Death in Nostalgia City

by Mark S. Bacon

  The undersheriff of San Navarro County arrived, dressed in a suit. His eyes met Lyle’s.

  “Nothing prepares you for this, does it?” Lyle asked. “You can be a cop for years and see murder, but when it’s in your own house...”

  Martinez said he was sorry then began his explanation. “As usual,” he said, “my men were called after NC security was already on the scene.”

  “How’d that happen?” Lyle asked. “I don’t have an alarm. NC residential security only responds to alarms, don’t they?”

  “One of your neighbors called security to report gunshots. She was scared. An NC security cruiser happened to be nearby. The rent-a-cop was armed so he decided to check it out and--”

  “But the perps had gone,” Lyle broke in, “and so they called the sheriff.”

  “I guess that’s what happened. Security guard said your father wasn’t breathing when he got here.”

  Lyle ran a hand through his hair and roamed around the room. Martinez had questions for Lyle, as he’d expected. Did he and his father live here alone? Where was Lyle at the time? What was his father’s physical condition? What valuables did Lyle keep at home?

  “Only thing I can think of is a small collection of 45 rpm records. But they’re probably too scratchy to be worth anything. C’mon on Rey. I was a cop. My dad’s been retired. You think we can afford valuables?”

  “What about guns?”

  Lyle hadn’t checked. He kept two handguns at home: a 9mm semi-auto and a .38 revolver. Guns were always a target for burglars, but who would break into his condo in daylight, considering he had nothing of value and didn’t advertise the fact that he owned guns? He rooted around in his closet where he kept the revolver and in the kitchen where he kept the 9 mm. Both were there and hadn’t been fired.

  “This doesn’t make sense. My father was shot in a daylight burglary? How many burglars do you know who carry guns?”

  “You were a cop for a long time. We do make enemies.”

  “Yeah, I have plenty of enemies. And not all of them are crooks, either. I’ve busted some pretty stupid guys, but not too many would break into my house to shoot me when I’m out of state.”

  Lyle wanted to ask as many questions as Martinez. They sparred, exchanging information.

  “We think your father must have surprised him--we don’t know for sure if there was more than one--soon after he effected entry.”

  “How’d he get away?”

  “Ran out the back after the shots. Must have had a car stashed somewhere.”

  Martinez walked across the family room. “I’m telling you this because you are--were--a cop. Right now the only other thing we have to go on is another burglary a couple of weeks ago, two blocks from here. You have any ideas?”

  Lyle had ideas. Plenty of ’em. Somehow, this was connected to Nostalgia City. But how? He couldn’t even get evidence against the bastards at FedPat. How could he link them to his father’s murder?

  “Right now, I don’t know. Maybe there’s a connection to the sabotage at Nostalgia City. I’ve been talking to people, asking questions.”

  “You think someone might have been trying to get to you?”

  “No. Maybe. I dunno.”

  If FedPat was involved, Lyle thought, they could have known he was not in town. “Rey, I don’t know. It’s just a suspicion. Why would they kill my dad to stop me from investigating? That’s stupid.” He said again, slowly, “Why did they kill my dad?” Turning toward a wall, he struck it with the side of his fist.

  Chapter 36

  Lyle was glad the day was over. This was only the second time he’d ever made arrangements for a funeral. At least he knew his dad wanted to be cremated. Lyle’s brother, Tom, would be coming down from Montana. Lyle’s elderly mother had lived out of state for many years and couldn’t make the trip. The modest service would be in Phoenix where Hank still had a few friends. Lyle would have to drive south the next day to complete the details for the service and cremation.

  He pondered all this as he refilled his glass with ice, tonic, and gin. His stereo played in the background.

  “So, what do you do now, Deming?” he said to no one but himself.

  Dropping onto his couch, careful not to spill his drink, he saw the chair his father usually sat in and felt guilt creeping in. He grabbed the remote to the CD player and boosted the volume to the level of the first row at a rock concert. Elton John was rolling through “Crocodile Rock.”

  As the drums banged out a beat, Lyle vaguely heard something else banging.

  “Can I join the party?” said the low-pitched voice of the large, casually dressed visitor who wandered into the room.

  Lyle wasn’t sure what he’d said, but he welcomed him nonetheless. “Earl, fix yourself a drink,” Lyle shouted. “I hate drinking alone.”

  “Looks to me like you’re pretty cool with it.”

  “What’d you say?”

  “Like the song, man, but we can’t talk.”

  Lyle fingered the remote. “Sorry. That better? You know it’s too bad we didn’t have remotes for our stereos back when we were kids.”

  “I didn’t even have a remote for the TV.”

  “Didn’t have that many channels.”

  “Times change.”

  “Got that right,” Lyle said, “whether you’re ready or not.”

  “So what’d you do today, man?”

  “Well, today I talked to the cops. Then I saw my dad’s remains. Then I arranged for a funeral. Top o’ that, I practiced my mental hygiene.” Lyle plucked lightly at his rubber band.

  “You still wearing that?”

  “You bet. But you know what? The police shrink told me it was bogus. Did I ever tell you that? He said it was outdated therapy.” Lyle paused to take a drink. “I told him a shrink gave it to me, but the cop shrink said it was useless. It was designed for that obsessive/compulsive thing. Said I didn’t have that. Said I had adjustment disorder and other conditions that made me unsuited to police work. Shit, now they tell me.”

  Earl sat for a moment before he spoke. “What’d the sheriff say?”

  “They don’t know squat. Burglary? No way.”

  Lyle explained what Martinez had told him. “This has to be tied into the FedPat sabotage. I just dunno why. And all I could find in Boston was a punk from Phoenix.”

  “Slow down a minute. FedPat? What’s that? And why did you go to Boston?”

  “You know I’ve been investigating the ‘accidents.’ They’re all sabotage and it’s tied into the FedPat Corporation, an insurance company conglomerate.”

  “You think they did it?”

  “Know they did it. They put you in the hospital and they killed my dad. I gotta do something.”

  “You didn’t like him much, did you?”

  “No, I didn’t. Hated him sometimes. Crazy, huh? But he depended on me.” Lyle took a deep breath and blinked his eyes several times. He wiped them with the back of his hand. “Know what they did? They shot him. First shot didn’t kill him. Looks like he fought back. Then they shot him again.” He looked at Earl then turned away.

  “You don’t have to do this.”

  “Yeah, I do...” His voice trailed off and he stared into his glass. “It was my fault.”

  “No man, give yourself a break.”

  “When I’m done.”

  “Why’re they doing this?”

  Lyle tipped up his glass, emptied it, and set it down with an unsteady hand. “Long story. Bottom line is, if NC goes belly up, the FedPat Corporation gets richer.”

  “This is all a corporate game?”

  “It’s no game. You should know that.” Lyle put his hand to the back of his neck in the area where Earl had been hit.

  “I hear you. And I’m getting it from both sides now. My agent called today. Says NC wants to take another look at my contract. Says they can’t afford to pay me everything. Want to spread my salary out over more years. Cash flow problems, he says. Pisses me off. I have cash flow
problems too, like alimony.”

  “But you have a national program.”

  “Yeah, once a week. But I quit my Phoenix job to come here.”

  “The park is hurting.”

  “So am I if I don’t have a home station to work from. Know what I’m saying?”

  “We have to find the bastards who are doing this.” Lyle went to take a drink, forgetting the glass was empty.

  “So how do you know that your father’s death is connected to all this? Is it really one big conspiracy?”

  Chapter 37

  “Why didn’t you tell me you were going to Boston?” Nick Markopoulos asked Lyle several days later as they walked into the Spanish style stucco house in an older Phoenix neighborhood where Hank’s reception was being held. Friends of Hank’s had agreed to be the hosts after the memorial service.

  “So now I told you. I went to Boston.”

  “What I mean is, Steve Travanti works there. You remember him. He’s an old friend of mine from the sheriff’s department.”

  “’Course I remember Steve. We worked on the same task force for six months. That was years ago.”

  “Now he works for Boston PD. Just got promoted. He’s a top guy there now. He could of helped you.”

  “I didn’t need help. I screwed things up on my own.”

  Lyle and Marko were the first people in the house. They wandered into the kitchen where the hosts offered them drinks. Only iced tea and lemonade were being served, but Lyle didn’t mind. He’d had enough alcohol. As he and Marko walked back to the family room, mourners filed in. Lyle nodded to people but stuck with his friend.

  He explained to Marko how his investigation had led to the FedPat Corporation. He skipped over the details but said that FedPat would benefit if the park suffered.

  “So what did you find out in Boston?”

  “Not a hellava lot. I lost my temper. This company has been hassling me about Samantha for months. Now, all this...” Lyle stared blankly across the room. “Anyway, I did find out something. They’re working with a PI company called Topaz. They probably investigate fraud cases. When I was there, I saw a guy I knew from Phoenix. Badass punk. Rambo type. I’m sure he’s been busted, done time, or something.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Art Jones.”

  “Doesn’t ring a bell. Common name.”

  “I know. That’s a problem. But could you check? I wasn’t in on an arrest involving him, but I’ve seen him around. At the station maybe four, five years ago.”

  “I’ll run his name and see.”

  “Thanks. It’s too much of a coincidence for some Phoenix gorilla to be working at FedPat when this happens. He’s white, between 30 and 35, 6-3, 230, dirty blond hair.”

  Marko pulled out a slip of paper and made a note. “I got a little info for you on your guy Bates.”

  “Oh?”

  “Left the bureau a few years ago for a senior position with a California security firm. He was there for a couple of years when a headhunter contacted him about the job for Maxwell. At the FBI Bates was respected, had some commendations, but--”

  Marko stopped mid-sentence as a tall, attractive woman walked into the house. “Ooh, who’s the blonde? I saw her at the service.”

  “That’s Kate, Kate Sorensen. We work together. She’s in PR.”

  “Must be nice.”

  “Just business.”

  “Sure, Lyle.”

  ***

  Kate was standing in a corner of the living room when Lyle caught up with her. She wore a gray dress with black trim.

  “Thanks for coming. You didn’t have to. Long drive from NC.”

  “I wanted to, Lyle. And I got a chance to meet Samantha at the service.” She looked at him for a moment then reached over and put a hand on his arm. “I can’t imagine how you feel. I’m so sorry.”

  Mixed with the hushed conversations in the room, Lyle could hear the air conditioning humming. He stared at the wall. “Now that this is all over, we’ve got to save Nostalgia City.”

  “You going to stick with it?”

  “My job? Hell, yes. I like it. Dad didn’t want me driving a cab or working funny hours. He didn’t like being alone. I picked NC before my dad had his heart attacks. I’m staying.”

  “I’m glad. What about the police department?”

  “Go back to being a cop? No chance.” All day Lyle had felt light headed. He kept thinking he was at a crossroads, that everything ahead of him would be different from his life before. He fought the feeling of relief his father’s death seemed to give him. Not yet. “I think I’m finding out what I should be doing in life,” Lyle started to say.

  Then a friend of his father’s patted him on the back and mumbled condolences. When the man wandered off, Lyle said, “Let’s fill up our drinks and go outside.”

  As Kate and Lyle passed through the kitchen, he smelled Mexican food. Someone had made enchiladas. He opened the back door for Kate. Only people who had lived a long time in the Southwest could imagine going outside to talk when it was over 100 degrees. Kate and Lyle were used to it.

  After they had taken a few steps into the backyard rock garden, he spoke. “I’ll never go back to the police department. Some people still see me as a cop, but I’m out of it now and I wish it had happened sooner.”

  She looked as if she were going to say something, but he continued. “I got forced out. Disagreement, you could call it, with a couple of other detectives. One of them was a lieutenant. Wanted me to look the other way when they manufactured evidence. I wouldn’t. I didn’t rat them out, but that didn’t matter.”

  Sweat started forming on his upper lip. He brushed it away with his free hand then took a swallow of lemonade. “These two cops decided they’d get even with me. And they did. It was my fault, too. I’d been on the force for more than fifteen years and I didn’t want to do it anymore.”

  “Couldn’t you quit?”

  “Quit? Demings aren’t quitters.” Lyle looked into Kate’s blue eyes then glanced away. “That’s what my dad used to tell me. He worked for the same company for 35 years. Probably hated every day of it, but he never quit, by God. He was afraid to leave. Afraid to try something new. I was that way for a while. Then I knew I had to find something else. But Dad wanted me to stick with being a cop. It would have been a disgrace to quit.”

  Kate sat down on a concrete bench next to a spiny ocotillo, its tall, thin stalks topped with red-orange blossoms. She looked up at Lyle. “Was it being a cop or not being a quitter that was most important?”

  “Never knew for sure. It was hard to argue with him, so I gave up.”

  “But you found a way out.”

  Lyle raised his glass. “Right. I screwed up on a couple of cases. I made stupid mistakes--not really on purpose. One day I fired my weapon into the ground at the department range. It wasn’t dangerous, but someone told Collins and Bensen.”

  “Who?”

  “They’re the two cops who had it in for me. They were everywhere. They started rumors. Told people I was burned out. Crazy. Finally, they got witnesses who said I talked to imaginary friends.”

  “You fight back?”

  “At first. Eventually they made me see the department shrink. Frankly, I didn’t care.” Lyle stopped and looked around. Through the kitchen window, he could see people still eating and drinking. “I’m sorry to burden you with all this. I don’t know why--”

  “It’s okay. I understand.”

  “You can’t really understand it. I don’t. What happened is, the department reassigned me. Sent me to an office where I’d be sort of a clerk. I told them I didn’t want to do it. Next thing I knew, I was bounced. My dad wants--wanted--me to fight it. My friend Marko does, too. Wants me to prove I wasn’t crazy.”

  “But you’re doing detective work now, anyway.”

  “Yeah.” Lyle stared off into space. “This is different. Someone killed my father and almost killed Earl. And they’re trying to take over the park; spoil
my new life and--”

  The conversation was interrupted by Lyle’s brother who stepped outside. “Lyle, can you come in for a moment? We need to talk about getting me to the airport.”

  Lyle waved to his brother then turned to Kate. “I’m going to prove FedPat’s behind this.”

  He wandered back toward the house. Kate hadn’t said much. Was she just being polite? If he just had something more against FedPat. Before he reached the back door, he stopped and turned around. “Kate. What about the phone tap?”

  Chapter 38

  Kate studied Lyle as he walked into her apartment late that evening. He still wore his dark suit, but his tie was undone. He moved slowly.

  “Sorry for bending your ear this afternoon,” he said.

  He sounded embarrassed. A good sign?

  On the long drive back from Phoenix, she had wondered about his state of mind. Did his story of how he left the PD sound reasonable?

  Did it explain what Max had told her about Lyle’s background? What about his fixation on FedPat? Did that make sense?

  He was, after all, an experienced detective whose instincts must count for something.

  Given everything he’d been through--or said he’d been through--with his father, his police job and his stepdaughter’s accident, it was no surprise that he seemed rattled at times. His father’s death, coupled with the NC crisis--well, she was getting pretty near the edge, too. Something had to be done.

  “Sure you want to get into this tonight?” she asked.

  “Positive.” He pointed to the small digital player sitting on the coffee table. “Is that it?”

  She lifted up the machine. “We can use this player or upload the recordings to my computer. I listened to the whole thing.”

  “Eight hours you said?”

  “Kevin’s great company when I’m having breakfast, brushing my teeth, doing dishes. I even listened for a while at work.”