Summer People

by Aaron Stander

  Ray circled the trailer with Sue looking at the rubble. Finally he said, “There it is,” and pointed at a metal object entangled in springs and half-burned wood that once formed a day bed. He borrowed some heavy leather gloves from the fire crew and carefully fished the remains of the AK-47 out of the still smoldering mass.

  “Not bad,” said Ray.

  Sue gave him a quizzical look.

  “We’ve got motive, foot prints, tire prints, and the weapon, albeit slightly charred. If we get a confession, it will be as clean as it can be. It’s nice getting one solved quickly for a change.”

  27

  Through the open window, Jack Grochoski saw the Sheriff’s car park at the side of the bar. By the time Ray walked into the Last Chance, Jack had two cups on the bar and was filling them with coffee.

  “Good timing, Sheriff; this is a fresh pot.” “Thanks, Jack.” Ray took a sip. “Jack, you make about the best coffee in the county.”

  “It’s the water, Sheriff; it’s the water. I don’t use well water. I get spring water in those big bottles; well water has too much iron, makes the coffee bitter. Don’t imagine you came by to talk about coffee.”

  “Grimstock, Roger Grimstock, was he in here on Saturday evening?”

  “Thought you’d be by to ask ‘bout him. He was here. Has been almost every night in the summer for years. You probably know that.”

  Ray nodded, “I wasn’t sure about Saturday night, but I did know his car was usually in your lot. Anything different about Saturday night? Was he drinking heavily?”

  “He was the same as always. I imagine he started drinking when he got out of bed. He’d come in here in the early evening and have a couple shots-and-beers, and then he’d settle down to just beers, Budweiser in bottles. He’d drink about one an hour until he left, usually ‘bout closing, sometimes before. He was never falling down drunk; he always seemed in control—you know I cut people off it they’re not. But he was never stone sober, probably hadn’t been in years.”

  “Did he have any friends, anyone he met here?”

  “He was a real fixture here, but I don’t think anyone knew him; I sure didn’t. Over the years I watched people try to get a conversation going with him, but he’d cut them off. He wanted to be left alone. The girls that work here were all afraid of him because he’d snap at them. Had a nasty mouth.”

  “And Saturday was just the same?”

  “Well, I have to be truthful. He was like an old piece of furniture, you might walk by it ten times a day and you don’t notice it. I know he was here; I remember serving him; I remember he was on his usual stool, and he wasn’t here at closing. But there was one peculiar thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “He got a phone call sometime late in the evening. Years ago, when he was still married, his wife would call here all the time looking for him, but I don’t think he’s had a call since they split up.”

  “Man or woman—the person on the phone?”

  “Man or woman,” Jack repeated. “That’s interesting, Sheriff. I don’t remember. It gets real noisy here at night, and my hearing ain’t what it was. It’s hard for me to hear people on the phone. I might guess that it was a woman, but that’s probably because the only calls we get here are women looking for their men. I don’t think I can say for sure.”

  “So he got this call late in the evening. What time would that be?”

  “It probably was between eleven and twelve. The summer crowd doesn’t start dropping off until after midnight.”

  “Did he leave right after he got the call?”

  “I can’t say, Sheriff. I don’t think so. I just know he was gone before closing.”

  “Is that unusual?”

  “Most nights he’s here till then, but sometimes he leaves around midnight, sometimes before. Usually buys a six pack on his way out.”

  “Jack, is there anything else you can remember about Saturday?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve pretty much told you all I know.”

  “If you think of anything, please give me a call. It gives me an excuse to get some more of this good coffee.”

  28

  Dell’s Complete Auto Service was housed in two buildings. The first, the smaller of the two, looked like a 50s gas station. In the middle 80s the interior walls were removed so the business could function as both a convenience store and gas station. The service part of the business was moved to a large pole building behind the first.

  Ray found Dell working on a truck engine, its cab tipped forward to allow access to its innards.

  “Looks like you could get lost in there,” said Ray as a way of getting Dell’s attention.

  Dell, hearing the comment, turned and looked at Ray. Dell— well in his seventies, with heavily muscled biceps extending from a short sleeved shirt, his right arm with the tattoo of an anchor, the left with an American eagle, his barrel chest pulling at the buttons, his stomach hanging over his belt—climbed down from the truck. He pushed his glasses back up to the bridge of his nose with a grease-covered hand. “I wish the bastards that designed these things would have to try to fix them. There’s only a little problem with that damn truck, but you have to spend half the day getting to it. And Bill VanDyke will bitch like hell when he finds that I’ve charged him four hours labor to replace a ten dollar part.”

  “Why don’t you charge him more for the part and less for labor? Use a little psychology on him.”

  “Won’t work on that damn old Dutchman, Sheriff. He checked on how much the part cost before I started on the job.”

  “Dell, that old Triumph they brought in from the accident scene. Did you have a chance to check it over?”

  “I went through it. It’s back in the storage area.

  “How about the brakes and steering?

  “Brakes was okay, and there was nothing wrong with the steering. Let me show you, it’s over here.” Dell led Ray to a fenced area behind the building.

  “As you know, everything is pretty banged up and bent, but nothing is broken in the steering. Tie rods are still intact, and the rack seems to be working all right. Look.” Dell reached in, grabbed the wheel and moved it back and forth. He pointed to the front wheels, “See, there’s some slop in it, but it works. Now the back wheels, that’s another story.

  “What do you mean, Dell?”

  “Actually, Sheriff, it’s not the rear wheels, it’s the whole damn drive train. The whole thing is locked up.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “The motor came apart. I got the oil pan over here. I pulled it to look at the bottom of the engine. There are a couple of holes that were made when the engine came apart. The crank busted in half; the pan was full of metal debris.”

  “Any reason for that to happen?”

  “It’s an old engine. Looks like he was driving it wide open. You just can’t do that with one of these. Probably was low on oil. Hard to tell what failed first, but what ever it was, the whole damn thing came apart instantly. The way things are jammed in here, it locks up the rear wheels.”

  “That explains a couple of things.”

  “Like?”

  “We found oil on the road. And if the rear wheels locked up, he probably went into a skid and lost control of the car. Did you find anything else interesting, Dell?”

  “One more thing.” He pointed into the engine bay. The hood was missing from the car.

  “What am I looking at?”

  “These are old Stromberg 175s carburetors, a peculiar bit of limey engineering. Fucking limeys. You could never get these damn things synchronized.”

  “So, what about them?”

  “Look, Sheriff, they’re jammed wide open. The linkage is bent here and doesn’t move. I don’t know if this happened before the crash. It might have caused the accident. Or it might have happened in the course of the car rolling down the hill and smashing into things.”

  “Is there any chance that another vehicle was involved in the accident?”

&nb
sp; “I don’t think so. Every damn panel on this piece of shit is smashed, but I think that it happened when the car rolled down that hill. I don’t see no paint on this other than dark green. That poor bastard picked about the steepest hill in the county for his accident. There’s one more thing, the frame is busted in the back. It must’ve been almost rusted through.”

  “Could that have happened before the accident?”

  “I don’t think so, Sheriff. See where the rear quarter is smashed in here,” Dell knelt beside the back of the car and ran his hands over the area. “The car must have hit a tree, and most of the blow was carried by the wheel and axle. You can see bark and wood ground into these holes in the wheel. The axle being pushed sideways is what busted the frame, but it had to be weak to start with. I can have the boys put the car on the rack if you want to see where the frame is busted.”

  “No, Dell, I trust your judgment. You know much more about these things than I do.”

  “Sheriff, how long do you want me to keep this around?”

  “It will probably take three or four weeks to get the whole thing cleared up. Don’t do anything until you hear from us, and don’t let me forget that it’s here.”

  “I wouldn’t do that Sheriff,” Dell said with a big grin. “I wouldn’t want to burden the tax payers with an unnecessary storage fee.”

  29

  Ray was sitting at the oak table in the interrogation room. Sue was sitting at his right with a tape recorder and a laptop computer. Lennie was ushered in and seated across from Ray. His lawyer, Ilene Hawthorne, a court appointed attorney, seated herself at Lennie’s right, opened her brief case, and removed a yellow legal pad and a pencil. She opened her purse and pulled a pair of glasses from a case. She lifted them to her face and carefully adjusted them. She did everything very slowly, knowing that all the attention was on her as the others waited to begin. Hawthorne, carrying extra weight from a recent pregnancy on a short, stocky frame, filled her business suit. Her hair style, short and curled, did little to offset her coarse facial features: lips, too large and full for her small face; a large flat nose with upturned, oval nostrils; a wide, tall forehead that sloped back to the curls; and eyes, small and angry, their size contrasting sharply with the grossness of her other features.

  “Sheriff, was my client adequately Mirandized?” she asked in an accusatorial, angry tone.

  “Yes, Ms. Hawthorne. It was the first thing we did after we took him into custody. If you check with your client, I’m sure he will remember my reading him his rights and asking if he understood what had been read to him.”

  “I asked him; he seemed confused, but given the excessive force used to make this arrest, it’s no wonder that he was confused.”

  Ray could feel his pulse throbbing against his collar; he imagined that his face was growing red. He tried not to respond too quickly, taking several breaths, concentrating on inhaling slowly, holding the air for several seconds, and then slowly exhaling. When he felt in control he said, “The force used at the scene of the arrest was appropriate given the weapon the suspect was thought to have in his possession. In point of fact, the suspect did have an assault rifle and did use it when we attempted to arrest him. We used three canisters of tear gas. No bullets were fired by any police officer. We have the AK-47 Mr. Buck fired at us, lots of spent cartridges, and four bullet holes in the side of my car. There are a score of witnesses to his use of this weapon, including members of my department and the state police.” Ray could hear the tension in his voice.

  “And you all sing the same party line when anyone suggests that you used excessive force. I think the public is on to your little game,” she responded with a sarcastic chuckle.

  Ray let her comment pass and turned his attention to Lennie Buck. “Did you know Kit Hammer?”

  “I have instructed my client to answer no questions until we go to trial, Sheriff.”

  “Ms. Hawthorne, you can instruct your client to do or not to do anything you want. But I have the authority and right under our system to question Mr. Buck. Mr. Buck, being competent, can decide whether or not he is going to answer my questions. You don’t get to speak for him.”

  “I won’t have my client badgered or intimidated.”

  Again Ray didn’t respond to her comment. “Let me repeat the question for you again, Lennie. Did you know Kit Hammer?”

  “That’s a dumb question, Sheriff. By now everyone knows that.”

  “I told you not to answer any questions,” commanded Hawthorne.

  “Lady, I didn’t ask for you. Stay the fuck out of my face. I’ll say what I want to say, and you can go to hell.”

  “You do what I tell you. Do you want to spend the rest of your life in Jackson?”

  “Like I care,” he responded.

  “Sheriff,” Hawthorne began, “I need to talk with my client alone for a few minutes. I’m not sure we are communicating effectively with one another.”

  Ray was struck by the fact that her tone was almost pleasant. He got up; Sue followed his lead. “When you’re ready, let the deputy know, and we’ll try again.”

  As they left Ray pulled the door closed and had a word with the deputy posted outside. “Let’s get some air,” he said to Sue. They exited out the back door and sat on a sandbank above the parking lot.

  “It’s times like this that I really miss cigarettes. When you’re angry or tense, that’s when a cigarette is wonderful.”

  “I don’t know how you kept your cool; she’s really vicious,” said Sue.

  “I’ve had to deal with her a number of times in the last several years. I think I’m just starting to get used to her style. She doesn’t get to me as much as she used to. Her last pregnancy was rumored to be very difficult. I enjoyed not having to deal with her the last six or eight months.”

  “How does someone as nasty as that get pregnant?” she asked.

  “I suspect the usual way. I can’t imagine that she would do anything immoral or unnatural.”

  Sue slapped at his arm with the back of her hand. “You men are all alike. What I’m saying is how could someone sleep with such an unpleasant person?”

  “Maybe she is sweet and loving at home. Perhaps she reserves her ugly side for public occasions….”

  “Sheriff, they’re ready,” came a summons from the deputy at the back door.

  They reentered the interview room and took the same chairs they had previously occupied.

  “Lennie, I was trying to establish that you knew Kit Hammer.”

  “Yes, I knew her.”

  “Remember my instructions,” urged Hawthorne.

  “I say what I want, and you can go to hell, lady.” Hawthorne jumped to her feet and shouted, “I am not going to sit through this. I’m not going to watch this judicial travesty.”

  “Ms. Hawthorne,” said Ray in a calm voice, “it’s important that you stay. We want to make sure Mr. Buck’s constitutional rights are not abridged in any way.”

  Regaining control, she settled back into her chair.

  “This is what happened Sheriff. I started seeing Kit in November or December, not too long after I moved up here. I was at the laundromat in Thompsonville doing my wash, and Kit was there. We talked while we waited, and she helped me fold my clothes. I usually don’t fold them, just throw ’em in a bag. We were the only ones there most of the time. She told me she was having lots of marital trouble. Her husband was some kind of religious nut that made her go to this real strict church. She wanted to know where I lived, and I told her.

  “A couple of days later she shows up at my trailer with a bottle of whiskey and some beers. She tells me she’s lonely. We get sorta smashed, and she just starts taking off her clothes and tells me she needs to be fucked. She was really a hungry bitch. She told me her husband hadn’t been fucking her for some sort of punishment.

  “At first I didn’t care about her none, but hell, it was a free piece of ass a couple of times a week. But then I really started liking her.

 
“Somehow her husband found out she was messing around. He beat the hell out of her until she told him everything. He said if she ever seen me again he’d kill both of us. She snuck back and told me.

  “Somehow he found out about that, too, and beat the hell out of her again. He told her that he’d kill me if she didn’t confess to her sins in front of the whole fucking congregation at that church they go to.

  “She did, and those bastards came over to my place. I was still sleeping. They busted in, dragged me outside, and messed me up pretty good. That was Sunday. Monday, after her old man goes to work, she comes over and says that I got to do something. She says he’s going to kill me and probably kill her, too. She asks me if I’m going to run. I tell her I don’t have enough gas to get to TC, and I don’t have no money. How am I going to run? She gives me this big roll of bills she says she’s been saving for a long time. She says I got to do something. Then she fucks me real good and tells me this is what it could be like every day if she could get away from her old man.”

  “Lennie, did she ever say to you directly that she wanted you to kill her husband?” Ray waited for Hawthorne to object, but she just sat silently and glared at him.

  “Not that way, but I knew what she was getting at.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I took the money, went to that gun shop at Cedar Junction. They had a big display of those AK-47s with a sign that said you should buy one before the law changed. I had enough for one of them and a bunch of ammo.”

  “Did the clerk question you about why you wanted that particular type of weapon?”

  “No, but he seemed happy as hell that I was buying it. He said the pointy heads in Congress was trying to outlaw them, and peace loving citizens should have the right to defend themselves.”

  “Did he have you fill out the gun purchase forms?”

  “He had the forms, but he filled them out. He was a bit bothered that my driver’s license didn’t match my current address, but he said that nobody would notice, and it really didn’t matter.