Fatal Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series)

by Mark de Castrique

  I heard the blade scrape against bone, maybe his ribcage, maybe his backbone. I didn’t care. I twisted the handle and thrust it deeper. The force banged him into the edge of the door and then hurled him inside. His head cracked on the concrete, but he didn’t cry out.

  I stood over him, holding the knife in front of me in hands drenched with his blood. I saw moonlight reflecting off the revolver five feet away. I picked it up and turned on the lights.

  Hampton’s sightless eyes stared at the ceiling. His body looked like a gutted chicken. I’d plunged the knife through his down vest and red-stained feathers clumped together in soggy lumps. Wisps of steam rose in the chilly air.

  Paulo cradled Rachel in his lap. Her black jacket had even darker splotches on the right side of her chest.

  “She saved my life.” Paulo stroked her forehead. Her skin was deathly pale.

  “Is she breathing?”

  “Yes. But very little.”

  I ran to Brock and cut his cords.

  “Take off your jacket and shirt,” I said as soon as he was free. “You’re the only one who isn’t bloody. I don’t want Rachel lying on the cold floor.”

  He stripped and we spread his clothing beside her.

  I knelt by Paulo. “Let’s gently ease her over. Keep her head cradled in your hands.”

  We slid her onto the makeshift ground cover. I pulled open her jacket and saw the chest wound bleeding below her right breast.

  “I’m going to apply direct pressure. Dave, do you know how to work a police radio?”

  “Yes. I’ve ridden with the Asheville cops before.”

  “Radio in for an ambulance and deputies. And tell the dispatcher to find Dr. Susan Miller and have her meet us at the emergency room.”

  He sprinted to the patrol car.

  Paulo murmured prayers. I didn’t care if they were in Spanish or Portuguese as long as they worked. I kept the heel of my palm pressed flat against Rachel’s chest.

  “Hold on,” I whispered.

  Her eyes fluttered, but she said nothing.

  For a second I saw Travis Oakley under my hands, his life bleeding out in the doorway of Pace’s church.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  The hospital put me in a small waiting room separate from the general public. Although I wasn’t injured, they asked that I change into a hospital gown until fresh clothes arrived. The staff was nervous about my blood-soaked uniform, the second in less than a week. My cleaning bill was going to be astronomical.

  Carson had taken Paulo Oliveira into custody. I told him Paulo’s actions saved our lives. Then I rode in the ambulance with Rachel. Susan and her trauma team took her straight into the operating room.

  An hour passed without any update. I thought about the irony of my girlfriend operating on my ex-wife. I didn’t know if the longer I went without word, the better or worse the situation. If Rachel were going to die, would it have been early in the surgery?

  A knock came from the door and Tommy Lee entered.

  “Nice dress,” he said. “Could use some accessories.”

  “Any word?”

  He shook his head and dropped in a chair across from me. “Still in surgery is all the O.R. supervisor would say.” He stretched out his legs. “You feel up to telling me what happened?”

  “Might as well. Otherwise you’ll ask me to dance.”

  “Nah. You’d want to lead.”

  I ran through the events beginning with my call on Ralph. Tommy Lee didn’t interrupt a single time.

  When I finished, he asked, “How did you know it was Hampton?”

  “The trees. I saw Travis Oakley’s marking and realized I’d been both right and wrong.”

  “About what?”

  “Misdirection. You know we considered that from the start. Melissa Bigham’s first article mentioned Archie Donovan might have been the intended victim and someone took a shot at him the next morning. Misdirection and protection. They didn’t want the investigation to lead to the Christmas tree rustling, and Archie was the perfect decoy.”

  I had another thought. “Protection probably played a role in Ralph Atkinson’s response. He was anxious to protect the name of his dead son, and Hampton could have confronted him with the threat of exposure.”

  I thought how Mr. Nolan wanted his son to be honored for his military service and how Mrs. Oakley wanted her son to be saved. “A grieving parent will go to great lengths to protect the reputation of his children.”

  Tommy Lee looked skeptical. “But murder?”

  “I think Ralph told Bruce Hampton what he learned from the mayor. He never dreamed Hampton would shoot his son’s killer. That’s what put the ultimate fear in Ralph. Maybe not for himself, but for Greta. He said Greta was all he had left like she might be taken away from him.”

  “How were you wrong?”

  “I applied the misdirection to the wrong person. I got it in my head that Ron Simmons was involved with Carl. He came on strong with his story about Carl being involved with loan sharks. That would shift our investigation to Atlanta. Then I interpreted what I observed to fit my theory. A very bad mistake. I suspected Simmons was overstating his dislike for Carl so that they wouldn’t be tied together. He could supply Carl with money for the laborers, keeping funds in his new safe, with Carl having a separate bank account so there was never a link between the dealership account and Carl’s.”

  “How did Travis Oakley’s trees change that?”

  “Travis’ dying words were ‘I cut my’ and then he said ‘my trees.’ ‘I cut my trees’ wasn’t a significant statement. But if he thought he’d vocalized a complete sentence, it could have been ‘I cut my initials in my trees.’ When I saw the T and O on the tree trunk, I realized Travis had seen his trees at the warehouse. Maybe being unloaded from his trailer. Maybe spotting the white baling cords where Ralph used orange. Travis didn’t have to be within the fence, just close enough for a clear view. He might have seen Blake Junior’s trees being baled behind the buildings. A lot could have happened that Tuesday night.

  “Travis set up a meeting with Blake Junior and then the one and only coincidence occurred. Blake Junior hit the buck. A perfectly explainable event given the time and location. But for Travis it was proof that Blake Junior had been murdered and Carl orchestrated it. Tom Oakley had convinced his son that the Atkinsons were untouchable.”

  Tommy Lee nodded. “Okay. I’m with you. What led you to Hampton?”

  “He came in the department Saturday morning after Carl’s murder and told us a trailer of trees had been spotted heading for South Carolina. If he and Carl were working together, then he knew Travis’ trees had been snatched. I doubt he knew who killed Carl, but he wasn’t taking any chances, in case we linked the murder to the thefts. He didn’t want us searching in the county so he created a plausible story misdirecting us to look elsewhere. Later he said his eyewitness had suddenly returned to Mexico. That was a coincidence that should have flagged my suspicions, but I missed it.”

  “You weren’t alone.”

  “We suspected migrant labor was involved. Carl was carrying the cash to pay them. That’s where part of his bank withdrawal went Friday night. Paulo Oliveira holding a gun on me was all the proof I needed. But Hampton was the labor contractor, closer to the migrants than Carl, and certainly closer than Simmons. Simmons only has a small farm and would rarely if ever use migrant workers. I saw those initials and suddenly all the facts took on a new meaning. Hampton’s visit to the department Saturday also meant he could have fired the shot at Archie.”

  Tommy Lee leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Damn. I wish I’d been running a recorder and saved you from writing all this up. Why’d you tell Paulo it was Simmons?”

  “A last ditch effort to make Paulo’s expectations come true. Hampton must have told him he was clearing out, loading the trees and leaving us alive. Even if that was a remote possibility, I didn’t think Hampton would let us go if he thought I knew he was guilty. Not given the braz
en way he gunned down Travis. I also wanted Paulo to understand the scenario in which Hampton would make him the fall guy. He didn’t know the term, but he grasped the concept. Hampton arrived and his actions matched every point I’d made. It was like we’d planned the checklist together.”

  “That was smart of you.”

  I waited for his punch line.

  “No, I mean it. You saved your life and everyone else’s.”

  “Not Rachel’s.” I felt tears on my cheeks. “Now that’s up to Susan.”

  Tommy Lee nodded. We sat in silence for a few moments.

  I took a deep breath. “If I’d been smart I’d have confirmed Hampton’s story by immediately tracking down his alleged witnesses.”

  “Yeah. And if I’d been smart I’d have bought shares of Microsoft in 1985. So, don’t beat yourself up.” Tommy Lee stood. “I’ve got to get back to the department. Carson’s getting a full confession out of Paulo. We’ll see how much matches your deductions. Call me when you’ve got news on Rachel.”

  I looked away. “I’m not ready.”

  “Stay here as long as you want. We’ve got it covered.”

  “I’m not ready to be sheriff. I screwed up too many things, and then I misjudged Carson.”

  “And I misjudged Shelton. Personnel decisions are the toughest ones you have to make. I’m not giving up on Shelton so don’t give up on yourself. It’s not becoming.” He slapped me on the shoulder. “Especially in that outfit.” He walked out the door, and then stuck his head back in. “If we always waited till we were totally ready, we’d never accomplish much. Besides, I might run again. You’re too much fun to watch.”

  I sat alone for another five minutes reliving the events in the warehouse. In addition to Paulo, Brock had saved our lives. He knew he couldn’t reach his knife with his hands tied behind his back, but he could reach my pocket if we were left close together. Slipping the knife to me had been better magic than my rope trick.

  As I’d crawled in the ambulance, Brock was running around in his underwear with his camera on his shoulder. “Rachel will want B-roll,” he yelled. He was right. And she deserved it.

  The door of the private waiting room opened. Mom came in carrying clothes. She set them in an empty chair and gave me a hug.

  “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “And Rachel?”

  “Still in surgery.”

  “Do you want me to take you to the cabin?”

  I grabbed a pair of jeans and pulled them on under my gown. “No. I’m staying here till we know more. Ask Fletcher if he’ll run up and take care of Democrat and George.”

  “I’ll go,” Mom said.

  “It’s late and I’ll worry about you driving in the dark.” I smiled and hugged her again. “I’ve got enough to worry about.”

  She sat while I put on a clean shirt and socks.

  “How’d the visitation go?”

  She shrugged. “Big. Like you’d expect for the Atkinsons. Halfway through it, Reece came in with the news.”

  “I hope he didn’t announce it in the middle of the receiving line.”

  “No. Tommy Lee was paying his respects. Reece pulled him aside and then they took Ralph and Greta into the kitchen for privacy. Tommy Lee felt they needed to know since it happened on their property. Some of the late arrivers would have heard the news and told them.”

  “What was their reaction?”

  Mom sighed. “Shock. Ralph kept mumbling Carl’s name over and over. I was afraid he was going to have a heart attack.”

  “Did they get home okay?”

  “Your uncle Wayne drove them. Fletcher followed to bring him back.”

  I thought about seeing my uncle’s car at their house earlier in the day. “Is there some history with the Atkinsons I don’t know?”

  “History?”

  “Uncle Wayne just seems different around them. I’m not sure how to explain it.”

  Mom nodded. “Your uncle was once engaged to Greta.”

  “What?” Of all the surprises I’d just been through, this was the biggest. “You’re kidding.”

  “A long, long time ago.”

  “How come I never heard about it?”

  “It’s not the kind of thing you talk about.”

  “What happened?”

  Mom gave a wistful smile. “You know your uncle. Never one to rush into anything. He was nineteen. I was thirteen. Greta was the prettiest girl in town. Greta Daniels was her name back then. But Wayne had to have everything set first. A car, a house, a good job. Everything had to be perfect before he was ready. He popped the question but never committed to a date.”

  “She got tired of waiting?”

  “Some of it was that. Some of it was her older sister Ruth got MS. Like Greta, she was single and living at home. The family got swamped with medical bills. Ralph came along. I guess Greta thought if it was so important to have all those things Wayne wanted before getting married, then here was a man who already had them. Ralph was good to her sister too. He paid for the best medical care available at the time.”

  “She broke the engagement?”

  “She broke your uncle’s heart. Wayne never got over it.” Mom folded her hands in her lap. “There. Now you know a family secret.”

  “I won’t say anything.”

  “Nobody to tell. There aren’t many people alive who remember. The rest have newer gossip to talk about.” She stood. “I should have brought you some supper.”

  “I’m not hungry. Maybe Susan and I’ll get a bite later.”

  “Susan’s a good woman, son.” She looked at me with one of those mom stares until I nodded in agreement.

  “Yes, I know.”

  Mom turned away and then stopped. “I saw Melissa Bigham in the waiting room. She wanted me to tell you she’ll stay as late as she needs to if you want to talk.”

  “She can come back now.” Dave Brock had his B-roll for Rachel. Melissa would get her story. A promise was a promise.

  A few minutes later, the door opened again. I looked up expecting Melissa.

  Susan stepped in. Her face was drained from exhaustion.

  I stood. My stomach knotted.

  Her voice broke as she whispered three words. “We lost her.”

  Chapter Twenty-six

  “No. Oh, God, no.” I sat down hard in the chair and covered my eyes. Susan’s hand touched my shoulder, but I turned away, smothering a sob in my throat. The drone of the overhead fluorescents swelled to a roar broken only by the repetition of my own words coming back to haunt me.

  When I again looked up, a man in green scrubs had taken Susan’s place. I recognized him as Herb Franken, an anesthesiologist.

  “Barry. We want you to know how sorry we are.”

  “We?”

  “Susan’s O.R. team. And we want you to know she did everything humanly possible to save Rachel’s life.”

  “I have no doubt.”

  He looked away and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “And I’ve never seen her more upset at losing a patient.”

  I stood. “Where is she?”

  “I passed her in the hall. She was crying. I think she was heading for the women’s locker room.”

  “Thanks, Herb.” I ran by him and bumped into Melissa Bigham just outside the door. Her pale face told me she’d heard the news.

  “Barry, we can do this later.”

  “Wait here. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

  Before she could reply, I hurried on. In my grief, I’d ignored Susan and I didn’t want her to think for one second I thought she bore any blame for Rachel’s death. I barged through the door marked Women Only. A housekeeper was changing a trash bag in the container between the lockers and the showers.

  She pushed her cleaning cart at me. “Hey, get out of here.”

  I ignored her. “Susan!”

  The woman looked over her shoulder toward the sound of running water. “Dr. Miller is washing up.”

>   “Susan,” I cried again.

  “I’m going to call security.”

  The water stopped. Susan stepped in the broad doorway, a towel draped around her shoulders. She’d taken off her blouse to wash her face and wore only a bra and slacks.

  “Barry?”

  “Can we talk?”

  She turned to the cleaning lady. “It’s all right. You can leave us.”

  “Do you want me to wait outside the door?”

  “No, I’ll be fine.”

  The woman gave me a suspicious glare as she wheeled her cart toward the door.

  Susan dabbed her cheeks with the towel, tossed it in a bin, and walked to a locker. She pulled her blue blouse from a hanger and slipped it on.

  I waited till I heard the door latch behind me.

  “I’m sorry.” I struggled for the right words. “I didn’t mean to shut you out.”

  Susan took a deep breath and sat on the polished wooden bench that ran the length of the lockers. “This isn’t about me. Rachel’s the one who died on my operating table.” She looked at her fingers as if they had failed her.

  “Because she was shot and we couldn’t get her to you in time.” I sat beside her and clutched her right hand with my left. She trembled at the touch. “There’s no one who could have done anything more for her. I know that with all my heart. I’m the one who screwed up.”

  “Barry, you’re the one who even gave her the chance to make it here. I just heard you took on Bruce Hampton with a knife while he had a gun.”

  “I also told Rachel to get up and run. That sent her straight into the path of Hampton’s bullet.”

  “You weren’t responsible for her being there. She made that choice. What choice did you have? What could you have done differently knowing what you knew at the time?”

  “What could you have done differently in the O.R.?”

  She tightened her grip on my hand. “Absolutely nothing. That’s why I feel so helpless.”

  “Helpless.” I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. “We’re not helpless when we help each other.”

  ***