“Even with a million dollars at stake?”
“Yes.” He paused. “Well, what were the tattoos?”
“I remember part of them.” My mind replayed the scene in the embalming room. “They were upside down on his thighs.”
“Upside down?”
“Facing the torso.”
“That fits. If he made them sitting down, that’s the way they’d appear.”
I started walking again, anxious to put some distance between us and Kevin. “Viet was on one thigh, Nam on the other. Over Viet was the number 2000. I thought maybe that was when he fled the country.”
Tommy Lee shook his head. “No. He came out of Nam last fall and finally made it here a few months ago. You’re sure about the number?”
“Positive. And the words Viet and Nam. There was another design, but I didn’t get a chance to examine it.”
“Can you remember anything?”
I reached the footbridge and stopped. “It was like a compass. The letter V was in the center and four points like north, south, east, and west. But something was wrong. The letters weren’t right.”
“What were they?” Tommy Lee prompted.
“I don’t know. I remember thinking something was odd about them. I’d just started to look closer when Mom called me out of the room.”
“Maybe your uncle will remember.” He swept his hand to the log. “You first. Watch your step. I’m not going in after you.”
We crossed without mishap.
As we approached the patrol car, Tommy Lee said, “Let me get a phone patch through to your uncle. I’ll go back to the mill and you can talk to him without Kevin listening. Mix your memories with his and Kevin won’t know you held out on him.”
“Okay.” I laughed. “And if Uncle Wayne draws a blank, you can always hypnotize me.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’d love to make you cluck like a chicken.”
Mom said Uncle Wayne had replanted his petunias and left about thirty minutes before I called. He’d mentioned something about swinging by the VFW to see what all the fuss was about. I tried his house but got no answer. As possibly the last person in Laurel County to own a rotary phone, my uncle had no use for the cellular age. Our inquiries would have to wait.
When Tommy Lee and Kevin returned to the car, Kevin couldn’t hide his disappointment. “Can we go straight to your uncle’s house?”
“I guess so, but I can’t say when he’ll show up.”
Tommy Lee laughed. “I can count the places Wayne goes on one hand—funeral home, barbershop, grocery store, Harold’s Texaco, and church. Any place else is a special occasion.”
“Then let’s go,” Kevin insisted. “He’ll be there when we arrive.”
Tommy Lee eyed his friend’s wet clothes. “Fine. I’ll drop you at the funeral home to get Patsy’s car. You can go to my house, change into something dry, and meet Barry at his uncle’s.”
Kevin seemed unconcerned about his soaked condition. “Aren’t you coming?”
Tommy Lee looked at his watch. “General Weathers is on the way from Fort Jackson. I plan to be at the Grove Park when he gets there.” He opened the car door. “We’d better get a move on.”
Kevin stopped. His jaw muscles flexed as he ground his teeth. “Damn. I can’t be in two places at once.”
“That’s your problem,” Tommy Lee said.
“All right. I’m going with you. We’ll see Wayne later.” He grabbed the handle of the rear door and yanked it open.
Tommy Lee winked at me over the car roof. “What about you? You look like you’re having trouble being in one place at once.”
“You’re not getting shed of me.” I slid in and buckled the seat belt.
Kevin’s laugh turned into a high-pitched giggle. “Aren’t we a sight? A one-eyed sheriff, a beat-up undertaker, and a half-drowned Irishman. I can’t wait to see Stormy’s face when this trio of trouble shows up.”
Chapter Eight
General Weathers quickly rose to his feet as we entered his suite. He rushed to greet Kevin and pumped his hand vigorously. “You look pretty good for an old blowhard. Want a police job in Iraq?”
“Hell no. You’ve got enough of a mess as it is.” Kevin turned to Tommy Lee. “But here’s the guy for you, General. Hand him a scimitar and turn him loose.”
“I don’t doubt it.” The general surprised Tommy Lee by giving him a salute. “I’ve read your record, Lieutenant. It’s my honor to meet you.”
For once I saw my friend blush.
“Thank you, sir. All in the line of duty.”
“Duty.” Weathers looked back at Senator Millen standing by the sofa. “That seems harder to determine every day. Are we soldiers or are we policemen? At least you two gentlemen got to make a choice.”
He turned to me and the creases in his leathered face softened. “Looks like you’ve seen action, young man.”
“I felt more action than I saw, sir.”
He nodded, and then gestured to the sitting area. “Anybody want a drink? The mini-bar is well stocked.”
Tommy Lee and I declined.
Kevin headed for the bar. “I claim the best whiskey, and I’ll drink it standing.”
For the first time, Weathers and Millen noticed Kevin’s damp clothes.
“What happened?” Millen asked.
“I fell in the drink, and after the drink’s in me, I’ll tell you the story.”
Weathers followed Kevin to the bar. A tanned bald spot on the back of his head broke through his buzz cut. He wore khaki pants and a maroon golf shirt, but he carried himself as if he were in full uniform.
Millen winked at me and then called after Weathers, “And I’ll take a light scotch.”
“Sorry, Ryan. Didn’t mean to slight you. I’m always willing to buy a drink for a guy who sits on the Appropriations Committee.”
Over the sound of ice and clinking glasses, Kevin asked, “Have you seen Y’Suom?”
“Yes,” Weathers said. “I gave the boy my condolences. Ryan and I sent him to eat with—” He snapped his fingers trying to recall the name.
“Nickles,” Millen said.
Kevin took a slow sip of the whiskey. “And Captain Randall?”
“No. J.R. drove me from Fort Jackson. Damn army vehicles guzzle fuel like a jet fighter. I told him to gas up the car and get some shuteye. We may need an early start on the morning.” Weathers brought Kevin a double and handed the scotch to Millen. Then he sat down. “So what’ve you got? Bring Ryan and me up to date.”
Kevin and I looked to Tommy Lee.
“At first we thought the theft was a political publicity stunt to draw attention to the Montagnards. Then Y’Suom said the Vietnamese wanted the body to disappear so that they wouldn’t have to honor a request for Y’Grok’s remains to be returned to the highlands.”
Millen sat on the sofa across from Weathers. “I briefed Stormy on that.”
Weathers leaned forward in his chair. “And the situation could be just the opposite. The Vietnamese stole the body to take back to Vietnam as a warning that the Montagnards can’t outrun them. They could hold Y’Grok’s body up for public ridicule.”
“Sounds a bit over the top,” Millen said.
“God damn it.” Weathers slapped his thigh in frustration. “Nothing’s over the top these days. Can’t you and your senate cronies understand that? Who thought we’d have beheadings on the internet?”
Millen sipped his drink and held his tongue.
“We have a new theory,” Tommy Lee said. “Not politics but old-fashioned greed.”
“A ransom?” Millen asked.
“Maybe. But so far no one has contacted us. We think the motive’s money from Raven.”
Weathers looked at Millen. “Raven? There’s a name I haven’t heard in a long time. How’s that play in this?”
Tommy Lee raised his hand to Kevin. “The floor’s all yours.”
Kevin stepped to the center of the room where he could face all of us. He began his story w
ith the letter he received from Y’Grok.
Millen interrupted. “Why didn’t you say something this morning?”
“This morning I thought the theft was a publicity stunt by some political group just like everybody else.”
“But not anymore?” Weathers asked.
Kevin walked them through the discovery of the needle and ink at the mill.
General Weathers stared at me. “Did you see these tattoos?”
Before I could answer, Tommy Lee spoke up. “His uncle embalmed the body. We’re going to see him when we leave here.”
“Maybe we should all go,” Weathers said.
My stomach tightened. Uncle Wayne wouldn’t be pleased with an entourage arriving on his doorstep after nine at night. “My uncle’s in his seventies. I think a calm conversation with just a few people is the best way to get any information.”
“All right,” Weathers agreed. “So we have to hope this message is something only Kevin would understand. A code to the money. We find the money and get Y’Grok’s body back for the honorable burial he deserves.”
Kevin rubbed his hand across his chin. “Be damned if I can think of anything else. What’s got me puzzled is who else could have known about the money? We need to find out from Y’Suom who his father might have spoken to about Raven.”
The room fell silent. A disturbing thought crept from the back of my mind. “It still concerns me that whoever has the body will try to decipher the tattoos and get the money without the danger of a ransom exchange. What’s going to happen when they fail to break the code?”
“They’ll find someone who can,” Weathers growled.
We all looked at Kevin.
He grinned mischievously. “Bring them on. People say I’ve never met a stranger.”
Weathers’ face stayed fixed as granite. “And if they think someone else saw the tattoos and could give you a description?”
All eyes now turned on me.
I wasn’t worried about myself. “We’d better get to my uncle.”
Weathers nodded. I saw the anger flash in his eyes and knew “Stormy Weathers” was more than just a play on words.
His voice turned brittle. “Y’Grok Eban was one of the finest allies this country ever had. And I’m going to find his body if I have to turn over every stone on this god damned mountain.”
When we returned to the car, I called Wayne on my cell phone.
He answered on the sixth ring. “The body show up?”
“Don’t ask that first thing,” I said in exasperation. “What if it wasn’t me?”
“Who else could it be? Good thing you gave up detective work.”
I fought the urge to remind him I’d been a patrolman, not a detective, but police were all the same to Uncle Wayne. “I’m with the sheriff and Kevin Malone. We’d like to stop by and talk.”
“Don’t know what I can tell y’all, but come on. Your mom gave me half a rhubarb pie.”
Dusk had turned the white exterior of my uncle’s farmhouse into a bluish gray silhouette. We stood on the front porch and heard the bell ring on the other side of the door. No footsteps followed.
“How’s his hearing?” Kevin asked.
“Not as good as he thinks it is.”
Tommy Lee rapped on the door as only a sheriff can do. No one answered but the yard crickets.
“He must have migrated.” I headed around the house.
Kevin looked confused. “Migrated?”
“My uncle’s like a goose, except his seasonal migration is from the kitchen to the back porch. From now till fall, he’ll spend most of his free time sitting in his wicker rocker behind the safety of his screen walls.”
We found Wayne as I’d predicted, sitting in his rocker and reading his latest copy of GRIT magazine, the homespun publication he’d sold door-to-door in his youth. Although he wore a checked wool shirt to combat the chill, in his mind spring had arrived.
“Evening, Wayne.” Tommy Lee stood at the door and looked out at the back hillside. The gnarled shapes of a small apple orchard receded into the gloom. “Going to be a nice night.”
Wayne set his magazine aside and rose to unlock the screen door. “My time of year. Not too hot, not too cold, and no bugs.”
“Getting much off your trees?” Tommy Lee wiped his feet on the hemp mat and stepped up on the gray floorboards.
“I just look at the blossoms. Be out soon. Tyler Nolan picks whatever fruit comes along. Hardly enough to make it worth his while.” Wayne led us to a table in the corner beneath a porch light. “Speaking of apples, have some rhubarb pie.”
Four plates were set out and each held a healthy slice. I wasn’t sure how speaking of apples got us to rhubarb, but my uncle had his own way of making connections and they usually made sense, eventually. All I knew was the chicken soup from lunch had abandoned my stomach long ago.
I slid into the chair next to the wall and picked up my fork. “You don’t have to eat yours, Tommy Lee. It could spoil your supper.”
“If your mom made this pie, it’s history.” He maneuvered his holster out of the way, and pulled the chair close to the table.
“I can make a pot of coffee.” Uncle Wayne stood over us, ready to head to the kitchen.
“Sit down and eat your pie before we fight over it.” Tommy Lee loaded his fork and a quarter of the slice disappeared.
Uncle Wayne sat down and picked at his crust. He wasn’t good at chitchat. “Barry said you wanted to talk about that body.”
For a moment all we heard were crickets and a hoot owl. Tommy Lee swallowed his pie and took a breath. “We found some things up where Y’Grok died.”
“Things?” Wayne echoed.
“Ink coated needles and broken ballpoint pens. Looked like he’d made some homemade tattoos. You see them?”
“See them. I had to work around them.” He studied his fingertips. “So that’s where that ink came from.”
“Work around them?” Tommy Lee asked.
“Ran into some clot problems and had to inject embalming fluid in the femoral artery. The man had tattoos near his groin. The skin was still irritated and I didn’t want to—” He stopped, as if no further explanation was necessary.
I completed his thought. “Have the surgical procedure damage them.”
“That’s right. Though it beats me how anyone would ever see them. Must be something those people like to look at while they’re on the john.”
“We don’t think the tattoos are a cultural thing,” I said. “We think they’re a special case.”
Tommy Lee pointed his empty fork at Wayne. “So what’d they look like?”
Wayne held up his hands in protest. “I don’t read other people’s mail.”
The bizarre statement left Tommy Lee’s mouth hanging open and Kevin looking at me for a translation.
I didn’t have a clue. “What are you talking about?”
“What do you think I’m talking about? Nobody would put tattoos down there to be gawked at.” He cut off a chunk of pie with his fork and jammed it in his mouth.
Tommy Lee eased back in his chair like he had all night. “I know how you feel, Wayne. I’m not one to pry myself. But sometimes I have to. Those tattoos might help us recover the body. That’s the only reason I’m asking.”
Uncle Wayne relaxed. “Well, I did notice some letters in a circle. Near, as I recall.”
Tommy Lee pressed on. “What were they?”
“Like I said, near. N, E, A, R.”
Tommy Lee glanced at me and then back to Wayne. “Could they have been points on a compass?”
“Maybe. Don’t know what A and R would stand for. I thought it looked more like a clock face.”
“Why’s that?” the sheriff asked.
“Because there were two hands in the center, but I don’t know what time it was. Could’ve been pointing at ten and two.”
Maybe Uncle Wayne was onto something. I hadn’t thought about a clock. “Any numbers?”
“Not on the clo
ck, but there was a 2000. That was over Viet.” Wayne paused. “Almost forgot about those words. Viet on the right thigh and Nam on the left. Guess they write backwards.”
Then I remembered the words were written right to left. In my mind, I’d transposed them.
“And there’s the four,” Wayne added. “That’s the one gave me the dickens of a time working around.”
“Four?” I hadn’t seen a four.
“Yeah. The number four and the letters K M. Right down where I needed to make my incision. Damnedest thing.”
Kevin, Tommy Lee, and I looked at one another. I knew they understood. Y’Grok had coded the tattoo “For Kevin Malone.”
“You’ve got a good memory.” Tommy Lee winked at me. “Better than your nephew by a long shot.”
“Nobody conked me on the noggin.”
“That’s true, even as hardheaded as Barry is, I’ve got to cut him some slack this time.” Tommy Lee reached out and laid his hand on my uncle’s bony wrist. “But that also means we’re dealing with some desperate people.”
“They got the body and those tattoos. What else do they want?”
“We don’t know,” Tommy Lee said. “Maybe nothing. But if they can’t figure out what the tattoos mean, they might not want anybody else to have the chance.”
“Nobody else has seen ’em.”
Tommy Lee just nodded and let Wayne draw his own conclusions.
“You think they’ll come back to the funeral home?”
Tommy Lee shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe even out here. I’d keep an eye out if I were you.”
Uncle Wayne laughed. “As if they could find this place.”
“Somebody might have tracked Y’Grok Eban from halfway around the world,” Tommy Lee said. “I don’t think a few twisting turns through a mountain cove will pose much of a problem.”
As we drove away, Uncle Wayne waved from his front porch. I didn’t know how seriously he had taken our warning. I hoped he’d at least lock his doors.
“Damn, damn, damn.” Kevin spoke the words in huffs of exasperation. “What a crafty old devil. But Y’Grok gave me too much credit for being able to figure out he’d leave the message on his body.”
“He probably expected you to find those broken pens and needle,” I said.
Foolish Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series Book 3) Page 8