December's Secrets (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 2) Page 6

  I was getting ready to move up behind the car to get a look at the tag when the driver’s door opened. I hunkered down again. I saw the car move and heard it squeak a little as the driver leaned on the front. Since I was on the passenger side, I couldn’t see exactly what he was doing. Probably keeping a lookout like I was supposed to be doing, I thought. The night was cold and still and very, very quiet. I didn’t dare make a sound.

  After a couple more minutes, another car pulled into the industrial park. This one must have been the seller’s. It was a very high-end BMW and was followed by a black Escalade. Both cars had guys in the front and back seats. I counted at least six big guys. Time seemed to stand still. I couldn’t see or hear my nemesis, but I knew that he was only about ten feet away on the other side of his car. If he decided to take a walk, there was a good chance he’d either find my car or trip over me. What the hell had I been thinking?

  The cold and lack of movement had left me with no feeling in my lower legs. If I had to run, I wouldn’t be able to. I moved my hand back to my Glock, careful not to accidently turn on the flashlight that was attached to it. If things broke bad, I at least wanted to be able to defend myself. I tried flexing my leg muscles—nothing. It would have to wait until I could shift my position and get blood flowing again.

  Thinking about my reason for being out there, I looked hard at the back of the car. Was there anything I could see that might give me a clue to whose car it was? But it was so dark. I could tell that the car was a newer model Toyota and dark colored, maybe burgundy. I looked at the hubcaps. I could see some detail in them because they were chrome and picked up some of the ambient light. Yes, those I could remember. And they might help guide me to the right year and make. Great. How many Toyota sedans are sold in America each year? But, of course, if Eddie was right and this was their security, and if their security was a bought cop, then all I’d have to do was compare it to local officers’ cars. Would I be able to swear whose car it was? No. But it would set me on the right track.

  Suddenly the BMW and the Escalade drove quickly out of the industrial park, so fast that the Escalade bottomed out with a scrape and a shower of sparks when it turned onto the main road. Ten minutes later the buyers drove out. I thought it odd that the man standing ten feet away waited five more minutes before getting into his car and following them. When he did get in the car and start the engine, I rolled over quickly and grabbed for my camera, hoping to get a photo of his tag. But the car sped off too fast.

  I waited another couple of minutes, then tried to stand up. It wasn’t happening. I had to roll onto my back, flexing my legs until the blood returned, bringing with it pins and needles that ran up and down my legs, leaving me close to tears.

  During the trip home I had time to consider whether I’d wasted a golden opportunity to catch a bad cop.

  Chapter Eight

  I crawled out of bed at ten on Sunday and found a text message from Dad asking me to join him at a church brunch at Bethel First Christian Church on the south side. I texted him back and told him I’d meet him there. These meet-and-greets were part of his outreach to the black community. He was sincere in his desire to be the sheriff for everyone in Adams County.

  My phone rang as I was pouring milk on my cereal.

  “Hi, Eddie,” I said in my not thrilled you called voice.

  “How’d it go?”

  “They showed up. I guess it went down. That’s not a great place for one guy to surveil. Let’s say I’ve had better nights.”

  “But my intel was good, right?”

  “Seemed like it. Okay, honestly, your information did pan out and last night’s failure was more about my execution. Happy?”

  “Nooo. I’m not happy if you aren’t happy.” He actually sounded sincere.

  “Look, Eddie, you did good. But these kinds of things are hard to pull off. I appreciate it. Really, I might have learned something from last night.” I was thinking about the car and the tires. Could I turn that into useable information? I doubted it. “If I can develop it into something, I’ll let you know. Meantime, keep your ear to the ground.”

  “Yeah, okay. Better luck next time, I guess.”

  “Thanks, Eddie, say goodbye now,” I said and hung up on him. When I looked over at my breakfast, Ivy was happily drinking the milk out of my cereal. I wanted to scold her, but she looked so happy I just poured a little milk in another bowl for her. That earned me a purr, which brightened my mood a little.

  When I pulled up to the church there were a few dozen cars in the dirt-and-grass parking lot and lots of men in suits and women dressed in their Sunday best. Little girls in fancy dresses and boys dressed like their fathers ran in and out among the adults. The church was a small, white-washed building with a rough hewn cross above the double doors that led into the sanctuary. Tables, already laden with food, had been set up on the lee side of the building in the sun. Groups of metal chairs and mismatched tables sat under the live oak trees scattered around the church.

  I groaned when I saw Dad’s van. That could only mean one thing—he’d brought Mauser. In the two years since Dad brought him home as a thirty-pound, nine-week-old puppy, Mauser had become as well known in Adams County as Dad. Meanwhile I lived in the shadow of both of them. I’d even been referred to as Mauser’s brother a couple times, which was just dispiriting.

  I heard laughter and, sure enough, half a dozen people were gathered around Dad and Mauser, chuckling as a boy of about ten got his first up close and personal encounter with the horse-dog. Mauser waited until the boy was close enough to touch him and then let out a friendly bark that shook the ground. The boy almost fell over backward, scrambling to hide behind his father to the amusement of everyone watching.

  Then I saw my dad at his best as he knelt down beside Mauser and encouraged the boy to come forward and meet the dog. Slowly the boy came back and Dad showed him how to pet Mauser, who was eating up all the attention. Soon the boy was asking Dad if he could hold Mauser’s leash and he dragged both Dad—still holding on to one end of the leash—and Mauser over to meet everyone else in his family.

  On my way to catch up with Dad, I saw Marcus, Shantel’s partner in the crime scene unit.

  “Hey, Marcus.”

  “Larry, I was wondering if your dad brought you along to be part of the circus.” Marcus smiled. He was dressed in a sharp pin-striped suit, making me feel underdressed in my corduroy coat and Dockers. Coming up behind Marcus was his wife, Esther, in a dark blue dress and matching hat.

  “Honey, I hope you aren’t here to drag him off to one of your nasty murders,” she said, laughing loud enough for everyone there to hear.

  “No murders today if I can help it,” I said.

  “Thank the Lord for small favors.”

  “Ignore her,” Marcus said genially.

  She hit him on the arm. “You better watch what you say.” A young boy of about seven came running over and latched onto her leg, half hiding behind her dress. “Lord, here comes little trouble,” she said. The boy looked like a one-quarter-sized version of his father.

  “Nathan, right?” I asked, leaning over and talking to the boy. He nodded, but wouldn’t come out from behind his mother.

  “Dog!” the boy yelled and I looked up to see Dad and Mauser coming over to us. The boy was pointing, but keeping his mother between him and Mauser.

  “Marcus!” Dad shouted, trying to control Mauser, whose excitement was reaching volcanic proportions. I stepped between the dog and Esther just in time to take the brunt of Mauser’s greeting.

  “Sheriff,” Marcus said, shaking Dad’s hand.

  We talked Nathan into petting Mauser before Dad handed the beast over to me and went to talk with the women he called the Queens. They were a group of elderly women who were respected for their knowledge and contributions to the community. Dad had formed a relationship with them going back to the days when he was driving a patrol car and answering calls for service. He’d told me that they had helped him to
learn more of what it meant to be a deputy in the rural black community than anyone else in law enforcement.

  The Queens gathered around him, all talking at once. They liked him because he listened to them and, when he could, he acted on their complaints and suggestions. Dad had a different crime fighting philosophy than most police chiefs and sheriffs. He couldn’t really care less about crime statistics. For him it was about preventing crime in his county, period. When he got a call about a drug house in a community, he made it go away. Some sheriffs would let their drug enforcement squads sit on a drug den for weeks or even months, making arrests and trying to move up the food chain to get the bigger dealers. But Dad would raid the house and sit on it until all of the druggies went somewhere else to do their business. If necessary, he’d park a patrol car in front of the house 24/7 until the word got out that the neighborhood was off limits.

  So, when there was a problem, the Queens called Dad because they knew he’d take care of it. They trusted him and he trusted them. Most of them had his personal cell phone number. The county still had some dangerous neighborhoods and plenty of drugs, but not as much as most rural counties and the people in Adams County felt empowered by the sheriff’s office, not threatened by it. Dad always said people just want safe neighborhoods to raise their kids. His job wasn’t to save the world, just to save Adams County.

  This morning I was trying to safeguard the lives of the kids and adults who came over to admire Mauser and to pose for photo-ops with the big ham. Keeping him from jumping on or whapping one of the kids with his tail demanded my full attention. If Dad spent half the time training Mauser as he did spoiling the big oaf, it would have been much easier. Of course I also had to answer all of the standard Great Dane questions: Do you have a saddle for him? How much does he eat? How much does he weigh? When you walk a Great Dane around, you get used to peoples’ curiosity.

  I watched Dad and felt guilty about all the secrets I was keeping from him. Not telling him about Henry was bad enough, but last night’s expedition was pushing things further than I was comfortable with. If something went wrong, it was Dad who would get the blame and the bad publicity. But I couldn’t predict how he would react to either situation. I was still determined to protect Cara’s father because I believed him to be innocent. As for Eddie’s warning about a bad deputy, knowing Dad there was a good chance he would overreact to the news that there was a possible mole in the department. Loyalty and integrity were two of the values he demanded from his deputies, and over the years very few officers had ever broken his trust. But he had a temper and a tendency to shoot from the hip. Shooting from the hip is fast, but not very accurate. No, I couldn’t tell him yet. I’d try and get at least a little more information before dropping this bomb in his lap.

  After a meal of fried chicken, greens and sweet potato pie, I helped Dad load Mauser back into his van and headed home. I called Cara on the way.

  “I really need them out of my house, please,” she pleaded. “Mom and Dad don’t bother me at all when they’re a hundred and fifty miles away. But being cooped up with them inside my little duplex is pushing me over the edge.”

  “Just hold on until Tuesday. I’ve got a few more things to check out. We know that—” I almost said Tyler and that’s when I realized just how many secrets I was keeping these days. I hated being sneaky because I’ve never been good at it. “Timberlane bought the phone. It doesn’t help, but at least we know. And I should have most of the preliminary reports back tomorrow.”

  “Okay.” She tried to sound upbeat, but was failing miserably.

  “I know this isn’t necessarily the right time, but would you like to go out and get a bite to eat?” I was stuffed from the church picnic, but I wanted to see her and it would be a chance for her to get out of the house.

  “Yes!” she said enthusiastically. “I’d go out with the devil himself to get out of the house.”

  “Ouch, that’s not very flattering.”

  “Kidding, you know what I mean. When?”

  A thought occurred to me. “Umm, make it five o’clock?”

  “Sure. Perfect. Thanks.”

  I had decided that there was a little more digging I could do before I picked up Cara. I headed back out to Tyler’s place. Pulling into the driveway, I looked over and saw what I was hoping to find. The old man was sitting on his porch.

  I got out and headed his way. “Mr. Wright,” I yelled, waving. I couldn’t tell if I’d startled him awake or not.

  “Hey, Mr. Deputy. What you doin’ working on a Sunday? It is Sunday, isn’t it?” he said with a smile.

  “It’s Sunday. I just wanted to ask you a few more questions, if you don’t mind?”

  “Come on in,” he said as I got to the porch. As I climbed the stairs and opened the rickety old screen door, he laughed. “You know, it wouldn’t break my heart if you brought an old man a beer when you come for a chat.”

  “I’ll remember that next time,” I said sincerely. “You mind?” I indicated an old lawn chair.

  “Help yourself.”

  “You been doing okay?”

  “Yeah. Cold weather’s a bitch with my arthritis, but who’s complaining.”

  “Last time I was here, I asked about anyone Timberlane had trouble with and you told me about the big man with the ponytail.” He nodded. “What I didn’t ask was, did you see anyone else around his trailer the last couple of days before he was killed, especially that afternoon and evening?”

  I hated to admit that I hadn’t done a very good job questioning him the last time we had a sit-down, but the truth was I got so focused on the man that Tyler had an argument with that I didn’t dig any deeper.

  “Well, not precisely,” the old man said, screwing his face up in thought.

  “How’s that?”

  “Well, I didn’t see anyone go up to his house. But I think someone was looking at it.”

  “Who?”

  “Someone in a car. Drove by and slowed down in front of my house and was going real slow past Timberlane’s place.”

  “When?”

  “Ahh, not too long after ponytail left.”

  “What’d he look like?”

  “That’s the problem. He was going that-a-way.” Mr. Wright was pointing left to right. “So that he was on the other side of the car. I couldn’t get a good look at his face. I couldn’t tell much at all about him. He had on one of those hoodies. I was interested ’cause he slowed down as he came up to my driveway and I wondered if it was someone coming to see me. Not that I get that many visitors.”

  “What kind of a car was it?”

  “Plain Jane. Nothing fancy. Not too old, not too new. It was dark, maybe dark green. American, I think. Ford possibly. Like I said, though, nothing that would make you remember it.”

  Great. Somebody possibly drove by in a generic car and looked at the murdered man’s house on the day before the murder. That gave me a little less than nothing to go on.

  “Is there anything else you can remember from that day or night?”

  “I think I heard him go out. But that was late, after I’d gone to bed.”

  I stood up. “Thanks, Mr. Wright, you’ve been a big help,” I lied. I shook his hand and, when I saw the tattered old Christmas wreath on his door, I vowed to come and sit and have a beer with him during the holidays.

  Chapter Nine

  When I pulled up to Cara’s duplex she practically ran out to my car. I didn’t even have time to get out before she dropped into the passenger seat.

  “Drive,” she commanded. “I love them, I really do, but I can’t live with them. Not in my little house.”

  “Where do you want to go?” I asked as I backed out of her driveway.

  “You know where I want to go?”

  “Ah, no, that’s why I asked,” I kidded her.

  “Buster’s for an ice cream. Mom’s been pushing soy this, tofu that and gluten-free whatever at me for days. I just want a big, gooey ice cream sundae,” she said, relishi
ng the sound of it.

  “Sounds perfect to me.” And it did. Even with the cold air, some frozen comfort food would be nice.

  We rode in silence for a while before she turned to me. “I really do appreciate everything you’re doing for me. I think I treated you a little unfairly before.”

  “I don’t know. That whole situation was pretty weird, and it was only our second date. Good God, I even stuck you with the bill,” I laughed and she smiled.

  The sun was going down as I pulled up to Buster’s Ice Cream Stand, which had big old-fashioned Christmas tree lights strung through the live oak trees. We both got sundaes that overflowed with fudge, whipped cream and sprinkles and sat down at one of the picnic tables scattered around under the lighted oak trees.

  For a few minutes we tackled our sugar- and fat-laden treats in silence. But watching Cara happily savor her ice cream, I felt like I had to pour out a little bit more of my heart to her.

  “I shouldn’t spoil the moment, but in the car it sounded like you might give us another chance.” Having thrown it out into the open, I literally found myself holding my breath.

  “I think so, yes.” She was staring into her sundae as though she was reading the chocolate sprinkles and whipped cream swirls like tea leaves. “What I said is still true. I’m a little uncomfortable with you being a deputy. But I don’t want to hide from the world. My mother has spent most of her life living in a world that she and Dad created. That’s fine for them, but it’s not what I’m looking for. I don’t want to pretend that the world is a better place than it is. The world needs help. One of the reasons I work at the veterinary clinic is to help animals and people.” She looked up into my eyes. “I see that same desire in you. And if by being a deputy you can make the world a little safer, then I think it’s a good thing. What I couldn’t stand is to watch it make you a harder, colder person inside. Of course, maybe I’ve just got a false impression of cops.”