Caruso 01 - Boom Town (3 page)

Screw ‘em. Tony actually used his four-wheel-drive for something more than status.

Finding the house was not a difficult task. It was the only place on the golf course that resembled a burnt marshmallow.

He got out, followed closely by Panzer, and stood for a moment, surveying the scene, when he noticed the curtains pulled back from the closest neighbor’s side window on the second floor. He pulled his camera from the passenger seat, slung it over his right shoulder, and closed the door, ignoring the neighbor.

He had been through more than a few fried dwellings. Luckily, this time, he wouldn’t trip over some crispy critter.

Strange. There were no yellow police tapes saying not to be there. Yet, on the golf course side, a tall wooden fence had been hastily erected so those golfers with delicate sensibilities would-16

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n’t have to look at the torched house and think about what had happened there.

Stepping through the blackened mess, he took a few photos and made his way to what he guessed had been the living room. There had been a massive picture window that was gone now. The white Berber carpeting was crystallized black and crunched under his feet with each step. The odor of smoke drifted up, tweaking his nostrils. Smells linger in your mind longer than any other sense, he knew. For a slight moment he was in the Sumatran village trying to figure out how one of his Navy pilots had mistaken it for the real target a few miles to the south. Then even farther back, he was searching through his family house after his little brother had set the place ablaze, searching for a dog that would eventually look like a pig on a luau spit.

Panzer made his way through the room and was now on his stomach, his broad head resting on his front paws and his eyes pointing directly at the fireplace.

Moving across the large opening, Tony stopped next to the black stone fireplace. Rocks had fallen to the floor from the explosion. He took a few more shots at wide angle, not needing a flash, since the ceiling to the second floor had been blown half way to Boise and light streamed in from the opening in the roof that had burned through. He picked around for a moment, but he guessed the police had removed any evidence of importance.

Shifting his eyes across the floor, he could see where the two bodies had fallen, their flesh having preserved a small swatch of carpet. He took close ups of those areas.

“You got a good nose, Panzer,” he said, patting his dog on the head. “
Sitzen
.”

The dog immediately rose up and sat next to him.

Then Tony saw it. It wasn’t much. In fact, to the untrained eye, nothing at all would have registered. But tucked alongside the base of the bottom stone to the right of the fireplace opening was a tiny piece of wiring no more than an inch in length. He picked up the little yellow plastic coating, with a red stripe that ran
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lengthwise, and twirled it in his fingers, examining it more closely. It was melted and charred at the tip, but the bottom stones had sheltered the wire from the blaze. He shoved it into his front pocket. Considering the obvious explosion and resulting fire, it was amazing that anything had survived the intense heat.

Glancing around the room one more time, he headed out.

He didn’t expect to find much, and he didn’t disappoint himself.

Next, he put Panzer in the back of the truck and then walked over to the neighbor’s place and knocked on the thick oak door.

No answer.

He stepped back and looked up to the second floor. A woman was there, but she darted back when she saw him.

This time he rang the doorbell. Still nothing.

Tony started to walk down the driveway, when a truck pulled up and two men jumped out. They were both bulky bouncer types, dressed in brown uniforms with silver badges sewn on the chest. On their thick biceps was a patch that read, “Cascade Peaks Security.”

Adjusting the camera at his waist, Tony snapped off a shot of them at wide angle as they approached. Something for his website maybe.

The two men got closer and stopped, widening their stance like sailors do on a ship in high seas. The one on the left had a blond flattop. He was at least six two, four or five inches taller than Tony, but his midsection was soft. The one on the right was five or six inches shorter, but had more bulk. His hair was stringy black in a floppy surfer cut. He had a scar from his upper lip to his nose, covered slightly by a goatee. Hell of a shaving accident.

Tony started to say something, when the one with the goatee reached for him.

Tony blocked away the man’s arm, and now Panzer started barking from inside the truck.

Flattop pulled his nightstick. Tony caught his arm, twisted it around, and elbowed him in the jaw. The man fell to his knees.

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Then Tony took the club from Flattop and jabbed it into the sternum of the advancing Goatee, sending him gasping backwards.

“What the fuck?” Tony said, adjusting his camera on his shoulder. “Just hold it before someone gets hurt.”

Flattop was on his knees, his mouth bleeding. He reached for his gun. Tony grabbed his arm and twisted it back, slamming him to the ground onto his shoulders.

Tony was wrestling with him when Goatee started whacking him with his stick. He took three or four blows before rolling over and kicking the stick from the man’s hand.

Now Tony was pissed. The guy could have hit his camera, and he had a feeling one of his ribs was broken, but he had no time to check it out.

He hopped up and kicked Goatee with a roundhouse to his ribs.

Then followed that with a side thrust kick to his stomach, sending him flailing backwards.

When Tony turned for the other man, Flattop had his gun drawn and pointed right at Tony’s head.

Tony froze.

“Think hard before pulling the trigger,” Tony said. Looking at the guy more closely, he was probably just barely a legal drinker.

“Put that gun away, Ricky.”

All three of them turned to see a black man in his fifties approaching. His short hair was speckled with gray. He was tall with thick shoulders and had the start of a nice beer gut, like pro football offensive linemen carry to push defensive ends around.

On the shoulders of his uniform were captain’s bars on each epaulet.

The Flattop rent-a-cop did what his boss said.

“Sir, we got a report of a suspicious character peeking into windows,” Flattop said, nodding his thick skull toward Tony.

The captain laughed. “Look at him. Both of you.”

They did as the captain said.

“Clean shaven. Nice clothes. What in the hell made you think
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he was some kinda burglar?”

They thought it over.

“Sorry, sir,” Flattop said.

“Not to me,” the captain said. “To him.”

Flattop cast his reluctant eyes on Tony. “Sorry,” he said, the word painful and strained.

Tony nodded. The captain was right, Tony didn’t look like much of a threat. That had always been his plan. Made it easier to surprise people.

“Good thing I’m not litigious,” Tony said to the two young and over-zealous rent-a-cops. They stared at him with stupid expressions, and Tony imagined one of them would eventually look up the word in the dictionary and see how close they had come to being sued for assault.

The captain swished his head, and the two men pulled their tails between their legs and went back to the truck.

After the two junior park rangers took off, the captain pulled Tony aside and introduced himself as Beaver Jackson. Tony gave him his name, nothing else.

“Did you play football for OSU?” Tony asked.

The captain laughed. “Yeah. Centuries ago. Played a little pro ball up in Canada for a few years also. Until each knee had two operations.”

The man had a slight twinkle in his eyes when he talked about football. The glory days.

“How’d you get the name Beaver?” Tony asked, trying to light-en the moment.

“Grew up in Portland. Real name is Balthasar. I paid a guy in high school to come up with a nickname. When I got a scholar-ship to OSU, he started calling me Beaver.”

“Balthasar. One of the three wise men,” Tony said.

“You know your bible,” he said. “My mother was a fanatic about it.”

“I’m a recovering Catholic,” Tony said. “Twelve-step program.”

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They stared at each other for a moment. Finally, the captain said, “What are you doing at Cascade Peaks, Mr. Caruso?”

“I’m an insurance investigator,” Tony said, starting the lie.

“Looking into the alleged murder suicide next door. Can you give me your take on the situation?”

The man shifted his deep, dark eyes toward the nice house behind them, and then settled on Tony. “It was a tragic accident.”

“Accident?”

“Well. Some people should know when to call it quits before things like this happen.”

“Did you know Dan and Barb Humphrey?” Tony asked.

“I know everybody here. That’s my job. We’ve got a few movie stars living here. A couple of professional athletes. They want their privacy. Security. This is private property, or maybe you didn’t read the signs at the front gate.”

He had read them. They were more elaborate than the Bill of Rights. “I understand privacy. But you didn’t really answer my question. I need to clear the books on this case. Determine if we’re going to pay off. You understand.”

The captain laughed. “Yeah, I do. I understand you came through my gate with a pass card. If you’re an insurance investigator, how’d you get that?”

Tony tried a smile and said, “Insurance companies have some pull.”

Beaver Jackson let out a breath of air and then said, “I knew Dan and Barb. God has a way of making things right. They were a bit wild. Maybe that put a strain on their marriage.”

“Wild? In what way?”

The captain stared at Tony. “Leave it alone, Mr. Caruso. Their death was a tragedy. This is a good community.”

Tony wasn’t going to get any more out of Captain Beaver Jackson. At least not now. “I do need to talk with the neighbors.

It’s routine. You understand.”

From the look on the man’s face he didn’t. But he said, “I guess. But maybe I should accompany you.”

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“People tend to talk more openly when there isn’t a uniform involved,” Tony said. Which is one reason every police depart-ment in America had detectives in plain clothes.

Beaver Jackson pointed his thick finger at Tony. “Don’t go disturbing these people. Their property values have taken a hit.”

Tony tried not to smile. Property values? He sounded like the Chamber of Commerce.

The rent-a-captain didn’t seem to like it much, but he backed away and drove off. Tony had a feeling he wouldn’t go far. He checked his camera. Not a scratch or dent on it. He wished he could say the same for his back ribs, which ached with each step he took toward the large wooden door. Maybe the lady of the house would answer this time.

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The neighbor with the best view of Dan and Barb Humphrey’s place lived in an elaborate stone and wood structure that looked more like a Scottish hunting estate than a residence in the high desert of Oregon. It was five thousand square feet of pure opulence. Since it was winter now, it was hard to tell the true nature of the landscaping. But Tony imagined it was something quite splendid in mid-summer; groomed, trimmed and weeded by those who lived east of the river.

Having seen Tony scuffle with the two rent-a-cops in her front yard, and then later talking with the security captain like old friends, the lady of the house must have decided it was all right to talk with him. She answered the door just as he raked his knuckles on the elaborate carved wood.

“Whatever it is, I’m not buying,” said the woman before the door was completely open. “Besides, don’t you know it’s against our covenants to solicit door-to-door in Cascade Peaks?”

Deciding how to respond, Tony’s eyes scanned the woman top to bottom. She wore black exercise tights and an aerobics top that barely held back her almost-too-perfect breasts.

Finally, he held out his hand and said, “Tony Caruso. I’m an insurance investigator looking into what happened next door.”

She let his hand hang there. “Mrs. James Ellison.” With that, she turned and started walking away, her tall, slim figure accen-tuated with each step she took. Suddenly, she stopped and turned
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sideways, her eyes inspecting him top to bottom. “Are you coming?”

He entered and closed the door behind him. As he followed her, he tried to guess her age, but was coming up blank. He guessed early fifties, but she could have easily passed for ten years younger. With her streaked blonde hair and near-perfect physique, the task was almost impossible.

She ushered him in through a wide vestibule with Italian marble floors and exposed oak beams. They reached a solarium with lavish tropical plants set atop a large flagstone floor. They sat at a glass-topped wrought iron table overlooking a wooden deck that had a nice view of the fifth green. An indoor waterfall trick-led delicately in one corner. The deck alone had more square footage than the average American home, Tony noticed.

“Would you like some tea or coffee?” she asked.

She spoke like an actress in a movie, trying with all her power to cover up a southern accent.

“Thanks. But I’ve had my limit for the day. I’m afraid I get a little hyper with too much.”

“I saw that on my lawn.” Her eyes shot down his body and rested on his pants.

Looking down, Tony noticed for the first time grass stains on both knees of his new khakis. Those wouldn’t come out easy.

“A misunderstanding,” Tony said, hunching his shoulders.