Catch as Cat Can (21 page)

“It truly was his passion.” Miranda found this troubling, the forty thousand dollars especially.

“An expensive passion, I reckon.” Harry spoke a little too loudly, which made the animals jump. “What did Sean know?”

“He says he didn't know a thing about it. I had the presence of mind to ask him about the syndicate before requesting exhumation. He said Roger did drive to Lexington about once a month and he'd stay two or three days. Roger's reason was he wasn't having any luck with Virginia girls so he thought he'd try Kentucky girls.”

“Does Sean know Bill Boojum?” Harry asked.

“Yes, but not well. He said he met him once or twice when Roger was in college. Sean, being older, ran with a different set of friends, plus he went to the University of Virginia.”

“A sore point between them.” Miranda drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Roger in a car-racing syndicate.”

“We'd better get that lock back on soon. All this talk of money takes me right back to Don Clatterbuck,” Harry said, then told Miranda what they'd be doing that Friday night. “Oh, hell, I'm supposed to go to the movies with Fair. Coop, may I ask him to help us? He's stronger than the two of us put together and he'll never tell.”

“Okay.” Coop jiggled the handcuffs hanging from her belt.

“When do they dig up Roger?”

“Monday.”

“Wish I could be there.”
Tucker wagged her nonexistent tail.

“Tucker, that is so disgusting.”
Pewter wrinkled her nose, gray like the rest of her.

39

Slowly the earth drank the rainwater. The ground remained muddy, the creeks little by little subsided. The scent of new blossoms began to overpower the odor of creek water.

Mrs. Murphy hastened to the barn at dawn as the owl returned from hunting.

“Did you get a chance to fly over O'Bannon's?”

“Yes. There are lights on in the garage but the curtains are drawn.”

“Any cars or trucks parked outside?”

“No, which I thought was curious.”

“I do, too.”

“Of course, it could be someone left the light on during the day or it's been on throughout the storms,”
the owl thought out loud.
“Still, you'd think someone would go in there.”

“What about the caboose?”

“Your rat friend, an industrious sort, scurried from the garage to the caboose frequently. He had a bag of potato chips. When he heard me—I swooped low for effect—he didn't drop the chips and run. A rough sort.”

“If I could pour water in his hole, I bet I could get him to talk. I'd stop up the exits, of course.”
Mrs. Murphy envisioned this to her enjoyment. She heard Simon snoring in his nest. He looked ratlike yet was so different from Pope Rat; two creatures could hardly be more different in temperament.

“That rat has places and loot all over the salvage yard.”

“No sounds from the garage?”
Murphy hoped for more clues.

“Yes. I sat by the window and I heard human feet. I know someone was in there.”

Later as Murphy walked back to the house she wondered if someone was working late because of the Wrecker's Ball. Then again, why not park out front? And why not work in the new building where the dance would be held? If it was on the up-and-up why hide your car? Maybe Sean was in the garage. Maybe he felt closer to Roger in the garage. So many thoughts jammed into her head she had difficulty sorting them out. One thing did help her focus. She certainly didn't want Harry snooping around the salvage yard.

40

Sean's assistant, Isabella Rojas, disdained Lottie but had to be nice to her. The customer is always right even though in this case Lottie wasn't a customer. Sean would fire her if she behaved rudely toward anyone. The truth was that Isabella, like many a woman before her, had fallen in love with her boss.

“He's out back, Miss Pearson.” Isabella forced a smile. “Statuary.”

“Thank you.” Lottie, with a supercilious air, swished back outside and found Sean carefully positioning chains around a massive recumbent griffin. “Sean.” She waved.

“Hi.” He held up his hand to the operator in the small crane ready to pick up the heavy object to place it on a flatbed.

“Who has bought this beautiful piece?”

“H. Vane Tempest.” He named a wealthy Englishman who owned a large estate west of town and whose symbol was a griffin.

“But of course.” Her eyes swept from the griffin to the crane to the flatbed and the large diesel semi that pulled it. “You must have a small fortune tied up in equipment. I never really appreciated how much. I guess you get quite good at leveraging your debt.”

“Hey, I'm a junkyard dealer. I have a nose for finding equipment at good prices. Take that crane there. New it would cost one hundred and thirty-nine thousand dollars. I picked it up for nineteen.”

“Fabulous,” she purred. “But how do you do it?”

“Contacts and”—he stared off into the distance for a moment—“Roger. He'd give the equipment the once-over, tell me how much it would cost to bring a piece up to speed, and then I could make an informed decision. And we always looked for reliable brands like Caterpillar. You pay more but you get more. You know, Roger really was a genius with anything that had a motor in it. He even kept that old wrecker's ball in perfect working order.”

“I'm so sorry about Roger. I know I've said that before, but I don't know what else to say.” She played with the ring on her pinkie finger, right hand. “When you worked as closely as you did with Roger it must be doubly disastrous.”

“The Lord giveth and the Lord taketh away,” Sean replied. “At first, I was so shocked I wanted to sell the business and walk away. Mom talked sense into me. Running away doesn't solve anything. Three generations of O'Bannons sweated into this ground. With any luck there will be a fourth and a fifth.”

“I certainly hope so.” She smiled. “You can imagine yourself an old man watching your grandson move statuary.”

“By that time they'll beam it up. You know, rearrange the molecules and send it without a crane and a flatbed.”

“Maybe.” She shifted her weight to her left foot. “I heard through the grapevine that you're going through with the Wrecker's Ball and I wanted to help.”

“Thank you, Lottie.”

“I thought perhaps I could perform some of Roger's chores.”

“That's just it. I don't know the half of what he did. He'd burrow down there in the garage and I was up here. He took care of the catering. I did the decorations but there were so many things that just happened. I'm afraid I never closely examined Roger's contributions to the business, or my life. I feel so—so guilty.”

“Sean”—she placed her hand on his forearm—“nobody does. It's not you. None of us knows what someone gives to our life until they're gone.”

“Uh—thanks.” He kicked the gravel path, then looked at her. “You'll be coming to the ball?”

“Of course. Well, I didn't mean to stay so long. I just wanted you to know I was available to help.”

41

On a hunch, Cooper had sent out the mug shot of the false Wesley Partlow to all state agencies. At four-ten in the afternoon, she was sitting at her desk writing a presentation. Next Wednesday she was to give a speech at Western Albemarle High School about law enforcement as a career. Much as she loved her job, she was tired and drawing a blank.

Part of the exhaustion came from always dealing with people who were themselves under great stress. She'd received a blast from Sean about the exhumation next Monday. He was honoring his mother's wishes but he thought the request was ghoulish and would prove inconclusive.

Once he let off steam she asked him if he knew about Roger's purchase of a share of a stock-car syndicate for forty thousand dollars, a big chunk of change for a hobby, and Sean said it wasn't any of his business how his brother spent his money. He regularly visited the track at Waynesboro and it made sense that Roger would want to get involved at the higher end of the sport if he'd saved some money. Dale Earnhardt and Richard Petty were his heroes.

“You can't take it with you” is exactly what Sean O'Bannon had said.

Then Coop had to meet Don Clatterbuck's mother at the bank to open his safety-deposit box. The title to his truck, his birth certificate, a few stocks and bonds were in the narrow metal box along with the combination to the safe.

Mrs. Clatterbuck swore she didn't know the combination and thought the safe was another one of Don's finds. Sooner or later he might sell it. He liked to trade. She didn't know where he acquired that trait. Neither she nor her husband were traders.

No love letters were sheltered in the safety-deposit box.

Coop thanked Mrs. Clatterbuck, wrote down the combination, and finally returned to the office.

At four-twenty she wandered over to the coffeepot. A jolt of caffeine might trigger speech ideas. All she could think of was, “How would you like to pick up drunks, deadbeat dads, and squashed accident victims? For variety you could question a drug dealer with his jaw shot off.” She knew if she continued in that vein she'd descend into the truly morbid. She no sooner had the coffee to her lips than Sheila buzzed her phone.

Returning to her desk, Coop picked up. “Deputy Cynthia Cooper.”

“Louis Seidlitz, the bartender from Danny's.”

“Yes, Mr. Seidlitz.”

“I remembered that little puke's name: Dwayne Fuqua. It was driving me crazy.”

“When I dropped by you said he didn't come in often.”

“No, he didn't. Like I said, maybe once a month. Dwayne was on a mission.”

“Sir?”

“Girls.”

“Lucky?”

“No more than most.” Louis laughed.

“Mr. Seidlitz, do you have a fax in the office there?”

“Yeah.”

“Don't hang up. Give me the number and I'll fax you a photograph. Tell me if you recognize anyone.”

He gave her the number. She faxed the photo of Donald and Roger.

She could hear the fax machine in his office grinding out the photo.

“Deputy?”

“Yes.”

“The guy with his hands in his pockets. He'd hang out now and then. With Dwayne.”

“Mr. Seidlitz, thank you so much. You've been a great help to me.”

“Sure. Any time.”

She hung up the phone, silently berating herself for being discouraged when she had first stopped by the bar. She'd felt she'd been sloppy. Well, Louis came through. He had just identified Donald Clatterbuck.

42

. . . Cool. A beautiful fall day.” Diego described the day in Montevideo, for the seasons were reversed south of the equator.

“Raining here. When the animals walk two by two I'll worry.” Harry laughed.

“Can you believe they're talking about the weather?”
Pewter wrinkled her nose.

“And you don't?”
Tucker felt a craving for bacon and wished Harry would make a bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwich.

“So much has happened since you left.” Harry didn't want to spend a lot of Diego's money on a long phone call. She had no idea how much money he really had but she certainly didn't want to waste any of it. “Don Clatterbuck was shot and killed. You might not remember him.”

“Vaguely. Virginia sounds like the Wild West. Are you safe?”

“Sure. I'm of no importance to anybody.”

“You are to me. I hope to see you again—soon.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, her voice lifted. “What do you have to do tomorrow?”

“Thomas and I fly over to Buenos Aires, which isn't far. If you look on a map you can see how the cities sit.” A clock chimed behind him.

“Where are you now?”

“At my family's apartment in the city.”

“I heard the chimes.”

“A grandfather clock brought over from France in 1846. Oh, my father can tell you stories, but I didn't call to speak of my father. I called to tell you I will see you the weekend of the party, the ball.” He paused. “I know you have a date for the ball. I will give him a run for his money.”

“Please do.”

“What can I bring you from Buenos Aires?”

“A picture of the polo grounds, where the Argentine Open is played. And you. I'd like to see you.” This was about as flirtatious as Harry could bring herself to be.

“Sí!”

They said their good-byes, then hung up. Harry hummed to herself, then checked the kitchen clock.

“I'd better get moving.”

“Take us.”

43

What a crackbrained idea,” Pewter complained.

“Unfortunately, humans don't consult us before they go off on a toot.”
Mrs. Murphy agreed with her friend's assessment of the situation.
“Silly of them, I know.”

“In theory it's a good idea.”
Tucker stayed on the other side of the room, away from the welding torch. The odor, the sparks, the flame bothered her more this time.

“If whoever is doing this stuff is dumb, it's a good idea.”
Pewter sniffed.
“But I doubt they're that stupid. They'll see the camera. It's like a bank camera.”

“We know it's up there in the corner but the thief doesn't know it's there and it might work. There's an outside chance.”
Tucker remained dimly hopeful.

“We'll see. Also, I'd amend thief to killer,”
Mrs. Murphy said.

The animals watched as BoomBoom patiently restored the huge lock to its place. Fair held it up but even his strong arms wearied. Harry took a turn to spell him.

As Boom worked, Cooper told the group about Dwayne Fuqua. “. . . on the fringes.”

“What about a high-school counselor? He must have made an impression on someone,” Susan said.

Cooper shook her head. “Not much. Didn't get his diploma. The father abandoned him. The mother turned to drink and drugs. No one knows where she is or even if she's alive. He lived in a room in a small house past the old Ford dealership, I mean before they moved. Checked with his landlady. She said he was quiet. She didn't know much about him except he'd be gone for days at a time. Paid his rent on time.”

“Did he have a criminal record?” Harry called out as she was holding the lock.

“No. That surprised me.”

“Odd.” Fair stepped in as BoomBoom turned down the flame. “My turn.”

“Thanks.” Harry was relieved. “And he knew Don. That's really—I don't know. It confuses me. Waynesboro's just over the mountain. There's plenty of ways people can meet one another. I guess criminal intent doesn't have to be party to it.” She shrugged. “But with both of them dead—well, what could they have known?”

“Or done?” Coop rested her elbow on the carton of phony money.

“I still say it's drugs. People don't have cash like that unless they deal drugs,” Fair said.

Boom, mask up for a quick breather, added, “Diamonds. Gems. There's a lot of cash in that business.”

Susan lovingly looked at the fake money, wishing it was real and wishing it was hers. “Well, what about rubies or sapphires?”

“Susan, what are you talking about?” Fair raised his voice over the sound of the torch.

“Okay, you intend to get engaged. You aren't sure what stone your fiancée would like. The jeweler shows you loose stones. You pick one and the others go back. Retail jewelers don't keep a lot of loose gems. Not here, anyway. We're too small a market. So Don could have illegal rubies. I mean it wouldn't have to be diamonds, given what Harry said about the dirty diamonds. I'd forgotten about that, the press calls them dirty diamonds.”

“Gold, silver, platinum. Maybe it was metal.” Harry was curious.

“Yeah, but the next question is, Where would Don Clatterbuck or Dwayne get the gold, who would buy it from them, and why?” Cooper sighed, her head spinning.

Harry smiled at Cooper. “What you're telling us is you don't think this money is about stones or precious metals.”

“Right.”

“Drugs,” Fair persisted.

“The kingpin used Wesley, I mean Dwayne, and Don as mules.” Coop rose to take her turn holding the lock in place. “That's more likely.”

“Don could hide drugs in the animals he stuffed,” Susan said brightly.

“What an awful idea.”
Pewter made a face.

“What? You don't want to be stuffed when you die?”
Murphy laughed uproariously.

“I'll outlive you!”
Pewter flared, flashing her fangs.

“Who knows? Anyway, it doesn't do you one bit of good to think about death. There's nothing you can do about when you die but there's sure a lot you can do about living.”

“Murphy, Pewter, let's not talk about dying.”
Tucker hated the thought of dying.

The torch cut off, BoomBoom flipped back her face guard. “Done!” She inspected the seam as she tried not to inhale, because the metallic fumes made her eyes water. “Not bad if I do say so myself.”

The others crowded round as the fumes dissipated.

“Let me clean up the floor.” Harry had brought a dustpan and hand mop with her, anticipating this. “It wouldn't do for someone to open the safe only to hear tiny metal bits crunch underfoot.”

Once the floor was cleaned Coop stacked the fake money in the safe. “Okay, let's shut it, lock it, and then unlock it to make sure his combination works.”

“No.” Boom put her hand on the door to keep it open. “Test the combination before you shut the door.”

“Right.” Coop let BoomBoom twirl the handles, then stop them. Then she carefully rotated the center dial according to the directions found in Don's safety-deposit box at the bank.

The clicking of the tumblers filled the room as everyone remained quiet.

“Works.” Boom smiled. “Want me to shut the door now?”

“Sure.” Coop nodded.

The door shut with a satisfying, heavy sound.

“What do you think about my idea of Don hiding drugs in deer heads?” Susan reminded them of her idea.

“God, I hope there's nothing in my woodpecker.” Harry wanted to get that woodpecker back from the Culpeper sheriff's department.

“My woodpecker,”
Pewter corrected her.

“Nothing has turned up in your woodpecker.” Coop allayed her fears. “But hiding drugs in stuffed animals would be a good way to transport them. Maybe you're on to something, Susan.”

“Wonder how Don got into it?” Harry asked.

“Greed. That's how everyone gets into it,” Fair said.

“Where would they get that quantity of illegal substances to begin with?” BoomBoom checked her tools.

“If they were selling marijuana that's not hard. It's grown here in the state and no amount of surveillance by helicopters at harvest time locates all of it. And people can grow it in greenhouses, too. If they sold cocaine, heroin, those drugs, they'd need a source in a big city. If that's what they were doing.” Coop picked up the empty carton.

“What about legal drugs? Why couldn't they sell Darvon and Valium and Quaaludes?” Harry thought they were as bad as the illegal drugs.

“Sure, but they'd have to have a contact. Either a corrupt physician or a company salesman. You can't just go out and get your hands on a jar of muscle relaxers.” Fair, being a vet, had a keen appreciation of legal drugs, since he was pestered by salespeople at regular intervals.

“What about steroids?” Susan wondered.

“Same difference.” Fair picked up the heavy oxygen tank. “Even someone good at chemistry can't cook that up in the kitchen. Like I said, you'd have to have a corrupt source or steal them from a patient.”

“Are there drugs you can make at home?” Harry innocently asked.

“Amyl nitrite,” Coop answered. “But it's a liquid, wouldn't be that easy to transport. It's the kind of drug that someone with skill could cook up in the kitchen but your customer would come to the kitchen to buy. Liquids are too much of a pain to transport great distances and the profit isn't that huge. The profit margin on illegal drugs or designer drugs from the big drug companies is huge. Don isn't going to have five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars in his safe from amyl nitrite.”

“What if they stole frozen semen from high-priced stallions in Kentucky? What if the business was that? Some of those stallions stand for over a hundred thousand dollars. I know how the semen is cooled and shipped. If Roger kept going to Lexington he could be bringing back stolen semen. With DNA testing he'd have to have the real stuff. But he could do it. Maybe the car racing was a cover.”

“He could. I never thought of that but I don't associate Roger with horses.” Fair put the oxygen tank down. “I guess he could have done it. Are we ready?”

The others nodded; they checked and rechecked the place, then turned out the light and left. Fair gallantly carried the oxygen tank up to the truck just as he had carried it down.

“Strong bugger,”
Pewter said admiringly.

“You didn't live with us when Mom was married to him. He really was worth his weight.”
Mrs. Murphy remained neutral about whether or not Harry should get back together with Fair but she certainly appreciated his hard work on the farm.

Fair pulled Harry aside after he loaded the tank on BoomBoom's fancy truck. “Have you heard from Diego?”

“He called late this afternoon from Montevideo. He'll be in town next weekend. He's escorting Lottie to an alumni fund-raiser.”

“Oh.” Fair smiled.

“She asked him.”

“Oh.” His face fell.

“And?”

“She's making it hard for him.”
Tucker loved Fair.

“He's gotten better at expressing himself.”
Mrs. Murphy was proud of Fair's progress and although she wasn't a big believer in therapy she thought it had helped him. He liked structure even for his emotions, and therapy gave him the illusion of that. She knew one could never structure one's emotions but Fair's sessions helped him gain insight into himself.

“I thought we were going to the Wrecker's Ball.”

“We are. I haven't changed my mind. You asked me at New Year's. As I recall you said, ‘Plan ahead.'”

“I did, didn't I?” He was tremendously relieved, then he tensed again. “Is Diego coming to the ball?”

“He is and I'll dance with him. I dance with all the fellows. I even dance fast ones with Susan if you all are pooped out.”