County Line

by Bill Cameron

  Or, more than a year later, Detective Pervert would give a rat’s ass about it.

  Grabel glanced out the window. Sunlight filtered by high clouds cast a pall across the landscape. “The day’s getting away from us.”

  “You want to speed things up, be my guest.”

  His lips twisted. “The ring? Any thoughts?”

  “No one knows what happened to the ring.”

  “It disappeared shortly before your grandmother died.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “She filed a police report. Accused her son of taking it.” Grabel dug through the folder and pulled out one of his ubiquitous sheets of paper, a fax, curly and smudged. She could make out WHITTAKER, MAE typed in a box near the top.

  “I didn’t know she reported it.” Many times the previous spring, her father denied taking the ring, but everyone knew better. When Mae Whittaker died, the subject of the ring died with her. One more thing lost.

  “You were close to your grandmother?”

  “Sure.”

  He laced his hands under his chin, squashing his wattle into a patty between his thumbs. “You must be upset about the ring.”

  “I’m upset my grandmother is dead.”

  “And the missing ring.”

  He wasn’t very subtle. “I’d take my grandmother over some dumb ring any day.”

  “Of course you would. But it was still a very nice ring.”

  Ruby Jane didn’t know what else to say.

  “You want to hear my theory?”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “I think your father ran himself a little scam. When his mom got sick, he rooted around the old homestead. Got hold of her checkbook, wrote himself a few checks.”

  Ruby Jane couldn’t imagine her father doing that. Not because he wasn’t a thief, but because he was too much of a coward to try a stunt so easily discovered.

  “Maybe he told himself he’d pay the bills while your grandmother was in the hospital. Help his old mom out. But, he didn’t pay many bills. And she never noticed. Her illness didn’t leave her with much energy for balancing her checkbook or reading her monthly bank statements.”

  Ruby Jane thought about her grandmother those last weeks. She’d kept her illness secret until she couldn’t hide it any longer. By then, she was too weak for chemo, barely survived the surgeries which removed first a couple feet of bowel, and then half her stomach.

  “We believe your father stripped his mother of her life savings because he discovered she left everything to you and your brother.”

  “There was nothing to leave to us. Her house was all she had, and it was worth less than the outstanding hospital bills.”

  “Medicare doesn’t pay for everything, does it? Still, your grandmother didn’t have to die poor.”

  “She lived poor.”

  “Maybe she didn’t have a lot of luxuries, but she saved some money. You must not have known.”

  “My parents had to pay for her funeral.”

  “I’ve reviewed her bank statements. In December of 1987, she had over three hundred thousand dollars banked. From what I can tell, she’d saved steadily for forty years, a little bit each paycheck. It didn’t make her rich, not by your Grandfather Denlinger’s standards, but it was a nice piece of change. It was supposed to see her through her retirement, or go to you and your brother.”

  “Nothing was left.”

  “Where’d it go?”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “Tell me this then. What happened to your father?”

  “I don’t know.”

  He waggled his fingers and smiled. “First the ring, then the money. That might piss someone off.”

  “I didn’t know about the money.”

  “But you knew about the ring.”

  “Grammy said it would come to me when she died. She told everyone.”

  “And instead your father took it.”

  “If you know that, why wasn’t he arrested? You say Grammy made a report, but she died in April, months before he disappeared.”

  His fingers untangled from each other. The wattle swung like a flag in the breeze. More shuffling, more pages. “He was questioned on March tenth of last year.”

  “I’m shocked he didn’t confess. Did you make the mistake of letting him pee?”

  Another grim smile. “Without the ring itself, and with only your grandmother’s word against his, we couldn’t do much. An effort was made to canvas pawn shops in the Dayton area, but there are a lot of pawn shops. One emerald ring, even if it was worth a couple grand, didn’t merit the kind of commitment necessary for a rigorous investigation.”

  “So now you’re hassling me? I don’t have it.”

  “I don’t think you do.”

  “I have to use the bathroom.”

  “Not yet.”

  Nash put his hands on the table and tilted his head at Grabel. “Coby, maybe we ought to—”

  Grabel’s jaw flexed with restrained rage. “Christ, you people have no spines.”

  “I think we could all use a break.”

  Grabel hip-checked the table as he got to his feet. “Fine.”

  “Hey, what about me? Bathroom?”

  “You keep your mouth shut, chippie.” The door opened and slammed, and she was alone.

  The clouds had broken outside. Clear blue skies stretched to the east. The leaves of the maple trees swayed in a gentle breeze. A gull landed on the top of a telephone pole. Ruby Jane checked her watch. Almost one o’clock. They’d been in the tight conference room for hours. She slipped out of her chair and moved to the door. She was afraid to risk opening it a second time, but she didn’t have to. They were right outside.

  “Coby, what the hell is going on in there?”

  “I’m conducting an interview.”

  “You’re all over the place.”

  “I’m keeping her off balance. If we let her settle into a rhythm, she won’t tell us anything.”

  “The way things are going, nothing she says will be admissible.”

  “I wouldn’t say that. For one thing, we have her mother’s permission—”

  “A drunk’s permission is what you mean. It’s a small miracle the state hasn’t intervened in that household. Any defense attorney worth his salt is gonna have you for lunch.”

  “—and for another, I was going to add before you interrupted me, what do you think I’m after here anyway?”

  Nash was quiet for a long time. She heard the rustle of paper changing hands. “Christ, Coby.”

  “Have a little faith.”

  “How about you have a little trust? This isn’t the time for me to be finding this out.”

  “I’m used to working in a different environment. Where I come from, patrol officers observe.”

  “Where you are now is nothing but patrol officers. We work cases together.”

  “Fine, fine. Untwist your titty, Werth. We got work to do.”

  “I’m going to take her to the restroom.”

  “Hurry it up then.”

  She wore an expression of weary indifference when Nash entered. He led her across the office to a recess in the far wall, two doors tucked to either side of a water fountain.

  “Be quick.”

  “After you made me wait half the day?”

  He grunted as she pushed the door shut behind her.

  The bathroom smelled of pine cleanser. Thank god for small favors. She peed from a crouch, unwilling to let her skin touch a surface which may have served as throne for Grabel or the chief. Then she washed her hands and splashed water on her cheeks. The face in the mirror bore only a faint resemblance to the girl she thought she was. Pale skin, sickly green shadows under her eyes.

  “I look like I have leprosy.”

  Her voice sounded tinny in the small tiled room. She wanted to get away. Huck would take her in, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to go down that path. Something twisted low in her stomach as she thought back to Saturday night a
nd for a moment she feared she would throw up. She let the water run, wet her face again. Her nausea subsided. Someone knocked on the door, a tentative rap. Nash. Grabel would have kicked the door in. She dried her hands and went out.

  “How are you holding up, Ruby?”

  “I’m fine.”

  He studied her face, his eyes bouncing up and down, back and forth. “It’s been a tough day.”

  “Don’t bother. I won’t fall for some kind of secret friend routine.”

  “That’s not what I’m doing.” A niggle of worry stirred in her stomach as she thought of the story he could tell Grabel about that night on County Line Road. I passed his truck earlier, further up the road … Dale do something to you? Grabel would love to hear that tidbit. For reasons she couldn’t guess, Nash had kept it to himself.

  Yet she couldn’t bring herself to acknowledge even this small gift. “Whatever.” She tried to move past him toward the conference room door, but he stopped her.

  “You ask me, Sergeant Grabel has taken this too far.” His hand felt hot on her forearm, or perhaps that was the heat of her own skin reflected back against her. “I’ll be talking to the chief about it, for what it’s worth.”

  What was it worth? She didn’t know. She didn’t even know if she cared. She felt herself blinking back tears for the umpteenth time that day; she refused to let him see her cry. She bit the inside of her lip and drew air through her nose. Then she looked at Grabel, who sat in the chief’s office with his back to the open door. He said something and the chief laughed.

  “Don’t we have an interrogation to get back to?” She spoke through her teeth.

  “There’s someone here to see you first.”

  “Who?” Please don’t let it be Huck. She couldn’t think of anyone else, except perhaps her mother, but that was so unlikely as to feel like a bad joke.

  “In the conference room. You can go in. I’ll bring you something to drink if you want. Some water, or a pop. What would you like?”

  “Nothing.”

  “I’ll bring you some water.”

  She didn’t want to see anyone. But her desires couldn’t be less relevant. She went to the door, pushed it open.

  Mrs. Parmelee stood at the window. She turned when the door opened and for a moment she gazed across the room. “Oh, honey, are you all right?”

  Ruby Jane couldn’t hold back her tears any longer.

  - 32 -

  Stormy Night, August 1988

  Jimmie looked at the weapon in his hand as if he couldn’t believe something so small and blunt could undo so much.

  “Give it to me, Jimmie.”

  He offered her the gun without hesitation. She jammed it into her sweatshirt pocket, then circled Dale’s truck to the open door. Don’t think, don’t look—just another mess to clean up. The stench of gunpowder almost overwhelmed her, but the presence of his body left her indifferent. All she cared about now was the passage of time. Kids from school often snuck onto the gun club grounds at night to look for clay pigeons and spent shotgun shells while they knocked off pilfered six-packs. Idiots, but idiots who could put Jimmie in jail if they showed up now.

  She gazed into the woods.

  “Roo? What are you doing?”

  “We have to bury him.”

  “We can’t do that.” He inched toward her. “Can we?”

  “Do you want to go to jail?”

  “Jesus, I’m not going to jail—I’m going to fry.”

  “Not if you do what I tell you.”

  “But, Roo—”

  “Goddammit, stop whining and help me. We have to get him out of the truck.”

  “And take him where?”

  “There.” She pointed into the thicket. “We’ll bury him. Then we’ll leave his truck in the Eagles parking lot. If anyone notices it, they’ll think he left it because he was too drunk to drive.”

  “Roo, we’ll never get away with this.”

  “Should we go ask Bella what she thinks?”

  He shut up. Ruby Jane reached into the cab and unlatched the seat belt, then hooked her father under his arms. He stank of scorched metal, cigarettes, and beer. She wrestled the body onto the road beside the pickup. Jimmie let out a squawk when Dale’s lolling head struck the pavement with a sound like a bat whacking a melon.

  “How are you doing this?”

  The rain lashed at her. Her patience was slipping. “Jimmie, help me.”

  “How the fuck are you doing this?”

  “Get his feet.” She tried to pull Dale off the road, but the rough pavement dragged at his clothes like Velcro. Jimmie didn’t move to help.

  “Jimmie!”

  “What?”

  “Grab … his … fucking … feet.”

  Somehow Jimmie complied. They hoisted Dale across the ditch and through the spindly viburnum at the edge of the thicket. Ten feet into the woods they dropped him in a narrow clearing. Ruby Jane leaned against a tree to catch her breath. She could feel Jimmie staring at her.

  “Now what?”

  She ignored him, returned to the truck. Jimmie followed, his breathing noisy and ragged. The stink inside the cab was already fading. She found a flashlight in the glove box. It flickered when she shined the light into Jimmie’s face. He blinked and his pupils contracted to points. His pulse jumped in his neck. “Check the truck. We need a shovel, or something to dig with. See what he has.”

  “Where are you going?”

  “To look for a place.”

  “Jesus.”

  “You want me to clean this up, you have to do what I say.”

  His Adam’s apple wobbled, but he went to the bed of the pickup.

  She crossed the ditch and pushed through the brush. The wood was a mix of black maple and horse chestnut, with an occasional shaggy hickory tree. As she made her way under the canopy, rain water dribbled over her. Leaves rustled in the wind. She picked her way through the viny undergrowth, certain each step landed her in poison ivy or raccoon shit. Thorns dragged at her jeans and ripped the exposed skin on the backs of her hands. The soft earth gave beneath her feet. After a dozen steps, the trees closed in, and in another fifty feet the guttering flashlight revealed a shallow depression bordered with swamp rose and filled with last year’s leaves. A night bird loosed a shrill, vibrant cry. She switched off the flashlight. She couldn’t see the lights of Dale’s truck behind her.

  This would have to do.

  Back at the truck, Jimmie stood twisting the hem of his windbreaker into tight little spikes in his hands.

  “What did you find?”

  “His tool boxes are in the cab behind the seat.”

  “What about a shovel?”

  “Yeah. In the back.”

  “Get it. Get it all.”

  She waited while Jimmie collected everything, then led him back through the trees to the depression. “Drop the tool boxes here.”

  “Is this where…?”

  “Yes, Jimmie. This is where.”

  “I don’t understand how you’re doing this.”

  “You’re the one who pulled the trigger.”

  For a moment she thought he would start crying. A shudder rose up through her, a dark wall of desperation. The rain battered her neck and shoulders, the cold seared her skin. She ran her numb hand over her face. “You need to deal with the truck.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t leave it here.”

  “What am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Drive toward the gun club. There’s a turn-out a little ways up on the right. Park and turn the lights off.” She had an odd thought. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and someone will steal it.”

  “No one is going to steal it, Roo.”

  “Okay, yeah. Whatever. But if someone does check it out, we want it to look like he left it there on purpose. The turn-out is far enough up no one will notice us down here if they do stop.”

  Jimmie hesitated.

  “What’s the problem?”

  “It’s just—” H
is lips pulled back from his teeth. “What if I get blood on me?”

  She looked at the stretch of pavement between them for the length of a breath. “Jimmie, I cannot tell you how little I care whether you get blood on you.”

  He flinched, but then he moved away through the brush. She followed him as far as Dale’s body, listened as the truck door closed and the engine started. The wheels spun in the weeds before gaining traction. The headlights flashed through the leaves and then the truck moved away.

  Part of her wished he’d keep driving, never come back. She leaned back against the bole of a maple tree. The only sound was the soft susurration of leaves. The earthy smell of the woods was overlain by a salty musk laced with wet twill. She slipped around the tree. Rough bark dug into her back. She found a knot with her shoulder blades and pressed into it. The sudden sharp pain provided her with a point of focus, something which wasn’t Dale. She leaned her head against the trunk and closed her eyes. The inside of her eyelids were no darker than the woodland around her. Rain drops struck her forehead and cheeks. Her weight settled into the tree. She inhaled, held the breath, let it out. An owl called, the forlorn sound an echo of her own anxiety, followed by the grumble of a vehicle approaching on the road. Not Dale’s pick-up. The engine sounded smoother, the rolling tires higher in pitch. A car. She sank down, indifferent to the cold muck soaking into her jeans. But the glow of the headlights flashed through the viburnum and grew dim. The grumbling engine died away, lost in the tapping of rain. A moment later, she heard a hiss in the darkness.

  “Roo … Where are you?” Jimmie staggered toward her through the brush. She flicked on the flashlight. “Someone came.”

  “Who?”

  “A cop. Nash, I think.” His face was white and his eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets. “I did like you said. I’d just turned the lights off when I saw him turn off Dechant Road. I crawled across the seat and got out on the passenger side and ran into the woods.”

  “Did he see you?”

  “I left the keys.”

  “Jimmie, did he see you?”