Jason Deas - Cameron Caldwell 01 - Private Eye

by Jason Deas

  Cam made three trips with armfuls of bottles. When he’d checked all of his hiding spots he stood at the counter and paused.

  “This is it, Daphne.” He breathed in and out, holding the counter like he was at the edge of the earth. “No more hiding,” he said, opening the first bottle of beer. He poured it down the sink and slid the empty bottle to the other side. Reaching under the sink he pulled out a large recycling bin and handed it to Daphne. “For the empties,” he whispered. Cam emptied bottle after bottle in silence as he slid them across the counter to her. The last one was the jug of shine. He removed the cap and held the container to his nose and sniffed. Cam closed his eyes and started to pour.

  “Stop,” Daphne instructed. “Watch it go down.”

  Cam opened his eyes and poured. The glug, glug, glug sound of the liquid going down the drain filled the quiet room. When the container was empty, Cam began to slide it to her and breathed out. As he held his hands tight to the counter a tear ran down his cheek. He passed the jug to Daphne. She dropped it into the bin as Cam fell into her. The flood gates opened as he cried like a baby and held onto her.

  Chapter Thirty

  Cam awoke the next morning without a hangover and chalked up one point to sobriety. His thoughts immediately turned to alcohol and his mind squashed them as he thought of how he needed to look into Claude’s eyes for answers. He didn’t have to wait too long. As his coffee dripped into the pot he heard Claude’s truck pull into his driveway.

  Claude put his key into the lock and walked into the house.

  “The house is awake this morning,” he called.

  “Are you surprised?”

  “Yeah. It usually smells like a frat house in here in the morning. What’s going on?”

  “I quit drinking yesterday.”

  Claude was hard to surprise. His mouth fell open. “Great, but why?”

  “It’s a long story, Claude. It comes down to this—I haven’t been seeing clear for a long time. I figured it was time for me to come out of the fog.”

  “Good for you,” Claude said as he looked him in the eyes.

  Cam’s head jerked one way and back the other. Time froze as he saw Claude over Billy’s dead body. Cam somehow knew immediately with the vision that Claude was not Billy’s killer. His sin was the cover-up of the murder. The image flashed and Cam saw him entering into Darren’s house, taking the pipe and hiding Billy’s wallet. Again, Cam got the overwhelming sensation that Claude was not guilty of the murder. His sin was the hiding of the killing. The next flash took him to an image of Claude standing over Billy’s lifeless body again. Claude reached into his pocket and pulled out the radio dial, he opened Billy’s mouth and inserted the dial. Claude began digging. Cam’s head snapped down and the visions fled.

  Cam looked away and back at Claude. He smiled, thankful that Claude was not the killer he was searching for.

  “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  “More like an angel,” Cam said. “I’m cooking the eggs this morning,” he said standing up. “How do you like them?”

  “Over easy.”

  “I can do that,” Cam said, with a giant smirk.

  As the skillet sizzled, Cam handed Claude a cup of coffee and asked, “Who killed Billy Prescott?”

  “I believe you’ll find out soon. I can see in your face that you don’t suspect me anymore. Why is that?”

  “I believe you’ll find out pretty soon,” Cam said, cracking the eggs and turning away from Claude.

  “The other day when you were in my studio, you thought it was me. I saw it in your eyes. Why is that?”

  “I saw the old radio on the floor of your studio. It was missing a dial. They found an old radio dial in Billy’s mouth.”

  “I can’t say if it’s the same one, but I can tell you a story about me and Darren and an old radio dial.”

  “Tell me,” Cam said, dropping some bread into the silver toaster.

  “When we were on speaking terms, I used to have some pretty huge parties at my house. Back in those days the stereo system you saw down in my studio was state of the art. Darren is a good old boy who only likes country music, and I’ve always enjoyed a more eclectic variety of tunes. I like country too, but I was also delving into some of the rap and hip-hop music of the day. For some reason, the music infuriated Darren. He got really drunk, as he usually did, and told me if I played one more ‘black’ song that he was going to make it so I could never play another one.

  “I just assumed he was drunk and spouting off. After he had the chance to listen to half an hour’s worth of country on the radio, I tuned the radio to a different station playing rap. Darren had gone to the bathroom. When he returned and heard the music, he walked over to the stereo, tuned it back to the country station, and somehow with his drunken strength he ripped off the dial and put it in his pocket.”

  Cam put a plate in front of Claude containing two eggs over easy, two pieces of toast, and grits with a slab of butter melting in the middle.

  “So, if we search Darren’s house, what are we going to find?”

  “I think you already know the answer to that,” Claude said, digging into his meal and giving Cam a hearty wink.

  Although Cam didn’t need a ride into town, Claude gave him one for old time’s sake. In Claude’s mind, Cam wasn’t going to make it through the day without drinking and being able to drive home. Claude tried to make it seem like it would be a waste of his gas to have driven all the way out to his house without bringing him back to town. He didn’t tell him that he didn’t believe he could make it through the day without a drink. He lied and told Cam he needed to adjust one of the sculptures in the house that seemed to have been bumped. He told Cam he would find the tool he needed during the day and when Cam called to take him home he would perform the adjustment. Cam bought the story, thinking he must have bumbled over the art piece in a drunken stupor.

  Claude dropped Cam at the Miner’s Bluff Police Department at the same time as Blanca was getting out of her car and walking into the office.

  She spotted him and asked, “Have you been up all night?”

  “No.”

  “I don’t remember ever seeing you this early before.”

  “I quit drinking yesterday.”

  “Good morning, Officer Gomez. I would stay and talk but I have a very busy schedule,” Claude said.

  Blanca continued to ignore Claude.

  “Can we go into your office and talk?” Cam asked as he pushed at her back and tried to hurry her along. “I can see that you are not a big fan of my friend.”

  “Your friend?” she said, as they shuffled across the parking lot. “Your friend?” she said again as they neared her office door. “Friend? How can you call him your friend when you include him in your group of suspects for a murder!” Blanca was screaming.

  “He didn’t do it,” Cam said, slamming the door of her office unintentionally as soon as she entered.

  “And how did you come into this new information?”

  “I just did,” Cam tried. “I know you don’t think I’m a very good detective, but I am. Sometimes I know things I shouldn’t.”

  “I think your brain is pickled.”

  Cam had just sat down. He stood back up as his face turned red. He pulled at his collar as his body temperature quickly rose. “Do I need to prove it to you?”

  “Go right ahead,” Blanca said.

  “If you want to test what I do and do not know, why don’t we have a little discussion about Johnny Papers.” Blanca had killed Johnny Papers a lifetime ago and had not thought about him with a sober mind in quite some time.

  “Where did you hear that name?” she said, dumbfounded. She too stood and pulled at her collar. “Who told you that?”

  “Do you really want to go there? I’m willing to leave it at the name if you’re willing to believe me and what I do and do not know.”

  “Fine,” Blanca said conceding and sitting back down. “And I do think you’re a good dete
ctive. I wouldn’t have asked for your help if I didn’t. I just think you escape a little too much.”

  Cam sat back down. “I know you don’t think I can really quit, but please do the decent thing and give me a chance. I don’t think anybody else really will. I know Daphne and Claude want to believe me, but I know in their heart of hearts they think I’ll be drinking again in the next few days.”

  “OK. I do believe in you. I really do.” Blanca sat back down. “But I have to ask again, where did you hear the name Johnny Papers?”

  “You told me about him and his death the night you got drunk at my house,” Cam replied.

  She sighed. “What do we do now?”

  “We search Darren’s house.”

  An hour later Blanca had the warrant. She floored her squad car toward Darren’s house with Cam beside her.

  “Why do I feel we’re being led on a wild goose chase?” Blanca asked.

  “It’s probably because we are on a wild goose chase.”

  “Forgive me for being ignorant, but why are we doing it?”

  “Because it will lead us to something else.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m almost positive.”

  “Well, that’s reassuring,” Blanca said, with a smirk.

  As the two rolled down Darren’s long driveway they began to notice the dogs running amuck. Remembering Darren’s command, Cam lowered the window and yelled, “Pen.” The dogs began running toward the fenced area. At the end of the drive he yelled the command two more times from the safety of the car. The dogs followed the command and ran into the pen. As the last dog entered the gate, Cam hopped out of the car, sprinted to the gate and slammed it shut. In the middle of the pen, Darren lay face down, dead.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  “Well, I’ll be damned,” Cam said, standing at the gate. The dogs began sniffing around Darren. “How are we supposed to get in there to make sure he’s not still alive?”

  “I could shoot them all,” Blanca offered.

  “Dog lover, are you? I’m sure that’d go over well in the paper.”

  “What can I say—I’m a cat person.”

  “Let me look inside and see if there’s any food I can distract them with.” Cam darted toward the front door and found it open. Less than a minute later he returned with a giant bag of dog food draped over his shoulder. About thirty yards from the pen he stood and shook the bag to get the dogs’ attention. When he had all of their eyes on him he began pouring the contents of the bag in a deep line. The dogs gathered at the gate. Blanca joined Cam in the small area where they would be protected from the dogs after they swung the gate fully open.

  “I think they’re ready,” Blanca said, as the dogs waited for an opening.

  “Eat!” Cam yelled as he opened the gate. The dogs ignored Cam and Blanca as they dashed toward the food. When the last dog exited the pen, they raced inside and slammed the gate closed, locking it behind them.

  Inching toward Darren, both Cam and Blanca knew before they reached him that he was dead. He looked as though he’d fallen face first into the muddy ground and stuck. A mason jar rested on its side near his body. Some of the clear liquid still remained in the glass container.

  Blanca pulled gloves out of her pocket and slipped her hands inside. She handed a second pair to Cam. Picking up the jar, she pulled it to her nose and sniffed.

  “I can’t really smell anything. I’m guessing he got a hold of some bad shine.”

  “Shouldn’t we turn him over to see if he’s been shot or stabbed before you jump to conclusions?”

  “Go ahead if that’ll make you happy. This just reeks of a case I had in one of my first years on the job in this town.” Blanca peered down at Darren’s body.

  “Care to explain?”

  “To put it simply, a good batch of moonshine produces ethanol. Without getting too technical, it first produces methanol which should be thrown out. It has a lower boiling point and comes out first. Have you ever heard the stories about moonshine causing blindness?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, the stories are true. If a person drinks too much of the methanol, they can either go blind or wind up dead. It would only take about a shot glass of it to do the trick. If you wanted to kill a moonshine drinker, all you would have to do is give them the first drippings mixed in with the rest.”

  “Wouldn’t he be able to tell?”

  “It’s possible, but in all likelihood, he was already drunk and didn’t have his senses when he drank it.”

  “Maybe he had a heart attack,” Cam suggested.

  “This is just too convenient. I doubt that’s what killed him but if you’re willing to make a bet on it, I’m taking my theory over yours.”

  Cam walked back toward the house and out of the pen when he spotted a trail of vomit on the ground.

  “Look at this,” he called to Blanca.

  “A definite sign of alcohol poisoning. And I don’t know if it’s just me, but his skin seemed to have a tinge of blue.”

  “That’s why I thought heart attack.”

  “That and vomiting are sure signs of alcohol poisoning. With all the alcohol you’ve drank in your life I’m surprised you don’t look like a smurf.”

  “You’re hilarious. Let’s look inside.”

  Although Cam had just been inside, he’d been so focused on finding the dog food he hadn’t really looked around. Stepping inside again he paused to absorb the room. Blanca edged up behind him leaving the outside door open.

  “Doesn’t seem as though there was a struggle,” she said. As she spoke the smell hit her. “What the hell is that smell?”

  It hit Cam at the same time. “Oh, God. Vomit. You created a draft with the open door. There must be a window open.” He walked to the bathroom. “Found it.”

  Blanca walked to the bathroom, peered inside, and quickly ran outside in search of clean air. Cam followed.

  “My God,” she said, coughing and spitting on the ground. “It looks like his stomach exploded in there.”

  The bathroom looked like a set from a horror film. Vomit covered the floor, dripped from the walls, and filled the sink. A clumsy attempt had been made to clean as a few towels were strewn around the small room. The window was open and Darren’s retching also covered the sill.

  “If he was feeling so sick, why would he be in the dog pen?” Cam asked. “Why wouldn’t he call for help?”

  “He was disoriented.” Blanca spit again. “I know we need to go back in there but I don’t do throw up.”

  “I think if I close the window in the bathroom and the door, the smell will still be there, but not as bad. Then you should be able to pull your shirt over your nose and give it a go.”

  Cam walked back toward the bathroom and took a deep breath. Holding his air he tiptoed to the window, grabbed a clean spot, and pushed it down. The sill itself was filled with liquid as Darren must have unsuccessfully leaned out the window at some point to puke. The liquid squished and jumped in the air as Cam jumped back repulsed. Hopping once again across the bathroom’s clean areas he shut the door and let out his breath.

  “The door and window are closed,” he called to Blanca. “Come back in when you think you’re ready.”

  Cam walked straight to the couch, knelt down, and peered under. The wallet was still there. With his gloves still on he pulled it out. Blanca walked back into the room with her shirt over her mouth and nose and he handed her the worn leather billfold. She opened it, slid the driver’s license out of its slot, returned it, and closed the wallet.

  “This all just seems too convenient to me. You already told me that Claude is the one who put this here, but why? How did he get it?”

  “Claude didn’t kill Billy Prescott.”

  “You keep saying that, but I’m having a hard time wrapping my mind around that.” Blanca’s shirt began to slide down as she spoke with animation. She grabbed the fabric, pulled it up, and squeezed it around her nose. “Tell me again how you know he
didn’t do it.”

  “Maybe later. Let’s check the rest of the place and see if we can find anything else out of the ordinary.”

  As she glanced around, continuing to hold her shirt, she said, “Everything looks out of the ordinary.”

  “Not really. This is just what it looks like when a guy lives alone without the influence of a good woman.” He glanced at Blanca and could tell by her eyes that she was smiling.

  The coroner and a crime team arrived within minutes of each other. Cam and Blanca stood on the porch and watched as the posse spied the dogs. One of the women from the crime team rolled down the car window and shouted, “Are the dogs friendly?”

  “Nope,” Blanca shouted back. “We called animal control. If I was you I’d wait.”

  As if on cue, the dog catcher sped onto the scene. He surveyed the scene from the van and slowly exited. As he opened the side door of the vehicle the dogs looked up from the food and eyed him. Another man appeared from inside the van in a padded suit, which made him look like the Michelin Man.

  The Michelin Man stepped out of the van and inched toward the dogs. He carried a tool with a loop on the end. He quickly snagged one of the dogs and crated the struggling animal. Seeing the capture, the other two dogs sensed danger and began barking. One bared his teeth and began inching toward the first man. He raised a tranquilizer gun, aimed, and pulled the trigger. The dog looked around as if trying to figure out what had just happened. The dog took two steps toward him and fell to the ground. Before he had a chance to reload and get the last dog it charged the other man, jumped, and latched onto his padded arm. Grabbing the catch pole off the ground he slipped the loop around the dog’s neck and got it under control.

  With all three dogs crated, the crime team got out of their vehicle and Cam and Blanca walked down from the porch.

  “Good work guys,” Blanca said. “And I thought you guys just saved kittens from trees.” The two men laughed as they stored their items and positioned the dogs inside the van for transport.

  “What do we have here?” the leader of the crime team asked Blanca.