Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2) Page 12

  “Barton’s not Russian,” Harry pointed out after taking a taste. “Paula is working through the Bar Tender's Guide,” he said to Barton. “We’ve invested a small fortune in exotic mixes and liquors. I might need to open a bar just to break even.”

  “You put Paula behind the bar and you’ll get rich, brother,” Dirk smiled and raised his glass.

  Harry smiled, “I refuse to share her.”

  They spent the evening catching up. Dirk was at loose ends for a bit. A way of saying there were no mercenary op’s on his calendar. Nothing was said about the girl by the pool or her boyfriend who Dirk put the ‘touch’ on. It was best not to know much about Barton’s work.

  Dirk gave Harry a fuller description of his interview with Vinnie Tagliero.

  “Do you think he might have whacked her?”

  Barton thought for a moment. “No. There was no percentage for him in doing that. He’d gotten his rocks off and he wasn’t eighteen. Why kill her? What else could she do to piss him off bad enough for him to whack her?”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “That Raymond guy sounds creepy,” said Paula. “I know the type. They undress you with their eyes. Give too many pats on the back or butt and make-up excuses for you to stop by their office.”

  Barton asked Harry, “You think he was doing her?”

  “Could be. His employment record's a mess. There must be a reason he keeps moving around.”

  “But he’s never been arrested,” Paula interjected.

  “A lot of these private schools sweep stuff like that under the rug. Or perhaps he didn't touch, but was worrisome enough that the schools showed him the door.”

  “Could be Harry, but it's hard to believe he hasn’t acted on the impulse if it's there. Human nature is hard to keep in check.. Maybe he’s just a closet drunk? Sure be nice to know why he was sacked.”

  “Good suggestion, Barton. Why don’t you start making calls tomorrow, Babe? Pretend you’re with Human Resources.”

  “From where?”

  “The prestigious, Red Lake Preparatory School for Girls.”

  “Never heard of it.”

  “That’s because I made it up.”

  Chapter 16

  A murder of crows woke Harry. They called to each other from the tops of the pine trees. The alarm clock said 5:15. Paula sprawled on her side of the bed. Harry admired her body but fought the urge to touch, knowing it would awake her.

  In the kitchen he started the coffee. While it gurgled he fried up a rasher of bacon and three eggs; by the time they were done their aroma was mixed with that of fresh coffee. He sat at the table to eat. Down on the dock he saw Barton doing his morning Tai Chi exercises. Loosely translated “the ultimate fist,” the practice of Tai Chi is a combination of defensive skills and healthy exercise. Dirk needed both. He was also adept at several more lethal forms of Eastern combat.

  Harry stayed in shape, but he did not carry the intensity that was Dirk’s. Whether the intensity fed the discipline or the discipline fired the intensity, Harry was uncertain. In Dirk’s line of work it didn’t matter.

  As he ate, he picked up the phone and dialed Florida.

  Otto Moyer picked up on the third ring. His voice was clear. Didn’t wake him, he’s been up a while.

  Harry went through the standard preliminaries. Who he was and why he was calling.

  “So, she was dead?” Otto said.

  “Yep. But where the body has been is anyone’s guess.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me. Young girls shouldn’t run around alone.”

  “Do you remember her?”

  “No, just the suitcase. So, what can I do for you, son?”

  Harry chuckled, thinking, I guess when you’re retired everyone is a son.

  “Tell me about the suitcase.”

  “It was in our checked luggage room. The station didn’t have lockers, so people would check bags then pick them up later, when they found a place to stay or they were leaving town.”

  “So what happened?” Harry held the receiver away from his mouth and took a bite of egg and washed it down with coffee.

  “We didn’t keep tight tabs on it. About once a month, if it were slow we would check on how long a bag had been on the shelf. This suitcase came up as over thirty days so we mailed a notice to the addressee on the baggage tag.”

  “Who was that?”

  “Hell, if I can remember, but our notice came back two days later. The post office had stamped it, no longer at this address. I told Andy to go through it and see if he could find any other identification.”

  “Who was Andy?”

  “A high school kid who worked around the station, slinging bags and sweeping up.”

  “Got a last name for him?”

  There was silence while Otto pondered, “Can’t say I do. He quit a short time afterward and I didn’t see him again.”

  “So how did you learn the suitcase was Alison Albright’s?”

  “Her name was on a lot of the clothes. I recognized it because the police came in after her parents reported her missing. A lot of runaways pass through bus depots.”

  “Did you recognize the photo?”

  “No.”

  “So, you don’t know if she was the one who checked the bag.”

  “No.”

  “Was there any money in the suitcase?”

  “No. Most people aren’t dumb enough to put money in checked bags. People like to keep their cash close.”

  “So you turned it over to the police?”

  “Yep and that was the end of it. The police asked the same sort of questions you have but nothing came of it.”

  “Thanks for your time Mr. Moyer.”

  “Sure thing son. Too bad about the girl. I hope you catch her killer.”

  Harry hung up, leaving Otto Moyer to do whatever retirees do in the Sunshine State. Barton came in glistening with sweat. He poured a cup of coffee and leaned against the counter.

  “What’s up?” he said.

  “Asking questions, poking a stick in the holes and seeing if anything comes out.”

  “That working?”

  “Not yet.”

  An hour later, Harry left Barton to fend for himself while he went out for a run. He enjoyed the rhythmic beat on the asphalt and the steady pulse of his heart and respiration. After a mile he had a light sweat on and felt limber. He picked up the pace.

  He ground out four miles before he turned around and headed back. When he reached his house, he checked his watch. Eight miles in fifty-eight minutes, not bad. He went into the garage. On one side was a weight rack. At the head of the garage, tucked between the workbench and the water heater, was a weight bench. He lay down and did ten reps with 220lbs. This was far beyond Harry’s unwritten rule of thumb that if he could press his own weight he was in shape. For the next hour he ran through his regular workout. It gave him a chance to sort and sift information. He knew that for best results he should focus on the muscle groups he was working but this morning’s workout was more about giving his muscles something to do while his mind toiled.

  Paula was up and talking with Barton when he came back into the house. She reached out, ran an arm around Harry’s neck and drew him close for a kiss.

  “Love you.”

  “I love you too, babe.”

  Some men would be embarrassed to show their emotions in front of their pals. Harry was not one of those men. He loved Paula and didn’t give a damn who knew it.

  After showering Harry returned to the kitchen. “I’m off to run down another lead.”

  “Need company?” Barton asked.

  “Sure.”

  *

  Harry leaned on the doorbell with his thumb. He heard nothing. Someone must be home, he thought, looking at the battered pickup that occupied the driveway. Using his knuckles he rapped on the door. Flakes of loose paint fell off as it shook. The whole house was in a state of slow decay. He knocked again. There was the sound of someone moving inside, f
ollowed by a crash and a string of cursing.

  The door opened. A lanky man with bloodshot eyes held the door. An empty coffee cup was clutched in his left had and coffee stains covered his tattered bathrobe. He snorted up some snot and looked querulously at Harry.

  “Made me spill my goddamn coffee. What do you want?”

  “The name's Harry Grim. I want to ask you about Alison Albright, Frank.”

  Danby’s face twitched. The hand holding the cup shook.

  “I don’t know shit. Now get lost!”

  Danby tried to shut the door, but Harry leaned his shoulder against it. He pulled a baggie out of his pocket. “What about this?”

  Danby’s hung over eyes focused on the '92 with charred edges.

  “What is that?”

  “You tell me Frank. It looks like part of a letter jacket.”

  “Where’d it come from?”

  “You know the answer to that Frank. I got it out of the can where you burned it last week.”

  If he twitches any harder he’s going to pass out.

  “A guy can burn trash without answering to you. Get out or I’m calling the cops.”

  It was a bluff and Harry knew it when he looked into Danby’s eyes.

  He’s weak from alcohol and fear.

  “Maybe you should do that because I have a witness that says at one point, Alison Albright was wearing a letter jacket and nothing else the night she disappeared. And I also know you did time for sexual assault.”

  Danby dropped the cup and slammed the door. Harry heard another crash and then fading clatter through the house. He walked off the porch and around the side of the house. He heard, rather than saw, the rear door slam open and then Harry heard a loud grunt. When he came around the corner Danby was on all fours in the middle of a puke and Barton Dirk was loosely leaning against the porch post.

  “He ran, must be guilty,” Barton said playing the bad cop.

  “Are you going down for this one, Frank?” Harry asked icily.

  “I didn’t do it. I got nothing to do with this.”

  “The bastards lying Harry. Go out front and let me talk to him alone.”

  Fear shone in Danby’s eyes. From one blow he knew the strength in Barton’s fists and like most rednecks he secretly feared black men.

  “Don’t leave me with him,” he pleaded.

  “Tell me about Alison.”

  “I was working on a job, doing some demo work. I tore this wall open and I found her body. It was wrapped in plastic but I could see a Red Lake Varsity jacket through it. I knew it was mine.”

  “One step at a time. Where were you working and when?”

  “Two weeks ago. Out at a place called Amber Wood. Belongs to a guy I knew in high school, Dave Barnes. He made a pile of dough with computer games.”

  “What were you doing?”

  “It was a kitchen remodel. But when I tore open a wall I found the body in this dead space under the stairs.”

  “Why didn’t you call the police?”

  “I got a record. And like I told you, she was in my letter jacket.”

  How did you know who it was and why did you think the jacket was yours?”

  “Because we don’t have many murders around here and that house was a place we used to party in high school. It was abandoned and kept boarded up at least between break-ins.” Danby paused to suck in more air. “Obviously the body was there for a long time. It was covered by dust.”

  “And the jacket?”

  “The last time I saw my jacket Alison was wearing it and playing bucking bronco rider on a guy named Parks at our graduation blow-out. The cops showed up and we all took off. I never saw my jacket again. Then they said Alison was missing so I never asked about my jacket much. But when I saw the body…well what were the odds it wasn’t her?”

  “So? You didn’t call the cops, what did you do?”

  “I started drinking and haven’t stopped.”

  “That alibi might put you on death row.”

  Danby staggered to his feet. He looked at Barton.

  “You got a punch like the kick of a mule, boy.”

  “I pulled that punch. Call me boy again and I won’t hold back.” If the word riled Barton it didn’t show in his demeanor. His words were a promise, not a threat.

  Danby’s hands instinctively fell to shield his gut. “Sorry, I didn’t mean nothing by it.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I knew my ass was grass if I left the body there, so I moved it.”

  “And dumping it on the beach was the brightest idea you had?”

  “I put it in my truck and then I cut open the plastic sheeting. It was creepy; she was like one of those Egyptian mummies. I cut my jacket off of her. By the time I was done I needed a drink.” Danby wiped spittle from his mouth with the back of his hand. “I went into that bar near ADX Praxis to figure out what to do.

  “Where was the body?”

  “In the camper shell of my pickup under a tarp. I got pretty loaded. I was so damn shaky I could barely drive.” Danby licked his lips again, either because they were dry or he wanted a drink. “I drove down to Rocky Nook Point and dumped the body because I was afraid to drive into town with it. Then I went home to get my boat. I was going to launch at the town boat ramp, pick up the body, and sink it in the lake.”

  Harry looked at Barton whose eye gave a ‘could be’ look along with a shrug.

  “So what happened?”

  “I got busted for drunk driving on my way to get the boat. By the time they kicked me loose I was afraid to go back to the point so I got out of town.”

  “If you didn’t kill her, who did?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “He looks good for it,” offered Barton.

  Danby’s eyes grew wide with fear. “I’m not going down for something I didn’t do!”

  Harry shook his head slowly, “You had the body Frank. Possession is nine-tenths of the law. I think you own this one unless you can give me someone else.”

  “Talk to Homer Benson!”

  “Why, is he your alibi?”

  “No, he had Alison’s bra and panties.”

  “This is a tidbit he decided to share with you?”

  “Homer kept a collection of panties he supposedly peeled off off girls in the school. On his bedroom wall was a bulletin board displaying panties and bras; he called it his trophy wall. Personally, I think it was bullshit; he probably bought them at the thrift store or swiped them from the laundromat. Anyway, for a while he had a pair of red panties and a bra up.”

  “How’d you know they were Alison’s?”

  “Cuz, there were holes in the bra where the nibs would show through, same as when Alison stripped at the party.”

  Danby began to blubber, “I don’t want to go to the joint.”

  Harry almost felt sorry for him. A guy like Danby would do hard time in prison as somebody’s squaw. No wonder he didn’t want to go back in.

  “Don’t leave town. The sheriff will want to see you. If you run you are going to hang yourself.”

  Danby nodded.

  “Think he’ll run?” asked Barton as they were driving away.

  “Only if he’s guilty, but his story hangs together with what other people have said. A woman said she saw Alison riding my client, wearing a letter jacket, and I don’t think Danby is smart enough to concoct a story that good.”

  “He’s had time to do it.”

  “Yea but not the brains. My guess, he’s been drunk since it happened. I know for a fact he was busted on the DUI. Makes sense about how the body was found. I’d bet he’s telling the truth.”

  “I have to go give Danby to the Sheriff. If I hold back I’ll be making enemies.”

  “Then I think I’ll take a stroll around town, your sheriff and I don’t see eye to eye.”

  Harry dropped Barton off downtown. Then he went to see Gaines. He met with Pat Egan and the Sheriff in Egan's office. There was little room with the three of t
hem. They snorted and bristled.

  “You should have brought your suspicions to me before you saw Danby, griped Egan.”

  “I didn’t have any suspicions, I was just tracking down people who were at that party twenty years ago. “

  “And what about the letter jacket numeral?”

  “Until Frank said his jacket was on the body, that was just a curious piece of trash.”

  “You could be cited for obstructing justice,” Egan threatened, obviously piqued by Harry’s discoveries.

  “You’ve had twenty years to question Frank Danby and you didn’t. Don’t try to climb on my back about your failures,” Harry snapped back.

  Gaines held up his hand. “Let’s not have a problem here. We appreciate you bringing us this information. Now I am asking you to leave it with us. Thank you, Mr. Grim.”

  It was a dismissal.

  Harry stood up, and shook his head. “Thanks for nothing.”

  After he left, Egan looked to the sheriff, “Think he’ll let it go?”

  Gaines grinned, “Not a chance!”

  *

  Harry did not mention Homer Benson to Egan because he wanted to talk to him first. Danby would cough the name up soon enough but Harry had no intention of being frozen out just when his case was moving forward.

  Traffic was picking up downtown. Merchants rolled out awnings, swept the walks and unlocked front doors. At Red Lake Towing, Benson was unhooking a tow. He was gangly and moved with an awkward gait, as if he never outgrew adolescence. Harry found it difficult to believe Benson collected many panties through personal charm, but perhaps twenty years ago he had some.

  Homer glanced at Harry. “I told you I got nothing to say to you, get lost.”

  “Where’d you dump the bra and panties?”

  Homer’s eyes darted shiftily. “What are you talking about?”

  “Alison’s bra and panties. I have a witness that says you had them after the graduation party. A short time later Boxcar Calhoun was arrested with them in his possession. Ergo the question, where’d you dump them?”

  Benson’s tongue ran across his upper lip nervously. He wiped his greasy fingers on the rump of his coveralls and nodded toward the alley. “I pumped gas here in high school, I put them in a dumpster out back.”