Another Man's Ground--A Mystery, page 20
Hank shook his head.
“So you’re telling me that someone has so little respect for the Kinneys that they used your property as a trash can?” he said.
The knuckles stayed white against the bourbon glass as Creosote brought it to his lips.
“Well?” Hank pressed.
Kinney put down his drink and turned to face Hank, because Sheila, genius that she was, had been inching toward Kinney and was now so close that he was forced to turn fully toward Hank in order to avoid seeing her.
“Yes.” It was a growl and a curse at the same time.
“Huh,” Hank said. “That’s not what I’d been hearing about you and your kin, but…” He shrugged and took a very enjoyable swallow of bourbon.
Kinney’s eyes looked like smoldering coals. His hand instinctively drew toward his shirt pocket before he stopped it and nonchalantly rested it back on the bar. So Creosote needed a smoke. Excellent.
“Come to think of it, your land must have been a dumping ground for a long time. There’s that other body we found in your ravine. The kid.”
The smolder flared into a full-blown fire.
“You goddamn son of a bitch. You come in here—to my favorite place—and you insult my family, insult my land, and call me a murderer. A child killer. Fuck you.” He slammed his drink down on the hickory plank. “I’ll ruin you. I’ll make it so you’ll never get elected.”
Hank smiled and leaned in. Close enough to smell the nicotine bourbon of his breath.
“Not if I catch you first.”
Creosote rose to his feet, barely missing Sheila as he stepped away from the bar. He drew himself up to a full six-foot rail and slowly walked out of the Redbone. As soon as the door clicked shut, Sheila pointed to the emergency exit door in the back.
“Is that alarmed?” she asked the barman. He shook his head. She was instantly through it, leaving Willie with only an unelectable sheriff for company. The sheriff wasn’t much bothered. He sat down.
“I’m sorry about that—everybody leaving on you. I didn’t mean for that to happen.”
Willie moved slowly down his long plank toward Hank. He removed Kinney’s glass, washed it, dried it, put it away, and then finally spoke.
“I never seen him angry like that. And I’ve known him for forty years.… I don’t know if that’s good or bad for you—just that it’s a first.” He started in on Sheila’s glass. “You sure got a way about you. First time you came in here, I thought you were a nice fellow. New to the area obviously, because otherwise you wouldn’t have been asking those kinds of questions in a place like this. Then you come in here today and do the same thing, but in front of twenty people who are probably armed, and probably vote. And you don’t give a damn.” He finished with the glass and put it away. “I don’t know if you’re stupid or crazy, but I’d recommend that you not come back here again during business hours.”
Hank took a final swallow of bourbon and stood. “Fair enough.” He placed a twenty on the bar and stuck out his hand. “Regardless, it was a pleasure to meet you, and I appreciate your time.”
The barman eyed him like a coffin maker sizing up a prospective client. Then he silently shook Hank’s hand and went back to wiping down his plank as Hank crossed the room. Just as he reached the door, the bartender straightened and spoke.
“I’d just watch your back when you’re walking to your car.”
CHAPTER
28
The several search teams had made no progress in the search for Taylor. The conservation agent had taken some lovely pictures, though. Trees, craggy granite outcrops, swaths of white-flowered ground cover. Hank had them up on Maggie’s laptop, which was open on the cereal-strewn kitchen table. He clicked through them and stopped on the Sasquatch photo. The grainy man-figure was scrawny and dark. It had to be one of his aves de paso. His birds of passage. That’s what his grandmother always called them. When they passed up through the Central Valley in small fearful groups, looking for work. She would pull them into the little ranch house, feed them, and send them on with water and bendiciones.
And now he had a flock of them in the Ozark Mountains.
His cell rang. Wayne Pondo gave him a hearty hello.
“You got some pretty pictures here, Wayne. I especially like the little flowers.”
“That’s the goldenseal. It’s blooming all over. White flowers everywhere. I took those just to tick off the marshals. They’re awfully fun to tease.” They both chuckled.
“But seriously,” Wayne said, “I’m going to take them a little farther west today. That seems the most likely spot to me. It’s steeper and more wild, and likely known by somebody like Boone Taylor. We’ve been all over these woods, and I think we’ve probably forced him back into that section.”
“You think the marshals can handle that?”
Wayne laughed. “It’ll be fun finding out. My goal today is to get a picture of one of them trying to take a leak in the woods. City boys. Plus, I got two more of my own comin’ down. So even if the federals can’t make it, we’ll get back in there. Don’t you worry. Missouri Conservation is on the job.”
That did make Hank feel better. He hung up just in time to referee an argument over the morning cartoons, and then Maggie walked in from the garage. Her scrubs weren’t stained and she appeared to have on the same shoes she’d left the house in yesterday. She caught him looking at her feet and grinned.
“Yep. An entire shift and nobody bled or vomited on me. I did have a kid pee on me, but he was only eighteen months old, so that was nothing.”
“I guess it’s safe to kiss you then,” he said, and did just that.
She hadn’t expected him to be home this late in the morning. He said Duncan was out at some Kiwanis meeting. He was about to add that the kids were just chilling in front of the TV when there was a shout from the living room, and two sets of feet pounded toward the front door.
“Mail!” Benny hollered, and the door banged open.
Hank and Maggie both raced to the front window in time to see their children hurl themselves at the mail truck. By the time they got outside, Maribel was trotting back toward the house clutching a stack of letters. Benny followed behind her with a fat catalog in his hands. And Guapo, who had escaped with them, was throwing himself against a tree in pursuit of a squirrel. Hank corralled him and got him back in the house and then began to interrogate his daughter.
“We get the mail every day. Grandpop lets us, cuz Benny wants to be a mailman.”
Benny held up L.L. Bean and beamed.
“Grandpop lets you go racing into the front yard? With the dog?”
Maribel shook her head. Grandpop always held on to Guapo, she told him very seriously. Everybody knew that he couldn’t be trusted outside without a leash on, Daddy.
Yes, Hank had to agree, everyone did know that. And he and Mommy would talk to Grandpop all about it when he got home. He thanked them and took the mail into the kitchen. Maggie put the kids back in front of the TV, switched the channel to a documentary on dolphins, and joined him.
“I did wonder why the mail has seemed kind of crumpled lately,” she said.
“I swear … your dad…”
“Oh, come on. He obviously keeps an eye on them. And the mailman didn’t seem surprised. He probably knows to expect them,” she said.
Hank, absently flipping through the stack of mail, stopped halfway. And swore. Maggie looked over his shoulder and laughed.
“We already adopted a dog,” she said. “We sure as hell don’t need another one. I can see why the animal shelter sends us donation requests, but an invitation to Adoption Day?” She rolled her eyes and set about clearing cereal bits off the table.
Hank turned to her and wordlessly held up the unfolded mailer. Full color and glossy, it was much nicer than the usual shelter solicitation. And smack in the center, a large photo of two adorable puppies getting cuddled—by Gerald Tucker.
Maggie swore.
“‘Come meet local celebrities and see the dozens of dogs and cats ready to be adopted,’” she read. “‘This special event will be held at the shelter’s Gallagher Animal Rescue Hall from noon to six P.M. this Saturday.’”
And that was it, right there. Henry Gallagher’s massive cash infusion had saved the chronically strapped shelter two years ago, and now he apparently could concoct a major event at short notice and choose his own cover model for the advertising.
“That jackass doesn’t even have a pet,” Maggie said, grabbing the flyer.
“Which jackass are you referring to—Tucker or Gallagher?” Hank asked as he sat down wearily at the kitchen table. His wife started to pace.
“This has got to violate something. Some kind of campaign law.”
Hank shook his head. She waved the flyer at him anyway. “Call Darcy.”
So he did. And then Maggie took the phone out of his hand and talked for a half hour, ranting about deceitful advertising and bad money in politics. He slumped in his chair and browsed through the junk mail. The classified-ad circular had a seventeen-foot bass boat for sale. Pretty decent price. Maybe he could try his hand at fishing once he was out of a law-enforcement job.
Suddenly his phone was shoved under his nose.
“Here. She wants to talk to you now. We have a plan.”
That did not make him feel better. He took the phone.
“I have to admit, Hank, this is a genius play,” Darcy said. “There’s no election information or anything that identifies him as a candidate. So we have no standing as far as campaign violations go. And I just got an email back from one of your campaign volunteers who also works at the shelter. She says the flyer went out to the entire mailing list. Usually they pick and choose because they can’t afford to send to everyone, but this one was paid for by Gallagher.”
No kidding. Hank didn’t want to know, but he asked anyway.
“Almost seventeen thousand addresses,” she responded.
Fantastic. That was more than a fourth of the entire county population. And even more disheartening, it was more than the entire number of residents who had voted in the last election. And he had a feeling that the shelter mailing list had very conveniently been expanded to match the current registered-voter rolls. He forced his attention back to Darcy, who was still talking.
“… going to do is have you show up at the event.”
Hank tried to interrupt, but she was having none of it. He would go to the event, with the family and the dog, to show his constituents how great pet adoption was.
“You want us to take the dog?” Hank paused and tried to think of the most diplomatic way to continue. “He’s … he’s not fully trained yet. And he’s not really photogenic. And … he tends to pee on people.”
Nonsense, she said. She had every confidence Guapo would do just fine. He absolutely had to come. It was too perfect that they’d adopted a dog long before the election—they could accuse Tucker of pandering while they paraded their longtime pet in front of the voters.
Hank tried to tell her they’d only had the devil dog for four months, but she just kept talking.
“This means they’re scared. The election is next week. They’re putting this thing together at the last minute because they’re worried.”
No, they’re doing this at the last minute so they can put the final nail in my coffin of a campaign, Hank thought. He had the phone snatched away before he could say so, and his wife tossed him a glare before walking away with Darcy still talking. Hank sighed and turned the pages of the circular to the want ads. Maybe the Steak ’n Shake was hiring.
* * *
Sheila held up her hand to shush him and continued speaking into the phone. He flopped down in the chair opposite her desk and gave her a dirty look. She commiserated with the person on the other end of the line and finally hung up.
“Well?”
“That was the marshal in charge of the manhunt,” she said.
His look worsened, and made her grin.
“Oh … you want to know about me following Kinney yesterday.”
“Yes, Sheila, that’s what I’m referring to. And a voice mail yesterday that you’re fine and you’ll tell me about it in the morning is not okay. I needed a report last night.”
“No,” she said. “You wanted a report last night. But Tyrone’s sister and our little nieces were coming over for dinner, and I was already late. And so I decided that—based upon my training and experience—what I witnessed could wait until this morning.”
Her raised eyebrow dared him to contradict her. Which he knew better than to do when she was right. He waved his hand in the air in a “go on” gesture.
“He went home.”
“That’s it?” Hank didn’t bother trying to hide his disappointment. “You could have just said that in your message.”
He’d taken an odd route, though. Gone up and around, completely out of his way, she said. He didn’t stop anywhere, just drove slow and steady around the northwestern part of the county and then turned into his driveway, parked, and went inside.
“Did he see you?”
“Nope.”
Now it was Hank’s turn to raise an eyebrow.
“Well, I don’t think he did. Hard when you’re the only two cars on the road, but I’m good. Lots of curves to lag behind, and I didn’t have my headlights on.”
“Did he pass by the Miles place?” Hank asked.
She nodded. “And the Taylor property, too.”
They both contemplated that for a moment, but driving by your enemy’s homestead and the county’s cesspool property didn’t make you a murderer.
“We’ve still got nothing that points to him except that it’s his land,” Hank said. “And, that he totally seems capable of it.”
“Agreed,” Sheila said. “If he did do it, it wasn’t a hair-trigger kind of thing. He did it because he benefited from killing whoever Rotten Doe is, and the benefit was big enough to take the risk.”
“But, the risk was small, really. I mean, what were the chances that the body would be found? It could have moldered there for forty years, too.”
“Well, okay, so if we throw in access to the dump site, we should throw in Vern Miles, too,” Sheila said, steepling her fingers and pressing them to her lips. “He doesn’t carry around a shotgun, but he sure as heck owns one. And his head is definitely hot enough to kill somebody, say if they were messing with his trees.”
“Yeah,” Hank said, “but I don’t think he has the balls to then call me out there to investigate the theft. I think he would have left well enough alone. Especially if he knew he’d taken care of the problem.”
Her fingers tapped together. “But … he still was responsible for a shipment to Old Mountain Natural Herbs. And he didn’t have it. A police report would help explain that to the company.”
Hank nodded, and then they both sighed at the same time.
“It would sure help to know who that body is,” he said.
“Yep,” she said.“But give me some time. There’s something there. I can feel it. And we’re going to figure it out. Just wait.”
Hank smiled at her and rose to his feet, then stopped. “Oh, how was dinner?”
She looked at him in surprise, and her face split in a genuinely pleased smile.
“Good. My little babies are growing so fast. They live down in Little Rock, so we only get to see them once every couple of months.”
They were eight and five now. And Tessie had finally kicked that no-account husband of hers to the curb, so all three of them were much happier, not to mention how glad she and Tyrone were about it because—well, anyhow. They’d had pork chops, which Tyrone had managed not to ruin, thank the Good Lord. The man could fix any mechanical thing on God’s green earth, but ask him to fix a meal and he turned into a helpless ninny. So putting meat in the oven and managing not to burn it was quite the success. And he hadn’t had to bother with dessert. The girls had brought cookies they’d baked themselves.
“Oh, I almost forgot,” she said, opening her desk drawer. She pulled out a sealed sandwich bag with two misshapen lumps inside. “They sent one for you and one for Sam.” She undid the zip closure and handed the bag over to Hank. He picked out the bigger of the two and bit right in.
“For that young an age, these are excellent,” said Hank, who had not insignificant experience with kid-made treats. This one was not only edible, it had enough chocolate chips packed inside to even be tasty.
He thanked her through a mouthful of cookie and headed for his office.
“Wait.” He stopped. “What’d the marshal want?”
She rolled her eyes. “To complain. I told him you’d go out later today with some extra-strength bug repellent.”
He glared at her.
“Well, if you’re making me do that, I’m taking the other cookie, too.”
He grabbed the bag off her desk and stomped into his office, her laughter trailing behind him.
CHAPTER
29
It had been four days since Ted was shot. He was out of ICU, but still in very serious shape. Maggie came up from the emergency department to check on him several times during her shifts. Hank stopped by on his way to and from work every day.
The fugitive search groups felt they were closing in on Boone Taylor.
The radio-show host guy had been hounding him for an interview.
The animal-shelter event was two days away.
Hair inside a ball cap found in Ned Bunning’s work locker had been submitted for DNA testing.
Patty Alton had called four more times, always with additional suggestions of people to interview. He’d given up telling her the investigation wasn’t at that stage yet.
And now Sam was sitting in his office with a lot of case files and even more theories.
“… was this one, cuz the timing matched pretty well. But the last place she was seen was pretty far away down near the Arkansas border, so I—”
Hank held up a hand to stop his earnest itemization. Sam immediately closed his mouth and looked at him with eager brown eyes. Hank hauled his own scattered thoughts back from all the far corners of his brain and focused on the kid. He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the desk.
