by Susan Slater
Dan wondered if anyone had ever done psych profiles on junkyard owners—they had to be hoarders. This place looked like a set for a reality TV show. And it fit from what he remembered of old Chet; this matched the rough beard and chopped up haircut. He sure as hell hadn’t been visited by those guys from the Publishers Clearing House. This was poverty or very close to it. Would ten to twenty thousand tempt the owner to do something outside the law? Dan thought he was looking at the answer to that.
He left the Cherokee out of range of the dogs and got out. No sign of life but there were two good-sized garages in back and with no safe way to knock on the front door maybe he’d take a look at them first. Then he noticed the man standing at the edge of the trailer cradling a double-barreled shotgun. Damn. What was it out here with men and firearms in the way of a greeting?
Dan stepped to the front of the SUV hands in plain sight. “I’m looking for Tim Echols.”
“Found him.”
Tim reminded Dan a lot of his grandfather—both with lean and sinewy builds, both about six foot, only this one was clean shaven and wearing some pretty expensive biker leathers. The Ducati must not be his only ride.
“I’m Dan Mahoney. I—”
“I know who you are. If you think you’re going to sue me because my grandfather lost control of his truck—”
“Hey, nobody said anything about a law suit. True, I’m looking for answers. And I think there’s a chance you might be of help, but that’s it.”
A pause, Tim seemed to be deciding something—whether or not he could trust Dan? Maybe. Finally, a shrug and with the gun still cradled in his left arm, he motioned Dan to follow him.
“My office is back here.” Dan waited while Tim leaned the gun against the side of the nearest metal building and pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket. “To be truthful I haven’t even started to go through Granddad’s things in the house. Can’t bring myself to do it quite yet.”
“Things like that have a way of waiting on you.”
A chair, two filing cabinets, and a desk defined the area Tim called an office. A cot with a comforter and two pillows filled an opposite corner underneath two ropes holding jeans and t-shirts. He wasn’t kidding when he said he hadn’t gone through his Granddad’s things—he didn’t even live in the trailer. Strange but grief could make people do odd things. Things outside the norm.
Dan took the folding chair Tim offered and set it up close to the desk expecting Tim to sit opposite him. But Tim leaned back against a file cabinet to Dan’s right and didn’t sit. What was that they said about the power in a conversation going to the tallest? Was the posturing supposed to make Dan uneasy? Hard to say.
“First, let me offer my condolences. I liked your grandfather. I’m sorry for the way things played out. You and I both know there’s reason to believe that I was targeted—your granddad was hired to scare me or maybe get rid of me—”
“Hey, this sure sounds like you’re working up to a lawsuit.”
“Just curious about the money trail…twenty K deposited to rig an old truck—actually build it ground up. I would like to know who wanted me out of the way.”
“I can’t help you there. Last I knew Granddad was working for that movie outfit.” Crossed arms seemed to close that avenue of questioning.
“I understand you have a Ducati for sale.”
“Not any more. Sold it.”
Dead end. Real or faked? Dan couldn’t tell—maybe if he tried a new tactic. Something less threatening. “Were Emily and Amber Medger friends?”
“You son-of-a-bitch.” Tim hit him straight on, both hands on his shoulders, full body coming down from a standing position. The momentum pushed Dan, the chair and Tim sprawling backwards across the floor.
“Hey…?” Dan rolled to a crouch.
Tim stood above him with fist cocked, then dropped his hand and didn’t appear to want to follow up after the first burst of anger subsided, “Just get the fuck out of here.”
Dan stood ready for another onslaught but Tim pushed past him and strode out the door. Dan noticed he picked up the shotgun on the way to the trailer. Dan might not have gotten any answers but he was convinced that Tim Echols knew a lot more than he was sharing. So much for thinking the Emily/Amber angle was less inflammatory. What was with that?
Chapter Fourteen
It was back to the waiting game. Flyers were out; he was fresh out of people to question. He’d put in a call to Sheriff Howard but was almost glad when he didn’t reach him—he was still smarting over that “person of interest” comment. So, what to do? Might not be a bad idea to check in with Stephanie. She’d been rocked pretty hard by all this and he’d offer lunch if she felt like it. And activity kept him from thinking….But she turned him down. The bank had been closed since Saturday morning and would remain so for a week at least. In the midst of all the sadness, she thanked him, but said she was treasuring the time at home. He understood.
Then she asked if he would like to go with her to offer condolences to Amber’s mother? She was feeling guilty not even contacting Mrs. Medger. She’d appreciate the company. She was having trouble working up the nerve to go alone. He’d be glad to. He’d meet her at the bank parking lot; they could go from there.
Actually, it wasn’t much of a ride. Andrea Medger lived about a half mile from the new high school on Highway 120. He pulled up in the driveway and went around to open the car door for Stephanie but she’d already hopped out and was halfway to the porch.
Andrea was sitting on a porch swing, bare feet resting on a wooden banister that ran across the front of the old farmhouse broken only by five steps leading upward right in the center. She didn’t look old enough to have a nineteen-year-old daughter until you got close enough to see the heavily etched laugh lines and sagging eyelids that belied the boyish-thin body. Flushed cheeks and three cans of Bud, presumably empty, hinted at how Andrea was coping.
Stephanie bent to give Andrea a quick hug, “I’m so sorry.” Dan stayed at the top of the steps while the two women embraced.
“You must be that Mahoney fellow Stephanie mentioned.”
Dan stepped forward as the women sat down on the swing.
“Yes. I wanted to offer my condolences.”
“Not much good talk will do now. Nineteen years old. She never even had a chance to live.”
“I understand she’d just gotten married.” Not that marriage equated to living, but it was something.
The derisive snort startled him. “Married, all right. More like a one-night stand gone bad. Her father did the same thing to me. Just took off. Me with a year-old baby in this one-horse town. At least she found out he was a no-good before she wasted much time. And had any complications.”
Dan started to stand up for his gender, but then noticed Stephanie’s pursed lips. Two against one—not good odds.
“She’d only been home a week and already she’d found a job. That girl was a go-getter. If there was money to be had, she was first in line.”
“Where did she find work?” Stephanie paused to pop the tab on a fresh Bud retrieved from a cooler beside the swing.
Dan shook his head when offered one. He was more interested in this job opportunity—hoping it wasn’t more mid-afternoon phone sex but guessed she wouldn’t tell her mother if that was it.
“She was going to be working for old lady Kennedy’s daughter filing and doing research on the Internet. You know, out at the chicken farm.”
Buster’s place. The car, Amber’s body, both within a mile of there.
Did it mean anything? It put Amber in the vicinity and gave her a reason for being there. Penny Kennedy didn’t mention any help. Just said she worked for the old coot on weekends. And it sure painted a picture of Amber as an eager worker—a real hustler—what was it her mother just said? First in line for money? What would she have been willing to do? He guessed they’
d never know now. But filing and research seemed legit. Maybe Amber had been turning over a new leaf.
“Did she say how she’d found out about the job?” He wasn’t sure where this was leading but he idly wondered if it had been advertised. The operation looked to be pretty good sized. Strange that it would be run by one full-time scientist or whatever Doc’s actual title was, a file clerk, and a half dozen Mexican Nationals in the field. For a federally granted program it sure had a mom and pop feel to it. Maybe times were tough in the save-the- prairie-chicken business.
“She met Penny Kennedy at the bank when she was filling in for Stephanie.” A nod toward the other end of the porch swing. “Old Mrs. Kennedy was just about driving her daughter nuts. Sending her in to take out the necklace, then forgetting she’d just seen it, and sending her back to take it out again. In and out. I don’t think the young Ms. Kennedy got anything else done last summer for running back and forth to the bank with that necklace.”
Dan caught Stephanie’s eye when Andrea reached down to get another Bud. A slight shake of the head and Stephanie nodded. No need to mention that there was no sign-in evidence to back up Amber’s story. Had she told her mother the truth? It didn’t make sense that she’d lie. Dan made small talk while Stephanie finished her beer, then they both again offered their condolences and left.
“That’s the strangest thing. Maybe Ms. Kennedy is suffering from Alzheimer’s, after all, but still…” Stephanie shook her head. “In all my time at the bank, Gertrude Kennedy never came in more than two or three times a year to take the necklace out and clean it. Never. And in the midst of all this traipsing back and forth by her daughter, Ms. Kennedy stuck to her cleaning schedule. The log proves that.”
“I suppose it could support Penny’s finding the necklace between the mattress and box springs. That would account for some of the running back and forth until Gert forgot where she’d put it. That gave Penny a reason to get your boss involved.”
“And that’s another thing. When the necklace was found and with the boxes all torn up, I suggested to Mr. Woods that we assign one of the three empty boxes to Ms. Kennedy—just until things got back to normal. Well, he’d hear none of that. He put the necklace in a private safe in his office.”
Dan was mentally taking notes. One very expensive necklace had been getting handed around a lot lately. And it gave him an idea. Something that probably needed to be checked. United Life & Casualty had a clause that when an item had been out of the insured’s hands for any length of time or a chain of events gave cause to suspect the item might have been open to alteration, an appraisal was in order. Usually an appraisal was done every two years. He’d check to see when the necklace had last been evaluated and then have the home office email the appropriate forms. Just a precaution but he couldn’t still that nagging feeling of something not quite right.
“One other thing…I keep forgetting to ask the name of the guard or guards on duty Labor Day weekend.”
“We had two during the day—during the week—and only one at night. Weekends and holidays were always the same, one guard. Poor old Sam Bailey had been with the bank for years but this burglary was just too much for him. I think he blamed himself for not detecting the tunnel. But could you really expect a man to look at the padlock every day? The Federal inspectors said they used an exact replica. Slipped the old one off and put their own on—same make and everything. How would he have known?”
“So it was this Sam Bailey who was on duty over that weekend?”
“Well, he was supposed to be but he was recuperating from a bout of pneumonia that had turned into bronchitis—he was a longtime smoker. I remember he called in on Thursday. Mr. Woods took the call.”
“So there was a substitute?”
“There was supposed to be but there was some mix-up. Mr. Woods called Tim Echols and he was able to do it Thursday but then there was a truck turnover, big mess, mostly chemicals just north of here and he had to bow out. I’m not sure how it was handled.”
“Is this Sam Bailey a local?”
“Used to be. Stayed here long after he lost his wife. Old habits, I guess. Sometimes the familiar is comforting. I heard he moved into Albuquerque to live with his sister a couple weeks ago.”
“Did he supervise the other guards?”
“Well, yes and no…the guard during the day he did, but Tim Echols worked the weekend and he was a deputy for Sheriff Howard. I always got the idea that Tim answered to the sheriff.”
Dan was quiet. Echols. The ubiquitous Echols. But the sheriff had been up front about it—didn’t try to hide his involvement.
“The Feds cleared everyone, Sam shouldn’t have beat himself up for something he really couldn’t have done anything about. Plus, he was past retirement age. Probably good for him to just kick back.”
Dan nodded. Kicking back had a certain appeal and getting out of Wagon Mound was probably good for him. He mentally crossed Sam Bailey off his list of interviewees.
***
The emails from UL&C were there when he got back to the apartment. A quick download and a save to the flash drive and he was off to make copies. This time with an almost delirious Simon in the backseat. Stir-crazy probably captured what the big dog was going through. And he could certainly relate.
He took out his cell phone. Dan wasn’t sure of a plan but was making one up as he went. First, a call to an appraiser in Santa Fe. United Life & Casualty had used Ortega’s in the past and, yes, they would be able to take a look at the necklace that afternoon. Dan made an appointment for four-thirty.
Next, a call to the sheriff. Dan assumed the necklace was at home with Gert but he wouldn’t feel right asking to take the necklace without substantial backup—knew that Gert would feel safer with an armed guard so to speak. He caught Sheriff Howard on the way to a late lunch. Yeah, he’d go with him and yes, he’d let Simon ride in the squad car. That was easy. Dan would demand an explanation of that “person of interest” comment later. First things first…now to explain to Gert why he needed to borrow the necklace for a few hours. And get her to sign the release. Dan called ahead then met Sheriff Howard at the Kennedys’ house.
“It’s company policy and under the circumstances, I’m sure you understand.” Dan waited on the steps while Gert signed the UL&C papers and went to get the Barbasol can.
“Actually, it will be a relief. I wonder if old Mr. Ortega—my, I shouldn’t say old, he’s younger than I am—would keep the necklace at the store? In one of their safes until I get mine put in here?”
“I think that’s a good idea. I could probably make a case for UL&C picking up the tab.”
“Oh, that would be comforting. With all that’s happened at the bank and it’s going to be another two weeks before the masons can get the platform built…well, it would be best to know it’s being looked after.”
“Is Penny here?” Not that Gert didn’t have signature authority, she did, but it would be a good idea to alert Penny to the plan. Standing there talking to a very lucid Gert made the Alzheimer’s claim seem suspect, but still…and he’d wanted to check out Andrea Medger’s claim that Penny had been run ragged taking the necklace in and out of the vault.
“Oh my, no. She’s working. She’s always working—sometimes six days a week. I think she’d be out there on Sunday if I didn’t yammer at her about God setting aside a day for rest. I tell her she needs to slow down but the money comes in handy.”
Well, that contradicted the weekend-only claim made by Penny—something about not leaving her mother alone. Didn’t anyone in this town tell the truth? And in this case, who was fibbing?
Gert slipped the necklace into a velvet drawstring bag after wrapping it in tissue. “There. I feel so much better already. And with Sheriff Howard helping, I just don’t have to worry about a thing.” A coquettish smile and Gert and the Barbasol can went back inside the house.
***
“You know, I have a bone to pick with you.” Dan slipped into the passenger-side seat of the cruiser after opening the back door for Simon and then admonishing the dog to be good and get down. This was a good time to confront the sheriff—no interruptions.
“What for?”
“Calling me ‘a person of interest’ in Elaine’s disappearance.”
“’Fraid that wasn’t me.”
“You didn’t tell that news team from Albuquerque that I was a suspect?”
“Oh, them. They’ll say anything to get a story. They came by the office but I didn’t speak to them.”
Maybe he shouldn’t, but Dan believed him. “No nonsense” pretty much summed up the sheriff.
“Let me get your read on something else.” Dan related Tim’s reaction to his question about Amber and Emily knowing each other and wasn’t prepared for the sheriff’s reaction.
After a loud guffaw and a slap to the dash, Sheriff Howard just chuckled. “I’m surprised you’re still alive. You sure have a talent for stepping in it.”
Dan wasn’t sure what “it” was but he thought the sheriff was about to tell him. He was getting a little irked at appearing foolish.
“Rumor has it Amber broke up Tim’s marriage…seems he was dippin’ his wick where he shouldn’t. Amber was a looker and a little too fast for her own good. Emily being a new mom and all…well, not a good time in a woman’s life to two-time her.”
Dan almost laughed himself. So much for thinking he’d chosen a safe subject. But it was odd that Emily only came into the bank to check on her safe deposit box when Amber was there. If the two had made up, Tim wouldn’t have reacted like he did. Something didn’t make sense.