Desert Kill Switch

by Mark S. Bacon

  “Me, kill him? He deserved it. But I wasn’t there.”

  Lyle waited.

  “I was at a dinner meeting with Washoe County officials. You can ask them.”

  Chapter 15

  Bruce wanted to eat. Kate wanted to keep busy. She knew where she needed to go next, but she’d have to have a smooth approach. She figured her chances were only about fifty-fifty, so she’d tell the truth and see what it got her. The news story had said Busick’s wife, Louise, was a cancer patient at County Memorial Medical Center. Kate knew she’d have to go alone, so she left Bruce to take his chances with the hospital cafeteria, and she checked the reception desk to find out Louise Busick’s room number.

  She was not surprised to find her in an upscale hall of a new hospital wing. Except for the nurse’s station, the floor looked like a hotel. All rooms were private; no doubles here. When she got to room 1105, Kate took a breath and put on her best smile.

  The room had a small sitting area with a couch by the window, impressionistic art on the wall, and a comfortable-looking overstuffed chair by the bed.

  “Mrs. Busick? My name is Kate Sorensen. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

  The woman looked to either side of her bed. “Doesn’t look like I’m busy at the moment.”

  “You’re going to think this a little funny of me to visit you, but my mother passed away. She had ovarian cancer and--”

  “You with the chaplain’s office? I’ve seen him before and I’m not ready for last rites. Besides, I’m not even Catholic.”

  “No, I’m not with the hospital. You see, I knew your husband and--”

  “Oh, you one of Al’s ladies? You think he shoulda left you something? You’re a nice looker too. Kinda tall. Listen, big Al didn’t leave none of you nuthin’. So why don’t you just hustle your behind out of here?” Louise Busick reached for the button on her pillow.

  Kate started chuckling. “I’m sorry to laugh Mrs. Busick. I didn’t know Al that way.”

  Louise held the call button in her hand.

  “I’m the person the police think stabbed Al.”

  “You are? Hell, in that case, you can stay. Here, have a seat. What’s your name?”

  Kate didn’t expect Louise Busick’s dark hair and rosy complexion. Sixty at most, she had deep brown eyes and heavy lashes that probably put men in a trance when she was younger.

  “I want you to know I didn’t kill Mr. Busick,” Kate said.

  “You didn’t? Too bad.”

  Kate stared for a moment.

  “Don’t be shocked.” Mrs. Busick used the bed controls to raise her head up higher, closer to a sitting position. “You see, when you’re facing what I am, pretenses don’t matter. Family matters. That’s what I thought anyway, but Al just wrote me off. Even before the cancer. So I’m not going to do any big mourning scene. I did that a year ago when I realized Al was screwing one of his saleswomen, and he didn’t try hard to hide it.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “Yeah, so was I. And sorry for Ricky. That’s my son. I hoped Al would take him under his wing when we got married. My first husband was worse than Al--if you can believe that. So when we got married I wanted Al to give Ricky some direction. He gave him jobs at the dealerships, but he acted more like a boss than a father. Ricky couldn’t do anything right.”

  Kate never expected Louise Busick to be so open and accommodating. Then she realized this was the day after her husband’s murder, and she had no other visitors, right in the middle of visiting hours. The only flowers, a wilted bouquet, sat on a corner table looking forlorn.

  “Did your mother really die of cancer?”

  “Yes, she did,” Kate said. “About four years ago. I was devastated. Her last week I visited her every day in the hospital. She was in pain and taking meds.”

  “It happens. But you look like a strong person. You’ve gotten over it.”

  “You have to.”

  Louise nodded. “Lots to get over in life. Ricky should have it easier now, though. Al was a bad example, and he still lorded over him. Ricky pretty much runs the classic car business. He knows those cars inside out. He’s made a real study of it. And made money. Al, he never gave him anything.”

  “Sounds like a smart kid.”

  “He is, but I guess Ricky’s not a kid. He’s 33. He’s coming see me. Should be here any time.”

  “You live up here during summer and fall?”

  “Yeah, we have a place at Lake Tahoe, in Incline Village. Ricky has an apartment in Reno and stays up here in August too, for the Rockin’ Summer Days show.”

  “And Al’s chair of Rockin’ Summer Days.”

  “President of the board, yes.” She paused for a moment and Kate thought she might be tearing up. “So honey, I appreciate you visiting me, even if you didn’t give it to Al, but you want something?”

  “I’m in trouble with the police. That is, I’d like to know if you can think of anyone who would have wanted to um, kill Mr. Busick.”

  “How much time have ya got? That’s what I told the police. First, there’s the babes, of course. But they kinda came and went. Al gave some of them money. If any of them have a beef, I don’t know about it. Then there’s Jake Alexander.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “He’s executive VP and general manager of the dealerships.”

  “Vegas?”

  “Yes, the Busick Family of Fine Cars, don’t you know. Al’s talked about firing him for two years, but he hasn’t done it. Jake is too good. Makes tons of money for the company, but he’s greedy.”

  “You think he would kill Mr. Busick?”

  “You could ask him.”

  “What about people at Rockin’ Summer Days? That’s where he was killed. I thought...”

  “That Chris Easley, he’s the executive director. They didn’t get along much I don’t think. But then the only board member on good terms with Al was Marshall Jacques. He runs a big ad agency. Did Al’s commercials.”

  Louise Busick seemed to have no reluctance to provide details on her husband’s enemies, perceived and otherwise. In a few more minutes Kate had more information and suspects than she could remember. She’d have to head downstairs to make notes. She thanked Mrs. Busick for her time.

  “Hope this helps you, honey. You can come back and visit if you like. But, I’m going to be getting out of here soon. I’m feeling okay. I plan on fooling the doctors and the vultures at the dealerships. I may be around for a while yet.”

  On her way out, Kate had only taken a few steps past Louise’s door when a man carrying a bunch of roses hurried past her--and right into Mrs. Busick’s room.

  “Ricky,” she heard Louise say. “And you brought me flowers.”

  Kate stopped walking and looked around. With no hospital staff in sight, she back pedaled a step, then pulled out her phone and busied herself with the screen while she listened. The guest chair sat on the inside of the bed, facing the door, so Louise and her son’s voices were clear enough to overhear.

  “Sorry I didn’t come sooner, ma. I’ve been busy with this big car deal. Then the cops talked to me twice today.”

  “It’s okay. I know this has been rough. The police were here, too. What did you tell them?”

  “They wanted to know where I was yesterday evening. I told them I was at home, my apartment. By myself.”

  “They don’t suspect you, do they? You could have told them you were here with me. I’ve been here since Tuesday. Did you get my voicemail?”

  “No, ma. I already told them. Too late to change it now.”

  “Looks like everything finally caught up with your stepfather.”

  “Yeah, it did.”

  Neither of them said anything for about a minute, and Kate strained to listen. Then Ricky broke the silence.

  “You okay? I need to ask you something.”

  Kate heard footsteps in the room coming toward the door. She ducked into the next room and came face to face with a large, bare-chested man sitt
ing up in bed and attached to a set of electrodes. Then she heard the door to Louise Busick’s room close with a loud click.

  “Just checking,” Kate said to the man, using her official mien. “You need anything, just push your call button.”

  Chapter 16

  Lyle’s footfalls echoed off the concrete walls as he dashed through an underpass along the narrow blacktop path next to the Truckee River. The reverberations sounded like someone chasing him.

  Running represented Lyle’s first line of defense against anxiety, just ahead of the rubber band on his wrist and his new medication.

  The more he ran, the more endorphins were released. Jogging also kept him trim and in shape--all the more important for someone over fifty. Sometimes he wondered if he were addicted to strenuous running and if that was a further sign of anxiety--or some other mental malady the shrinks had tried to assign to him.

  His afternoon trying to come to Kate’s aid was, if anything, frustrating. His talk with Larry Quick had made him think there were dozens, if not hundreds, of people who would have gladly filleted Alvin Busick. A more complicated case than he’d imagined. Not to mention Patrick Teague, the former state senator and Busick nemesis, now a member of the Washoe County Board of Commissioners.

  Lyle had called the county offices. He usually knew how to get past telephone gatekeepers. Saying he was a cop used to work, although sometimes he needed to avoid his official title to get through to nervous suspects. In this case, he used a combination of techniques, and he got through.

  “Mr. Teague, my name is Lyle Deming and I’m investigating the murder of Alvin Busick.”

  “Yes?”

  “I’d like to talk with you for just a few minutes. I could come by your office this afternoon or perhaps tomorrow?”

  “What’s this about?”

  “It’s a confidential matter, I’d like to speak to you in person.”

  “You with the police?”

  “No. Actually I’m employed to look into this by Nostalgia City, the new retro theme park.”

  “Oh, a private investigator.”

  Close enough. Lyle hated to lie--except when he had to. Teague drew the conclusion. That was okay. “I will only take a few minutes of your time.”

  “Far as I read, the police think they already have somebody.”

  “Not really. They jumped to conclusions. You knew Busick pretty well and I thought you might be able to tell me about his activities.”

  “Busick’s dead. My dealings with him are done. We have a board meeting coming up and I don’t have any free time. Maybe next month if you’re still interested. But--oh, I have another call I have to take.”

  After getting blown off by Teague, Lyle tried to imagine him as a good suspect, but he couldn’t get the blue Firebird completely out of his mind. He called Rey Martinez.

  “Rey, it’s Lyle. I know it’s early, but--”

  “You were just wondering if we got anything on your Trans Am.”

  “Or a missing person?”

  “No, we don’t have anything. Sorry Lyle. I’m keeping an eye out. Remember this is August, the peak season at the park. Thousands of tourists everywhere in the county. We sorta got our hands full.”

  When Lyle hung up, he muttered an obscenity. Not Rey’s fault. Next on the list, running. Back at his hotel, he changed into running shorts and a Diamondbacks T-shirt and jogged a few blocks to the pedestrian path he’d discovered that ran through downtown along the Truckee River. The trail ran for miles. Lyle would have a good workout, then he’d get together with Kate to compare notes.

  The trail ran along a riverfront park and a kayak course, then crossed over a bridge, detoured on city streets for short blocks, then descended close to the water. The blacktop passed under several bridges as it headed east. Shadows under the bridges contrasted with the afternoon’s bright sunshine. The mercury stood at ninety-one degrees. Hot, yet tolerable for someone from Phoenix where the mercury can top 100 for weeks in a row. On his iPod Lyle listened to “In the Year 2525” by Zager and Evans. Not exactly uplifting lyrics, but the rhythm kept his legs moving.

  He hadn’t seen another person on the trail for blocks. As he dashed under a bridge, his eyes took seconds to adjust to the dark. He saw the outline of someone standing next to a concrete pillar. Instinctively, he looked at the man’s upper body and arms. He never saw the leg stretched out across his path. He tripped and landed, face-first, on the pavement.

  Chapter 17

  Kate smoothed her print silk skirt with a hand, glanced out the window at the city lights, then looked at her watch. She’d expected Lyle to show up for the past twenty minutes. When she heard a tapping at the door, she didn’t open it immediately but looked out the peephole. Someone stood inches away from the door. Lyle.

  “Don’t say anything. I’m fine,” Lyle said as he limped into the room.

  His short-sleeved Hawaiian shirt showed both forearms were covered with various gauze pads and adhesive bandages. He favored his left leg as Kate ushered him in. She’d switched rooms into a one-bedroom suite.

  “Please, sit. Tell me what happened.” Kate looked into his brown eyes, admired his, narrow nose and the firmness of his lips. An often somber expression masked compassion that Kate knew was fundamental to Lyle.

  Lyle plopped down on a small couch. She saw him looking at Bruce’s warm-up jacket lying over a chair back. Lyle said, “Is Bruce...”

  “He’s working out in the gym. He’ll be gone an hour or so. Have you had dinner? You want some coffee?”

  “Yes, I ate. Some decaf, maybe later.” He stretched his left leg straight out in front of him. “Okay. Here’s the short version. I went jogging along the river late this afternoon.”

  “I heard about the trail. I was hoping to get a chance to use it myself.”

  “Yeah, it’s relaxing until someone tries to mug you.”

  Kate put a hand to her mouth. “What happened?”

  “Probably not a mugging. Just an accident. I ran under a bridge and tripped over someone’s outstretched leg. I fell down like this.” Lyle help up his elbows demonstrating how he’d cushioned his fall.

  “This guy--looked homeless--was hanging out next to the bridge. After I fell, he leaned over me. Didn’t say anything. I couldn’t tell if he wanted to know if I was okay, or whether he was going to go through my pockets. I kicked at him and he moved back. People up at street level saw us and yelled. The guy took off. Someone called the cops,” Lyle said. “Paramedics arrived to patch me up. End of story.”

  “Did they find out who did it?”

  “No. And I didn’t get a good look at him. He smelled like two weeks at Woodstock without a shower. Some poor moron. The cops said that spot is a favorite with the homeless. Some of them camp next the river.”

  Kate put a hand on Lyle’s shoulder. “Reno’s not too lucky for us.”

  “I’ll reserve judgement. My knee’s just bruised. Nothing serious. You, on the other hand, are a different story. What’d you find out?”

  “Well, my big news is, I talked to Louise Busick, Al’s widow.”

  Lyle’s eyes opened wide. “You did? I thought you’d be making calls or doing online research, not talking to family members. Might make the police suspicious.”

  “Don’t worry. I saw Louise in the hospital. She’s being treated for cancer, but she looked surprisingly well. I told her the police suspected me of killing her husband, but I assured her I didn’t do it. She said that was too bad.”

  “What?”

  Kate reviewed her conversation with Louise Busick including the details of Alvin’s girlfriends and the fact some of his employees probably hated his guts.

  “And,” she said, “Louise told me Al made her son’s life miserable. Ricky is Alvin’s unbeloved stepson and he doesn’t have an alibi for the time of the murder.”

  “Good work,” Lyle said.

  “Louise said she didn’t think one of the girlfriends would have killed him, but she mentioned other peop
le Busick’s had a run-in with. He didn’t play well with others, including RSD executive director Chris Easley. The other night at a cocktail reception I got a sample of how Busick talked to him. Like a misbehaving delinquent.”

  “Speaking of Easley...”

  “Yes, I talked to him, too.”

  “You were busy.”

  “Easley’s got his hands full with the show going on right now. Didn’t sound too sad to see old Al go. Don’t think I blame him.”

  “Could he have offed Busick?”

  “Maybe but I don’t see a motive.”

  “Except maybe he thought Al Busick just needed killin’.”

  “Sounds like a line from one of your old westerns.”

  “Actually, it was--”

  “Never mind. What did you find out, except that the river running path is dangerous to your health?”

  Lyle explained that Larry Quick reinforced the image of Busick they’d been developing and he told Kate about the kill switches. “If Busick put one of those in Sam’s car,” Lyle said, “I’d want to whack him myself.”

  Kate nodded.

  “Quick obviously hated Busick, either personally or professionally, but I don’t think murdering him is his style. He would have wanted to put him out of business. But according to Quick, Busick’s death won’t change much at the Vegas dealerships.”

  Lyle explained his attempt to talk with Patrick Teague.

  “Teague. Yes, Louise mentioned something about him, too.”

  “You are a detective,” Lyle said. “And I came out here to help you investigate.”

  “I’d hoped you came out to give me some moral support, too.”

  “Of course, Kate. Goes without saying. You just don’t need the damsel-in-distress treatment.”

  “I don’t?”

  “I thought that’s why Bruce was here.”