Hidden Graves

by Jack Fredrickson

  ‘No.’

  I watched the clip again. The movement lasted only five seconds.

  It wasn’t Timothy Wade behind that window. The hair was wrong. It was too full. It seemed to be a woman’s hair, a woman’s head.

  Yet I was sure the hair was too high for a woman in a wheelchair. A woman was walking behind those curtains.

  A wheelchair-bound woman might well need live-in help – a nurse, a maid, a cook.

  But my mind wanted to see only that dirt-dusted Cadillac hidden in the sunken garage at the back of the Wade estate. And to recall the wheelchair left upright in the back seat, just as dirty as the car. A wheelchair never retrieved, never needed. A wheelchair that had nagged at me since I’d first seen it.

  A car horn tapped twice outside.

  SIXTY

  Sergeant Bohler stood at my door, holding up a brown shopping bag. She was out of uniform, wearing a thin multicolored knit hat and a red wool jacket.

  Parked at the curb was a black pick-up truck with monstrous off-road tires mounted on huge chrome wheels. Thousand dollar wheels, Booster Liss had called them.

  ‘Hey, is that the same truck someone reported lurking outside the Rivertown City Garage a few nights back, acting on a tip that a wrong color top was being put on a Jeep?’ I asked.

  ‘I was investigating the disappearance of a hundred-dollar GPS transmitter that suddenly went dead.’ She slightly shook the contents inside the bag. ‘We’ll discuss things honestly?’

  I nodded and she thrust the bag at me.

  Inside were two large boxes of yellow Peeps – a color I’d not yet sampled – and a pound of gourmet coffee.

  ‘The coffee is fresh but it’s hard to find soft Peeps this long after Easter,’ she said.

  ‘That’s no matter.’ I led her upstairs, pointed to the kitchen and went across to the card table to get the street grid I’d printed that morning.

  ‘Where are your coffee filters?’ she asked when I came back. She was looking in the cabinet above the coffee-maker where there were none.

  ‘I use the paper towels.’

  ‘Good thinking. You get the lip-smacking taste of pulping chemicals that way.’

  She threw out my last dregs of perfectly warmable coffee, folded a sheet of paper toweling into the basket and added grounds that smelled better than anything I got at the Discount Den. When the coffee was done, she filled the travel mug I’d left out on the counter, found a cup for herself in the cabinets and sat down to study the street grid.

  ‘I’ll do the Peeps,’ I said, standing four of the little bunnies onto a paper towel.

  She got up fast. ‘I’ll leave the room.’ No doubt she remembered the power surge the last time, when molten Peeps oozed beneath my microwave door like lava from an angry volcano.

  She waited past the wall, as dental assistants do when X-raying, though this time there was no power surge. The Peeps flattened properly onto the paper towel and I served them with the plastic knives I get from Burger King.

  ‘I’m broke, Elstrom. How quickly am I going to get promoted out of the garage?’ she asked when we sat down.

  ‘How’s my DNA?’

  ‘Not back from the lab.’

  I took a sip of the best coffee that had ever been brewed in the turret. ‘I need to be sure about the location of the blood,’ I said, pointing to the street grid. I’d marked it with the locations of the Democrat party headquarters and the convenience store, two blocks away.

  She picked up the pencil I’d set down with the map and, as I expected, drew a dotted line from the store to a spot between my two marks. ‘Officer Gibbs said the trail ended right here.’

  ‘A big pool?’

  ‘Too much to live without, he told us. Someone bled out.’ She chipped off a piece of Peep, put it in her mouth and began chewing appreciatively.

  ‘Then Red Halvorson died right there, that night,’ I said, putting my index finger on the mark she’d just made. ‘That’s a convenient parking spot for someone working at the Democratic headquarters.’ I moved my finger a little, to the campaign headquarters.

  ‘The robbers worked at the Democratic headquarters?’

  ‘A fifty-dollar bill was left on the counter, remember? There were no robbers.’

  ‘So, just Democrats?’ she asked, laughing.

  ‘Four young guys, volunteers. One was named Shea, one Piser and one Halvorson. The fourth was destined to be a US senator.’

  She stopped chewing, her voice weak, disbelieving. ‘Timothy Wade was one of them?’

  I moved my finger a fraction of an inch again, a block up a side street from the campaign office. It was where the Lakota Nation bar had been.

  ‘After volunteering at the campaign headquarters,’ I said, ‘Wade and his three friends went here, where they drank too much. They got thrown out. With the cunning of the truly drunk, they headed off into the night, intent on finding more alcohol.’

  I moved my finger the short distance to the convenience store. ‘One of the four – I don’t know who – grabbed a six-pack and made for the counter. Someone else pulled out a fifty to pay—’

  ‘Wade,’ she interrupted, ‘because he had lots of money.’

  ‘For sure,’ I agreed. ‘But then one of them – they were drunk, remember – did something that threatened the store clerk enough to make him panic. He pulled out a revolver. Whether on purpose, or accidentally, the gun went off, hitting Halvorson. One of the other three young men picked up the six-pack and crashed it down on the clerk’s head, probably justifiably, to stop him from firing again.’

  ‘Everyone panicked,’ she said.

  ‘Especially Wade, who must have seen his future going down the drain. He helped the mortally wounded Halvorson out the door, telling Shea and Piser to get lost, that he’d keep them out of trouble, saying he’d make sure Halvorson got to a hospital. Shea and Piser were only too happy to run, and they took off.’

  ‘Leaving Wade to help Halvorson to his car,’ Bohler said.

  ‘Except Halvorson died. Now Wade had to think of how things could be hushed. I think he drove home—’

  ‘With Halvorson dead in his car?’

  ‘Absolutely. He had to get out of there and he’d be safest at his estate. He drove home and dumped the problem in his sister’s lap. Brother and sister must have stayed up all night planning, finally deciding that Tim would tell Shea and Piser that he and Theresa had gotten a doctor privately and were going to nurse Halvorson back to life quietly at their home. Based on what Piser paid for his church in Oregon, and likely the cash Shea lived on for a while in California, I’m guessing Wade sweetened the deal by giving Shea and Piser at least sixty thousand dollars each to head west and change their names. It must have seemed like a lot of money to Shea and Piser, but even better, Wade was offering them a safe ticket away from a murder rap, because by now they’d learned from the news that the store clerk was dead. They took the money and ran – Shea to Laguna Beach, Piser to Reeder. Wade covered their tracks, and Halvorson’s death, by saying all three had taken oil rig jobs on the west coast. Wade buried Halvorson secretly and rented a house in Tucson to create the ruse that Halvorson was alive and well out in Arizona.’

  ‘Wade paid rent every month to maintain a ruse?’ She shook her head, marveling.

  ‘Until very recently, when the landlord put the place up for sale. But it was cheaper than jail time, cheaper than a future in politics ruined,’ I said.

  ‘What upset the apple cart?’

  ‘John Shea. His serious financial difficulties got him to thinking about his rich old pal, Tim Wade, who was now running for the US Senate, and how Wade would pay serious money to keep Shea quiet about Wade’s involvement, innocent though it must have been, in that convenience store killing. Shea called Wade’s campaign office, mentioning something cryptic about a hatchet. Marilyn Paul intercepted the calls, identified the caller and confronted Shea. She reported the calls to Jeffries, their campaign security chief, expecting Jeffries to go aft
er Shea. But Wade told Jeffries to drop it, that Shea couldn’t have anything because Wade was clean.’

  ‘Gutsy to ignore it,’ Bohler said.

  ‘Gutsy, or maybe Wade was thinking he should handle Shea without anyone else knowing.’

  ‘Still gutsy,’ Bohler said, chipping at more of the Peep stuck to the paper towel.

  ‘Except that’s when Marilyn Paul intervened, changed everything and brought hell down upon herself,’ I said. ‘Seeing no action from Jeffries, Marilyn set up that stunt at the silo as a little nudge to Wade to deal with Shea, never imagining the impact that little rubber hatchet would have.’

  ‘But why do it at all?’

  ‘I’m guessing Marilyn Paul was first and foremost a loyal Democrat. She didn’t want anything to hurt her candidate’s chances. She couldn’t know, of course, that the little toy axe was a specific reference to the night of the convenience store killing.’

  ‘That American Indian-themed Lakota Nation bar, where the musketeers had been just before,’ Bohler said.

  ‘Marilyn must have been as shocked as anyone when Wade went nuts in front of the television cameras. But Wade must have believed that Shea was closing in and was nearby, perhaps in the crowd at that farmyard. He saw no choice but to run.’

  ‘Except Shea was not nearby. He was still in Laguna Beach.’

  ‘And going nuts himself, believing someone else was intruding on his action with that silo stunt.’

  ‘Quite naturally, he thought it was Piser?’ She held up her hand. ‘Nope, I’m not that smart to guess that. Lieutenant Beech out in California told me about him.’

  ‘Or Shea thought it might have been Halvorson. Remember, neither Shea nor Piser knew Halvorson had died. They assumed Wade and his sister had nursed him back to health and sent him packing with sixty thousand dollars, like the Wades had done with them.’

  ‘Shea couldn’t find Halvorson, but he did contact Piser?’

  ‘They must have stayed in loose touch, at least enough to know where the other had landed. Either Piser saw Wade’s meltdown on TV and called Shea, fearing their involvement in the liquor store killing was about to become known, or Shea called Piser, suggesting the same, and maybe also suggesting there was big blackmail money to be had if Piser came to Laguna Beach to discuss it. But Shea wanted him for something else. Piser came and Shea blew him up because he needed a corpse to double as his own, at least long enough for him to slip out of California.’

  ‘And come where? Here?’ she asked.

  I nodded.

  ‘To kill Marilyn Paul?’

  ‘For openers,’ I said. ‘Shea knew as soon as Piser arrived in Laguna Beach that he had nothing to do with the silo. That left only two other people who could have known enough to set up that stunt in the farmyard. One was Halvorson, who he didn’t know how to get at. The other was Marilyn Paul, because she’d intercepted his threat about the hatchet. He must have guessed it was most likely her. For sure, she had to be gotten out of the way, because she could tie him to the blackmail threat against Wade.’

  ‘With her gone, his way was clear to collect large from Wade,’ she said.

  ‘It’s one scenario.’

  ‘So Shea comes to Chicago, kills Marilyn Paul and then calls the sheriff, tipping us it was you?’

  ‘He must have found out about me when he ransacked Marilyn’s apartment, looking for anything that might lead to him.’ I saw no need to tell her I was sure of it, since I’d searched Marilyn’s apartment myself.

  ‘Our tipster said her corpse was in your Jeep. How did it leave your Jeep and get into the water?’

  ‘I would have no idea about that. What I’m sure of is that your tipster then called you to say I tossed a knife into the Willahock. Most interestingly, he’s not called since then.’

  ‘You think he collected from Wade and is now basking on some sunny beach in the Caribbean?’ she asked.

  I told her to come across the hall for movies.

  SIXTY-ONE

  She sat in the listing red vinyl chair and I stood behind her as we watched the short clip Jenny had sent me.

  ‘I don’t get it,’ Bohler said, leaning back after squinting at the figure moving behind the curtains.

  ‘I think your tipster, whoever it was—’

  ‘Shea, right?’ she interrupted. ‘I mean, who else had need for us to think you killed Marilyn Paul? Not Wade; he wants no attention drawn to this case at all.’

  I told her about my post-midnight trip to the back of Wade’s property.

  ‘Ah …’ She shook her head hard. ‘Criminal trespass onto his property, breaking and entering into his outbuilding?’

  I nodded.

  ‘And you’re sure it was the same exact Ford Explorer parked in that sunken garage, the same exact one you were chasing the night I pulled you over?’ The disbelief in her voice was clear. ‘You’re positive Timothy Wade, our next senator, risked his future, his enormous stature, everything, to come for you that night, to do you harm? But because you spotted him first and came charging out, you hero you, he got scared and took off? You really want me to believe that?’

  ‘You were there. You saw it.’

  ‘I was just pulling up when you shot past me and turned onto Thompson Avenue. I saw nothing except you driving crazy. I pulled you over before you killed someone.’

  She pointed to the image frozen on the screen. ‘And that’s supposed to mean what?’

  ‘That maybe it wasn’t Timothy Wade who came at me that night.’ I pointed to the screen. ‘If I’m right, that’s Theresa Wade and she’s not paralyzed at all. She can move about freely.’

  ‘Come on, Elstrom. So what if she’s been able to walk a little, all this time? Maybe she can only go a few feet on crutches or with braces. So what if she’s able to drive and came to your place? Maybe she’s a little nuts. No crime there.’

  ‘She could have killed Marilyn Paul. She could have driven the corpse over here, in that Ford Explorer, so her brother could be alibied elsewhere. No one would ever suspect a woman who is wheelchair-bound.’

  ‘I need more coffee and you need less,’ she said.

  We went back to the kitchen to wind ourselves up with more of her excellent grounds.

  ‘Do you know Jennifer Gale?’ I asked.

  ‘Television reporter. She left Chicago.’

  ‘She’s back. She got beaten when they went to retrieve surveillance cameras she’d placed across from the Wade estate.’

  ‘Is she as crazy as you? Why would she place cameras across from Wade’s house?’

  ‘She’s working on some sort of story, I suppose. Her attackers, who I think are Wade’s guards, grabbed one camera but Jenny’s cameraman had already gotten to another and I went back to grab the third.’ I pointed across the hall. ‘That video we just watched came from that third camera.’

  ‘Ask yourself: how many cameras are aimed at the Wade place? It’s only going to get worse after he’s elected senator. You’re crazy if you think the Wades hurt people for coming with cameras. Or do you think Jennifer Gale was assaulted because the Wades don’t want it known Theresa can really walk? This is too weird, Elstrom.’

  ‘I take your point: the Wades are used to people photographing their house. But I do think Wade’s guards beat up Jenny and her cameraman to stop them from recording something else.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘A grave on Wade’s property.’

  ‘I was wondering when you’d get back to your notion that Timothy Wade drove Halvorson’s body back to his estate. But Elstrom, get real. It’s been twenty years. If Wade did bury Halvorson there, he threw him in a hole without embalming the corpse. There’d be nothing left. Besides, if that convenience store killing went down as you say, Wade didn’t do anything wrong to begin with. He cleaned up the mess, is all, and that’s a far lesser crime than murder, even if it could be proved.’

  ‘Maybe there’s more than one grave on Wade’s land,’ I said.

  ‘You think because our
tipster was really Shea, and that because he hasn’t called in a while, it’s because Wade killed him and buried him on his property?’

  ‘Wade, or his guards.’

  She leaned back and smiled. ‘I know why you called earlier, suggesting this little chat. You think Wade’s guards weren’t worried about Jennifer Gale filming Halvorson’s grave. You think they were worried about her finding fresh digging.’

  I pushed the package of uncooked Peeps toward her. ‘Have a reward for brilliant thinking.’

  She grabbed a Peep, pushed it whole into her mouth and gave me a goofy yellow grin. ‘What the hell, Elstrom?’ It came out muffled through the marshmallow.

  ‘Is it so hard to believe that Shea approached Wade, saying “I’ve proved I’m willing to kill both Willard Piser and Marilyn Paul. Pay me big and I go away, or I tell everybody about the convenience store”?’

  ‘But Wade didn’t buy it?’ she asked.

  ‘I wouldn’t have, either. There was nothing to prevent Shea from coming back to the well time and again.’

  ‘So Wade killed Shea.’

  ‘Or his sister did.’

  ‘Or his guards, right? There are all kinds of killers on that estate?’

  ‘There’s a lot to be learned there,’ I said.

  She studied my eyes for a moment, knowing what I was asking. Finally, she said, ‘I don’t think any judge, Democrat or rare Republican, would give me a warrant to dig up our next senator’s estate based upon such a flimsy theory, even if I could get the case back from Chicago PD.’

  ‘Have another Peep,’ I said.

  ‘Damn it, Elstrom.’

  SIXTY-TWO

  Bohler left, thanking me for the musings of a confused mind and not much else. Still, there was a chance she’d find a compliant judge and that she’d dig. And if she did, it would be bad for one and good for the other.

  I called the one first.

  ‘You sound tense,’ Amanda said. ‘I’ll call you back in five minutes.’

  ‘You’re working on Sunday?’

  ‘It’s what tycoons do. Five minutes.’

  I stewed for those five minutes, and then for the twenty more that followed, silently, after that. And then she called.