Dead Investigation

by Charlie Price

  “I can ask them to put your identification bracelet on your left wrist if that would be more comfortable,” he said, walking to her bed.

  Her eyes made a tiny flinch of surprise, but they didn’t open and she said nothing.

  “I know you’re awake and so do the doc and the nursing staff. Sometime this morning when he comes in, they may give your husband that information. I don’t imagine he’ll be so patient with your possum act.”

  No response.

  “I think something you know or something you’ve witnessed is killing you. Would you like police protection?”

  Gates thought he noticed the slightest lift at one corner of her mouth. “Don’t think it’ll do any good?” he asked. “Too late for that?”

  He watched closely, noticed her breathing was becoming slightly more rapid. His words were making her uncomfortable.

  “What happened to your pretty little dog?” he asked. Cruel, he thought, but he needed her to speak.

  Her bottom lip trembled. Stopped. She turned away from him, toward the side of the bed with the hydration unit and the monitors.

  “I think that’s probably an ugly story,” Gates said, “but there’s something worse than that, isn’t there?” He watched her shoulders rise and fall as she worked to steady her breathing.

  “You know what happened to Jerell and you know it’s just a matter of time till it happens to you.” Gates was guessing but he didn’t need to be right. He just needed a response so they could begin a conversation before Barker got to her.

  She grew very still, seemed to be holding her breath for a few seconds before she tore out the IV and blood went shooting onto the sheet. Monitors sounded alarms. Gates was hip-butted from the room by the heavyset nurse as aides and medical personnel surrounded the bed.

  * * *

  Gates sat on an uncomfortable orange plastic chair in the nearby waiting room while the IV was replaced and order restored. He overheard a consultation in the hall where a sedative was proposed and decided against. When the charge nurse returned to the station, Gate approached her.

  “She’s awake,” he said.

  “We knew that,” the woman said, face pointed toward the chart she was updating while she looked at him above her glasses. “ODs like hers irritate the brain. She’s going to be hair-trigger for a day or so. Come back day after tomorrow.”

  “Don’t know if I can wait that long,” Gates said. “If she talks to any staff, find out what she says. Don’t let her husband take her out against … what is it?”

  “A.M.A. Against medical advice.”

  “Need a deputy 24/7 to help enforce that?”

  “Wouldn’t hurt. Is she on a hold?”

  “Material witness, possible accessory.”

  “Paperwork?”

  “Before noon,” Gates said, wishing his own department operated so concisely and efficiently.

  On his way to the parking lot Gates phoned the lieutenant, left a message to request the extra hospital guard duty, and, that done, phoned Roland Oats, an ex–pro footballer now on disability for his knees. Asked Roland to come to the hospital and keep an eye on Mrs. Barker for the rest of the day. Roland was a pal from Gambler’s Anonymous and Gates could trust him. Never a bad idea to have a little extra backup with a guy like Barker, especially since Gates didn’t know what all the man needed to protect.

  * * *

  When he returned to the office, Faraday got out of her chair as soon as she saw him. “I called those kids, caught them before they’d left for school,” she said, handing him what looked like transcript copies. “Mistake. I should have done it before. They keep calling because Jerell loved school, was totally involved in his studies and collaborative projects. The three of them were tighter than most families, nerds with common interests, scads of smarts.”

  This time she did pull up a nearby chair. Sat. Shook her head. “Jerell hated home. Hated his dad. Terrified of him. Told them Barker was a maniac. Screaming at him. Hitting. Threw him against the wall, down the stairs. According to Jerell, Barker was ‘trying to make a man of him.’ Like pitching a kid over Niagara Falls to teach him to swim.”

  “I’m thinking this war on Jerell is a major contributor to his wife’s deterioration. I said that to her an hour ago and she snapped. Ripped out her IV.”

  “I think Jerell’s gone for good. Barker crossed the line,” Faraday said.

  “You run the kid though NCIC and N-DEx. I’ll see if the Trask and Barker property inquiries have come in.” Gates got up to check the docs-requested tray.

  Faraday left without another word, pulling her chair with her, stationed it in front of the office’s main desktop, and went to work.

  THINK INSIDE THE BOX

  Whatever they were riding inside was noisy and stuffy, going slow, vibrating with every bump, jostling them, making it hard to help Janochek.

  “I’m scared.”

  Murray didn’t think he’d ever heard Pearl say that before, but he knew what she meant. A truck inside a truck was very strange and he couldn’t think of a good explanation. A bad one? He was kidnapped again, trapped, and this time he wouldn’t get away.

  “Are you okay?” Pearl asked Murray without looking at him, keeping her attention on her father.

  Murray hurt, but nothing seemed broken and the headache behind his eyes was subsiding. “I cracked my head. Hit my elbows … left arm’s numb, thumb’s bad, but yeah. You?”

  “Worried about Dad. He started acting weird with that call and … did the sheriffs put us in here to protect us?”

  “Your dad was freaked. I don’t think this is the sheriffs. I didn’t see a shield or lights or uniforms. Just this big truck with a ramp out the back. Your dad headed right in.”

  “You think…”

  “Yeah, I’m … I think we’re in trouble.”

  “Where’s the phone?”

  Good question. Murray started to scoot toward Pearl and couldn’t. I’m paralyzed! After he yelled he realized his seat belt was still fastened. It took him another moment to calm his breathing before he made it to her side. As best she could, Pearl had braced her father’s head with one hand, put pressure on his wound with the other to stop the bleeding. Didn’t seem like Janochek had opened his eyes.

  Murray took the flash. Looked in Janochek’s lap, felt his shirt pockets, felt the seat beside Pearl. Scooted down to look on the floor. Carefully moved Janochek’s feet to look under the brake and accelerator. “What’s this green light?”

  “Don’t touch it.”

  Murray crawled back to the seat and tried to remember the final moment before hitting the ramp. Rose to his knees and looked on the dash. The phone rested up against the windshield.

  “Okay,” he said. “911?”

  “Hurry.”

  Murray pushed the call button but nothing lit. Found the on button and held it down. Nothing happened. Nor when he released it.

  “Damn it!” This from Pearl, watching over his shoulder. “Let me do it.”

  He handed her the cell and she fussed with it for another minute before giving up. “I have to keep holding Dad’s head. Take the battery out and put it back. Maybe it hit pretty hard. Needs to reboot.”

  Murray did as he was told but the phone stayed dead.

  Pearl swore. “Come help me a minute.”

  Murray set the phone back on the dash. Maybe it would recover if they gave it more time.

  “Take the flashlight and shine it in Dad’s eyes, first one and then the other when I tell you.”

  Murray knew. This had something to do with checking for a concussion, but he didn’t remember if it was dilated eyes or pinpoints. He hoped Pearl knew. Even so, what could they do about it?

  “Now,” Pearl said.

  Murray shone it in the eye Pearl held open, then the other. “What are you looking for?”

  “His pupils constricted and he followed the light a little,” she said.

  Murray guessed that was okay. She didn’t sound any more worried.
“So what do we do?”

  “Tuck the flash back under my chin. I’ll keep pressure till the bleeding stops. You look for something we can fight with.”

  Whack somebody with a road map? Murray hadn’t ridden in Janochek’s truck very often, but he’d never noticed a weapon. Glove compartment? He realized he could see a little. Both the light spill from the flashlight and the green glow from the floor area.

  He found the maps he’d predicted, gum, and a tape measure. Under those, a tire gauge and a screwdriver. He stuck the screwdriver in his jeans pocket and slid to the floor to search under his seat. Oil rags. A four-headed tire iron, useless … unless you threw it. He brought it with him.

  Gun rack? No such luck. Behind the seat? He couldn’t reach anything from the top. Realized he could open his door almost a foot. Got out. On his knees he reached into the narrow space between the seat and the cab’s back. Something metal. Ax? It was stuck, head facing toward him. He closed the truck door.

  “Roll your window so we can talk.” This from Pearl. Taking charge.

  Murray cranked the glass down, reshut the door, and worked his way along the side.

  “Check the bed.” Pearl, somehow monitoring him.

  It took Murray a moment to remember that was what you called the pickup carry space. Wait a minute. Why was it so dark? Why weren’t the pickup lights still on? Didn’t they stay on when the truck stopped running? Oh. He remembered. Barely daybreak but Janochek had been driving fast without headlights! He probably wouldn’t be doing that at the sheriff’s instructions. So Murray had been right. Probably whoever’d grabbed him before had him again. With Janochek and Pearl in the same net. His fear vanished in a wave of disgust. Murray had told his friends about the voices and put them in danger. This was his fault. So he needed to do something. Something … but he couldn’t see well enough. “Can you turn on the lights?” He heard Pearl grunt with effort.

  “Can’t reach ’em. I could press the brake, I think.”

  A red glow filled the box. Better. A roped bundle at the back of the cab. When Murray untied it he found a new sleeping bag, a new coat, and some cans of Vienna sausage. “Found the stuff you were going to give the homeless guy with the bump on his head.”

  “Check the coat pockets,” Pearl yelled. “I stuck my old Swiss army knife in there, too.”

  Murray got it, put it in his pocket. Continued. Felt around to make sure he didn’t miss anything. Found a coiled rope, a plastic bucket, a rake. Might be useful. He set the tire iron next to the rake and edged farther around the back, banging his shin on the trailer hitch. Edged on to Janochek’s door. Knocked on the frame. Pearl looked up at him, accidentally shining the light in his eyes, momentarily blinding him.

  “Hold him!” Murray yelled at her.

  She tried to get a stronger grip.

  Murray slowly opened the door, had even less room on this side. He reached behind the seat and fumbled around till he got ahold of the tool handle. Pulled as hard as he could while still keeping his balance. The tool inched, inched, and then slid free as Murray fell backward onto the floor, jammed between the truck and the wall. He struggled to his feet, put the ax in the bed with the other tools.

  “How do you turn on the lights?” he asked. The dashboard had too many knobs and switches.

  Pearl had wheedled her dad into letting her drive the truck a couple of times, but she was far from familiar with it. “You pull one of those round knobs on the dash between the blinker lever and the door.”

  Murray wedged his way beside Janochek to pull on the lights and saw the blinking green one again. “This doesn’t have any round things.”

  Pearl glanced down. “What doesn’t?”

  “The blinker?”

  “Describe it.”

  “It’s a small box taped to this pole that goes into the floor.”

  “The steering column.”

  “Okay. It’s got wires on it.”

  “I don’t think that’s part of the truck.”

  The small box was disturbing. Murray was afraid to guess what it might be.

  As Murray withdrew he heard Janochek groan. “He’s waking up?”

  “Getting there,” Pearl said. “Try the knobs between you and the steering wheel.”

  The second one Murray pulled brought the headlights. When his eyes adjusted he could see the pickup was a very close fit. Maybe two feet from the cab top to the ceiling. Three feet or so from the rear to the box door. In front there was a dent, a couple-inch push-out where the pickup had struck. Amazing! Janochek had threaded the needle. Murray remembered the sparks when they hit the ramp.

  Janochek groaned again, and Murray shuffled back around to his own side and got in.

  “Ax, a screwdriver, Swiss army, a rake, tire iron, a rope, and a bucket,” he said, expecting some praise for his sleuthing.

  “You forgot one,” Pearl said.

  “No, I … What?”

  “The pickup,” she said. “We start it, put it in reverse, and it’s a battering ram.”

  INVISIBLE BLUE

  Faraday was back at Gates’s desk with more papers. “Databases have nothing on Jerell but your shelter census printouts came in.”

  “Yeah, well it’s still early. Barely eight.” Gates took the pages, started with the Seattle Shelter Census. Nothing. Portland? No. In Eugene, a Harold Smith, seventeen. Medford? Same name, two days earlier. The boy was gradually moving north. Gates searched the Oregon mission rosters plus Chico, Sacramento, and San Francisco. No mention of a Jerell Barker.

  “You read these?” he asked.

  Faraday nodded.

  “We missed it. Harold Smith’s accounted for. A kid traveling north on the shelter circuit. Jerell Barker’s in the wind.”

  The woman took a deep breath. Nodded again. “Big mistake,” she agreed. “His crew had it right.”

  “He could be nearly impossible to find,” Gates said. “A, he ran away so cleverly there’s no trail to follow so he really could escape from his dad, or B…”

  “Barker has the resources to hide the boy anywhere,” Faraday said, thinking along with him.

  “Around the home?” Gates pictured the palatial house and grounds. “Convenient but risky. We’d never get a warrant based on what we have.”

  Once again, the name surfaced. Kiefer. God! The boy, if he could really do what he seemed to be able to do … invaluable.

  Faraday left and returned in less than a minute. “Thought I heard these printing,” she said. “The properties?” She pulled a chair next to Gates and they reviewed the new information simultaneously.

  Roth Trask—Riverton home and condo in Tahoe. Engineering company’s in-town property. Trask’s current shopping center complex under construction southeast of town near the new industrial park. Located on adjacent acreage, the company’s staging and storage lot, materials and equipment.

  “Blue Dumpster?” Faraday asked.

  “Get dispatch to send a patrol, to Industrial Park first.” Gates stood. “We need some luck.”

  * * *

  In a few minutes the patrol deputy called in. There were four Dumpsters at the construction site and one at the staging compound, all blue, but they held nothing significant.

  Faraday made a phone call to Decker’s Dumpsters. “Can you tell me how many Dumpsters Trask Engineering is currently renting?” She waited. Turned to Gates. “Six,” she said.

  “Have patrol swing by Trask’s office building. The other one could be there.”

  Patrol reported a green city container at the corner of the parking lot. No blue.

  Faraday broke the silence. “Where is it?”

  “The bodies … plastic bags like the bit we found at the woman’s grave? Not much odor.”

  “Aerial reconnaissance? That’s a bright blue.”

  “Might miss it under trees or a roof.”

  “Barker’s property?”

  “I’ll check his home but I doubt it.”

  Faraday had her eyes shut, brainsto
rming. “Investment property, either of them?”

  “None that I read about other than company building projects. Several out of state and the new shopping complex south of town. Nothing else under Trask’s or Barker’s name.” Gates thinking, absentmindedly looking out at the wall clock. “They have to put it somewhere they know … someplace they’re pretty familiar with,” he said. “Otherwise they couldn’t be sure it would stay undiscovered.”

  “There’s something we’re not seeing,” Faraday said, practically stomping back to her desk.

  Gates sighed. Embarrassed. Knew she was right. Decided to call Duheen. Bring her up-to-date. Mine for ideas.

  * * *

  Duheen said she was glad Murray was back safe, but was too busy to talk about missing Dumpsters. When the call ended, Gates left once again and drove west to Barker’s home. Parked and quickly walked the grounds. No Dumpster. Thought about Jerell. Could he be imprisoned? Gates would have probably seen or heard him when he searched the house and found Mrs. Barker. A basement? Didn’t look like it. A shack on the edge of the property? No.

  So was he buried here? Twice in the past few years, men had killed their wives and buried them in the foundation of a new gazebo. Ironic, since a new gazebo might have been part of the marital discord in the first place. Gates walked the perimeter again looking for new construction. Saw nothing.

  Did the boy take the cash and run? Far enough away that nobody from this area would ever find him? Couldn’t afford to tell his school friends on the chance his dad might get to them? That reminded him. He wanted Faraday to do a follow-up interview with Clemens and Suh. Find out if they remembered anything else. Ask them where they’d look for Jerell.

  Gates looked at his watch, saw it was time to check in with Janochek now.

  NURSE WARRIOR

  The trip wore on, the rumbling of the big truck keeping a steady rhythm. Once again it was impossible for Murray to guess how fast they were going, how far, or in what direction, but this trip felt like it was taking an hour or more. He glanced at Pearl from time to time as she continued to minister to her father, whispering to him, holding him as best she could to minimize the jiggling.