Catch as Cat Can (20 page)

37

I asked around if anyone had a recent photograph of Don,” Cooper said.

“Any luck?” Rick checked his watch. He was due at a county commissioners' meeting in a half hour.

“BoomBoom had one from the parade. Here.” She handed him the Polaroid of Don, his face half turned to the camera, and Roger O'Bannon, standing by the float. No hoopskirted belles were in sight, fleeing the float the second the parade stopped.

“Better than nothing. Mug shots of Wesley?”

“Got those. I faxed them off about an hour ago to the dealer in Newport News and the manager of Roy and Nadine's. That car dealership is huge, by the way, two hundred and five employees. That's a lot of payroll.”

“Sure is.” Rick shrugged. “My idea of hell is a committee meeting.” He checked his watch again. “I wonder if you have to take an IQ test before being elected a county commissioner. You know, you can't run for office unless it's below one hundred.” He checked his watch one more time.

“What is it this time?”

“The bypass. Same old, same old. I deliver the accident statistics on the highways, the locations, the times of the accidents, and the volume of traffic. They have the Department of Transportation statistics on volume but they want to hear what I have to say, and what I really have to say but I won't is that sooner or later the damned bypass will go through. If we work together I think we can limit the damage.” He ran his palm over the side of his head above his ear. “Truth is it will make an ungodly mess wherever the state puts it.”

“And we need it.”

“Hell, yes, we need it. Traffic grows, people's tempers shorten, and we'll be in gridlock before you know it. The commissioners don't want to face facts. The bypass is a necessity.”

He opened the long middle drawer of his desk, then pushed it shut after retrieving a rubber band, which he slipped on his wrist.

Cooper, recognizing his jog to his memory, the rubber band on his wrist, asked, “You could write yourself a note.”

“Yeah, stick it in my chest pocket and forget it. This way I don't forget.” He snapped the band against his wrist.

“What do you need to remember?”

“Milk. The missus asked me to bring home a quart of two-percent milk. Well, I'd better push off. I'll see you in the morning.”

“I've been thinking about the money in Don's safe. Would a merchant be able to get new money like that? A department store, a business like Wal-Mart, something with high volume?”

“I don't know. What would the purpose be? Money is money. Customers at Wal-Mart don't care if they get change in brand-new bills. We know the banks get new money supplies, the old money gets burned. I don't think I could stand to see that.” He stood up, clapped his hat on his head. “Daniel into the lions' den.”

“Boss, I'll say my prayers.”

“You do that.” He clapped her on the back, snapped the rubber band on his wrist, and left.

Paperwork had been accumulating on Coop's desk at a geometric ratio. She straightened up the piles, sighed, then gave in, sat down, and started sorting into three piles. The first one hit the trash can, the envelopes and letters making a little pinging sound in the metal wastebasket. The second pile was more urgent and the third pile was less urgent. She hoped that time would solve some of the questions and problems presented by the third pile. Her rule of thumb was if she waited three weeks, often she didn't need to answer. It wasn't the most scientific system in the world but it worked.

She e-mailed replies to the most urgent pile. For those individuals and organizations lacking an e-mail address she wrote out letters on the computer, then printed them.

In the background she heard the metallic grunting of the fax machine.

“For you,” Yancy said as best he could, since his jaw was still wired shut.

She rose and grabbed the fax from the dealer in Newport News. No one at the dealership recognized Wesley Partlow. “Rats.” She slipped the fax into her file box under her desk.

“No luck,” Yancy commiserated through clenched teeth. He'd gotten pretty good at talking despite his handicap.

“Hell, no. Say, Yance, when do you get the wires out?”

“Next week.”

“Bet you'll be glad.”

“Yep.”

“Does it ruin your sex life?” she teased him.

“Nope.”

She started to say something silly when Sheila at the front desk buzzed her. “Din Marks is here for you.”

“Be right out. Yancy, your attacker is here. Maybe you'd better stay put.”

“I'll get 'im in court.”

“Right, buddy.” She walked out front where a nervous Din Marks waited on a long wooden bench. An older man sat next to him.

“Mr. Marks.”

Both men stood up so Cooper surmised the older man was Din's father.

“Officer Cooper, uh, Dad said I had to come down here.”

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Marks.” She shook the older man's hand, rough with calluses. “Why don't we go in this room here? It's more private. Can I get you all a drink?”

“No, no, we're fine,” the older Marks, rail thin, replied.

Once seated in the small room, Din squirmed in his seat. “I remember something.”

“Let's hear it.”

“Dad said I had to come on down.”

“That's right, son.” Mr. Marks was hoping his boy would make a good enough impression that perhaps the trial against him would not be so heavy to bear. Maybe Cooper would help Din.

“I remembered something that Wesley said. He said he was owed some money. Big money. He meant to collect it. Stealing hubcaps.” Din shrugged. “Said it wasn't how he made real money. He said stealing was like, uh, pitching. You had to keep limbered up.”

“Did he say who owed him?”

“No, ma'am.”

“Did he say how much?”

“Fifty thousand dollars. Said he could make as much as he wanted. I didn't believe him but I was, well, you know.”

“Did he say how he'd make more money?”

“No, ma'am, but I figured it wasn't in the stock market.”

“Did he ever say what kind of work he did? Regular work? Like road work in the summer or roofing? Anything?”

“No.”

“Well, you were right to come down here. Thank you, Din. Thank you, Mr. Marks.”

As they stood up to leave, Mr. Marks, his eyes moist, said, “Will this help my boy?”

“Mr. Marks, the fact that he is cooperating with the sheriff's department can't hurt him. What can help him is if he goes to AA meetings. If he repents in front of the judge and produces evidence that he is mending his ways, going to AA, I think, will make a favorable impression on the judge. Hear?”

Mr. Marks nodded vigorously. “Yes, ma'am, I hear.” With that he put his hand in the small of Din's back, directing him toward the door.

They were no sooner out the door than Yancy, bright-eyed, strode into the front room. “Coop, Coop, will you look at this?”

She grabbed the fax he handed her. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. This changes things.”

The fax from the manager of Roy and Nadine's read:

Dear Deputy Cooper,

I do not recognize Donald Clatterbuck nor does anyone on my staff. However, we recognize the man with him. He comes in about once a month, usually in the company of a local businessman, Bill Boojum.

Let me know if I can be of further service to you.

Yours truly,
Tara Fitzgibbon

38

Are you sure we should do this?” Harry asked Susan.

“Someone has to” was the terse reply.

“Why not BoomBoom? She uses the salvage yard. I mean she has to get sheet-metal scraps.”

Susan considered this. “Maybe all three of us should go to Sean.”

“I don't want to go.” Harry stubbornly dug her heels in.

“Mother hates anything that might become emotional.”
Mrs. Murphy sighed.
“I don't know why. Humans have highly developed emotions to keep them alive.”

“When they lived in caves.”
Pewter shook herself, then sat down for serious grooming.

“What are you talking about?”
Mrs. Murphy edged toward the door. If the humans were going to the O'Bannons', she was going with them.

“All that adrenaline worked when they lived in caves but I can't see how it does them a damn bit of good now. Just gets them in trouble.”

“I'm not talking about violence, I'm talking about the whole range of emotion.”

“Piffle,”
the cat sniffed.

“I don't think my emotions are any less developed than a human's,”
Tucker stoutly said.

“Did I say they were?”
Murphy was irritated that her two cohorts missed her point and she thought they were being deliberately obtuse.
“What I'm saying is their emotions keep them alive. I am not saying those emotions are in the service of reality at this time in their evolution.”

“They haven't evolved. That's the problem,”
Pewter sharply said.
“They're walking around in clothing but they're still the same animals who lived in caves, feared the dark, and smashed one another over the head for beans. Trust me.”

“You have no faith.”
The dog thought humans were better than that, some of them, anyway.

“Faith, why should I have faith in human beings? You've got one man hung, one man shot, and we believe Roger was poisoned. That does not bespeak evolution.”
Pewter stated her case succinctly.

“I can believe Lottie Pearson would poison Roger. Poison is a woman's weapon. But I can't believe she'd hoist Wesley Partlow over a tree. She wouldn't have the strength. I doubt Lottie could heave a hay bale. Now, Mom could do it.”
Tucker quickly added,
“Never would, of course. Harry wouldn't kill anyone unless in self-defense.”

“Hey, cut the gab. I'm not missing this.”
Mrs. Murphy charged out the front door of the post office when Harry opened it.

“Girls, take your time.” Miranda waved to Harry and Susan.

“You could go.” Harry tried to wriggle out of this task one more time.

“I'm minding the store. And Susan asked you. After all, you all are closer in age.” Miranda wasn't afraid of emotional outbursts. She truly believed Harry was a more suitable emissary.

Defeated, Harry opened the door to Susan's Audi station wagon. The three animals hopped in the back where the seat was down, making it pleasant for them. Susan had called BoomBoom so by the time they pulled into the salvage yard, BoomBoom was also there.

Three small pieces of sheet metal rested in the bed of BoomBoom's brand-new Chevy Silverado truck. Boom, contrary to her appearance, was a motorhead. She loved machines almost as much as Harry did. Driving her BMW provided her with true delight. She felt the same way about her half-ton truck, too, although the road feel was different. She liked sitting high up, she liked the huge V-8 Vortec engine, she liked the stereo system.

“Does he know we're coming?” BoomBoom asked.

“I called ahead. He's working. I called Ida first”— Susan mentioned Sean's mother—“she said he'd be at the yard. Work helps him.”

“So many memories of Roger.” Harry thought it must be painful, for she knew how it felt after her parents died and she took over the farm. Before that she'd lived in a small apartment in town.

“Well?” Susan raised her eyebrows.

The three trudged together to the main building.

“I'm going to strangle Pope Rat.”
Tucker scampered off to the garage.

“She's a quart low.”
Pewter indicated the dog.
“Why tangle with a rat? I'm going inside with the humans.”

“I'm going to sit here and think.”
Mrs. Murphy padded over to the marble section.

When the three women opened the door, Sean glanced up. “Hi.”

“Hi,” they said.

“Can I help you?”

BoomBoom spoke first. “We don't want to intrude but we want you to know that if you want to move the Wrecker's Ball from here, we've found a place to have it. The salvage yard in Louisa County agreed to do it and we'll do the work, send out a mailing.”

He smiled. “Thanks. That's good of you and good of Jonathan.” He mentioned the owner of the salvage yard in Louisa County. “But I'll have it here. Roger loved that party. I thought I'd have it in his honor and accept donations to establish a scholarship in his name at Virginia Tech.”

“That's a wonderful idea.” Susan meant it, too.

“Do you need extra hands?” Harry asked.

“No, thanks. My crew can handle it. We've got ten days. We're okay.”

As the three women left the building, Harry saw Tucker streaking from the garage to the caboose on the siding. The corgi raced around the caboose because the first step was so high she couldn't climb up.

“Pope Rat,”
Murphy told Harry.

“Vermin!”
Tucker shouted.

“Nipshit!”
the rat taunted from inside the caboose.

“Susan, I'm going to have to pick her up. She won't come voluntarily.” Harry ran over to grab her dog before the barking offended Sean and the customers. “Tucker, come on.”

The dog's soft brown eyes pleaded,
“I can get him.”

“Come on.” Harry, curiosity aroused, stepped on the platform. The door was locked and the shades drawn. “Make a neat restaurant or even a place to live.”

Pope Rat put his eye to the opening he'd chewed in the door.
“Another nipshit.”

Harry scooped up Tucker, returning to the station wagon, where Susan and BoomBoom were talking. “Wouldn't you love to have that caboose? They've got wood-burning stoves in them and I don't know, I'd sure like to have one. Wonder why he locks it up.”

“Going to clean it up, paint it, and use it as a coffeehouse, I think. At least that's what the plan was before Roger—anyway, I guess it's locked so people don't troop through and damage it.” BoomBoom thought it would be a good place to gather. “And liability. I'm sure he needs to get everything perfect. What if someone fell off the steps before they're finished? Stuff like that.”

“Yeah, I'm expecting someone to sue the post office if they get a paper cut opening their mail.” Harry grimaced. “Hey, here comes Coop.”

As she pulled the squad car next to the Audi, Tucker squirmed out of Harry's arms, tearing back to the caboose.

“Damn you, Tucker.” Harry ran after her, grabbing her again as the dog challenged the rat.

“You're supposed to herd cows, not rats,”
Murphy dryly laughed.

“He called me a nipshit. Called Mom one, too.”
Tucker heaved, indignant.

“He's like the blue jay. Born trouble.”
Pewter harbored a plan to dispatch her tormentor. She wasn't telling anyone.

“So?” Everyone expectantly looked at the lean, long deputy.

“Can't tell you. Not until I speak to Sean.” She picked her hat up off the passenger seat, then decided not to wear it.

Harry opened the driver's door for her. “I've been thinking.”

“That's scary.” Cooper laughed.

“Who knows that we opened Don's safe?”

“His mother and father. The sheriff. You. BoomBoom. I know his mother and father won't speak of it. At least, not for a while. It's too overwhelming. Who did you tell?”

“No one,” BoomBoom truthfully replied. “Harry told Miranda and Tracy but I was there. I guess in a way I told them, too.”

“Susan. I told Susan,” Harry stated.

“No one else?” Cynthia Cooper stretched her arms over her head. “Kinks.”

“The older you get, the more getting out of bed in the morning becomes an athletic event.” Susan shook her head in surprise at how rapidly the aches and pains mounted up and she was only in her late thirties, as were the others.

“What's your idea, Harry?” the officer inquired.

“Well, first let me ask you a couple of questions. Who had the combination to the lock? There wouldn't be a key to a lock like that, right?”

“Right. I thought when I first saw the safe that maybe there would be a key, you know, the big handles could be for show, but it really was a combination lock.”

“A tough one,” BoomBoom added.

“How do we know someone else didn't have the combination? The press doesn't know about the money. Rick withheld that information. Can it really be possible that all that money was Don's? And even if it was, whoever he was in business with had to know he wouldn't put a sum like that in the bank. That would be like waving a flag in front of a bull. So his partner or partners had to know Don's share would be in that safe. Which is exactly why Rick didn't tell the press even though they're hounding him for a development concerning the murder. He's hoping to flush them out,” said Harry.

“Possible,” Cooper drawled as BoomBoom and Susan stared at Harry.

“I think I know what comes next.” BoomBoom, no slouch, put her hands together.

“Put the lock back. Fill the safe with fake money. Maybe we can flush them out faster.” Harry beamed.

“His partner will come back to take Don's share,” Susan thought out loud. “Yeah, but how are you going to know when he comes back or
if
he comes back?”

“Can't we put a small surveillance camera in the shop, the kind they use in the bank? It can't be too expensive. I know Rick is worried about the budget.” Harry warmed to the task. “No one needs to be there. You'll see who it is and nab him later.”

“In the best of all possible worlds, yes, but what if he comes in with a mask? Or she? I shouldn't assume it's a man.” BoomBoom rubbed her hands together. The talk of aches and pains made her joints hurt.

“Yeah, but any picture is better than no picture and whoever this is knows no one is at Don's house. He won't even have to pretend to be a thief,” Harry sensibly said.

Coop held up her hand. “Let me run this by the Boss. BoomBoom, can you weld the lock back?”

“If you all help me, I can. It's so heavy someone has to hold it in place. It's going to take a couple of hours to do it right. You don't want the seam to show, that's a big tip-off.”

“How about Friday night? I have it off. Chinese.” Coop meant bring Chinese food.

“I'll get the food.” Susan thought this exciting. “We shouldn't park there.”

“I've got to back up and drop off the oxygen. I need help with that, too. Harry, you're the strongest.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“We can park at the high school and walk over. There's so much activity there that our cars won't be noticeable,” Susan said.

“Seven,” Cooper said, then nodded toward the building. “I've got to get in there.”

“Will you tell us later?” Harry couldn't stand not knowing something.

“Yes.”

“Boy, it must be unsavory.” BoomBoom, sensitive, felt Cooper's reluctance, as did the others.

“Uh, yes.”

Later that day, Cooper dropped by the post office to pick up her mail. She told Harry and Miranda that she had dropped off papers requesting to exhume Roger's body. Sean hit the roof. He called his lawyer and threatened to drag this case out as long as possible.

Cooper then visited Ida O'Bannon, again patiently explaining the new concern that Roger did not die a natural death. She knew this would be upsetting and she knew that Sean would call a lawyer but she hoped Ida could talk sense into him. This wasn't about violating Roger's corpse, it was about bringing his killer, if he was killed, to justice. He could then rest in peace.

Ida, tearful and shocked, said she would reason with her older son. Legally, this was her decision and she agreed to it.

“Coop, what—?”

She leaned toward Harry, Miranda leaning in, too. “I sent photographs of Wesley and Donny to Roy and Nadine's.”

Harry explained to Mrs. Hogendobber about the matchbook.

“And they recognized Don?” Miranda just couldn't believe this.

“No. The manager of the restaurant didn't recognize him but she did recognize Roger. She said he came in about once a month with a businessman named Bill Boojum.”

“Who's Bill Boojum?” Harry asked the logical next question.

“He was easy to find. He's one of the biggest car dealers in Kentucky. He specializes in high-end car rentals and does a booming business with Thoroughbred trainers, jockeys, people who make money erratically. Sometimes it's a big paycheck, sometimes not. They find it easier to rent cars than to buy them.”

“What did he say?”

“He seemed helpful enough. He said he knew Roger from college. They'd both gone to Virginia Tech. I checked that out with the alumni office. He told the truth. He said Roger was interested in getting into the racing game and he was putting him in touch with NASCAR people. He said Roger had already bought into a syndicate, a forty-thousand-dollar share.”

“Forty thousand dollars—Roger?” Harry nearly fell over.

“I checked out the syndicate, too. Based in Lexington, Kentucky. Roger was, in fact, a member. They didn't know he had died. The share passes to his mother. The lady on the phone, Mrs. Higgins, pulled it up on the computer and read it right off to me. I asked Boojum why Roger came out so often and he said he just loved Lexington. I can believe that. Who wouldn't? And he said he was besotted with racing.”

“Loved cars.” Harry rubbed her chin.