Authors: Chris Stevenson
She stabbed a finger at the window. “Look at
that
.”
Sebastian got up, leaned toward the window. He rubbed his eyes, looked again at the thing outside. “Shit, Avy, it’s just an opossum. He’s just looking for something to eat. Can’t we get some sleep?”
“No. Chase it away. It’s disgusting.”
Chubby’s voice came from the other room. “Knock it off, Gretchen! Are you okay in there? I repeat, are you—”
“We’re fine,” said Sebastian. “We’ve got an opossum at the window.”
“Want me to get him?”
“That won’t be necessary.” Sebastian knelt on the bed. He yanked the window open on its slider. “Shoo!” he told the menace. “Go away—git!”
The opossum reared back with a hiss, snapping little needle-sharp teeth.
“You lil bastard.” Sebastian gave the creature a swat on its nose with a rolled-up newspaper. He swung at it again. The opossum tore a ragged corner from the end of the paper roll with a lunging snap. Sebastian swung down hard, smacking it in the face. It tumbled off the ledge, then skittered across the parking lot, disappearing into the foliage. He slammed the window shut. “There. You happy?”
She fisted her hips. “Don’t start in with me. That was not my fault. Now it stinks in here.”
Sebastian flopped back down on the bed. “You should know that wildlife comes with the territory. They charge extra for it on the rent receipt.”
“Don’t try to be funny. I didn’t expect polecats to come busting into the room.”
“Polecats are skunks. That was an opossum. They’re always harmless. It’s gone now.”
“Want me to make sure he’s off the property?” Chubby asked through the door.
“Please go to sleep, Chubs,” said Sebastian. “It won’t be back.”
Avy managed to lie down, but sleep didn’t come right away. She expected the creature to return to terrorize them again. After a half hour, she surrendered to exhaustion, falling into a deep slumber.
Her dreams filled with images of scurrying rats with bulbous eyes and yellow teeth. They hissed at her, jumping for her face, getting tangled in her hair. Every time she slapped one away, another one would appear to take its place. They stank enough to make her dry heave. They all seemed drawn to her, with the intent to torture. She tried to fend them off with slaps but they bit her fingers, stripping the flesh off the bones, leaving her hands in bloodied tatters. “I’ll never have a manicure again!” she cried out in her dream.
She rolled off the bed and landed on the floor with a thump. Shaking her head, she reached up, feeling someone clasp her wrist.
“Avy, get up.” Sebastian pulled her to her feet, steadied her. “Sweetheart, you fell off the bed.”
She looked around. The morning sun streamed through the window. Motel room, she thought. Nightmare, she concluded. “Whoa. I just had a nasty dream,” she said. “I was surrounded by rats. They were eating me.” She slumped in his embrace, finding it hard to stop the quaking in her limbs.
“I’m sorry I was short with you last night,” he said into her ear. “We’re under a lot of stress. It isn’t easy to cope with. We have to stay busy. Maybe formulate a plan or something. Meanwhile, I’m going to find some type of income for us. My insurance claim is not expected to pay off any time soon.”
Of course, he was right. If they spent more time concentrating on real issues instead of reacting to fear, they would be a lot better off. Normal routine. Easier said than done. But they had to start somewhere.
Chubby knocked on the door before he called through it with an offer to make breakfast. Sebastian admitted him. Avy volunteered to do laundry, so she rallied the men to collect their things. She bagged the items, then headed out the door. She found the small motel laundry room by the registration office. She put her loads into the machines, counting just enough change for both cycles without having to go to the front desk for more. She sat on a Rattan bench that overlooked the front parking lot. A few cars passed by on the frontage road. The sun already had a blaze on the leaves of the largest walnut trees that sat in neat brick planters around the hotel. Tall weeds swayed with a slight breeze in an empty lot across from the hotel.
Something rose out of the weeds across the street. Avy propped her palms under her chin. She watched a misshapen figure rise straight up out of the foliage, then begin to move. It took her a minute to determine that the shape was human, bent over somewhat, wearing what looked like a blanket over his shoulders. She felt certain this was a male transient who’d slept overnight in the field.
The man wore a greasy hat, something that looked like a golf cap pulled tight over his head. He made awkward, drunken steps, flattening the shrubbery. He emerged onto the sidewalk, pausing to look in both directions. Funny, but she could have sworn he wore ski boots with metal buckles. She found that very odd. With no clear view of his face, she could not determine the age of the person. She assumed he was older with a possible alcohol or drug-related problem. It was hard to imagine anyone in that condition leading a sober life. Still, she found it difficult to hold judgment over such a person. His situation was not hopeless. Professional counseling, income opportunities, and decent housing were the proper remedies for such a condition. Yet, she knew that some of the homeless were self-inflicted castoffs, unwilling to change their lifestyles and outlook.
The homeless man stepped off the curb, again glancing in both directions. He took labored steps across the street. For a brief moment, she felt afraid that a vehicle might strike him down. When he made it to the other side of the street, she let out a pent up breath, her eyes glued to the poor man. He seemed perplexed about his next move. She lost sight of him for an instant behind a large tree trunk. He emerged, but somehow had walked toward her during that time. He shuffled across the motel parking lot, his head held down.
She knew where this encounter was headed—it was almost expected. She moved her purse onto her lap in case she had to dig into it for a handout. She couldn’t help but think that he was circling her like a shark, walking in one direction to put up a ruse, but having her under surveillance the whole time. Why make panhandling so complicated? She had no problem contributing a few bucks to ease his plight.
When he got close enough for her to discern the features on his face, she recoiled. His eyes were white blanks. The face, glistening of sweat in the sun, bore a roadmap of purple lines surrounded by open sores. She wondered if he was a burn victim.
That face
. She felt a terrible ache in her soul for this unfortunate being. His stench reached her on a slight breeze, causing her to put a palm to her mouth. For a moment, she thought she might gag.
The man stopped twenty feet from her, then angled his face to look up at the sun. Something hung from his jutting chin that looked like a streamer of discolored phlegm.
“It’s a grand day, eh?” he said, but his eyes did not meet hers. “The sun gives life to us all, lass. It does not care who or what stands underneath it.”
Avy gulped, shifting her buttocks. “I suppose so,” she answered. “It’s a pretty warm start this morning.” The words belied an awkward attempt at conversation. She looked at the tattered wool blanket that was festooned with foxtails, leaves, and twigs.
“Sol really doesn’t care who is down here,” he went on, “just that things are alive because of it. We are all alive, moving in the same circles on top of the same dirt. That’s what my pappy used to tell me. All creatures great and small.”
He waxed philosophic, she thought.
James Harriot
. It had to be part of his repertoire. He looked sick, smelled to high heavens, wore clothes worth no more than a few dollars. But he had the mind of a diplomat and the tongue of a poet—a true conman setting up his mark. Two could play at this mental shell game.
“The Lord helps those who help themselves,” she said.
“I help myself every chance I get, lass.”
“Not to take advantage, but to better your condition, I hope.”
“Who has taken advantage here? You cut a fine figure who displays the profile of one who has taken their share of advantage. I sit away from the table uninvited, waiting for scraps because you are the owner of the banquet. Are you not first, always?”
She found it astonishing that he could see her. Perhaps his blindness was not total. Nevertheless, she could trade barbs if that was his intention. “I didn’t need to be whipped from the starting gate—I took off on my own. I didn’t scratch because I refused to run the race.”
“Ah, then you owe your success not to you but to your trainers. Advantage before the starting gate. Good feed, grooming with plenty of care—that is the difference you see.”
“What is your name?”
“I’ve been called so many that I forget. Oh, wait. Harry works.” He hacked back something in his throat, then spat. A gray piece of flesh landed on the pavement, wiggling like larvae.
God, he had a gut full of pinworms, she thought. She began to feel the bile rise in her throat, bringing on a nauseous discomfort. She noticed something moving under his plastic coat. It was not clear if it was an arm or some other part of his anatomy. She stood up from her bench seat, prepared to enter the small laundry room. She hesitated, wondering if this man would follow and box her in.
A door slammed in the distance. She turned to see Sebastian walking toward her. When he reached her, he handed her a paper plate laden with pastry and orange slices. “I thought you would like to eat out here in the—” The words cut off when he caught sight of the man standing several yards away. Sebastian furrowed his brows, giving the man the once over. “Avy,” he said, “let’s go.”
She was morbidly transfixed, unable to budge.
“Now!”
He hurried her down the walkway. She looked over her shoulder, watching the transient cock his head puppy fashion.
The motel manager appeared a second later, jabbing a broom at the man. “No, you don’t!” said the woman. “Not today. No trespassing allowed. We’ll have none of this around here.” She beat the man off the property until he had backed up to the edge of the street.
Sebastian pushed Avy into the room before she could see anything more.
“What’s the matter with you, Avy?” Sebastian demanded. “Have you lost it or what? I can’t believe you were talking to that, that whatever it was.”
Chubby looked up from his plate, frozen in mid-bite. Gretchen scratched at the front door, then unleashed a mournful whine.
“I was just talking to that man, Harry,” she said. “I don’t know why. Maybe it was because he looked like he was dying or something.”
The stench of the man seemed to have followed them into the room. She looked at the food on her plate. Her eyes rolled in her head. In the next minute, she bent over and vomited on the carpet.
Chubby dropped his plate on the floor.
Gretchen titled her head back. The howl that escaped her was ear splitting.
Chapter 19
T
hey clustered around the microfiche, reading the last of the newspaper archives on the Tom Labrador homicide case. For the last two hours, Avy had read the articles aloud for the benefit of the two, although Chubby knew most of it by heart. This time she recited the entire court transcript, the same transcript that Chubby had saved in his album that Avy never took the time to read.
Sebastian said, “We need to find a chink in the physical evidence. That’s not going to be easy to do.”
Avy pulled back from the screen. “What about Drake’s motivation for wanting the company? He knew he was first up in the will after my mother. With Tom and Mom out of his way, he would inherit everything, including any bank savings. No disagreement there. But listen, my mother was drugged—that’s what the BAC from the drug test results showed after she was taken into custody. From all witness testimony, my mother didn’t use prescription drugs or contraband substances. But they found Nembutal in her blood. Drake said he brought two bottles of champagne for the celebration dinner. I think he brought more than champagne.”
“What were they celebrating?” asked Chubby.
“Drake said it was something about Tom landing a huge foreign contract. It was brought out in the trial, but never discussed in detail.” She stared at Sebastian. “I think Drake might have gone to the kitchen to open the bottles himself. He laced Mom’s drink, but left Tom’s glass pure. It would look too suspicious if both had drugs in their system. Could we agree on that?”
Sebastian nodded. “That’s possible. More than possible. Your mom starts feeling woozy so her husband calls it a night. But Drake doesn’t leave the premises. Or he waits outside for a few hours, then re-enters the house. Go on, Avy.”
“He re-enters the house later, then creeps upstairs with a kitchen knife. Tom’s asleep. Mom’s drugged, out of it. The first knife wound is straight to Tom’s heart—the autopsy confirms that. The first thrust kills him. He rolls Tom off the bed, then inflicts multiple stab wounds while the corpse is on the floor. The extra injuries make it look like a rampage killing. There would be very little noise or movement to wake mom. He wipes the knife down, places my mother’s fingers against the handle, then lays it by her side. He smears my mother with blood splotches and castoff, making it look like she committed the crime up close.
“He drags the body downstairs, loads it up in my mother’s SUV. After getting the key from her purse, he drives off to dump the corpse across the state line. In an adrenalin-induced panic, he hits the jogging judge on the return trip. He makes it back to the house, parks the SUV, which now contains hair, fiber and blood evidence. He places the keys next to her on the bed, and slips out the front door, locking it behind him. Then he splits for home. All of this is done within a planned timeframe. Lizzy is asleep because she can’t remember the exact time he arrives home. She even testifies to this. So there we have it. The million dollar question is, where has Drake slipped up?”
Chubby bit his lip. “He would be covered with the victim’s blood. But we have a problem. Somebody would have to have see him like that—a witness. Then there’s the question of what he did with the blood-covered clothes. There were no eyewitnesses. Every security camera tape in the area was ordered into evidence, but none of them had an image of that SUV anywhere. They found one eyewitness to the vehicle on the road, but he couldn’t identify the driver of your mom’s SUV. No help.”