Breaking Point (15 page)

             
Caroline nodded and tilted her head to one side, anticipating more of my story it seemed. "When was that?"

             
"A few months after I sold the garage. I had the money to set up my own business so I did. I got all the required licenses and rented an office over on the Southside. You remember where my house was? Well, this place was three blocks away, above the newsstand near the bridge. Of course, I kept the house. It was paid for, and I needed a place to live anyway."

             
"And the business has worked out well for you?"

             
"Oh, yeah. Very well, in fact. I had one huge case, kind of industrial espionage, I guess, where two ketchup manufacturers were having a dispute about ingredients. I made a tidy sum on that one, which turned out to be my last case in Pittsburgh. I named it "The Tomato Wars" in my files, but it was a gold plated tomato for me."

             
Caroline was leaning back in her chair, laughing at my last remark.

             
"So after the Tomato Wars, you moved west?"

             
"Not right away. Max had been asking me to for a long time, but it wasn't until last year, when she got sick, that the idea really started to brew. I'd been dating a woman for a couple of years and it had come to the point where, at our ages, you either moved ahead...like marriage, or moved on." I couldn't believe that I was telling her all this. It was always so damned easy to talk to her and here I was blabbing on about another woman to Caroline. Her encouraging smile and those warm eyes held me in place, though, and I started right up again.

             
"This woman, Elaine, was really great and I liked her a lot. She was a travel agent whom I'd met when I was planning a vacation. I thought maybe I loved her, but I wasn't sure. She had two little boys, they were eight and nine then, that I really liked. I took them to ball games and stuff, you know." I shook my head. "It was really tough to say goodbye to those two kids."

             
"That was what was keeping you with her, the little boys?" she said softly.

             
"That was it. It took me awhile to recognize that and then some more time before I had the guts to tell her. I kept seeing her until I was sure, which wasn't the most honorable thing I've ever done."

             
"You weren't being dishonorable." Caroline was still on my side, it seemed. "You weren't sure and you were merely taking the time to be certain you did the right thing." Caroline reached across the small table and laid her hand on my wrist. I looked over at her, hoping for that connection, but there was only a look of compassion.

             
"Caroline, I.." I started, but she patted my hand and drew hers away as she interrupted me.

             
"Rudy, I've always felt it would have been better if we could have talked over my decision before I left Pittsburgh."

             
"Yeah, well, “I muttered. "It was your choice. I guess you did the best you could."

             
"Rudy, look at me." Again she rested her hand on my wrist. I kept staring into her eyes, searching for that elusive point where I'd feel like I was seeing into her soul again.

             
"Rudy, this is my life now. I'm not sorry at all. I only regret that both of us were tormented by a decision that I had to make. I was too immature to articulate my feelings in a way that would have been more helpful to you." She stopped for a moment and looked directly into my eyes. "We were so young, Rudy. Too young."

             
"It didn't feel like we were too young." I was prepared to defend the most important time in my life.

             
"But we were still almost children," she whispered gently, "trying to make tremendous decisions about our lives." Caroline's voice took on a more authoritative tone as she went on, probably drawing on her professional skills. "You have to understand that, Rudy. My life is so different now than I would ever have expected, but it's what I want for myself. I'd like to know that you're happy, too. I never wanted to hurt you." She may not have wanted to hurt me then, or even now. But I felt like I'd just swallowed a handful of sand. I wanted to puke. I wasn't about to let her know that, though.

             
"Oh, you didn't hurt me, “I said quickly. "I was just too stubborn to understand, I guess. Anyway," I smiled brightly, "I'm glad to know that you're happy now. Actually, I'm doing pretty well myself. I like it here in Iowa and I bought a place in Oak Grove and started my Private Eye business out here. I even met a nice lady. We went on a winter picnic the other day. Can you believe that?" I laughed at my own foolishness. "I must really think I'm twenty again."

             
Caroline laughed with me and we chatted about the weather for a moment before I helped her into her coat. We promised to keep in touch and before she crossed the street, she reached up and touched my cheek. I wished she hadn't done that.

Chapter 16

              I'd like to say that I left the bakery and climbed back up on my trusty steed and rode off to solve crimes and save lives, but I didn't. The snow was falling pretty heavily when I watched Caroline walk away, and it was rapidly piling up on the streets and sidewalks. Starting up Clinton Street, I turned off to my right and stepped onto the brick surface of the pedestrian mall, trudging along through the slushy snow with my head down against the wind. The two college kids at the oversized chess set had been replaced by four younger boys who were playing some sort of tag team chess match. All the benches were vacant and snow covered, but I slumped onto one beside the inlaid chessboard and tucked my chin down. Pulling the parka's furry hood over my head, I jammed my hands deep into the jacket's pockets and stretched out my legs, crossing them at the ankles. Now. Let it snow, damn it. Let it freakin' snow.

             
I sat there feeling sorry for myself for a good while, long after the north wind had picked up and brought a drier, blowing snow to the mall and long after the four kids had given up and gone home to dinner and a warm house. My feet reminded me of an errand I needed to do and I forced myself to move off the bench and into a men's clothing store where I bought myself several pair of heavy socks.

             
It was almost dark when I emerged from the shop and I plowed through the drifting snow and walked toward Clinton Street. Across from the outdoor mall was the Campus III Theater, which seemed to imply three movie choices. I jaywalked across Clinton and went inside. It was four forty-five and one of the features had just started, so I bought a ticket and went in. The seats were almost all empty, which was fine with me. For the next two hours I was warm and comfortable in the dark theater, staring at the screen. Occasionally there was the sound of laughter from somewhere in the room, so I think it was a comedy.

             
After the movie let out, I walked around the downtown section of Iowa City, which was almost deserted on this snowy Tuesday. There was a basketball game at Hawkeye Carver Arena at seven, so a lot of the students were probably over there. The snow and freezing winds must have kept the rest of them in their rooms. Even the student hangouts along Market Street looked empty. I walked until I was too tired and cold to walk anymore and then I found my car and drove home. It had been one hell of a day and I wanted to be exhausted enough to fall asleep before I could think about any of it.

             
By Wednesday morning, I was feeling somewhat rested, having slept a few fitful hours. I wasn't hungry but drank a couple of cups of coffee and took a handful of vitamins to tide me over. I was draining the second cup when Melanie Goodwin telephoned me.

             
"Rudy? Hey, I found your pocket knife in the truck the other day. It was poking me all the way home. I was sitting on the thing. Do you believe it? It's a good thing the blade was closed," she laughed. "Did you miss it yet?"

             
"I did. I tried to call you at the store yesterday but the line was busy and then I got tied up. Do you want me to come down and get it or can you drop it in the mail for me?" I could see the snow still blowing around outside the kitchen window and didn't really want to drive all the way to Keokuk today. Neither, however, did I want my knife lying around where her uncle Frank might see it.

             
"I was thinking that if you wanted me to, I could drop it off. I have to go up to Cedar Rapids today to rent a car at the airport, and my friend Amy is going to drive me. We could stop at your place on the way."

             
"Wait a minute. Let me check something." I laid the phone on the kitchen counter and walked through the living room and into my office. The sticky paper with Woody's flight information was on top of the pile of papers I'd stacked up after the break-in. Peeling it off, I carried it back to the phone, reading it as I went. "I have to pick up a friend of mine at the airport at seven this evening," I said. "If you can have Amy drop you here by six, I'll drive you to the airport. That way she'll save herself some time and mileage."

             
"Sounds like a plan. Are you sure you don't mind?"

             
"No problem. You can keep me company on the drive up." I hoped Melanie wouldn't take the offer for more than it was, a simple gesture of kindness to save her friend a longer drive through the snowy night. For all my bravado in telling Caroline of my new "lady," Melanie Goodwin was just a casual acquaintance and was unlikely ever to be more than that. She seemed nice enough, except for her disparaging remarks about my profession, but she didn't interest me romantically.

             
"Ok, then. I'll see you at your place at six"

             
"Don't forget my knife. Bye."

             
After sweeping the snow from the car windows with my sleeve, I drove out to the highway and headed south on 965 toward Cliff's Photo in Coralville. The highway had been plowed, probably several times by ten thirty, and the traffic was keeping both lanes fairly clear. Piles of dirty snow lined both sides of the road, all the way to Coralville.

             
Cliff was in and already at work back in his darkroom. When he emerged at the sound of the bell, I congratulated him on his new daughter. On his thin face, the broad smile really appeared to reach from ear to ear. He said they'd been trying for several years to have a baby and had named her Grace. The name brought an image of Sister Mary Grace to my mind, but I stuffed the thought back to a dark corner and asked about my pictures.

             
"They're right here," he said, moving behind the narrow counter and reaching beneath it for a cardboard box. He quickly flipped through several glassine envelopes and pulled one out, handing it to me. "I printed all three negatives, but you can see they're all the same. There's not even a difference in the expressions on their faces. Your negs are in there, too."

             
I slid the top eight-by-ten out and looked at it. It was a nice sharp picture, and probably was taken by a newspaper photographer as Lois Wilson had told me. There were six people in the photo. On the far right of the picture was a tall, light haired man, the only one dressed in a suit and tie. Maybe he was the Kiwanis representative or maybe that was Clyde Wilson. Beside him stood a skinny blond kid holding a plaque, undoubtedly the young Charlie Wilson. In the center of the photo was a wheelchair where a dark haired boy sat with the stiffness and contorted posture that usually indicates some form of Cerebral Palsy.

             
Behind the wheelchair stood two other youngsters. The one nearest Charlie was small, at least his body was. Closely cropped hair covered a head that appeared much too large for the tiny shoulders and body that supported it. Short, thick fingers were visible over the back of the wheelchair, where he held on. His expression was one of strain, maybe, rather than joy. The third boy was almost as tall as the man in the suit. He had the look of baby fat around his face but the shoulders seemed too big for the rest of him, like he still had a bit of filling out to do. He stared out at the camera lens, his mouth a straight line across the wide face. He looked angry and definitely not interested in being on that makeshift stage for a photo-op. One of his hands, huge by comparison, lay beside that of the smaller boy on the back of the chair. To his right, at the left side of the picture stood the only female in the picture, a nun in traditional black habit who smiled placidly at the camera. What was with all the nuns, I wondered. Was there no end to them?

             
Shoving the envelope under my jacket to protect it from the snow, I paid my bill and left. Iris had never answered my phone call yesterday, so I still didn't have the telephone number of the senior Wilsons. I'd tried directory assistance and the internet, but Charlie's parents apparently had an unlisted number. It might be simpler just to ask Iris if she could identify anybody in the picture and see what I had after that. Once in the car, I punched her number into my cellular phone, but she still wasn't home. I left another message for her to call me at my place. For now, that was the best I could do.

             
Back at home, I put the photos and negatives in the small safe I'd brought from Pennsylvania. Woody and I had used it for the garage receipts and later, I'd kept it in my office for client information. I spun the combination dial to lock it and went to the kitchen for some lunch. I had a new jar of dried beef, the salty kind, and there was some cream cheese in the refrigerator, so I tossed those on the table and got a loaf of bread from the bread drawer. I should have bought a loaf of real bread while I was at the Bakery Cafe yesterday, but I'd been too busy feeling sorry for myself. Well, my punishment would be to eat a cream cheese, dried beef, and horseradish sandwich on soft, texture less white bread, instead of the chewy crusty stuff I loved. The punishment seemed a bit stiff, but I endured it. Two sandwiches later, I was feeling better.

             
Since Bill had been on duty in the evening last week, I thought I might catch him in on the day shift this week. From the dresser top, I got the yellow plastic fragment I'd found in the woods near Keokuk and put it in my pants pocket. I retrieved the two rocks of meth from my sock drawer and slipped that plastic bag in the same pocket. I was ready to go. I'd held onto the rocks of meth long enough and didn't want to have to explain their presence in case somebody found them on me.

             
The snow had stopped sometime while I'd been eating lunch. That was good news today, with a drive to the airport ahead of me in a couple of hours. Of course, it might still be snowing and blowing at the airport, thirty miles north. I realized that Woody might get hung up somewhere, maybe in Chicago if the visibility was bad, and made a mental note to call the airport before I left home.

             
Bill was sitting with his feet on the desk, as usual, and seemed happy to see me again today. His partner, Sue Haggerty, was standing to one side, holding a Styrofoam cup in both hands and blowing on its contents.

             
"Hot coffee for a cold day?" I said cheerfully as I blew in with the wind. I'd met Sue once before, briefly. She seemed to remember me, though.

             
"Hey, detective guy. How's things?" She smiled at me over the cup.

             
"Same old same old," I replied. "How's Mike and the boys?" Sue's husband was the attorney who'd drawn up the papers when I bought the post office. Mike Haggerty had shown foresight by buying a small brick building for his place of business, so the seven-year-old triplets were free to spend time there with him if necessary. There was even a fenced backyard complete with trees, swing sets and a skate board ramp. It was only a block behind the police station, so Sue could stop in if the kids were there and check up on them.

             
She tossed the cup in the wastebasket and picked up her car keys. "Oh, they're all just as bad as ever. It's like I had quadruplets." I felt a blast of arctic air before the door closed behind her. Without being asked, I sat in the wooden chair nearest me and drew the plastic bag of meth rocks out of my pocket. I tossed it to Bill.

             
"I thought I'd better turn this in before I get caught with it on me."

             
His eyes widened as his feet hit the floor. "Holy heck! Where did you get this stuff? Do you know what this is?"

             
"Yeah. I found it a few days ago. I think I know where the meth is coming from and as soon as I'm sure, I'll let you know."

             
He got serious. "Rudy, I have to know where this came from. And if you're planning to stroll into a meth lab, you're going to get yourself killed. Tell me what's going on."

             
I sighed and brought the yellow plastic fragment out and laid it on the desk. "What do you think that's from?"

             
He picked it up and turned it over in his fingers. "Looks like a turn signal cover from a motorcycle." He looked at me suspiciously. "Did you find this near the meth lab?"

             
"Maybe. Would that be likely?"

             
"Very. And if there are bikers involved in this, you are definitely treading on very dangerous ground. A lot of the meth we find is being made, used, and sold by bikers."

             
Wanting to get his attention off me and what I knew, I asked about the production of methamphetamine and why it was such a problem here. There weren't many drug related crimes reported in the local papers, but the few that were seemed to involve meth. I didn't know why. The opportunity to explain it to me was more than he could resist. Maybe Bill was a frustrated school teacher.

             
"Out here," he began, "with all the farms, they have easy access to huge tanks of anhydrous ammonia. The farmers use it in fertilizing and the storage tanks are either out in the field or maybe under a shed. These guys adapt some kind of a small tank, like the propane ones you use for a gas grill, and go out at night and fill them with the ammonia. It's very dangerous stuff, freezing cold, and will burn the skin right off your body. Some of them have gotten badly burned and even lost limbs doing it. But they need it for the process, so they keep stealing it."