A Short Time to Die

by Susan Alice Bickford

  She kept her voice flat and even. “Just keep in mind we’re in unfamiliar territory. I need you to have your head in the game.”

  She leaned forward and tapped his left ring finger. “I don’t know what’s going on with your personal life. You don’t need to share, but you need to focus on being right here.”

  Vanessa sat back and finished her own meal with feigned enthusiasm. She considered apologizing.

  Jack spoke first. “Well, I’m done and I’m very tired. Let’s say we start fresh tomorrow.”

  Was that an olive branch?

  Vanessa nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

  6

  Vanessa: The Springs

  January 28, 2013

  The next morning the thermometer read minus fifteen degrees. Vanessa was wide-awake as soon as she stepped outside. This kind of cold is better than coffee. Vanessa and Jack trotted down the street to the police station at nine thirty.

  “Whoa! Here you are. Welcome to Central New York,” said the voice they had come to know rather well. “At least there’s no slush—frozen solid.”

  Chip Davis was a short, stocky dynamo, just as Vanessa had pictured him. She guessed him to be in his early forties. His blond hair was half gray and thinning, but his blue eyes sparkled with impish pleasure.

  “How about this great weather?” he asked. He shook their hands. “Not a cloud in sight. That’s unusual around here. The nice thing about weather this cold is that it doesn’t snow.”

  Vanessa shed multiple layers before she sat down in Chip’s office. She noted that Chip seemed to be a clean-desk sort of person despite his oversize personality. Quite a contrast with her boss, Nick.

  “My feet are freezing and I just walked down the road,” Jack said.

  “Ooh. Yeah. You should get some real boots for while you’re here. You’ll be tramping around in some snow and of course it’s damn cold. There’s a cheap shoe place just outside of town to the east, and there’s a good used clothing store just a few doors down from here. I suggest you get some padded boots and some warmer stuff later today. Maybe your boss will cover that.”

  Jack scowled. “I hate spending money on stuff we’ll only use for a few days.”

  Chip smiled. “Suit yourself. You could freeze to death in no time if your car were to break down.”

  Formalities over, Chip sat back and grinned. “So, where do we start?”

  Jack leaned forward. “Let’s start with Louise and Troy. We want to know about their family and friends, and Charon Springs.”

  “Fair enough,” Chip said. “Let’s start in the Way Back Machine. You may not know it, but this area was considered to be the frontier prior to the Revolution. White people weren’t supposed to settle here thanks to treaties between the British and the Iroquois. Of course, that’s neither here nor there now, but it did lead to a lot of chaos after the war. And within a few years the frontier had moved on to Ohio and beyond.

  “The area was always fairly prosperous for farming compared to places like Vermont or Massachusetts. That’s one reason people wanted to settle here. But as improvements in transportation like the Erie Canal came around, it became critical to be closer to those links to make money.”

  “The Erie Canal?” Jack asked. He gave Vanessa a wink.

  “You’ve never heard of that? Clinton’s Ditch? Clinton’s Folly?” Chip’s eyes widened in mock horror.

  “Bill Clinton built a canal?” Vanessa asked.

  Chip burst into song:

  I’ve got a mule and her name is Sal

  Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

  She’s a good old worker and a good old gal

  Fifteen miles on the Erie Canal

  “Okay. Now don’t tell me you didn’t sing that in school,” he said.

  Jack grinned. “I seem to remember learning about the 1906 San Francisco earthquake. No singing required.”

  Chip threw up his hands. “Amazing. I must have sung that song at least once a week for thirteen or more years. Well, anyway, thanks to the canal, followed by the railroads, all those nice cities sprang up from Albany to Buffalo, like Utica and Syracuse and Rochester. All have gone through their rust belt phases recently, but these were great cities. Utica was the start of the transcontinental railroad, by the way.”

  Vanessa laughed. “My sergeant, Nick, is from Utica. He just told us.”

  Chip offered a crooked smile. “Good for him. For getting out. Anyway, my point is that gradually some communities got kind of left behind for one reason or another, and Charon Springs is one of those. This area is also referred to as the Finger Lakes, which are long, skinny lakes left by the glaciers. Here in Avalon we have this lovely small Finger Lake that attracted prosperous families from Syracuse in the summer. There’s Avalon College—a small two-year school—and Route Twenty was a major transit route before the days of big highways. So Avalon did very well. After the war, people moved here to commute into Syracuse. The gap between here and the Springs grew even wider.”

  Jack looked up from his notes. “So Charon Springs is a poor relation.”

  “Yeah. They’re a good eight to ten miles away, but they’re part of our school system. Responsibility for law enforcement has bounced back and forth over the years between our police department and the county sheriff. It’s in our bailiwick now. Until very recently, going down there was like a trip back in time. Still is in a lot of ways.”

  “Sounds like more or less normal stuff,” Vanessa said. “It is interesting but that’s a scenario we’ve seen all over, even in California. What makes Charon Springs so different? Who are these Harris people?”

  “Okay, right,” said Chip. He cracked his knuckles. “Well, as best I can figure out, a guy named Elliot Harris more or less ran the Springs in the late 1800s. The water smells like shit down there. Literally. It happens around here in pockets. The rain hits the hills and runs down through a lot of ancient sediment and comes out smelling like sulfur. Hence Charon, as in the Greek guy who used to take dead folks to Hades across the river whatever.”

  “River Styx,” Vanessa said.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Around here we say the Springs is the only place where you don’t want to flush after a big one, you know? The smell dissipates right away, but it’s still a nasty stink. Anyway, making lemonade out of lemons, Elliot figured that the water might be popular as a healing liquid and he tried to set up a sanitarium. That went belly-up, but it allowed him to take control of most of the village. His son, Wendell, solidified the Harris grip on that area starting around the turn of the twentieth century. Their activities were pretty low-level crap until Prohibition. That was when Wendell came into his own and the Harris crowd grew into a genuine, nasty, rural crime syndicate. We’re not real close to Canada, of course. Lake Ontario sits between Syracuse and Toronto, and it’s a good haul to Ottawa and Montreal, but it was close enough.”

  Jack and Vanessa wrote in their notepads, trying to capture each detail.

  “Let’s take a break,” said Chip. “I’m going to get Paul Daniels, one of our officers. He was born and brought up in the Springs and would have gone to school with a number of our Harris friends.” He rubbed his face and leaned in to whisper. “Paul’s not our sharpest knife in the drawer. He barely passed the tests years ago, and he’s not very brave, quite frankly. Still, he knows all the people down there and he’ll know how to talk to them. He might be cautious, but I want you to pay attention. If he gets nervous, it could be for a good reason.”

  Moments later, Chip returned, followed by a uniformed officer. Genetics had not been kind to Paul Daniels, Vanessa decided. In his mid- to late forties, he was on the short side, with bowed legs. His belly was running to fat but his neck was thin and his shoulders were narrow. He had an undershot chin and his hair had thinned while his hairline stayed in place.

  Chip erased his whiteboard. “I’ll attempt to outline the Harris family tree and explain where Louise and Troy fit. Paul, you keep me honest here.

  “Fir
st we have Wendell here at the top. Don’t know who his wife was. Anyway, he had a couple of daughters and one son, Homer. Homer was born in the early 1900s and Homer had three sons, named Zeke, Vernon, and Carl, in that order.

  “Wendell had set up a nice little mini-empire in the twenties based on booze, but he died of appendicitis at the beginning of World War II. At that point, Homer ran things until he died, and his sons Zeke and Vernon began a friendly competition over who would run the family. That would have been in the seventies. Zeke won that argument and Vernon decided to play along. Carl wasn’t a player at that point. He was sort of shoved aside and seemed content to take a ‘consultative’ role.” Chip wiggled his fingers to indicate the air quotes.

  “Not tough enough?” Jack asked.

  “Plenty tough. My theory is that he was smart enough to realize he couldn’t win at that point,” Chip said. “He had a few run-ins with the law, but he went off and built up a good-sized legit construction business. Kept a low profile for many years. Still, he always kept a hand in and he now runs the whole deal, so I guess things worked out for him. Good things come to those who wait.”

  Chip turned back to the whiteboard. “But that’s jumping ahead to recent events. Homer was considered brutal in his day. People who crossed him disappeared with regularity, but it was quiet stuff. When his favorite sons, Zeke and Vernon, took over, it all moved up a notch. Most of that was Zeke. Vernon had a health problem of some sort and didn’t get engaged in the physical aspects of the business.”

  “Sugar,” Paul said. “He had a sugar problem.”

  “Right. Diabetes. He’d led a hard life and he lost most of one leg and the other foot by his forties, so he did the planning. Zeke ran things. Zeke married Rosie Connor and she was his perfect match and then some. From the seventies until just a couple of years ago when Rosie died, the Springs was under their thumbs. Zeke ran the hardcore monkey business, and Rosie kept order at home and with all the women and children.”

  “The women’s auxiliary,” Paul said. “Everyone called them the Coven. Even Zeke said he was scared of them.”

  Chip turned back to the whiteboard, writing some new names. “Zeke and Rosie had twins: Louise and Larry, and last but not least, Wendell—known as Del.”

  Paul gave a guffaw followed by a snort. “We used to call him Wendy in elementary school. That didn’t last too long once he got bigger.”

  “Louise would be our Louise Rasmussen?”

  “Yup. But she always called herself Harris. She had two kids herself, Troy and Laurie.”

  “Laurie as in the manslaughter and Troy as in our other body?” Vanessa asked.

  “Absolutely. I guess you know that Troy and Louise were convicted of killing Laurie. They claimed that it was unintentional—just a family disagreement that got out of hand.”

  “Yikes,” Jack said, wrinkling his nose.

  “Okay. Finishing off this picture, we have Larry. He is Louise’s twin. Larry didn’t have any kids that we know of, thank goodness, and is doing a federal sentence for life. He and his brother, Del, were indicted on the murder of an ATF agent named Max Redman thirteen years ago. Unfortunately for him, Del and Zeke disappeared right about that time, and Larry took the full rap.”

  “Another disappearance?” Vanessa asked.

  “All the time,” Paul said. He coughed.

  “There are lots of old quarries around here. Limestone mostly, plus other hidden places,” Chip said.

  “What did your investigations show?” asked Jack.

  Chip gave them a long look. “Not much. We were rarely even called in. The Harris clan was too hard and too vicious to fight head-on. I’m trying to change that.” He glanced at Paul and turned back to Jack and Vanessa.

  “Anyway, Zeke and Del reappeared. They popped up a couple of months later at the bottom of a ravine in Del’s truck.”

  “Zeke had shot Del,” Paul said.

  “Right. We—my predecessors—figured that they were chasing someone. Their clothes were covered in mud, and there’s a big potato field along that track that was a match. Zeke had a gun and he’d fired a number of rounds, but no signs of bullets in return. They decided Zeke had a heart attack in that field but not before he managed to wing Del, under his right armpit. Of course it was possible that he was aiming for Del, but they both made it back to the truck, and started to drive out, so that wouldn’t square with Zeke shooting Del on purpose. Unfortunately, Del died or collapsed at the wheel and they went over the edge of a ravine. Bled out. Zeke probably died at about the same time from the heart attack.”

  “Wow.” Jack raised his eyebrows.

  “No one was heartbroken,” Chip said.

  “Except Rosie,” Paul said.

  “Yeah. Rosie was obsessed with figuring out who got away.”

  “Don’t tell me,” Vanessa said. “She blamed the person they were chasing for the whole thing. He didn’t roll over and get murdered as required.”

  Chip gave Vanessa a snappy two-fingered salute. “You got it. Before my time, of course. I was appointed two years ago, I’ll remind you.”

  “Did she ever figure it out? Did you?” she asked.

  “As best we can tell, she never did and we didn’t either.”

  “Can we come back to the assault and manslaughter charges?” Jack asked. “What happened there?”

  Chip leaned back in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “About thirteen years ago, Zeke and Rosie made some big mistakes. First of all, Zeke tried to coerce a local guy into helping with some drug deals. Oliver Fardig was an old classmate of Del’s, and he lived right on the edge of the Springs. He was an airplane mechanic up at Hancock Airport. Apparently, Zeke wanted Ollie to help with transporting drugs. Ollie said no, and Ollie disappeared.”

  “Surprise,” Vanessa said.

  “Yes, but this was a bit different because Ollie had never had anything to do with the Harris clan. Everyone else that I know of has been connected in some way. That was Zeke’s bad call. About a year later, Ollie’s daughter, Elaine, made some passing remarks to her classmate, Laurie Rasmussen-Harris, and some others that she might go to the police. Life was very hard for Elaine and her mother. They were in trouble financially. Zeke hadn’t appreciated this middle-class thing. And that’s where Rosie screwed up, and made things worse.”

  “Rosie beat up Elaine,” Paul said.

  “Their typical response to insubordination. Rosie took care of Elaine. Rosie pulled together her coven—Laurie, Louise, and one or two more. They beat the crap out of Elaine. She had a broken jaw, broken ribs, a broken arm, spinal injuries, and someone kicked her in the temple. She lost the sight in one eye.” Chip tapped his left forehead.

  “Elaine was only seventeen, so that got a lot of attention. And Elaine was also popular and a good student. Some kids up here in Avalon liked her a lot. Laurie was also seventeen. Elaine’s friends started trailing Laurie around, whispering, taunting. Sure enough, Laurie showed up with a lot of bruises and some black eyes. She didn’t say anything, but that raised even more questions. A couple of days later Laurie was found just outside of the Springs in a ditch. The state police figured that she somehow got away and crawled into the ditch to hide. She died three days later.”

  Chip cleared his throat. “Eventually, things narrowed down to Rosie and her crew.”

  “That’s sick,” Vanessa said. She reached for her cold coffee to wash away the sour taste in her mouth.

  Chip studied her face. “No argument. Rosie and Louise said it was accidental. Fat chance. Anyway, that’s the background. What’s next?”

  “We need to figure out why Louise and Troy went to California. Whom should we talk to? Next of kin? Business associates?” Jack asked.

  “Oh yeah. Okay. Let’s see.” Chip leaned back in his chair to study the names on his whiteboard. “Well, Louise and Troy are both dead. Rosie’s dead, thank God. Zeke is dead. Del is dead. Larry’s in jail doing life. Other than that, I guess next of kin would be Carl, Louise’
s uncle. He runs things now and you’d want to check out what he has to say.”

  * * *

  Vanessa took pictures of the whiteboard with her cell phone. Chip chuckled and asked to see the pictures, which she agreed to email to him. The team broke for lunch.

  Vanessa and Jack strategized and did additional research with Paul throughout the afternoon. At the end of the day they packed up to go back to the hotel. Before the night shift arrived and Paul left, they met to discuss the plan to visit Carl Harris the next morning.

  Chip offered his parting advice. “Stay alert and remember, Carl is more businesslike and not crazy, but he could still be trouble. I’m not saying that you shouldn’t ask the tough questions. Just make sure you have a clear line of sight out the door.”

  * * *

  Vanessa and Jack stepped out into the dwindling winter light.

  “Do you notice that your feet squeak when you walk here?” Jack asked.

  Vanessa laughed. “My poison oak doesn’t itch as much in the cold and that’s a blessing.”

  They reached the door of the consignment store and Vanessa stopped. “Okay. Sorry. Is it just me? All this talk of people disappearing and the casual attitude of the police here? You know they’ve been ignoring the victims.”

  “All this happened before Chip’s time, Vanessa.”

  Inside, she picked out a heavy jacket, followed by a thick sweater, and insulated gloves. She even found a pair of stuffed moon boots, a half size too big. She added an insulated cap with earflaps. Definitely not sexy.

  Jack also did well, except for boots. They had to traipse farther down the main street for some new ones, which put him in an even worse mood, as evidenced by his silent treatment.

  “Listen, Jack, it’s cold enough here as it is,” Vanessa said. “Let’s go back to the hotel, put all this on, and give it a test drive. I see there’s an Italian place down the street. We could manage to get that far naked if we needed to.”

  By the time they regrouped in the lobby, Jack was looking less out of sorts, and he grinned once he realized that he could be comfortable outdoors in his new outer layers.