by Vickie Fee
I stood up quickly, conking my head on the refrigerator ceiling in the process. I think it was an even bigger kick in the head for Dave when he realized it was me, not Di, he’d been talking to through the fridge door.
“Ah, Liv. Hi,” he stammered. “I just picked up a few things at the grocery store for Di.” He sat the grocery bags on the dining table. “I have her spare key . . . for emergencies,” he said, tucking a key on its own little key ring into his pants pocket.
“Of course,” I said, trying hard not to let the smile in my mind spread across my face. We both stood in awkward silence for a moment.
“Here. I’ll put those groceries away,” I said, thankful for something to do.
Dave muttered something like, “Well, then,” and started to go.
“Dave, since you’re here, can I ask you something?”
He looked nervous. I supposed he expected a question of a personal nature. He looked visibly relieved when I asked about Ralph and what would happen next.
Dave sat down at the table, and I took a seat on the sofa. He confirmed my concerns that it would likely be months before Ralph’s trial began. Dave filled me in briefly on his trip to Nashville.
“I talked to Carl Adams. Fortunately for me, but unfortunately for him, Adams spent one day in the hospital and a couple of days laid up at home with a kidney stone last week. He had talked only to a couple of collectors about the possibly stolen goods in the storage unit. The Nashville police are going to interview the two guys he had talked to.”
“Why is that fortunate for you?”
“It cuts down on the number of suspects for Tim Morgan’s murder, in theory, anyway. In reality, the two collectors Adams talked to could have shared that information with several other people. And even if they both have alibis for the time of the murder, that doesn’t mean they couldn’t have hired someone to break into the storage place, who then panicked when Tim confronted him.”
“I hate to bring it up, but did the FBI ever catch up to Bobo when he was visiting Di’s neighbor?”
He glowered at me for only a moment.
“Yeah, you lucked out on that one. Apparently, the neighbor was busy entertaining when you raised the ruckus with the agents.”
“Good,” I said sheepishly.
Di came through the front door, momentarily interrupting the conversation.
“Hey, you two.”
She didn’t seem in the least unnerved to find her best friend and her boyfriend chatting at her place in her absence. She took a seat on the sofa beside me.
“I guess you picked up those groceries,” she said, nodding to Dave. Then turning to me, she asked, “Why exactly are you hiding out here?”
“Ralph was released from custody today, and Larry Joe didn’t feel comfortable with me being at the house by myself. Ralph’s been warned that he’s not permitted on-site at McKay’s, pending the trial. Larry Joe’s worried he might come to the house, trying to get his job back—which would be a huge waste of time. Larry Joe said he’d call me when he’s headed home.”
“So, how did the Erdmans’ party go last night?” Di asked.
“I’ll tell you about it one day—when I’m strong enough.”
“Okay,” Di said. “Dave, tell us about your trip.”
Dave brought her up to speed on what happened in Nashville.
“What about the damaged hard drive from the storage place? Have they had any luck getting video off of it?” Di asked.
“No word yet,” he said.
“Dave,” I said, “assuming the person who murdered Tim is the same person who killed the Farrells, I don’t think it likely that it’s someone from Nashville or a professional brought in by some drug lord. I mean, the Farrells were both shot in the chest, not in the head, like a hit man might do. And I don’t believe a hit man, or any out-of-towner, would have dumped the bodies at the Erdmans’ house, would they?”
“In the first place, we can’t assume it’s the same killer. There’s nothing in the evidence to make that case. Secondly, a hit man isn’t necessarily a professional, in the sense of being experienced. It’s just someone who’s willing to kill for a certain amount of money.”
“But if it was the same killer, that would rule out Ralph and Rudy, who were in custody at the time,” I said, undeterred by Dave’s line of reasoning. “So wouldn’t that seem to make Bobo a likely suspect?”
“I don’t think so,” Dave said, promptly bursting my bubble without remorse. “Agent Dooley told me, unofficially, that while they haven’t had Bobo under continuous surveillance, it was unlikely, based on their intel, that he was at the mini storage at the time of the murder. Which I interpret to mean they probably have some sort of tracking device on his car,” Dave said.
“Did you ever get a chance to check out that Brad guy, Candy’s insanely jealous boyfriend?” Di asked.
“No alibi for the likely time of the murders—although with one body in a deep freezer and the other one sweltering in an un-air-conditioned garage, the medical examiner could give us only an approximate time frame. And Brad has been arrested a few times for public drunkenness and assault,” Dave said. “But I don’t really like him for the murders. He has a black belt in karate and seems to like beating up on people with his bare hands. If he was going to kill Darrell, I think he’d want the satisfaction of beating the crap out of him first. And neither Darrell nor Duane had any injuries consistent with that.”
“That has to make Ray Franklin the favorite suspect among the locals,” Di asserted.
“He may be a generally suspicious character, and I don’t like him any more than you do,” Dave said. “In fact, if I had the manpower, I’d keep a closer eye on him. But he has an alibi for the time of Tim’s murder. It’s not necessarily bulletproof. A friend of his says they were at a movie together, and Ray has a ticket stub with the showtime on it. But without something to go on, that’s enough to prevent me from arresting him or getting a search warrant. I checked with the theater. It’s one of those second-run places, and they don’t have any security cameras.”
Sensing that Dave’s morale was in a downward spiral, Di quickly spoke up and offered us snacks and beverages.
“No, thanks. I should be going,” Dave said, putting on his hat and rising to his feet. “I still need to run by and talk to Mrs. Donavan over on West Street, who insists she’s the victim of a Peeping Tom.”
“Are you referring to old Mrs. Donavan, who was the school librarian for ages?” I asked.
“That’s the one. She phones the station at least every other week, and either Ted or I go by to talk to her probably once a month about her peeper.”
“Do you think anybody’s actually trying to sneak a peek at her wrinkly, dried-up self?” Di asked.
“I don’t see how. I’ve never seen so much as a footprint or a broken twig along the side of the house. Besides which, she has a thorn bush growing right under her bedroom window. Nobody could get close to it without getting scratched up. I’ve bled myself more than once just walking past it.”
“How long has this been going on?” I asked.
“At least twenty years, according to the sheriff’s office files,” Dave said.
After Dave left, Di freed her hair from the ponytail that was holding it in place and grabbed a Coke from the fridge.
“I feel sorry for Dave,” I said, “having to investigate crimes both real and imagined.”
“It’s the real ones that he’s losing sleep over—that all of us are losing sleep over,” Di said. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. . . .” Di paused, staring into space.
“Let’s hear it.”
“Well, it scares me, because it sounds like something you’d dream up. But you know how Dave was just saying he’d keep tabs on Ray Franklin if he had more manpower?”
“Yeah.”
“We could provide the manpower, kind of.”
“What do you mean?” I said, leaning forward, feeling intrigued.
“There’s only one
road in and out of the trailer park, and Ray has to drive right past my place to come and go from his camper, right?”
“Right.”
“So why couldn’t we set up surveillance and keep an eye on him from my front window? We wouldn’t try to follow him or anything crazy. But we could call Dave or Ted and let them know whenever he leaves. If they’re available, they can track him for a bit. At the very least, we’d have some record of when he was home and when he wasn’t, you know, in case anything else happens.”
“I’m certainly game, but I don’t know how helpful surveillance will be if it’s not twenty-four-seven.”
“Then let’s make it twenty-four-seven—for a couple of days, anyway,” Di said. “Hopefully, by that time, Dave will have something from the crime lab on those broken security cameras or something new from the Feds. I’m off today and tomorrow, and I can get someone to fill in for me at work on Monday.”
“I don’t have an event tomorrow, and I can certainly make a few phone calls from here to follow up with clients.”
“And maybe Larry Joe could even help keep watch, too,” Di said. “I really do think you should tell him what we’re up to, with all you two have been through lately.”
Di got on the phone to Dave, and I called Larry Joe to fill him in on our surveillance plan.
Dave reluctantly agreed to the plan, with the stipulation that under no circumstances would we follow Ray on our own. Larry Joe was surprisingly supportive. I think he liked the idea of knowing exactly where I’d be.
Di went out and walked far enough around the circle to Ray’s place to spot his truck. He appeared to be at home. She changed clothes and set up her station by the window with a drink and snacks and told me to go on home and have supper with Larry Joe.
“Don’t be too late getting back to relieve me, and I really do mean to relieve me,” she said. “There’s one flaw with our surveillance post, and it’s that the bathroom window doesn’t look out onto the road.”
“Right. We’re definitely going to need two people here to make the surveillance work,” I said. “Call me if you need to leave your post by the window, and I’ll come right over.”
After supper, Larry Joe came with me to Di’s place, and the three of us sat at the kitchen table, chatting, with one of us peering through the blinds at all times.
“You know, Di, it’s probably not a bad idea for me to spend some time around here tonight,” Larry Joe said with a grin. “With Liv spending the whole night here a couple of times lately, your neighbor might get the idea that you two are more just than friends.”
“If Jake Robbins thought for one minute there was any girl-on-girl action happening over here, Dave would be arresting him as a Peeping Tom,” Di said.
At about ten o’clock, Larry Joe suggested that Di go on to bed to get some sleep and that I stretch out on the sofa and take a nap, while he manned surveillance for a couple of hours. I offered to make some coffee for him, but he was afraid it would keep him up later. Since he couldn’t take time off from work just now—even on the weekend—we had decided he would take the first shift and then would go home and get a few hours’ sleep before he left for the office.
Larry Joe awakened me at about 1:00 a.m. I went to the bedroom and woke up Di before he headed home, and took my post as the sentry by the window. Di and I swapped places a couple of times during the night. At about 6:00 a.m. Di put on a pot of coffee and made us some French toast. We took turns using the shower, and I put on the change of clothes I’d brought from home.
Ray finally came out of his lair and drove past at about 9:30 a.m. Di called Dave, who was driving an unmarked car for the day. A couple of hours later we saw Ray drive past. Ted, who had taken over surveillance duty from Dave, called to tell us he’d just seen Ray turn into the trailer park. Ray had gone to have breakfast at the diner, had gotten his hair cut at the barbershop, and had gone to the post office to check his P.O. box. Di relayed Ted’s report, and we looked at each other, wondering if we could stand the excitement.
“He got a haircut,” I said hopefully. “Maybe that means he’s planning to meet someone or go somewhere more exciting than the diner later on.”
At about half past noon Larry Joe phoned. He said he had planned to come by and see me at lunchtime, but felt like he should go by and check on his mom and dad.
“And the old coot’s convinced we’re hiding things from him about the business,” Larry Joe said. “I’m worried he’ll have another heart attack if I don’t go and calm him down.”
“Of course, honey. I’m sure Daddy Wayne is driving your mom crazy. She could do with some reinforcements.”
As the afternoon dragged on, our surveillance detail started to feel like high school detention. We both lost the energy to carry on a conversation.
Di was dealing another hand of gin rummy when I spotted Ray’s truck.
“Our quarry is on the move,” I said.
Di phoned Dave, who simply said, “Thanks. I’ll tell Ted,” before hanging up.
“Let’s hope Ted catches Ray doing something more interesting than getting his hair cut,” I said just before laying down my cards and calling gin.
“Yeah, something as exciting as when Dave caught us in Ray’s camper would be nice.”
“That was a rough night. But I can’t help wondering if there was something helpful in that diary that we missed.”
“Surely, you’re not suggesting that we steal it again?”
“No, of course not. I’ve already read it from cover to cover, anyway,” I said, sounding as cranky as someone who’d lost sleep and been cooped up all day. “I know the DNA shows Ray is not Darrell and Duane’s dad. Still, I don’t think everything in the diary is make-believe. I mean, it’s most likely a mix of fact and fiction, telling a story through Duane’s childlike eyes.”
“So, you think if we could sift fact from fiction, maybe we’d find clues.”
“Exactly. Some things just don’t add up. Like, remember how Duane wrote in his diary that Ray had to hide when their mom dropped by the apartment?”
“Yeah. So?”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and I don’t believe that part was fiction,” I said. “I mean, in his fantasy world, Duane had turned Ray into his long-lost dad. So wouldn’t that fantasy world also include his mom and dad getting back together and all of them being one big happy family?”
“I suppose.”
“I don’t remember his exact words, but Duane wrote something like he thought his mom had a right to know, but Ray and Darrell didn’t want to get her involved with what was going on. But that doesn’t make any sense. If she thought Ray was just one of their reenactment friends, he wouldn’t need to hide. She’d have no way of guessing they were mixed up in dealing drugs just because she saw Ray in their apartment.”
“I don’t follow,” Di said.
“We know from the DNA that Ray isn’t their real dad, but what if he had actually convinced Duane and Darrell that he was their real father? Then he could tell them he had to hide because their mom would immediately recognize him, and they shouldn’t put her in danger because of their drug involvement, and whatever it was that had kept him in hiding all these years while they thought that he was dead.”
“Only he knew that she wouldn’t recognize him, because he’s not who he was pretending to be,” Di mused.
“Exactly!”
“I want to be as excited about this as you are, but I still don’t get it,” Di said.
“Don’t you see? If he had scammed the boys into believing he was their real dad, he couldn’t risk being seen by Tonya. Not because she would recognize him, but precisely because she wouldn’t.”
“Oh, yeah, I get it. He told them that she would recognize him and that he wanted to protect her. But the truth is, he knew she wouldn’t recognize him, and it would blow his cover and mess up the scam he was running on the Farrell brothers.”
“Right. If he bore any passing resemblance to their real father, t
hat would be enough for the boys. They were just little kids when their dad went off to war. They knew what he looked like only through vague memories and maybe some faded photographs. But Tonya’s a different story. She was a grown woman who was married to the man. She’d have known instantly that he wasn’t their long-lost daddy.”
“I get that. But what would Ray get out of trying to make them believe that he was their father?”
“Making them believe he was their father and had been on the run for years—God knows what kind of story he made up to explain that—would have given him huge leverage to manipulate them,” I explained. “Here you have two guys who thought their daddy died more than a dozen years ago. Then, suddenly, he shows up, asking for their help. I imagine they would have done pretty much anything for him, and he used that to get them to smuggle drugs, and Lord knows what else, for him. He probably met them through reenacting and figured out how gullible they were, especially Duane, so he used that to his advantage. What I don’t understand is why, after hiding from Tonya at the apartment, he would go to see her at her house that day I followed him.”
“Why not?” Di said, leaping up from her chair and pacing with excitement. “Assuming Duane and Darrell never told her about their back-from-the-dead father, he could just show up at her door as Ray Franklin, friend and mentor to her late sons. He must have some angle, though. I mean, if he was low enough to scam those boys into believing he was their daddy, he isn’t going to call on their mama just to express condolences.”
“Oh, my God, Di, you’re right. He may be afraid she knows something or that she’ll figure out something when she sorts through her sons’ belongings. We need to call Tonya and warn her about Ray. If we’re on the right track about any of this diary stuff, she could be in real danger.”
I looked up the number for Rascal’s Bar and Grill and gave them a call. The waitress who answered said Tonya was scheduled to be at work, but she hadn’t shown up. She said she had been calling Tonya’s cell but couldn’t get through.
“That don’t mean much,” the waitress said. “Cell phone reception is pretty bad out around her place. Still, it’s not like her, not showing up for work.”