Shattered Dreams

by Frank Hayes

  They shared a couple of cups of coffee along with some small talk while they waited for Rosie. Half an hour later, they were leaving the outskirts of town. The cold winter sun offered little in the way of warmth but the air was fresh under a cloudless sky. They drove for about ten minutes before the silence was broken.

  “So what’s up? I mean, why are we heading down here?”

  “Can’t give you too much in the way of an answer. Rosie got two calls. One from somebody who said they thought they saw some smoke coming from one of the arroyos. The other was a report of a person who hadn’t been seen in a while. Don’t know if there is a connection but thought it was worth a look-see. Called the fire department, but since it’s all volunteer I thought it best if I went down to give it an official sanction. Besides, I haven’t been down here in an age. Don’t want folks to get the idea that I forgot about them. It is the most sparsely populated part of the county, but it’s growing.”

  “This sure is a lot different from where I grew up. Not a high-rise in sight.” Simon was looking out the window at mile after mile of empty space while Virgil spoke.

  “Yeah, I guess it’ll take some getting used to before you start thinking of it as home.” They had just crossed over some railroad tracks at a crossing.

  “I kind of think of that crossing as the unofficial boundary of this end of Hayward,” Virgil said.

  “Even looks different,” Simon said as he looked out at a wide expanse of scrubland. For the next ten or fifteen minutes there was little change in the landscape other than the gradual flattening of the land into a more desert-like scene. The foothills to the north of Hayward ascending toward the interstate became part of the horizon, while the wide expanse in front of them looked like it could go on forever.

  “Does this ever end?” Simon asked. “It looks like the moon.”

  “Guess it does look like forever when you first see it. Hard to believe there’s this much open space without a house in sight.”

  “Reminds me of the first time I saw Vegas,” Simon said. “I was driving west out of a place called Page when the sun was sinking. I had been camping with some friends at the north rim of the Grand Canyon back when I was in college. I was heading to California. Flat desert on either side for forty miles. Then, when I lost the light, it was just a full moon, a billion stars and me on this road alone. It seemed like it would never end. All I could see was the dark and the cactus. Then it was there. Out of nowhere, a light. It grew and grew as I drove, then disappeared. All of a sudden as I topped a rise, there was a sudden explosion of more light, like a jewel of many colors, Vegas. I hadn’t intended to stop, but staring at it as I drove, I was mesmerized by it for almost forty miles, I couldn’t resist. It just drew me in.”

  “Well, I don’t think there’ll be a jewel waiting for us at the end of this ride but there is a grade we’ll start up shortly. Who knows, maybe there’ll be a surprise on the other side.”

  • • •

  “Is this the surprise you were expecting?”

  “Not hardly,” Virgil answered. Virgil and Simon were standing with another man in a canyon that dead-ended half a mile in at the base of the buttes that encircled it on three sides. The three of them were looking at what had been a double-wide trailer but was now nothing more than a burnt-out shell. One of the local firefighters came up to them as they stood there.

  “Well, it’s out. It was pretty much done on its own by the time we got here. There was nothing left to sustain it. Pretty much a burnt-out shell. The fire came from the inside out, so we just hosed it down, not that there was much chance of it spreading. Not much out here in the way of fuel.” The fireman gestured with his arm. “Don’t know what we are going to find inside, Sheriff. We haven’t been able to enter yet.”

  “What are you thinking, Sheriff?”

  Virgil didn’t answer immediately but stepped toward the door. The burnt smell, heavy and rancid, overpowered every sense.

  “Right now I’m just wondering if we’re looking at an accident or something else.” He saw a rag lying on the ground, bent down, picked it up and smelled it. Then he took a couple of steps till he could reach up with it in his hand to the doorknob. He tapped it lightly with his fingertips. “It’s still warm.” He tried opening the door but it wouldn’t budge. “Must have been pretty hot, the door got welded to the frame because of the intense heat. Simon, if you look around in the back of my cruiser, I believe you’ll find a pry bar. If it’s not there, ask one of the firemen. I’m sure they will have something to pry that door open.” Simon took off running toward the vehicle while Virgil backed away from the trailer. He looked at the elderly man who had brought them to this place. Lank and lean, this part of the country was worn into every wrinkle in his face. He stood tall and erect.

  “If you wouldn’t mind, Mr. Jessup, could you tell me why you called the office?”

  The old man looked around like he was trying to take it all in. Simon had come back with the pry bar, handing it to Virgil.

  “Mr. Jessup,” Virgil prodded. The old man’s eyes roved the landscape before he answered, finally settling on the trailer. Then he turned. He looked squarely at Virgil. “Christmas,” he said. “Christmas.”

  “I don’t think I understand,” Virgil said.

  “Everett always come by to get me at Christmas. Didn’t come . . . didn’t call. Thought it strange. Always has.”

  “But Christmas isn’t till next week, Mr. Jessup.”

  “I know that.” The old man spat on the ground. “What do you think, I’m senile? Everybody knows Christmas comes on twenty-five. This is only seventeen. But Everett always brings me out before to see the decorations. Everett always loved Christmas. Each year he’d do up the trailer different. Bring me out . . . other folks too, show us what he did. Always had a big party. Didn’t call . . . I got to wondering why. Look there.” The old man pointed to the front window over the hitch. The blackened wire of what would have been framework for a huge wreath moved slightly back and forth across the window, egged on by a slight breeze. It made a scratching noise against the glass. “And there.” He pointed to a pole that rose above the roof of the trailer a good fifteen feet. “Betcha, he was gonna put a star on top. Would’ve looked nice. Never did that before. Bet you could see it all the way to the road.” The old man showed a mostly toothless smile then shook his head and looked away.

  “Sheriff, you want me to open the door?” Virgil nodded his head. Simon went over, kicked away the burnt remnants of what used to be two steps and a small landing that led to the door. He shoved the crowbar into a space he found between the door edge and the trailer frame. After a couple of strong pulls, the door popped open. One of the hinges snapped. The door sagged crookedly to one side. Simon looked at Virgil. Virgil motioned for him to come back.

  “Why don’t you keep Mr. Jessup company while I take a look?” Mr. Jessup said nothing but continued looking at the sandstone ridges that lined the arroyo from the road for a half mile or so to the end of the canyon where the trailer sat. Virgil left the two men then moved toward the door. He hesitated for a moment before entering the blackened hole that he saw inside. Then he disappeared. He emerged after a few minutes brushing black soot off his clothes as he jumped down from the trailer. Simon noted the slowed walk as he approached them. When their eyes briefly met Simon knew. Virgil cleared his throat then spat a couple of times before he spoke.

  “Well, Mr. Jessup, you were right to call. I want to thank you for that.” The old man squared his shoulders. “I’m sorry to say there’s a body inside, burnt pretty bad.”

  “Knew something wasn’t right. Everett wouldn’t not call me at Christmas for no good reason. Had to be something, I knew.” Virgil nodded.

  “Mr. Jessup, do you know if Everett had any family, someone I could notify?” The old man glanced at the trailer, then put his hand to his desert-wrinkled face as if to brush away a nonexistent fly.

  “No need.”

  “Well, we really have to
notify those closest to him, Mr. Jessup.” The old man worked his mouth, then looked straight at Virgil.

  “You already did, Sheriff. I’m Everett’s pa.”

  Virgil and Simon waited with Mr. Jessup until the EMTs came down from Hayward to get the badly charred body. There was no reason for the firefighters to stay. They all needed to get back to work. Virgil used the time to instruct Simon on procedure. He had Simon photograph the scene inside and out.

  “Are you going to have the site investigated for arson?” Simon asked.

  “It’s part of the protocol. A fire marshal will automatically be notified, but we’re not going to wait for him. I’ll be more interested to hear what Doc Kincaid says. He’ll be a lot quicker to confirm what I think happened here.”

  “What do you think happened, Sheriff?”

  “I think Everett or whoever that is sitting in that chair in there was dead before the fire started.”

  “How do you know?” Simon asked. Virgil reached in his pocket and took out the rag that he had found on the ground outside the trailer and put it in an evidence collection bag. He opened the bag, handed it to Simon.

  “Take a whiff.” Simon raised it to his nose.

  “Gasoline.”

  “It was more than twenty feet from the trailer. Just a snip of cloth, probably used by somebody to wipe their hands. I kind of think that somebody probably struck a match, then tossed it inside the trailer before they wiped their hands on that rag. By not throwing the rag inside when the fire started, they made our job a little easier, because now we know they stood outside and watched as the place went up in flames.”

  An hour later, when the EMTs were getting ready to leave, Virgil walked over to where Mr. Jessup was sitting on a rock.

  “Sorry about Everett, Mr. Jessup. Do you need anything . . . somebody you want me to call?” The old man looked at Virgil through watery eyes then rose stiffly from the rock.

  “No . . . I’ll be all right, Sheriff. I’ve dealt with death quite a few times in my eighty-seven years. Thought I’d be long gone before Everett.”

  “Did Everett have anyone besides you? A wife or maybe a girlfriend?”

  “No. Everett wasn’t inclined toward women.” The old man rubbed the stubble on his chin. “Guess he won’t be making any of those trips up to El Morro to the Desert Rose anymore.” One of the EMTs yelled. Mr. Jessup reached out, patted Virgil on the shoulder then walked over to him.

  “Why would anyone want to live here? A long dusty road that dead-ends in a canyon? I mean, no one would even know you were here.” Simon made the comment as they were headed out to the hard surface road on their way back to Hayward. Virgil glanced at him before responding.

  “If you think about it, I think you just answered your own question.” Then he gunned the accelerator as the tires gripped the asphalt.

  Chapter 6

  A. R. Kincaid ME were the letters and name centered on the glass on the top half of the door. Virgil knew that Arthur Robert Kincaid was the first and only medical examiner in Hayward. He considered that a bonus as far as his job was concerned because he’d grown to have a lot of confidence in ARK, or Ark, as everybody called him. He was also Virgil’s friend. Virgil rapped lightly on the glass. Ark looked up from his desk, smiled when he saw Virgil then waved him in.

  “You look tired,” he said to Virgil.

  “Been a long day,” Virgil responded.

  “I get the feeling that lately all your days have been getting longer and longer. Heard about the bank robbery. Guess maybe you were hoping that would be the high point for the week. Then you had to go looking for trouble.”

  “I don’t really go looking for it.”

  “But it does seem to find you, doesn’t it? Now you’re here looking for more.” Ark got up from his seat. “Okay, let’s go have a look.” Virgil followed him down the hall to the morgue.

  “Got to be the quietest place in the hospital.” Ark gave Virgil a wry look.

  “Yeah, by the time they get here they’ve run out of oxygen and words,” Ark said as he went through the door. He walked to an examining table in the middle of the room.

  “I haven’t seen him since he was brought here but Chet told me what he saw. He said a Mr. Jessup came with him but he explained we wouldn’t have anything definitive for him for a couple of days, and that you would be in contact with him.”

  “Mr. Jessup is more than likely the victim’s father. Is Chet almost finished with his internship?” Virgil asked.

  “Just about. Looks like he’s going to be on staff. He’s decided to stay in Hayward.”

  “Good. You know Chet and my new guy Simon have shared an awful lot together, emphasis on the awful. I think the adjustment for Simon will be a lot easier if he has a close friend here.” Ark nodded in response.

  “So let’s see if what Chet told me holds up.” Ark pulled back the sheet covering the presumed-to-be Everett Jessup. Even though Virgil had seen the body in the charred hull of the trailer, he turned away. The contrast of the blackened corpse against the white sheet was startling. Ark walked around the table viewing the body from every angle, then he got up close, bending down to within inches of the cadaver. Virgil saw him draw in some deep breaths, then after a moment he stood up. Stepping back, he turned toward Virgil.

  “I tentatively agree with Chet Harris,” he said.

  Virgil waited for more explanation.

  “This is strictly preliminary, but in a case like this unless I find something graphic, we’ll never have a hundred percent certainty. I did detect a slight chemical smell but the accelerant was obvious.”

  “What do you mean, Ark?”

  “Well, look at him, Virgil. He’s almost a skeleton. Most of the soft tissue has been burnt away. Unless I can find something like a crack in his skull from a blow, it’s going to be very hard to determine cause of death. The heat from the fire must have been exceptional.”

  “Everything inside was a welded mass,” Virgil said.

  “That’s because the trailer became a virtual oven. The contents of that trailer, once they ignited, from whatever combustibles were used, actually exploded. That’s why the fire became so intense.”

  “What are you saying?” Virgil asked.

  Ark pulled up the sheet to cover the victim.

  “Virgil, my guess is that this man was incapacitated in some way. He might have suffered a blow that knocked him out. If that is the case, I’ll be able to tell when I take a closer look at his skull. Otherwise, he could have been given something to render him unconscious. Either way would be a blessing so he wouldn’t suffer.”

  “So wait a second. You’re saying, as I already thought, that this was no accident.”

  “I’m talking possibilities here. Chet told me the body was taken out of a chair he was sitting in. Unless this was a suicide, anybody would attempt to escape the inferno that trailer had become. They wouldn’t stay seated in a chair unless they couldn’t get out of it. No. They’d have at least stood up, tried for the door. My guess is that he was unconscious, then an accelerant was used to start the fire, then something highly combustible exploded into flame.”

  “I found a rag that smelled of gasoline outside on the ground, like maybe it was used by someone to wipe their hands.”

  “Gasoline could have been used to ignite what was inside but this wasn’t just a gasoline fire. Chet told me that he also detected a chemical odor.”

  “Is that what you were doing when I saw you bending over him . . . trying to detect that smell?”

  “I think Chet was right. There was something. It wasn’t just gasoline.”

  “What do you think it was?

  “Well, I’m no expert but Chet thinks that trailer might have been one part residence and one part meth lab. So we might be looking at the murder of an entrepreneur here.”

  “That’s an interesting spin. If that’s the case, then I guess we’re looking at a whole range of possibilities.”

  “Yep, everyone from a dis
satisfied customer to a partner who maybe isn’t a good sharer.”

  • • •

  Virgil was mulling over what Ark had told him on his way to the office. He was passing Talbot’s hardware store when he glanced at the clock. He did a quick U-turn in the middle of Main Street and pulled up in front of the store. The bell over the door rang as he stepped through. There was that particular smell of age with the blend of the store’s inventory. Everything from tools, paint, kitchen items like toasters and can openers filled the shelves. It was the ancestor of the box stores that were coming to larger population centers throughout the southwest. Selling virtually anything a homeowner could want or need. The store wore its age in every aspect from the uneven wooden floors to the sag in many of its shelves. Every time Virgil came in, he felt like he had stepped back in time. He had no doubt that the store looked pretty much exactly as it did when his father walked through the same entry that he had over fifty years before. In a true sense it became part of the town’s identity in a way he doubted those huge depots of commercialism ever could.

  “Hey, Sheriff? Can I help you with anything?”

  Virgil looked into the familiar smiling face of a young man. He was fumbling for the name.

  “Haven’t seen you since you broke my last boss’s thumb, when you leaped over his desk and smashed him into the wall. That was some day.”

  Virgil kind of shrugged as the not-so-pleasant image jumped into his mind. Remembering the incident helped him to recognize the young man.

  “Wade almost shot your ear off. Never going to forget that day,” the young man said.

  “Sorry you lost your job,” Virgil said, trying to let go of the recollection.

  “We all did that day. Most of us didn’t like Wade but we all liked cars.”

  “So you’re back working in the family business. It is Joe, right?”

  “Yeah, Joe Talbot, newly retired from the automobile business, now a hardware clerk in my father’s store. Sounds real snappy, doesn’t it?”