by J. R. Ayers
“Were they shot?” Glen asked. Joe shook his head.
“No, blunt force trauma. Why do you ask?” Glen shrugged and looked down at his feet.
“Since it happened so close to the mine, I thought it might have been Charlie who did it. I mean, look at what he did here in town.”
Everyone was silent for a while and finally Lori said, “Thanks again for all the help.”
Joe said, “You’re welcome. Let me know if I can be of further assistance.” He handed her his business card with his personal cell phone number on the back and she slipped it into her pocket.
“I really mean it, Joe, thank you so much.”
“Just doin’ my job, ma’am, just doin’ my job.”
Chapter Eleven
It was after ten p.m. when Joe finally got back to his house in Pineville. He grabbed a warm Mountain Dew from the kitchen table and went out to the back patio to look up at the stars for a while.
It had been a long, eventful day and he was exhausted. Working both the triple murders off Route 16, and the wholesale slaughter in Stephenson had really affected him in a bad way. Up until then, he’d spent most of his duty days clocking speeders or responding to a domestic call somewhere in the outlying county. Occasionally, he would apprehend a drunk driver or pull over some punk with a crack rock in his pocket, but usually he just wrote tickets and patrolled the county looking for speeders or tweakers with a truck full of stolen copper.
He’d worked murder scenes in Chicago before, but none of them had affected him like the ones he’d seen today, especially the girl in the woods and the two brothers killed in the park in Stephenson. The main reason he had moved back to West Virginia was to get away from the brutality he’d witnessed on the south side of Chicago on a seemingly daily basis. Meeting Tina and eventually asking her to marry him was another solid reason to avoid the dangers and uncertainty of big city police work.
Staying put in West Virginia’s version of Mayberry hadn’t saved his marriage, though. Tina had started nagging him to quit the State Police within months after returning from their honeymoon. Then when Chandra came along, she down right insisted he resign his commission. He was stubborn about it, though, resisting her demands, mainly because he felt it was what he was good at his job, and just as importantly, it provided a good living with decent benefits for his family.
My family; not much of that left anymore, he thought as he sipped tepid soda and stared up at the stars suspended above the endless mountains.
Joe Nash was thirty-two, taller than average and a few pounds shy of two hundred pounds. To say he was handsome would be a stretch, but most women found him interestingly attractive. Tina used to say he reminded her of Hugh Jackman, but he was always quick to poo-poo that notion. In his assessment, it would take a skilled plastic surgeon a couple of days of cutting and splicing to get him anywhere close to looking like Hugh Jackman, or even Hugh Hefner for that matter.
With Tina’s help, he’d managed to make a beautiful child, though. Chandra had her mothers light hair and fair skin, but Joe could see his quiet determination in her hazel eyes. He hated clichés with a passion, but he had to admit that the oft used phrase, “she’s the light of my life,” described how he felt about his daughter to a tee.
The divorce had been devastating. Not just the loss of his marriage, but the loss of a close relationship with Chandra. Part time parenting was not something he was comfortable with. He was supposed to have joint custody, but it seemed that he was spending less and less one on one time with Chandra. When he complained to Tina about it, she promptly said, “Damn, Joe, every time you get her for a weekend you end up getting called out. How do you think that makes her feel, being dumped off by her daddy all the time? No, she’s better off with me.”
Joe knew he could haul Tina back to court and fight for his joint custody rights, but deep down he knew she was right. Chandra needed stability, and the requirements of his job wouldn’t always allow for that.
A soft breeze picked up and the Sponge Bob Square Pants float drifted across the surface of the water in the pool. A stab of regret pierced Joe’s thoughts and he actually sighed out loud. “I gotta do better than this,” he said to the moon. “I don’t know how I’m gonna do it, but I gotta do better than this.”
After a terrible night’s sleep, Joe showered, dressed, and headed back to the site of the triple homicide. On the way over, he texted Tina, asking how Chandra was doing. He really didn’t expect a response, and he wasn’t overly disappointed when he didn’t get one.
Trooper Riley was sitting in his cruiser filling out a stack of forms. “You still here?” Joe asked, sliding in the seat next to him.
“Just arrived,” Riley said. “I was here until late last night. I wanted to take one more look around, just to make sure forensics didn’t miss anything.”
“What did the ME say?”
“Preliminary finding was what we figured, blunt force trauma to the head. That and sexual assault on all three victims.”
“That was some violent shit,” Joe said. “Somebody must have really been pissed off.”
“Yeah, either that or high on PCP.”
“Or just plain nuts.”
Riley nodded and checked off another block on the form. Joe said,
“I wonder how they got way out here? It’s a pretty good bet they didn’t walk.”
“We found tire tracks,” Riley said. “But that’s not much help. Apparently hunters are always parking around here.”
A sudden thought occurred to Joe and he fished out his cell phone. He called Beckley dispatch and asked for Roger Brinkus’ cell phone number, explaining to the dispatcher that Brinkus was the mayor of Stephenson and should be easy to find. The dispatcher relayed the number a few moments later and Joe placed the call. He got the mayor’s voice mail, so he left a message. “Brinkus, Trooper Nash. Please have Deputy Mackay call me as soon as you get this message. It’s important.” He left his number and the time of the call and hung up.
“What was that about?” Riley asked.
“Just a hunch. Probably nothing.”
Joe and Riley walked the perimeter of the crime scene looking for anything of interest the Forensic team may have overlooked. Insects were plentiful in the area, many of them feasting on the patches of dried blood on the ground. Forensics had already removed the clothing for evidence testing, which suited Joe just fine. The thought of the young girl’s blood-stained underwear hanging from a blackberry thicket was an image he would just as soon forget as quickly as possible.
“See anything?” he asked Riley.
“Nope, looks like they got it all.”
“Guess we’ll just have to wait—”
His cell phone rang: Lori Mackay returning his call. “I was in church,” she said by way of explaining the delay.
“Can’t go wrong there,” Joe said. “Look, I was wondering if you’d had time to check out that van parked in Waddell’s front yard.”
“No, not yet.”
“If you could, run the plates on that thing and see if they come back to a Frank Unrhue. That’s U-n-r-h-u-e.” There was a pause as she wrote down the information. “Anything else?” she asked a moment later.
“Yeah, how you holdin’ up?” Another long pause, then she said,
“I didn’t sleep a wink last night, my appetites gone, my chest and head are so sore I can’t take a breath without wanting to puke. Other than that, I’m fine. You?”
“Ditto on the sleep. I could use some food though. You sure I can’t talk you into some lunch? I’ll be headin’ up to Beckley in a little while and I can stop on the way and treat you to a burger or something.”
“Thanks, but I’m pretty busy here. The press is crawling around like a bunch of ants. Can you believe it, they even sent a reporter from CNN down here.”
“Are you gettin’ enough support from the State guys?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, they’ve been great. Those deputies they sent down from Raleigh County are
pretty standoffish, though. I get the feeling they don’t like a woman telling them what to do.”
“Tough stuff,” Joe said. “If they keep being asses about it, let Major Gaston know, he’ll straighten them out.” She said okay, but judging by her subdued tone, Joe doubted she would.
“Call me if you need anything,” he said.
“Thanks, Joe.”
“Just doin’ my—”
“Oh, hush, you.”
Chapter Twelve
After stopping for a Big Mac and fries in Mabscott, Joe drove to the West Virginia State Police barracks on Pinecrest Drive in Beckley. Being that it was Sunday, the parking lot was virtually empty, which was fine by Joe. He hoped to enjoy a little quiet and solitude while he worked the computer scanning various databases for anything he could find on Charlie Waddell.
The light was on in Captain Ross’s office, but Joe didn’t bother to report in. He first wanted to check the State database to see if Charlie had any open warrants. He didn’t, so Joe searched for a local rap sheet, with similar results. It seemed ole’ Charlie had kept his nose crystal clean when it came to obeying the law. Until he went postal and slaughtered over a dozen people, Joe thought as he ran Charlie’s financial report.
Though he didn’t have to best on time payment record in the world, Charlie seemed to have paid the bills he owed. He and the misses had a combined credit score of 721, which was pretty good for a guy who’d racked up tens of thousands of dollars worth of hospital bills a few years earlier. Another search revealed Charlie to be an Army veteran with ten percent disability for an injury to his right thumb while on active duty. That would explain how the hospital bills were taken care of. It seemed the VA had written off most of the costs, with the Wilcox Mining Corporation picking up the charges that the VA wouldn’t cover.
Joe was going over a copy of the investigation notes Riley had given him when his cell phone rang. It was Lori Mackay with news about the van. “It was indeed registered to Frank Unrhue from Beckley,” she said. “He’d just renewed the plates about a month ago. The question is, what was Charlie Waddell doing with it?”
“I think he killed the three people over there in Wyoming County, the ones we found on that dirt road off Route 16.” Joe said. “Now that we know the van belonged to the Unrhues, it would be safe to say that Charlie killed them, took their van and headed straight for Stephenson.”
“I was talking to some of the people who knew Charlie well,” Lori said. “According to them, he was supposed to be working the night watch at Logan number 12 coal mine Friday night. Jetty Leland said she saw him leaving around nine in his truck. She said he always left about that time on Friday and Saturday nights. The mine isn’t far from where you found the bodies. I know that because my brother Kevin works there.”
Joe wrote on his note pad for a moment then said, “Charlie may have went to work, but it’s pretty obvious something happened to him between say, ten o’clock Friday night and about noon Saturday.”
“Whatever it was must have been pretty awful,” Lori said tersely.
Sensing the rising tension in her tone, Joe shifted the conversation to the clean up effort in Stephenson. “Has forensics and the ME finished their investigations yet?” he asked.
“The preliminaries, yes,” she said. “Course there’s an autopsy and toxicology to be done on Charlie, so we won’t know anything for a while.”
“What about funeral arrangements?”
“Two scheduled for Tuesday. They transported Charlie to Beckley, so I imagine he’ll stay on ice until they’ve completed all their testing.”
“Will Glen be officiating?” Joe asked.
“Yeah, both services, why do you ask?”
“Cause I’d like to attend, if that’s okay.” Joe could almost see her smile.
“I think that would be wonderful,” she said.
They disconnected the call and Joe went back to his notes.
Two hours later, he left the police barracks and drove out to Maxwell Hill Road. He cruised past a small frame house near an elementary school hoping to get a glimpse of Chandra playing in the front yard. He didn’t see Chandra, but he did see a white Ford F-250 parked in the driveway alongside Tina’s Kia Sportage. A magnetic logo on the driver’s side door said: Baxter’s Rock and Gravel. “Thad Baxter,” Joe said out loud. “That son-of-a-bitch!”
Angry, and fighting a rising tide of jealousy, Joe whipped a u-turn in front of the school and drove back the way he came, laying on the horn as he passed the house where he once lived with his wife and daughter.
Chapter Thirteen
Kevin Mackay was running late again. He hadn’t intended to nap so long before getting ready for the Sunday midnight shift at the Logan number 12 coal mine, but he’d spent the day going to church that morning and visiting with his wife, Kara’s, parents in Beckley and he was practically worn out from the ordeal. He rolled out of bed and reached for his work boots. “Good grief, it’s almost nine,” Kara said from the bedroom door.
“Why didn’t you wake me?”
“I thought you was up,” she said. “I heard you coughin’ and carryin’ on. That coal dust has about ruined your lungs, and you haven’t even been working in the mines hardly five years.”
She was leaning against the door frame, her dark eyes regarding Kevin with passive disdain.
“I know, I know. I’ll make it in time,” Kevin groused, purposefully avoiding her skeptical gaze. He laced up his boots and felt around in the dark until he found his Mountaineers base ball cap under the bed.
“Can you stop on your way home in the mornin’ and pick up a gallon of milk?” Kara asked.
“Yeah, I suppose I can. It’s gonna be after nine, though. They’re runnin’ ten hour shifts all this coming week.” Kara chewed her lip for a moment and then went after a fingernail.
“Well, try to get back as soon as you can,” she said. “I’m stuck here what with you takin’ the Focus again. When are you gonna get that ole truck of yours fixed anyway?”
“As soon as they give us that bonus they promised us when the strike ended last spring,” he said tightly.
“That means never, right?”
Kevin walked across the room, removed Kara’s finger from her mouth and kissed her on the lips. “It’s comin’,” he whispered. “And when it does, somebody’s gettin’ some new clothes and somethin’ for that finger you’re tryin’ to gnaw off.” Kara kissed him back and playfully pushed him toward the living room.
“Go to work, you,” she said smiling. “And I won’t be holdin’ my breath waitin’ on that ring.”
In the end, Kevin was only seven minutes late for work. He parked the Ford Focus beside his uncle Ed’s Toyota Titan and hurried over to the bath house where the other miners were waiting.
“I spect’ you’ll be late for your own funeral,” his uncle Ed said grinning.
“My ole’ truck wouldn’t start again,” Kevin explained. “I had to take Kara’s Focus.”
“Bout’ time to trade it in then,” the section Foreman Royce Dixon said tersely. “We was just about to go down without you. You need to start getting here on time. This is the third time this month you’ve drug in here late.”
Kevin jammed his hard hat down on his head and shifted his dinner bucket to his other hand. “I’m sorry Royce, it ain’t gonna happen again,” he said. “I’m getting the battery changed out tomorrow.”
Dixon wasn’t impressed by the apology. He put on his mine cap and walked away toward the elevator containment cage. Ed and the other miners had a good grin at Kevin’s pained expression. “You didn’t really expect ole Royce to buy that dead battery excuse did you,” Pete Shrewsberry said. Pete was a battery scoop operator and a backup roof bolter.
“It ain’t no excuse,” Kevin said. “That battery was dead as a doornail this morning when I tried it. Wouldn’t even turn over. What’s Dixon’s problem anyway.”
“Oh, he’s all riled up because the day watchman wasn’t here when he
arrived,” Ed said. “The boilers in the pump house were dern near red-lined. The main power was off too. Royce sure was pissed.”
The men climbed into the elevator and started the journey into the depths of the mine. J.T. Braxton seemed in a particularly bad mood and Kevin Mackay asked him what his problem was. “It’s my old lady,” he said tersely. “I think she’s fixin’ to leave me.
“Man, that’s bad news,” Kevin said. “I don’t think I could take that. Naw, if Kara ever leaves me, I’m goin’ with her.” Everyone had a good laugh until Royce Dixon told them to knock it off. He had wanted to get an early start that evening, but Kevin Mackay’s tardiness had put them at least twenty minutes behind. The delay was just another minor irritation as far as Dixon was concerned.
It was a little after ten- forty when they reached the bottom of the shaft. The floor opened up to a wide area where two rail tracks intersected near a horizontal shaft sunk into the base of the mountain. The swing shift had stopped work at approximately eleven-thirty Friday night and left the machinery near the working face of the coal bed.
“Aw, look at that crap,” Dixon whined. “They could have at least moved the equipment out of the way. And look at all that rock they left layin’ around.”
“They left the scoops off charge too,” Kevin said. “This one here is down to ten percent.” His uncle, Ed, filled his jaw with Beechnut tobacco and adjusted the mining light on his hard hat.
“I guess them swing shift boys were in quite a hurry to get home to start their weekend,” he said, spitting a stream of tobacco juice toward the tire of a shuttle car.
“That ain’t no excuse,” Dixon said irritably. “I’ll have a word with Jess Philips about this, that I guarantee.” Jess Philips was the mine Superintendent and the man in charge of over-seeing the entire mining operation.