Salvaged to Death (7 page)

“That would leave a trail,” Sadie said. “A trail leading to Fiona. I don’t want to do anything to increase the feud. We need to get in and out without a trace.”

“We could put a mattress or leather on top of the fence,” Hal said.

“Maybe,” Sadie agreed. “But it would shred upon removal. Tom is sure to notice large chunks of mattress stuck in his fence.”

“You’re poking holes in all my best ideas,” Hal complained.

Sadie linked her arm with his. “I’m sorry. You’re helping me brainstorm.”

“By giving you really bad ideas,” he said.

“It’s more helpful than you might think,” she said. She stood and tugged him up beside her. “C’mon, let’s take a look at the lock on the fence. I might be able to pick it.”

“Stop it. I can’t resist when you talk about breaking the law,” Hal said.

“If I’m feeling really naughty, I might rifle through their files and leave them in disarray.”

“Now you’re just toying with my emotions.”

Sadie laughed and they walked in silence for a while. When they reached the gate, she pulled out a pocket flashlight and stuffed it in her mouth. She studied the lock. For a paranoid man, Tom Tomkins hadn’t provided much of a challenge with his locks. To secure his precious salvage yard, he had covered it with razor wire but clamped one simple, yet large, padlock to the gate. Sadie had been picking locks since she was a kid—another handy skill Gideon taught her. He often said that the only difference between a good cop and a good criminal was a mound of paperwork. In other words, cops should know how to do everything criminals can do, only they should know how to do it better and do it for all the right reasons. More than once, Sadie had watched her father break into someone’s car using a Slim Jim. It was always to rescue a dog or child, but the lesson stuck: knowing how to break the law was a valuable skill.

Her picks were in her suitcase. Before she retrieved them, she tested the lock. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she murmured as the lock gave way in her hand. It had been pushed together to make it appear closed, but it wasn’t latched.

“That’s lucky,” Hal said.

“Or a trap,” Sadie said.

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re paranoid?” Hal said.

“My stalker,” Sadie said. She pulled off the lock and looped it through the fence before opening.

“You know how much I hate to be the voice of reason, but I seem to remember a psychotically barking dog the last time we were here,” Hal pointed out.

“I don’t hear him now. We’ll tiptoe and keep our fingers crossed that he doesn’t appear,” Sadie said.

“Now is a good time to warn you that I have a medical condition where I shove people into the paths of oncoming dogs to save myself,” Hal said.

“As a doctor, you’d think that you would be able to find a cure for that.”

“Sadly, there is no cure. Someday I’m going to have a telethon for myself and raise money for a cure. In the meantime, I try to avoid vicious dogs.”

“That’s probably a good idea even for those who don’t suffer your affliction,” Sadie said.

The office, unlike the fence, was properly locked. Sadie knelt, pulled out her flashlight, and peered closer.

“Um, Sadie,” Hal began. He took a step closer and bumped into her, nearly knocking her over, and that was when she heard it—the ominous and low-pitched growl of an angry dog.

Sadie froze. The dog didn’t scare her, but the powerful flashlight beaming on the back of her head did.

“What are you doing?” Fiona asked.

“Right now I’m testing the load-bearing capacity of my pants,” Hal said.

Beside Fiona, the dog’s growl intensified. “Hush, Gidget,” she said, and the growl subsided to a whine.

“Gidget?” Hal repeated.

“Tom’s a fan,” she said, but there was a question in her tone, reminding them she was still awaiting an answer.

“Someone was in the field. He knocked us over and got away. I can’t say for sure it was Bo, but looking around in the office seemed like a good idea.” Sadie thought it was a good idea to tread carefully until she ascertained Fiona’s views on B&E. “I, uh, might have to pick the lock.”

“Or you could use the key,” Fiona said. She plucked a large ring from her pocket and handed it to Sadie. “I paid the hardware store money under the table to make me a set.”

“You two,” Hal said as he feigned wiping tears. “I’m just so proud.”

Sadie stuck the key into the lock and the dog whimpered plaintively again. For the moment, it was obeying Fiona, but how deep was its loyalty? “Is she going to attack us at some point?”

“Nah. She’s too dumb to know which end is up,” Fiona said. “She and Tom are two peas.” She tittered at her own joke, a girlish trill that ran in direct contrast to her normally deep baritone.

Sadie turned her flashlight on the dog, wanting to assess for herself the chances of survival. The mongrel was some type of mastiff mix. Drool ran in a long string from both sides of its mouth, its eyes were crossed, and a wayward tongue lolled haphazardly, adding more drool to the mix. Sadie couldn’t be sure, but the dog appeared to be smiling at her.

“Hi, Gidget,” she said. “Don’t eat me, and I’ll buy you something pretty.”

In reply, the dog licked her chops and panted a few times.

“We girls have to stick together,” she said, turning toward the door again.

“Preach, sister,” Hal said.

Sadie paused again and turned back. “On that note, Fiona, I don’t think you should go in with us. If we get caught, there’s a good chance I can talk us out of trouble. But if you’re here, it’ll be like a powder keg.”

“All right,” Fiona said evenly. “I’ll leave the light on for you.”

Sadie smiled as she watched her walk away. “For you” sounded like “fer ya,” but despite the down-home accent, there was nothing simple about Fiona Tomkins. She was a riddle in herself, but Sadie didn’t have time for more puzzles. She pushed thoughts of Fiona aside and focused on the search. It didn’t take long.

There was one room, the same room they had seen earlier. There were no hidden compartments in the desk, no filing cabinet. Wherever Tom Tomkins kept his secrets, it wasn’t at work. And there certainly wasn’t any information about Bo in the room, except for a sleeping pallet that might have been used by either man. Luckily no one was sleeping there now.

Hal walked to the back door and poked his head out. “I would love to get a look at that salvage yard.”

“Okay,” Sadie said. She gave him a light shove through the door when he remained staring at her, confused. “What?”

“I was waiting for you to tell me we shouldn’t,” he said.

“You’ve got the wrong person,” she said, not adding what they both knew; Luke was the naysayer in their group, the cautioner, the red flag. “Let’s go.”

Unlike the tiny office, the salvage yard was vast. Sadie had grabbed a more powerful flashlight from the office, but even so, it was slow going. The night had turned black and the flashlight’s beam only illuminated so much. Ghoulish shadows appeared in the beam of the anemic light. On closer inspection, they turned out to be mottled arrangements of bent steel.

“This would be an awesome place for hide and seek,” Hal observed. “Tetanus notwithstanding.”

“I wonder why Fiona and Tom never had any kids,” Sadie said.

“Polycystic Ovarian Syndrome would be my guess,” Hal said. “Fiona has all the hallmarks for it.”

“Sad,” Sadie said.

“Treatments are available, but probably not readily up here in the middle of nowhere. Someone should start a clinic.”

“Hal, did you just receive a calling?”

He laughed. “No. My calling includes making enough money to pay off my med school loans. I’m going to go where rich people are and find a sick sugar mama I can nurse back to health. Maybe Beverly Hills.”

“I hear it has swimming pools and movie stars,” Sadie said.

“Can’t you just see me kissing up to the rich and famous? ‘Why, yes, Eve Harrington, I do think you look lovely today. Is that a wrinkle? Let me fix it with some Botox. That’ll be three thousand dollars.’”

She smiled, but she would be sad when he went away. He had become a good friend in a short amount of time. Their relationship was different than any she’d ever had because it wasn’t muddied by romance. With both Hal and Luke, she could be herself, her real self and not the person she pretended to be with everyone else. Even though she didn’t have the same comfort level with Hal as she did with Luke, in some ways being with him was easier because there was none of the ever-present tension and no baggage from her past. He was a clean slate.

They walked in silence awhile, feeling weary. Sadie was just about to call an end to the foray when Hal spoke.

“What’s that smell?” he asked and she realized something horrible had been niggling at her nose for the past few minutes.

“Rotten food in a fridge?” she guessed. They had seen ample refrigerators and freezers strewn throughout the junk.

“No, it’s more acrid than food,” Hal said. “There’s something familiar about it, and that disturbs me.” He sniffed and turned to the left, leading the way with his nose like a bloodhound.

Sadie trotted to catch up, thinking again how odd it was to be the one playing catch-up. She was usually the one out front. Following was much harder than it looked. Mounds and mounds of haphazard junk surrounded them. To Sadie, there seemed to be no order to the chaos, but a path ran through the lot and appeared to be divided into sections. Perhaps to the yard’s designer, the jumble made sense. Did Mr. Tomkins know where everything was located? Or was each day a guessing game?

Ahead, Hal was muttering. “Not good, this is not good at all.” That worried her because she had never known Hal to mutter. Was he delusional from lack of sleep? The smell was bad, but Sadie had smelled worse. Once in college a rival sorority sister poured milk under the seat of her car. It had sat for weeks until she tracked it.
That
had smelled far worse than the scent of decay now wafting through the air.

After walking in a circle a few times, Hal stopped short and held out his hand for the flashlight. Sadie yielded possession. He swung the light in a slow arc, sweeping the ground. “There.” He pointed to a dark puddle beneath a car and began making his way in that direction. Sadie couldn’t tell the make or model in the darkness, but it looked newer than some in the lot—more plastic, less metal.

When they reached the car, the smell hit her like a battering ram, and she knew. Hal tried the doors on the car, but they were locked.

“We need something to open this trunk,” he said.

“Wait,” Sadie said and reclaimed the light. She squatted and peered at the lock, holding her breath. The smell had now surpassed the sour-milk-car smell from college and she could barely stand to breathe.

“What are you doing?” Hal whispered.

She didn’t answer because that would require breathing. But if her theory was correct, then they wouldn’t need to pop the trunk; it would already be open. She jiggled the trunk, adjusted the light, and located the wire that had been used to jury-rig the lid. Before she opened it, she needed a breath. She jogged a few feet away and took a few deep breaths. The air wasn’t much better, but at least she had gained some psychological distance. Hal stood waiting impatiently for her to explain.

“If the body was stuffed in the trunk before it was brought here, then we would have needed a key. If the body was stuffed in after it was brought here, then the trunk would have been popped by whoever put it in. The trunk is broken.”

“So you’re saying that the person was likely killed right here and stuffed inside.”

Sadie nodded.

“Super. I can only hope the murderer is still lurking and waiting to add us to the mix. Let’s get this over with.” He stepped forward and helped Sadie unfasten the wire holding the trunk together. They pulled up the lid and peered inside.

“Ew,” Sadie said. She wasn’t squeamish, but the sight was gruesome. She wasn’t an expert in rigor, but the body had clearly been there for some time. It was past the point of stiffness and at the beginning of liquidation. “Any idea how long this has been here?”

“The effects of rigor begin to fade after thirty six hours. My best guess is that this happened about seventy two hours ago, but obviously a lot of factors could affect that guess. And I’ve only had a few classes on rigor. Most of my focus is on keeping the body alive, not what happens after it’s dead.” He glanced at Sadie. “How repulsed would you be if I took a closer look?”

“Are you kidding me? Now’s our chance before the cops arrive and make everything official. Speaking of which, we should probably call them at some point.”

Hal smiled, though it was a crooked smile and tinged with revulsion at the smell. “See, this is why I love you, Sadie.” He picked up a nearby metal rod and used it to poke at the body. Sadie couldn’t see anything because he once again had the flashlight. Being left out of the loop was not her forte.

“What can you tell?” she asked.

“The lower portion of his face is missing,” he said.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

“Hold on.” He grunted and leaned forward, repositioning the body again for a better look. “Aha. The lower portion of the jaw is missing because someone put a bullet in the back of his head.”

“Execution style,” Sadie muttered. “Light please.” He handed her the light and took a turn getting some air. She looked at the knees. They were wet with decay, but the material looked darker than the surrounding material.

“What are you looking for?” Hal asked. His impatience matched hers; he wasn’t big on being left out of the loop, either.

“Dirt on the knees,” she said.

“What does that mean?” he said, easing closer though he couldn’t see anything.

“It means he wasn’t shot in the back because he was running away; he was shot in the back because he was on his knees. This was a hit.”

“Like a hit man? Don’t tell me the mob has a franchise in rural Virginia.”

“I’m not sure what it means,” Sadie said. “I guess now that we’ve had our fun we should call this in.”

“Your idea of fun goes a long way toward explaining your single status,” Hal said. “And mine, too. It was fun to play pathologist for a few minutes. What are the chances I could bluff my way into performing the autopsy?”

“Not good since you’ve already formed your cover as a private investigator,” she reminded him.

“Oh, right. I’m going to need a crib sheet to keep up with my lies. How do you do it?”

“It’s a gift.” She wandered around the small clearing between junk piles, holding her phone aloft for a better signal. Finally the call to 911 went through and the dispatcher told her she would send someone as soon as she could. Only in Bateman would it take so long to get someone to the scene of a violent crime. Unlike Atwood, they had no police department. Instead they fell under the jurisdiction of the county sheriff. They were also in a different county than Atwood. In her hometown, Sadie knew the sheriff. He had been good friends with Gideon for years. She both liked and respected him. Here she had no idea what to expect, but when the sheriff arrived, she eased behind Hal and stifled a groan.

During her father’s tenure as chief of Atwood police, she had known all the men on his force. They had been good men—hardworking, loyal, and brave. None of them had displayed any signs of the small town stereotypes—lazy, fat, and stupid—because Gideon wouldn’t have tolerated it. He had run a tight ship and expected excellent things from his officers. They, in turn, had complied and given him their best with the exception of one man. Fergus McGee was a boil on Gideon’s backside for years, first as a fellow cop and then as a subordinate. He had no ambition, no talent, no work ethic, and no compassion. He gave the entire department a bad name. As soon as Gideon became chief, his number one goal was to get Fergus off the force, but that was easier said than done. The same union that protected officers from malicious and unwarranted lawsuits by those they arrested also protected officers like Fergus from being fired. Gideon didn’t give up in his desire to get Fergus off his team, however. In the end a compromise was reached. Fergus remained an officer and in the union, but he made a lateral move one county over. At the time all those years ago, he had been a deputy. Sadie had no idea how anyone in his right mind would elect the man sheriff, but apparently someone had.

Would he recognize her? Not if he didn’t see her. She eased farther behind Hal. She held no illusion that he would speak to her directly. Sheriffs didn’t muddy their hands in actual investigations. They showed up for big cases to oversee their team and talk to any media. After all, they were elected officials and it was always campaign season.

After giving a statement to the officer in charge of the investigation, Sadie and Hal were excused. Neither of them budged, and no one seemed to care. They wanted to stay and see what happened and the small team of officers seemed too overwhelmed by the job to notice.

In Sadie’s recollection, Bateman had never had a murder. Over the years, a half dozen people had gone missing, never to be seen or heard from again. Rumors were rampant that the missing had been murdered in various ways and for various reasons. Usually some form of retaliation was involved. Sadie thought it was more likely that the men in question had died somewhere on the mountain, drunk and alone. The woods were vast and wild and moonshine was still very much a viable part of culture, more so since certain types had become legal again. The combination of wilderness and alcohol far too often led to death. And with so much square footage to cover and so many wild animals looking for a meal, it was highly likely that the bodies of the men would never be found.