Bitterroot Blues

by Paul Moomaw

  “That’s why, Sam,” Tina said.

  “What’s why?”

  “Why Elbert killed her. I just bet. Call it woman’s intuition, plus the fact that I know what kind of weirdo he is.”

  Arceneaux started to argue, and then he remembered his conversation with the nurse who had been Arden’s first wife. He cocked his head, looked at Tina, and smile.

  “I’ll be goddamned,” he said. “You may be right.” He told her about Ruth Cantrell, her efforts to get pregnant by Arden, and Elbert’s offer to substitute for his brother. “I’m going to pass that on to the County Attorney, with full credit to your woman’s intuition.” He pushed himself out of his chair. “In the meantime, I better get home and into a shower. Even I can smell how bad I stink.”

  “You sure you don’t want to talk about your girlfriend?” Tina said.

  Arceneaux slumped as a small wave of sadness sloshed up against him.

  “I don’t think so,” he said. “Not right now. I’m actually feeling kind of happy. I want to hang onto that for a while.” He walked to the front door and opened it, stood there for a moment, then stepped back across the room to Tina and gave her a long, tight hug. “Thanks,” he said. “I really do owe you one.”

  “Paralegal,” she said as he released his grip on her. “Don’t forget.”

  Arceneaux gave her a quick salute and stepped out the door. Time now for a fast walk home, a long, slow shower, and maybe even some food. He tried to keep his mind on Marks and not think at all about Anne; but as he walked a little cloud of sadness trailed him, and sometimes brushed its tendrils against his mind no matter how fast he went. Not now, he thought. I need time.

  Chapter 41

  The next morning the Subaru went on strike, and when he got it towed to his mechanic, who had worked magic on the little wagon for years, the mechanic told him magic would take a couple of days this time. Arceneaux walked to work, disappointed. He had been looking forward to driving to Hamilton to tell Barbara Drake personally about the knife’s ownership, and to try out Tina’s idea about the pregnancy. He settled for a telephone call as soon as he reached his office.

  “It looks like you nailed it this time, Sam,” she said. “We talked to Elbert Marks two days ago. Sergeant Rentz did a little stretching, told Marks at least three people saw him at the Double Pine the night Samantha was killed.”

  “Such a great liar,” Arceneaux said. “Did Elbert go for it.?”

  “He admitted he had been to the resort, but he said he didn’t know anything about any deaths. I suggested he might want to take a polygraph. He looked down his skinny nose at me and said God knew he was telling the truth, and no machine would make a difference.”

  “So no confession.”

  “No, but we have prints. We got the results yesterday, and they match the unidentified set from the cabin.”

  “That knife, too,” Arceneaux said. “I just found out that Elbert owns that knife.”

  “Good. Every piece of evidence helps.”

  “So are you bringing him in?” Arceneaux asked.

  “As soon as we find him. He ran. Tyler called yesterday to say he needed to ask a couple more questions, only of course he was going to cuff him on the spot, and there was no answer. So Tyler called Arden Marks, and he said Elbert wasn’t at home, and that he hadn’t seen him since the day before.”

  “I suppose the knife gets locked up as evidence.”

  “Naturally.”

  “When everything is over, seeing as how Elbert won’t need it, any chance I can get it back? Sort of a finder’s fee?”

  Barbara laughed. “Out of the question, Sam, but, Jesus, you sure have brass.”

  “That’s why you always admired me so much,” Arceneaux said. “You figure a motive yet?”

  “Nope. It’s hard to understand why Elbert would care whether Samantha Marks lived or died.”

  “Samantha was pregnant, right? You might want to consider the possibility that the baby was Elbert’s, and he wanted it to die with her.”

  “No. A friend of mine named Tina. She’s real smart.”

  “Well, since it was a woman’s idea, I’ll have to consider it,” she said. “Arden Marks is off house arrest, by the way.”

  “Are you going to dismiss the charges?”

  “There’s no rush. We’ll see what develops with his brother.” She paused. “Actually, we are moving to have one count dismissed, now that we have Crisp nailed for Wallace’s murder.”

  “That’s a start,” Arceneaux said. “And you keep on thinking about that knife. You might change your mind.”

  “And if it doesn’t freeze, I may not have to eat green tomatoes all winter.”

  Arceneaux laughed and hung up. He looked out the window and saw that it had begun to snow,wet, bouncy popcorn balls of white that promised a heavier fall later. All he wanted to do was go home, start a fire, and vegetate in front of it for the rest of the day. Desire and guilt wrestled in his mind and guilt eked out a win on points. He sighed and pushed away visions of a warm wood fire and a cold drink. A stack of papers, remnants of three minor cases, took up one corner of his desk. He sorted them out, labeled folders for them, and filed them away. Maneuvering around the cast made the job twice as long. He walked to the window and gazed at the clouds and snow. He could think of at least half a dozen other tasks that needed doing, all about as exciting as the one he had just finished.

  “Enough responsibility for one day,” he muttered. He pulled out the brandy and a glass, filled the glass half way, and settled into a chair. The wall clock chimed seven softly. He glanced at his watch automatically, surprised that it could be so late. Then he took a swig of brandy and swung his feet onto his desk.

  “And at the seventh hour, Sam rested,” he said, and then the telephone rang.

  “Damn,” he said. He swung his feet down and picked up the telephone. It was Arden Marks.

  “I hear they’re going to let you off your leash,” Arceneaux said.

  “They already have,” Marks replied. “Came up today and took the equipment back to town.”

  “That must feel good.”

  “Yeah, I guess. But I’m not feeling too good about my brother. I got stuff running around in all directions inside of me—sad, scared, angry, you name it. I was wondering if you could come out tomorrow for a while. I need to talk, and I can’t really say much to my neighbors. They’re good people, but there’s things it would be hard to make them understand. You already know the story.”

  “Sure,” Arceneaux said. “I can make it out in the early afternoon.”

  “Later than that,” Marks said. “If it’s all right. Now that I finally got free of that bracelet, I want to get out in the woods, just take a sandwich and some water and maybe walk up to one of the lakes and back for the day. Would six o’clock be too late?”

  “No problem,” Arceneaux said. He hung up and settled back into the chair. He was surprised that Marks would trust him enough to reach out. Maybe, he decided, it was just a case of any port in a storm.

  Chapter 42

  It was getting dark when Arceneaux pulled up in front of Arden Marks’ house. The storm of the day before had left two or three inches of snow on the ground, and Woodvale looked almost pretty. As he got out of his car, Arceneaux could see Marks moving around in the front room. Then Marks came to the door and out onto the porch.

  “Is that you, Mister Arceneaux?” he called.

  Arceneaux walked up the steps. “I guess you can call me Sam by now,” he said. “How are you doing?”

  “Oh, I’m good,” Marks said. “Better than yesterday, anyhow. This is kind of a tricky time. I’m worried how things will turn out with Elbert. I don’t care what anybody says, I know he couldn’t have killed Samantha.” He stretched his arms over his head and circled around once, clumsily, his big fists brushing the ceiling. “Sure feels good to be able to go where I want, though.”

  “No sign of your brother?”

  “No,” Marks said. �
�I expect he’s pretty well hidden away. He must be awful scared.”

  “You’re sure he’s not just holed up inside his trailer.”

  Marks shook his head slowly back and forth. “Course I’m sure.” He waved in the direction of the trailer. “Look at it. Dark as a tomb.”

  “Have you been in there?”

  Marks gave Arceneaux a look of disbelief. “Are you kidding? Our homes are our sanctuaries here. We never go into each other’s places uninvited. We don’t even have to lock our doors, because we know that’s true.”

  “Don’t you think this situation is a little out of the ordinary?”

  Marks’ face set into a stubborn scowl. “It isn’t my place to go in there.”

  “Then I will,” Arceneaux said, stepping off the porch.

  “You can’t,” Marks said, following on his heels.

  “Sure I can. I’m a private eye.” Arceneaux crossed his fingers mentally, hoping Marks would not pick this moment to decide he could be a violent person after all. He reached the trailer and tried the door. As Marks had said, it was unlocked. Inside everything was pitch black. Arceneaux stepped through the door and groped along the wall until his hand brushed against a switch. He turned the light on, then pivoted and looked out the door at Marks, who stood a few feet away, hands on his hips.

  “You coming in?” Arceneaux asked. Marks took a deep breath, and let it out. “It isn’t right,” he said, but he stepped into the trailer. Arceneaux glanced into the kitchen area. There were dirty dishes in the sink. “Your brother isn’t much of a housekeeper,” he said.

  Marks stepped up behind him. “That isn’t like Elbert,” he said. “He always had a real thing about being tidy.”

  Arceneaux walked into the living room. A large manila envelope lay on the table. He picked it up. “Maybe he left you a forwarding address,” he said. He opened the envelope flap and slid the contents onto the table. They were photographs. The one on top was of Samantha Marks, wearing a filmy negligee.

  “Those photos you said you couldn’t find,” Arceneaux began, as he sorted through the pictures. Then he clamped his mouth shut. In the fourth shot, Samantha wasn’t wearing anything but a tense smile, and in the one after that, she was sitting naked on the bed, facing front, her legs spread and licking her lips, trying to be sultry, but only looking unhappy.

  “What did you find?” Marks said, and reached for the pictures.

  “You don’t want to see these,” Arceneaux said. He stacked them together and started to put them back into the envelope.

  “Give them to me,” Marks said. Arceneaux decided he had pushed his luck far enough. He handed the photos to the other man. “I wish you wouldn’t,” he said.

  Marks ignored him. He sat down heavily onto one of the chairs and pulled the pictures out of the envelope. Arceneaux watched him silently as he sorted through them, staring at each one, shaking his head, tossing it on the table, and picking up another. He went through every picture, then moaned and cupped his head with his hands.

  “The ones with clothes on,” he finally said. “Those are the ones I took. I don’t know who took the other ones.”

  “Yes you do,” Arceneaux said. “God damn it, you know you do.” He threw himself in the other chair. “It’s time you stopped lying for your brother. You know he took these pictures. And you know he took your truck the night Samantha was killed. And you knew damn well whose knife that was when I showed it to you, didn’t you?” Arden nodded silently. “And now I’m thinking you probably knew Samantha was pregnant, and probably had a pretty good idea just who got got her that way. You couldn’t have yourself, could you? You can’t make babies.”

  Marks looked up, pain in his eyes. “How did you know that?”

  “Your first wife told me, and she also told me that one of the reasons she finally left you was because Elbert started hanging around, hinting that he could do that job for you, and it gave her the creeps. Did you know that?”

  Marks did not say anything, just shook his head slowly back and forth.

  “Come on, Arden,” Arceneaux was almost shouting now. “You knew that, too, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, later,” Marks said. “She put it in a letter that she left behind when she moved out, but I didn’t even open it for almost a year.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  Marks stared hollow-eyed at Arceneaux. “Nothing,” he said.

  “You told me Samantha changed, and you didn’t understand why. Didn’t it occur to you, given the history, that it might have to do with Elbert? If your brother got into her pants, that could explain a lot.”

  “Don’t talk like that! You make her sound dirty.”

  Arceneaux shook his head. “Not dirty, Arden. Just desperate to please you. And then, I’m guessing, she couldn’t handle what she had done, and decided to tell you, and Elbert got scared and killed her.”

  “No!” Marks yelled. He stood up suddenly and swept the pictures back into the envelope.

  “Those need to go to the sheriff,” Arceneaux said.

  Marks gave his head a violent shake. “No way,” he said. “I’m gonna burn them.”

  “They’re evidence, Arden. You have to turn them in. And you’ll have to tell what you know.”

  “Tell on my brother? You don’t understand. No matter what he may have done, he’s still my brother.” Marks looked pleadingly at Arceneaux. “My daddy was mean, real mean. He used a belt, and he never cared whether he hit with the leather end or the buckle. When I was a little kid, Elbert protected me. He was the only thing that stood between me and that belt, and he took beatings for me more than once, until I got big enough to take care of myself.”

  “He killed your wife.”

  “I am never going to believe that.” Marks was almost yelling. He bent down and pushed his huge index finger at Arceneaux, who flinched away in spite of himself. “And I swear to you by all that’s holy, I will never testify against my brother.” He took a deep breath, then sat down again. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I get a little out of hand sometimes.”

  “I know this is hard,” Arceneaux said. “I don’t take it personally.”

  The two men sat silently together. A clock ticked somewhere in the trailer. Outside, a dog barked three times, then stopped to listen as another dog answered in the distance. Marks looked at Arceneaux again.

  “Do you believe in God?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you pray to him?”

  “Sometimes,” Arceneaux said. “Not as much as I ought to.”

  “I’m going to go over to the church and pray for Elbert. Would you be willing to come?”

  “Sure,” Arceneaux said, and stood up. Doing anything at all seemed better right then than just sitting in Elbert’s trailer, not knowing what to say. Marks rose and strode toward the door. Arceneaux followed him out and down the road to the log church. Marks pulled a key ring from his pocket, sorted through the keys, and inserted one of them into a padlock that hung from a hasp on the door.

  “We do lock the church,” he said. “Everybody has a key, so it isn’t really locked for us; but we had a couple of problems with outsiders getting in and messing the place up.” He opened the padlock, and hung it on a nail next to the door, then pushed the door open and stepped in. As Arceneaux started to walk in after him, he turned on a light, and then lurched back so violently that he almost knocked Arceneaux to the ground. Arceneaux staggered and recovered, and looked through the church door.

  Inside, hanging by a length of dirty nylon cord from a ceiling beam, was Elbert Marks. The noose around his neck was tied in a crude but obviously effective hangman’s knot. He was dead, and looked as if he had been for a while.

  Arden Marks wheeled and stumbled back onto the dirt road. Arceneaux stood for a moment, then went inside the church. He walked over to Elbert Marks, took a deep breath, and then grasped the dead man’s hand. It was cold. He tugged at the arm. Rigor mortis had come and gone. When he let go, the whole body
began to spin in a macabre pirouette.

  Arceneaux stepped away, and heard something slide under his foot. He looked down and saw a sheet of paper with writing on it. He picked it up carefully, grasping one corner between thumb and forefinger, and walked closer to the light to read it.

  “I have sinned greatly, and God will judge. I thought I was helping my brother, but I have only brought shame on our family.”

  Arceneaux placed the paper back on the floor where it had lain, and walked out the front door. He padlocked the door and walked over to Marks, who stood staring at the sky as if it could solve some mystery for him.

  “We need to call the law,” Arceneaux said.

  Marks’ shoulders heaved, and then sagged. “I guess so,” he said. He turned and walked back to the church, and sat down in front of the door. “Will you do it?” he asked. “I’ll stay here.”

  “Sure,” Arceneaux said. He started walking toward Marks’ house, then stopped and turned back. “You know, when your brother first came to see me, he told me that he didn’t care who got hanged for Samantha’s death, as long as it wasn’t you. I guess he got his wish.”

  Marks did not answer, and Arceneaux started for the house again. He felt unsettled, and it was something more than finding Elbert Marks’ body, but he could not tell what.

  Chapter 43

  The rest of the week felt like a time warp. The Ravalli County authorities were busy making what they could of Elbert Marks’ death, and neither they nor Larry French had anything to say.

  In theory, Arceneaux had all the time in the world to catch up on tasks he had let slide, but instead he found himself staring at walls, talking to himself, and discovering that he was not much of a conversationalist. Any other time he would have picked up the telephone and called Anne, and he caught himself almost doing that one empty evening. He had not ever noticed just how much of his time she had filled, not to mention his thoughts and feelings. She had left a hole. He knew it would fill eventually, but right now it seemed huge.