Jason Deas - Cameron Caldwell 01 - Private Eye

by Jason Deas

  “I need to hire you.”

  “We’ve already determined that you can’t afford me. What are you going to throw in—free cream and sugar for my endless cups of coffee?”

  “No. Information.”

  “What kind of information do you have that I would need?”

  “Your old boss called me yesterday.”

  Cam froze. She was speaking of his former Chief, the murderer. He tried not to show his interest.

  “Oh?”

  He didn’t succeed.

  “That’s what I thought. I don’t know what happened there, but you’re obviously running from something and he wants to keep a close eye on you. I swore up and down on my oath that I wouldn’t discuss this with you, so if you want to know what he wanted to know, you’ll help me and tell me what the hell is going on.”

  “I’m going to need a little more before I make a deal.”

  “OK. He tiptoed around the fact that you may or may not be a fugitive. He couldn’t seem to decide. I’m a pretty good judge of character and I got the feeling that he’s as slimy as they come.”

  “You got that right.”

  “To prove my instincts right I offered to arrest you yesterday and hold you until they could pick you up. He declined, preferring that I just keep an eye on you.”

  “Hmm.”

  “That’s all you have to say? Hmm?”

  “I’m thinking here. How much can I trust you?”

  “Totally.”

  “Can I trust you enough to tell you about a murder, where I know who did it, a person who is still walking around free, without you acting? Can you do that?”

  “Are you planning on putting him behind bars?”

  “It’s complicated, but yes.”

  “OK. Spill.”

  Cam poured himself another drink and told her all about his old boss and how he discovered he had killed someone in his old town. When he finished his story, Blanca sat dumbfounded.

  “Is that all true?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “OK. You help me and I’ll help you. I’ll string him along and act as though I’m keeping a close eye on you. He seemed very concerned. What do you say?” Blanca asked extending her hand.

  Cam reached his hand across the counter and grasped hers.

  “Deal.”

  Cam drank until four. Lightly, at first. The closer it got to Daphne’s closing time the heavier the pours became. He stumbled to her door. When he opened it and walked through, he tripped across the threshold. He sped toward the counter, crashed into it, and tried to sit as if he were James Dean cool. It didn’t work. Daphne walked out with an amused look on her face.

  “We were going to talk.” He looked at her with bleary eyes.

  “I said we’d talk later, not this afternoon.”

  “I just happen to be free.”

  “It wouldn’t have anything to do with me giving you a ride home would it?”

  “No. I just don’t like loose ends.”

  “Fine. My last boyfriend was a drinker. I’ve been there and done that. I’m not ready to make a return trip.”

  “I see. Choices. You want a sober me or a nothing from me. Thanks for being honest, but I’ve also been there and I’ve done that and I’m not going back either.”

  “Then we’re at a stalemate.”

  “We are.”

  “All right then.”

  “Can you give me a ride home?”

  “Of course I can.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Hayes, the south Georgia town where Cam had been born and raised neared a hundred degrees before eleven a.m. Growing up he never minded the heat, but he always thought the gnats were a nuisance. Hayes was a lot like Miner’s Bluff in that everybody knew what was going on in everybody else’s lives. Insiders ran the town and those that had been there the longest seemed to be the most prosperous. The Rowde’s were among the inside crowd.

  “I talked with the Chief in Cam’s new town this morning,” Rowdy said. Officially, Chief Rowde, but everybody called him Rowdy. They meant no disrespect.

  “What did he say?” his number one, Dell asked.

  “It’s a she for crying out loud.”

  “A girl?”

  “Yeah, dumbass. That’s what she means.”

  Dell looked hurt.

  “I’m sorry, Dell. I’m just frustrated and you know how I get when I’m stressed.”

  “I know. You get all flustered and you start cussing everybody and you say things you don’t mean.”

  Dell happened to be Rowdy’s younger brother. If there was a picture dictionary for old sayings, Dell would have his photo next to the one that read, “What’s wrong with him? Was he dropped on his head?” Dell was dropped on his head as a baby. Twice.

  “Tell me, how do I look?” Rowdy asked, changing the subject.

  Dell looked up to Rowdy with a heavenly smile. While his senses were duller than a rubber band, what he lacked in brains he made up with in loyalty.

  “Your cowboy hat really covers up your bald head.”

  “No. You know I’ve been trying to lose some weight. What do you think?” he asked turning in profile.

  “Oh yeah, new clothes, but the same you.”

  “Thanks for nothing,” Rowdy sat down.

  Both Rowdy and Dell were big. Rowdy stood well over six and a half feet tall. He hid his three hundred pounds well. Dell was under six feet and weighed about the same. Where Rowdy had little to no hair, Dell had a sandy blond mop.

  “You’re still the handsomest brother I have.”

  “I’m the only brother you have.”

  “Right on.”

  “Chief Gomez confirmed that he was still drinking.”

  “Boom!” Dell said, making the motion of a bomb exploding with his hands. “He’s gonna flip his lid one day.”

  “I’m afraid of that. I fear he’s going to drink too much one day, if that’s possible for him, and blow up. And he won’t be going to the police. He’ll be coming back to get us.”

  Dell agreed by nodding his head rapidly.

  “So we go get him first,” Rowdy proposed.

  “I’ll go get him tonight,” Dell offered.

  “I appreciate your enthusiasm, Dell, but that won’t be necessary.”

  “Why did we have to kill Clarence?”

  “Oh, God! Do we have to go over this again? Dell, we have been over this at least twenty-five times.”

  “One more time,” Dell said, holding up two fingers.

  “I owed him two hundred thousand dollars. Remember how I had that inside information that the new highway was coming this way and they were planning on putting an outlet mall on part of his land. I was going to make millions upon millions of dollars selling the land to the government for the highway and the developers for the mall.”

  “Do we shop there?”

  “They never built it,” Rowdy was seething as he yanked his hat off his head.

  “That’s right,” Dell said, as his eyes searched for answers inside his head. “Why didn’t you just write him a check and pay him back?”

  “Because I don’t have two hundred thousand dollars. Luckily we did it all without the bank’s knowledge as a gentlemen’s agreement—something called owner financing. He trusted me to not work up any papers. When I started missing payments, he threatened to get the courts involved.”

  “I would have loaned you the money.”

  “We’ve been over this before, too. Your baseball cards aren’t worth that much.”

  “But…” Dell tried to add something else when Rowdy cut him off.

  “Your Garbage Pail Kid cards aren’t worth that much either.”

  “You could of just gave him the land back.”

  “No. He somehow found out about how the highway was supposed to come through here and got real angry with me for trying to deceive him. I tried to give it back, but when the deal fell through and they picked another route, he didn’t want the land back. He wanted the mo
ney.”

  “I’m glad he’s dead. I don’t like people being mad at you.”

  “Which brings us back to Cameron Caldwell. He knows I did it. I’m not sure how he knows. I also know I convinced him that I’d frame him with the murder if he didn’t forget about it and leave town, but I have a feeling that won’t sit well with him for too long. We need to take care of our unfinished business. With him out of the way, we won’t have to worry about it coming back to bite us in the butt one day down the road.”

  “Can I ask you one more question?” Dell said, raising his hand like he was in school.

  “I already know what you’re going to ask. You’ve asked me every time you’ve asked me to retell the story.” Rowdy paused. “Go ahead, ask your question.”

  “Why did you drown him in his bathtub?”

  “I didn’t want to shoot him or stab him. I had to get rid of him, but I’m not that horrible.”

  “Did he kick his legs and try to get away?”

  “No. Remember, I went over there with a fake check for the money. I gave him the money and a bottle of tequila. We celebrated the supposed sale. I kept dumping my shots out without taking them. After Clarence had at least ten, I followed him to the bathroom and took care of business.

  “Oh, yeah. You are the smartest brilliant man in town.”

  Rowdy, who had been pacing the room grabbed his heart and quickly sat down. Dell noticed and stood up quickly.

  “You having those heart pitter patters again?”

  “Yeah. Must be the stress.”

  “Did you go see the doctor about it?”

  “Speaking of, I have an appointment at noon today with Dr. Wilson. What time is it?”

  Dell looked at his watch. “Both the hands are at the top.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Turner ended his shift at the Pizza Chalet and headed home. He lived on the same mountain as Cam, just on the other side. He did have to travel past Cam’s address to get to his own. As he passed the house he saw the lights flickering on and off. He pulled into his driveway.

  He knocked on the door and heard someone take a tumble. The lights went out again and stayed out this time. Turner pounded the door again. Knees knocked against the floorboards. He surmised a clumsy crawl across the room.

  “It’s me, Cam,” Turner called.

  Knees crashed across the floor again and the sound traveled toward the front window. Trying to subtly look out, Cam got his hand stuck inside the blinds and pulled them from the window onto the floor.

  “Open the damn door!” Turner yelled.

  The lock fumbled. Keys dropped to the floor. The lock fumbled again, and after this act repeated itself multiple times, the door finally opened.

  “Turn on the lights,” Turner said.

  “I forget where they are.”

  Turner traced his hand across the wall and found the switch. He pushed up and the room came into view. Cam put his hand over his eyes.

  “You look awful. Maybe you should stay away from the moonshine. And why were you turning the lights on and off as I pulled up?”

  “I wasn’t.”

  “Is anybody else here?”

  “No.”

  “Then you were.” Turner observed Cam for a moment trying to make a decision. “So, you’re pretty hammered?”

  “Hammered as …” Cam wasn’t able to make a connection.

  “Good, I have something to show you. I’ve wanted to show somebody, and hopefully you won’t remember. Be right back.”

  He ran to his car and came back carrying a gun and a jar of peanuts.

  “I must be drunker than I thought.”

  “I make weapons,” Turner whispered.

  “Why are you whispering?” Cam whispered back.

  “Because some of them could get me in serious trouble.”

  “Are you some kind of terrorist?”

  “No. I just do it for fun. Like this one,” he said holding the gun up for Cam to inspect. “Check this out.” He opened the jar of peanuts, took one out, and inserted it in a special slot. He opened the front door, stood back, and aimed the weapon outside. Turner pulled the trigger. The side door of his old truck dinged as the peanut made contact.

  “A peanut gun?” Cam said, grinning from ear to ear. “Why in the world did you build a peanut gun?”

  “The squirrels in my yard won’t stay out of my birdfeeders. This doesn’t kill them, but it scares the crap out of them.”

  “But then they probably come back and eat the peanuts.”

  “That is the only problem,” Turner agreed.

  “Let me try,” Cam said, holding out his hand for the gun. Turner inserted a peanut, handed over the gun and stepped back. Cam fired the gun and sunk a peanut into the sheetrock next to the front door. “Think the scope’s off.”

  “You’re the one who’s off.” Turner retrieved the gun and headed for the door with it and his jar of peanuts. “Stay away from the shine the rest of the night or you’re going to short out your electricity with all the flickering of the lights.”

  After watching Turner leave, Cam headed to the bathroom. His clothes from the night before were still in the tub and sink. After using the facilities he grabbed his still soggy clothes and carried them to the laundry room not wanting them to have a chance to mildew. As was his usual habit, he checked the pockets before putting them in the wash. In one of the pockets he found the torn corner of a piece of paper.

  He remembered the map Claude had given him to throw Billy Prescott off his trail. What did I do with the map? I obviously had enough sense to take it out of my pocket before getting into the bath fully clothed. He searched the kitchen counter and all the surrounding drawers to no avail. Must be in the bathroom. In the bathroom he looked under the sink between the stacks of towels and in the bathroom bag he used for travelling. No dice. The drawers were a dead end as well. Pulling open the medicine cabinet he found it. The map had been folded five or six times unevenly and stuck out from behind an oversize bottle of pink liquid.

  Taking the map back into the living area he unfolded it and studied the drawing, trying to understand the location Claude had labeled. Luckily, the roads were identified and he recognized the names. Not wanting to wait until morning to test his theory, Cam made a pot of coffee and searched for a flashlight and his keys.

  With the coffee made, he filled a large traveler’s cup and a carafe. Cam turned off the coffee maker, rehung the blinds he’d pulled off, and exited the house. He left the lights burning so anybody else driving by would think he was at home. It was unlikely, but it was too early for bed and he didn’t want anyone to know he was out.

  He pulled the double doors of the barn open and prayed his car would crank. After three tries the engine turned over and caught. Putting the car in reverse, he carefully backed it out of the barn, put it in park, and hopped out to close the doors. Taking a sip of his coffee he turned on the headlights and backed out of the driveway.

  In town, after surveying the map again, Cam pointed the car toward what he believed was the marked area on the drawing. From what he knew about illegal liquor making the spot of a supposed still would have to be fairly close to a road for the transportation of the large pot the batch was made in as well as the hundreds of pounds of ingredients needed to make the moonshine. He also knew once the liquor was made it would have to be transported out. If Claude had provided Billy with a map containing an area far out in the woods and inaccessible by vehicles, Billy would have known immediately that it was a fake.

  After a series of wrong turns and two cups of coffee, he found the closest spot on the dirt road he believed to be near the site. Reaching into the back of the car, he rummaged inside a tool bag he kept for roadside emergencies and retrieved a screwdriver. Making quick work, Cam removed the license plate and stowed it in the trunk. He didn’t need the hassle of a nosey person driving by wondering why a car was parked on the side of a desolate road and writing down his information. A car without a tag might raise j
ust as much suspicion, but he was willing to take the chance.

  He clicked on the flashlight, reviewed the map again and looked into the woods. The beam penetrated the dense forest and he followed it. After walking less than a hundred yards a noise began tinkling in his ears and he stopped. Water—another good sign. It took a great deal of water to make a batch of shine and he knew stills were usually set up in locations near a water source.

  Cam began surveying the ground, searching for any signs of foot traffic or four-wheeler tracks. Not finding any he walked closer to the sound of the water. A loud crack startled him and he jumped, training the light on the place where he’d heard the commotion. His light found the source of the noise as a deer jumped a fallen tree and disappeared into the darkness.

  Focusing the beam on the map he studied it once more. All the creases he’d made by folding the map made it difficult to read. He held the drawing against his body and pressed it with his hand, rubbing it over and over in an attempt to flatten the crumpled paper. Looking again he found where Claude had ever so slightly drawn the creek. The photocopied reproduction didn’t do him any favors. Discovering the creek took an almost forty-five degree turn, he began to walk along the side of the creek in search of the water’s bend.

  He walked away from the direction of the car until he decided it was too far. Turning around, Cam started to sense the weight of the liquor and coffee inside his body fighting for control. The liquor was winning as he felt his legs becoming heavier by the step. Even the mag light felt heavy in his hand. Feeling the need to make his way back to his car to get home before he put himself in danger, he held the light one last time on the creek. As the beam travelled out into the woods the water disappeared. The bend!

  Adrenaline pumped through his body giving him new life as he crashed through the trees toward the creek’s turn. Once there he studied the map again and knew he was close. Folding the map and putting it back in his pocket, Cam once again studied the ground and the surrounding area for signs. Holding the flashlight at his chest, shining it outward, he turned in a slow circle. When the beam struck the water, something unusual glimmered back at him and he froze. He walked toward it as he kept the light on the unnatural object.