Dead Connection

by Charlie Price

  “He’s going to kill me, too,” Robert said.

  “Too?”

  “He hit her real, real hard. You don’t know.”

  “I’m going to stop him, Robert. I’m going to keep him from hurting you or anybody else. Tell me about the car.”

  “He came after me at work. I saw his car and ran.”

  “Tell me what you saw.”

  “A big white car with a long silver thing on the top.”

  “A four-door.” Gates stopped. Don’t feed him information. “What make of car? Do you know?”

  “Huh-uh. This country, though. Not one of those foreign ones.”

  “Do you drive, Robert?”

  “Huh-uh. Not since high school.”

  “Have you ever had a car?”

  “No.”

  “What long thing on the top?”

  “A, uh, like a steel wire. Like an aerial thing.”

  Gates continued to question until it was clear Robert was describing a whip antenna.

  “Can you tell me anything else?” he asked.

  “He wants to hurt me,” Robert said.

  “If I tell the manager and the police and the sheriff to protect you for the next couple of days, will you be okay in your room?”

  “Yeah, maybe.”

  “Will you let Bruce visit and play cards or something?”

  “Cards are stupid.”

  “Well, will you at least let him visit?”

  Robert agreed, and Gates promised to arrange twenty-four-hour protection from the hotel staff and the police. He also said he would arrange for food to be sent up and asked if burgers and donuts would be okay. By the time Gates left, he felt that the investigation ought to have a new suspect within a couple of days. The type of car Robert was afraid of was pretty unusual in this community. And who was most likely to be driving such a car?

  A Riverton law officer.

  * * *

  Back in his car, he immediately called Drummond.

  “Did you get my message?” Drummond asked after Gates identified himself.

  “No, I’ve been out of the office,” Gates said.

  “I think we got the car,” Drummond said, “or at least a car on the streets with the right time frame.”

  “Tell me!” Gates could feel the adrenaline.

  “Hold on. You can’t do anything yet.”

  “Right. Okay.”

  Drummond told him they, RPD, had a motor-pool Ford out on that day, the main ride of a Public Affairs officer named Billup. Records show that Billup kept the car overnight October 17, and didn’t return it to the pool until 5:15 PM the eighteenth. Some guys kept a motor-pool car overnight from time to time if they had taken a trip and gotten back late. No big deal. But Billup sort of made a habit of it. “Records show eight overs in the past three months.”

  “You brought him in yet?”

  “Hold it. There’s more,” Drummond said. “The guy’s just been suspended for harassing a female employee at a local bar, A/D treatment mandated.”

  “Definitely could be our guy.” Gates was excited.

  “My partner and Webber are searching and bagging the car right now.”

  “Hold it! Shouldn’t it go to the lab at the college?”

  “This will be relatively noninvasive. A prelim. Check for prints and hair. We won’t actually get in and tear it apart. I got Haggarty pressing for a search warrant on the guy’s house, and we’ll probably get that by late this afternoon. Billup has no way to guess we’re on to him. No close friends in the department that might tip him. No reason to get nervous and run.”

  “So, you already got a watch on his house, huh?”

  “Yeah. Since about 10:30 this morning. He doesn’t answer the phone. Could be hung over, maybe even passed out, the way his supe says he chugs. Car’s in the driveway.”

  “What’s the make?”

  “Light metallic tan Chrysler LHS, 1997, California plate 4 CDI 189.”

  “Great work, Drum! Keep me posted.”

  Drummond agreed and Gates hung up and headed back to the office to think things over. On the way, he called dispatch to see if anything needed doing before he got in. Mona told him to hold while she checked. When she came back on, she said it was quiet except that a guy named something-or-other had called for him three times already, requesting a call back. Gates asked her to spell the name.

  “Juliet, Alpha, November, Oscar, Charlie, Hotel, Echo, Kilo.”

  “You’re kidding.” Gates tried to imagine how to pronounce it.

  “No,” Mona said, “Henderson upstairs gave me this. He said something like Jan-oh-check.”

  Gates got the number and called.

  After Janochek answered and found it was Gates, he introduced himself as the Forest Grove caretaker and reminded Gates that they had met a couple of years ago at an exhumation.

  Gates remembered.

  When Janochek told him why he had called, Gates changed course immediately and headed for the cemetery. Good God, he thought, this thing is going to crack.

  A HOAX?

  Janochek ushered Gates into the workshop office and told him about Kiefer and Pearl’s investigation. Gates looked astonished. Janochek finished with the coincidence of the burial date and the disappearance date.

  “And Kiefer…” Gates was sorting the information.

  “You know him?”

  “I met him and his mom a while ago.… And so Kiefer saw somebody messing around the grave a couple of times and then your daughter joined him in finding out whether there might be some monkey business going on here. You weren’t aware of any of this?”

  “I knew they were up to something, but I had no idea what.”

  “And how did they pick this grave to begin with?”

  “Kiefer told my daughter, Pearl, that he saw somebody, and I quote, ‘messing around’ the grave and they took it from there. When I thought this whole thing was part of a school assignment—”

  “Why did you think that?”

  “That’s what Pearl told me. At first. Anyway, we looked in all the crypts on the property. They were okay. No sign of funny business, I mean.”

  Gates looked away, shaking his head.

  “What?” Janochek asked.

  “Any chance this could be a hoax the kids are pulling?”

  Whoa! Janochek thought about his daughter’s willfulness and her sometimes stunning deviousness. She might be capable of this kind of stunt. He thought about Kiefer. Poor kid. He could be led. Hard to imagine he would do something to risk getting barred from this cemetery, but then, what might Pearl have offered as an inducement? How much of her mother’s blood ran in her veins? He noticed he was feeling nauseated.

  He remembered Gates. “Uh, sorry, what was your question?”

  “I think you just answered it,” Gates said. “I need to talk to those kids immediately—if not yesterday.”

  “They’ll probably be meeting over here this afternoon. Later, after Pearl’s basketball practice, somewhere between three-thirty and five.”

  “Will you be here, too?” Gates asked.

  “Yeah. I said I would talk to them more about the idea this afternoon.”

  “Where is Craddock’s grave?” Gates asked.

  “Fourth lane on the right, past the front gate, most of the way to the end on the right-hand side,” Janochek responded. He had gone to see the plot earlier in the day.

  Gates jotted the information in his small notepad. “Let’s meet at the gravesite about four-thirty. Don’t talk to them about any of this again until I get there. And don’t let them know I’m coming.” He rammed the notepad back in his pocket. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Today!”

  A SMALL MISTAKE

  Gates noticed his cell phone on the seat next to him as he drove out of the grounds. It was blinking. He called dispatch. Mona told him that Drummond had left an urgent message to get in touch about ten minutes ago, and she phoned Gates when she couldn’t reach him on his radio.


  Gates called, got through, and identified himself when Drummond came on.

  “We might have a small problem.”

  “No way,” Gates said. “That’s more than enough cause for a search warrant. Have Haggarty take it to another judge.”

  “That’s not it,” Drummond said, sounding irritable, harried.

  “So, what’s it?” Gates asked. He was a little distracted. He had paperwork and a couple of phone calls to make about another case before his cemetery appointment.

  “He has two cars.”

  “What?” Gates said, not understanding.

  “He bought a pickup a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t up on the DMV sheet yet.”

  Drummond had his attention now. “Billup?”

  “Billup. Are you with me?”

  “Brother, am I!”

  “They don’t see it.”

  “The stakeout doesn’t see any truck, in the driveway, in the garage, along the block?”

  “You got it.” Drummond seemed to be carrying on another conversation away from the phone at his desk.

  Gates pulled over and parked.

  “Description?” Gates asked when Drummond was quiet again.

  “Light blue, ’87 Mazda B2000 Short Bed, 3Y 40494. Camper shell sitting beside his driveway near the back of the house. Should have tipped us off.”

  “License again?”

  “Three, Yankee, four-zero-four-niner-four.”

  “Got it. BOLO?”

  “Yeah, lookout alerts posted to tri-counties police and sheriff, plus highway patrol. Airplanes, the works.”

  “Relatives, girlfriend?”

  “None known in this area. His application says no sibs, parents deceased. Scuttlebutt: bar drinker, no close friends known.”

  “Knock on his door?”

  “Don’t want to risk it yet. Should have the warrant within the hour.”

  “Send him an undercover with a pizza. Or a package.”

  “You sheriffs watch too much TV! Hey, I gotta go. We’re rolling extra cars. Wear your phone and I’ll call when anything breaks.”

  Gates sat at the curb thinking, God! Nothing for eight weeks and today? An avalanche!

  FACING HIS DEVILS

  Billup really had no choice. He needed to try the A/D program and see if he could reclaim his life. His no-drinking resolve lasted till midmorning. His head was throbbing, his hands were shaking, and his butt was sore from a scouring diarrhea. Okay, he figured, I need some medicine, now.

  All morning he had been reviewing his life. It was disgusting and disgraceful. He was glad his folks hadn’t lived to see it. His dad had worked a construction job his whole life, until a heart attack felled him in his early sixties. He had been an okay guy and wasn’t abusive except on weekends and holidays when he drank all day. At night, every night, he fell asleep in his chair in front of the TV. His mom did sewing and ironing and cleaning to help with the family finances. After his father’s death, after Billup moved out, she seemed to lose the will to go on and had died without anything in particular being wrong. One day she just didn’t wake up. His folks hadn’t gotten much of anywhere in their lives and they had such high hopes for him. And look at him now.

  Billup knew he needed to stop drinking. He wanted his damn job in the police department. He was willing to go to the effing treatment program that Fowler mentioned. He wasn’t really listening yesterday, but he’d call Fowler and get the name again tomorrow.

  It had been one hell of a morning. Maybe the heaviest morning of his life. He had faced his devils, recognized they were of his own making, and was ready to make a change.

  Tomorrow. But right now his head was killing him. He had heard you could die if you stopped alcohol too abruptly. That’s why they put people in a hospital to detox. It was life-threatening, and he wasn’t going to run that risk today. Not now. Now that he was finally ready to square up and make a change. So, first? More medicine! He had been up for hours. He was ready to move. Celebrate his last day!

  GRAVE INTERROGATION

  Janochek and the kids were standing at the edge of the lane beside the gravesite when Gates pulled up. He turned off the engine and got out, checking that he had put his phone on his belt.

  “Hi,” he said. “Thanks for waiting for me.”

  Gates introduced himself and noticed that Kiefer seemed to be growing uncomfortable. Gates thought perhaps Kiefer remembered his home visit, or maybe he sensed he was going to be interrogated.

  “I’m here because I need to ask you all some questions about the Craddock gravesite and the Parker girl investigation.”

  Janochek seemed chagrined, Pearl seemed fascinated by this turn of events, and Gates would swear that Kiefer was about to bolt. Gates took a step closer to him so he could grab him if he moved.

  “Mr. Janochek has told me that you believe the Parker girl may be buried in Craddock’s grave.”

  Janochek was watching the kids as closely as Gates was. Pearl nodded. Murray was starting to perspire.

  “Why, Pearl?” Gates asked.

  “Murray saw somebody fooling with the grave,” she said, “and the date’s the same.”

  Gates had noticed that when he asked Pearl that question, Kiefer’s eyes flashed over to her for a second.

  “So, what did you see?” Gates asked, addressing Kiefer.

  Kiefer licked his lips and looked away, then back to Gates.

  “Um, somebody was digging around in the grave at night, I mean during the night after he was buried.”

  “You knew the day he was buried. How?”

  “Uh, I saw it.”

  “Don’t you go to school?”

  “Yes.”

  “What time was he buried?” Gates asked Janochek.

  “I believe just before noon, but I’d have to look to make sure,” Janochek said.

  “Are the records close?”

  “Yes, right up there in the workshop.” Janochek gestured toward the building up the hill sixty yards or so.

  “Would you check them, please?”

  Janochek left, and Gates turned back to Kiefer.

  Kiefer was actually squirming, but Gates didn’t think Kiefer was aware of it. Gates waited another minute or two to let the kid stew in his own juice. Then he made a deliberate show of getting his notebook and pen out of his pocket; turning to a fresh page; and putting the date, the time, and Murray’s name at the top.

  “That’s K-I-E-F-E-R?” Gates asked, burning a hole through the boy with the intensity of his gaze.

  Murray nodded, unable to meet the man’s eyes.

  “So.” Gates was shaking his head, incredulous. “You saw them bury Craddock while you were nearly a mile away, in school?” Gates was clearly losing his patience.

  Kiefer was looking at the ground. He couldn’t seem to make himself look at Gates.

  “You’re lying, and I want to know why!” Gates put a gruff tone in his voice.

  Kiefer began to tremble. Then he was yelling, “I can’t tell you!” Louder, “I can’t tell you!” Losing it.

  “You can’t tell me because you killed her and put her there!” Gates was yelling, too.

  Janochek came hurrying down the hill.

  “For God’s sake, Deputy, back off! These kids are not your criminals!” He stepped over to Kiefer and put his arm around his shoulder, maybe to still the shaking, or maybe to let him know he was not so alone and exposed.

  Gates took a few seconds to settle himself.

  “You’re right. Sorry I got so intense there,” he said, “but this Parker investigation has me … Okay, I apologize for yelling, but something is cockeyed about this story, and I am going to find out what is going on, even if all of us wind up at the sheriff’s office.” Gates made a point of looking at Kiefer.

  “I will stand by you both, no matter what,” Janochek added. “No matter what. But I also think there’s something missing in what you are telling us. I expect you to tell the truth right now, before this goes any further.”

&nb
sp; Tears began tracking down Kiefer’s cheeks. Neither Gates nor Janochek had expected that.

  Pearl stepped up.

  “Uh,” she said, looking at her dad standing with Kiefer, and then at Kiefer, as if to reassure him. “Uh, Murray is kind of … what do you call it? Extra sensitive.”

  “You mean he is … he has extrasensory perception?” Janochek said, trying to think along with her, trying to make sense out of her remarks. “He told you he’s psychic?”

  “Yeah, maybe. I mean no, he didn’t say anything like that. Um, but I think that’s what they call it,” Pearl said.

  Kiefer had stopped crying and was still, eyes closed. Listening? Gates wondered.

  “He sometimes knows things. Out of the air. And he got a, uh, really strong feeling that a girl was buried in the same place as the Craddock guy.”

  Mother spare me! Gates thought. Thank God I didn’t have Drum join me for this.

  “Are you saying that you two concocted this story because Kiefer had a feeling that the Parker girl was secretly buried with Craddock? That you didn’t actually see anything suspicious?” Gates was trying to keep his voice down. Kiefer still hadn’t opened his eyes. Pearl was nodding.

  “Damn it!” Gates said with more force than he intended. “You aren’t babies. You have to know that this is not an area to muck around in!” He wanted to hit something, break something. Kids screwing around, playing, when so much was at stake!

  Either that or Kiefer did it.

  “This grave because of the date, right? That’s how you put it together? A matching date and a feeling? Should we dig up everybody buried on October seventeenth in northern California? What were you thinking, damn it!” Gates was steaming, couldn’t seem to calm down. Nikki Parker deserved better than this shit!

  For a moment Gates had an image of his son. Kneeling in his football team picture, helmet on the field in front of him. Dead at seventeen. He deserved better, too.

  PACKING FURY

  By four-thirty Billup was ripped. When he got up to urinate, he fell forward onto the cement picnic table. It took him a few seconds to stand and keep his balance. Sometime during the afternoon, he had gotten mad. Mad at life. Mad at people. They had burned him nearly every time he made contact with them. He went through the list of people he hated, ending with the cemetery geek.