Such an attractive solution. I’d been right when I’d said that once someone had killed, it became easier to do so again, even by proxy. Last case, Thomas had put an end to the depredations of three lowlifes. Everything had come out all right. Why not do the same this time?
But where would it end? Should I sic Thomas on Laser and Pork Chop because they dealt meth and put the squeeze on the local businesses? What if, against all my reasoning, the nomads really were undercover cops?
Yes, I felt the powerful pull of the easy way out. I wished I could conjure Dad up again so he could talk me out of it. He’d always been the better angel of my nature, the voice of reason in the face of my mother’s dangerous and chaotic spontaneity, her constant risk-taking.
The universe seemed impervious to my wishes, though, leaving me with the rush of air over Molly’s windshield and the uneasy play of my thoughts.
***
When I swung by the Granger’s Ford sheriff’s substation I saw Davis’ squad car parked in front, so I pulled over down the block almost out of sight and phoned his cell.
“Yeah, Mike, this is Cal. Meet me somewhere outside of your receptionist’s earshot?”
“Sure. You know where the library is?”
“Yeah.”
“Back parking lot. Five minutes.”
“You got it.” I drove slowly over to the appointed place. As I cruised by the tattoo parlor I noticed it was closed, with no vehicles of any kind parked in front. I checked my watch. Just after three. Maybe the artist was taking a late lunch, but I wondered. Other shops along Main Street also seemed vacant of customers, some with blinds drawn.
The library’s back lot was deserted, and only a couple of cars had been parked out front. Davis pulled in next to me, window to window so we could talk without leaving our seats. It reminded me of being a cop again, my early days in uniform driving a marked unit, paying my dues.
“Frank’s murder is all over town,” Davis said. “Same with the John Doe in the quarry. The two of them right together’s got everyone spooked.”
“I can understand that. Anything more on the diver?”
“No, but all the bikers cleared out last night and half the people around are taking sick days.”
“Your leads are evaporating, Mike.”
“For a while. They’ll be back, and I’ll be watching. The rest of the department will be keeping an eye on the Niners’ clubhouse in Placerville. Sheriff Bartlett’s on the warpath, trying to get warrants to search based on the tire tracks, and he’s been on the phone to SFPD to coordinate.”
I smiled bleakly. “Sounds like good news, right? Your boss finally backing you up.”
“It’s mostly for show. Making sure he gets reelected. Oh, he’ll find someone to hang. I’m not sure it’ll be the right guy.”
“He going after Conrad? Like they say, follow the money. That’s the center of your web.”
Davis shook his head slowly. “He’s focusing on the bikers.”
“I wonder why.”
“You’re implying Bartlett’s dirty.”
I shrugged. “I never met the man, but everything seems too cozy around here. Conrad and his wife half run the town already. If the bikers work with him – or for him – then maybe Bartlett does as well. Money can purchase a lot of favors. Might even buy a couple of undercover cops.”
“Okay, so our John Doe boosts Conrad’s bike, not knowing who he’s stealing from, and gets popped for it?”
“Makes sense. The bicycle ever show up?”
“Yeah. Tossed in the quarry lake near the body. It’s in the evidence yard right now, but eventually we’ll have to give it back to Conrad.” Davis sounded disgusted, and I understood. Insult to injury. “What about your end?”
“We’re working on getting more info,” I said, “but right now it looks like Frank was making serious money on the side.”
“How serious?”
“No data yet, but he has an account at an exclusive offshore outfit. The kind that charges fees instead of paying interest. Made a deposit almost every week. To keep the IRS off his back it must have been no more than eight or nine thousand a month. My guess is a couple grand a week. Whoever broke into his house must have found evidence that he could afford a thousand a week in blackmail.”
“How’d he make that kind of money?”
I cleared my throat. “Like I said before…the only thing that makes sense to me is prostitution. Drugs don’t fit. He’d never have needed to buy from Kerry if he was dealing, and smart dealers don’t use.”
“Darn shame. He seemed like such a good teacher.”
“I think he was a good teacher, Mike. Morality and the law don’t always line up neatly.”
“Most of the time they do, I’ve found.”
“Then Frank was the exception. It’s going to be hard enough on the kids without turning him into a devil he’s not.”
“Yeah.” Davis slapped the roof of his car with his palm and drummed on it with his fingers, staring through the windshield into the distance. “I’ve been trying to limit the damage, but you know how people are when they get a whiff of scandal.”
“Mean and petty.”
“You got it. What’re you going to do now? I have to get back to the station. Got a big stack of paperwork waiting for me.”
“Poke around. Ask questions. You mind?”
“Not at all. Better you than me. Too many people with too many tips right now. Everyone thinks they remember something significant now that it’s too late.”
“All right. Check in with you later.”
Davis looked over at me directly. “Hey, you want to come over for dinner? My daughter is depressed about Frank, and Alice is bringing over some food for us.”
I chuckled, remembering Linda’s sour look when talking about a widow angling for her dad. “Alice and Linda in the same room? You want me to referee?”
He rubbed his jaw and grimaced. “I was thinking you might be a distraction. Show Linda there’s more to life than the people in this town.”
“And more to life than Kerry the small-time hood.”
“That too. She won’t want to hear anything bad about him from me, but maybe you could ‘accidentally’ mention his petty crime.”
“That might work.”
“You know any nice men from back home?”
I held up my hand. “No way I’m playing matchmaker, but I’d be happy to have dinner with your family – past, present and future.” At least I knew Alice’s food would be palatable. I hadn’t had a good home-cooked meal in ages.
“See you at six, then.” He scribbled down the address and handed it to me.
“I’ll be there.”
With a wave he drove off and I headed over to Preacher John’s mission. Maybe he’d have some insight if I showed him the theoretical web of criminality I’d built.
Unlike other places in town, most of the parking near the mission was taken up and people crowded the building. Not just the homeless, either, or those on the fringes. I saw solidly middle-class folks mingling in the lobby with those less fortunate, and some animated conversations. From what I overheard, everyone was talking about the murders.
I looked around for John, but didn’t see him. A moment later I heard a raised voice and the crowd began to move through the doors into the main theater portion and sit down. The place could seat two hundred or so, and it was three-quarters full. The tables in front had been put away, replaced by the folding chairs standing in neat rows.
John Studemeyer walked to the podium and raised a hand for quiet. “Thanks for coming out, folks, and thanks to Carol Conrad for suggesting that we do this.” He gestured to the side, where I now noticed the tall woman seated elegantly on stage. She briefly lifted a hand.
I figured I’d walked in on an event, so I took a seat in the back and listened as John lifted his voice.
“Just like you, I’m concerned about these murders. There’s corruption in this town that’s been too long allowed to f
ester. I’m not talking about sin today, although the Lord knows we all have enough of that on our souls. I’m talking about crimes, crimes we may think are victimless or don’t concern us but in reality threaten everyone. Prostitution. Burglary. Drug dealing. Protection rackets and intimidation of law-abiding citizens. I myself have been approached by criminals demanding money, which I refused and, as many of you know, I was beaten for it.”
I hadn’t known that, but I could see it happening. Brother John didn’t seem like the type to back down. Dad would have gotten along famously with him.
“The truth is, when we let sin into our lives, it becomes easy to overlook the crimes that go on around us. Normally I preach in hopes people will change their hearts, the root causes. But there’s also a time to treat the symptoms of society’s ills, and that’s the job of the civil authorities. ‘Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar’s,’ our Lord said, and today we need to call Caesar to account. We need to tell Caesar to get off his butt and do his job, and by Caesar I mean the mayor, the city council and the county administration, particularly the sheriff’s department, which is our only law enforcement.”
A round of “hear, hear” and scattered applause broke out. More people continued to arrive and the seats filled up as John got warmed up, continuing in this vein. He railed against the small-town tendency to gossip but do nothing about the constant infractions and hope that problems would go away on their own.
After about twenty minutes the crowd was warmed up. Brother John had them in the palm of his hand. Latecomers lined the aisles and I was sure the room had exceeded its fire code capacity. I doubted he’d had a congregation like this in a long time.
There’s nothing like fear to motivate people to action.
For a while.
“Now let’s give our attention to Carol Conrad, one of our most generous charitable contributors and someone we all know and respect.”
Interesting, I thought as the tall woman took the podium. Given who she was married to and her past involvement with Frank, I’d have thought she would stay out of the limelight. Maybe she really didn’t know her husband very well.
Or maybe all my theories were wrong.
“Thank you, Brother John, and thanks to all of you for coming out today. You know I care passionately about this community and the wonderful small-town lifestyle we have here. You may also know I have some influence with the city council and the mayor, as well as knowing Sheriff Bartlett personally. I wanted to assure you that I will be pushing for him and Deputy Davis to find the culprit in our beloved Frank Jackson’s death, as well as that of the unfortunate who was killed up at Black Vein Quarry.”
Carol turned left and right, gripping the podium as if on political campaign, leaning forward earnestly. “As Brother John said, for too long we’ve tolerated undesirables and hooliganism here, relying on one overworked officer even as our town is growing. I’m going to lay before the city council a proposal to form our own town police department with at least five full-time personnel.”
Spontaneous applause broke out, with scattered cheers and whistles.
“Unfortunately, we have to be realistic. This will cost money. I believe we can get state and federal grants and matching funds if we show we’re serious, but this will require a bond issue and a tax hike to support it.”
Rustles and murmurs of conversation swept the crowd, and some boos. Carol held up her hand. “I know that won’t be popular, but out here in the foothills we’re self-reliant. We don’t depend on Sacramento or Mariposa or even Coulterville to solve our problems for us. Business is good and my husband and I are willing to pay our fair share – in fact, to pay double, as property owners and as businessmen too. Within a few days I expect to sponsor a special resolution to start work on this problem. I ask each and every one of you to contact the mayor and the city council to join me in this cause.”
She pounded on the podium and pointed out over the crowd. “Please don’t let your outrage fade. Today it’s an award-winning teacher and school administrator. Tomorrow it may be a pastor, a business owner, a street sweeper. Ladies and gentlemen, it may be one of you. We need more and better law enforcement. Join with me to make such horrors a thing of the past.”
This time the applause was thunderous as the audience came to its feet, myself included if only to keep my eye on Carol. She seemed sincerely passionate. What was her game? Could she really be innocent? It seemed possible…plenty of people had been taken in completely by a pathologically deceptive spouse, only finding out the truth when the lies began to break down. Perhaps that was what I was seeing here.
On the other hand, maybe she was taking control of a situation that threatened to become chaotic. By crusading for law and order, perhaps she thought to deflect suspicion from herself and her husband’s involvement, if any.
I thought about approaching and talking to her and to John, but they were mobbed by townspeople and were likely to stay that way for some time. Checking my watch, I saw that it was getting toward six and my dinner appointment, so I eased out against the flow and left by a side door.
Chapter 15
When I reached the address Davis had given me, I found a modest, well-kept old Craftsman, white with green trim, surrounded by a picket fence that matched most of the other houses there. As Daylight Saving Time hadn’t fallen back yet, the waning western sun still illuminated the evening and a warm, dry breeze gently rustled the leaves of the nearby maple and mulberry trees.
Rather than pulling into the driveway I parked under a streetlight at the property line by long habit, well away from any other cars and the possibility of being blocked in. When I knocked on the door, Alice opened it, her severe face softened by a long, full hairstyle much different from the bun I’d seen her wear at work.
“Come on in, come on in,” she said, holding the door wide.
“You look nice,” I said.
“Thanks. Have a sit. Dinner will be right up.”
Once inside I could smell roast chicken and, I thought, apple pie. The dining room table was set and ready, and Alice quickly bustled back toward the kitchen.
Mike’s daughter Linda sat on the living room sofa with her arms crossed, clearly not happy with her potential new stepmother’s activities. I smiled and shrugged at her in sympathy, and when that didn’t elicit a return smile I sat down next to her. “I’m sorry about Frank,” I said.
“Yeah.” Linda looked down at her hands, which grasped each other tightly. “We’ll all miss him.” A sweet, half-familiar scent wafted to my nose, competing with the food smells. I tried to place it but it fled from me.
Taking her hands in mine, I said, “We’ll find the people responsible for his death.”
“I already know who’s responsible,” she muttered, her hands not relaxing under mine.
I waited, hoping she would say more. When she didn’t, I prompted, “Who’s responsible?”
“People who led him astray. People who are supposed to be good but aren’t. People that gave him drugs and turned him from a kind, decent, loving man into a sex fiend. People that –”
“Dinnertime!” Alice called loudly.
Damn the woman for interrupting Linda’s diatribe. “Go on,” I said, gently shaking the young woman’s hands, but she set her jaw and clammed up, her eyes hot. Once dinner was over I would definitely be interviewing her further. She obviously had something she wanted to get off her chest, and it might give me a clue.
We stood up, Linda looming over me despite her flats and my inch-and-a-half boot heels. When we went to sit at the dinner table it struck me how similar she and Alice were in build, though Linda was prettier in the face and curvier in the body. Sometimes such matchups repelled each other like magnetic poles, especially when they clearly both wanted to be the woman of the house.
I could see Linda’s point of view. Alice was an invader and a competitor for her father’s attention. It would take a lot of maturity to relax and be happy for him rather than feel threaten
ed. I could see why Mike wanted his daughter to get set up with a nice guy and, hopefully, move out.
Mike came in and took the head of the table, with me at the other end. He’d changed out of his uniform in favor of jeans and a Western shirt, the kind with double pockets and mother-of-pearl buttons. The two women faced off on the long sides, carefully avoiding eye contact with each other. I felt positively small next to these three giants.
“My, my. I am blessed with the presence of three lovely ladies,” the deputy said.
I smiled and reflexively let my hair fall forward, and then cursed myself once again for doing so. “I’d propose a toast but I don’t see any wine,” I said, trying to make a joke.
“Wine is a mocker; strong drink is raging,” Linda said, still glaring at her plate. “Proverbs 20:1.”
Alice almost rolled her eyes, instead glancing helplessly at Mike, who took both women’s palms in his. “Let’s say grace, shall we?” he said. Linda and Alice reached toward me and I reluctantly let my hands be captured.
The blessing of the food I didn’t mind at all. In fact, it was nostalgic. Dad had said grace over every family meal, so long ago. I simply didn’t like the human contact with people I didn’t know, but they obviously meant well so I tolerated it.
Once that spell ended, the ritual of passing food and paying compliments to the cook smoothed over the tension. Mike and I worked hard to keep the topics of conversation neutral and upbeat, heading off Linda’s apparent desire to pick a fight with Alice. The older woman for her part tried to remain understanding, though I could see it wasn’t in her nature.
I’d just begun to relax and think the evening would be a success when the doorbell rang. All three of them began to rise before Mike waved the two women to their seats. “I’ll get it,” he said.
In a Bind Page 17