by Sylvia Nobel
I could certainly identify with that. He’d provided the opening I was hoping for so I pressed ahead. “I understand from speaking with Jenessa Wooten’s mother that he seemed depressed over your recent separation?”
“He was depressed before Brice and I split up,” he grumbled. “She made both of our lives a living hell, what with her drug use and whoring around. You’d think she’d at least’ve had the decency to try and clean up her act for Nate’s sake but no! It got worse and worse. We finally had to arrange an intervention and got her into rehab.”
“And how did that work out?”
“Things were okay for awhile, but she didn’t have no will power. Turns out she couldn’t stay away from the drugs and went right back to her old habits after a couple of months.” His words hit disturbingly close to home and made me uncomfortable. “She’d disappear for days at a time,” he continued, his tone turning bitter, “and come home looking like shit! After a while, she was nuthin’ but a stranger to me. But Nate, he’d always forgive her. He was real protective. The counselor called it something but I can’t think of the word.”
“Enabling?”
“Yeah. That’s it. He enabled her bad behavior and she was real conniving to get what she wanted.”
He paused and I could hear his uneven breathing. “Next thing I know she’d run off to Seattle with some dude, some meth head probably ten years younger’n her.”
“The sheriff told me they’ve been unable to locate her whereabouts. Do you have any idea where she could be?”
“Last I heard she was someplace up in Alaska. She…she don’t even know Nate’s dead! Can you believe that? Probably passed out in some crack house right now. What kind of a woman would do that? She ain’t even close to the person I married.” His voice faltered with emotion. “That person is gone. Gone forever.” He tried to disguise the quaver in his voice with a manly throat clearing.
Judging by his distressed tone, it was pretty obvious that the poor guy had a lot to get off his chest. “I’m very sorry about your son’s death.”
A hesitation followed by a gruff, “Thanks.”
“Mr. Taylor, when you loaned your son the camper, did he tell you where he was going?”
“He was kinda vague. Just that he was headin’ up into the Bradshaws with his new girl for a couple of weeks of camping and hiking.”
“Did you ever meet Jenessa Wooten?”
“Naw. Sorry to say I didn’t. I seen her picture. He was real sweet on her and said he was gonna bring her to meet me but… that ain’t never gonna happen…” his voice trailed off.
“Mr. Taylor, do you know if Nathan ever experimented with any sort of…mood enhancers?”
A heavy silence. “Are you asking me if he was doing drugs?”
“Yes.”
A protracted sigh in my ear. “Brice was an awful influence on the kid. Got him started smokin’ pot with her when he was fourteen. Who knows if she got him to try anything else? After she bailed on us, him and me had some knock-down, drag-out fights about it. I told him he oughta stop or he’d end up just like her.”
“What was his state of mind when she left?”
“Pretty bummed out. He quit school. Quit his job. Moped around for awhile doin’ nuthin’. Then one of his buddies got him into ridin’ his mountain bike along the edge of a cliff and other risky stunts like cave jumping down in Mexico and the Bahamas.”
I wondered if Nathan had posted videos of himself online. I’d have to check that out. “Sounds like an expensive hobby. If he wasn’t working, where did he get the money for something like that?”
His sharp laugh had a caustic edge to it. “He didn’t get it from me, that’s for sure. His grandma left him a little money and he started spending it like water.” Then he quickly added the caveat, “Don’t get me wrong. I loved my son a whole lot. He was a good kid, but we wasn’t too close after he started acting real squirrelly.”
Real squirrelly? Did that mean he was on drugs? My instincts were probably correct. Most likely he was doing steroids and possibly other mood-enhancing drugs like Mollys to help boost his spirits after his mother walked out. That most likely explained the pills found in Jenessa’s pocket. I heard another phone ringing in the background and he said hastily, “Hold on.” He was gone for a few minutes and then came back on the line. “Sorry about that. I gotta go unplug a toilet. Anything else?”
“Do you know if Nathan had his cell phone with him?”
“He never went no place without it.”
“Did you have any communication from him after he left?” I asked.
“Well, let’s see. He did call me once about the BLM giving him grief about a sticker on my ATV bein’ expired. I told him I’d take care of it when he got back, but he said they was just gonna rent one up in Crown King.”
“Did the sheriff tell you they were unable to find his cell phone, or hers for that matter?”
Total silence while he absorbed my news. “No. Something ’bout that don’t sound right to me.”
“Jenessa’s mother didn’t think so either. That’s why I’m following up. There are quite a few unanswered questions.”
Another very, very long silence. “What are you sayin’? You think them two kids dying out there in the snow wasn’t no accident?” His voice rang with incredulity.
“I have no proof that it wasn’t, but I’m not discounting anything until I’ve completed my investigation.”
“Are you some kind of a detective?”
“In a manner of speaking. I always tell people that investigative reporters are simply underpaid detectives. Are you aware that two other people died in that general vicinity within the past year?”
“Mmmmm…I don’t think so.”
“I talked to the BLM ranger for that region yesterday and also a Forest Service ranger. Both of them had encountered Nathan several times in the past few months. Do you know why he was attracted to that particular area?”
“Because it’s dang purty country, that’s why. And we had us some really fun times out there over the years deer hunting, fishing, camping and the like.”
“Did he ever talk about meeting anyone specific on any of his recent trips?”
“Um…I don’t think so.”
“Do the names Luke Campbell or Benjamin Halstead mean anything to you?”
“Nope, but since you’re lookin’ into it, I’m here to tell you that this whole thing don’t make a lick o’ sense to me. It wasn’t like Nate was some green city kid. He was pretty savvy when it come to the outdoors.”
“Mr. Taylor, are we speaking on your cell phone?” I inquired, eyeing the time on the wall clock.
“Yep.”
“You have my number on your phone now. If you remember anything else that might be relevant, will you please call me?”
“I’ll do that.”
I thanked him and tapped the END button, feeling both perplexed and vaguely dissatisfied. How interesting that he was having the same misgivings as Marcelene. And Ginger. And me. I fanned through my notebook. It seemed as though I was amassing a mountain of unconnected minutiae that took me nowhere. I tabbed to the Internet and looked up the number for the saloon in Crown King. Following six rings, a woman answered crisply, “Crown King Saloon.”
“Is Cal Moreland available?”
“Hang on.” I heard her drop the receiver and amid background noise consisting of loud country music intermingled with animated conversation, she screeched, “Cal, you got a phone call!”
A minute later, a pleasant male voice came on the line. “This is Cal.”
I went through the same drill, introducing myself and explaining the nature of my inquiry regarding the last evening of Benjamin Halstead’s life.
“Castle Valley Sun? Well, there’s not a whole lot more to say that I didn’t already tell the sheriff’s deputies. Ben cam
e in here occasionally for lunch or after work and would have a drink and maybe play a couple games of pool. Sometimes he’d just sit and talk with other customers and watch TV. If we had live music, once in a while he’d get out and hoof it with some of the girls.”
“I’m interested in the last time you saw him. Did anything out of the ordinary happen? What time of day did he come in? How long did he stay? Did he talk to you or anyone else? What was the weather like…?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down! Too many questions in a row. One at a time, please.”
“Sorry. Okay, let’s start with the last day you saw him.”
“Mmmmm, That’s been a while ago now, but I’m thinking he came in around four, four-thirty.”
“And the weather?”
“I remember it was pretty cold. We’d had some rain and a little snow, but nothing serious.”
“Do you live in Crown King?”
“Yep.”
“So you don’t know the condition of the road that day?”
“Not really. But the place was pretty busy, so I’m guessing people weren’t having any particular problem negotiating it. Depending on the weather, it can be treacherous, and believe me, there are times you wouldn’t want to be driving on it.”
“So I’ve heard. What did Benjamin do when he came in that evening?”
“The usual. He ordered a drink, talked a little about this and that, had a conversation with a couple of guys at the bar and then he spent the rest of the time playing pool.”
“What did he normally order?”
“Sodas mostly. Once in a while he’d have a beer. Nothing stronger.”
“Did he say anything that stands out in your mind?”
“Let me think…” Following a few seconds of silence he said, “I remember he was starting to tell me about something he’d seen on one of his hikes, but I got interrupted and…of course I never did find out what it was.”
As if to validate his statement, I heard someone shout, “Hey! Any chance I can get a beer down here! I’m dyin’ of thirst!”
“Hang on, Roscoe. I’ll be right with you,” came Cal’s rejoinder.
Well, this conversation wasn’t netting me anything helpful. “Was he sober when he left? According to the sheriff’s report, several witnesses stated that he appeared to be weaving a little like he was drunk.”
A hesitation. “That doesn’t sound right. I only served him one beer. Listen, I know drunk when I see it and he wasn’t. Plus that, I’d be liable if I sent him out of here if he was too intoxicated to drive.”
“So…what could account for the witness statements?”
“I don’t know. I think I remember him saying his stomach wasn’t feeling too good and he felt light-headed, like he might be coming down with the flu or something, but that’s all. He was not drunk when he left here.”
“I see.” Might as well wind this up.
“Are we done? I gotta get back to work.”
“Anything out of the ordinary happen that night? Anyone in particular stand out? Do you remember who was there?”
“I can’t remember everybody who comes in here. We have regulars who live here and others from the surrounding area, but we also get a lot of visitors passing through on their quads and ATVs. We get our share of Snowbirds and lowlanders from the valley too.”
“Who would you consider a regular?”
“I dunno. All the townspeople. Local miners, ranchers and the residents of Raven Creek. Our area BLM ranger comes in after work sometimes.”
“Yes, I’ve met Linda Tressick and also Burton Carr.”
“Yeah. Burt usually stops in for lunch ’bout once a week. I think he may have been here that night, but I’m not positive.”
“So, nothing about that night stands out in your mind? Benjamin Halstead came in, ordered a drink, talked, played pool and then left.”
“That’s about it. Oh...wait. I do remember one thing different. I had to break up a fistfight between a couple of roughnecks and two of our local boys.”
“From Crown King?”
“No, from the McCracken Ranch.”
My breath caught in my throat. “Are you talking about the Hinkle brothers?”
“You know ’em?”
“Yeah, we’ve met a few times.” Another coincidence? How was that even possible? I thanked him and hurriedly dialed the sheriff’s office. “Julie! I need a favor. I don’t have time to get over there today to finish reading those two files, so could you scan the tox report on Benjamin Halstead and send it over to me?”
“Sure, give me a few minutes.”
It was a quarter after five by the time I got her email. Knowing I still had to stop at the store to buy chips and dip for the potluck, I skimmed through the toxicology report as quickly as I could. Holy flippin’ cow! The report showed documented evidence of the powerful painkiller OxyContin in Benjamin Halstead’s system.
CHAPTER
27
Deeply troubled and more intrigued than ever, there were so many thoughts knocking around in my head it was difficult to stay focused on the task at hand. Lost in a fog, I locked up, rushed to the store, grabbed a cart and headed down the aisle. I paused in front of the potato and tortilla chips section thinking that I needed to contact some of Benjamin Halstead’s friends and relatives to find out more information about him. Had the young man been abusing OxyContin and perhaps other stimulants prior to that night? Or had he, as my Internet research illustrated, been out partying and ingested a dangerous cocktail of drugs and alcohol before driving off the cliff? Where had he obtained the drugs?
After witnessing the alarming conduct of the drug-addled teens in the desert, my own brother’s bizarre behavior and what I suspect had been a drug deal going down in Jerome, it seemed a certainty that the Hinkles were involved. Had Benjamin Halstead met them there to make a purchase? Had he taken too much and fallen asleep at the wheel? Or was I reading too much into the fact that the two men just happened to be at the saloon that particular night? Was I using twisted logic to cast blame because I found them repugnant and harbored resentment towards them for providing my brother with illicit drugs?
But was it a coincidence that they appeared to be connected with every single person I had met in and around Raven Creek? And what about their access to the gravel company property? If Jack Loomis was associated with them, was it possible that Luke Campbell had also come in contact with them during his weeks of gathering interviews for his documentary film? And if so, was it conceivable the brothers had been entangled in the strange circumstances surrounding his death? But, how would that have been possible? And the most important question had to be, why? Was there a connection between him and Benjamin Halstead? And if there was, what possible motive could the Hinkle brothers have to silence these two men?
The next thought that popped into my head took my breath away. Oh my God! Could they somehow be linked to the deaths of Nathan and Jenessa? Was it mere coincidence all four people had been found dead within a few miles of Raven Creek? Could that be the key? Or was I way, way out in left field? My supposition sounded logical. The problem was, I possessed not one single shred of evidence to prove it. All I had to go on was the grinding apprehension lodged deep inside me.
“Excuse me. Would you please move your cart?”
Startled, I looked up to realize I was blocking the aisle and had to issue a sheepish smile to the exasperated elderly woman. “Sorry, I was thinking about something…”
As she rushed by with a curt nod, I glanced at my phone. Oh crap! I was really late now. Haphazardly, I chose several bags of chips, threw four containers of dip into the cart and checked out. Still preoccupied, I drove across town towards Marcelene’s cottage, wondering why I was so hungry. Then it dawned on me. I’d been too busy to eat lunch.
No sooner had I pulled into the motel parking lot,
gathered up the grocery bags and started towards the cottage than my cell phone sounded. Awkwardly, I slid the bags up my arms and fished out my phone. When I saw Tally’s name on the screen, my heart did a happy, little dance. “Hey, Cowboy! I was wondering why you hadn’t called.”
“Sorry, we were out on the Jeep tour. No cell towers in the middle of Monument Valley.”
“I’m so jealous I missed it.”
He chuckled. “You would have loved every minute.”
“I know. How’s my dad holding up?”
“He’s a real trouper, but I can tell his ankle is bothering him.”
I sighed. “I’ll bet he’s not taking his pain pills again. Poor guy.” A sudden gust of wind rattled the plastic bags. “Well, how are Sean and my mom doing?”
Dead air. “They’re tolerating each other.”
“That means they’ve been at each other’s throats the whole trip, doesn’t it?”
“Sort of. Listen, some problems have come up and we’re going to have to skip the last leg of the trip to Canyon de Chelly and head back tomorrow morning.”
His somber tone sent a pang of concern sweeping through me. “Why? What’s wrong? Is it because of the bad weather coming?”
“That could be a factor, but secondary. Got a couple of other problems.”
Was I going to have to drag it out of him? “Such as?”
“Ronda left me a message earlier. She’s been pushing Ma hard to take her meds. She finally did and overdosed.”
Taken aback, I gasped, “You’re kidding!”
“Nope. Ronda rushed her to the emergency room and they had to pump her stomach.”
“Is she going to be okay?”
“As far as I know. Ronda’s there with her now, but she said Ma is raising a ruckus asking for me.”
Immediately suspicious, I wondered if this was a deliberate ploy by Ruth to get Tally away from my family and back in her clutches? She was a master manipulator and I would put nothing past the conniving old witch. “Why am I not surprised?”