Secret Undertaking

by Mark de Castrique

  “Okay. I’ll try to find out today. I’ve got to get this wrapped up pretty quickly and get back to my job.”

  Tommy Lee patted Roger Taylor’s shoulder. “We’ll help any way we can. Maybe we can track down some of that information for you.”

  “Thanks.”

  Tommy Lee stood and asked another question before Taylor could rise.

  “Did your father ever mention how much business he got through food stamps?”

  “Food stamps?”

  “Yeah, although he might have called them EBTs or Electronic Benefit Transfer cards.”

  “No. He just said more people were coming into the store. Do you think a poor person killed him? Took food rather than cash?”

  “Not at all,” Tommy Lee said. “It’s just like with credit card receipts, we’d have an idea of who was shopping at the store. Somebody might have seen something. Poor people have eyes. There’s no reason to think they’d have it in for your father.”

  Taylor nodded. “He’d let people run up a bill. That’s why he and my mother often argued over money. That and he was bad to drink. You know what I mean?”

  “We do,” Tommy Lee said. “And he deserves justice. So, as you learn where things stand with his affairs, let us know. No piece of information is too trivial. Understand?”

  Taylor stood and shook the sheriff’s hand. “Yes, sir. Thank you.” He turned to me. “You own the funeral home, right? Will you also be handling my father’s burial?”

  “Fletcher will. The man you spoke with. I’m spending as much time on this investigation as I can.”

  He started to say something, but his eyes teared. He nodded and left the room.

  “What do you think?” I asked Tommy Lee.

  “I think we need the name of Rufus’ partner. That’s our lead.”

  Harold Carson’s Auto Repair was one-tenth garage and nine-tenths junkyard. Old cars and pieces of cars lay strewn on a hillside behind a three-bay metal building. An invasion of kudzu had launched an assault from the upper edge of the field, its vines and broad green leaves swallowing up everything in its path.

  The current workload of pickups, SUVs, and sedans sat on an apron of scraggy lawn between the blue gravel lot and coarse pasture grass. Two men were bent over a fender and under the hood of a black El Camino pickup with flame decals burning down the side. All we could see of the mechanics were their rear ends.

  “The big butt on the left is Harold,” Tommy Lee said, as he swung his patrol car in a wide arc across the lot.

  “Why have I been spending all my time on facial recognition techniques?”

  He parked and opened his door. “Come on, smart ass. You can show off your interviewing skills.”

  The two men had turned from the engine at the sound of crunching gravel. Harold stood a roly-poly five-six and his colleague must have been a lean six-five.

  Harold wiped his hands on a greasy rag as he walked toward us. The second man remained by the pickup as if we were there to repossess it.

  “Howdy, Sheriff. What brings you boys out here?” He shook our hands. “Car trouble?”

  “No. We’re looking for Sonny. Just a few routine questions after what happened Saturday.”

  Harold shook his neckless head slowly and somberly. “Terrible thing. Don’t know what got ahold of poor Toby’s thinking. I heard he was distraught about his crop and the pesticide poisoning, but to do what he did. Guess you never know what will cause a man to break.”

  “Who told you he was distraught?” Tommy Lee asked.

  “Sonny was worried. He asked me for some advance on his wages to help the family out. Said his dad had some unexpected bills.”

  “Did you give him the money?”

  Harold snorted and his belly jiggled behind his bib overhauls. “Look at this place. I ain’t exactly rolling in cash. To fix cars these days you need a damn computer. Don’t know how much longer I can keep it together myself. It’s just down to Charlie,” he jerked his head toward the man by the truck, “Sonny, and me. But to answer your question, Sonny ain’t here. I gave him a couple days off to take care of family business.”

  Harold didn’t mention Sonny’s stint over the weekend in our jail. It was a good bet the man hadn’t been following Archie’s Facebook page.

  “You might check on him at home,” Harold suggested.

  “We were up there,” I said, letting him think it was today. “We saw motorcycle parts out on the drive but not Sonny.”

  Harold’s eyes went wide. “His Triumph Rocket?”

  “Yes.”

  The mechanic turned to the other man. “Charlie, you ever known Sonny to leave parts to his bike outside?”

  “Nah. Not Sonny. If he could marry that thing, he would.”

  The statement reinforced Sonny’s claim that he’d left with his mother as soon as she brought him the news of his father’s death.

  I looked at one and then the other. “And neither of you know if Sonny was able to get money to help his father?”

  “Nah. I would’ve helped him if I could,” Harold said. “But times is tough all over.”

  I studied the renovated El Camino. “Looks like you got one good client, unless you’ve fixed that up on spec.”

  Again, Harold shook his head. “Would you believe that job’s for Rufus Taylor? Fixing it up for his son as a surprise.”

  “Are you now stuck for a lot of money?”

  “Nope. Rufus had been wanting to restore it for about five years, and finally saved up the cash money to do it. We were just doing some fine-tuning. All he owed was a few bucks for points and plugs. Hell, might just give the boy the damn thing. Kind of sad to have it on the lot now. If you see him, tell the boy to come pick it up as soon as he can. I ain’t superstitious or nothing, but first Toby and then Rufus. They say troubles come in threes.”

  “When did Rufus give you the go ahead?” I asked.

  “About three months ago. He said business was picking up at the store.” Harold smiled. “Everybody knows there’s no better place to put your money than a truck.”

  I doubted there were many financial advisors who adhered to that investment philosophy, but I wasn’t about to argue with a man armed with wrenches. “I’ll remember that. Thanks.”

  As we pulled out of the lot, Tommy Lee said, “That came with a bonus. The info on Rufus Taylor’s prosperity.”

  “Yes. We got validation of Sonny’s alibi and Roger Taylor’s comments that his father’s business was helped by a new partner. Where to now?”

  “Let’s go back to the office. I want to see if we’ve received a ballistics report and make sure the request for EBT card transactions is being expedited.”

  We’d driven about a mile when my cell phone buzzed. The call was from Fletcher.

  “Barry. You haven’t heard anything from Sonny McKay, have you?”

  “No. I thought he had a meeting with you at ten.”

  “He did. Mrs. McKay is here with her sister and she was expecting to meet Sonny. He was going to take her home after our consultation. She’s been calling his cell but he doesn’t answer.”

  I felt my stomach knot and checked the phone for the time. Ten forty-five. “I’m with Tommy Lee. Maybe he knows something. I’ll call you right back.”

  “What’s up?” the sheriff asked.

  “Sonny didn’t show at the funeral home. He was supposed to meet his mother there.”

  Tommy Lee’s face darkened. “Let’s stay off the two-way. You got Reece’s number on your phone? He’s supposed to be watching Sonny’s trailer.”

  “Yes.” I scrolled to the number. Reece answered immediately.

  “Is this Barry?”

  “Yes. Where are you?”

  “On a side road where I can watch Sonny’s driveway. He hasn’t left yet.”

  I relayed the info
to Tommy Lee and put the phone on speaker.

  “Go to the trailer and check on him,” Tommy Lee ordered. “Don’t say you’ve been watching him, but that his mother had called us looking for him.”

  “Got it. Then what?”

  “If he’s okay, ask him to call his mom and then you return to your surveillance position. Give me a report back by Barry’s phone as soon as you can.”

  The sheriff turned onto a secondary road that took us away from town and in the direction of Sonny’s trailer. “I got a bad feeling,” was all he said.

  Less than ten minutes later, my cell rang. I connected to Reece, leaving the phone on speaker.

  “Barry?” The tremor in his voice was audible.

  “We’re here.”

  “He’s dead, Barry. Dead in his bed. Looks like someone shot him in the head while he slept. His head…his head’s still on the pillow.”

  Chapter Nine

  Sheriff Tommy Lee Wadkins’ expression couldn’t have been harder than if his face were chiseled in granite. His lone eye swept the sparse furnishings of Sonny McKay’s bedroom in the rear of the single-wide trailer. The space contained a beat-up dresser, a TV tray converted to a nightstand, and a bed with Sonny’s body lying prone atop wrinkled sheets.

  His head rested on the pillow and faced the far wall. He wore a dingy white tee-shirt and light blue boxers. Aside from the entry wound in his temple, he could have been asleep. What little blood had flowed had been mostly absorbed by the pillow. I guessed he’d died instantly.

  “Any sign of a gun?” the sheriff asked.

  “No,” Reece Hutchins said. “And I’ve never heard of anyone shooting themselves while lying belly-down.”

  “Then I’m going to request a mobile crime lab from Buncombe County. I want every bit of DNA, even if it’s from a damn cockroach.” Tommy Lee shook his head in disgust. “And I want a toxicology workup on his blood.”

  I understood he reacted to more than just the murder scene. His two-shift surveillance of Sonny had left the man exposed overnight, and he now second-guessed how seriously he should have taken Sonny’s fears.

  “Nothing more we can do here till the forensics team arrives.” He signaled us to leave.

  We passed a small eating area adjacent to the kitchen. An empty bottle of Rebel Yell whiskey sat on the table. A plastic drinking glass lay overturned beside it.

  “Was the trailer door open?” I asked Reece.

  “Well, the door was closed but it wasn’t locked. Looks like someone popped it with a screwdriver.”

  The three of us stepped outside and examined the doorframe where something had been wedged to bend the metal enough to pry free the short bolt. Fresh scratches showed the damage was recent.

  “What time did you get in position?” Tommy Lee asked Reece.

  “Six o’clock. Wakefield left at midnight.”

  “So, a six-hour window. You didn’t see any cars come out after you arrived?”

  “No,” Reece insisted. “And I stayed awake. There’s an empty coffee thermos in the car to prove it.”

  “There’s certainly no sign Sonny put up a fight,” I said. “If the blood work confirms it, then Sonny must have been in a near stupor, flopped on his bed, and didn’t hear his killer break in.”

  “How would they know Sonny wasn’t standing guard?” Reece asked. “Sonny could have been ready to shoot them at first entry.”

  “Good question.” I looked to Tommy Lee for his ideas.

  “They could have known his habits,” the sheriff said. “They were desperate enough to get to him that they took a chance. They might have been watching the house and saw Wakefield leave.”

  “It’s possible,” I said. “But easier to drop him with a rifle shot when he came out of the trailer this morning.”

  “What’s your idea?” Tommy Lee asked. “Because my guess is the M.E. is going to put the murder shortly after midnight, based on body temp. Of course that’s just my opinion, based on a skin touch.”

  “I’m not saying they didn’t know his habits or that they weren’t desperate to silence him. But, if Sonny knew them or they clearly appeared to pose no threat, then they could have approached the trailer with confidence. But Sonny was passed out and unable to open the door. When they got no response, they improvised.”

  “And just happened to bring a screwdriver,” Reece said skeptically.

  I shrugged. “I’m just floating ideas.”

  Tommy Lee looked at Sonny’s pickup truck. Reece and I followed him over to the bed. A tool chest stood open against the back of the cab.

  “Seem odd to you a mechanic would leave his tools exposed all night?” Tommy Lee asked.

  “Want me to print them?” Reece asked.

  “Yes. Though if whatever they used to force the door is in the tool kit, we’ll know it because it’ll be the only one wiped clean of fingerprints. Reece, I want you to take charge of the scene.”

  Reece’s chest expanded, threatening to launch a few buttons into the air. “Yes, sir.”

  Tommy Lee looked back at the trailer. “So, I’ll call in the mobile lab, M.E., and cover Ferguson and the SBI, although I guarantee they’ll want to stay clear till we’ve got a parade lined up tying this murder to the commissioner’s shooting. Then they’ll jump in front to lead it. If they do come here, tell them everything has to run through me.”

  “You got it,” Reece said.

  When we were in the patrol car, Tommy Lee pulled out his cell. “I still want to keep this off the scanners.” He called Carol, the dispatcher, and ran down the checklist of everything he wanted at Sonny’s trailer. He also asked her to have his assistant Marge prepare a request for a search warrant for Rufus Taylor’s house.

  When he’d finished, I asked, “Where are we going?”

  Instead of answering, he gave me an order. “Find out if Mrs. McKay is still with Fletcher. If so, tell him to keep her there till we arrive.”

  “Are you going to interview her?”

  He gave me a sharp look. “I’m going to tell her that her son’s been murdered. Then I’m going to do what I should have done right after Toby died—press her for answers, answers that might have saved her son’s life if I hadn’t been giving her grieving room. That mistake’s on me, and I won’t make it again.”

  “And Rufus Taylor’s search warrant?”

  “I want it in my hip pocket in case Rufus’ son turns out not to be as cooperative as he appeared. We’ll see him after Mrs. McKay.”

  I caught Fletcher just as he was preparing to walk Mrs. McKay and her sister to their car. Tommy Lee turned on the flashers and siren and we sped back to town.

  Fletcher met us in the kitchen. “I’ve got Mrs. McKay and her sister in the parlor,” he whispered. “They’re confused as to why they have to see you, and I couldn’t give them much of an explanation.”

  “Sonny McKay’s been murdered,” Tommy Lee said. “I have to break the news. Then Barry and I need to ask Mrs. McKay a few questions. I’d like to do that without involving her sister.”

  Fletcher’s face paled. “Murdered? Where? When?”

  I ignored his questions. “Is my mother here?”

  “She’s upstairs.”

  “Tell her what’s happened and ask her to come down. She’ll brew fresh coffee and can talk to the sister in the kitchen.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Whatever my mother asks you. Otherwise, hang close to the kitchen and be on standby.”

  “Let’s do this,” Tommy Lee said. “We’ll give Mrs. McKay a few minutes with her sister before we split them up.”

  Fletcher went up the back stairs and I led Tommy Lee to the front parlor. Mrs. McKay sat on the sofa and her sister was on the edge of the wingback chair beside her. Mrs. McKay wore a shapeless black dress. Her sister’s dress was rust brown and obviou
sly more expensive.

  Mrs. McKay rose, her face shifting to a scowl when she saw Tommy Lee enter behind me. “What’s so important? Don’t you know we’ve got things to do?”

  I stepped aside and let Tommy Lee take the lead.

  “Mrs. McKay,” he said softly, “please sit down. I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”

  The woman’s indignation evaporated and she looked at her sister. The other woman took her by the forearm and guided her to her seat.

  Mrs. McKay started shaking her head back and forth. “I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear it.”

  Tommy Lee let her continue this mantra until she stopped and looked up at us with frightened eyes.

  Rather than tower over her, Tommy Lee crouched in front of her. “I’m very sorry to tell you that your son has been shot and killed. We found him in his bed and the door of his trailer had been forced open.”

  Her thin shoulders hunched, and then shook with silent sobs. Her sister moved from the chair and joined her on the sofa. Mrs. McKay turned her tear-streaked face away from all of us.

  “I told him no good would come of it. I told him, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “You told who?” Tommy Lee gently prodded.

  She turned back to the sheriff. “Did he suffer? Did they make him suffer?”

  “No, ma’am. As best I can tell, he died in his sleep.”

  She leaned forward. “I’ve got to see him. I’ve got to see my boy.”

  She attempted to rise, but the sheriff was too close.

  “You will,” Tommy Lee said, “but right now we’re trying to find his murderer. Sonny’s trailer is a crime scene and we’re required to perform an autopsy. Mrs. McKay, I’m being very honest with you. I know something is wrong in my county. Three men have died, two of them your loved ones. I also know Sonny was frightened of someone. He wouldn’t talk to me, but he did share information with a fellow prisoner the night he was in our jail and he promised to provide more. And if they came after Sonny for what he knew, they may come after you.”