The Devil Makes Three (3 page)

I jumped down in the hole to find the coffin lid exposed. Unlocking it with my key then locating the latch, I opened the door and gazed at my prize. The ruby tie tack glinted in the lights of the backhoe, begging to escape eternal entombment. I removed it from the body with steady hands and fished for his wrist. The Rolex came off just as easily.

I smiled and shut the lid on Mr. Kline. Thanking the donor respectfully, I climbed back out of the grave and reversed the entire process. All in all, I had the grave closed and the back hoe back in the garage a mere hour after I started.

Chapter 3

In which Gretchen answers some questions.

The Tanner Family Funeral Home and Cemetery had once served as a colonial mansion, renovated and enlarged to fit my ancestors’ needs, until it became the monstrosity it was today. The top floors of the house contained six viewing rooms, two offices - one of which we never used - two chapels, a kitchen, two grieving rooms, a casket showcase, and storage rooms that had once been bedrooms for my ancestors and their children. The basement housed the prep areas and freezers and more storage areas. These areas, although not my favorite in the house, had a certain quality about them that I loved. Perhaps because the population at large thought them creepy and would try to avoid them at all costs if given the opportunity to visit. This appealed to me because I generally tried to avoid the population at large. 

When I walked into the funeral home office a month after I'd committed the homicide, the man sitting across from my father, at his desk, froze me in my shoes more efficiently than any of our body freezers could. “I’m sorry,” I said, the alarm in the back of my head telling me to bolt out of the office and to stop when I got to Mexico. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

It seemed Pure Evil had given up his duster for a suit and even though he looked pretty good in it, I couldn’t help but focus on the wrongness of his presence, rather than the misplaced feelings of attraction. Perhaps that attraction had something to do with his new hairstyle, just long enough to hint at a slight waviness.

“Gretchen, come here,” my father beckoned me over.

Confused and not just a little bit uncomfortable, I stepped to his side at the large, mahogany desk, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

“This is my daughter, Gretchen,” he said to Pure Evil. To my surprise, the man betrayed nothing. He acted completely casual: as if we had never met at all. As if we had never participated in a homicide together.

“Gretchen, this is Agent Cade of the FBI.”

Now I understood why he disliked shooting cops, although I wouldn’t doubt he had done it in the past. He didn’t look like a cold-blooded killer at the moment, but I knew the truth. I’d seen him pull the trigger and empty half a clip into a human being.

He extended a hand over my father’s desk and I shook it abruptly, fearful of what might come, taking note in the deep recesses of my mind of the soft feel of his palm against mine.

“Do you work here at the funeral home as well?” Agent Cade asked.

“I do the night security.”

“What does that entail exactly?” He sounded skeptical.

I shrugged and glanced at my father, hoping he would field the question. When he didn’t I sighed and attempted a brief job description, trying not to make it sound too boring.

“So it’s mainly for insurance purposes?” Agent Cade asked.

“Basically. May I ask why you’re here?” I just couldn’t help myself anymore. I wasn’t going to play the innocent whelp if exposure loomed, just minutes anyway.

“I’m investigating the murder of Raul Martins,” Agent Cade said.

My blood pressure skyrocketed at the name. “What about it?”

“Of course, you heard authorities found him, shot to death.”

“Yeah. What of it?”

“You don’t seem particularly disturbed by the situation.”

“Should I?”

“Gretchen!” My father’s tone failed to gain recognition from both Agent Cade and myself.

“I can understand someone in your situation not feeling disturbed,” Agent Cade said.

“Right. So… why are you here?” I asked again.

Cade pulled a plastic baggie from his pocket and set it on the desk. A scrap of paper with the funeral home’s address written in a sloppy hand lay inside. “We found this in Martins’ pants pocket.”

“I don’t see why that brings you here.” I actually did, but didn’t want to admit it. In reality, Cade had probably found out my identity and planted the scrap of address just to point the finger in my direction. The beast.

“Given his history with your family, and his economic status I feel it unlikely he would have this address for your services. Really, I don’t see how it could be anything except something relating to your sister.”

My father sat at his desk, taking it all in. He had acted as the stoic family anchor when she died and I could see the role getting drudged up once more. I found myself grateful my mother wasn’t in the room to play the role of devastated parent and burst into a crying jag. I’d gone a whole week without seeing one of those and wondered if we’d achieved progress in the grieving process with her.

“What could he possibly have to say to us?” I asked.

“I don’t know. I hoped one of you could shed some light on that. Did he come here at any point before his demise?”

“I never saw him. If I had you can bet he would’ve had a broken nose as the least of his mementos to show for it.” And you will too, if you come back here again, I thought.

My father, sensing my hostility as a permanent addition to the situation, took over the conversation from there. I listened while he assured Cade that none of us had seen Martins. After a few more questions of the same variety, Cade appeared to consider the conversation finished. He took his leave, apologizing for disturbing us, and with what seemed a sincere expression of regret for having drudged up such a painful topic. My father assured him he had done nothing wrong and that we would cooperate with the investigation in any way necessary.

Shaking his hand, I couldn’t help but meet his eyes. Never in my life had I seen a better act. It seemed as if he truly didn’t know me. His expressions contained no hint of recognition, no covert expression of shared deviance.

It wasn’t that I minded, really. It’s not like I wanted to get outed for the murder. But would a covert wink of recognition have killed him?

Chapter 4

In which Gretchen takes on a second job.

“In other news, State Safe Bail Bonds, a local company in business for over forty-five years, is under investigation for criminal activities.”

Glancing away from the TV in the university commons area, I surveyed the crowd lounging about on the half dozen sofas and twice as many chairs, waiting for their next classes to start. Richard, the frat boy I’d illegally purchased the Smith and Wesson from, sauntered through the outer doors as if he owned the place.  I couldn’t help but wonder what class he headed for. As if he even had the brain capacity for higher thought. The most advanced thought he’d ever had probably related to kilos of cocaine and how much he could get away with charging other hapless frat boys.

If only that was my biggest concern.

Personally, I tried hard not to think about the interrogation from the day before by the so called Agent Cade.

I’d had plenty of time after my father left the funeral home to consider Agent Cade and I didn’t like the conclusions I’d considered.

My first reaction was that he hoped to scare me, or to check up on me, to make sure no one had become aware of our little secret. But then, I figured I would have received some sort of warning about the importance of maintaining confidentiality. Some threat.

My second reaction was that he really hadn’t recognized me. The man was obviously unbalanced at best. He helped murder Martins in cold-blood, and then seemed genuinely concerned about solving the crime. Was it possible he suffered from some mental problem like Multiple Personality Disorder? I didn’t know much about the disease, but knew enough to know I didn’t want to become involved with it.

I’d come to conclude that whatever the reasons, I really didn’t want to see him again. Nor did I want to see Richard.

Raising my newspaper high to block my view, he breezed past the common room TV and began chatting to two co-eds standing by the soda machine. Deciding I was safe from his attention, since I was nowhere near as beautiful as them, I lowered the paper and went back to scanning the crowd. I recognized one or two students other than Richard, but didn’t know any names and did not feel comfortable attaching myself to any of their groups. Yet, as always, I felt uncomfortable by myself.

Among the students sat one or two guys who looked somewhat attractive. Sighing, I couldn’t help but wonder what having a brief moment of their time and attention might feel like. Then I shook myself out of my stupor and chastised myself for daydreaming. The chances of them having anything of value rattling around in their head was so slim, it wasn’t worth the few moments of pleasure their lips might give.

Gratefully, classes let out just then and I got up from my seat, heading towards my classroom door. When the occupants exited, I made my way inside and began the ritual of searching for a power outlet to plug my laptop into.

The classroom stretched longer than it was wide, with about fifteen rows of desks from front to back. Just in front of the chalk-board sat a large table with a lectern on it for the professor. The back wall possessed two rows of hooks like those found in old fashioned coat rooms, an indication of the building’s age, and how frequently the university remodeled.

Usually on the first day I liked to pick a seat at the front, ingratiating myself with the professor, just in case. But the only electrical outlets in the room were either behind the professor’s table or by the door at the back so I found myself forced to forgo my attempt at sucking up.

By the time class started the room was only half full, most of the students having chosen to linger in the back. To my dismay, Richard sat among us, and I cowered in the corner, hoping to keep out of his sight while debating the likelihood that he would actually attend class on a regular basis. With distaste I also eyed the few people in the front row -- so eager to please -- and wondered if I looked like that, sitting in those seats.

The door opened and he walked in. My schedule said staff would teach the class, which meant a random teacher would get suckered into it at the last minute. This left me ill prepared for the sight of him. He wore immaculate khaki and polo, freshly pressed, and shoes freshly polished. My hands ached to slide through his short, wavy hair and his pea-coat looked like it had just come from the cleaners.

Despite the changes in apparel I harbored no doubt that Agent Cade had appeared back in my life. Again. Pure Evil didn’t even begin to cover it, any more.

“Good morning,” he said, walking up the aisle and setting his briefcase and a large box down on the table next to the lectern. “I believe this is Criminology 3651. If this is not the class you signed up for, then you should probably go somewhere else.” Finishing, he looked up and smiled at the class. The girls in the room gave a collective sigh as his eyes slid over them.

They didn’t even pause on me and yet my skin crawled, again getting the feeling that he truly didn’t know me.           

He opened his briefcase and pulled out a laptop, quickly hooking it up to the projector. “My name is Dr. Collin Cade, but you can call me Collin, or Dr. Cade or Hey You. Whatever you’re comfortable with. You can find the class syllabus at this website.” It flashed up on the screen and he gestured back to my corner. “Can you get the lights please?”

For a moment, I sat, paralyzed, then slid out of my chair distrustfully and flipped the switch by the door. He continued to talk about the usual class concerns but I didn’t listen. Instead I found myself lost in the confused musings of a terrified mind.

Who was this guy, and why did he keep popping up in my life suddenly?

After going over the syllabus, he moved on to administrative tasks. “I’ll take roll today and Wednesday so I can know who’s dropped, but not after that. Whether or not you come to lecture is your decision. But you should know the tests will be heavily lecture-based.”

He began reading off names and as I waited for him to call mine, my life flashed before my eyes. Pathetically, I realized I hadn’t gone anywhere or done anything.

“Gretchen Tanner.”

“Here,” I said after a brief pause. As if he didn’t already know. Others turned to see the source of the squeak but he kept his head down and kept right on going to the next name. Once finished with the roll, he covered reading materials.

“I know the bookstore has one book listed as required but actually there are two.” He reached into his briefcase and pulled out a sheaf of paper. “A local press published this booklet for me, which contains over a hundred case studies, and it is required reading. It costs twenty seven dollars to cover printing and each of you will need to purchase one, and have read the first seven documents by Wednesday. You can purchase them from me today with cash or check, or if you don’t have it now, you can stop by my office during my office hours today or tomorrow.”

My heart stopped. I had neither cash nor check on me.

“In the mean-time, as we’re taking care of that, I’ve got an anonymous survey that I would like you to take. Please, do not put your names on this paper.” He walked up the side aisle, passing papers out. When he reached me, he handed me a lone paper with barely a glance in my direction then turned and headed up the aisle.       

Just existing within feet of him made my pulse do a jig. And not in a good way.

“Now that you’ve had a chance to look over it, I’m sure you can tell why I don’t want to know who filled out what paper. When you finish, come up and get a packet and put the survey face down in my briefcase. We’ll discuss the surveys next time, so if you want to know the dirty secrets of your classmates you’ll want to come. Please answer honestly so we have an accurate basis for our next discussion.”