A Deadly Turn

by Claire Booth

  Sam could feel the building emptying out, growing quiet. All the documents in front of him on the conference table weren’t going anywhere, though. He had at least heard back from Tennessee, which confirmed that it had record of Evelyn Cluth Jr being born in Nashville seventeen years ago. He had to laugh. The one document so far that was actually legit might not even belong to one of the people involved in this whole mess.

  Tennessee had also confirmed that Pamela Helbing, the mother on Junior’s birth certificate, had records that matched her information on her son’s birth certificate. She was born in Nashville forty-six years ago, which made her twenty-nine at the time of Junior’s birth. There were no hits on her name and DOB in the national NCIC database, so she wasn’t listed as a missing person, a sex offender, big-time gang member, or any number of other categories that the feds collected information on. The Tennessee Bureau of Investigation had gotten back to him, and it had no state criminal records on her. Now he ran her through his Missouri databases and came up dry there, too.

  He sat back and sighed. And started thinking about the guy who’d stopped by Apartment 213. Whoever it was obviously hadn’t known about the murder. Which must mean that he was an out-of-towner. Because the murder was the only thing the whole darn county had been talking about for the past five days. Well, that and the car crash.

  He wondered how the Chief was doing. If he’d been the one to stop those kids, he probably would’ve let them go, too. Scared ’em with a stern lecture and sent ’em home. But now … no way. Everybody was getting their license checked and a ticket issued, every time. And maybe an escort home. He didn’t know if he could take it if he was in the Chief’s spot right now. He was barely keeping it together being responsible for Pimental’s injuries. He ran his hand over his stubbled head without realizing it. And then he gave up, shut down his computer, and turned out the lights. Just for today, he told himself as he carefully locked the conference room door behind him and walked out to his car. Just for today.

  Everyone had already eaten dinner. It looked like some sort of casserole. Hank took it out of the fridge and poked at it with a fork. It jiggled. He put it back. He wasn’t really hungry, anyway. He walked through the empty living room and brightened as he heard laughter from down the hall. He entered Benny’s bedroom to find both kids snuggled up in his twin bed. Aunt Fin was parked in a folding chair by the nightstand, their copy of the Barnyard Dance book in her lap.

  Two pairs of eyes lit up. His did, too. He sat on the bed, and they both immediately crawled into his lap. The four of them finished reading the book together, and Fin left quietly as Hank tucked them in and kissed them good night.

  He wandered back to the kitchen and found her waiting for him.

  ‘I wanted to say that I do appreciate you letting me take Maribel’s room.’

  He didn’t point out that technically that decision had been made without his input.

  ‘They’re enjoying being together,’ he said. ‘It’s a special thing for them. And thanks for the bedtime story.’

  She smiled – the first real one he’d seen since she’d gotten here.

  ‘Oh, it’s my pleasure. I just love it. They’re a lot of fun.’

  He had to admit that for someone who’d never had kids, Fin did extremely well with them. He thought for a minute and then offered to make her a cup of tea. He made himself one, too, and sat down across from her at the table.

  ‘We’re happy to have you here,’ he started.

  ‘Thanks. I am sorry about the timing. I know that you’ve got something big going on. I didn’t mean …’

  She trailed off and stared into her tea leaves.

  Even he couldn’t blame her for that. For wearing her shoes in the house and harping on about their dog training, yes. But for showing up during this horrible period, no. Hell, the crash hadn’t even happened yet when she left Columbia to come down here. He told her that last part and assured her that it was fine.

  But she still wasn’t relaxing. Her shoulders were bunched up and her knuckles white against her mug. Hank wasn’t surprised.

  ‘What is it, Fin? What’s going on?’

  He was fairly sure she didn’t know that he’d been told about her suspicion that Lew was having an affair. He waited and sipped his tea. She smoothed the tablecloth and then seemed to make up her mind.

  ‘I needed to get away. And this was the only place I had to go. Which is pathetic, really. I’m seventy-eight years old, and I have no other places to run to.’

  ‘What are you running from, Fin?’

  He said it quietly, as gently as he could. She met his gaze for the first time since she’d taken the mug of tea.

  ‘My husband.’

  What had been abstract was now very real, and very miserable, as it sat across from him. He asked her why she wanted to get away.

  ‘That’s what I need to talk to you—’

  The door to the mudroom slammed and Guapo skidded across the linoleum and thunked into a table leg. Dunc followed, panting just as heavily.

  ‘It’s still humid as all get-out out there,’ he said as he poured himself a glass of water. ‘I don’t know if I’m going to be able to make my mileage this week.’

  He leaned against the counter and smiled at them. Fin hurriedly stood and bid them good night. As she walked out, Hank glared at his father-in-law.

  ‘What’s that look for?’

  ‘She was just about to tell me.’

  ‘Tell you what?’

  ‘Whatever it is. That she hasn’t been talking about.’

  ‘I already told you. She thinks Lew’s having an affair.’

  ‘Yeah, but you haven’t found out anything else about it.’

  ‘And you would have if she’d stayed at the table?’

  ‘I do make my living finding out information.’

  Dunc eyed him. ‘Fair enough,’ he said grudgingly. He moved toward the stairs down to his basement en suite. ‘I’m going to go take a shower. Will you, Mr Professional Question Asker, make sure Guapo has enough water?’

  Hank looked down at the dog. The dog looked up at him. Adoringly, which would be flattering, except that he looked at everyone that way. Guapo snuggled closer and tried to put his head on Hank’s knee, but he was too short to quite manage it. Hank reached down and laid his hand on the misshapen head. After the day he’d had, any kind of appreciation was better than nothing.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The sun was just starting to split the darkness when Hank pulled over to the side of the road. The headlights lit up the boulder for a split second before he quickly flipped them off. He climbed out of the car and walked over. No one could miss this curve in the road now.

  A half-dozen Mylar balloons bobbed in the air, glowing pink in the sunrise. Stuffed animals sat around the rock two and three deep – teddy bears and bunnies and angels and even a tuba, plush and gold with glittery thread. A cross fashioned out of fence pickets had been hammered into the ground. And a huge red ribbon wound around the boulder itself, the lopsided bow obviously hand-tied. He reached out and touched it gently. Then he knelt, balancing on the balls of his feet, and stared at the cards, which ran the gamut. Folded construction paper with handwritten messages, fancy Hallmark cards in colored envelopes, scrapbooky things with stamps and raised cut-outs. There was even one of those little kid diaries, purple-and-green striped, with a lockable clasp.

  He started to feel dizzy. Closed his eyes and breathed. He heard the scream of metal and sirens, which he knew was in his head, and then the scrape of gravel, which wasn’t. He turned.

  ‘I didn’t want to interrupt.’

  Ralph Dindleton stood at the end of his driveway. This time he was dressed, in worn jeans cinched tight around a skinny waist, and a carefully tucked in flannel shirt.

  Hank tried to smile. Dindleton waved it off.

  ‘You don’t got to do that for me, son. I saw you that night, remember?’

  Hank remembered.

  ‘I see you he
ard they been out here. The kids. Poor things. Cryin’ and huggin’ each other. I don’t know what to say to ’em, so I stay inside mostly. I know it’s not the most Christian thing to do, but …’

  Hank thought it was in fact quite Christian to not run them off his land, which is what most people would have done. He told Dindleton so.

  ‘Well, this is the time they need it. I confess, though, that I hope they do eventually stop coming. But for now, it’s fine. They’re pretty respectful. Haven’t traipsed up into my garden or anything.’

  He stepped closer and looked down at the offerings.

  ‘There seems to be more and more every day. Half the time, I don’t even know they’ve come. Lots of stuff.’ He scratched at his blocky jaw, which looked like it hadn’t been shaved since the last time Hank saw him. ‘Oh, I have taken the candles. I mean, I’ll give ’em back if they want ’em, but I don’t want ’em out here all aflame next to my garden and all.’

  Hank told him that was wise and asked him to just hang on to them for a while, maybe put them in a box somewhere. Dindleton nodded and offered Hank a cup of coffee up at the house. Hank looked down at the card in his hand. The paper was shaking slightly for some reason.

  ‘Thanks, but I got to get into the office. Take a look at these and go.’

  Dindleton nodded again, took a step back up the driveway and stopped. He seemed to want to say something. Hank waited. He had no strength to do anything else.

  ‘I didn’t realize you’d stopped ’em before,’ the old man finally said.

  It took a second for Hank to figure out what he meant. Stopped them before. Oh. He nodded. Dindleton gave him one last inscrutable look and walked away. Hank felt himself start to sway. He sat down in the dirt and put his head between his knees. It was almost fully light by the time he was able to look up again. He opened the card he’d been holding and blinked the blurriness in his eyes away.

  Kayla, I’ll always remember being together in band. We had a lot of fun and it won’t be the same without you. Clarinets forever! Love, Annie

  He sat there and kept reading. With the exception of the ones that listed all six names, there wasn’t a single one for Hailee. Even Johnny Gall had a few. He put those aside and reached for the little diary. His handcuff key easily popped it open. It was blank except for a drawing on the very last page. Hands from two different people, clasped together like they were walking along. It was done in pencil, slashes and curves in an abstract kind of style, but still clearly two people holding hands. He closed the book and clicked the lock shut, feeling like he’d violated someone’s privacy. But whose, he didn’t know.

  He pulled out the evidence bag he’d brought along. He’d originally intended to take every note at the site. But now as he sat on his ass in the dirt, he knew. All the evidence collection in the world wasn’t going to help him. No matter what the final conclusion was regarding the cause of the accident, he would still feel this way. Even if it turned out to be a conspiracy, his guilt wasn’t going to magically go away. Nothing was going to save him from this awful, sucking black hole.

  Just like nothing had saved those kids.

  Especially not him.

  Sheila set down the newspaper. She didn’t get it at home, so she hadn’t seen it until she got into work. Sam had been waiting for her in her office and handed it to her wordlessly.

  She had plenty of words after reading it, but none of them befit her position of authority.

  ‘You should cuss,’ Sam said. ‘I did.’

  She sighed and rubbed her temples. ‘That’s about all we can do. Now the whole county knows that Hank stopped that car and let them go. That reporter kid was pretty even-handed, but then he goes and quotes Fizzel. What an asshole.’

  That last part came out in spite of herself. Sam nodded approvingly.

  ‘“I am appalled, but not surprised, that the head law enforcement official in our fair county would show such poor judgment. He should never’ve been elected and he should be removed immediately,”’ Sam quoted, mimicking Edrick Fizzel’s nasally voice and pinching his nose to turn it the same Rudolph color the county commissioner was known for.

  Sheila gave up befitting and outright laughed. The impression was spot on.

  ‘Have you heard from Hank?’ she asked once she was able to stop.

  Sam shook his head. ‘I’m really worried about him. He has not been himself. How can we get it through to him that the crash wasn’t his fault?’

  Sammy was not picking up on the heavy irony here. Sheila tried to keep her expression neutral as he kept talking.

  ‘If he hadn’t seen them or stopped them, they still would’ve probably crashed,’ Sam said. ‘And even if he gave them a ticket, that’s no guarantee they wouldn’t have crashed later on anyway.’

  Sheila nodded. ‘That’s what I’ve been saying. But he’s not listening.’ Kind of like Sammy hadn’t been listening for the past four months since Ted Pimental got shot. She leaned forward and put her elbows on her desk blotter. If she couldn’t get one stupid man to listen, maybe the other stupid one finally would.

  ‘You know, Sammy, that’s a really good point you make. It’s important to realize that things happen that – while we’re involved with them – we aren’t necessarily in control of them. The outcome happens anyway.’

  She paused and laced her fingers together, still trying to keep her face disinterested. Sam nodded and started to speak, then froze.

  ‘What’re you getting at?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  He hunkered down in his chair and wrapped his arms around his chest. ‘We’re talking about the Chief.’

  She raised an eyebrow.

  ‘C’mon, Sheila. I don’t want to talk about this.’

  ‘You haven’t wanted to since it happened. And look at you. You’re as much a mess as Hank is.’

  ‘I’m not that bad,’ he said, straightening up in his seat.

  Her other eyebrow raised up to join the first.

  ‘Really? I’m that bad?’

  She nodded. ‘Sammy, honey, you’re letting Ted’s shooting destroy you. You’ve got to stop. You couldn’t have prevented it. That bastard Taylor brother was going to run the minute you all showed up on their property. And he was going to fire at whoever chased him. Ted, you, whoever.’

  She stopped and they stared at each other for a minute. Then Sam started to fidget, which was a good sign. That always meant he was thinking something through. She waited.

  ‘But if I’d run faster, if I—’

  She slapped her hand on the desk. Sam jumped.

  ‘Bullshit. You’re not Usain Bolt. You’re not expected to be. And you sure as hell ain’t Superman. You – or Ted – weren’t going to outrun a bullet.’

  He started fidgeting again.

  ‘And what if you hadn’t chased him? How would you feel about yourself then? Some kind of cop you’d be, right? So give yourself a break, for Chrissakes.’

  He swiped his hand across his face and looked everywhere but at her. She knew she was pounding at him, but at this point she didn’t know what else to do. She wanted her Sammy back.

  ‘And,’ she continued, ‘I think it’s worth pointing out that Ted would’ve died if you hadn’t been right there to cinch his leg and stop that artery from bleeding out completely.’

  Sam rubbed his prickly white head and stared at his shoes. Sheila quietly got up and left the room. She’d done what she could. Now it was up to him.

  ‘I figure this time breakfast’s on me,’ Dale said over the phone. ‘Because you’re about to have one awful day.’

  Sheila agreed on both things and since she had to be in Branson later on anyway, she met him at the Cracker Barrel at 76 and Little Pete Road. She passed up her usual scrambled eggs and single slice of bacon and dug straight into the huge fried goodness of a Sunrise Sampler. She was halfway through it before she paused to ask Dale what was new on his end of things.

  ‘You mean aside from the whole world knowing what
Worth did? Or didn’t do, rather.’

  She glared at him. ‘That isn’t even your department’s problem.’

  ‘Thank God,’ he said. ‘We’ve got enough of a headache with the city council all over us. How’d Hank take the newspaper story?’

  ‘I haven’t talked to him yet today,’ she said, trying to keep the worry out of her voice. It’d be more accurate to say she hadn’t been able to get a hold of him, but she wasn’t going to admit that. She tapped her fork against her plate.

  ‘So, what have you been doing with all those resources you got over there? You made any progress yet?’

  Dale had known her a very long time. So he just sat there with his own heaping breakfast plate and took her abrupt snappishness with a smile.

  ‘Nope. Hoping to soon, though. I’ve been trying to go through a bunch of financial records. And I think I’m going to bring ol’ Euford in for a formal chat here soon.’

  Sheila’s fork stopped midway to her mouth. ‘Really? What new stuff do you have?’

  ‘Nothing. That’s why I want to bring him in. Try to shake him loose. No one else in this town knew O’Connell. So who would kill him? And before you say anything, yes, there’s the whole Johnny Gall question. Was the murderer really after Gall and O’Connell just got in the way? I don’t know. We got less on Gall than we do on O’Connell even. So, Euford’s it.’

  Sheila started in on her biscuits and gravy. ‘When are you planning to have this chat?’

  ‘Later today. You can come if you want.’ His big bullfrog mouth split into a teasing grin. He knew what her answer would be.

  ‘Hell, yes,’ she said. ‘But can you do it real late this afternoon? I’ve got two funerals that are going to take up all of my day before then.’

  ‘I know.’ Dale’s look was a mix of sympathy and glad-it’s-not-me relief. ‘Which two?’

  ‘Kayla Anderson and Gabriel Schattgen.’

  He shook his head sadly. ‘That leaves just the Fitch girl, right?’