The Equalizer (14 page)

She eyed me. “You know what? I believe you. Only I must say you weren’t very nice to me the morning of our crash.”

“I was on my way to a murder scene and you rear-ended me.”

She smiled. “Fair enough.” She looked at her watch. “Look, I should get going. I have to take my place at the Sheriff’s Department bright and early in case the old fart . . . er . . . I mean your boss, throws us a tit-bit. Did I just say that?” Giggle. “I meant tidbit.”

I laughed then heard myself say, “I’d like to see you again.”

“I’d like that too. I look forward to your call, and I need to use the restroom before I take off.”

I watched Victoria walk with the exaggerated movements of a drunk—not surprising since she drank all of the Sirah but the one glass I had. No way would I let her drive home. I summoned Misty to pay the check and when Victoria returned I broke the news to her.

She didn’t fight me. “I suppose you’re right. I guess I was having too good of a time.”

Victoria stumbled once
as I led her up to her front door. She leaned up for a kiss—a very long kiss that left us both breathing heavily. As I moved in for another, she put a finger on my lips and said, “I need to take this slow.”

“I do slow. I do anything you like.”

She smiled coyly. “No, I mean I need to take the relationship slow. The last one ended badly.”

“Don’t they all—if they’re not right?”

“I guess so, but it’s just too soon for me.”

“How about tomorrow morning then?”

“Funny,” she said playfully slapping my shoulder.

“No, I mean I’ll pick you up so you can retrieve your car.”

She kissed me on the cheek and said, “I’ll take care of it. Thanks for the ride.” She had trouble unlocking her door, so I gave her a hand, then watched her enter her house.

When I got home
and checked my email, I had a message from Victoria:
Okay, I think I blew it with Cal. I drank too much wine tonight. He is so damn hot-hot-hot! You say to play it slow. How slow do I have to play it? V

How did she get my email address? Oh yeah, I’d written it on the back of my business card. Obviously it was intended for someone else—and I was going to classify that as an EWI—emailing while intoxicated—a thing to avoid in my opinion. The question was who was giving her advice on me?

Chapter 16

DAY SIX

A
ttending Kohler’s funeral was a
good opportunity to observe those in attendance. By the time I got to St. Stephen’s I had to park a block and a half away as the parking lot was full and media vans took up much of the side streets.

I considered myself a religious mutt—my mom gave God up when my brother died. She’s declared herself an atheist, which riled Grandma Dee, a staunch Lutheran, and my Grandma Sylvia, a liberal Catholic. When I was a kid, both grandmothers felt compelled to give me fragments of religious training by hauling my little heathen ass to church on the occasional Sunday when they had “soul charge” of me—as my Grandpa Sheehan put it.

I’d been in St. Stephen’s Catholic Church a few times—the last was when I attended Naomi Moberg’s mother’s funeral. I did appreciate the building: a beautiful brick church on the National Registry of Historical Places. It had four white marble pillars at the entrance, stained glass arched windows, and remarkable artwork on the walls and ceiling by an Italian artist. The church was divided into two main sections, split by one large center aisle. I sat toward the rear on the right side of the church next to a couple with two school-aged children. All four were really skinny and the children, sitting between the parents, were unnaturally still. I suppressed my urge to lean over and ask the kids if they felt safe in their home and were fed three square meals a day.

As I listened to the soft organ music, I looked around for camera crews. They must be in the choir loft because they were not on the main floor. I recognized a number of people in the congregation. Ralph and Troy were seated together five pews forward.

Dixie and Jack Whitman surprised me by squeezing in next to me. Jack put the kneeling bench down and he, and Dixie knelt for a few minutes. Dixie was a pleasant, attractive woman in her sixties. I wonder what she ever saw in him.

When the organ music stopped, I could hear chanting. A few moments later, while the priest led the procession down the center aisle of the church, a female song leader stepped up to the pulpit in the front of the church and began to encourage everyone to join the choir in singing
Jesus Walked This Lonesome Valley
.

I felt a hit of emotion when I saw Eleanor process in holding her two youngest children hands while the older three followed, also holding hands. Immediately behind were Ham and Ruth Fairchild and two women who looked like they could be Kohler’s family.

Father Moran eulogized Kohler as a man who loved God first, his family second, and his business third. He extolled Ted for his generosity with money, time, and talent. Two friends told stories of his extended charity work. During the service, I surveyed the congregation for anything out of the ordinary, but could see nothing. After communion, a powerfully rich bass voice began singing
Amazing Grace
a cappella.

Dixie, touching her chest with her hand, whispered, “Oh, that’s Ted. He sang this at many funerals.”

What the hell?
Personally, I thought it macabre for a dead man to sing at his own funeral. I half expected him to throw open the casket, sit up with arms outstretched, ready for an encore. The recording was effectively producing loud sniffing and nose blowing, as if written into the musical score.

In the middle of the third verse, Dixie Whitman poked me and whispered “Jack’s not feeling well.”

I bent slightly to take a look at Jack. He was ashen, sweating profusely, and rubbing his arms.

“Let’s get him out of here,” I said.

We exited out the right side aisle. By the time we were out the door Jack was rubbing his chest.

“Jack, I think you’re having a heart attack. I’m calling dispatch,” I said.

“Bah,” he protested, “I just have the flu or something.”

“No, Jack,” I said. “We’re checking this out.”

“No ambulance!” Jack barked.

No sense in arguing with him, so while I ran down to get my the Explorer, I called dispatch, then drove right up to the side door of the church where they were waiting. After Jack and Dixie climbed in the back seat, I told Jack to give Dixie his wallet.

“Don’t use the damn siren,” Jack growled.

I used the lights.

A medical team was waiting
at the Birch County Regional Hospital ER entrance and whisked Jack away. I walked with Dixie toward the registration desk. She was trembling as she looked for the insurance card in Jack’s wallet. While she completed the process, I asked her if she wanted me to call Ben. She did and it wasn’t long before he and his wife rushed into the waiting room. Dixie rose to receive comforting hugs from her son and daughter-in-law.

“How’s Dad?” he asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Dixie said.

We chatted briefly about Jack’s great stress level since the double murders, when a nurse came out and told Dixie Jack was being admitted because he was indeed having a heart attack. Dixie and Ben followed the nurse, but Sarah stayed in the waiting room.

“Well, Jack’s in good hands. I guess I’ll take off,” I said.

“Thank you for all you’ve done,” she said.

“Don’t mention it. Are you and Ben close to the Kohler’s?”

“Yes, we’ve been friends for years. He’s also the accountant for Cadillac Jack’s.”

“Must be difficult to lose a friend. I’m sorry for your loss as well,” I said.

Sarah was a pretty woman with curly, brown hair and large, blue eyes that were currently filled with tears. She took out a tissue and dabbed them dry, and blew her nose.

“Your in-law’s car is still at St. Stephen’s. Should we bring it here?”

“We’ll take care of it, thanks.”

“Okay then, I think I’ll head back to work.”

“Thanks again for your help.”

When I got into my vehicle, I immediately called Ralph and filled him in.

“I wondered why I didn’t see Jack in the lunch line here at church.” He sighed. “The case is too much pressure for him. He told me this morning that he wanted it solve by the end of the week. When I told him that probably wasn’t gonna happen, he got pissed off and flung his cup of coffee at the wall. I asked him if he felt better, and he said, ‘No, and I won’t until you figure out who f-ing killed Ted Kohler.’ I added, ‘and Ronny Peterson’, and he said, ‘Yeah, of course.’”

“It’s obvious Kohler is his priority. So, when will you be back in the office?”

“As soon as I finish my lunch . . . then we can talk about what’s next.”

I stopped and picked up some chicken at the Save Rite and ate it at my desk thinking about what “next” would be.

When Ralph came back in about one o’clock, he said, “I just stopped off at the hospital. Jack wants me to take over for him. Says the commissioners will meet and make it official.”

“Will you still be on the case?”

“Minimally. I’m moving Troy in full time. I left him a message on his cell phone.”

“Well, Troy will be happy. He gave me shit because Jack assigned lil’ ol’ inexperienced me.”

“Because I asked for you. You’re smart and have good instincts. Besides, Troy’s been so involved with the Drug Task Force I didn’t think he needed anything more on his plate. That’s where he is this afternoon. Later the three of us will sit down and talk about where we go from here.”

I nodded.

“Troy’s good. You must recognize that, whatever you may think of him personally.”

“I do.”

“Okay. I could use some help this afternoon looking through phone records.”

All afternoon we pored
through a month’s worth of phone records. Ralph had me take Peterson’s and I found nothing significant in the home phone calls. On Ronny’s mobile number, most calls were either family, food, or work related—calls to and from friends were few. But where his cell phone was found still troubled me.

“Ralph, October 7th, the morning Ronny was killed, he made a call at 7:18 a.m. He’d checked out #13 truck at 7:15, but his phone was found in #10, the truck Mark Norland later signed out. How would that happen?”

“Huh. Maybe Ronny switched trucks after he made the call.”

“Possibly, or someone else used the phone.”

Ralph pointed to a number. “I have something too. Kohler made a phone call to the Parks Department at 4:58 p.m. Thursday. I’d like to see what that was about. Why don’t you take a run over there and check it out, then talk to Norland.”

Joyce Baxter remembered
Ted Kohler’s call to the Park’s Department that Thursday afternoon because it came in just as they were about to close up.

“He wanted to know if the dock was still out at Emmaline. I told him it was but should be taken in late tomorrow morning. The only reason I knew anything about it was because Naomi was annoyed they hadn’t pulled the dock in the day before.”

“All right, thanks,” I said. “Can you track down Mark Norland for me?”

She made a phone call and told me he was in the maintenance garage. Gus Taylor was among the employees gathered just outside the garage office. As I approached the group, I told them I was looking for Mark Norland.

A lanky kid raised his hand. “That would be me.”

I showed him my badge and introduced myself. His co-workers stood around for a couple seconds before they got the hint and walked off toward their own vehicles.

“Gus, stick around a minute.”

Gus waddled back.

“How did Ronny’s cell phone end up in truck #10? The information I have is that Gus drove it on October 6th, Mark on the 7th. Is that correct?”

“Yeah. I usually drive #10, and the guys know that,” he gave Norland a dirty look, “and I had it on Thursday, but I didn’t work with Ronny that day.”

“He used his phone on Friday morning to call you, Gus,” I said.

“Yeah, that’s right, but I don’t have a clue how his phone ended up in #10. Do you, Mark?”

“I dint even know it was in there,” he said.

“You didn’t hear it ring?” I asked.

“No, but I was in and out of the truck all day.”

“Where were you before you came to work?”

“At home.”

“Anyone substantiate that?”

“Sure, my wife and my mother-in-law.”

“Do you want to talk to our boss?” Gus said.

“Yep.”

The three of us made our way to the garage office.

Gus did the talking. “This here’s Stan Haney, head of vehicle maintenance. Stan, Cal Sheehan from the Sheriff’s Department.”

I flashed my badge. Stan was an older guy with a hook nose and a generous supply of nasal hairs. His spine was half bent, and his fingers were stained dark from working on machines for years.

“What can I do fer ya?” he asked.

Gus spoke up. “Ronny’s cell phone was found in truck #10—not the one he checked out. The deputy wants to know how it got in there.”

I said, “I was wondering if on October 7th Ronny checked out #10 then changed his mind and took #13. Can you check on that?”

Stan shrugged. “I guess the vehicle he signed out would be the one we just got back from you guys this morning—which was #13,” Stan said.

“Do you have a record of that?” I asked.

“Should have. They sign them out on the computer right there under the key box.”

Stan moved to the computer. “Let’s see here. Yep. Ronny signed out #13 on Friday at 7:15 a.m. and Mark signed out #10 at 7:55. Gus signed out #21 at 8:05, probably because #10 was already gone. Right, Gus?”

“Yep,” he said, giving Mark another dirty look.

Mark said, “I won’t take your truck again, okay? I didn’t know it was such a big fricking deal.”

Gus shrugged as if it wasn’t.

I said, “We still don’t have an explanation for how Ronny’s phone got in truck #10, if he checked out #13. You didn’t see him come back in and grab different keys?”

“No,” Stan said. “I think I would’ve noticed.”

“What about Harvey Kling?”

“Harvey always drives #20. Everybody knows that,” Stan said.

“How secure is the sign-out process?”

“Everyone has their own password.”

“What about the keys? Could someone pick up a set and take a truck without you knowing?” I asked.

“Unlikely,” Stan said.

“But possible?”

Stan nodded. “S’pose so.”

“Can you override and change the information?”

“As administration I can, but I’ve never done that.”

“Can your employees?”

“Nope, just their own.”

On the short drive to Norland’s, it occurred to me that if the dock had been taken in on time and if the dental hygienist hadn’t been ill, one or both victims might still be alive. I guess when you’re in line—you’re in line.

Norland’s mother-in-law was staying
with the young couple because Mark’s wife just had a baby. She said her son-in-law left for work at the same time everyday—7:45. I drove back to tell Ralph what I’d found out about Ted’s call and Ronny’s cell phone.

“Maybe Ronny was going to take #10 then changed his mind, and the phone accidentally dropped out of his pocket, or he grabbed the wrong set of keys and didn’t bother going back in to get the right ones.”

“Stan Haney said he most likely would have noticed if Ronny came back in for a different set, and I do think if he checked out one truck and drove another, someone would have complained.”

“I bet Stan didn’t notice Ronny coming back in . . . or the killer picked up the phone at the scene and threw it in #10 to implicate someone else.”

“In that case it would have to be another park’s employee.”

Ralph shrugged. “More ’n likely he switched trucks.”

“Whatever. We’re not done with parks boys, are we?”

“Probably not, and we need to talk to Nevada Wynn and Pierce Redding
soon
.”

About six o’clock,
Victoria called and asked me to come over for pizza. At least she didn’t have a husband she
didn’t
want to divorce. Ralph and I called it quits at seven-thirty and after stopping to tend to Bullet, I stopped at the liquor store, then drove to Victoria’s house. When she answered the door in an open red silk robe and matching lacey thong, I about dropped the bag of beer and wine I brought. So much for taking it slow.