by Lisa Bork
“Ah … we’ve never been robbed.”
“That’s not what I’m asking you. I’m asking if the alarm has ever been activated, especially at a time when none of us were available to turn it off.”
“Oh.” I heard Cory sigh. “Well, just once. You all went to a family wedding and left me in charge. I decided to stay overnight with a … new friend. The town plow lifted a manhole cover and it flew through the front window. The alarm company tried to get in touch with all of us but we weren’t available.” He paused then rushed to the finish. “I paid for the new glass to be installed so you guys wouldn’t know I messed up.”
My cell phone started to beep, indicating a low battery. “That’s fine. But who turned the alarm off?”
“Walter Burnbaum. He was giving me dirty looks for weeks afterward.”
I slumped down onto the step, scarcely feeling the pain in my back as my mind reeled with the implications of Cory’s statement.
“So why are you asking me about this now, Jo?”
“I think Walter killed Tim.”
“What?”
I replayed my thoughts for Cory, who punctuated each one with an exclamation of “Holy shit!”
“So I’m thinking it’s Walter.”
“I can maybe see opportunity and means, but what’s his motive, Jo?”
I thought about the cash in my apartment and the town’s missing money. The woman at the town clerk’s office said we made twenty-five thousand a year in parking meter fees and parking tickets, but that figure sounded low given the volume of tourists. I’m sure we’d discussed higher numbers than that in past business association meetings. It was Walter’s sole responsibility to empty the meters. What if Walter had been skimming for years? What if Tim had done the math and come to the same conclusion? Would he have requested an audit team to prove his suspicions? Would he have been foolish enough to confront Walter privately first?
“The meter fees.”
My cell phone beeped incessantly, breaking up Cory’s reply. “Wh … fe … Jo?”
“I’m calling Ray right now, Cory.”
I hit the end button and tried to dial Ray’s number. My battery was now dead. I stumbled to my feet and darted into the house, using the phone on the kitchen wall. Ray’s cell phone rang straight to voicemail. I wouldn’t have been surprised if his message said, “If this is Jolene Asdale, I’m never speaking to you again.” But it didn’t.
“Ray, I think I know who killed Tim.” I asked him to try my cell phone or come see me when he got my message. Then I dialed the sheriff’s office. Ray wasn’t there either. I asked for Gumby. I hesitated to give him all the details, because if I was wrong, everyone in town would hear about it, including Walter and his family. I wasn’t confident enough to take that risk with anyone but Cory and Ray. Instead, I told Gumby that I needed to speak with Ray a.s.a.p. about Tim’s death.
“What for, Jolene?”
“I just need to speak to Ray. It’s very important.”
“It always is. That man drops everything for you, except not his pants anymore, right?”
I hung up the phone in disgust. How Gumby ever got to be on the force was beyond me.
I wanted to drive around and see if I could spot Ray somewhere, but his territory covered almost a six-mile radius. No way would I be able to locate him on my own. I would just have to wait.
I checked my watch. Brennan Rowe had said he’d be around until two. It was almost two now. I would drive by his construction site to pick up the check and ask him if he had in fact been Tim’s boyfriend. He may have been the one who accompanied Tim to Vegas. I could see why Tim found it easier to let Becky believe that it was me. If Brennan was Tim’s boyfriend, then Tim might have confided his suspicions about Walter.
After apologizing profusely to Sarah for destroying all of her hard work, I lowered myself painfully into the low-slung seat of the Porsche, and hit the gas.
When I pulled off the main road onto the construction site, I didn’t see any sign of activity. No cars or trucks, no demolition work, no nothing, but it was Friday. Maybe his workers cut out early for the weekend, too. Or maybe it was just too cold to work.
I parked next to the trailer and knocked. When no one answered, I tried the handle, only to find it locked. I walked around the back of the trailer to look for Brennan’s car. The site was indeed unoccupied by man or car. A quick check of my watch confirmed I was only five minutes late, but I hadn’t called to say that I was coming. Apparently, Brennan didn’t wait around.
The crunch of wheels on the gravel road into the site brought me back around to the front of the trailer. A maroon minivan glided up and parked. Not exactly the kind of car I pictured Brennan Rowe driving, but then, minivans are common on the road. This one was the same color as the ones I’d noticed at least twice this week.
The thought no sooner crossed my mind than the man stepped out of the van, a gangly man wearing black, a man with a hawk nose. The Beak. He had his switchblade in his hand.
The Beak sauntered over and came to a stop about two yards from me. He flicked the switchblade back and forth. The sun glare from it made me blink.
“I thought you were in Arizona.” I pressed my fingers over my mouth to prevent further nonsense from blurting out. Clearly he had been following me around town all along.
“I never left here. I tapped your phone and I stayed to monitor the wire.” He held out his empty hand. “I’d like my list of gambling debtors back now.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Liar. I heard you talking to the truck driver. Give me your purse.”
“If you tapped my phone, you know the Sheriff’s Department already has a copy of this list.”
“They can have a hundred copies as long as I have one to collect on.”
“Don’t you have the original on a computer?”
The Beak’s lips formed a grim line. “Computers got seized in the bust. I’m working on my own now.”
Great, his boss had been busted but he soldiered on like some militant, only to his own benefit. And my detriment.
I didn’t think I could dodge him and reach my car in time to escape, and of course, my cell phone was still plugged into the car charger and lost to me. He probably wouldn’t appreciate being hit in the head with my purse again, either.
I dropped it to the ground and tried to remember what we’d learned in self-defense class about disarming an attacker holding a knife. Something about grabbing the weapon in my hand and holding the blade in the curve of my fingers so it wouldn’t cut me. It had sounded good at the time, but we never practiced that move.
The Beak took two steps forward and brandished the blade. I jumped back. He knelt and picked up my purse, retreated to his van, and set it on the hood to dig through it. I watched, happy he’d left me behind and intact. He pulled the lists from it and shook them in the air triumphantly. Throwing my purse on the ground, he pulled open his door and paused as we both heard the crunch of another vehicle’s tires on the drive. I looked up to see a brown Crown Victoria approaching.
It came to a stop directly behind the minivan. No one got out. The Beak’s car was now trapped between it, my car, and some huge black plastic piping undoubtedly waiting to be installed as the sewage system. The Beak could still make it off the property if he didn’t mind a little bumper car action. Apparently he came to the same conclusion because he turned his back on the new arrival and bent as though about to climb in his car.
I heard a rifle cock. The Beak must have, too. He looked at me. I was looking between him and Walter, who had stepped out of the unmarked car, armed with a hunting rifle.
“I got plenty of shots, boy, and I never miss. Drop the knife and move over by Jolene, please.”
Any relief I’d felt at the sight of Walter died as soon as he looked at me. I could see rage and determination in his eyes.
The Beak tilted his nose into the air defiantly, then continued to slide into his car. A shot rang out. He screamed and g
rabbed at his ear. Blood appeared between his fingers.
I jumped back. Walter swung the gun my way. “Stay right where you are, Jolene.”
He swung the rifle back toward the Beak.
“I repeat, drop the knife and move over by Jolene.”
The Beak walked over to my side, shooting daggers my way like it was my fault he’d been shot. In a way, I suppose it was. Blood dripped from his ear, coating his jacket in a brown polka-dot design. I watched it drip and had to pry my gaze away as my stomach started to churn.
Walter approached us and stopped. He had the rifle at his right shoulder and his eye trained on the sight. He appeared calm and in control except for the slight flutter of his left eyelid. I couldn’t believe it was the same mild-mannered man I’d known for years. Ray always did say to watch out for the quiet, polite ones.
“My son heard that nurse talking to you, Jolene. He asked me a lot of questions. The questions end here and now.”
Walter wasn’t in uniform. He was in hunting camouflage. For a brief second, I wondered if he’d been the one robbing all the stores, but then I realized Ray and I would have recognized his distinctive strut, a cocky walk he’d developed when his wrestling team became state champs.
He raised his head and seemed to have half an eye on us as the other half scanned the construction site, weighing the possibilities, no doubt. I decided the best option was to start talking and keep him talking. Maybe someone would happen by and spot our plight from the road.
I fumbled for words to placate him. “I’m sure Tim’s death was an accident, Walter. We’ll talk to Ray and work it out.”
He pointed the rifle barrel at my throat. “Shut up, Jolene.”
Walter was not going to be placated. I tried a different approach. “If you’re going to kill me, the least you could do is fill me in on why.”
The Beak piped up. “Is this the guy who stuffed the stiff in the boss’s Ferrari?”
I let him join in the conversation, feeling more confident with his presence than I would have alone. We outnumbered Walter. Perhaps we could outtalk him, too. “Yes.”
“The one who’s been robbing parking meters?”
“The same.”
“Man, you gotta rid yourself of the public service mentality. You should try gambling and extortion. Pays a lot better than a few grand a year.”
Walter flushed and the creases in his frown deepened. I wanted to smack the Beak because he’d further irritated Walter.
“Shut up, both of you. Start walking toward the barn.” Walter pointed toward it with the rifle barrel.
Neither of us moved.
“Now!” Walter shrieked and fired a warning shot into the air.
We scrambled to obey, with me in the lead, the Beak following. I had visions of Walter shooting me and blood draining from my chest. My heart started to pound. I sucked in air and pressed my hand over my heart, trying to remain calm and think. But all I could think of was Erica. Would she now talk to both Mom and me from the grave?
The snow had made the ground muddy. I slipped a few times in my high-heeled black boots. Several times the heel stuck in the ground and I had to jerk it out. Once, the Beak even grabbed my bicep and yanked me out.
I couldn’t see any weapons except gravel on the ground ahead of us. The sound of Walter’s heavy breaths behind us only made my heart beat faster. He sounded like a bull about to charge. My gaze darted, looking for something, anything, to help us escape.
Ten feet from the decaying barn I caught sight of something hopping and springing across the snow, leaving a trail of tiny tracks. It was a tan field mouse, no bigger than my fist.
He stopped to chew on something he held in his forefeet then wiggled through a hole in the base of the fire-engine red barn. The last thing I saw was his tail flick through the opening. I froze. The Beak slammed into my back, propelling me forward onto my knees and splashing my new white coat with mud.
Walter fingered the trigger. “Get up, Jolene. Stop screwing around.”
“No.” I folded my legs and crossed my arms. “I’m not going in that barn. I’m not doing another damn thing you ask.” I looked at the bank of melting snow next to me. “As a matter of fact, I’m leaving a note.” I took my finger and wrote in the snow “Walter killed Tim.”
Walter shoved his rifle in the Beak’s back and pushed him aside to shuffle through my words, destroying them. “Cut it out, Jolene.”
My anger overcame my good sense. “You’re going to have to shoot me now, Walter. Right now, right here.”
He pointed the rifle at me but didn’t seem prepared to shoot. “Damn you, it’s all your fault.”
I struggled to my feet. “My fault? I didn’t kill Tim Lapham, you did.”
Walter began to alternate pointing the rifle barrel at the Beak then me. It occurred to me that he couldn’t shoot us both if we tried to rush him.
“You couldn’t leave it alone. You had to ruin everything.” Walter’s one eyelid was now fluttering out of control but his other eye remained firmly fixed on us.
“Walter, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Can you explain?” I folded my arms to hide their shaking and waited.
When Walter spoke again, his voice sounded strangled. “I had to put Mikey in the psych center. Martha was beside herself and left for her mother’s. Tim came over to my house that night and accused me of embezzling the parking fees and padding my expenses. He said you had pointed out to him that the town must make an awful lot of money on the meters.”
I gave myself a mental slap in the head. The Beak frowned at me.
Walter continued, “When he did the math and checked the records, he realized I was skimming. He was going to tell the town board. If he did, I would lose my job, Martha, everything. I panicked. When he stood up to leave, I grabbed my hunting knife and stabbed him.” Tears rolled down Walter’s face. “I didn’t mean it.”
The Beak shifted as though uncomfortable. “Oh, man.”
I was more than a little uncomfortable. I had gotten into a bit of a rant that day in my showroom when Tim told me about the zoning board’s complaints. Apparently, I really had killed Tim Lapham in a way—I’d opened the door to his investigation of Walter. Guilt filled my veins and slowly turned to ice. It was too late for Tim, but I’d applaud the installation of more meters on the streets now if Walter would promise not to kill me.
Walter swept his hand over his face, drying the tears. “I didn’t want to dump Tim in the lake. I wanted his family to be able to bury him. I needed a place to put him where he’d be found, but it wouldn’t point to me. I decided to make the evidence point to you, Jolene.” He met my gaze. This time his eyelid wasn’t twitching.
I swallowed the saliva that had filled my mouth. “Why me, Walter?”
“Because it was all your fault. Besides, I knew Ray would be involved in the investigation. I knew he would never believe you did it. And even if he did, he would never let you go to jail. Never.”
“You’re awfully sure of yourself, Walter. Ray’s an honest cop. I think he’d put me in jail if he had to.”
Walter shook his head. “Never. Everyone in this town knows Ray loves you way too much.”
Everyone but me. I almost asked Walter to shoot me right then and there to put me out of my misery. But first I needed to grovel at Ray’s feet for his forgiveness.
I turned to the Beak and whispered, “What do you say we rush him? Only one of us would get shot. We might not even die.”
The Beak’s eyebrows flew up. He grinned, revealing stained teeth. “I like you. Too bad you’re already married.”
Walter took a few steps back from us, moving the rifle even more rapidly between us. “Stop talking. Stop talking!”
A vein pulsed in his temple. His face turned beet red. I hoped he might have a heart attack on the spot and save us the trouble of fighting our way out. He didn’t.
The Beak breathed, “On the count of three. One … two … three.”
I rushed f
orward. So did the Beak, only he was screaming like a maniac, surprising the shit out of me and Walter, who jumped backward. His rifle wavered. I grabbed hold of it, pushing it skyward. I tried to pull the rifle from his hands. He butted me with it in the stomach. I clenched my teeth and swallowed the pain and nausea as I continued to struggle for control of the weapon. It didn’t take Walter, a trained wrestling coach, long to knock me flat on my ass and leave me gazing at the clouds.
It did take me a couple of seconds to realize the Beak was high-tailing it across the site to his car instead of standing to fight with me. I should have known better than to trust a convicted criminal.
Everything went into slow motion as Walter brought the rifle to his shoulder and squeezed the trigger. The Beak dropped to the ground and didn’t move.
“Walter!”
He swung around and pointed the gun directly at me. “I’m sorry, Jolene, but I’m a police officer. Do you know how long a policeman survives in prison? And what happens to him before he prays for death? Now, get up. We’re going in that building.” He gestured to the new community center with the rifle.
I looked back at the Beak. He still wasn’t moving. Walter would shoot me, too, no doubt about it. I glanced at the building a hundred yards away. A hundred yards to think of plan B.
I got to my feet and started walking. I could hear Walter lumbering behind me, his change jingling in his pockets and the leather of his polished black boots creaking with each step. He was murmuring something under his breath that sounded like “Damn you, Jolene Asdale.” Now I knew Erica wasn’t hearing things after all. I guessed I owed her an apology, too, if I ever got the chance.
We were within a yard of the open doorway. I bolted inside, darting around the first wall I spotted. I heard a shot splinter the framing behind me. The drywall was already up on the first floor. Walter could no longer see me.
I darted around another corner. A second shot rang out. He was catching up fast.
That drywall concealed a stairwell. I took the stairs two steps at a time, snagging my heel in the hem of my pants. I fell to my knees. I struggled to my feet, ripping my pants and feeling as though my heart would burst from my chest. I clawed my way to the top of the stairs.