All The Way Down

by DaveKearns

  I switched off the dome light. Michelle leaned back in her seat and heaved a big sigh. "You treat me like I’m your kid sister sometimes," she said. "You know that?"

  I was dumbfounded. I said "What?"

  "Figure it out," she said. She closed her eyes and sighed.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  I made the turn off the highway at the stop light across from the mall. I parked the car at the curb in the suburban neighborhood, put the transmission in park, and left the engine running. The lights from the parking lot of a new apartment complex across the street bathed the interior of the car in a peach glow.

  "I want to say something to you," I said.

  "I'm not stopping you," she said flatly. She turned her head and looked out her window. Her profile was so stunning that I was unsure of how to express myself, but I tried anyway.

  "I think you're beautiful," I said. "You're like a magnet to me. I want to be with you. But I feel weird that you were so close to Brick. It makes me feel like I want something I shouldn't."

  She let out a sigh and shifted her position in her seat, making the upholstery creak a little. A new white Dodge pulled around us and into the driveway of the duplex. Michelle looked down at her hands.

  "Del," she said, "If you think the reason I'm spending time with you is because I want to play private investigator, you're mistaken. I feel something for you, and I can tell you feel something for me, too. If we hadn’t been interrupted when we were in my bedroom I think we both know what would have happened. I really wanted you, and I could tell you wanted me, too. But I have to tell you…I don't want to hear any more about Brick and me. We weren't married. We just dated for a while and then he left me. That’s it. If you don't think you can get past that, then take me back to my car."

  I let out a long breath.

  "You don't have to say anything," she said. "Just drive."

  I leaned towards her and she faced me. She looked deep into my eyes and we kissed. She smelled gently of perfume, and her lips were soft and warm against mine. I felt heat rising within me and I pulled away slowly, watching her and wanting her. Her eyes were locked with mine, and she began to smile.

  "It's a start," she said.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Ray's house was only six blocks from the interstate and could be a convenient stop on the way from the quarry to the railroad, I thought. On the other hand, it was at the end of a dead-end street that wasn't wide enough to handle one of the quarry trucks. I turned the car around so we were facing out of the dead end street.

  The lights were off in the house, and Ray's blue Chevy wasn't under the carport, either. The lawn didn't appear to have been mowed in months, and one of the shutters hung askew. A shiny new ski boat sat on a trailer that was chained to one of the posts of the carport. The lights were off inside the house.

  I wasn't sure what to do, but I knew I wasn't going to walk up to the door and ring the doorbell. I sat in the car with the engine idling and thought about things. Ray didn't show up at work and his car was apparently abandoned on the highway. He was stopped by the police, so he might have spent the day in jail. On the other hand, maybe he was sitting in his house watching us through the blinds.

  I accelerated slowly out of the neighborhood and drove down the quiet streets to the intersection where the suburbs met the shopping mall. I pulled to a stop and waited for the light to change. I could hear a loud stereo coming from the apartment complex facing the street.

  "What do you think?" Michelle asked.

  "I think I want to take a look inside Ray's house."

  "You aren't going back tonight, are you?"

  "No way," I said. "You check his time card tomorrow at work. If he clocks in, let me know. I'll drop by and look around. If he doesn't clock in, I'll have to think of something else."

  "I wouldn't go there alone," she said. "That house looked creepy."

  "I felt it, too."

  When we got back to Brick's house, I thought that Michelle would want to come inside, but she walked over towards her Jeep, digging for her car keys in her purse. I followed her.

  "Sure you don't want to come in?" I asked.

  "I'd love to, but I need to get home," she said. "Rosalie needs to see me before she goes to bed. I'd like to stay, you know that." I was standing close to her, and she rested the palm of her hand on my chest.

  I leaned towards her. We kissed, and I put my arms around her held her against me. I felt the warmth of her through her shirt. She made a contented sound, halfway between a purr and a moan.

  "I'll see you tomorrow," she said. "I promise. If I don't go now I won't leave at all."

  I let go of her slowly. "Tomorrow night. Right?"

  "I promise," she said. She got into the car, closed the door, and rolled the window down. "Call me tomorrow morning at work," she said. "About nine, okay?"

  "Okay," I said.

  She started the car, and the noise from the engine washed over the quiet neighborhood. Her car sounded like it needed a new muffler, and I made a face.

  "What's the matter?" she asked over the noise.

  I pointed at her car. "This thing is noisy," I said.

  "It has character," she said loudly. She backed out of the driveway and gave a little wave as she drove away. I watched her turn the corner at the end of the block and stood for a moment in the driveway. Then I went up the steps to the porch and on into the darkened house.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  I put the lights on in the living room and went out to the garage to retrieve the clothes from the dryer. I brought them inside and dropped them on the sofa. I half-watched an old black-and-white episode of "The Rifleman" while I folded clothes. I was too distracted to pay much attention to the show.

  I finished folding the clothes and was thinking about going to bed when I noticed a rotting smell coming from the aquarium. A half dozen angel fish and neon tetras floated belly-up in the tank. I went into the kitchen and got the trash can from under the sink. I found a small mesh net in the drawer under the aquarium and lifted the lighting unit from the top of the aquarium. I leaned the lighting unit up against the wall, trying to keep as much moisture as possible off of the carpet. The lid must have been helping to contain the smell because the odor coming from the fish was strong. I used the net to lift the dead fish out one at a time, dropping them into the trash can on top of the scraps from the previous meal. As I pulled the last angel fish from the tank, I noticed a small gray container bobbing on the surface of the tank behind the filtration unit in the back corner.

  "What the hell?" I said. I tried getting my fingers around the thing to pull it out, but the space behind the filter was too small. I used the net to retrieve it, and when I rolled the thing from the net into my hand I recognized it immediately: a film container. I went into the kitchen and got a hand towel to wipe it off. Then I washed my hands thoroughly to get the smell of the tank off, and I popped the lid. Inside I found a roll of 35-mm. film with twelve exposures, perfectly dry.

  I snapped the lid back on the container and put the film on the kitchen countertop. I stood there for a few seconds thinking about developing the pictures myself in the darkroom, but it had been so long since I had developed any that I didn't trust myself to do it.

  It was too late to find a place to develop the pictures that night, but curiosity about what was on the film ate at me. I hadn't forgotten about Brick's house being broken into, or about Bullard wiping down the fingerprints, or about Brick taking a beating before he was murdered. I thought there was a good chance the pictures might hold the key to explaining it all.

  I put the lighting unit back on the tank and stuck the foul-smelling trash can out in the garage. I moved the folded clothes onto the floor by the couch. Then I turned off the television, now showing an ancient episode of "Love Boat," shut off the lights and lay down on the sofa.

  My mind was buzzing with thoughts about what might be on the film. I finally went to sleep by counting backwards from one hundr
ed. On the third set of one hundred, I was out.

  I awoke in the middle of the night and got up to use the restroom. It was totally dark, so I put my hand on the wall to steady myself and slid it along the wall until I reached the bathroom. I flipped the bathroom light switch, bathing the room in deep red light from the bulb. The room seemed to be awash in blood.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  The sound of neighbors starting their cars and leaving for work woke me the next morning. I got a towel from the hall bathroom and laid it on the living room floor, and then I went through my routine of pushups and sit-ups. I had a pretty good sweat going by the time I finished my third set of sit-ups.

  I found the coffee can in the refrigerator and started a pot brewing. I used the shower in the master bathroom, and after I was clean I dressed from the clothes I had washed the previous night, glad that I had a collection of clean clothes again.

  It was cool in the kitchen, and my bare feet were chilled by the linoleum floor. The sun had not begun to warm the house yet but I didn't feel like running the heat, either. I picked up the film container off the kitchen countertop and went down the hall into the master bedroom. I looked in Brick's closet for a sweater or something to wear over the T-shirt I had on.

  I found a hooded pullover sweatshirt with pockets and a big University of Oklahoma logo on the front. It was a good fit, and I slipped the film container into the pocket of the sweatshirt and went back into the kitchen to check on the coffee pot. The coffee maker belched the last of the brew into the carafe. I got a mug from the cabinet over the toaster and poured myself a cup.

  I sat at the kitchen table and looked in the phone book to find a place where I could get the film developed. There had to be a one hour or same-day processing place somewhere in Alamogordo. I was ready to go, but it was only eight-thirty. Too early to get the film developed, too early to try Sandy at the police station, and too early to call Michelle to see if Ray had shown up for work. I went into the living room and sat on the sofa, looking out the front window through the gauzy curtains at the Ford.

  When I had tired of pouring money into repairs on the engine, transmission, brakes, and suspension, Brick had taken up the slack without complaint, finishing the job with his own money. He still let me use the car whenever I wanted. I felt as if I had failed him somehow. It was impossible for me to repay his generosity now, or to express my love for him, or to connect with him in any other way. For a fleeting moment I wondered if my anger at Brick's killer was halfway generated by my anger at myself for being distant to him since he had moved away. I didn't want to think about it.

  My coffee had grown cold, and I got up from the sofa and went into the kitchen to fix breakfast. I had picked up eggs and bacon the previous night. I found some picante sauce in the refrigerator to mix in with the scrambled eggs I made. My appetite was strong that morning, and I finished four pieces of bacon along with the eggs.

  I called Michelle at work a few minutes after nine.

  "Hi, Michelle, it's Del."

  "Hi, Del," she said. "Do you miss me?"

  "Of course."

  "I'll bet you called to see if Ray showed up for work today."

  "Yes I did. But I miss you too."

  "You said the magic words. I checked his card about ten minutes ago," she said. "He's not here. At least not yet."

  I thought about what that meant.

  "What are you going to do, Del?"

  "I don't know yet," I said. I didn't think that I wanted to search Ray's house unless I was sure he was elsewhere. I didn't know what I would be looking for in Ray's house anyway. Brick's missing camera? Some other evidence that Ray had a part in what happened to Brick?

  "By the way," I said, "I found a roll of exposed film hidden here at the house. In the aquarium."

  ''You’re kidding."

  "Nope. Do you know if there's a one-hour photo developer here?"

  "I think there's one in the big shopping mall by the movie theater."

  "Perfect. What time does the mall open?"

  ''Ten."

  I checked the clock over the oven. It read nine forty.

  "In that case," I said, "I'm set. I'll give you a call later, Michelle."

  "Bye. Call me when you can."

  I hung up the phone and started to clean up the kitchen. I put the dishes into the dishwasher and scrubbed the pan I had used for eggs. Then I wiped the kitchen table down with a damp rag before going back to the master bathroom. I brushed my teeth and shaved, and I was back in the living room hunting for my car keys when I heard boots striking the driveway. I went over to the front door, expecting Sgt. Bullard to be there with another dose of unpleasantness, but instead it was Sandy.

  I watched her walk up the driveway and climb the steps to the porch. I was struck again by her confident stride and the strength she carried in her legs and upper body. I wondered if she was a weight lifter or a Black Belt. She removed her sunglasses as I opened the door.

  "Hi, Sandy," I said.

  "Morning, Del." She had a genuine smile for me.

  "Come on in."

  She stepped inside, and I closed the glass storm door. She stood in front of the sofa, looking around like she hadn't seen the place before.

  "You cleaned off all the fingerprinting dust?"

  "Yes I did. Would you like a cup of coffee?" I asked.

  "Very much."

  She followed me into the kitchen. I found another mug in the cabinet and poured the last of the coffee into it. I asked her if she wanted some milk in it, but she said she took it black. She took a sip and then she looked up at me over the mug.

  "Can we talk about your brother's investigation?" she asked.

  "Nothing I'd rather do," I said.

  "I did some checking, Del. Art Collins let me have a look at what they have so far. To me, they seem to be covering the bases. They're checking the quarry records to see who came and went that night, interviewing people who worked at the quarry, looking for grudges. Looks like they've come up with a possible suspect, somebody who was at the quarry that night who shouldn't have been."

  "Ray Archer?" I asked.

  "How would you know that?"

  "I have a friend at the quarry. What else did the report say?"

  "Well, that's about it. One of the drivers said Ray seemed to have a grudge against Brick. He didn't know why. Just that Ray jumped Brick in the locker room not that long before the accident." I flashed on the image of Ray's big arms pounding on Brick. I wondered how Brick had fared in the fight.

  "What else did your friend tell you, Del?"

  I thought back to the previous night's ride back from the quarry with Michelle. "From what I understand, the supervisor caught Ray dumping loads in the desert and slacking off during night shifts at the quarry."

  "You think maybe Brick tipped off the supervisor to what Ray was doing, and Ray found out?"

  "It's possible, or it could be that the supervisor caught Ray on his own. Apparently the supervisor does spot checks on the drivers. Maybe he checked on Ray the day he took the truck for a joyride. Even if Ray thought Brick had turned him in, that doesn't seem like grounds for murder, does it?"

  She sat down in one of the chairs at the kitchen table. I stood with my back against the refrigerator door, watching her. "Where did you get all this?" Sandy asked.

  "I told you, I have a friend at the quarry."

  "Who?"

  "I'd rather not say."

  "How much trouble do you think it would be for me to find out who you got this from?"

  "Not much. On the other hand, I didn't have to tell you any of this. The police should already know all this stuff. Right?"

  "You want me to do something about your brother's investigation, but you don't trust me enough to be honest. That really bothers me." She put the coffee mug on the kitchen table and stood to leave.

  "My friend at the quarry gave me the information under the condition that I wouldn't say where I got it," I said.

  "If you d
on't trust me enough to tell me where you're getting things, why should I tell you anything?" I didn't have an answer for that, and she continued.

  "I have a lot at stake here, too. If it gets out that I'm conducting my own investigation with the help of a civilian, I'm finished with the police department. Now tell me where you got it."

  "All right," I said. "Michelle Villareal. She works for the quarry manager." I paused. "Just a minute."

  I went back to the bedroom and retrieved the photocopy of Ray's personnel file. I figured that if Bullard got a shot at the original it would disappear, like the rest of the obstacles in his path. I brought it back into the kitchen and gave it to Sandy. She read through it in silence with a worried expression.