Dead Investigation

by Charlie Price

  In the backyard, a pool surrounded by wide tile paving, a pump shed peeking from behind huge, terraced boulders. Centerpiece, a waterfall. No one there.

  He spent the next two hours trying to eliminate one of the two men as a suspect.

  Couldn’t.

  * * *

  Gates pulled Kiefer out of afternoon class for the second day in a row. Watched the students while the boy gathered his things. Some derision, but maybe some envy? Not everybody was important enough to an investigation to be called out of school two days running. And Gates bet at least some of the kids knew Murray was helping. Kids found out everything whether you wanted them to or not. Probably a few rumors had Kiefer being interrogated like a criminal, but others probably had him solving another crime. At least that was how it seemed from the expressions he saw following the boy to his locker and out the front door.

  * * *

  Murray watched Gates adjust the blue tarp to make it thicker. Smoothed it on the bench at his side of the concrete table. Took the army blanket and folded it into a two-foot square pad. Laid it on Murray’s bench.

  “Takes the chill off,” he explained. “You ready for another story?”

  Murray wasn’t sure.

  Gates put his hands on the picnic table and looked at them as if words might be printed on their backs.

  “I’ve been with the Sheriff’s Department most of twenty-five years. Early on I got married and about twenty years ago my wife and I had a son. For most of those years I loved my work. I loved my family … and I enjoyed my hobby. Gambling.” Gates looked into the distance for a moment, at nothing in particular.

  Murray could sense the man’s increasing discomfort and wondered why he was talking about his family. What difference did it make?

  “Something happened to me ten or eleven years ago, and I began to lose track of my work and my loved ones. Gambling became nearly all I thought about—winning, of course … the unpredictability … I wouldn’t have said it ruled my life. I’m not sure I even realized it, but gradually, it took me over … or I gave myself to it. A hundred percent.

  “I was restless. Could hardly wait for the next casino, the next game … some seemed to be luckier than others and they shifted back and forth … and like any gambler who gets obsessed, I began losing more than I could afford. It was obvious the only way to get out of the hole was to gamble harder. Bigger bets, bigger payoffs … but not many paid off.” He caught Murray’s eye. “You understand this so far?”

  Murray didn’t trust his voice right then. Nodded.

  “I wagered and lost my savings, my wife’s savings, spent my son’s college fund, and then I refinanced our house and went through that and defaulted, couldn’t make the mortgage. I sold my truck and drove a junker … I lost everything. Every last thing. And one evening I got in a fight trying to borrow money to pay a debt … a bad fight … I was desperate, crazy by that time, and I wound up in my own jail. I usually tell people I resigned because I’m still ashamed. Truth is, I lost my job. Fired. And within weeks my wife left me. And my son came to hate the sight of me.”

  Gates bit his lip for a second, continued. “I had to go to rehab south of here, down in St. Helena, had to start attending twelve-step groups … but my son … who’d once loved me and been proud of me … got sick at heart … lost his way … I don’t … my son wound up overdosing on a ‘speedball.’ Cocaine and heroin. And the coroner said it…”

  Murray had put his own hands on the table. Pushing. Ready to get up and run. Don’t tell me!

  But Gates finished. “Said it was intentional. Suicide. My son meant to kill himself.”

  It was quiet except for a dog barking behind them and the occasional rattle of branches as the breeze rifled through.

  No! Too many feelings. Murray was up, away from the table, heading toward the paved path that circled the lake among trees and heavy foliage. Gates would still be there when he returned.

  Murray knew way more than he wanted to know. That’s the thing about living people. They have terrible secrets or terrible sadness. Pearl’s mom didn’t really love her. Ran off with some man and only returned home when she was dying from cancer. And then Pearl and Janochek had to take care of her and watch her die.

  Sandray had a really sad story, but at least hers was over. It wouldn’t keep getting worse. Awful things wouldn’t keep happening.

  He knew he would never see Gates the same. The man was big and tough but he hurt. Murray knew what that was like. To be hurting, helpless in the face of it. Can’t find a way to make the hurting stop, can’t find a way to make anything better. Murray’s mom and her men and the way some of her men treated him and the way his mom took their side …

  Gates wasn’t a superhero. He was a father with an ache. Deep. Painful. Murray was familiar with an ache you could drown in.

  Ten minutes later, on the far shore, he was too busy with these thoughts to pay any attention to the foliage or the wildlife, or the water. Too absorbed to notice a van parked where the path left the lake and became a sidewalk. Too distracted to hear doors open. Too stunned to yell when the bag went over his head.

  ONE WALK AND YOU’RE OUT

  By the bottom of the third, Pearl already had two unassisted put-outs and had batted once—a grounder to third—out on a good throw. Resting on the dugout bench, she calculated if the next two girls got on base she would bat again this inning. Her team was behind by a single run, but she was pretty sure they could come back on the Lake Central squad. Especially in front of home fans. She had waved to her dad a couple of times and noticed he was alone in the bleachers. Murray must have been held up.

  By the seventh inning, she didn’t have such generous thoughts. He’s not coming! At the plate she struck out on three straight pitches, swinging for the fence every time, and threw her bat all the way to the backstop. Earned her a lecture from the coach. At the top of the eighth, another girl took Pearl’s place at second base.

  That was fine with her. She couldn’t focus on the game anyway. That creep! If dead people were playing he’d be here in a flash. Come on, Cadavers! You can do it! He was hopeless. Such an idiot. She hated herself for caring about him. She’d told her dad that. But she kept getting sucked in. Murray had touched the cap. That started it this time. And the body thing. He got in such interesting predicaments it was hard not to join him. He was so different. But when it really counted, he disappointed you.

  Was that true? She had to dig up Nikki Parker by herself. Murray hung back and watched. Just a day ago she’d had to threaten him to make him go back to the hillside and discover the bodies had been moved. Oh god! Here she was, pissed and fuming, but what if something had happened? What if somebody had been watching and followed him … and …

  She couldn’t think of anything to say to the coach that would make sense. He was mad at her anyway. She scooped up her glove and snuck out the side gate to the astonished looks of her peers. Coaches were on the field managing the game. They didn’t see her leave or hustle behind the bleachers, forgetting her gym bag in the dugout. Didn’t hear her yell her dad’s name.

  When Janochek joined her behind the concession stand he was sputtering. “What the heck do you think you’re doing? They’ll throw you off the team. You’ll get a reputation you might not be able to erase.”

  Pearl held up her hand, like he did to her sometimes, to stop his tirade. “Murray’s not here, right?”

  Her father’s face fell. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Something must have come up.” He looked at the sky for a minute, thinking. Rubbed his cheek. “Maybe he forgot again. I know he didn’t mean to.” Janochek wondered what he was accomplishing by making up these excuses.

  “I’m worried.” Pearl’s voice shook.

  “Worried…?” The possibility that Murray might be in trouble had never occurred to Janochek. Maybe if Pearl had no-showed it would have, but Murray was just missing a softball game. As usual. Janochek automatically reached for his cell, and stopped when he re
membered Murray didn’t have one. It was still in his hand when it rang.

  The number was cloaked and he didn’t recognize the voice. A man asking about Murray.

  “Say again?” he asked as he and Pearl looked at each other. “No. No, he’s not with us. We’re at a softball game. Why?”

  Within seconds Janochek closed his eyes as he listened. “We’re going right now.” He grabbed Pearl’s hand, pulling her toward his truck as he tucked the phone back in his shirt pocket.

  Pearl dug her feet in and pulled him to a stop. “What?”

  “Gates. Murray was with him at Mary Lake and left for a walk. He might be missing.” Janochek cursing himself for not anticipating this.

  They jogged for the vehicle.

  CARTERGUARD

  Janochek and Pearl were unable to identify Gates’s cruiser when they got to the lake so they looked for Murray. Took the three-quarter-mile drive around the shoreline, followed each street that led out into the Mary Lake neighborhood. After no success, they drove back to the picnic tables at the eastside shoreline and waited for Gates to appear. Janochek attempted to reach the deputy by phone but didn’t have Gates’s “unknown” number.

  When they saw him, he was walking beside a female deputy and speaking into a handheld radio. He put the radio away but continued a conversation with the woman. Caught Janochek’s wave and headed in their direction.

  “We’ve got units all over this neighborhood, down Placer, down Eureka Way. Why don’t you all go on home and wait for him there? He’s probably just wandering back.” Gates noticed the deputy at his side staring at him. “This is his, uh, family,” he explained. “Mr. Janochek and his daughter, Pearl. They’re involved in the homeless investigation … found the woman’s body.”

  The female officer’s look softened.

  “Pearl, Mr. Janochek, this is Deputy Faraday. I’m her right-hand man.”

  Faraday scowled at him.

  “Mr. Janochek’s the cemetery caretaker, the place where Nikki Parker was found?”

  Faraday looked at Janochek, who nodded.

  “Anyway,” Gates said, “Faraday and I have to coordinate the neighborhood search, maybe somebody saw … I’ll get back to you as soon as we know anything.” He handed Janochek his card with a phone number ballpointed at the top. “This’ll reach me anytime.”

  “Find a guy with a van,” Pearl said. She could see it.

  That reminded Gates he hadn’t finished examining the CarterGuard security firm’s client list, nor had he done the necessary DMV vehicle registration searches. In spite of his late start, Gates had actually thought himself a little ahead of the curve. He had two major suspects for the bookkeeper’s murder and he believed he had the motive. Mistake. Now things were breaking too fast. The Kiefer kid might be in grave danger and Gates had lost the trail of the other bodies. He was suddenly embarrassed to bring Faraday up to speed. Men can’t do policework?

  When he did, she was all business. “You call the interview team,” she told him. “I’ll call DMV.”

  “Ask for both,” he told her. “Roth Trask and the vehicle list for Trask engineering. We might be looking for a white or gray GMC van.” He paused for a second. “Check Barker’s wife’s name. See if he registered a van to her.”

  She scowled again and he got it. She’d read his log and case reports, had anticipated his request. It had been a while since he’d partnered with another investigator so quick on the uptake. “When you can, get a line on Trask construction sites.” Gates felt like adding “worst case scenario” but didn’t want to jinx the boy.

  Faraday drew her phone and spoke as she dialed. “CarterGuard e-mailed. I remember their clients. You’re looking for Trask about the rodeo grounds? The answer’s yes. And Carter patrols Trask construction sites.”

  Gates, nodded, impressed again, but now on the phone to deputies and community liaison workers that were canvassing Lakeside Drive and the nearby subdivision. He faintly heard Faraday ask a DMV clerk to e-mail the vehicle information “priority one, missing juvenile.” Looking around him, he saw Janochek and Pearl were gone, their truck no longer on the street. Had the girl been wearing a baseball uniform?

  * * *

  Janochek was chewing his lip, furious at himself for overlooking this possibility. Pearl, restless beside him, crossing and uncrossing her legs, window up, window down, made it even harder to focus on driving.

  “I forgot my goddamn bag!” she said, out of nowhere.

  He knew what she meant. “I’ll call the coach. Somebody’ll have it.”

  “He could already be dead,” she blurted, and hid her face.

  Nothing Janochek could say to that. It might be true. Or maybe they were upset for nothing. Gates always made Murray nervous. Maybe the boy couldn’t stand any more contact and walked away. Murray wouldn’t try to explain his feelings. He’d just go.

  Janochek took every shortcut to the cemetery, but before they turned in he drove the length of Continental, then swung by the rodeo grounds just in case Murray’d taken a detour.

  THE BIG SLEEP

  Gates gave instructions to call him immediately if anyone in the neighborhood had seen something useful. Took his car down back streets on the chance he might see Kiefer walking. By the time he reached the department he felt sure the boy had been taken.

  He needed more information in order to guess which man to target. He’d learned a good deal about Roth from his Google search, his phone calls, and his conversation with the mother. He’d been focused on Chuck Barker, early on. Wife beater. He had his personal impressions, but really, he didn’t know much about Barker’s history. Company CFO, half brother to Roth, apparently not the father’s favorite. Gates sat at his desk, clicked search on the computer.

  Chuck Barker graduated from Sierra High in 1972. Lettered in football and track. Went to Sac State on a football scholarship but never played. Why? Argument with the coaches? Played no college sports of record. No activities other than ROTC. Graduated with business degree in 1976. Joined Army Infantry that same summer but was not offered a commission. Got a General Discharge 1979, suggesting punishment for unacceptable military behavior.

  Got an MBA from a Bay Area diploma mill, 1983. Held a variety of jobs in Northern California businesses until 2003 when he was hired as a financial officer in his father’s engineering firm. Promoted to comptroller March 2008, shortly after father’s death. In 2009 became Trask’s chief financial officer after purchasing 10 percent of the stock.

  Gates’s search on LinkedIn revealed several memberships in business organizations. Only hobby listed, target shooting. Gates shook his head. He’d hoped for more.

  He called Duheen, left a message that the boy had disappeared on his watch. Phoned the Barker home. No answer. The woman was probably too depressed or sedated to respond. He drove by the Trask building, saw Barker’s Lexus in the lot, and drove on to speak with Mrs. Barker again in person.

  * * *

  No one answered his knock. Side door to the garage was unlocked. Gates decided he could use a personal welfare check on the wife as justification for entering the premises. He gloved and walked in past the dusty Mercedes to the Land Cruiser. Opened the doors, looked for any evidence that Murray had recently been a passenger. Nothing.

  Back on the front porch he knocked again, courtesy, but didn’t expect a response. He remembered Barker charging through the door the evening Gates confronted him. When Gates tried the handle, it turned easily and the door glided inward.

  No response when he stood in the foyer and called her name. The guest bathroom door was open, the living room empty. Ditto the kitchen, dining room, and vast glassed-in porch across the back. Gates stood at the foot of the stairs and called. Called from the top of the stairs. Started all the way down the hall to his left. Jerell’s room. Everything tidy. Books and papers in neat stacks on the large computer desk.

  Gates took a moment to open the big laptop and turn it on but it wouldn’t light, wouldn’t boot. When he tur
ned it over he saw loose screws, as if the battery, maybe even the hard drive, had been removed.

  Rock band posters and American city scenes—San Diego, Seattle, New York—plastered the walls. Did the boy dream of running away to another city? Had he been planning to “disappear” for a long time? Gates picked through the stacks of notebooks and loose papers hoping for a journal, but found nothing useful and returned to the hall.

  The next door revealed a bathroom, the next a guest room, and at the far end, a huge master bedroom with French doors to a balcony. Those let in the available light; the rest of the windows were close-curtained. First, a dressing and reading area. In the middle, two leather recliners and floor lamps. On Gates’s left, padded benches flanking two walk-in closets. An equally generous bathroom to his right with granite counters, double sinks, double toilets, and a tiled doorless walk-in shower. An archway led to the rest of the suite, more sitting areas and a mirrored makeup table with a carved wooden chair near more curtained windows.

  Mrs. Barker lay on the king-size bed, hair tangled and dull. She wore a frilly gown, a thick comforter pulled to her waist. Her snore was regular but light, and a ribbon of drool slipped from the corner of her mouth down her chin. She roused when Gates shook her, but not enough to speak coherently. Her eyelids opened to half-mast, she didn’t appear to comprehend, if indeed she saw anything in particular.

  The side table had a small lamp, digital clock-radio, glass of water, and eight or nine half-full orangish prescription containers, several with their lids off. Gates picked three of the lidless. Zoloft, Klonopin, Ambien. Common meds he recognized from street busts: antidepressant, anti-anxiety, and sleeping pill. He returned to the bathroom and wet a washcloth. Sat the woman upright, held her with arm around her shoulder, and gently bathed her face. She faded, head lolling on his chest, and he called for an ambulance. There’d be no interview this afternoon.

  * * *

  When the paramedics left, Gates put a note on the kitchen table telling Barker the name of the hospital. After following the ambulance and making his report to the admissions nurse, he headed back toward the department. Since he had no messages, he phoned Faraday for a report. She sounded weary.