The Fed Man (4 page)

He watched the young bank executive stroll to his BMW and realize that the car in front was parked close to his front bumper. He then watched as the three-piece-suiter strolled to the back.
He remembered his useless old man always saying that if someone wanted to look important, or think they were, all they had to do was wear a three-piece suit and carry a briefcase. That qualified them to be a consultant.

What the hell’s going on here, Jason thought. The car in front’s blocked me in and this so-called truck, what was it, a Nissan, is tight against my rear bumper. His immediate thought was that this piece-of-shit truck had better not have scratched his bumper and who in their right mind would drive such a piece of junk. The second thought was that he should be nice because this could be a potential loan. The one thing he had learned so far was to view everyone and everything as possible money for him. With that thought in mind, he strolled to the window of the dilapidated piece of junk, leaned down to peer inside and noticed the hooded, sunglass-wearing driver sitting behind the wheel. He softly rapped his knuckles a couple of times on the window just loud enough and hard enough to get the man’s attention.

The driver removed what appeared to be a piece of a hockey puck that was wedged between the top of the window and the door frame. He slowly cranked the window down. There was something wrong with this, too, as the window screeched like fingernails across a blackboard and then precipitously fell about six inches.

“Can I help you with something, sir?” The slur on the sir was very obvious.

“Could you please back up a bit so I can get my car out? The one in front has me hemmed in and I see there’s enough space behind so I could get out. I would truly appreciate it.”

“Sorry, dude. I was just sitting here waiting for my old lady and kind of lost track of things. Sure, no worries. I’ll back her up a bit for you. Have a good day.” Dumb butt ass, he added silently. He watched intently as the young banker walked back to his dream car and thought that for now he passed; he’d give him a ride. He kind of chuckled to himself at his own lousy joke.

Naldie leaned out the door of his office and yelled, “Pete, finish that damn donut and get your measly, smelly butt in here. And on the double.”

Pete wondered what was blowing up Naldie’s skirt that had him in such a snit. He wasn’t eating any “damn donut.” He happened to be reading the latest issue of a bow-hunting magazine. Big difference. “Hold on, Chief. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” He really wanted to finish this article on how to select the best arrow and broadheads for hunting the big whitetails.

“Pete, when I say on the double, that’s what I mean. Now get your butt in here.”

Resetting his ever-present camo cap and scratching his three-day-old red and gray beard, Pete slowly removed his feet from his desk and listened to his knees creak as he stood up. “Okay, okay, Chief. What’s got your water so hot today?”

“It’s this new case, Pete. What the H has happened to our community? A murder … here in Oak Ridge? I still can’t believe
that. And now Nube wants me to be the, what did he call it, investigative leader? I can’t do that, Pete. Or better put, I don’t want to do that.”

“Come on, Naldie. Of course you can. And besides, Nube said he would help you.”

“Well, he’d better, because now he wants us to return to Whitsell’s pit to search for more evidence. Do we have any evidence bags around here? Or the things we need to pick up evidence with so we don’t contaminate things? And where’s that stuff we need to get fingerprints? One more thing, do we have a spare notebook or something to write all this stuff down in?”

“Naldie, for crying out loud, cool your jets before you blow a gasket. I thought I’d get some of that stuff rounded up, you know, just in case we needed it, and it’s on my desk.”

“Well, then, ah, good job, Pete. You know I couldn’t do this job without you, but don’t think that qualifies you for any raise. We better get going if we’re going to be there before Nube. By the way, do you still have one of the young guys, the newbies, patrolling out there so no one can get into the pit?”

“You bet, Chief. I’ve set up a rotation schedule between Byron and Arnie to keep the pit patrolled. I’ve told them that if even a rat sneaks into that pit, I’ll have their butts. I’ll get the stuff from my desk and meet you out front at the Vic.”

Naldie thought Pete was one helluva deputy. And he had always thought that Pete should have been born a hundred years earlier because of the outdoors and hunting. He had to chuckle
when he thought of Pete strutting about the office with his shoulders back, smiling and saying, “Yep, Mohr is better.”

As they were pulling out into traffic they were almost side-swiped. “Holy crap, Pete! Did you see that? She almost nailed us!”

“Yeah, that’s old Mrs. Swanson. She’s been driving crazier than a hoot owl ever since she got that new car.”

“You know who I think are the worst drivers, Pete?”

“I think it’s a young blonde with a cell phone glued to her ear driving a small red sports car. How about you?”

“Nope. I think it’s a poofily coiffed, past-middle-age lady wearing oversize sunglasses and driving a Lexus. They’re the worst. Just hope that Mrs. Swanson doesn’t nail anyone on the way home. We’ve got way too much crap to do already today.”

“Where in the world did you come up with this poofily coiffed thing?”

“Ah, you know, Pete, sometimes weird stuff just flies into my head and out my mouth before I can think to stop it.”

When Nube arrived at Whitsell’s pit, Doc was standing by Naldie’s Crown Vic listening to Naldie and Pete talk to Byron, who was waving his arms. Byron took off his cap, revealing his military-style buzz cut and the tan line where the cap had protected him from the sun. The agitated look on his face was replaced by one of submission. He began scratching his head and staring at something on the ground that he repeatedly kicked. Naldie had his cap in his right hand, both hands on his hips, his legs spread, deep furrows in his brow, and looked more than a bit perturbed.

As Nube walked up, he heard Naldie telling Byron in no uncertain terms, “When I say no one is to enter the crime scene, that means no one unless you clear it with me first. Got it, el-stupido?”

“I know that, Chief, but the guy said he was from Dr. Anthony’s office and he needed to recheck something for him.”

“Did you bother to check with me or with Dr. Anthony? Let me answer that for you, dickhead. No, you didn’t, and that makes
you el-stupido numero uno. Did he, by any chance, say what he was supposed to recheck?”

“Something about some blood spatters.”

Still seething, Naldie looked at Pete, Doc, and Nube, and then nodded toward the crime scene where the yellow police tape fluttered in the afternoon breeze. “Well, guys, let’s go have us another look.”

“Chief,” Nube answered, “we need to do a more careful search for evidence. I think we did a great job last night and picked up a number of things that Dr. Anthony will send to the forensics lab in Minneapolis. But we need to take another look and try to answer how a young lady from Duluth filled with booze, coke, and Rohypnol ends up forty miles away and dead here in Oak Ridge. Perhaps we missed something on our first go-round that might help us answer that question.”

“I don’t know, Nube, if I can get this old, slim body to crawl around with a magnifying glass looking for something when I don’t even know what the hell I’m looking for.”

Nube stared hard at the chief before telling him, “Just follow our lead and try not to screw anything up. Did you bring some evidence bags, fingerprinting equipment, and the logbook?”

Pete moved up from the rear of the group and held out the requested materials. “Yeah, they’re right here, Nube.”

Doc stepped up and handed something to his three companions. “Gentlemen, before we enter the inner circle, so to speak, let’s put on these disposable booties I picked up at the hospital. At least
we won’t contaminate any of the footprints more than we already have.”

The four men entered the site with the grid lines and stakes still in place. Nube hesitated at the area where he had noted the vehicle tracks the previous afternoon. Kneeling down, he looked closer at the tread marks and noted that some of the tread appeared to be missing, which, he thought, would imply old or worn tires. He looked up at Naldie and Pete and asked, “You guys have anything we can use to form a mold of these tracks? It might help us identify the vehicle.”

Naldie started to rub his abdomen again and Nube knew what was coming. “Jeez, Nube, I told you before that we’re just a small-town force. This isn’t Las Vegas or New York.” Naldie immediately saw the look on Nube’s face and started to backtrack. “But I suppose I could call that retired art teacher you know from the golf course. You know the guy we used to sketch the scene? Maybe he can do something like that.”

With a reassuring grin, Nube replied, “Jim Plooter’s his name. Good idea. See, Naldie, now that’s thinking like a lead investigator. Pete, did you see the young photographer out there? We should at least have him take some shots of these tracks.”

“I think I saw him pull up just when we started over here. I’ll go get him. And I’ll give that Plooter guy a call.”

Nube set some markers around the tire tracks and then proceeded, with Doc and Naldie in tow, to the site where they found the body. “Okay, men. Let’s take a closer look at this area.
Remember, we’re looking for anything and everything that seems out of place or unnatural. And watch where you step, especially you, Naldie.”

After about two hours of crawling on their knees, they had found a small swatch of fabric on a prickly thornbush a few feet from where the body had been discovered. They also had discovered and bagged some blood droplets and some hair that was close to where the victim was found. But something intriguing was a small log about three feet in length and six inches in diameter they found six feet from where the killer had left the body. At first, none of them thought it was significant because it was hidden under decaying leaves and a scraggly thornbush. When Pete initially discovered it, he called to Nube, “Hey, you may want to come over here and take a look at this.”

Cautiously, Nube knelt by the bush and began to remove the decaying leaves and small busted branches until he could see the log clearly. It had a cleave in it that could have been made by the perp’s axe. “I think you’re right, Pete. We need to carefully remove this and get it to Dr. Anthony’s lab, where the other evidence is being kept. If this was struck by an axe, perhaps the lab gurus can pull something from it. You know, guys, I think we’ve got about as much as we’re going to get here. Make sure we get a photo of this log, then let’s bag it and head out. How about we stop at the Dawg’s Breath for a sandwich on the way home? I haven’t been there, but I hear the food is good.”

Smiling, Pete quipped, “Are you sure that’s all you’ve heard about that place, Nube?”

“What’s that supposed to mean, Pete?”

“Ah, nothing. Just joking is all.” But as they walked away Pete kept the smile on his face.

On their walk back to their vehicles, Pete happened to see something on a large, moss-covered rock. He knelt next to the rock and used a Ducks Unlimited logo pocketknife to remove some of the moss.

“Hey, Nube. Take a look at this. Looks to me like we found us some paint. How about if I bag it up. You want a picture of this first?”

“Let’s take a look, Pete. Yeah, I think you’re right. It does look like paint. But I can’t tell from what. Let’s grab a few photos and then you can carefully remove it, bag it, and put it with the rest of our samples. I’ll enter it into the logbook. Then we can leave. I’m hungrier than a thresher at harvest time.”

By the time they arrived at the Dawg’s Breath, they were all famished. They heard the old jukebox in the corner spitting out a country-western song about some guy’s truck that broke down after his woman left and all he has left is his guitar and his mangy dog. But it was the aroma of fried grease that caught their nostrils and increased their already overwhelming hunger pangs. There was nothing like a burger and fries with a cold brew to erase that pain.

They found an empty booth and began cracking and eating the peanuts Pete said would be awaiting them. Increases the thirst, the owner had told him. While cracking open yet another peanut, Nube heard a woman’s soft voice ask if they wanted anything else to drink as she placed water on their table. “And would you like to see some menus or hear about our specials?”

Nube looked up to the warmest smile he had seen in a long time. He wasn’t sure, when he thought about it later, if it was the smile or her soft, captivating blue eyes that got him, but he knew
that he had difficulty speaking at first. Stammering and clumsily reaching for his water glass, he managed to choke out, “Yeah, sure.”

“Well, sir, yeah sure what?”

“Ah, I’d like a tap lite beer. And put all of this on Chief Bushmiller’s tab, please.”

“There you go again, Nube. Always free with the city’s money. It’s okay, Nancy. I’ll gladly pick up the tab so this young feller doesn’t have to spend all his money. How about you bring us all a beer and one of your famous hamburger baskets.”

Smiling, Nancy jokingly asked, “You okay with the hamburger basket, Nube? And are you the Nube my son Peter has been talking about?”

“I guess that would be yes to both questions, Nancy.”

As she left to put in the orders, Nube felt like he had been mule kicked in the butt, head, and heart. He couldn’t help but notice that the new tune on the jukebox was Dean Martin crooning “That’s Amore.”

“You’re redder than the lipstick on a New York floozie,” Pete said to Nube. “And if my ears still work, I do believe I heard an arrow flying through the air and then a smuck as it found its target. Just where did old Cupid shoot you, son?”

He grinned while tugging at his shirt collar. “Jealous, Pete? I’m not red. It’s just warm in here. Now how about we just enjoy our beer and burgers.” Looking down, he cracked open another peanut, but he couldn’t help but notice that he did feel very warm.