Murder in the Clear Zone

by Lakes, Lynde

  Bard was almost running by the time he reached the end of the hall. “Got a minute?” he asked, as he stuck his head into Cory’s office.

  “Yeah, buddy. What’s up?” Cory smiled and turned away from his computer, his blue eyes twinkling.

  Bard’s shoulder muscles relaxed. Good thing Cory didn’t hold a grudge. They hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms earlier that morning.

  “Your chief can’t assign anyone to the Clear Zone Project until after the rock concert series in Lytle Creek is over. Can you suggest anything?”

  Cory took out a comb and slicked it through his dark blond hair. “Something new happen?”

  Bard knew Cory had heard the latest. “Isn’t someone shooting a kid and butchering a bunch of birds enough?”

  “Take it easy, I’ll make some extra swings through. I haven’t finished my investigation on Charlie Borden, so I’ll be around anyway.”

  “Thanks.” Thanks for nothing, Bard thought. “Got anything on a guy named Deeter?”

  Cory squared his broad shoulders and sat up straighter. “Does he live in the project?”

  Bard nodded. “Bear of a guy, bearded, drives a black truck.”

  “Last name?” Cory poised his pencil ready to write.

  “I don’t know. Deeter isn’t a legitimate renter so he’s not on my list.”

  “Got an address?”

  “22239 Dell Avenue, apartment three. Downstairs.”

  Cory wrote it down. “Got a license number on the truck?”

  Bard groaned. He should have gotten it. “Not yet.”

  “Let’s see what we have here,” Cory said with an amused expression on his face, “a bear-like, bearded guy who drives a black truck and lives in apartment three on Dell.” He tapped his pencil on the desk thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s enough. I’ll have something on him later today.”

  “Thanks. I think he can finger the head guy behind the trouble in our project. Maybe even identify Charlie’s killer.”

  Cory wrinkled his tanned forehead. “You don’t believe the widow did it, do you?”

  “No,” Bard said. It irked him that Cory spit out the word widow like a filthy curse.

  To defend Paula, Bard almost mentioned Charlie’s journal and that it might conceal a motive for the killing. He remembered in time that Cory wasn’t just his roommate; he was the man out to convict Paula. If he knew about the journal he might take it away from her, calling it evidence. “I’m certain Paula didn’t kill anyone.” Bard said. “Very certain.”

  Cory shook his head. “My new information might shake your faith, pal. Her bank records show an entry for $100,000, deposited right after someone killed her husband.”

  “So he was insured,” Bard shrugged, “so what?”

  “She took out the policy a week before he was murdered.”

  “Insurance companies don’t pay out money without an extensive investigation. The settlement proves they didn’t find any foul play.”

  “They depended on the police investigation. And someone in our department dropped the ball.”

  Bard shook his head. “Are you so hard up for cases you have to dig up old ones?”

  “This is groundwork for the Borden murder. I’m checking insurance companies now. If the widow happens to be on a policy for Borden, bingo, we not only have a connection between the cases but a strong motive.”

  Bard didn’t believe a connection existed. “Get me the info on Deeter,” he said. “I suspect he knows the real killer, and it isn’t Paula!”

  “Look at the facts, Bardy Boy. She and her husband moved in with the granny-in-law. A couple of months later, the old gal dies mysteriously. Paula and husband, Dan, inherit Granny’s house, and a year later, Dan dies and the widow becomes the sole owner of the house plus the beneficiary on his policy.”

  “You’re making her sound like a money hungry calculating murderess. Everything you’ve accused her of is pure speculation.”

  “Strong cases are often built from speculation, my friend.”

  “Give her a break. She’s gone through a lot of losses.”

  Cory laughed. “You got it bad, Bardy buddy. Just remember to cover yourself.” Cory’s smug expression revealed that he thought Bard was a fool. “She’s a killer. And don’t worry, I’ll be keeping a close watch on the project area. And the Widow Orphan Annie.”

  A flush of anger crawled up Bard’s neck. He dug his fingers into his palms. He had to get out of there before he blew his cool. He bolted out the door without comment.

  Damn! All Cory wanted was to lock Paula behind bars. He’d closed his mind to the truth. Cory hadn’t seen her face when she talked about Charlie, nor had he seen the way she was with Gary. In spite of his strong belief in Paula, the stuff Cory was spouting had started to sound convincing and Bard steeled himself against the unwelcome impact.

  The Omni quaked when he slammed the car door. It was up to him. He had to find out who was behind the violence or someone else would end up dead, and Paula would probably land in jail. He headed for the apartment where Deeter was staying.

  The black truck wasn’t parked anywhere around the place, but that didn’t mean Deeter wasn’t there. Maybe he loaned the truck out.

  When Bard knocked on the door, a hairy ape of a guy about three-hundred pounds, answered. He wore a black T-shirt and worn greasy Levi’s. When he took a swig of the beer in his hand, Bard spied the tattoo Harley-Hoods on the inside of his bulging forearm. The sweet odor of pot and rotting garbage assaulted Bard’s nostrils. A barrage of four-letter words came from inside the apartment spewed by at least two other male voices.

  Bard shifted his weight. He wasn’t prepared to mix it up with a bunch of bikers. “I’m looking for Deeter.”

  “Gone,” the biker drawled. “Got a phone call then tossed his gear in a duffel bag and bugged outta here like the devil was after him.”

  “When do you expect him back?”

  “Whatsamatter? You don’t understan’ English? The brother’s gone.” The biker gulped down the last of his beer and crushed the can in his meaty fist. “And he ain’t comin’ back.”

  “Where’d he go?”

  The biker laughed. “Where we’re all goin’. To hell.”

  “I need his last name.”

  “You the heat?”

  “Relocation agent.”

  “He’s already been relocated, man.” The biker hooted it up as if he’d said something very funny.

  This guy wasn’t among the legitimate renters and owners from Bard’s original survey. But a police raid would get this bunch out. The encroachers might even be behind the looting. Without proof, he could only walk away. Bard shook his head. It was damned suspicious that just when he was ready to nail Deeter a mysterious phone call sent him packing.

  Bard glanced at his watch. He had no more time to waste here. He had just ten minutes to pick up the newly married Morales couple.

  When they got into the car, Jess Morales started right into a tirad about the project contractor, Les Cardel. “He’s always leering at mi esposa and hanging around mi casa when I’m gone,” Jess said, mixing Spanish and English. “I think he’s up to no good.”

  Maria, Jess’s wife, added with a quiver in her voice, “Can you do anything to keep him away, Mr. Nichols? He stands too close, and his look is muy malo.”

  Bard had seen the leering way Les looked at women, and Paula had mentioned she didn’t like him hanging around either. “I’ll talk to him.” Why did Les have to be such an obnoxious S.O.B.?

  Bard showed the Morales’s a half-dozen places and when they didn’t like any of them, he hid his impatience under a thin veneer of forced politeness. Dammit, it wasn’t like him to feel irritated with his clients. He chalked it up to his worry about Paula. His anxiousness to get back to her festered like a thorn under the skin.

  He cut a sharp turn onto Mountain View Avenue and then slowed when he noticed a man tacking up a for rent sign in front of a nicely-landscaped triplex.

 
“Look, Maria said. “That place looks neat and tidy and it’s close to our church.”

  It turned out that the rent was reasonable, and Maria and Jess loved the place. Seeing them so excited lifted his spirits. His day wasn’t a complete washout.

  After dropping the couple off at their old apartment, Bard picked up Chinese food from Wongs and headed for Paula’s house. He pressed down hard on the accelerator. The extra speed was only because he was eagar to see that she was okay. Yeah, right, he thought. Okay, it was more than that. But the only other reason was he was counting on Paula to find a clue in the journal. This lie was easy to buy because of the truth tangled in it; he needed a concrete lead now that Deeter was gone.

  ****

  Paula came to the door holding Charlie’s journal tightly to her breast. She was safe. Bard felt his body relax; he’d worried needlessly. Paula’s blue-framed glasses dwarfed her face. The frames and her knit top were the same brilliant blue as her eyes. He longed to pull her close, hold her tight, and celebrate his relief. But that wasn’t wise.

  “You’re early.” She stepped aside. Scents of soap and honeysuckle wafted over him. Damn, he wished he’d gone home first to freshen up. Her sweeping gesture for him to enter tightened her knit top across her breasts.

  Bard tensed with instant arousal. He gripped the bag of Chinese cuisine and somehow managed to walk to the center of the room. The heat radiating against his forearms from the containers of hot spicy sechuan food was nothing compared to the heat Paula inflamed in him. Too bad he was too professional to act on it.

  He took a deep breath to regain his self-control and followed Paula to the kitchen. Ivanhoe’s cage swung slightly on a hook in front of the kitchen window. The parrot squawked and reached through the bars and clawed with persistence, trying to grasp the wooden stick that held the latch closed. His diligence almost made Bard want to help him.

  “Stop it, Iv,” Paula said.

  Bard gestured with his head toward the journal she still clutched close. “Find anything in there to help us?”

  Paula blinked a couple of times, then lifted her chin. “So far only notes on his inventions and some poetry. I wasn’t even aware he wrote poetry. I guess now there are things I’ll never know.”

  Her brave front didn’t fool Bard; he’d seen the glint of moisture in her eyes. Unable to come up with anything else to comfort her, he said, “Hey, I got an idea. Let’s eat outside. Grab a blanket and we’ll spread it out under that big oak tree in the back yard.”

  He carried out the food and sodas while Paula got the blanket. She spread it out, and when she plunked down cross-legged, he joined her, sitting as close as he could without brushing legs. With smells of deep fried shrimp and batter wafting around them, they talked about movies they’d seen, laughed over them, and for a little while they were like a couple on a date. Bard like the feeling and was in no hurry for it to end.

  By the time they had polished off the food, the air had cooled and the sun was dipping low in the grayish-coral sky. Paula leaned back on her arms and looked up with a melancholy expression. Her slender legs were crossed at the ankles.

  “I miss him already.” Her voice sounded choked and tight with pain.

  Bard knew she was talking about Charlie and fought ridiculous pangs of jealousy. How could he be jealous of a dead man?

  “We shared everything as kids.” She sighed and picked at a blade of grass. “That changed when he turned eighteen and joined the army. He went away, and I was stuck in Grimes’s foster home. Alone.” She was trembling.

  Bard longed to take her into his arms. “Bad huh?”

  Paula straightened like a rod had been shoved up her spine and clutched her hands in her lap. “It wasn’t any picnic.”

  “Want to talk about it?” She’d already told him about the beating. But he felt that was just the tip of the iceberg.

  She looked down at her clutched fingers for several heartbeats then shook her head. “Past history.” She faced him with the bravest expression he’d ever seen. “Anyway,” she said as though there had been no detour of thought, “Charlie wrote to me and visited when he could, but our lives grew apart. There’s a whole chunk of his life I know nothing about.”

  “Maybe the journal’ll fill in the gaps.”

  “I hope so,” she said, in a low, sad voice.

  Bard decided to steer the conversation to a lighter vein. “You mentioned you ran two businesses.”

  She smiled radiantly, showing he’d hit on a topic close to her heart. “I dreamed up a plan to make a living with my birds by selling canaries and other domestic birds to pet stores, some of the more exotic species to zoos, and occasionally loaning out doves for weddings.”

  He hoped his surprise didn’t show. It was beginning to make sense why some of her neighbors affectionately called her the bird lady. “And the other business?”

  “I photograph birds for postcards and sell pictures and articles to bird lover’s magazines.”

  “I’ve never known anyone so wrapped up in birds.”

  She laughed. “It’s very profitable, but I’d do it even if I never made a cent. They’re mostly gentle creatures.”

  When Paula talked about her feathered friends, her eyes glowed, and Bard wished he were the source of that glow.

  She raked the underside of her hair, looking adorable, even a little sexy. “Within months the business grew to where I could hardly handle it alone.”

  “Is that why Charlie moved in?”

  “Not really. He just turned up one day and said he’d be staying awhile. Since he was going to be here anyway, I made plans to travel to South America to buy some rare exotic birds. I have a connection in Buenos Aires.”

  Connection. The word had such an illegal sound. Bard tried not to allow the warning signals to unsettle him. He shook his head. Paula was an alarming contradiction, stirring his desire one minute, his mistrust the next.

  Paula sighed as she brushed a blade of grass off her jeans. “Now I’ll have to wait until this move is over to make the trip.”

  “How long was Charlie here?” Bard had heard conflicting rumors.

  “A little over two weeks. I wish now he hadn’t come. It cost him his life.”

  The sorrow in her voice unnerved Bard. “I want to help you find his killer. Can you trust me?” Could he trust her? With effort, he discarded his own sporadic doubt as quickly as it came. She just sat there staring at him. Say something, dammit.

  Chapter Twelve

  Paula studied him. “I’m not sure, but I want to trust you,” she answered honestly, yet wondering about his forthrightness. His green eyes looked so kind, so gentle. She thought of the other green-eyed men who’d deceived her. Was Bard an expert at deception, too?

  Suddenly, Ivanhoe sounded an alarm, squawking and screeching inside the kitchen. Bard and Paula exchanged looks. “Oh, no. Could the bird killers be after Iv?” Paula scrambled to her feet and ran toward the house.

  Bard followed and grabbed her before she reached the door. “You can’t go charging in there unarmed.”

  Paula glared at him. Had he purposely gotten her out of the house? Was he holding her so the intruder could get away? She stomped on Bard’s instep. As she broke free of him, she pushed and sent him sprawling on the ground. Paula slipped inside through the screen door. In six quick steps she was in the kitchen. She sighed in relief. Ivanhoe was all right.

  Footfalls thudded toward her bedroom. She opened the drawer where she kept her gun. Her hand closed over it. She charged down the hall then slowed and eased around the corner into her bedroom, ready to fire. The curtain fluttered in the breeze coming through the open window.

  Paula froze and scanned the room. It was empty.

  She ran to the window. Outside, Bard was struggling with a darkly clad figure. The gloved, wiry, ski-masked man dropped something as he broke free. Paula took aim, but she couldn’t shoot a man in the back. Bard chased him into the adjoining field. The man turned and fired. Bard dropped into
the maze of weeds and waist-high stalks of sunflowers. He didn’t get up.

  Paula’s breath caught. Oh, no. She climbed over the bedroom windowsill, leapt to the ground and came down hard on the metal frame of the knocked out screen. Her ankle twisted, pain shot through it. She clenched her jaw and kept going. Her heart throbbed in her ears as she ran toward where Bard had fallen.

  Suddenly strong arms pulled her down between the stalks of giant sunflowers. “Stay down,” Bard said.

  “Are you hurt?” she asked, a little breathless.

  “Only my pride.”

  Paula shrugged out of his hold. “You mean I ran here on a twisted ankle and you aren’t even hurt?”

  “Sorry to disappoint you. I could stand up and let him take another shot.” He feigned rising.

  Paula grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back down. “Are you crazy?”

  Ignoring her question, he touched her ankle. “Let me take a look.” His hands traced over her skin, stirring something inside her. She quickly moved her leg away. “It’s stopped throbbing now.”

  “Sure?”

  She nodded, more aware of the quiver within her feminine core than the lingering pain. “If you hadn’t held me back, that guy wouldn’t have gotten out of the house.”

  “Yes he would’ve. And killed you in the process. At least he didn’t get the journal.”

  Of course, she thought, the intruder was after the journal. Why hadn’t she considered that. A sinking feeling washed over her. Only she and Bard knew about the journal. She searched her mind for another explanation, but each time she ran over the evidence, the answer came up the same. Bard had to be involved.

  Paula scanned the field. With the thief nowhere in sight, she rose and limped toward where the journal lay on the ground. Bard was only a step behind her. “How did that guy know about the journal?” she demanded.

  Without waiting for an answer, she picked it up, and ignoring the pain, ran into the house.

  The screen door slammed in Bard’s face. “Hey watch it!” He let himself in, and followed her into the living room in broad strides. “Maybe Charlie told someone he was keeping one.”