No Way to Die

by Warren C Easley

  “Oh, right. Things have moved so fast I haven’t had time to update you. I put the heat on Walter, and the bottom line was that before the murder Max asked Walter if Sonny was alone that night. He said it never occurred to him to mention that to the investigators, because the case against Kenny looked so compelling. I told him it was more likely he didn’t want to threaten the deal by implicating his potential partner.”

  “That bastard. He even broke down and cried, Cal. He said he was sorry he wasn’t more supportive of Kenny at the time. Now I see why.” She paused. “Do you believe him?”

  “He’s got a financial motive, and his alibi’s a little shaky, but I haven’t found anything else.”

  “So, it’s Max along with the Barton brothers?”

  “It’s looking that way. We’ve got a ton of circumstantial evidence supporting that. Now we need solid proof.”

  “Oh, you just lifted my spirits.” Rori paused. “When Walter left, I noticed a check on my desk. It was for ten thousand dollars, Cal. Made out to me and signed by him.”

  I whistled. “What did you do with it?”

  “I tore it up. He can’t buy his way back in with his dirty money.” She released a deep sigh. “I suppose I should find it in my heart to forgive him, but I’m afraid I’m a substandard Christian.”

  * * *

  The next morning Claire and I took Archie for a run on the beach, and then I mentioned needing to go to the post office to mail Kenny’s hearing request. “I’ll stay here with Arch,” she said. “We’ll be fine.”

  “Nothing doing,” I shot back. “As far as we know, Robert Barton’s still out there. You’re both coming with me.”

  She made a pouty face but agreed. Then she bent her head and tapped out a text with lightning speed using both thumbs. I looked at her with raised eyebrows. “I’m reminding Kathy Harper that she agreed to talk to me. Maybe she can meet us somewhere. I know we’re less interested in Walter now, but I’d still like to hear what she has to say.”

  We stopped by the Charleston Post Office, and Claire and Archie waited in the Subaru while I mailed the letter. As we were pulling out of the parking lot, a text pinged in on Claire’s phone. “It’s Kathy. She’s agreed to meet with us. There’s a small park on State Street, just off Broadway. She said she’d be at the playground there with her little girl for the next hour or so.”

  “You want me involved?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “I want you to bring your gravitas, Dad. We need to convince her this is important, and you can answer any legal questions she might have.”

  We parked a half block down on State Street and cut across a soccer field to the playground, where kids swarmed over the equipment with abandon, safe in the knowledge their falls would be broken by a soft, synthetic turf. We had Archie in tow, figuring his presence would lend an air of informality to what promised to be a tense situation.

  Claire spotted Kathy on a bench on the periphery of the play area. Tall, with ice-blue eyes and honey blond hair, she greeted us with a wary smile that still managed to be dazzling. “I, um, I’m still not sure I should be here,” she said after Claire introduced Archie and me.

  Claire showed a sympathetic smile. “We can understand that. Four years is a long time ago,” she said, glancing at Kathy’s cherub of a daughter snoozing in a stroller, “and you’ve obviously moved on.” Kathy smiled with parental pride. “We’re here,” Claire continued, “because one of your friends hasn’t been able to move on. He’s in prison for the rest of his life.”

  Kathy’s smile crashed. “You know, we couldn’t believe Kenny did it, but, you know, he confessed and a jury convicted him.”

  “Did you know he recanted his confession the next day?” Claire asked in a gentle voice.

  “Um, not really.”

  Claire glanced at me, while Archie calmly lay down next to the stroller like a guardian. I said, “The confession was coerced, Kathy. Kenny was young and scared, and they manipulated him. We believe he’s innocent, and we’re faced with the job of proving it. To do this, we need to know all the facts surrounding the case. Do you understand?”

  She cast her eyes down. “I do, but I don’t see how I could help.” Her voice was barely audible.

  Claire said, “As I mentioned when we talked last, a person of interest in the case is Walter Sanders, Kenny’s stepdad. We know about the affair, Kathy. We’re interested in anything you can tell us about him as it relates to Kenny or to Sonny Jenson around the time of the murder. Anything. Details are important.”

  She brought her eyes back up. “What if this gets out?”

  Claire said, “Oh, come on. All your friends know about the affair. How do you think we found out so easily? Your husband, Brad—you really think he doesn’t know? Be serious.”

  She looked stunned for a moment. “Is that true?”

  Claire rolled her eyes. “It’s the ‘me-too’ era, Kathy. Time to lose the guilt.”

  Kathy glanced at her daughter and exhaled a breath, as if releasing something she’d held in for a long time. “Well, Walt and I didn’t talk about Kenny. That was too close to home for both of us. And he never talked about Sonny Jenson or anything related to his businesses that I remember. My God, I was only sixteen.”

  “When did you two stop seeing each other?” Claire asked.

  “Right after the murder, actually. Two, maybe three days later.” She smiled bitterly. “I was devastated. Walt told me all along that he loved me, that when I turned eighteen he’d leave Krysta and marry me. Then, boom, he breaks up with me. He said I couldn’t tell a soul about us, made a big deal out of that.” She drew her mouth to one side in a smirk. “I wonder why?”

  “What else do you remember around the time of the murder?”

  “Well, I remember we were together that night. I—”

  “The night of the murder?” Claire interrupted, keeping her voice even. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes, I’m sure. It was a Friday night, and word about the murder got around that Sunday, at least that’s when I heard about it, and that Kenny was in trouble. That’s why I remember.”

  “Where did you go with Walter that night?”

  “Um, Walter drove in from up north, Newport, I think.” Her fair complexion took on a shade of color. “We, um, went to our usual spot, a motel on Highway 101 down by Millington called the Slumber Lodge. He would go rent the room, and I would wait in the car.” Another smirk. “He called it our special place.”

  “What time span did that cover?” Claire asked.

  She paused for a moment and absently stroked her check with a hand whose fingernails were nicely manicured. Her daughter stirred in the stroller. “It was after dinner, I remember, so around seven, maybe. We, um, left the motel around eleven, eleven thirty.”

  Claire fixed her eyes on Kathy. “You’re sure of the timing? From around seven to around eleven?”

  “I’m sure. It was our last night together.”

  “Did Walter get any calls that night that you remember?” I asked.

  She focused on something across the park for a few moments. “He was always getting calls, you know, making deals and things like that, but I never listened. I don’t remember that night being any different.”

  “Why do you think Walter chose that time to break up?” Claire asked. “Had you argued?”

  “No. We hadn’t argued at all. He never gave a reason, just said he couldn’t see me anymore.” She paused for a moment and stitched her brows together. “Funny, I never associated the murder with the breakup, but maybe that’s what happened.” Her eyes got wide. “Do you suspect Walter of being involved in this?”

  “We’re just gathering facts, Kathy,” Claire responded, “and what you’ve told us is very useful.” Claire went on to ask a few more questions before drawing it to a close.

  I said, “Thanks for your candor, Kat
hy. It’s vitally important that you keep the discussion we just had confidential, even from your husband. Can you do that?” She said she would. “You know,” I continued, “statutory rape’s a felony, and there’s no statute of limitations. You could also pursue this in civil court and claim damages.”

  “Damages?”

  “Walter Sanders stole part of your childhood. You could hold him accountable.”

  The little one started to fuss. She picked her girl up, hugged her, and smiled fully for the first time. “I hope you get Kenny out of prison. I really do.”

  We left on that note. When we got to the car, Claire looked at me, her eyes wide with excitement. “Oh, my God, Dad. That was so cool. I see why you do this work.”

  “You did all the heavy lifting, Claire.”

  She showed a modest smile. “And I loved how you slipped in the bit about her being able to go after that SOB in court.”

  I laughed. “So, what do you think?”

  “She’s telling the truth,” Claire answered without hesitation.

  “You don’t think Walter got to her, desperate for an alibi, even one that might get him a rape charge?”

  “Not a chance. She wouldn’t lie for him.”

  “Even for money?”

  Claire shook her head emphatically. “Even for money. She was telling the truth. The only thing I don’t get is why he broke up with her right after the murder. The timing’s a little weird.”

  “Yeah, I had the same thought. I think Walter knew his personal life might get scrutinized in the investigation, and he didn’t want the affair to come out. So, he went with the I-was-in-Newport alibi.”

  “So, now we know Walter didn’t kill Sonny with his own hands,” Claire said. “But he could have been involved with the Brothers B and Max.”

  “My gut says that’s unlikely.”

  Claire looked at me. “So, he’s off our list?”

  “For all intents and purposes.”

  “Well,” she said, “that narrows down the field.”

  Chapter Forty-Four

  An uneasy lull descended on our investigation at that point. In one sense it was timely, because both Claire and I had issues and obligations back in the world to attend to. Claire received a call from her boss at Harvard, an eminent professor of environmental science, who asked for an update on her continued absence from campus. She explained that the family emergency requiring her presence wasn’t resolved yet, which was the truth. However, I doubt she was completely truthful about the nature of the emergency. After all, not everyone would agree that helping your father solve a cold case murder would qualify as such, even if it involved an innocent kid looking at life in prison.

  She emerged from the call looking a little sheepish. “Professor Hastings is trying not to pry, but there’re limits. She said she could only justify another week, given the workload on the group. If I don’t get my butt back to Cambridge, she’ll probably take some kind of action.”

  “Like what?”

  Claire shrugged. “I don’t know. I was afraid to ask. She might ask me to leave her research group.”

  I felt a jolt of parental alarm tinged with guilt. “That can’t happen. It’s your dream job, and other environmental scientists in this country would kill for it.”

  “I thought it was my dream job.” She brought her sapphire eyes up to meet mine. “You need me, Dad, and you know it.”

  “This isn’t about me, Claire,” I shot back. “It’s about your future.”

  She crossed her arms, and her eyes narrowed down. “What about Kenny’s future? I made a commitment to you and him, and to Rori, too.” A wisp of a smile spread across her lips. “This is like environmental work, Dad. I feel like I’m making a real difference here. I’m not quitting until this gets resolved.”

  I cringed inside. What the hell had I done? But it was clear my headstrong daughter was dug in, and there wasn’t much I could say. I laughed instead. “Well, that settles it, then. We’ve got a week left to crack this sucker.”

  * * *

  Gertrude Johnson called not long after that, wondering where in the hell my billable hours for the month were. Already two days late, I told her I’d get something to her by email and reluctantly started combing through my disorganized records. I wasn’t a good record keeper in ordinary times, and these weren’t that, for sure. Aside from a divorce case I’d argued before our arrival in Coos Bay, all my billable hours were for the Kenny Sanders case. And they were quoted at a steep discount to Rori Dennison, the very same Rori Dennison who would have a hard time paying me and who had just torn up a check for ten thousand dollars.

  Easy come, easy go.

  * * *

  An hour after lunch, Chet Rice called. “I’m slammed on all fronts, Cal, but I promised to keep you updated. I—”

  “Have you caught him?”

  “Not yet, but we’ve got every law enforcement agency in the state looking for him and the white Honda.”

  “There’s another family property you should look at. I should’ve mentioned it yesterday, but I thought you’d pick up Robert in a heartbeat.” I went on to describe the five-acre plot on the Chetco River that Claire had also found. “It’s wooded and undeveloped, probably the last place he’d go but worth a look.”

  “Got it,” he said. “You won’t believe this, but you, your daughter, and your dog are the stars of a video.”

  “What?”

  “Our tech guy has been going through Darnell’s phone and computer. Darnell uploaded a video of when he took your BMW out, the whole thing, how he waited while you slowed for the curve, then his acceleration to the point of impact. Must’ve had an action cam, probably strapped on his cap. A video hobbyist, apparently.”

  Those terrifying moments flooded back to me. “Yeah, I remember seeing something like that on his head but didn’t know what the hell it was. A video, huh? Why am I not surprised?”

  Laughter. “Douglas County has the video, and they’ve impounded the Peterbilt,” Rice continued. “Darnell uploaded it, and the only fingerprints they found inside the cab belong to him, so it looks like he was the driver, not Robert. We’re building a strong case on the Howard Coleman murder. We found a couple of pings from Darnell’s phone at a cell tower about a mile and half from the scene on the Millicoma. That puts him there on the day of the murder. The cable and cutters from the barn, along with the cable we took from Coleman’s body, are already at the state police forensic lab for analysis. There were fingerprints all over the cutters. Not Darnell’s, so probably Robert’s. Wouldn’t be at all surprised if the lab shows they’re the ones used to cut Coleman’s wire.”

  “Obviously they were both involved in the crime spree,” I said.

  “Yeah, it’s frustrating that we won’t get the satisfaction of charging Darnell with anything, but we can sure as hell clear these cases and throw the book at Robert.”

  “What about Nando’s shooting?”

  “Promising. We lifted a set of prints from the twenty-two found in the house, and we’ve already got a match to the slug your friend caught.”

  “You’re thinking the prints are Robert’s?”

  “They’re not Darnell’s. That could give little brother murder, home invasion, and attempted murder counts at the minimum. And, thanks to you, we recovered several globs of tobacco juice at the scene.”

  I laughed. “They’ll be loaded with Darnell’s DNA, I promise, and he’s in the system.”

  Rice chuckled again. “Damn it, Cal, promise me that when this is over you’ll tell me how you knew all this. I’ll buy the beer.”

  “I like wine better,” I quipped. My throat tightened a little as I asked the next question. “Any evidence that Sloat Trucking or Maxine Sloat’s mixed up in this?”

  “Aside from some pay stubs of Darnell’s, that’s a negatory. We’re working with our narcoti
cs team on the fentanyl distribution side of it. They’re going to follow up with Max as well. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

  He paused. “We did find something relating to the Sonny Jenson murder four years ago.” I waited, not liking the change in the tone of his voice. “The first time Darnell used his action cam was for a bonefishing trip he and Robert took in the Bahamas. To be honest, we looked through them because the videos had some great action shots. They’re both damn good fishermen. Anyway, the date stamps on the videos start two days before and end five days after Sonny’s murder. I just happened to notice it. It’s pretty solid evidence they weren’t involved, Cal.”

  I went silent, thinking of when the Barton brothers left the rental house in North Bend—just three days prior to the killing. Looks like they took off to go bonefishing. I exhaled. “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yeah. Every video has a date and time stamp. They don’t lie, Cal.”

  Well, shit.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  “So, the brothers Barton did not commit the murder Kenny Sanders is in prison for,” Nando said, sitting in a chair in his hospital room wearing a white bathrobe and slippers. He was allowed out of bed for short periods now, but his fingers still remained numb and paralyzed. He swung his dark eyes from me to Claire and back again. “This is an interesting development.”

  “That’s right,” I said, “and thanks to Claire, we also know now that Walter Sanders wasn’t in Newport the night of the murder. He was at a motel south of here with Kathy Harper most of the evening.”

  Nando’s thick, brushy eyebrows rose as he looked at Claire. “You got the young mother to talk about a difficult subject. Good work.” Claire nodded, and a devious smile spread across Nando’s lips. “So, enter the lady who commands the logging trucks.”

  “Right,” I said. “Center stage. Claire and I have been kicking that around. There are two possibilities. First, the brothers, who did not kill Sonny, have no connection to his murder whatsoever, which means the apprehension of Robert will not help us.”