Dead Investigation

by Charlie Price

  “I didn’t see it. Read it in your notes.”

  “Yeah. It was Lhasa or a Shih Tzu or something. Fit in her hand. Haven had a tiny black dog for adoption. Different breed, but cute. I remembered. Went out and bought it. Took it to her in the hospital. Bribed the nurses.”

  Gates was having trouble keeping up. “Bribed?”

  “See’s Candy. Fresh two-pound boxes for a month.”

  Gates imagined the heavyset charge nurse trying to scrub chocolate smears off her chin. “Mrs. Barker?”

  “She wouldn’t look at it until I set it on her chest and left the room.”

  “And?”

  “By the time I left she was holding it.”

  The brilliance of the strategy left Gates speechless.

  “Hey, and I had an idea about the Dumpster,” Faraday said, sounding rushed. “I have to check something. I’ll see you back at the office.”

  Gates hadn’t closed his mouth when Faraday hung up. He heard Duheen clear her throat.

  “You’ve been holding out on me,” she said.

  INTRUSION

  The voice. “Have you told your children what I said in the cottage?”

  “No.” Janochek.

  Murray interrupted. “Pearl got away. She’s not here.”

  “She needs to hear this,” the voice said.

  He’d heard the two of them talking! The camera must have a mic and speaker. So much for the plan. Whatever they said or did made no difference if the delivery truck went in the pit.

  Janochek squeezed out of the pickup, edged to the back of the truck, and lowered the tailgate. Sat down and motioned to Pearl and Murray to do the same. “Might as well be comfortable,” he said.

  Pearl moved to sit beside him.

  When Murray joined the two of them, he scooted as close as he could to Janochek, pressed his elbow into the man’s side to get his attention. When Janochek turned his head, Murray moved his eyes up toward the rear ceiling. Mouthed “camera and speaker,” but couldn’t tell whether Janochek understood.

  “Listen carefully.” The voice was jolting, loud and fuzzy with feedback in the enclosed box. “The negotiation … You can live, if you will be silent from this moment forward, about the bodies, about me … Agree, and you can leave, go on your way.”

  Murray, desperate, pushed Janochek harder in the side. Would shake his head, warn him, as soon as he looked, but the voice had Janochek’s full attention. He sat eyes closed, listening, concentrating.

  Pearl sat straight, hand on her father’s arm. “Trust you?” she asked. “How do we know you won’t kill us later?”

  “Smart,” the voice said, a tone of approval. “You have only my word. But without it, you have nothing. Of course I understand.” The voice paused, as if composing the right words.

  “You think I’m an evil person … I am not. I’m a parent. I own a business. I’m a pillar of the community like the other biggest thieves in history.”

  Murray could tell Pearl was as surprised as he was. Another lie?

  “Life isn’t sacred,” the voice continued. “No one deserves to live or die. In the path of economic or political motives, victims are no more than by-products, unavoidable circumstance, collateral damage. Always have been. Death is the inevitable result of fate or need.”

  Murray struggled to understand the man’s words. Could they be true? Killing was just a fact of life? Not immoral? Is that what he meant? Was everything that happened either economic or political?

  “It’s evolution,” the man said. “Kill or be killed.”

  Murray could practically feel Pearl’s bristling disagreement. Janochek, however, seemed calm. In a certain way, the voice was making sense, but it was twisted. If everyone lived by that principle … was that happening more than Murray realized? Companies dumping toxic waste near towns, political groups blowing up schools. Jeez, the Indians in this country. We killed them when we wanted their land.

  The voice got louder. “Our world? It’s built on wink-and-nod business, wink-and-nod politics, wink-and-nod ethics. Corporate execs go to overseas conferences to hear an ex–U.S. president advise them how to shelter their profits offshore! Offshore, so they won’t have to pay legitimate taxes. You or I try to shelter our tax dollars, we’re prosecuted. Wink and nod. Congressmen, priests, professional golfers—everyone with a lot of money and power—they say one thing, do another. Why? Because they can.”

  Murray knew this guy was just building a case to justify his own behavior, but still.

  “Evil? I’m hardly a speck beside what happens everywhere every day. There’s no morality. Only what we invent or what we can get away with.”

  Now Murray didn’t know what to think. If he lived through this, he was going to ask Janochek.

  The voice went on. “I’m done talking. There’s a law of survival. When you take matters in your own hands, never … leave a witness. The loud noise you heard a few moments ago? Testimony to that creed.”

  “You shot somebody?” Murray, this out before he could stop it.

  “Your question should be: Having gone this far, why would I seriously consider letting you live?”

  “You tell us.” This from Janochek.

  “Simply? The police will look a thousand times harder if you three disappear. The homeless die and it’s business as usual. Any investigation, perfunctory. But if I have to kill you, and I could—either vaporize or bury you—I run a far greater risk of being caught. Being embarrassed. My legacy ruined, my work meaningless.”

  Murray was doing his best to keep following the man’s thinking. People didn’t care if the homeless died? And legacy? How could this crook have a legacy?

  “Enough. It couldn’t be plainer. Agree and you drive away, go on with your lives. Refuse? You wi—”

  A rustling noise interrupted. “What the hell are you doing?” A different man’s voice, rough, panting, like this man had run from somewhere.

  “Get out of here.” The first voice.

  Murray looked at Janochek and Pearl, both puzzled. A different voice, another partner?

  “Who were you talking to?” The new voice.

  “People who found the graves.”

  “Where?”

  “The truck. Locked in. We’re negotiating.”

  “My ass!”

  “I’m keeping us out of jail.”

  “Did you kill the security guard?”

  “Had to. How did you find me?”

  “Tire tracks from Mom’s driveway. You put this excavation next to her land?”

  “I’ll fix those on the way out. This part’s state forest. Anonymous. We doze trees over the hole like a mudslide. Lasts forever.”

  “You brought the D-7?”

  “The old one, the D-9. Quit bitching, help me, and it’ll be in the compound by tomorrow.”

  “Why are you whispering?”

  “We can’t talk. They can hear.”

  “Jesus, Roth, do you know how you sound?”

  “Don’t say names. They’ve never seen me, can’t identify us … They agree to shut up and drive away? Cops continue to bumble and we’re gone within the week.”

  “You can’t make a deal with kids. They’ll say anything to stay alive!”

  “The dad’ll get it.”

  “Right. Dads are foolproof. Ours thought you were a CEO.”

  Murray heard a snap and shuffling, scuffling, like the men were wrestling. When it ceased, Murray thought he could hear hard breathing, maybe whispering.

  The second voice got louder, angrier, more sarcastic. “So, Golden Boy, do you get how complicated—”

  “Clever.”

  “Right. You’re a genius … And the CarterGuard cruiser?”

  “Goes in the pit with Gary.”

  “The Dumpster?”

  “Already there.”

  Murray exchanged glances with Janochek and Pearl. Nodded. Held up one finger. Pointed to his bandaged thumb and the scabs on his wrist. Held up two fingers. Shrugged. Shook his head. T
hey seemed to get it. He knew the first voice—the man who’d kidnapped him. Didn’t know the second. Murray caught Janochek’s eye and pointed to the ceiling.

  Janochek noticed the patch.

  “You should have let me handle this. We’d already be done … You planning to get the equipment back to the compound?”

  “Flatbed, behind the trees on the far side.”

  “We sink the truck, bury everything, load the dozer … we still have an extra car.”

  “I’ll drive you back, but we don’t have to do this if we negotiate. We make a deal with the man and the kids. We could take our time leaving. Make it look right.”

  “A deal…”

  “They don’t talk, they live.”

  “You try that and we’ll both get the chair.”

  “If we run now, Lillian will find out.”

  “You think she won’t find out anyway?”

  “This is for her.”

  “Oh, yeah, I forgot. Your daughter wanted you to steal millions?”

  “A year or two, the lawyer contacts her. Delivers her trust.”

  “The accounts?”

  “Growing. Compound interest.”

  “Still both our names?”

  “You signed them.”

  “You could have made changes.”

  “I’m not you. This is wasting time. Let me do what has to be done.”

  “Yeah? Well, Dad was wrong. What has to be done is exactly what you can’t do.”

  “I got rid of Payne.”

  “You made it worse. If that wet brain figured something out, who’d listen to him? He was nothing. The investigation was closed!”

  “Goddamn it, you’re not boss.”

  “I should be.”

  “You know they’re hearing all of this.”

  “What we’re saying? They’re forty feet away.”

  “I’m broadcasting to the truck.”

  “You … imbecile!”

  NOTEWORTHY

  Gates thanked Duheen and headed to the cemetery to find out what Murray had been doing when he disappeared. He dreaded what Janochek might say. “You blew him out of the water with your tragic tale. He needed time alone.”

  Gates rolled through the entrance and up the narrow road to the cottage, going extra slow, hoping he’d see Janochek working nearby. No one but an older couple at a grave west of the big oak. Disappointed when he got to the cottage. No pickup. He left the cruiser and knocked on the workshop door. No response. The door was unlocked. Lights off.

  He walked around to the cottage. Tried that door. Also unlocked. Guess that wasn’t surprising. Gates couldn’t think of any robbery reports related to cemeteries. Kiefer or the girl could possibly still be sleeping after a late night, so he called out. Again, louder. Hardly an echo. Gates had never been in a cemetery caretaker’s cottage before. Curiosity drew him over the threshold, past the small table by the door. He took in the tiny living room, a blanket-covered love seat, a maroon easy chair, short coffee table that might double as an ottoman, a hall leading toward the back. Bathroom and bedrooms? He checked each and found them empty.

  Back in the living area, he put a hand on the food prep counter separating living room from kitchen. Walked on around to better see the fridge, stove, sink, cupboards. In the corner by the fridge the plastic garbage can had a couple of bloody rags on top. Probably a simple explanation for those. Cooking injury.

  Off to his right, an alcove by the front window for the four-person dining table. On the table a half-full coffee cup, two nearly full bowls of cereal gone to milky mush. Gates turned a three-sixty. The rest of the kitchen was clean, so why was the dining table not cleared? On his second three-sixty he spotted a ballpoint lying beside a scrap of paper near the sink.

  Read the note. TAKEN AT GUNPOINT. He gripped the counter for support. Fool!

  He ran to the cruiser, grabbed the mic, and called an all-points on Janochek’s pickup: older General Motors, probably eighties, faded red, fifty-year-old Caucasian driver with two teenagers. Made it an AMBER-Alert, California-wide, posted on freeways. Didn’t take time to explain. All those phone messages!

  He speed-dialed Faraday.

  She picked up second ring.

  Gates broke over whatever she’d been going to say. Tried to keep from yelling. “He’s got the caretaker and the kids. Their last message”—he checked his phone—“six-forty. Probably gone a couple of hours. You got anything?”

  “Got a place,” Faraday said. “A maybe. You at the cemetery?” She didn’t give Gates time to answer. “Meet me at Deschutes, 44 off-ramp. You do the alert. I’ll scramble Highway Patrol.” Dial tone.

  Gates peeled down the cemetery road requesting a forensics team for the cottage. Maybe they’d see something he’d missed. Prayed he wasn’t already too late. Loathed himself. The Kiefer kid, kidnapped twice in twenty-four hours, this time with Janochek and the daughter. Inexcusable!

  He shut those thoughts off. Focused on the equipment he carried: phone, handgun, extra clips, twelve gauge, Glock and Springfield in the trunk with extra handcuffs, first aid, flare gun … Might not be able to use weapons if the kids were still alive. Flipped the light bar and siren as he skidded a left on Tehama to 44 west. By the time he crossed under the 5 freeway he was wondering if he had a shovel. Made him sick to think about it.

  THE POWER OF A SANDWICH BAG

  While the men continued to argue, Janochek leaned close to Murray. “Surveillance?” He gestured toward the ceiling.

  Murray nodded. Pointed to his eyes and ears.

  Janochek whispered, “Any more?”

  Murray did another slow sweep. Shook his head.

  Janochek made a fast circling motion with his hand. Let’s get moving. He motioned Pearl to one side, Murray to the other, so their heads were touching. Said, “Dim the camera.” He looked to Pearl. “Handkerchief? Kleenex?”

  She shook her head.

  He tapped Murray. “Under the seat? Plastic bag?”

  The boy hustled to open the passenger door as quietly as he could.

  To Pearl, “Did you find the ax?”

  She nodded.

  “Lean it up against the dash where we can grab it quick.”

  She lifted it from the bed and stuck it in on the driver’s side while Murray came out with a couple of used ziplocks, probably once held sandwiches.

  Janochek smoothed the air out of one.

  Pearl was back, ready.

  “Glove box, electrical tape,” he told her.

  Janochek gauged where to stand to get to the patch, mouthed, “Help me,” and crawled onto the pickup bed with the bag and the tape. When he stood, the hidden area was an easy reach, Pearl beside him, watching, ready to brace him. Murray stayed at the back of the truck bed, monitored the men’s argument, hoping they were too distracted to notice.

  Janochek taped the plastic on one side, anchoring it, taped the rest of the perimeter until the bag made a fairly tight layer over the original communication patch. He clambered down, sat on the tailgate again.

  NEEDLE IN A FOREST

  A minute took forever. Waiting for Faraday at the off-ramp, Gates got out and inspected his trunk. Everything there, including the rifle scope in the case beside the Springfield. He mounted it and did a sight check. Close enough. Heard engine noise and turned to see Faraday slewing to a stop twenty feet behind him.

  “Mine,” he said, motioning her to him.

  “Thought you’d say that.” She grabbed the shotgun from the holder, hauled a navy canvas bag off the back seat, and ran toward him while Gates started the car. “Back on 44 east,” she shouted as she plunged into the passenger side, slamming the door. “Whitmore Road.”

  Flashers warning people to the side, Gates was at a hundred when she tapped him for the turnoff.

  “Left, then right at the T.” She checked pistol clips while he blew down the narrow two-lane.

  “It’s curvy at the start,” she said, after he’d turned again and headed east.

 
; “I remember,” he said. Got back to ninety when the road straightened at the top of the long hill. “What do you have?”

  “I don’t know if you said something that tipped me. Maybe it was Barker’s wife. Family out of town. I began to wonder, what about Mom and Pop Trask? Vacation property? Mom’s maiden name? Old man dead, she doesn’t use it?”

  “And…”

  “Her family had a retreat. Forty miles east. Remote. Borders on forest land.”

  “Lassen National Forest?”

  “Latour. State forest. Hard to reach, one road in and out. Thirty acres, cabin on a creek, pond.”

  “Thirty acres,” Gates said. “Big enough.”

  The road got twisty again and he had to focus. Straightened near the town of Whitmore, and he slowed to seventy. Knew there were too many people, old cars, ranchers on all-terrains. Dart out from a driveway and everybody’d be hamburger.

  “I take a left on Fern?” Gates asked, passing the post office, the general store next.

  “No, stay straight, but slow down. This becomes Tamarack. Nineteen or twenty miles you hit a road called Scott Lumber, then Cutter. These are more like deer trails. We’ll stay on the coordinates I pulled from the GPS. The land is just before you cross the state forest boundary.”

  “Never heard of Latour.” Gates could see Faraday was right. The road was already treacherous.

  “I asked Highway Patrol for a helicopter.” Faraday was holding on to the armrest and still banging side to side. “One’s on a car chase approaching Glenn County, the other’s searching for climbers at Castle Crags. Riverton office couldn’t give me an ETA. Valley Division’s too far south to do any good. Right now, we’re the nearest patrol.”

  TECH SUPPORT

  The first voice must have turned back to his microphone because his voice was suddenly loud again. “So do we have an agree— What happened to the camera!”

  “It’s pretty hot in here,” Janochek said. “Might have fogged.”

  “Should have brought your IT manager.” The second voice.

  Murray. Crystal clear—these men hated each other. So why were they partners?

  “Last chance,” the first voice said. “You agree, I open the door. Even if the boy locates where he was held yesterday, it’s been sanitized.”