The Glue Guy: The Zoo Crew Series Book 4

by Dustin Stevens

  Sinking into his seat, Drake could see that Dern had gotten started without them. Already had a plate of ham, eggs, and home fries before him. A stack of half-eaten toast.

  “I wasn’t sure when you might get here, so I went ahead and ordered,” Dern said. Made it sound like an apology, despite both sides knowing it wasn’t.

  “That’s okay,” Drake said.

  He had made a point of making it on time. Had even left Sage and Ajax sitting at the table to ensure they weren’t late.

  How early Dern must have started was anybody’s guess.

  A wide-set woman with gray hair swept up in a net and an open flannel shirt toddled over to the table. Held a notepad up before her. Looked supremely bored.

  “Get you two anything?”

  “Coffee,” Kade said.

  “Tea,” Drake added.

  Her mouth twisted into a scowl as she lowered the pad. Turned and disappeared without a word.

  “You guys aren’t eating?” Dern asked. Didn’t bother to look up from his plate. Piled a piece of ham and a glob of eggs onto a triangle of toast.

  “No,” Drake said. Glanced to Kade. Didn’t bother mentioning the trip to Hal’s. “We don’t want to keep you. Just thought we’d ask a few questions and be on our way.”

  Lifting the toast to his mouth, Dern shrugged as if to say suit yourself before cramming the entire thing in, crumbs left behind on his beard.

  “Do you mind if we talk while you eat?” Drake asked. Turned his body so his back was against the wall. Looked at Dern. Watched the rest of the place through his periphery.

  Most of the gawkers had already long since forgotten about them.

  “Sure,” Dern said. Held a fist to his stomach. Let out a small burp. “Ask away, but I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”

  Drake pushed past the comment. Started at the top of the questions he had drafted for himself the night before.

  “How long have you worked for Mr. Koenig?”

  “Ten years,” Dern replied. Didn’t need even a moment to think about it.

  Clearly not the first time he had answered it in recent days.

  “He hired me when he first bought the land to clear it. Kept me on afterward to tend to things outside.”

  “Just you?” Drake asked. Already knew the answer, needed to be sure just the same.

  “For everything outdoor,” Dern said. “A couple times – laying paver stone, getting rid of a stump, that kind of thing – I brought in somebody to help.

  “Always short term. Always cash payments.”

  The last part was thrown in as a bit of an add-on. Something Drake wasn’t sure he could use but made a mental note of just the same.

  “You said outside,” Drake prompted. Left it open ended.

  “Right,” Dern said. Took up a jar of honey and slid back the stopper. Allowed it to drizzle over the top piece of toast on the stack.

  “Once construction on the house was done, Sharon Stump was brought on for everything inside. Cooking, cleaning, that kind of thing.”

  “So there was a full-time need for her?” Drake asked.

  “Not really,” Dern said. “Wes was only in town maybe three or four months out of the year. The rest of the time we both just kind of did upkeep.”

  Drake paused. Said nothing. Allowed Dern to complete the thought in his own time.

  Once the pouring of honey was complete, Dern put the jar down.

  “He was the kind of guy that liked to keep things looking a certain way. You know how people with money can be, they’re very concerned with appearances.”

  All too well Drake knew how that went, but didn’t comment on it.

  “Any idea where he spent the rest of the year?”

  “Ha!” Dern said. Blew crumbs across the table with the effort. “Where didn’t he spend time? For an old guy, he really got around.”

  Drake allowed himself to smile. Made it appear as if he was playing along.

  “Seattle?”

  “Yup,” Dern said. Nodded. “Seattle, Napa Valley, Texas. Who knows where all he had properties stashed.”

  “So you didn’t talk to him much?” Kade asked. Leaned forward and crossed his arms atop the table.

  Immediately felt the grease settled on the surface. Pulled back as the waitress delivered their drinks.

  Slammed them down hard enough to splash some out on the table.

  “Wasn’t really the kind of guy you talked to,” Dern said. Cocked his head to watch the waitress leave. Shook his head free of the image the moment she was gone.

  “With you?” Drake asked. Left it vague. Was referring to Dern and Stump without having to call them the help.

  “With anybody,” Dern said. “Ten years, never saw the man entertain a single person. No friends ever came by. Pretty sure he didn’t have any family.”

  The last sentence eliminated Drake’s next question. It was a long shot, but somebody stood to gain quite a bit from Koenig’s death.

  His digging on the internet a few nights before estimated the man’s worth to be in the nine digit range.

  “Did he have any enemies?” Drake asked. Lowered his voice in the off chance anybody nearby was listening in.

  “Not that I ever saw,” Dern said. Raised both sides of his nose as if the thought was a foul odor. Shook his head. “I’m sure he did though. Nobody that age, with that much money, ever got by without making at least a few.”

  “But nothing that ever surfaced around the house?” Drake asked.

  “Naw,” Dern replied. Cut away a chunk of ham. Forked it straight into his mouth. “But he often made sure Sharon and I knew where we stood. It’s not like he would have confided anything in us even if he did.”

  That too fit with everything Drake had read previously. All accounts described him as a ruthless man.

  Made clear the distinction between that and being a ruthless business man.

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Dern said. “He was fine to work for. Paychecks came on time, always got me whatever I needed, used reasonable manners. There was definitely a gap there though.”

  “How so?” Drake asked. Slid the glass of tea over in front of himself. Wrapped his hand around it without lifting it.

  Across from him Dern finished his bite. Ran a rough stock napkin across his face.

  “I don’t mean to speak ill of the dead,” he said. Pushed forward in doing so anyway. “He was much older, could be a mean sumbitch. I think he was starting to get paranoid too, which didn’t help.”

  A pulse of electricity passed through Drake. He cast a glance to Kade, who met the gaze, having heard it as well.

  “Paranoid of what?” Drake asked.

  Dern paused a moment. Sucked at his teeth. “Oh, most anything. Like I said, he was old and wealthy. Think he started seeing things in his sleep.”

  Not to be deterred, Drake pressed forward. In his experience, if someone like Wes Koenig was becoming paranoid, there was usually good reason.

  “How about you? You ever see anything?”

  Wrapping a meaty paw around the honey jar, Dern paused. Tapped the bottom of it on the table. Lifted his chin. Focused on the wall above Drake’s head.

  “Not really,” he said. “We were pretty remote, way up on the ridge. We were close to town as far as mileage, but it was pretty removed.

  “Every now and again we’d see headlights. Nothing too unusual though.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Archaic.

  Outdated.

  Unnecessary.

  The adjectives ran through Paul Taggert’s mind as he stepped out of his car. Felt an icy wind blow down off the Divide. Push his jacket open.

  Run a chill over his skin.

  The visit felt absurd. Just one more thing designed to trip him up. Slow down his day.

  Pausing a moment in front of the cruiser he waited for Foye to come to a stop beside him. Allowed his body to adjust to the new temperature.

  Continued chewing on the corner of his mou
stache.

  In his time as an officer and now a detective, he was familiar with death. He had seen enough bodies, attended enough funerals, to have developed a thick skin to it.

  For as many clichés as existed, they were all pretty much true. Dying was a fact of life. Pretty much the only one.

  None of that made him any more comfortable with it. Made him want to visit the Silver Bow County morgue any more than was absolutely necessary.

  “You think they’ve got it?” Foye asked. Voice almost brimming with hope.

  “They better,” Taggert muttered. “If they called us back down here just to tell us it’s going to be another day, I’m going to be pissed.”

  “Remind me why they can’t just share information over the phone?” Foye asked.

  It was the same question Taggert had been asking himself since getting the call. Certainly the entire drive over.

  “Exactly.”

  Pushing forward across the front sidewalk, Taggert passed through the outer door. Slowed just a second to let the unnatural heat pass over his skin.

  Moved on into the main office.

  On the opposite side of the counter was Peggy, her lunch spread on the desk in front of her. Something from a pastel colored wrapper. The smell of salt in the air.

  She looked up as they entered. Covered her mouth. Acted like a child that had been caught doing something wrong.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. Kept her hand in place over her mouth. “Dr. Perry is in his office. Go right on back.”

  Taggert nodded at her. Circled around the counter and on towards the back.

  Forced a half smile as he passed her desk.

  “Cheat day,” she managed. Looked down at the spread of fast food before her. Didn’t bother to look back up.

  Again Taggert nodded as if he understood. Said nothing.

  Truth was he hadn’t touched the stuff in a decade. Had nothing to do with health concerns. Once while first starting out he had investigated an accusation of tampering with the food at the local Burger World.

  Had gotten an up close view of what really went on behind the counters.

  Never again.

  Leaving Peggy to her lunch, Taggert passed through the door cleaving the building in half. Let his hand linger just a moment to keep it open for Foye.

  Found Perry seated at his desk, a half-eaten salad before him. Bottle of water placed off to the side. He looked up from the book he was reading as Taggert knocked on the door frame. Slid the glasses from the end of his nose.

  “Detectives,” he said. Half stood. Extended a hand to the chairs opposite him. “Please, come in.”

  The room was no more than ten feet in length. Half that in width. Heavy bookcases lined either wall. Brown banker’s boxes with names stenciled on the side were stacked throughout most of the remaining space.

  Two chairs sat opposite the desk, one empty, the other with a file box sitting open.

  “Just go ahead and put that on the floor,” Perry said. Motioned towards the second chair. “Sorry, I forgot about Detective Foye.”

  While obviously not meant to be degrading, Taggert couldn’t help but smile.

  “No problem,” Foye grunted. Dropped the box to the ground.

  Made no attempt to pick up the lid as it skittered away.

  Taggert watched it go, a bit of annoyance rising within, before lifting his attention to Perry. “Were you able to hear back?”

  “Yes,” Perry said. Raised a finger upward. Shifted in his seat to grab a file from the corner of his desk. “The national registry called back today and confirmed the equipment was implanted in Wesley Koenig in 2002.

  “Top of the line stuff back then, surgery performed in Seattle.”

  The information was already exactly what Taggert expected to hear, though that didn’t stop him from feeling a tiny jab of elation. Now that the name was certain, things could begin to move forward.

  Perry looked the file over once more before turning it right side up and extending it to Taggert.

  “Now that identity is confirmed, I can release this to you.” He pushed the salad away a couple of inches. Laced his fingers atop the desk. “Official time of death I’m putting at one a.m. Monday night. That is just a rough approximation though.”

  “Given the state of the remains,” Taggert said. Opened the file and leafed through.

  Flipped past the post mortem photos as quickly as he could.

  “Yes,” Perry said. “Official cause of death-“

  “Fire,” Foye inserted. Earned an angry stare from Taggert.

  “Actually, no,” Perry said. “Not even smoke inhalation, as one would expect.”

  “No?” Taggert asked. Looked up from the file.

  Perry paused. Drew in a quick breath. “Asphyxiation. The state of Mr. Koenig’s lungs were such that it appeared as if they had been flash fried and he suffocated to death.”

  The information registered with Taggert, though it did little to fit in with everything else he had thus far uncovered.

  “Meaning that something was in the air,” Perry said, “that vaporized his lungs on contact.”

  Just thinking about it brought a grimace to Taggert’s face.

  “Quite right,” the doctor agreed. “Turned the tissue to rice paper. I imagine it was a horrible way to go, choking on his own disintegrated organs.”

  The explanation did nothing to alleviate the look on Taggert’s face.

  “What would cause something like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Perry confessed. Spread his hands out wide. “First time I’d ever seen it for sure.”

  “Hmm,” Taggert said. Went back to the file. Reached the last page and slammed it shut.

  While gruesome, the trip had served to fulfill two very distinctive points of emphasis.

  The first was that the body did in fact belong to Wes Koenig.

  The second, perhaps even more importantly, was that Koenig was alive at the time of the fire.

  “Anything else?” Taggert asked. Hoped within that he’d already endured the worst of it.

  “Nothing medically,” Perry said. Shook his head. “Just that I sincerely hope you catch whoever did this.

  “I can’t think of a single worse way to die than what Wes Koenig went through.”

  Chapter Thirty

  Friday.

  Late in the day.

  Far and away the least favorite time of the week for Dale Garvey.

  With a staff comprised largely of college students and volunteers, precious few actually showed up on Fridays. Even fewer stuck around after noon. By three o’clock the place was almost always desolate.

  It was in a similar manner that he and Megan had first gotten together.

  She had been on the staff for just over six months. Was still staying all day. Even began waiting for him to lock up.

  It wasn’t quite the notorious frying pan to the head, but the signals were blatant enough.

  His current romantic partner aside, there was precious little else of value to be said for Friday afternoons. The place was dead. Nothing was being accomplished. No change was being affected.

  It only drove home the point that he was supposed to be in charge and nobody else. They were committed, but they still didn’t fully get it.

  Maybe never would.

  Seated behind his desk, Garvey pulled up The Montana Standard online. Scrolled through the lead articles.

  Found what he was looking for as the third one down on the list.

  Clicking to enlarge it, he read everything that the article said about the fire four nights before. About the finding of the body tucked away inside.

  How no positive identification had been made on the remains.

  Even without the added benefit of photographs, Garvey had no doubt in his mind who it would prove to be. He hadn’t known at the time that the old man was home, but he didn’t feel the least bit of remorse for it.

  If nothing else, this accelerated his time frame.

  Shoul
d be enough to implement the change he was hoping for all along.

  Reading to the end of the article, Garvey clicked to the link from Tuesday morning. Scrolled through the pictures of the house burning. Of the charred wreckage that remained the next day.

  Felt the smile come to his lips without even realizing it.

  “Whatcha looking at?” Megan asked.

  The smile froze in place as Garvey felt his heart rate spike, palpitations kicking up in his chest. Forced himself not to lash out as she leaned back in her chair across the room. Let her hair hang down behind her.

  Tried to scrutinize his features for some telltale sign.

  “Naked women,” Garvey said. Clicked out of the browser. Matched her pose and leaned back in his seat. “Lots of them.”

  “Yeah?” Megan asked. Allowed just the tiniest bit of a smile to form. “Me too. Yours any good?”

  The smile changed from fixed to genuine on Garvey’s features. “National Geographic. If they were good enough for me in elementary school they’re good enough for me now.”

  “Ha!” Megan laughed. Lowered her chair to the floor. “You about ready to head home? I think we’ve earned a little bit of down time, don’t you?”

  Garvey folded his hands together and placed them atop his head. Stared at his girlfriend.

  It was moments like these that made him question why he had invested so much time in her. Now, more than ever, was the time to act. The enemy’s guard was down. They were vulnerable.

  Never would there be a more perfect opportunity to move.

  “Yeah, I guess we have,” Garvey said. Tasted the bitter words on his tongue. “Just let me finish up a couple of things right quick?”

  “Sure,” Megan said. Smiled. “Just don’t get too excited staring at those pictures over there. I don’t want to disappoint you later.”

  Garvey shook his head in mock exasperation. Didn’t bother to respond.

  Instead he pulled the images from the fire back up. Clicked through them one last time.

  Tried to imagine Wes Koenig trapped somewhere inside.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Small.

  Dirty.

  Quiet.

  The third reason was the only one the location had been chosen. There weren’t many options, given the situation.