“I warned you about that. I don’t want you in that lifestyle. Those people are outlaws…criminals, most of them.”
“Uncle Greg wasn’t a criminal.”
“Well…maybe not, but the rest of them are,” she said. “I don’t want you riding that thing, and that’s final.”
“Well, I’m sorry Mother, but it’s not your decision. It’s my bike and I’m keeping it.”
“Absolutely not! I won’t allow it,” Joanne barked, face flushing pink in irritation. “It’s too dangerous, just the traffic alone…you could get hurt.”
Now it was Hailey’s turn to fold her arms across her chest, the gesture one of steadfast defiance.
“I’m sorry Mother. I’m an adult and I made a decision,” she went on. “Greg wanted me to have the Harley and I’m going to honor his wish.”
“Yes…well, Greg didn’t always exercise good judgment. He didn’t know what’s best for you. I do.”
“He knew enough. He knew how to help me when I needed it,” she said quietly. “When no one else could.”
“I know you bonded with him, but still,” she said. “He wasn’t the knight in shining armor you think.”
“Don’t push me Mother,” Hailey warned. “I more than bonded with him, he saved my life. He convinced me to live.”
She remembered the nights she’d sat by his bedside, pouring out her deepest fears while the IV’s poured into his arms. “You can’t understand what we went through when he was dying. You weren’t there.”
Ignoring her daughter’s volatile tone, Joanne returned to her browbeating.
“Hailey Marie Barrow!” Her mother’s impatient voice echoed off the room’s vaulted ceiling. “You listen to me. I insist that you come to your senses and get rid of that dangerous machine.”
“No.”
“Your uncle may not have cared about his own skin, but I care about yours.”
“I know you care about me, but I’m still keeping the bike,” she said, a static charge of power and self-reliance moving through her. “I like riding it. It gives me a sense of peace, freedom.”
“Freedom? Look at what it’s already done. You’re dressed like a reject from the state prison,” she said. “Next thing you’ll be hanging out in bars, drinking, smoking…and doing who-knows-what else.”
“Mother!” Hailey blanched at the thinly disguised innuendo. “How could you even say that!”
The older woman continued, undaunted. “You don’t belong with that riff-raff, that biker-gang crowd. Those were your uncle’s friends,” Joanne continued, voice now harsh and judgmental. “Those people care about nothing but themselves.”
“What do you know about it?” she asked. “What can you possibly know about being free? You’ve had someone taking care of you your whole life, making all the decisions for you…and cleaning up your messes. First it was Grandpa, then Daddy…now me.”
“So! This is Greg’s idea of a last wish, turning you against me!” Joanne’s eyes blazed. “I would have expected as much from him. That coward!”
“Don’t you dare say anything bad about Uncle Greg!” Hailey cautioned, her voice underlined with smoldering fire. “He was the kindest, most giving man I ever knew…along with Daddy, of course.”
“You don’t know everything little missy. Your uncle wasn’t exactly selfless. Did you know that your uncle threw away a promising career at your father’s firm?” Joanne said in a flaunting, superior tone. “He had a fling with one of his co-workers…a married co-worker. He had the morals of an alley cat.”
“Yes, Mother. He told me all about it,” Hailey said. “That woman was already separated from her husband before they ever met. They would have gotten married…if she hadn’t died in the car accident. He left the firm because he couldn’t look at her empty office every day. He loved her.”
“Your uncle was selfish and irresponsible, not the ideal role model,” Joanne paused. “After all, he left a quarter of a million dollars to a 20 year-old, a child really, instead of leaving it to someone older, someone better suited to handle that kind of responsibility.”
“Someone like you?”
“Yes.” The quiet admission was drastically out of place in the growing heat of the argument.
“So, this is about the money!” Hailey shouted, face turning pink with renewed fury. “How could you be so shallow!” Temper finally reaching the breaking point, Hailey glared at her mother. “That’s it! I won’t listen to any more,” she drew a deep breath, fighting to control her outrage at her mother’s words. “You never did like Uncle Greg, even when I was a child.”
“With good reason. He was wild and didn’t think things like social conformity and stability were important.”
Her cheeks burned in rage. She turned and stormed toward the door, her boots amplifying her angry footsteps. “I said what I came to say. I tried to be reasonable, now I’m leaving.”
Halfway across the room, she stopped, looking over her shoulder. A sudden feeling of icy calm washed over her as she remembered why she originally came to see her mother in the first place.
“Oh, by the way, I went to the bank,” she said, walking back, again face to face with her mother. She reached into her back pocket and withdrew a small, white envelope, the bank’s blue logo visible on the front. She held it out to the other woman. “I want to be very clear. The only reason I’m giving you this is because I already promised. Don’t ever ask me for money again,” she said, her voice now calm and collected. “From now on, you take care of yourself. Good-bye, Mother.”
She left her mother standing in the living room, mouth agape, and envelope in her hand. The closing door echoed loudly in the cavernous house.
The young woman felt both the thrill of liberation and a twinge of guilt at her rebellion as she rode south, back to Prescott. Still stinging at her mother’s harsh condemnation of her uncle, she accelerated into the pavement’s tight curves. Thrilling at the mounting velocity, she ignored the speedometer’s passive warning as the trees flew by in a green and gray blur. She never saw the patrol car parked behind the bushes, not until the lights appeared in her mirrors and the siren blared for attention. Shit!
Rounding a turn, she pulled off the road and parked on the shoulder. Shutting off the engine, she dismounted as the officer approached, pulling her wallet from her pocket.
“Can I see your driver’s license, registration and proof of insurance, please.” he said, the baritone voice firm and official.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sitting in a chair outside the Café St. Michael, John Smith sipped an iced tea and scanned the front page of the local newspaper while he waited for the lab results. He marveled at the difference in the news of a city publication compared to the more personal stories included in the community newspaper he held in his hands.
These people actually care about their neighbor’s lives. I wish we had more of that in the city.
The electronic voice of his phone’s ring tone blared from his shirt pocket. He grimaced as he checked the caller I.D. screen. He pulled the phone out, listening intently.
“Smith here,”
“John, its Dan.”
“Yes, Chief?” Smith really didn’t want to talk to Matarski at all, knowing what was coming.
“I just got a very disturbing call from Senator Grady. He said you accused his son of, how did he put it, ‘unsavory activities’, now tell me, exactly what the hell did you say to him?”
“I asked him a few pointed questions about his son’s habits and if there were any possible links between his son and this Stone character.”
“Well he’s pretty pissed off and wanted, no demanded, your head on a platter! I told you to be careful with this case!”
Smith rolled his eyes at the constant badgering, tired of trying to do his job with the Chief and the Senator blocking his every move.
“Look, Chief, this kid was into something that got him killed. It involved this unidentified woman…and Stone fits in somewhere, I’
m sure. You add it all up and you get multiple murders.”
Matarski didn’t skip a beat. “Have you found any proof yet?”
“Well, no. But I’m sure…” Matarski cut him off in mid-sentence. “Look, I gave you the weekend to wrap this case up, not to go harassing Senator Grady in his grief…”
It was Smith’s turn to interrupt. “Since when is asking a few questions harassment?”
“When it involves a United States Senator, that’s when.”
“Are you telling me to stop pursuing this lead?”
Matarski growled in his ear. “I’m telling you I gave you two days to close this case, not to go looking for dirt on Grady’s son.”
“And I’m telling you I can’t do one without the other…besides, what is the Senator trying to hide?”
“I’ve heard enough. You get back here now.”
Smith’s pulse shot up, anger burning brighter. “You said I had two days!”
“Not anymore,” Matarski said. “You abused my good nature long enough.”
“Why are you tying my hands?”
“I said that’s enough!” Matarski barked, his tone thick with warning “You call me at home before eight o’clock tonight telling me you’re back in town…Or you can turn in your shield.”
The phone went silent in his hand as the Chief hung up.
Slamming his phone shut, Smith gulped the rest of his drink, trying to get his volcanic rage under control.
The tone of his cell sounded for the second time that morning and he almost didn’t answer it, ears still burning with anger. He took several deep breaths to calm his spiking pulse and flipped the phone open.
“Smith here.”
“John, its Will Jaco returning your call. I have some interesting results on your homicide, or should I say homicides.”
Still reticent to speak more than a few words for fear of what he would say, Smith resorted to an almost monosyllabic speech. “Shoot.”
“You’re not going to like it, but I think I just made your case, part of it anyway.” he said.
“Lay it on me,” he said, expelling his breath in calming stages. “I could use some good news.”
“For starters, the COD was just like we thought, single gunshot wound to the chest, and he did have a small amount of marijuana in his system. But, that’s not the interesting part.”
“Really?” Smith said, attention now peaked.
“We ran Grady’s DNA through CODIS and it came back with multiple matches. Two from sexual assaults here in Tucson and one from a sexual assault case in Prescott last year,”
“Prescott, really?” Smith interrupted the doctor. “Tell me about that one.”
“The victim was a 19 year-old college student named Hailey Barrow. Her attackers banged her up pretty good and cut her throat, but she survived.”
“What about Stone? Did the Sheriff’s Office send the samples from the scene in Black Canyon City?”
“YCSO sent us the samples. The lipstick on the flask was too degraded to get a match, but there is a match between Stone and the rape kit in the Barrow case.”
“I knew these cases were related.” Smith said, thinking of his conversation with Matarski and feeling a short-lived moment of righteous vindication. That asshole Grady knew his son was involved…and said nothing! His analytical mind moved forward to the next step, lining up evidence like tin soldiers. Or, he didn’t know, but suspected his son was into something illegal, otherwise he and his lap dog wouldn’t be covering for him.
The irony was not lost on the livid detective. Jesus, he’s withholding information in his own son’s homicide. How do you, as a parent, do that. Wouldn’t you want to know the truth?
“Well, we thought they both knew the same woman.” Smith said, curtailing his caustic thoughts.
“Now we know how.” The doctor added.
“So, Stone and Grady sexually assaulted this Barrow girl…together?”
“It looks that way.” The doctor agreed.
“It looks like motive.” Smith said.
“A pretty powerful one,” the doctor said. “I’m sending you the report.”
“Great work Will. Thanks.”
“I’m not finished yet. There were four contributors to the sample in that girl’s rape kit,” he sighed, the mournful sound audible to Smith half way across the state. “That poor thing, what she must have gone through.”
“So, there are two more perpetrators still out there…two more potential targets.”
“I said you weren’t going to like it,” the doctor repeated.
“You have a gift for understatement.”
Smith knew the clock was ticking on this case. He could only avoid Matarski’s wrath for so long. Fuck him! I need to find this woman before she finds the rest of these guys. The next thought going through Smiths head scraped a raw nerve he didn’t even know he had. What if I didn’t catch her? What if I didn’t even try? She’s only getting what she believes is justice. He clenched his teeth as Matarski’s face again appeared before his vision. Something in short supply lately.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Trying to talk her way out of the speeding ticket had taken nearly half an hour, the officer scolding yet polite.
“That’s a beautiful machine,” he’d said, returning her license along with an expensive citation. “I’d hate to see it wrapped around a tree.”
Still smoldering with anger at her mother, Hailey made a left onto Iron Springs road. The traffic didn’t seem to be moving, the delay compounding her boiling frustration. Regurgitating the argument in her mind multiple times, she waited for the signal to change. A few yards away, she saw the sandwich-board sign sitting next to the road. Petey’s Place – Bike Night Tonight! Following the sign’s bold arrow, she noticed the large crowd of motorcycles, the riders moving between them.
Rumbling to a stop, she lined up with the fifty or so bikes in the rope-enclosed area of the parking lot, then made her way toward the people sitting at crowded tables out front.
Standing in the swiftly waning sun, the boisterous gathering laughed, talked, ate and drank as the local radio station pumped out the classic rock in the usual live broadcast.
She scanned the crowd filled with bikers of all shapes and sizes for Doug’s tall form, hoping he hadn’t left already. Her pulse spiked as he caught her eye and motioned her over to his table.
He was sitting with four friends, chatting, their gestures bold and animated. Talking about bikes…or girls. Go figure.
“Hey, I was hoping you’d come,” he said as she moved to his side. “Welcome to bike night.” He introduced her to his friends and the five made small talk.
Continuing to watch the others mill around talking, she noticed that every few minutes different people would break away from the tables to make a tour of the parked bikes. Walking slowly among the machines, the spectators stopped to look at them with an admiration bordering on reverence and chat with the owners.
Hailey and Doug joined them, slowly walking the line. Turning to look at his handsome face, she allowed the small tendril of pleasure at his presence to grow…very slowly. Realizing she was now in front of her own bike, she noticed several people were suddenly standing around her and it, commenting to each other about accessories it might have or need. She balked at the sudden attention.
“What a sweet ride!” A voice called from a few yards further down the row, snapping her concentration. “What year is it?”
“It’s a 59’.” She answered, taking in the man as he continued to eye the bike before her.
The thin figure, wearing the standard black leather vest and standing all of five feet tall, leaned against a bright yellow Honda cruiser and grinned. “I love the old school stuff.” he said. “What they might lack in technology they make up for in character.”
Taking a camera from his saddle bag, he continued. “Can I get a shot of it? I write for a local bike magazine and it would look great on the cover.”
She thought
about it for a second, “Sure.”
“Stock frame?” he asked, moving closer to the machine. “Most of the one’s I’ve seen are raked.”
“I think so,” she said shrugging her petite shoulders. “But I don’t know all that much about it yet. I just got it a little while ago.”
She watched him circle the bike several times, obviously in his own zone, camera shutter clicking as he moved.
“What a beautiful bike.” he said to no one in particular, capturing the bike from several different angles.
“Thanks, my uncle gave it to me.” She said.
Standing next to her, Doug’s eyes opened wide in surprise. “Really? You said he built it. I thought you bought it from him.”
The photographer stopped in mid-focus, turned to her and smiled, “That’s some gift.”
Doug immediately responded to the change in her expression. Despite her diligent efforts, she was well aware he could now see the sadness clearly etched in her face.
“You okay?” he asked.
“I say he gave it to me. I inherited it from him,” she whispered quietly. “He died a few months ago…Cancer.
“I’m so sorry.” He said.
“I’m okay. I just really miss him, that’s all.” she said.
“Tell me about him.”
“He was such a character. I remember, when I was 12, he was teaching me how ride a dirt bike, very much against my overbearing mother’s wishes. Well, of course I dumped it and tore up my knee. He carried me in the house and patched me up. My mother nearly had a melt-down,” she continued, eyes dilating as she went back in time to the moment. “So my Uncle Greg tells her to relax and loosen the apron strings a little before she chokes me to death. He tells her to let me grow up. My mother was speechless for the first time in her entire life. Nobody except my father had ever stood up to her.”
“He sounds like a really cool guy.”
“He was, very cool.”
Dinner was everything Doug said it was and more, the spicy food hitting the spot, the beer cold and plentiful.
Hailey's Hog Page 14