by Merit Clark
Chapter 43
“What was it, Shaun? A murder for hire?”
Jack dropped the baggie with Shaun’s meth on the table. They were in an interview room at the Park County sheriff’s office.
“Man. What is that?” Shaun licked his lips.
Shaun’s leg, his good one, bobbed up and down about a thousand beats a minute. Crutches leaned against the cinderblock wall of the interview room and his broken leg, in a temporary cast, stuck out awkwardly in front of him. He was still coming down from his last tweak right before he left the bar.
Jack watched him. “Can you tell me why your knife was found in the bag with her?”
Shaun O’Dwyer was irritating almost beyond endurance. His bouncing and fidgeting and tapping made Jack want to hit him. Even though it was cold he wore a flannel shirt with the sleeves cut off. Better to impress the ladies with his tats, no doubt. He was sweating, his pimply skin had a greenish cast, and his teeth were awful. Jack was dragged away from a warm bed and Corie for this.
“The duct tape you used on her? We found tape like it at your service station.”
Shaun started coughing and couldn’t stop. Finally he said, “Tape? Tape? What tape?”
“You realize how this looks for you, Shaun? You need to help yourself here.”
“I didn’t do it, man.” Shaun’s bloodshot eyes darted around the room, up to the fluorescent lights, down to the dingy industrial carpeting, back to Jack, and away again.
Jack suppressed a deep, disgusted sigh. “Shaun. Help me understand what happened.”
“I was working. And Markham came back with my pickup. I have several cars. I loaned it to Evan because the road to his place sucks.”
“You had loaned your truck to Mr. Markham? When did you do that?”
“To Evan. Yeah. Me and Evan go back a long ways.”
“And?”
“What?”
Jack could be patient when it was warranted, when he sensed a payoff at the end. In this case he wasn’t sure any amount of tolerance was going to achieve results. “Evan borrowed your truck. And when he brought it back there was a bag in the back?”
“That’s right. In the back. Back. Back.”
“What did you do with the bag?” If this messed up piece of shit kept rhyming Jack wouldn’t be responsible for his actions.
“I didn’t do nothin’! I told you. I told my brother. Shit.”
“Deputy O’Dwyer?”
“Who?”
“Your brother.”
“Right. Christopher. He’s my little brother. Three years younger than me. We overlapped two years in high school because I had to repeat a grade. Not because I’m dumb. I scored really high on all of those IQ tests they give you. But because of the ADD. I told you about that, right?”
“Shaun. Try to focus. What’d you tell your brother?”
“I told him Markham asked me to make a dump run. I didn’t do it because I had things to do. And by the time I got to the transfer station it was closed.”
The things Shaun had to do involved controlled substances. Jack noticed the hem of his shirt was stained black, probably from wiping off the edge of a pipe. “What time did Evan Markham ask you to make the dump run?”
“Who? I’m messin’ with you, man. Don’t look at me like that. Around six. He came by my garage. I repair cars. Been doing that all my life. Forever. I mean, not forever but since I was a kid . . . well not a kid but maybe around sixteen. No, fourteen. Took shop in school. Only class I liked. My teacher, Mr. Farnsworth, wore this bad toupée and we made fun of him and he always wore these sport coats or whatever the fuck they’re called. Polyester. Youevernotice whatafunnywordthatis, polyester?”
“Shaun, how much of that did you smoke?”
“No man, it’s not that. I got that . . . whaddya call it? ADD. And I’m in pain.” His good knee continued to bob up and down.
“The rate you’re going that baggie wouldn’t have lasted long.”
Shaun licked his lips again. “What’re you gonna do with it?”
“You’re kidding, right?” Jack stood. “I’m gonna give you some time to think.”
“What? You leaving? It’s Markham, I’m telling you. He had me wash his car. The Mercedes. Fine car that Mercedes. Said he was going to some big party.”
“Speaking of parties, I hope you enjoy our hospitality.” Jack brandished the baggie and enjoyed the look of desperation that flashed across Shaun’s face. Finally. Some sign of recognition.
Jack talked to the deputies on his way out. “Call me when he’s had a chance to sleep more of that shit off and says something intelligible.”
Chris O’Dwyer kept his voice neutral. “He lawyer up?”
Jack studied Chris for a moment. “You’re his brother, right? We should talk.”
Chris followed Jack miserably into the sergeant’s office. Busting Shaun had seemed like a good idea at the time. Satisfying, even. But now he felt guilty.
The sergeant closed the door behind them. Never a good sign, although Jack seemed understanding. He used Chris’s name and he smiled. “Can you tell me again what your brother said?”
“Markham switched cars,” Chris said. “Came up in a Cadillac but didn’t think it would make it all the way to the cabin. That’s why it took me so long to go up there. I, uh, needed to round up an SUV to do the wellness check.”
“What happened to the Cadillac?”
Chris froze.
“I know your brother’s record,” Jack said.
“I don’t know what his intentions were for the car, sir.” That was true. “Did you find it?”
“It’s still at your brother’s shop,” Jack said. Luckily for the police, drugs made criminals inefficient. “Tell me the rest, Chris.”
Chris nodded. “Markham drove up in the Cadillac on Friday and Shaun met him on the road to the cabin by the gate. Not really a gate, just a chain. Then later—the next day—Markham brought the pickup back and swapped again for his Mercedes, which Shaun had been doing some work on. The bag was in the back and Evan asked Shaun if he would make a dump run.”
“Why would he do that?” Jack asked.
“Um, we do odd jobs for the Markhams.”
“We?”
“Well, our family.” Chris twisted a school ring on his right hand. “The O’Dwyers and the Markhams have known each other for a really long time. Evan’s grandfather and my grandfather were friends. They leave the cabin empty a lot and we’ll check on it, make sure a pipe doesn’t burst, things like that. My mom cleans the cabin every week even though they don’t use it that much. Evan knows she can use the money. Same with Shaun. Evan brings his cars up here for Shaun to work on even though he could have it done in Denver. Evan’s a good guy.”
“Your families are close then?” Jack asked.
“For generations.”
“It sounds like the O’Dwyers work for the Markhams. They’re a rich family after all and your family’s not.”
“It’s not like that.” Chris sounded defensive. “They’re not snobs.”
“No? That’s nice. It doesn’t always work that way.”
“Evan’s a good guy.” Chris repeated himself.
“How’d his Mercedes get up here if he had the pickup?” Jack frowned. “Can’t drive two cars at once.”
“What?” Chris looked back and forth between his sergeant and Jack.
Jack spoke reasonably, as if he was thinking it through for the first time. “You said that Markham drove the Cadillac up Friday night and switched cars with Shaun. Then he returned to Denver and went to the hospital to see his wife. How’d he get there?”
Chris stared.
“Markham was in custody Friday night. The next morning when he made bail, he drove his Mercedes back. So he either got a ride to Denver Friday night or someone else rode with him and then drove the pickup back, because it didn’t get back up here by magic.”
“You think Shaun?”
“You tell me.” Jack watched Chri
s for a minute and then spelled it out. “Markham was arrested for assault Friday night. Whoever helped him is an accomplice.”
Chris’s sergeant finally spoke up. “I think this would be a good time to take a couple of days off, Chris.”
“But—”
“You’ve done nothing wrong but it’s a conflict of interest, son. You have some personal time coming. Why don’t you take it?”
Chapter 44
While Jack interviewed Shaun—or tried to—Serena talked to the deputy in charge of the Park County motor pool. She explained who she was, that she had authorization from the sheriff, and asked to see the vehicle log for yesterday.
“Afraid I can’t help you there,” the deputy said. He was a big man, thick through the middle, with a buzz cut and a face gone to jowls.
“You keep track of the vehicles being checked in and out, right?” Serena asked.
“’Course we do. Our policy is to record the check-in and checkout times in fifteen-minute increments. I maintain the usage logs myself. If you come back tomorrow I’ll have everything for Saturday entered into the system. We’re short-staffed, budget cuts and all. I do everything myself.”
Serena knew it wouldn’t help to jump all over the man, but still. “You’re telling me that the vehicle logs are updated after the fact?”
The deputy stiffened. “Well you don’t know how long a vehicle’s gone until it’s back now, do you? We’re more informal up here than you guys down in the city. All someone has to do is call up and ask and one of us knows where the cars are at.”
As he spoke, the deputy’s eyes roamed all over Serena, although they rarely strayed to her face. She fought the urge to grab his chin and force his gaze upward. “Who was working here on Saturday?”
“Let me check.” He pretended to read a schedule on a clipboard, then leaned toward her and grinned. “I was. Now sugar, if you were to ask me nicely, I could tell you whatever you need to know.”
Serena barely managed to suppress an eye roll. “All right. Which of your deputies checked out an SUV Saturday afternoon, say between noon and six?”
“Well see, there you go. That’s a question I can answer. Deputies Quinn and Zirklow.”
She glanced to her right at the lot surrounded by a chain-link fence. “That’s it? All these cars and only two of them got used?”
The deputy scowled. “Even folks who don’t wear a suit can count.”
“Of course.” Serena’s voice was sweet. She pulled out her notebook and wrote. “Want to make sure I get the names right. You said Quinn and Zirklow? No one else? Maybe when you were on a break?”
He snorted. “Break. What’s that?”
Chapter 45
Corie rapped on the doorframe and called through the screen door. Someone was inside the cabin. “Hello?” she called again and then tentatively took a step inside. The door slapped behind her. She didn’t recognize the car parked by the gate. It wasn’t one of Evan’s. At least not one that she recognized. Was it Vangie’s? The car had Colorado plates.
Corie’s life was like the aftermath of a giant party; it was hard to know where to start picking up the pieces. She’d driven up here to get the few things she wanted: ribbons from old horse shows, photos, maybe find her gun. No. That was a lie. She wanted to confront Vangie. She wanted to find out for herself if Jack’s taunt last night at the museum had been merely spiteful or had a grain of truth to it. Now her heart thudded until she felt sick; had she made another blunder and put herself in harm’s way again?
A thin woman with gray hair pulled back in a greasy braid appeared in the doorway of the second bedroom. Hennessy’s room. The one that was never open.
Corie let out a startled “Oh,” surprised and relieved at the same time.
Erin O’Dwyer had been cleaning and held a dust rag in her hand. She glared at Corie.
“Erin, hi. How are you? Are you alone?” There was no spark of friendliness or recognition from the old woman. Corie started to reintroduce herself and stopped.
Erin seemed defensive. “I clean every week. For Mr. Markham.”
“That’s great.” Corie spoke lightly. “I don’t mean to interrupt. I just came to get a few things.”
Erin didn’t move from the doorway, forcing Corie to squeeze past her into the room.
“Does Mr. Markham know?” The way Erin asked, it sounded like an accusation.
Corie squared her shoulders. “It’s my house, too.”
Erin turned back to her dusting without a word. She’d already stripped the bed, revealing a stained mattress and sagging box spring. The bed itself was Hennessy’s old four poster with a canopy Corie had so envied when she was twelve. It was Evan who salvaged some of his sister’s furniture and mementos and moved them here. Jessie couldn’t bear to have any reminders of Hennessy around. What a bitter irony that by marrying Evan, Corie had become what she’d always wanted to be growing up: Jessie’s daughter.
Lost in memories, Corie put her hand on one of the posts for a moment and felt something sticky under her hand, like the residue from tape. She frowned at it and picked at it idly with her fingernail. The canopy was gone and there used to be a rug covering the scarred, wooden floor, but that was gone now, too. Corie felt an oppressive sadness and shook herself out of her reverie. The sooner she got out of here the better.
In Hennessy’s old dressing table Corie found some faded blue ribbons and a gold locket. Erin’s beady, suspicious eyes bore a hole into her back as she slipped the necklace into the pocket of her jeans.
In the master bedroom Corie’s gun was where she thought it might be, in the metal cabinet in the corner. She checked the clip on the Smith and Wesson, which was full, then put the gun and the ribbons in her purse along with some extra bullets. Erin apparently hadn’t gotten to this room yet. Corie looked around but saw no sign of Vangie. Was Jack lying? Or had Vangie been here and left? Impulsively, she pulled back the comforter on the bed and sniffed the sheets. The result was inconclusive.
Corie listened to Erin’s mop move rhythmically across the floor. It made a thwip sound when it hit the baseboard. Thwip, thwip, rinse. The smell of bleach burned the air. Erin must be almost seventy now and still cleaning houses.
With a sigh, Corie picked up a broom and swept the living room floor. Erin didn’t stop what she was doing or say thank you, but she didn’t object either. Corie emptied the dustpan in the kitchen trash and saw two wineglasses sitting by the sink. A flash of anger flared and she picked one up, her fingers curving around the cool glass. Is it really that much of a surprise? Instead of hurling the glass against the wall, she ran the water until it was hot and found rubber gloves under the sink. Not sure why she was cleaning, not sure why she was doing anything anymore.
At the door, Murphy barked and Corie jumped. She looked outside saw several police SUVs. There were heavy footsteps on the front porch and someone rapped loudly on the door.
A male voice yelled, “Police!”
She moved to open the door and came face-to-face through the screen with Jack. Shock registered on his face before he wiped it clean. Corie didn’t know what to say or if she should say anything at all. Three uniformed deputies poured into the room behind Jack and the space suddenly felt very small.
Erin stopped mopping the bedroom floor and watched from the doorway. It occurred to Corie that there was only one way out, the front door, and that was hopeless. Why did she want to run? It must be some kind of instinctive reaction. Erin looked like she felt the same way.
“We have a warrant to search the premises, ma’am,” an officer said. He handed her a paper.
“Please wait outside,” Jack said, as if to a stranger. He looked curiously at Erin who in turn looked beseechingly at Corie.
Corie nodded. In fact, her head was bobbing up and down like a frightened rabbit. What did she have to feel guilty about? Corie tried to catch Jack’s eye but he wouldn’t look at her, so she picked up her purse and walked outside onto the porch. No one objected to her ta
king the purse.
Erin walked outside too, and without a word to Corie, got in her car and drove off. A deputy looked out through the screen door.
“Is she allowed to do that?” Corie asked.
“The detective would like to talk to you, ma’am. Please wait there on the porch.”
Jack took his sweet time before he came out, though. When he did, he didn’t sit down with her on the porch steps but instead said, “Let’s take a walk,” and led her away from the cabin toward the cars, where he turned on her.
“What the hell are you doing here? Do you have a death wish?”
Corie opened her mouth but couldn’t find words. He was so angry and his eyes so hard that she found herself a little afraid of him. She managed a feeble, “What?”
Jack jammed his hands on his hips and fixed her with that icy stare. “Corie. Vangie’s dead.”
“What?” A second time.
He did nothing to sugarcoat it and he didn’t give her a chance to process the shock. He watched her reaction to the news. “You were cleaning a possible crime scene. Want to tell me why you were doing that?”
“I didn’t know it was a crime scene. She was killed here? When?” Corie felt like she was choking. She blinked at him and her mouth hung open in confusion.
Jack didn’t seem to register her horrified response. “Did you move anything? Touch anything?”
Corie swallowed. “There were two wineglasses by the sink. I washed them.” She felt her face contort into a grimace and resisted it. “I swept the floor, then emptied the dustbin. Erin mopped.”
“Very thorough.”
“Jack, what happened?” Then she remembered. “That’s the phone call you got this morning.”
“You should have stayed at my place.” He broke eye contact and she saw his mouth twist. He looked bitter, as if it were a foregone conclusion she was guilty and had let him down.
“I wanted to start getting my affairs in order. I couldn’t just sit around and wait for you. I had to do something.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“What?” She hated how weak and strangled her voice sounded.