this has something to do with Aunt Dell’s past?” He sounded skeptical.
“We’re looking into everything.”
“Have you discovered any clues?”
Clues? Like this was a Scooby-Doo mystery. “We have some evidence, but no solid leads. It would be a big help if you could arrange for a sit-down with your mother. I know you have a lot on your mind right—”
“No, no, I can talk to her. But I can’t promise anything. You never know what kind of mood she’s going to be in.”
“I can imagine. I’m free this afternoon.”
“I’ll check with her and see. She’s staying here with me. I don’t think Dad would approve, but, well, she’s rather strong-minded.”
“I did notice that,” I said sympathetically.
“I’ll call you back.”
I felt sorry for the poor guy. He must have been going nuts, with his dad dying and his batshit crazy mother running around on the rampage because her sister was murdered.
I was almost home when my phone rang. “She said she’ll meet you at three. Here at the main house.” I looked at my watch. That gave me just enough time to have lunch and get there in plenty of time.
“I’ll be there. Thanks.”
I’d been out to the Devries farm several times with Dad. A large farmhouse sat in the middle of six hundred acres of prime hay fields. They owned another three thousand acres scattered around the county that they farmed and another two thousand they used for hunting. A dozen different houses dotted the various properties, some of them lived in by farm-hands while others were rented out. If the Devrieses weren’t the wealthiest land owners in the county, it was only because some of our large hunting tracts were owned by rich folks from south and central Florida. But I’d never heard of the father or son being anything but humble, God-fearing country folk.
I turned at their gate and drove for ten more minutes before I saw the house. It was big, but not fancy. The yard was neat and well tended without a lot of ornamentation. The only thing that stood out was the Mercedes with Duval County tags parked out front.
I didn’t have to knock. Tim opened the door as soon as I stepped onto the porch.
“Good to see you.” He stepped out and shook my hand, then ushered me into the house.
The hallway was wide and ran from the front door to the back. The smell of polished wood and old rugs filled the air as I followed him into the first room on the right. It was a huge living room with heavy furniture that was built before Teddy Roosevelt charged up San Juan Hill.
Margret was seated on an overstuffed sofa, trying to look at home even though Jim had kicked her out a decade earlier, albeit with a golden parachute.
“I don’t know what you think I can tell you,” she said, already sounding bored.
“I appreciate you taking the time to see me,” I said, trying to grease the wheels.
“Well…”
“Have a seat,” Tim said, offering me several choices. I took the wingback chair across from her royal highness of nothing.
“I can’t imagine that there is anything else I can tell you.”
“I’ve talked to a few people who knew you all back then. I might be able to help you remember some things that have slipped you mind.”
She gave me a look of pure fire. “Go on.” Her tone was icy.
“Several people said that you went out on some dates with Mark Kemper.”
“Really? I guess it’s possible. I can’t say I remember that. But I was pretty damn good-looking back then. I went on a lot of dates.” She was trying very hard to sound nonchalant about it, but I could tell she didn’t like this at all. What was surprising was that she was willing to sit there and take it.
I had to phrase my questions so that they weren’t too accusatory. I didn’t want to push her over the edge and get shut down. “One guy told me that he lent Mark his yellow Trans-Am to go on a date with you.”
“There you go! I probably went out with him because of the car. After all, Mark was gay. What difference does it make if I went out with him?” She laughed and looked around as if she expected everyone to find that amusing.
“I just want to know if you remember going out with him.”
“But why? I guess I do, but what the hell difference does it make?”
She actually had me there. What difference did it make? “I am just looking at all the relationships from that time. Because that was the only time that your sister, your house and Mark all came in contact.”
“Makes some sense, I guess. But I can’t tell you anything that would help you find the killer. The killer is out there someplace.” She waved her hand dramatically toward the windows. “Not hiding in the past.”
“I think the question I want you to really think about is why would someone kill your sister and Mark Kemper? Can you think of anyone that was involved with both of them? Other than you, my father and Jim.”
“No. I really can’t. This is maddening because I know that this has nothing to do with us. The killer is probably a nut job who just happened to run into two people who knew each other a long time ago. Now I have to call an end to this unless you have something reasonable to ask, or some information that would help us to understand this tragedy.”
I knew when I’d been beat. I stood up. “I can’t tell you that I’m done asking you questions.”
She gave me a smile and then turned to her son and said, “I’ll be here if you need to talk to me again.” A look passed between mother and son. I wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but I knew it had nothing to do with maternal love. I don’t think Tim was looking forward to having his mother under the same roof for an extended period.
Tim walked me to the door. “I really would like to help in any way I can. But, honestly, I don’t think my mother knows or remembers anything from back then that could help. She pretty much lives in the here and now.”
“Thanks. Oh, and Dad told me about your father. I’m sorry.”
“I’m going to spend the next couple of days with him and then we’ll have them remove life support. The doctors give him no chance of recovery and if he did wake up, he’d be severely brain-damaged. He never would have wanted that.”
“Both my dad and I have living wills filled out for just that reason.”
Tim gave a
bitter laugh. “You know my dad. Everything was a handshake deal. He never felt like contracts and wills were necessary. Got us into trouble a couple of times. But that was Dad.”
With nothing more I could say, I got in my car and drove off.
On the way home, I thought about Cara. Was she ever going to call me, or was that her way of ditching me? I doubted it. She was definitely a straight-forward, tell-it-like-it-is, kind of woman. Which is just the kind I like. If she didn’t want to see me again, she’d have just said it right out.
After dinner, I spent time reviewing the files I’d brought home, looking through the crime scene photos and making notes, trying once again to understand the person who committed these murders. They were brutal crimes of passion. The only thing I managed to do was give myself nightmares.
Chapter Seventeen
When I got up on Sunday, my plan was to give my mind a rest and forget about the cases. I did some work outside until one o’clock, when I got a call from Pete.
“Help.”
“Pete?’
“I remembered that you needed to go out to the range today and practice for your qualifications,” he said, which made no sense since we had both done our recertification just three months earlier.
“What are you talking about?” I asked, genuinely puzzled.
“Right, I know you need the practice. I told Sarah that I would help you out with some pointers,” he went on.
Oh, I got it. Pete wanted to get out of the house and this was the best excuse he could come up with. Actually, banging away at some targets did sound like a good way to relax.
“Do you want me to pick you—” I didn’t get a chance to finish.
“I’ll head your way as soon as I pack my range bag. Yeah, I figured we’d be there a while.” I guess he added that last bit for Sarah’s benefit.
The sheriff’s department shared a range with Calhoun’s police department. Now, mind you, they only had fifteen officers total so we ran the range and they just came out to use it. We had two private bays and one large open bay for group training. Pete drove us to the larger of the two individual bays.