Blanco County 04 - Guilt Trip

by Rehder, Ben

  “Shut in what?” Billy Don asked.

  “That means he don’t leave the house. His health ain’t good enough.”

  “What’s he got?”

  “All kinds of great shit. He’s rich.”

  “No, I mean what’s he sick with?”

  “Does it really matter? He’s just old, okay? And besides, we’re not really stealing from him. We’re stealing from his son.”

  “The dead one?”

  “That’s the only one he has.”

  “But I don’t—”

  “Just let me explain everything first, okay? Then you can ask all your questions.”

  Lucy was getting impatient, and Red could understand. “Yeah, let’s just let her lay it all out, Billy Don. It’ll all make sense.”

  Billy Don mumbled for Lucy to go ahead.

  “So the son, Vance—he comes over to the house several times a week. Maybe more, because all I have to go by is the times he showed up when I was there myself. At first, I thought he was just being a good son and all that, coming to see his dad. But then I started noticing that Vance would only stick around for a few minutes each time, and he’d always go into one of the back bedrooms before he left. He’d just duck in there, close the door, and be back out a couple minutes later. Well, there’s a big walk-in closet in that room, and you wanna guess what’s in that closet?”

  The question was directed at Billy Don, so Red didn’t say anything. He already knew what the answer was.

  “Dirty magazines?” Billy Don asked, grinning. “That’s what I keep in my closet.”

  “That’s a good guess,” Lucy answered. Red could tell she was just being nice so Billy Don would get on board. “But no, what he’s got in there is a safe.”

  “A safe? Like a…safe?”

  “Yeah. It’s about yea high, maybe three feet square. Heavy as hell.”

  “What’s in it?”

  “Well, hell, ain’t no way to know for sure. But I think we can safely assume it’s something valuable. Probably money.”

  “Cash money?”

  “I’m betting so. Let me ask you something. Have you heard about that Rotary Club raffle? They’re giving away that Corvette?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Shoulda been a truck, you ask me.”

  “You’re probably right. Anyway, I come to learn that Vance was the treasurer for all that. He was in charge of all the money from the ticket sales.” She laughed. “He even tried to sell me a ticket one time. Like I was gonna go for that sucker bet.”

  “So you’re thinking he was keeping all the money in the safe.”

  “That’s what I’m thinking.”

  Billy Don pulled a stalk of celery out of his Bloody Mary and started munching on it, apparently thinking things through. Then he said the one thing Red was afraid he was going to say. “I’m not sure I like it. It’s stealing from charity. They give that money to poor kids and such.”

  It was the same thing Red had said to Lucy on Wednesday night at the bar. But then she had explained everything to him, and in a weird kind of way, it had all made perfect sense.

  “Yeah,” Lucy said to Billy Don, “but they got an insurance policy against theft and that sort of thing. All of them raffles do. A policy issued by the U.S. government.”

  Billy Don looked confused. “I didn’t know the guv’mint handled stuff like that. You sure?”

  “Damn right they do. It’s the law. Just like bank deposits. Fully insured.”

  Red hadn’t known that fact himself until Lucy had informed him of it.

  “I don’t know,” Billy Don said. “It still don’t seem right.”

  Billy Don wasn’t coming around as quickly as Red had hoped, but he knew Lucy wasn’t done yet.

  She said, “You ever take a close look at one of your paychecks, Billy Don?”

  “Not really.”

  “Well, if you did, you’d see that the IRS takes a big whopping chunk out of it every time. Income taxes, Social Security, Medicare—it’s all lopped right off the top. They take way more than their fair share, and you and me don’t hardly wind up with anything to show for it, do we?”

  “Naw, I guess we don’t.”

  “Then you got your property taxes, just like Red pays on this fine mobile home, and that’s where some of your rent goes. Those property taxes include school taxes, and you ain’t even got any kids, do ya?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Then why the hell you got to pay school taxes?”

  Billy Don scratched his scalp with the stalk of celery, then took another bite. “That’s a damn good question.”

  “There’s county taxes, too, which pays for the roads and such, and that don’t seem fair because you ain’t got a car, neither. And if you did have a car, they’d slap a tax on you just for driving the damn thing.”

  Billy Don looked at Red for confirmation. Red nodded. “I get a bill every year. Plus, they make me get it inspected.”

  “And of course there’s a fee for that,” Lucy said. “And don’t forget sales tax. Every time one private individual buys something in a store owned by another private individual, the government sticks its nose in and charges you for it. Does that seem right?”

  “Dadgum, no it don’t. Those greedy sumbitches. It ain’t really their affair.”

  “Hell no, it ain’t. They tax you coming and they tax you going. Every damn day of your life, including the day you die, there’s a tax for it. They take your hard-earned money away from you, and there’s never been anything you can do about it. Until now. The money in that safe is rightfully yours, Billy Don. We’re not taking it away from the charities, because they got insurance. We’re taking it away from the government, and hell, they practically owe it to you. It’s a rebate on all the money they been conning you out of all these years.”

  Billy Don smacked his fist on the tabletop. “I want my damn money back!”

  “Okay, then! That’s what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna take it back!”

  “But how we gonna get the money out of the safe?”

  Lucy held up a finger. “One thing at a time. First, we’ve gotta get the safe out of the house.”

  They explained the plan in more detail to Billy Don, and the first question he asked was, “We’re supposed to be plumbers, huh?” He smiled. “We gotta wear pants that show our butt cracks?”

  “Just wear what you always wear,” Lucy said. “It ain’t like they got a standard uniform.”

  Red said, “When are we gonna do it?”

  “I figure this afternoon. Might as well get after it. The bedroom where the safe is—it has its own bathroom. I already told the old man I thought there was a problem with the toilet in there. Yesterday I told him I’d see about getting somebody in to look at it.”

  They discussed a few more odds and ends, Lucy coaching them on how to behave, what to say, things like that. To Red, it almost felt like they were getting ready for a school play.

  “Speaking of toilets,” Billy Don said. He rose from his chair and steered himself down the hallway to the bathroom. A moment later, Red could clearly hear a stream of urine hitting the water in the toilet.

  “Damn, Billy Don, shut the door! We got a lady present.”

  Billy Don grunted in reply, and Red heard the door close.

  Now the trailer was quiet. Almost too quiet. It was the first time Red and Lucy had been alone since she’d asked him if he had his own bedroom. You never can tell when you might need a little privacy. Probably just talk, he figured, but he noticed that she was staring at him now, and it was making him nervous. He looked down at his drink, then back up, and she had a strange look in her eye.

  “This celery sure is crunchy,” he said.

  She didn’t say anything.

  He took a small bite. “I wonder what makes it so dang crunchy.”

  She was still staring.

  “Tasty stuff,” he said.

  She lifted an eyebrow.

  He couldn’t stand it anymore. “What’re
you looking at me like that for?”

  There was a pause. “I’m just wondering.”

  “Wondering what?”

  “Whether you’re ready for this or not. You think you can pull it off?”

  “Hell yeah, I’m ready,” Red said. “Just acting like a plumber, is all. No problem.”

  Lucille leaned in close, and a wicked smile broke across her lips. “I got an idea. Instead of playing plumber, how about playing doctor?” she whispered.

  It wasn’t just talk!

  “Well, I, uh…” Red wanted to come up with something witty, but suddenly his tongue was as thick as fresh cement.

  “How about we send Billy Don to the store for something…” Lucy said.

  “Uh-huh?”

  “Then we can go back into your bedroom…”

  “Yeah?”

  “And you can give me a complete examination.”

  Red managed to blurt out something in reply, but he wasn’t even sure what he said. There was a frog the size of a Suburban in his throat.

  The next thing he knew, Lucy’s hand was on his thigh. Then it crept higher, and she laughed. “See there, Doctor. I’ve already found a place to hang your stethoscope,”

  “Billy Don!” Red hollered, his voice cracking all over the place. “We need more tomato juice!”

  20

  BACK AT THE sheriff’s department, Marlin decided to put his conversation with Phil Colby out of his mind. Just not think about it at all. Not now, when there was work to do.

  He started by trying a shot in the dark. He closed the door to his office and dialed Stephanie Waring’s cell phone number. His heart jumped when it was answered. Sounded like an elderly male. There was lots of static on the line.

  “This is John Marlin. Who am I speaking to, please?”

  “This is Blackie. Is this your phone?” The old guy sounded half in the bag.

  “Pardon me?”

  “I said, is this your phone?”

  “Uh, I’m not sure what you mean, but I’m trying to reach Stephanie Waring. Is she there?”

  “Don’t know no Tiffany.”

  “No, it’s Stephanie.”

  The man didn’t reply.

  “Sir,” Marlin said, “do you know Stephanie Waring?”

  “Don’t know no Tiffany.”

  Whoever this man was, he sounded like he was heavily medicated. Or needed to be. “Sir, please tell me where I’m calling.”

  Marlin heard nothing but traffic noise in the background. “Sir, where am I calling?”

  “Hold on a dang minute.” Several seconds passed. “Down on Holtz Boulevard. Near the shelter.”

  “No, I mean what city?”

  The man answered, and it sounded like he said, “Miami.”

  “Miami, Florida?” Marlin asked.

  Nothing.

  “Sir? Did you find that phone somewhere?”

  But the line was dead, or the man had hung up.

  Marlin dialed the number again. No answer—just an automated message stating that the customer’s voice mailbox was full. He tried two more times with the same result.

  Florida? Had he misdialed? Had to have been a wrong number.

  Okay, great. Now what?

  The deputies had already interviewed all of Stephanie’s friends, family members, and coworkers, and Marlin wasn’t sure what else he could do to find her. He flipped back through his notes, checking everything he and the deputies had done so far.

  There was a light knock on the door.

  “Yeah?”

  Nicole Brooks stuck her head in. “How’s it going, John?”

  “Hey, Nicole, come on in.”

  “Actually, I was just leaving for Scofield’s, but I wanted to come by and say…well, sorry, I guess.”

  “For what?”

  “This thing with Phil Colby. I know the two of you are tight, so I figured this must be driving you crazy.”

  He started to shrug it off, to say it was no big deal and it would all work itself out—but there was something about her demeanor, the look of sincerity on her face, that made him want to be sincere right back. “Yeah, it is,” he said. “Right up the wall.” He added a half-hearted smile just to let her know he wasn’t going completely nuts.

  She glanced down the hallway behind her, then back at him. “Listen, I have to get a move on, but do you want to get together and talk about it tonight? Maybe over a beer or something?”

  Marlin wondered, Am I misreading this, or is she asking me out?

  “Yeah, sure, that’d be great,” he said. No, she’s just showing professional courtesy, he thought. Wants to keep me updated on the case.

  “How about I meet you back here at seven?”

  “Okay, good. I’ll see you then.”

  She started to close the door, but Marlin said, “Hey, Nicole, I don’t see anything in my notes about Stephanie Waring’s phone records. Somebody pulled those, right?”

  “Actually, no. We were about to, but her mother called and said she was in Colorado. At that point, it dropped lower on the to-do list—especially since we didn’t know yet that Scofield was a homicide. You still working on her?”

  “I’d sure like to talk to her.”

  “Yeah, we all would.”

  He looked at his computer. “Just like a regular affidavit, right?”

  “You’ve never pulled phone records?”

  He smiled. “Yeah, but it’s been maybe fifteen years. Memory’s a little rusty.”

  “Her home phone or a wireless account?”

  “Just the wireless for now.”

  “You know which carrier?”

  “Yeah, it’s on her voicemail.”

  “Okay, then your best bet would be to fax the subpoena to the carrier.” She stepped into his office and gestured toward his computer. “We’ve got a list of all the carriers and their fax numbers on the server. Want me to show you?”

  “That’d be great.”

  She came around his desk and leaned across in front of him to operate the mouse. A few clicks later, she had the list on his screen. “I’ll save this document onto your desktop.”

  Marlin kept his eyes forward, but he could smell her perfume, just a light scent, and maybe the soap she had used earlier that morning.

  “As far as the affidavit,” she said, “you just need to show cause for the records being important to an ongoing case, and so on.” She was clicking into areas of the network Marlin had never accessed before. “I’m going to pull one of my affidavits so you can use it as a template. Just change a few names and details and you’ll be good to go.”

  As Brooks navigated the system, she used her free hand to tuck a stray lock of auburn hair back into place. Marlin could feel a warm glow—maybe real, maybe imagined—coming off her body.

  “There,” she said. “You’re all set.” She came around to the front of his desk.

  “I’ll let you know if I get anywhere,” Marlin said. “I really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, no problem. Ask them to put a rush on it. Sometimes that helps.” Again, she started to close the door but paused. “See you at seven?”

  “Yeah. See you then.”

  “I’d like to report a possible fugitive,” a man said.

  “Yes, a possible fugitive,” a woman’s voice added. “But I hope we’re mistaken.”

  “He seems like a nice guy,” the man said. “But something’s a little hinky.”

  “Unfortunately, my husband is rarely wrong.”

  Sergeant Damon Watley glanced up from the paperwork on his desk. The Key West Police Department didn’t get too many walk-in visitors, and those they did get were usually locals. Not these two. They had come straight from Mallory Square or Duval Street. Out-of-towners all the way. Sunburned, overweight tourists in loud clothing. Watley grabbed a pen. “Name?”

  “Luke,” the man said. “I don’t know his last name.”

  “He never did give it,” said the woman. “But we never asked.”

  “I’m
not even sure about the ‘Luke’ part. Might be fake.”

  “But he looked like a Luke, if that helps.”

  “I don’t think it does, Fiona.”

  “I’m just trying to be useful, Rob.”

  “No,” Sergeant Watley said. “I mean your name.”

  “Oh,” said the man.

  The woman laughed. “We thought—”

  “You meant his name.”

  “That’s funny!”

  “We’re the Norrises.”

  “We’re from Wisconsin,” the woman said, making it sound like an explanation.

  “I’m Rob.”

  “I’m Fiona.”

  “Been here all week.”

  “And it’s such a lovely town. Absolutely lovely!”

  “First rate. And I have to say, it looks like you guys are doing a great job. I should know. I’m involved in law enforcement myself.”

  “The streets feel so safe.”

  “We expected more of a criminal element, to be blunt.”

  “But all we’ve seen is tourists!”

  Sergeant Watley held up his hands in an attempt to get the couple to quit talking. Surprisingly, it worked. “Why don’t you start from the beginning?”

  “Okay,” Rob said. “We were in a bar on Duval Street this morning. About ten o’clock.”

  “We don’t usually drink that early,” Fiona stressed, “but we’re on vacation!”

  “And I overheard this guy Luke talking to the bartender. He asked where he could get a new driver’s license.”

  “I didn’t hear that part.”

  “He wanted to know where he could get a new one. But he wasn’t from Florida.”

  “He told us he was from Texas.”

  “And that makes you wonder—”

  “Why would he try to get a new driver’s license—”

  “If he isn’t even from this state?”

  “Isn’t that peculiar?”

  “It seemed suspicious to me, so I asked him some questions. He was very evasive.”

  “I hope we’re mistaken. For his sake.”

  “Except we’d hate to waste your time.”

  “We snapped his photo!” Fiona Norris held up a digital camera.

  “Even better, I’ve got his fingerprints.” Rob Norris held up a plastic bag, inside of which was a glass beer mug.