by Robin Lamont
“If I can.”
“Were you here last Friday night?”
“I’m here just about every night.”
“Did you know a man named Frank Marino?”
Nick drew back slightly and fingered his mustache. “Sure, I knew him.”
“Then I guess you know that he committed suicide last Friday.”
“You a reporter?” he asked, edging away. He didn’t want any bad publicity.
“No, nothing like that,” said Jude quickly. “We were … working on something together and I was supposed to meet him the other day, and then I found out…”
“Yeah, well, he was a regular.”
“And Frank was here last Friday?”
“The whole crew was here.”
“The crew?” asked Jude.
“We serve a lot of the guys from the D&M plant. That’s where Frank worked.”
“Do you remember his demeanor? Did he seem upset or bothered by anything?”
“Like I told the cops, I try to keep my eyes open and most of the time I can spot a fight brewing, but to tell you if some guy is depressed or something, I wouldn’t know. And we were real busy that night. I had my hands full.”
“Anything out of the ordinary that you recall? I mean, Frank being a regular and all, he probably stuck to a routine.”
Nick frowned, trying to think. “Well, I saw him at the bar, he got a drink.” He cocked his head. “Come to think of it, he doesn’t normally sit at the bar. He’s usually with Emmet and a few of the other guys.”
“Emmet?”
“Yeah, Emmet Chapel. They were pretty tight and the two of them usually sit at a table over there.” Nick pointed across the room.
“Does Emmet work at D&M?”
“As long as I can remember.”
“Anyone else you know work there? Maybe I could talk to them.”
Before Nick could respond, someone called his name. He responded to a tall, heavyset black man waiting to order at the far end of the bar. Nick held up a finger to let him know he’d be right over, then he turned back to Jude.
“If you want to talk to someone who works at the plant, you might try Howard Bisbee,” he said, nodding to the big man. “He knew Frank.”
Jude picked up her beer and wandered down to where Bisbee leaned against the bar. She put him in his mid to late forties, graying around the temples with deep lines cut into his broad face. After introducing herself, she asked if he knew Frank Marino or Emmet Chapel.
Bisbee squinted down at her. “Mind telling me who you are again?”
“I’m with an organization called The Kinship. Frank contacted me, wanting to talk about D&M.”
Bisbee shook his head. “Sorry, I got nothin’ to say to you.” He picked up his pitcher of beer and walked away.
Jude trailed after him. “Please, I just want to ask you a couple of questions.”
“Miss, you look like a nice person,” said Bisbee. “But I ain’t gonna talk to you.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t talk to animal rights people.”
Jesus. What the hell was going on? Was her picture plastered all over town like a wanted poster?
Fighting off a growing desperation, Jude tried another tack. “I’m not here to ask you about D&M, Mr. Bisbee,” she said. “I was told you were a friend of Frank’s, and I’m only trying to understand why he committed suicide.”
Bisbee seemed torn between walking away and trying to understand the same thing. He glanced quickly around the room, gauging how safe it was to talk, then heaved the sigh of a man who wanted to put the entire episode behind him and said, “The man’s back was bad, and I know for sure he was addicted to pain killers. He couldn’t bend over or lift anything without ’em. And anyone around here can tell you those things ain’t a long term solution. Frank’d worked for Marshfield practically his whole life, different locations, but always with hogs. He didn’t have no college education, didn’t have any other trade that I know of.”
“So you’re saying he might have taken his own life because he was concerned about how he’d make a living?”
“I’m sayin’ he dint have many options.” His eyes flickered to the doorway and suddenly, like a door slamming, he shut down.
Two men had come in and were making their way over. One of them wore thick, black glasses; the other was an older gentleman with a kindly, ruddy face.
“How’s it going, Howard?” asked the older man.
“Not bad.”
“And who might this lovely young lady be?”
“I’m Jude Brannock.”
“Glad to meet you, dear. My name is Lawrence Cimino. This is Patrick LaBrie,” he said, indicating his companion.
Jude recognized Cimino’s name from her files on D&M. He was the on-site veterinarian and the senior representative from the USDA. She couldn’t even muster a thin smile, not after what she’d seen from the ridge. “Mr. Cimino, I was actually going to look you up,” she said.
He raised a bushy eyebrow.
“You see, I was outside the plant today and witnessed a downer hog being dragged with a chain. I wondered if anyone had reported that to you.”
“Ah, you’re with the animal welfare group. No, I received no such report,” said Cimino innocently. She felt sure that he knew exactly who she was before she introduced herself.
Jude continued, “It’s considered an egregious violation of the Humane Slaughter Act.”
“I’m well aware of the act’s provisions and I’m sure you couldn’t have seen what you claim, Miss Brannock. We take good care of our animals.”
“Not only did I see it, I photographed it.”
“And just where did you take this photograph?”
“From the ridge overlooking the lairage pens.”
Cimino clucked like a disapproving grandmother. “That’s private property, my dear, belonging to the Marshfield corporation. You could get into trouble for trespassing on private property. But since you tell me you witnessed this alleged violation, I’ll surely look into it.”
Something about the outwardly sweet old man who treated this information so casually was repellent to Jude. And he was a vet, trained to take care of animals, no less. She turned her attention to Patrick LaBrie. “Are you also with the USDA?”
When he acknowledged that he was, she asked boldly, “Mr. LaBrie, are you aware of non-ambulatory hogs going into the slaughter line?”
He blinked behind his thick-framed glasses. “Downers? Absolutely not.”
“Do you get over to the lairage pens, sir?” demanded Jude.
Cimino chuckled as if she had made a joke, then turned away and steered LaBrie toward the bar. Jude was left standing with Bisbee.
“Might as well go home,” he said softly. “Ain’t no one going to talk to you about the hogs or anything else. And you keep at it, you stand to make some enemies.”
She pressed her hands against her tired eyes and said, “Think I already have.”
***
On her way to Caroline’s house, Jude stopped at a local market, searching for something to bring with her. She was just coming out, a bunch of pre-packaged daisies in hand, when she spotted the young man who had approached her outside the diner. He was driving a van into the parking area of the hardware and feed supply across the street. She was about to start after him when he and two men got out and went into the store.
Hoping that “Juan” might come out solo, she crossed the street to linger casually in the parking area. There she noticed a parking sticker on the van’s front window. It looked current and had been issued by a place called King’s Court, more specifically for space twenty-seven. Jude filed the information away and left before Juan and his friends returned.
Chapter 14
A small boy playing with stones squatted in
the driveway. He’d arranged them in a line, lofting the frontrunners at a plastic kiddie pool half filled with stale, brown water. One by one they went in with a satisfying plop. So engrossed in his game, he didn’t see Jude drive up to the curb. But at the sound of the car door closing, he lifted his head to look at her with the same sapphire blue eyes as his sister.
“Hi. Are you Caroline’s brother?” asked Jude.
He nodded and studied her for a moment. Suddenly, he spied Finn and forgetting Jude and his rocks, jumped up and pointed at the car. “Is that a dog or what?” he wanted to know. Finn’s large head emerged through the open window of the Subaru.
“Don’t worry, I won’t let him out of the car.”
But rather than appearing relieved, the boy looked crushed. “Can’t I play with him?” he appealed.
“Don’t see why not.” Jude let Finn out and watched both dog and exuberant boy gallop around the yard.
At that moment, Caroline came to the front door and her face brightening with anticipation, exclaimed, “You’re here! Come on in. My mother’s inside, she just got home from work.” She ushered her guest into the kitchen where a woman in a blue Walmart uniform stood in front of the open oven, poking a fork into a sweet potato. Without turning around, she called out irritably, “When did you put these in, Caroline? They’re not even close to being done. Oh!” She caught sight of Jude and quickly wiped her damp hands on her uniform.
“You must be Caroline’s friend,” she said. “I’m Alice Chapel.”
Chapel. Caroline had never said her last name, and in an instant, Jude made the connection. Emmet Chapel – close friend of Frank Marino and the man at his graveside – was Caroline’s father.
“I ... these are for you,” said Jude, reddening slightly and thrusting out the flowers.
“Thank you, they’re lovely.” Alice took them and rummaged through a cabinet for something to put them in. She found a chipped vase and filled it with water.
“I hope I’m not putting you out,” said Jude.
“Not at all.” Alice’s tone was warm enough, but her pinched, lipstick-faded smile spoke volumes – a tough day in customer service followed by her daughter’s announcement as soon as she walked through the door that they were having company. But she’d been brought up right and tried to make Jude feel comfortable. “We’re glad you could come,” she added.
Caroline dismissed her mother, saying, “You go change, Mom. I’ll take care of dinner.”
Alice must have heard something in her daughter’s tone because all at once she seemed self-conscious in her polyester uniform, aware that in Caroline’s eyes it carried the stain of failure. “Sure, I’ll be right back. Honey, get those potatoes back in the oven, please?”
When she was gone, Caroline shifted her feet nervously.
Not completely at ease herself, Jude pointed to the flowers. “Shall I put these on the table?” Then after a moment, she said, “Your mom’s nice.”
“She’s okay. I get along with her most of the time, probably better than a lot of kids I know. She gets on me for certain things, like these,” Caroline proudly pushed her hair back to show off the multiple ear piercings. “And she worries too much. But she’s got a lot on her mind. I … uh, wondered if I could ask you something.”
“Sure, what is it?”
“It’s about what you do and all.”
“Being an animal welfare investigator?”
Caroline nodded. “You have to get evidence, right? I mean, people doing stuff to animals and maybe–”
A high-pitched squeal from outside interrupted Caroline, and Jude put up her hand. “Hold that thought. I’d better go check on your brother. Be right back.”
The sound that had come from the yard, however, was one of delighted play. Will and Finn were having a grand time. The six-year-old had found a baseball and fashioned a new game that included Finn and the dirty water in the kiddie pool. Jude wasn’t sure if Alice would find the game nearly as amusing, and she was relieved when Alice came out on the front landing and took it all in without complaint. Now with her hair pulled back in a ponytail and wearing jeans and a sweater, Caroline’s mother looked more comfortable, although her half-smile still seemed forced.
“He’s big, but he’s good with kids,” Jude assured her. “I can put him in the car if you like.” Because of his size, vouching for Finn’s good intentions was almost a habit for her.
“It’s fine,” said Alice. “Will adores dogs.”
There was an awkward silence, neither of them terribly good with small talk. Finally, away from her daughter’s judgmental presence, something in Alice seemed to loosen. “I’m pleased that Caroline has made a friend,” she said. “When I got home, she told me she met an ‘amazing’ woman who came all the way from Washington. You’re quite the celebrity to her.”
“She’s an interesting girl.”
“It’s nice to see her looking forward to something. Caroline’s been kind of depressed lately.” Alice paused, considering how much to say. “Her schoolwork is suffering.”
Jude could offer only a sympathetic glance in return; it didn’t feel like her place to tell her that her daughter was out running at the state park instead of attending school.
Alice continued, “She seems so angry all the time, and she has … dark thoughts.” It might have been the loneliness of carrying the load by herself or the possibility that this young woman whom her daughter clearly admired might have some answers, but Alice blurted out, “She’s seems obsessed with death and we don’t understand why. She’s not sick. It just seems unnatural to have such a sense of foreboding all the time.”
Jude listened, speech eluding her.
“But she’s seeing a doctor. I think she’ll be all right, don’t you?”
Luckily, Caroline called them in for dinner, saving Jude from having to respond. They arranged themselves around the kitchen table that Caroline had set for the four of them. Her mother had told her not to wait for Emmet – his schedule was “unpredictable” these days and he could get something to eat later. In honor of her guest, Caroline had put out cloth napkins and a candle next to the flowers. It sat in a misshapen clay holder that was one of Will’s kindergarten projects and every time the table moved, it wobbled precariously.
The teenager’s turn to cook that night had resulted in some version of Hamburger Helper, baked yams and a salad. She watched Jude expectantly while Alice served.
“Sorry, I don’t eat meat,” said Jude, holding up an apologetic hand. “But the potatoes look great and with a salad, that’ll be fine for me.”
“You’re a vegetarian?” asked Alice, her serving spoon poised over the casserole dish.
“Yes, actually I don’t eat any animal food.”
“None?” Alice quizzed. “However do you get your protein?”
“Various ways, legumes, soy, stuff like that.”
“What’s animal food?” broke in Will to no one in particular.
“Why?” Alice asked perplexed.
“I work for an animal welfare organization,” said Jude. “But even if I didn’t, I couldn’t support the way farm animals are treated.”
“Oh. Caroline did tell me you worked with animals, but I thought it was rescuing cats and dogs.”
“We do some of that, yes. But we also try to prevent abuse to farm animals.”
Caroline took the serving spoon from her mother’s hand and used it to scrape her portion of Hamburger Helper back into the serving dish. “I’ve decided I’m not going to eat meat.”
Her mother smiled indulgently. “You’re a teenager and have different dietary needs, honey.”
“No, I’m going vegetarian,” insisted Caroline.
Will, who had been watching his big sister carefully, kneeled up on his chair and shoveled his casserole back. “I’m going vege … vege-train, too,” he announced.
<
br /> “Don’t be ridiculous, Will,” Alice admonished, replenishing his plate. “You need your protein.”
He crossed his arms defiantly. “It’s animal food,” he said with a scowl.
“Oh, for God’s sake,” snapped Alice.
Wincing at the trouble she was causing, Jude said, “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t understand, what is the problem? We have to eat meat and chicken.”
“Who says, mother?” demanded Caroline. “They’re living, breathing creatures. Why should they die so we can eat them?”
“Finn is a dog and I wouldn’t eat him,” said Will somberly.
“No one’s asking you to, Will,” insisted his mother impatiently. “Eating chicken and hamburger is completely different.”
“I don’t believe it is,” said Jude softly.
“She’s right, Mom,” asserted Caroline. “You have no idea how badly the pigs are treated.”
“Slaughtering hogs is just something we have to do,” insisted her mother.
“It isn’t something we have to do. And you have no freaking idea what really happens to them,” Caroline admonished, her voice rising in anger. “You don’t want to know, just like everybody else around here. It’s all a dark, horrible secret that nobody in this town wants to fuckin’ see!”
“What’s going on?” boomed Emmet from the doorway. He’d heard his daughter cursing from outside and his face was like thunder.
Alice jumped up from the table, flustered. “Emmet … this is … uh, Caroline’s friend.”
Jude looked up at the broad-shouldered man who filled the kitchen doorway, struck by the intensity of his blue eyes. He scanned the table, taking in the situation, and then his gaze rested on Jude.
“Nice to meet you,” he said uncertainly. “Are you from the school?” They’d gotten a few calls about Caroline’s truancy and he thought they might have decided to send someone to the house.
“Did you see the dog?” asked Will hopefully.
Emmet’s face creased into a smile. “Didn’t see any dog, sport,” he said. “But I saw a grizzly bear out in the car. He yours?” he asked Jude.
Will guffawed. “It’s not a bear, Dad, it’s a dog. You can’t put a bear in a car.”