Grave Undertaking (12 page)
As a news story, sex in the justice system would raise a public outcry, but not nearly as loud as if juveniles were involved. I understood why Annette bit on Calhoun’s proposal.
“Did he have proof?” I asked.
“Claimed he was lubricating a source. Lubricating was his exact word. Said he’d have irrefutable evidence.”
“How much did he want?”
“Two thousand dollars.”
“That seems like a steep price for the Vista.”
“Any price was too steep for the paper. That money was coming out of my own pocket, and Sammy knew it. Was counting on it. And these past seven years I thought he’d played me for a sucker.”
I studied the determined face across the table. I wouldn’t want Annette Nolan mad at me. Give me Stony McBee any day.
“You gave him two grand?”
“I gave him a thousand—cash. He said he’d collect the rest after the story broke, and if he didn’t deliver, he’d give me back the thousand minus the cost of his equipment.”
“What equipment?”
“He didn’t say exactly. I assumed he would put a wire on someone or take those grainy black and white photos detectives were famous for. I took the chance.”
“How much time elapsed from when you gave him the money and he disappeared?”
“Week or two at most.”
“When we dug up the skeleton, we found about four hundred dollars in cash in his wallet. He must have bought something.”
“I have no idea what. I gave him the money and never saw him again. Like everyone else, I figured he skipped for Texas.”
“Someone went to great lengths to create that story.”
She drained her mug and set it on the table with a thud. “I know. That’s why I want Melissa safely on the sidelines.” Her sharp eyes bore in on me. “You, on the other hand, can’t seem to stay out of the line of fire.”
“It’s a talent I’ve gone to great pains to cultivate.” I took another sip of tea and my mind started making connections. “You ever hear anything else about sexual misconduct, either in the juvenile or adult divisions?”
“Not a word,” she said, “and I did some digging around. Talked to released inmates, women serving probation, anybody I thought could be pressured by those holding power over them, from guards to court officials. Nothing turned up.”
Just like Cassie’s investigation in Buncombe County. Was it an identical scam Calhoun was playing on each of them? If so, a third person took it deadly serious.
“Did Calhoun specifically tell you the scandal was in Laurel County?” I asked.
“You found Calhoun buried in Walker County,” she said.
I knew her mind raced step by step with mine. What if Calhoun had been protecting his story all along? He had first gone to Cassie Miller, but she blew him off and then had a reporter snoop around. Calhoun had played it smart, letting her think the story was based in Asheville, in Buncombe County. It made sense he would do the same to Annette Nolan so she couldn’t stiff him either. Not Buncombe, not Laurel, but Walker County.
Sheriff Ewbanks and his department were investigating a crime that might have been committed by one of their own, and that someone had a very good reason to pin on Susan or her father.
“You’ve got your work cut out for you,” Annette Nolan said.
I had the eerie feeling she had read my mind.
The Cardinal Café was crowded for a Saturday afternoon. The sun and thaw had lured cabin-fevered diners out in droves. I spotted Tommy Lee’s wave from the rear by the swinging kitchen door.
“You boys having the usual?” Helen asked the question as I slid into the pink booth across from the sheriff.
“Yes,” we answered in unison.
She didn’t bother to pull the yellow pencil from the bun in her hair and deposited two glasses of sweetened iced tea on the table.
“Nice shiners,” she said to me, as if discussing the weather, and then disappeared into the kitchen. Tommy Lee’s plate of tuna fish salad and my roast beef sandwich would be out in short order.
“I told you Stony had magnetic fingers,” said Tommy Lee, after hearing about last night’s brawl. “Didn’t realize he had an iron fist.”
“Lucky punch,” I muttered.
“Right. So what’s up?” he asked and took a swallow of tea.
I’d telephoned him en route from Annette Nolan’s asking for a cheap date. Cheap was our shorthand for the Cardinal Café.
“I spent an interesting morning with Annette Nolan,” I said.
He took his one eye off the glass and looked at me quizzically. “Annette. She’s a sharp old bird. How’s she play into this?”
“Carefully. She’s scared for anyone getting involved because she thinks she knows what got Calhoun killed. I think she’s on to something.”
“Yeah? And?”
I gave Tommy Lee the details of our conversation and the background Cassie had shared on Calhoun.
“How much cash was in his wallet?”
“The crime lab tech said about four hundred. I didn’t hear an exact count.”
“Let’s assume it’s the money from Annette Nolan. We can also assume Calhoun didn’t buy a gun since he borrowed Susan’s.”
“And he wasn’t wearing a wire, unless they stripped him of it before burying him.”
Tommy Lee made circle patterns on the Formica with the condensation from the bottom of his tea glass. “Where else would nearly six hundred dollars have gone?”
“Maybe he just spent it on his rent or groceries,” I said.
“But that doesn’t take us anywhere. I’d at least like a wild goose to chase.”
“Lubricating his source. That was the quote Annette gave me from Calhoun.”
“I wonder,” said Tommy Lee, and his voice trailed off as he kept a thought to himself.
“Wonder what?”
“His source. His snitch. Is that where the money went? I wonder if there’s another extra body in Eagle Creek cemetery.”
“We can’t go digging up every grave.”
Tommy Lee shook his head. “No, and a re-dug grave would have been noticed. On the off chance, check with Reverend Pace to make sure no one else was buried in that cemetery at the same time as Pearly Johnson.”
“If not, then the source might still be around. Maybe he killed or betrayed Calhoun.”
“And left four hundred dollars in the wallet? Somebody selling out the story would’ve been greedy enough to have looked for more.”
“Greedy,” I repeated, pausing as the idea took form.
“What?” Tommy Lee prompted.
“It may be your wild goose,” I warned. “Cassie told me Calhoun had fled New York because he tried to blackmail a mobster with information he’d uncovered for a client. What if he tried that double play again, only this time he got nailed.”
“You’re saying he carried Susan’s gun to the meeting because he was going face-to-face, not with his snitch, but with the target of his investigation?”
“And he got popped with Susan’s gun,” I said. “A service revolver would have left an identifiable slug, traced back to an issued weapon. Walt got stung because he’d registered his gun.”
“It’s hard for me to believe this could happen in Ewbanks’ department,” said Tommy Lee. “But, I know you have to go where the evidence leads you.”
“When did your man Bridges start with Ewbanks?”
Tommy Lee jumped in his seat. “God damn it, Barry,” he whispered harshly. “Where’d his name come from?”
I’d forgotten Tommy Lee hadn’t shared his own source with me. “I met him at Walt’s with Ewbanks. He said some things about you being a good sheriff and I figured he was your contact. No one else would brag on you.”
“Well, keep your figuring to yourself,” he ordered.
“Can you answer my question? Bridges told me his wife died ten years ago and you got him hired in the Walker County department. Was that right after his wife’s death?”
“Within a couple years I guess. Hated to lose him but he felt strongly about his family responsibilities. You can understand that.”
Helen appeared beside us, her arms loaded with two plates and a pitcher of iced tea. “I’ll let you keep your own glasses filled,” she said, and set everything in the middle of the table. “Need anything else, just holler.” She turned to go, and then looked back. “Oh, and I had them leave off the horseradish, Barry. Don’t think your nose can take any more abuse.”
Tommy Lee laughed. We sorted out the food, and I picked up my sandwich and the conversation.
“Did you get to tell Bridges that Sammy Calhoun went into that grave before he could testify against the contractors?”
“He said Ewbanks is already on it. Talked to the state boys and the lead prosecutor. They agree it’s a possibility, but none of the men had a history of violence or known connections to hit men.”
“Cassie said Sammy’s disappearance didn’t affect the verdict.”
Tommy Lee nodded. “That’s what makes this line of inquiry low priority. Ewbanks doesn’t have the manpower to mount a broad investigation.”
“Did Bridges say they know Walt Miller was Duncan Atkins’ accountant?”
My question surprised him. “No, he didn’t. But sharing that information might have crossed the line, if Ewbanks is quietly trying to make it into something.”
“Walt Miller didn’t kill Sammy Calhoun.”
Tommy Lee reared back. “Hey, you don’t have to convince me. But there’s the problem of the damn gun. It’s Walt’s and it’s the murder weapon.”
I didn’t have an answer for that fact and took a big bite of my sandwich. We ate quietly for a few minutes, and then my mind returned to the conversation with Annette Nolan.
“So, Bridges was in Ewbanks’ department when Calhoun was killed, when Sammy told Annette Nolan about a scandal.”
“Not in his current capacity. The only opening at the time was as a juvenile probation officer. He spent a few years there before Ewbanks moved him back into active investigative duty.”
“He worked with juvenile offenders?”
“He’s not a sexual predator,” said Tommy Lee.
“A lot of Catholics said the same thing about their priest.”
“And the vast majority were right.” He picked at his tuna fish for a few seconds. “All right,” he conceded. “I’ll keep Bridges in the dark, but we’ll need another way to find Calhoun’s source.”
“Any ideas?” I asked.
“Sounds like you got all the information Annette Nolan had. If some of the victims were underaged girls, we’re talking juvenile detention. Those records are hard to get. We’ll have to start with who was in charge at the time.”
“What if Calhoun did spend that money as a bribe,” I suggested. “Paying off his source. He might have gotten the hard evidence he needed and then approached the culprits without revealing his contact. The guy could still be around.”
“Can you backtrack who Calhoun hung out with?”
“I can ask Cassie. And there’s his landlady, she might remember somebody coming to the apartment.”
“Don’t be blind to another possibility.”
I stared at him and read the concern in his eye.
“I can handle it,” but I felt my stomach tighten at the prospect. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”
When we left the Cardinal Café, I knew Tommy Lee wasn’t happy. He suspected Ewbanks would seek out anyone who could shed light on Susan’s relationship with Sammy Calhoun, and he wanted to tip off his friend Bridges to Annette Nolan’s lead. Until I had the chance to follow up with Susan and Cassie, I insisted that investigative angle be withheld.
On the way to the cabin, I called Mom for an update on the McBee funeral. Wayne had returned with news all had gone smoothly, including Claude’s descent into the ground. My uncle said Darlene had decided to leave the pocket watch on her father since it held too painful a memory to be a comfort. My nose felt comforted when I heard Stony had stood sullenly at the edge of the graveyard, his arm in a sling.
I reached Susan at home, where she’d just come in from her father’s.
“How’s he doing?”
“Not so well. He had a long talk with Cassie. She told him everything they’re reporting is circumstantial and the worst is over. But it’s all still hanging over him.”
“How about you?”
“I’m scared for him. He doesn’t need this stress. Not at his age. I tell you, being a murder suspect is not a good way to lead your life. I’m lucky I’ve got my job. Once I’m behind my surgical mask, this other stuff no longer matters.”
“Any contact from Ewbanks.”
“He dropped by my father’s this afternoon. Good thing I was there so we could keep our stories together. Ewbanks was civil. Apologized again for my name getting in the press.”
“Social call?”
“Hardly. He wanted to know more about the gun. Why I had it. When I last fired it. I told him Dad made me take it because my residency schedule was so crazy. I was living at home at the time and driving in and out of the hospital at all hours.”
“That’s true, isn’t it?”
“Of course it’s true.” She sounded put out. “At least the crazy hours part. I never drove with the gun. Just kept it in a clothes drawer with the clip out for safety. I told Ewbanks that was why my prints would have been all over it.”
“He’d have to admit it’s a plausible explanation.”
“And Dad backed up everything I said.” She sighed. “What a nightmare. What are we going to do?”
I caught the “we” and felt encouraged to include myself. “We’ll get through it, Susan. I’ve been doing a little investigating of my own.”
“Are you calling from the emergency room?”
“Not yet.” Susan knew that my efforts at amateur police work and my time spent in the hospital had a direct correlation. “I’m on the road and about to lose the cell signal. How about dinner tonight?”
“Sure. You want to come here?”
“I thought we’d go out. A real date. Sullivan’s?”
“You always say that place is too dark.”
I glanced at myself in the rearview mirror. “Believe me. Dark is good.”
The numbers for Cassie Miller were at the cabin so I had to wait before calling her. First, I fed and watered George, then grabbed a clean legal pad. Cassie answered the first ring of her cell phone.
“What’s up, Barry?”
I was ready for caller ID. “Nothing new,” I said casually. “Thought I’d check in. I know you’re not officially on the story so I figured you’re free to talk about it.”
“So you can give leads to your friend Melissa Bigham?”
I should have anticipated that Cassie would deduce where the Vista reporter got the background on Sammy Calhoun.
Cassie laughed. “It’s okay. She did me a favor by showing up Cliff Barringer. Maybe I should hire her.”
“As Cliff’s replacement,” I suggested.
“I can only dream. So, what do you want to know?”
“I figure Ewbanks won’t let go of Susan until he has something more promising to track. That could be the last story Calhoun tried to pitch you.” I left it there. Cassie might be excluded from covering Calhoun’s murder, but I didn’t trust her to sit on the news that the sex scandal had been in Walker County, not Buncombe.
“Could be,” she agreed. “I’ve been thinking about that myself.”
“Have you got any names of people Calhoun hung out with? Did he have an office? Did he always call you or come to the station?”
“He didn’t have an office, but I had a couple of numbers. Not a bad idea, Barry. I’ll check my phone logs.”
“Your what?”
“Notes of my calls. In my business, I keep an informal record. Just a small steno pad I can even use with my cell. Jot down date, time, key tidbits. Now I do it unconsciously.”
I looked at my legal pad where I had written
sex scandal
,
office
, and
phone log
.
“Really? And you keep them?”
“Got an attic full. Amazing how often they come in handy. I should be able to find the right one pretty quickly.” She paused. “I’ll expect an exclusive on this.”
Reporters, I thought. Must be something in their DNA. “Sorry. I’ve already got a date for the prom. I was hoping we were working for Susan, not
NEWSCHANNEL-8
.”
Silence greeted my statement. Then Cassie said, “Serves the bastards right if the Vista beats them. I’ll call you back.”
I wore a hat with a brim pulled down over my eyes so the light from Susan’s front porch lamp couldn’t penetrate the shadow on my face. As she closed the door behind her, I slouched back against the wrought-iron railing that bordered her stoop.
“Oh, are we Sam Spade tonight?” she asked.
“More like Ricky the Raccoon.” I doffed my hat politely, letting the light fall upon me.
“Barry!” She jumped back against the door. If it hadn’t been latched, she would have tumbled over the threshold. “What happened?”
“Sorry. I should have warned you.”
“You’re lucky you look so bad or I’d hit you.”
“Too late. Stony McBee already did.” On the drive to dinner, I told her the story.
Sullivan’s is Gainesboro’s special event restaurant. Proms, Valentine’s Day, anniversaries, marriage proposals—all celebrate with a four-star meal that impresses tourists from Manhattan to Miami. Yet Sullivan’s is locally owned and priced to attract the winter people with more limited finances. I had had the foresight to make a last-minute reservation, requesting a quiet corner away from any Christmas or birthday parties.
Our table was lit by a single white candle floating in a crystal bowl. I could have had two noses and three eyes and gone unnoticed. The perfect atmosphere for a romantic interrogation. Over a glass of white wine and shrimp cocktail, I summarized my conversation with Annette Nolan.
“So, you think Sammy was pulling a fast one on Annette?” Susan asked.
“Not necessarily. He was covering his options. If the blackmail angle didn’t work, he had another thousand coming for the story. If he could squeeze more, probably a good bit more, from his target, then he’d pay Annette back and say the story hadn’t worked out.”
“Why bother to come to Annette in the first place?”
I held up answering while the waiter cleared away our appetizers, replacing them with two Caesar salads that could have fed his Roman army.
“It gave him two things,” I continued. “A real threat of exposure for his quarry and working capital for his sting. Maybe he had a copy of a receipt from Annette he could brandish as proof the paper would print the story. And the money would be needed to bribe his snitch and acquire any equipment. We know he spent six hundred dollars somewhere.”
“And you’re following this lead by yourself?”
“There’s Tommy Lee.”
“But he can’t do anything officially, and you don’t know who in Walker County is clean or dirty.”
“That’s why I’ve got to deliver evidence they can’t ignore. Tommy Lee agrees. Otherwise Ewbanks will just keep building a circumstantial case against you until he can get a warrant and that hotshot Claiborne can use you as fodder for his law-and-order campaign for attorney general. Someone’s already prompted Calhoun’s landlady into remembering events in the most damning sequence. Claiborne may time a high-profile trial so a verdict isn’t reached till after the election. By then, what does he care if the case wasn’t strong enough.”
“And I’ll always be that woman charged with murder,” Susan admitted. “Where are you going to start?”
“Right here. Right now.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “There’re questions I have to ask.” I leaned across the table, ostensibly so only Susan could hear, but really because I wanted to study her face. “Did you ever meet Calhoun at a place called The Last Resort?”
She looked away and her jaw muscles tightened. “No, but I think Sammy used to hang out there. Who told you about it?”
“Your Aunt Cassie keeps phone logs. The last month before Calhoun disappeared she returned calls that weren’t to his apartment. This afternoon I telephoned the number she gave me and got The Last Resort. What’s it like?”
“From the outside, it looks like a real dive of a bar.” Her eyes widened. “And it’s right across the line in Walker County.”
“Listen, Susan, you’ve got to tell me everything about Sammy Calhoun so I don’t go stumbling around making things look worse for you.”
“I know,” she conceded, and all trace of defensiveness evaporated. “Sammy came to Asheville and thought he could re-start our relationship. He kept playing up the story about accidentally shooting the girl to make me feel sorry for him. And I knew his work with Cassie gave her station a tremendous ratings boost.”
“Why’d you give him the gun?”
“He told me he was working on another investigation and needed it for protection. He said even if I didn’t care about him, at least think about Cassie. She was counting on the story.”
“But you were still hesitant.”
“Hesitant? I was angry. He had come to the hospital trying to see me. Told security he was my brother and insisted they page me for a family emergency. I had gotten the message in surgery and was so mad I told the guards to escort him off the hospital grounds. When I left O.R., I found him waiting by the parking lot gate.”
The memory kindled a fire in her voice. She took a deep breath and regained control. From out of the shadows stepped our waiter with an expression of concern that rivaled the best in the funeral business. He looked at our untouched salads.
“Is something wrong?”
“No,” I assured him. “We haven’t seen each other in a long time and I’m asking too many questions to let her eat.”
“I can request the chef delay the entrées.”
Susan shook her head. “I’m about out of answers. He’ll be talking to himself in another minute.”
“Very good,” he said, and then looked aghast that he’d somehow insulted me.
As he withdrew, Susan said, “He’s kissing his tip goodbye.”
“You said Sammy was at the gate. Did you talk to him?”
“I yelled at him. I was furious. He’d told hospital security he was Stevie.”
For all his slick manipulations, Sammy Calhoun had pushed one button too many using the name of the dead brother she idolized. Susan was the sweetest girl I knew. She also cut people up for a living.
“What was so urgent he’d resort to a trick like that?”
“The damn gun. Had to have it before that night. Promised me he’d never ask for another thing.”
“How long after that did he disappear?”
“Like I told you before, a few days later I heard he left for Texas and I never saw him again.”
“Then our only link is that bar, The Last Resort. Aptly named.”
“I asked Sammy why he hung out in such a dump. He laughed and said it was a gold mine and you never knew when you’d discover a nugget.”
“Then that’s where I’ll start,” I said. “We need a nugget of our own. Do you still have a picture of Sammy?” A part of me wanted to hear no.
“Maybe. A loose one in a drawer of photos I’ve been meaning to organize. Why?”
“It’s been seven years, but I want to see if anyone there remembers him.”
Susan reached around the salad and candle to clutch my hand. “Barry, if he found something in that bar, it got him killed with his own gun.”
“Don’t worry. I won’t have a gun.” I meant it as a joke, but Susan didn’t laugh.
A soft cough sounded from my left. The waiter was back with our main course. “The petite sirloin for the lady, and the gentleman’s wild trout almondine.”
I looked at my dinner and it looked at me. The black, lifeless eyes of the fish reminded me what can happen when you’re lured into biting off more than you can chew.