Dead Investigation

by Charlie Price

  * * *

  Janochek stopped at the corner of the old skating rink on Sundial Drive, the three of them staying near the building, watching the stable and the hill behind. Murray was patient. He didn’t care if he never got any closer.

  “It looks like it did yesterday,” Murray said. “Parked cars, nobody outside.”

  “Where are the graves from here?” Janochek asked, raising his bird-watching binocs and zeroing in.

  “Right near the top, pretty much straight line from the stables. Not easy to get to. Nobody’d ever find them. Can you see the real straight dark green tree? Maybe twenty feet tall?”

  “I need to get closer,” Janochek said, checking Pearl. He stepped close. “I hope you understand this,” he said. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you. Your mother dead. You’re all I have. Everything.”

  Murray was spellbound. No one, ever, had said anything like that to him.

  “I would rather stop right now and call Gates than risk anything happening to you. If you won’t stay with Murray, let’s leave right now.”

  Stalemate.

  Pearl nodded.

  Murray was relieved. He hadn’t wanted to get any closer.

  “I go to the near edge of the stable and it’s straight up from there?”

  It was Murray’s turn to nod.

  He watched Janochek carefully walk the perimeter of the parking area, looking side to side every few feet to see if he was being observed. The man went behind the Dumpster and the rusty barrels, made the rear wall of the stable, and leaned against it. Murray saw him raise the binocs.

  “He’s looking in the right place?” Pearl asked.

  “Pretty much,” Murray said, scanning Pearl’s face, wondering what prompted her question.

  Janochek returned from the stable area with a dark frown. “I looked hard,” he said. “No rope. Doesn’t seem like anyone’s been climbing up there.”

  “I slid straight down the hill yesterday. Practically right to the near corner where you were,” Murray said, swallowing a fear that he had somehow imagined the whole thing.

  Janochek glanced at the stable. Scratched his jaw. “I don’t see how we can call Gates without evidence. Not sure how he’d respond. Maybe put us back in the crazy-citizen category.”

  “Let’s wait a day and see if anything happens,” Pearl said.

  Murray didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe the whole thing would just go away. What he really wanted to do was watch the hill, all afternoon if he could, to see if anyone was going to climb it again like he’d heard yesterday. Had he told Janochek that part? “Uh, yesterday afternoon while I was sitting behind the stable I heard someone drive up and park. It sounded like they got out and starting climbing.”

  “They?” Pearl asked.

  “One person, I think. I didn’t see who.”

  “So you’re thinking they might have cleaned the place up? Taken the rope?” Janochek scanned the parking area. “That makes me wonder if someone is watching. If somebody knows you went up there?”

  Murray’s sense was yes. He’d been uncomfortable since they’d arrived but he’d put it down to the nearness of the graves. While Janochek focused on the area from the front of the stables to the river, Murray began examining the vehicles and grounds between them and the convention center. As his gaze reached the shade of the concrete building’s covered entranceway, he began to have a bad feeling, like someone was there with his own set of binoculars, but Murray couldn’t picture the person. He was afraid to tell Pearl and her father. What if Janochek went over and got hurt … or killed?

  “I don’t see anyone,” Janochek said. “Let’s do what Pearl said and go home. I don’t see how a few more hours could make much difference.”

  Murray was relieved, though all the way back to the cemetery he kept looking over his shoulder, wondering if they were being followed. If they were, he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to sense it.

  DOG GONE

  The same day the three cemetarians were exploring the bluff behind the stables, Gates was arriving at Barker’s home out in the Montgomery Ranch subdivision. He’d gone back to headquarters to switch from his truck to his patrol car. He wanted to arrive in an official capacity. The big Chevy patrol car made a racket on the gravel entry drive. Something was different about the entrance from the time he’d been here before.

  Earlier, he remembered, the two-story white house with Greek columns was the centerpiece of the drive. This time a visitor’s attention was drawn instead to huge rust- and charcoal-colored boulders intermittently placed along the driveway. Stark contrast to the white gravel lane. The rocks matched colors often seen in rivers and fields throughout the Riverton area. The two nearest the house were massive, irregular slabs perhaps four or five feet high and at least six feet long, suggestive of natural gates to a kingdom. How much did it cost to have such enormous stones trucked in to accent a driveway? Trask Engineering. Guess their chief financial officer would get a pretty good deal on that kind of landscaping.

  Exiting the cruiser, he expected someone to come to the front door and open it. Listened for barking from the little dog that Faraday had mentioned in her report. All the way to the brick porch the only sound was his footsteps.

  He rang the doorbell. Waited. A minute passed with no response. Gates left the porch and walked around the garage side of the house. No cars evident. He peered in a window. Saw the white Lexus and a dark-colored Mercedes sedan, so both people should be home. At the locked side gate in the tall white fence that surrounded the backyard, he pushed inward until he could see a good slice of the patio: empty hot tub, lawn, and landscaped pool.

  Back at the door, he knocked this time. Loudly.

  “Sheriff’s Department. Open the door.” After another minute, tried again. “Sheriff’s Department. Open up.”

  After his shout he heard footsteps. In a few seconds the door opened and the beautiful wife stood behind it. Once beautiful. Today her hair was uncombed, her face puffy as if she’d been sleeping. She held the side of the door with one hand, held her terrycloth robe together with the other. Her feet were bare.

  “I apologize,” Gates said. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

  The woman looked at the floor. Said nothing.

  “Actually I’m here to see your husband but I could ask you, too. Have you heard from your son?” Gates took his hat off in case the woman had bad news.

  She shook her head.

  “Not a word?” Gates asked. “No idea where he is?”

  That last question jerked the woman’s head up involuntarily, just for a second, and then her eyes returned to the floor. She shook her head again.

  “Has your husband heard anything?” Gates persisted.

  The woman didn’t respond.

  Gates was searching his memory for the woman’s first name but couldn’t come up with it. “Jerell seemed like a good kid,” he said. “Quiet.”

  No response.

  “How’s your dog?” Gates asked, anything to get more of a response. It worked but not in the way he expected. A tear slid down her cheek.

  “Did you know your husband was questioned a while ago as part of a federal embezzlement and tax-fraud investigation?”

  The woman’s eyebrows lifted slightly but again she said nothing.

  “Is Chuck out buying new table lamps?”

  That brought a frown. The woman didn’t understand his reference to the prior altercation when they’d met, when her husband had been trying to beat in the bathroom door with a bronze statue to get at her. In fact, there was no sign she recognized Gates at all.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?” Gates asked. “Should I wait?”

  The woman shook her head a final time and closed the door.

  * * *

  Puzzled by Mrs. Barker, Gates immediately thought of Duheen. Maybe she’d like to get a milk shake. When he phoned she was going hiking with women friends, but said she had time for a short chat. “The homeless ca
se?”

  “I’ve made some progress,” he said. “Payne was named in an FBI investigation a while ago along with a top exec from the firm that later fired him.”

  “And you’re thinking they could have been coconspirators?”

  “Maybe. Or maybe Payne got fired because he knew what went down even though he wasn’t directly involved.”

  “Either way…”

  “Right. It’s a strong fit with the rumor that Payne said he was going to get his house back. His wife said that was just his usual pie-in-the-sky thinking.”

  “Weren’t there other ways Payne might come into money—relatives, rich childhood friends, retirement annuity, that sort of thing?”

  “His wife said no. Zero, zilch, nada. Basically painted him as hapless, friendless, with no chance of improving his lot.”

  “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Duheen asked.

  “I hope so,” Gates said.

  “Not that,” she said. “If I were you, I might conclude blackmail. One way a penniless person could get a fund injection.”

  SHORT OF THE PORCH

  Gates drove the length of the Barker driveway and parked near the porch. No cars visible. Before he went to the door, he checked the garage again. Lexus and Mercedes both there. If Mrs. Barker had been telling the truth yesterday and Barker really hadn’t been home, he must have another vehicle. In this county Gates always bet on a four-wheel-drive pickup or SUV. In the garage: white Lexus and black Mercedes. A residue from his years of gambling addiction, Gates bet himself five hundred dollars Barker’s other vehicle was a white Cadillac Esplanade with custom wheels.

  When it showed an hour later it was white. Not a Cadillac. A Land Cruiser. The SUV stopped about a hundred feet from the porch. The backup lights went on as if Barker was considering turning around and leaving. Determined to have this conversation, Gates put his hand on the ignition in case he needed to start the cruiser and pursue the man.

  Barker’s lights winked off. The man killed the engine and got out, as did Gates.

  “What are you doing on my property? My wife call you?”

  “Why would she?” Gates asked.

  Barker ignored that. “What do you want?”

  “Heard from your son?”

  “What’s that got to do with you?” Barker said, striding toward Gates like a linebacker, ready to tackle. Ground to a halt twenty feet away, as if reconsidering his impulse.

  Gates wished he’d thought to unbutton his holster. “The missing person report you didn’t file,” he said. Knew he was goading the man but he wanted him riled for the surprise question.

  “I told your girl, Jerell left. Stole money and ran. He’s not missing.”

  Gates wondered how Deputy Faraday might respond to being called his girl. “If he’s not missing, where is he?”

  “How should I know?”

  “You’re his father.”

  “He quit that when he robbed me.”

  “You’ve disowned him?”

  “Why bother? Is that all?” Barker turned to go toward his porch.

  “Why did you fire Payne?”

  That halted Barker. “Payne?”

  Gates waited.

  “David Payne?” Barker gave Gates time to clarify but continued after several seconds. “Because he was a worthless piece of shit, but that’s none of your business.”

  “Was he a worthless piece of shit when he spoke to the FBI during the embezzlement and fraud investigation?”

  That question lifted Barker’s brow. He blinked and tried to cover it. “I don’t know. I wasn’t present,” he said, turning again toward his front door.

  “What was your role in that scam?” Gates said to his back as the man continued walking toward his front door.

  “Why did you kill Payne?” Gates asked, and that froze Barker just short of the porch.

  “For god’s sake, he’s a mope but he’s not dead.” Barker spoke to his front door rather than turn around.

  “How do you know?” Gates asked, even voice.

  “I talked to him a few days ago. What? Did somebody shoot him?”

  “Why would they?”

  Barker wheeled. “That the best you got? CSI Riverton? Get off my property.”

  “Did Payne ask you for money?”

  That drove Barker up his steps into his house. Gates wondered, if it hadn’t been unlocked, would he have broken through the door? Sixty, but the man looked like he could still go twelve rounds.

  SAMURAI CEMETERY

  The afternoon sun had warmed the lawnmower shed. It would stay cozy for a few more hours. Murray was lying on his cot, reading his world history text. Earlier he’d picked the old man’s cap up with the point of a stick and put it in a plastic grocery bag to take to Pearl when they met for dinner tonight. As long as they were kind of working together would Janochek go ahead and make the “Sunday” spaghetti? Janochek and his food. Probably put something unusual in the sauce, too. Bacon or artichoke or something, but Murray loved it. His mom had rarely cooked anything unless she was trying to impress the latest man.

  A knock and the shed door opening surprised him.

  “Ready?” Pearl in a dark pullover, dark sweatpants, and black running shoes.

  Murray couldn’t contain a laugh. “Ninja?” he asked.

  Pearl swept in and plopped down on his middle before he could get up.

  Murray’s air went out in a whoosh.

  “Samurai.” She cut her hand through the air like it was a sword. “We’re going looking, so get up before I cleave you in twain.”

  Murray didn’t have the air to respond and was grateful when Pearl stood and went to the tool shelf in the back of the shed.

  “Think we should bring a weapon?” she asked.

  “Your dad will kill me if I go over there with you.”

  “And I’ll kill you if you don’t, so make a choice, Grave Rapper, dead now or dead later.”

  “If you tell we did this he’ll make me leave.” Murray’s greatest fear.

  “No way.” She lifted a big screwdriver. “What about this?” she asked. “Or is a hammer better?”

  * * *

  Murray made Pearl take the long route to the rodeo grounds so they could walk through the convention center portico, make sure nobody was parked beneath it, watching the stable. About fifty yards off, a big gray van started and drove away before Murray got close enough to see who was inside. Saw it looked dirty. Saw the doors on the back but was too far away for the license plate.

  Pearl sensed his interest. “What?”

  “Nothing,” he said, “but if you see something like that again anywhere near us, tell me.”

  “That truck? There must be a jillion of those in Riverton.”

  “Kind of rounded in back? Most vans are pretty square.”

  “You think that person might have been watching Dad?”

  Murray shrugged. “Let’s go the long way to the boat ramp and over behind the sheds to get to the hill.”

  “More cover?”

  Murray nodded, already on the move.

  * * *

  At the back corner, where her dad had been earlier, Pearl started climbing.

  “Hold up.” Murray scrunched against the corrugated wall. “Your dad said not to disturb the evidence.”

  “You slid down here, right?”

  “Right about where you are.”

  “There’s no sign of it so somebody already disturbed it.” She continued moving.

  When she was forty or fifty feet up, Murray couldn’t stand it anymore. “Stop before you get to that thick tree. The rope’s there in the dirt.” Started after her.

  “No, it’s not.” Pearl kept climbing.

  “Wait a minute, damn it!”

  A woman’s voice was getting louder as he climbed.

  Pearl slowed, let him catch up.

  Murray scraped the leaves on either side, brushed, dug a little. She was right. No sign of a rope. “See that evergreen, straight up?”


  Pearl nodded.

  “The rope’s tied to that.”

  “Not now,” Pearl said. She crawled around the thick tree and started higher.

  “Wait!” Murray croaked, fighting to hear himself over the noise of a woman yelling. “The graves are just above you.”

  Pearl stopped crawling and raised herself on her knees. The uphill ground was covered with leaves and pine needles and twigs like everywhere else on the hill. There was a plastic grocery bag caught on a low branch, and, lying around, a moldy cardboard box that said CAL-SUN PRODUCE and a corroded beer can half-buried at an angle.

  “This couldn’t be the place,” Pearl said, annoyed.

  “Damn it!?” Murray, irritated by her hasty conclusion. “The graves are right below that tree and I’m hearing a voice so loud I can hardly stand it.”

  “What are they saying?” Pearl, ever the practical one.

  Murray hadn’t considered actually listening. He’d been doing everything he could to blot out the sound. When he focused, it wasn’t a crowd like before with everyone talking at once, angry and begging. Only the familiar voice he’d been hearing as he climbed.

  “… are you … Don’t … are you … DON’T!” Over and over. A woman. Terrified. Was she talking to him? He wasn’t sure.

  Murray gave up. To really communicate he’d probably have to sit above her and touch the ground, and he definitely wasn’t going to crawl up there.

  “What did you get?” Pearl at his elbow. “Do you know who they are—”

  “Freeze!” A voice below them, like a megaphone. “Come down here! Now!”

  Pearl gripped Murray’s arm so tight, pain shot up to his shoulder.

  “Now, I said!”

  They backed down the hill, slipping from time to time, but one anchored the other and they didn’t slide far. Stood at the bottom.

  “Turn around.”

  Murray wondered if he was going to die in the next minute. Stepped in front of Pearl to see a tall fat man in a uniform, long black flashlight in one hand, small bullhorn tucked under his arm. Not a cop. A security guy?

  “You’re trespassing.”

  “This is public property.” Pearl. Over Murray’s shoulder.

  “It’s public during the day. Closed after five.”