by BJ Bourg
The more boisterous kid turned and jumped off his log when he saw me. A bottle of cheap vodka fell from his hand and plopped to the ground, the liquid oozing from the open top.
I stepped forward and surveyed the area. Two sleeping bags were rolled up against a tree, each of them covered in dried leaves. Two rucksacks were nearby and both were unzipped. I could plainly see a bottle of booze in one of the rucksacks, and there were wire coat hangers and food products in the other—bread, peanut butter, marshmallows, and a few other things I couldn’t make out.
“What’s going on over here?” I asked, watching the hands of both boys. They looked surprised to see a cop in the woods and they certainly had guilty expressions on their faces, but that probably had something to do with the illegal drinking.
“I, um…we…nothing much, officer,” said the more boisterous one. “We’re just camping out. You know, living off the land for the weekend.”
I pointed to the bottle of vodka at his feet. “Is that how you live off the land?”
“My dad lets me drink.”
“Does he, now?” I asked for their names and he said his was Rory. Timid One was his buddy, Burt. “How old are you, Rory?”
“Eighteen.”
I glanced at Burt. “You?”
“Same.”
“Mind if I search the rucksacks?”
Rory shrugged. “Sure, go ahead.”
I checked them both for weapons—particularly a 9mm pistol—but there was only the liquor and the food. I snatched the full bottle from the bag and the empty one from the ground, then indicated toward their gear with my head. “Gather up your stuff. We’re heading back to your house to meet with your dad.”
Rory’s shoulders drooped. “Why?”
“We need to talk.”
“About what?” He smirked. “Someone was murdered or something?”
I fixed him with my dark brown eyes. “What do you know about a murder?”
CHAPTER 10
I’d learned early in my career that you couldn’t prejudge a person’s appearances. Someone might look like a cruel, cold-hearted killer and be the nicest individual alive. On the flipside, someone who appeared meek and mild could have the heart of a monster. No one could ever tell, so I wasn’t letting my guard down with Rory and Burt. Someone had brutally murdered Denny, and, as far as I knew, they were the last people to see him alive.
After frisking Rory and Burt, we began the walk back to my truck. Rory was adamant that his “murder” comment was purely coincidental. I pretended to believe him and changed the subject, wanting to make small talk to establish a rapport with him and Burt. I found out they were on the school’s marching band and the conversation turned to music and their assigned instrument, the trumpet. They were excited to talk about their competitions and didn’t shut up until we got to my truck.
“So, does your dad really let you drink alcohol?” I asked before letting them in the back of my truck.
Rory hung his head. “No, sir. I snuck those out of his liquor cabinet. He’s got a bunch and doesn’t usually notice when I lift a bottle or two.”
I studied his face. His big brown eyes were wide and I realized right then how much he feared his dad. I sighed, twisted the cap off the one good bottle, and poured its contents onto the road. “I’ll keep this between us.”
“Really? Thank you so much!” He seemed to breathe much easier. “My dad would’ve killed me for sure.”
I shot a thumb toward the back seat of my truck and told them to jump in. I drove up the street and arrived at Rory’s house just as the sun was dipping behind the distant trees. After grabbing a form from my file folder, we approached the house and his dad met us at the door. Dennis gave Rory a stern look. “What have you been up to, son?”
“Nothing. We were just camping, like we said we would.”
Dennis turned to me. “Mind telling me what this is all about? I tried calling Uma, but her phone goes straight to voicemail.”
I waved him to the side, out of earshot of the boys. “It’s about Denny. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but he was murdered last night.”
“What?” Dennis staggered back and had to catch himself on the edge of his house. “Are you sure?”
I frowned. “I’m afraid so.”
He turned his troubled eyes toward Rory and Burt. “Denny was with Rory last night. Is he still out there in the woods? Did Rory witness it? How’d it happen? Dear Lord, did Burt have something to do with it?”
“Please,” I said. “Slow down a minute.” I explained what had happened and what we knew so far. “I need to speak to Rory and Burt separately to find out what they know, and”—I held up the form I’d been holding—“I’d like permission to search your house.”
“For what?”
“A nine millimeter pistol.”
Dennis scoffed and took the paper from my hands. “I’ll sign it. You can search all you want. There’re no guns in my house.”
He suddenly paused with the pen in midair. “You don’t suspect my son, do you?”
“At this very moment, I don’t have any evidence suggesting he’s involved, but he hasn’t been ruled out as a suspect yet.”
“Well, I can tell you for a fact that he and Denny are like brothers. He would never do anything to hurt Denny.” He handed me back the consent to search form. “If it’ll help rule him out, you can search whatever you want to search.”
After getting Rory to sign the consent form for his room, I had them lead me into the house to start my search. Before going through the rest of the house, I pulled on some gloves and decided to start in Rory’s bedroom, going through every square inch of the place. I’d finished searching the area around his bed and had moved to the top drawer of his dresser when I noticed him start to fidget. I began removing each article of clothing one at a time until I got to the bottom of the drawer. Something hard rolled to one side of the wooden bottom and I grunted when I saw it resting in the corner. It was a live 9mm bullet, a full-metal-jacket cartridge—just like the ones that had killed Denny. It didn’t mean he was involved, but it sure piqued my curiosity.
Without revealing what I’d found, I continued to the next drawer, and then the next, and then the last. I reached for the final article of clothing—a pair of long jean shorts at the bottom of the stack—and realized it was heavier than a lump of fabric should be. I carefully unfolded it and whistled when I saw the black semi-automatic pistol wrapped inside.
“What have we here?” I asked, holding up the pistol after I’d cleared it and made it safe. Rory groaned and Dennis let out a string of curse words. He had been so certain there were no guns in his house and his response was so genuine that I knew he had no knowledge of it being there.
“What the hell is that, son?” asked Dennis. “What is a gun doing in your clothes?”
“I…I found it.”
“Found it?” Dennis echoed. “My ass, you found it. You’d better start talking now before I beat your—”
“Excuse me for a second.” I raised a hand. “Mr. Menard, before you give Rory the ass-chewing he deserves, can I have a moment alone with him?”
Dennis hesitated, staring at Rory like he wanted to beat his ass with a shovel, but he finally turned and stormed off. I nodded at Burt to follow Dennis, and he did.
I folded my arms across my chest and leaned against the dresser. “I first met you in the woods about twenty or thirty minutes ago. In all that time, you haven’t once asked me what this is about. Why is that?”
“Because I already know what this is about.”
“What’s that?”
“The alcohol.”
I scowled. “What makes you think that?”
“Because Denny said he would tell on us for bringing alcohol.”
“Is that why you killed him?” I hated breaking the news to him like that, but I needed to test his reaction to the news.
Rory’s eyes grew wide and instantly red. “Mister, why are you talking like that? Is t
his some kind of sick joke?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t joke about a thing like that.” As I started walking closer to him, he started backing away, but stopped when he ran into the wall. He stood there shrinking.
“Someone put two full metal jacket bullets in his chest and one in his eyeball,” I continued. “Was it you?”
His face was twisted in horror.
“Was it you?” I pressed. “Did you kill Denny to protect your little alcohol secret?”
“I swear to God, no. I would never hurt anyone, especially my own blood. We’re cousins. We’re family, and family members don’t hurt each other.” Rory’s bottom lip was trembling and he was crying.
I told him to try and calm down, that everything would be all right. “Tell me about last night. It seems you saw Denny, so what time did he get here?”
Rory wiped his tear-streaked face and nodded. “It was about eight, I guess. I remember him complaining about his mom treating him like a baby, wanting him to text her everywhere he goes.”
“What prompted that complaint?”
“I think she called, or something, asking if he made it to my house. That’s why we leave the phones behind when we go out into the wild—so our parents can’t bother us. They still treat us like we’re ten.”
I nodded thoughtfully. “So, he did make it here?”
“Yeah. I mean, yes, sir.”
I asked him what happened next, and he went on to say they had packed up some gear and headed out into the dark woods, like they did every few weeks. “Everything went along as normal, except…”
“Except what?””
“This was the first time I’d ever brought alcohol with us while Denny was there. Burt and I had camped out once by ourselves and brought some booze for us to drink, but never with Denny.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because Denny doesn’t drink. For whatever reason, he won’t drink beer or anything and he doesn’t like it when other people drink it.” Rory shook his head. “I’ve tried to get him to drink at parties, but he leaves when he finds out there’s alcohol. I figured if I sneaked it to the campsite and didn’t tell him about it until late, he’d have no choice but to hang around. I mean, I wasn’t going to force him to drink it, but I didn’t want him dictating what I did when he was around.”
I nodded, wondering if this kid was capable of murder. I didn’t get that vibe from him, but one never knows. “So, tell me what happened when Denny found out about the alcohol.”
Rory’s eyes dropped. “I know I was wrong to bring it, but Burt talked me into it.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“It was late when I broke out the booze. Two or three, maybe. Denny, he got real mad, you know? Started yelling at both of us. Acting real crazy. I…I had no choice. He was coming at me like he was going to do something, so I had…I had to defend myself.”
“Really? What’d you do?”
“I didn’t hit him hard.” Rory frowned. “At least, it didn’t seem hard, but he fell down and his eye started getting swollen.”
I nodded. That explained the welt I’d seen on Denny’s right eye. “What happened next?”
“He just got up and left.”
“Just like that? He didn’t try to hit you back?”
Rory lowered his head in shame. “He told me he would never hit his own flesh and blood.”
“Yeah, and you told me the same thing, yet now you’re admitting to punching him in the face and knocking him down.” I leaned forward, piercing him with my eyes. “Did you kill Denny?”
He shook his head wildly. “No, sir! You’ve got to believe me.”
I held my gaze for a while. Although he was definitely shaken, he didn’t waver. “Did Denny say anything when he left?”
“He said he was going to tell my dad about the liquor, and then he was gone.”
In my experience, kids killed for the strangest and most trivial of reasons—things that wouldn’t even raise an adult’s blood pressure. Could this be another of those cases?
CHAPTER 11
After grilling Rory for a few more minutes, I left him in his room and walked into the living room, where I found Dennis sitting on the sofa with Burt. I shot a thumb toward Rory’s room and said, “He’s all yours, Mr. Menard.”
Dennis didn’t waste any time jumping off the sofa and rushing into the bedroom. Even before the door slammed shut I could hear him chewing out his son.
Burt’s cheeks were rosy red, but the crimson faded to a gray hue when I turned my eyes in his direction and sat beside him on the sofa. After making him squirm in silence for a moment, I asked him to recount the events of last night.
“I told Rory not to bring the alcohol.” He shook his head for emphasis. “I’ve never had a drink before and neither has Denny. We just wanted to camp out, but Rory wanted to get drunk and wanted all of us to brand ourselves or something. He’d brought along wire coat hangers and said we could bend them into any shape we wanted and then heat it in the fire and brand our arms.”
“Why?”
“He thought the alcohol would help to dull the pain.”
“No, I mean, why brand yourselves?”
Burt shrugged. “I guess to symbolize our friendship. We’re all going off to different colleges, so I guess it’s his way of forming a bond before we all go off into the world. He said something about having our own reunion every few years and the brand would serve as a reminder of that friendship.”
I nodded, a bit amused. “What would you say if I told you Rory said the alcohol was your idea?”
“He’s lying! I’ve never even had a drink before last night.”
“That’s not what he says.” I shook my head slowly. “He claims you and he went camp out alone one night and brought some alcohol.”
“Yeah, he did bring some one time, but I didn’t drink much.”
“But you did drink some.”
“Just a little.”
“Son, from here on out, let’s try to tell the truth and only the truth,” I said pointedly. “If you lie even once, I’m going to assume it’s because you helped murder Denny and you’re lying to cover it up.”
I would’ve never believed his face could’ve gotten any whiter, but there it was, a few shades paler than a few minutes earlier.
“Wait…was Denny murdered?”
I waved off his comment. “So, what happened between Rory and Denny?”
Burt shifted in his chair, gulped audibly. “Rory told me not to tell Denny about the alcohol. He said we’d wait until after midnight to break it out, and then it would be too late for Denny to leave, because Denny always left parties when he found out alcohol was there. So, I guess it was close to midnight or some time later—we don’t bring our phones back there—when Rory took out the first bottle of vodka. Denny got mad and said he was leaving. While he packed up his stuff, Rory was yelling at him and calling him a coward and a loser, trying to shame him into taking a drink.”
When Burt paused, I asked him to continue, and he said Denny stood his ground and called Rory a coward.
“Denny told Rory it was easy to do what the other kids were doing, but it took a real man to be able to say no and walk away.” Burt shifted in his chair again. “That’s…that’s when Rory hit him. Punched him right in the eye. It was a hard punch—I could hear it from where I was sitting—but Denny didn’t go down. He just shook his head and told Rory they were supposed to be family and family didn’t go around hitting on each other. And then he left.”
“Did Denny go after Rory at all?”
“No, sir. He got mad, but he didn’t attack Rory. He just said he was leaving and began packing his stuff.”
“Did he say anything else? Anything at all before he left?”
Burt was thoughtful. “I think he did say he was going to tell Mr. Dennis about the alcohol.”
“Okay, and what happened after Denny left?”
“We sat around for a while and Rory began to worry that Denny would really te
ll on us. I told him that Denny would never do that, but he got real scared all of a sudden. He told me to wait at the camp and he took off to find Denny.”
“Well,” I asked when Burt stopped talking again, “did Rory find him?”
“He said he looked for him but couldn’t find him.”
“How long was he gone?”
Burt shrugged. “An hour, I guess.”
I pulled another latex glove from my back pocket and slipped it on, then reached for the brown paper bag on the floor at my feet. Burt’s eyes followed my movements with curiosity. I pulled the pistol I’d recovered from Rory’s room out of the bag and held it up. “Do you recognize this?”
Burt shifted in his seat again, and only nodded.
“Who’s it for?”
“Rory.”
“Where’d he get it?”
“I…I don’t know. He didn’t tell me. He showed it to me a couple of times.”
I leaned closer to Burt. “Are you aware that Denny was murdered last night or early this morning?”
Burt revolted in horror, nearly falling off of the end of the sofa. “Wait, are you serious? Denny’s really dead?”
His reaction right then seemed as genuine as it had earlier in the conversation.
“I’m sorry to have to break it to you so abruptly, but, yeah, he’s gone.” I hefted the pistol in my gloved hand. “Someone used a nine millimeter pistol to shoot him dead and then dumped his body under the Highway Twelve high rise.”
Burt’s eyes watered over and tears began streaming down his cheeks. “Do…do you think it was Rory?”
“Do you?”
“He was so mad,” Burt said. “I just don’t know. I mean, he did punch him, but…”
When he didn’t continue, I asked, “Are you sure he was only gone an hour?”
“I mean, it could’ve been longer or it could’ve been shorter. I didn’t have my phone, so I didn’t know what time it was. I know I did doze off a little while waiting for him, so it could’ve been longer than an hour.”
I nodded, remembered the marijuana in Denny’s pocket. “Did anyone bring drugs to the campout?”