Dead on Arrival

by R. J. Patterson

  “Were you dissatisfied with your service?” asked the middle-aged pocked-face clerk behind the counter.

  “No, no,” Kelly said. “Nothing like that. We have another issue we need to discuss with him. You were fine.”

  The clerk pushed his glasses up on his nose and gave Kelly a toothy grin. “Just a moment. I’ll be right back.”

  A few moments later, a woman who appeared to be in her forties emerged from behind the counter with the clerk. The manager had her bleached-blonde hair tied up in a fishtail and wore bright red lipstick.

  “What seems to be the problem?” she asked.

  Kelly nudged Cal, signaling that she was going to take the lead with the only person standing between them and that security footage.

  “I’m Kelly Murphy and this is Cal. We’re reporters from Seattle working on a story about that baseball player who was found dead last week in New York,” Kelly said.

  “Maggie Volker,” the woman said, offering her hand.

  “And now that you mention it, I think I read about that guy.”

  “Well, did you know that he stopped here on his way to the Big Apple?”

  Maggie’s eyes widened. “Here? At this TravelCenter?”

  “According to our sources, he did.”

  “Well, I’ll be honest with you. I wouldn’t know a professional baseball player if they walked in the door. Same goes for a football, basketball, soccer, or hockey player. Now if it was a bull rider—”

  “Okay, I understand. I wasn’t wondering if you had seen him. But we would like to see if something happened to their RV when they were refueling here. Would you happen to have the feed from those cameras outside?”

  Maggie nodded. “We should. I even keep a backup in case something goes wrong with one version.”

  She motioned for Kelly and Cal to follow her into her backroom office, wagging her finger as she talked. “I’ve seen enough movies to know that whenever someone wants to look at security tapes, they’ve always been recorded over. That’s why I installed a state-of-the-art system here that archives the footage for several years. Every day those files get decompressed and scuttled off to a cloud facility that’s mirrored in another part of the country. Not that I expect to have to use the footage because this is North Dakota and everybody’s packing heat around here, but if some crazed gunman came in here, we’d at least be able to hand over the entire footage to law enforcement.”

  Kelly and Cal took a seat across the desk from Maggie, who sat down and started pounding on her keyboard.

  “Sounds like you’ve got a pretty good system for archiving everything,” Kelly said.

  “We sure do,” Maggie said before turning her attention back to Cal and Kelly. “Now, what is the exact date and estimated time they were here? I can find what you’re looking for in a jiffy if you know.”

  Cal cleared his throat and glanced down at his pad.

  “This is what I was given,” he said, ripping out the page and sliding it to Maggie.

  She studied it for a moment and then hammered away on her keyboard. After turning the screen so Cal and Kelly could see it, she drummed her fingers on her desk and waited for the image to appear.

  “With all the mirroring that goes on with this server, sometimes it takes a moment,” Maggie said.

  A white circular object spun in front of the black screen, signaling that the computer was loading a file. They all sat with anticipation, wondering when something else would replace the stark image. A minute passed before Maggie laughed uncomfortably.

  “I don’t know what’s going on now,” she said. “This is very unusual. Normally, it takes only a few seconds or so.”

  She tapped on a few keys before looking down at Cal’s paper with the time and date.

  “I’m going to try a few minutes before that time just to see what’s going on.”

  Seconds later, the footage finally materialized, broken into four quadrants on Maggie’s monitor.

  “There we go,” she said. “Must’ve just been a glitch.”

  They all watched the droll video of customers listlessly entering the store, grabbing drinks or snacks, and paying at the counter. The footage of the two cameras covering the outside were even less exciting, having captured the rote duty of pumping gas by weary drivers.

  “We’re almost to the time you said you needed,” Maggie said, pointing at the time stamp rolling in the upper right hand corner.

  And then the screen went black.

  “What the—” Maggie said.

  Moments later, the footage reappeared—but a little over a half hour later.

  The only thing Cal managed to catch was an RV getting towed away in a few frames before everything returned to normal.

  “Looks like that segment was deliberately deleted,” Cal said. “Got a list of employees with access to your system.”

  “Nobody else can get into it but me,” Maggie said.

  “And you’re sure you didn’t do anything to this?” Kelly asked.

  Maggie shook her head. “I never touch this thing unless I have a reason to—and I haven’t even logged in to review a single frame in over six months.”

  “It’s pretty obvious you’ve had a breach then,” Cal said. “And this was completely deliberate.”

  Maggie’s jaw fell agape. “I can’t believe this,” she said, staring blankly at the screen. “This was never supposed to happen.”

  “Well, it did,” Kelly said. “You might want to look into how someone could do this to your archived security footage with a mirrored storage site.”

  “Also, what could you tell us about Hinkle Towing?” Cal said. “I noticed that was the name on the side of the truck that was pulling away an RV just as the footage was restored.”

  Maggie scratched down a number on Cal’s paper and then handed it back to him.

  “That’s who we call whenever we have a customer who requests a tow,” she said.

  “Thanks for your help,” Kelly said, handing Maggie a card. “We do appreciate it. And if you find out who hacked your system, let us know. I know it’s a long shot, but we’d be very interested in that little tidbit of information.”

  When Cal and Kelly returned to their car, they didn’t say a word. Cal wasn’t surprised at what they had just learned. Whoever killed Chase Dollinger was covering his tracks.

  Using the speaker phone option, Cal dialed the number for the Hinkle Towing and inquired about Dollinger’s RV tow. The dispatcher didn’t hesitate to tell them that unless otherwise instructed, all RVs are taken to Hardman’s RV World a few miles away. Kelly looked up the address on her phone and then handed it to Cal. He turned onto the main thoroughfare and headed in the direction of the store.

  “What are we getting into here, Cal?” Kelly asked.

  “The same thing we always get into, honey,” he said with a wry grin.

  “I just hope this doesn’t end up with me hiding with Maddie in our panic room again.”

  “Don’t be so dramatic. We’re going to play our cards close to the vest.”

  “You think we’re going to be able to sneak under the radar on this one?”

  “That’s what I’m betting on,” Cal said with a wink.

  A few minutes later, they pulled into Hardmans’ RV World. Cal approached a salesman and asked for directions to the service department. Explaining that he didn’t have any customers at the moment, the salesman escorted Cal and Kelly to the service manager.

  With dark hair slicked straight back and a megawatt smile, Miles Hardman adjusted his tie as he walked around his desk to shake Cal’s and Kelly’s hands.

  “What can I do for you two today?” Miles asked.

  “We’re here to discuss an RV that you recently repaired, one that was owned by Chase Dollinger.”

  Hardman grimaced. “Oh, yes, Chase Dollinger, the baseball player who recently died. That was just tragic. The Mariners could’ve used him against the Yankees.”

  “We were wondering if you could tell us any
thing more about the repair on the RV,” Kelly said.

  “I hate the Yankees,” Hardman said. “You know when George Steinbrenner died—”

  “Mr. Hardman, you’re hardly alone in your hate for the Yankees, but we are on a bit of a time schedule here,” Cal said.

  “Oh, yes, I understand. Now, let me see. What did you want again?” Hardman asked.

  “The RV owned by Chase Dollinger was towed here after it wouldn’t start,” Kelly said. “Could you tell us more about what was wrong with the vehicle?”

  “Let me call that work order up,” Hardman said, walking over to a computer terminal. “Now, do you happen to know the exact date? That’ll help me narrow it down in the system here.”

  “October second,” Kelly said.

  Hardman clicked away on the keyboard.

  “There it is,” he said as he peered more closely at the screen. Then he furrowed his brow.

  “What is it?” Kelly asked.

  “This is interesting,” he said. “Apparently, one of our technicians initially diagnosed Mr. Dollinger’s vehicle, finding that it needed a new alternator. We waited several days for the parts to arrive. Now when we finally got the necessary parts to repair the RV, one of our other technicians found that the only problem was a missing sparkplug.”

  “You’re right,” Cal said. “That is interesting. Any chance we can speak with this technician who made that first diagnosis?”

  “Now why would you want to shame the young man like that?” Hardman asked with a scowl.

  “We’re not trying to shame anyone, Mr. Hardman,” Cal said. “We’re simply retracing Chase Dollinger’s final days and want to see if your tech saw something. I doubt he did anything malicious. We all make mistakes, right?”

  Hardman arched an eyebrow and peered into the distance.

  “Look, this isn’t going to be some hit piece on your store and service repair shop,” Cal said. “We’re just looking for some answers, that’s all.”

  Hardman shook his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t trust you media types, always promising one thing and then doing another. Our guy made a mistake, but I don’t want that publicized far and wide that we could’ve just inserted a new spark plug and Chase Dollinger would’ve been on his way to New York. Maybe he would’ve been at some place where he could’ve gotten help before anyone noticed he was dead. And then the Mariners would’ve beaten the Yankees.”

  “Mr. Hardman, please, we’re telling you the truth,” Kelly said. “We wouldn’t want to do anything to harm your store. We just want to tell the story about what happened to Dollinger.”

  Hardman shook his head slowly.

  “Nope, I’m not going to do it. You’ll just screw me over and I can’t afford that, especially when I’m locked in a fight for supremacy in the RV market here in Bismarck with Camping World. Nobody buys local any more, preferring those stupid big box stores. And if you write this story—”

  “We can leave the store’s name out of the article,” Cal said. “Quite frankly, it’s irrelevant, but the fact that the misdiagnosis happened is very germane to the article.”

  “I’ve made up my mind,” Hardman said, shooing Cal and Kelly in the direction of the door with the back of his hand. “Now go.”

  Kelly didn’t move. “But Mr. Hardman, we—“

  Hardman narrowed his eyes. “You two better leave before I call security.”

  Cal grabbed Kelly by her harm and gently pulled her toward the door.

  “Come on,” he said in a whisper. “Let’s not make a scene.”

  They almost reached their car when a man wearing a navy-blue work shirt while holding a wrench in one hand and a grease rag in the other came hustling up to them. He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the office before saying a word.

  “I overheard your conversation with Mr. Hardman,” said the man. The name Ned was stitched onto the patch over his left pocket.

  “Can you help us?” Kelly asked.

  Ned nodded. “The man you’re looking for is Phil White Bull. He lives in White Shields on a reservation about an hour and a half away.”

  “Got an address for him?” Cal asked.

  “Give me a piece of paper, and I’ll write it down for you.”

  CHAPTER 9

  CAL PEERED INTO THE DISTANCE and wondered if he had entered in the wrong address into his phone’s GPS. After driving for an hour and half mostly on empty two-lane roads, they zipped through the small town of White Shields and were a mile north of the city limits in what felt like the middle of nowhere. A few ranches dotted the landscape on the outskirts, but Cal was beginning to wonder if the mechanic from Hardman’s RV World had played a prank on them.

  Cal cast a sideways glance at Kelly. “Can you double check to make sure I entered the right address into my phone?”

  “Sure, honey. I’m just enjoying the scenery here.”

  “It’s a beautiful place, but I’d rather not spend any more time here than we have to. I don’t want this story to slip away from us.”

  She looked at the paper the mechanic had given them. “Everything here checks out. We’re still on the right road, at least the one he gave us. If this is correct, we need to keep an eye out for the mailbox with White Bull’s address on it because we should be coming up on it soon.”

  Cal sighed and then caught a glint off some glass or metal.

  “What is that up there?” he asked, nodding toward a hill on the horizon.

  “Looks like a trailer on top of that butte.”

  “Not a better place to put one around here.”

  “There’s the address,” Kelly said, pointing to a pair of mailboxes. “You need to turn right there.”

  Cal swung the car right onto the next dirt road. He looked in his rearview mirror and watched a stream of dust rising in the car’s wake. Eventually, they arrived at White Bull’s trailer, the one perched on top of the butte that Cal had noticed.

  They parked and remained in the car for a moment.

  “You remember our story?” Cal asked.

  “Yes, you’re a lawyer representing Chase Dollinger’s estate, and I’m your assistant. Remind me again why I can’t be the lawyer?”

  “Next time I’ll let you be the lawyer, okay?”

  “Deal,” she said before they both exited their vehicle.

  They hadn’t taken more than a couple steps before two German Shepherds charged toward Cal and Kelly. Instinctively, they both turned back around and slipped into the car.

  “Thor! Zeus!” a woman called from the porch. “Get back here right now! You know that’s not how we treat our guests.”

  Kelly’s eyes widened at the scene. “You sure this was a good idea to come all the way out here?”

  “I guess we’ll find out,” Cal said, before realizing the woman had both dogs sitting on the porch and obeying her command to stay.

  “Okay,” Kelly said, “are you ready to do this?”

  “The coast is clear,” Cal said. “Just be careful what you say. We don’t want those dogs turned on us.”

  “Just scratch them behind their ears. They won’t bother you. They’re big, but they won’t eat you.”

  “You know about that incident I had as a kid. Those four German Shepherds attacked me, knocking me to the ground. I thought I was going to die.”

  “I told you before that they probably just wanted to play with you,” she said. “Now, let’s go.”

  Cal sighed and opened his car door. He forced a smile and waved at the woman on the porch, who was still kneeling next to her dogs and holding their collars.

  “Better make this quick,” she said. “I can’t hold these beasts back forever.”

  Kelly waved and hustled ahead of Cal. “We were hoping to speak with Phil White Bull,” she said. “Does he happen to be around?”

  “He’s around back,” the woman said. “Just step inside, and I’ll go get him. If you’re going to have any kind of sane conversation with him, I need to put up Thor and Zeus.”


  Cal and Kelly followed the woman’s instructions and stood inside the living room, waiting for White Bull. Less than a minute later, he entered from the back. He stomped his boots on the rug just inside the door and washed his hands before saying anything.

  “What’s this all about?” White Bull asked. “Is there something wrong?”

  “I’m Murray McGill with McGill, McGill, McGill and Associates,” Cal said. “My assistant Nadia and I have been tasked with handling some loose ends regarding Chase Dollinger’s estate.”

  “Well, as I guess you already know, I’m Phil White Bull. But I’m a little bit confused. Why exactly did you come all this way to speak with me?”

  White Bull gestured for them to have a seat in the living room.

  “Well, I wanted to talk about Mr. Dollinger’s RV,” Cal said as he sat down.

  “The one that belonged to the baseball player who died?

  Cal and Kelly both nodded.

  White Bull shifted in his seat. “Well, what about it? It broke down, and the towing company brought it to us. We fixed it. There’s really not much more to tell.”

  “We were interested in your diagnosis of the vehicle,” Kelly said before glancing at her notes. “You said it needed a new alternator. But it turned out to be just a spark plug issue.”

  White Bull scratched his head. “Yeah, I feel kind of bad about that one. I don’t know why I made such a big mistake. I guess I got fooled somehow.”

  “That’s quite a mistake to make,” Cal said. “And from what I’ve gathered, you’ve been there quite a while.”

  “Everybody’s allowed to screw up occasionally, aren’t they? Besides, I did right by them. I got that driver back on the road as soon as we realized the mistake.”

  “That still took quite some time. And frankly, my client might still be alive had it not been for your misdiagnosis.”

  White Bull wrinkled his nose and narrowed his eyes. “So are you planning on suing me or something?”

  Cal looked around the place. “I doubt it would be worth our time, but there’s another matter to discuss—that of a safe that was onboard the RV. All the money is gone, and your fingerprints were all over it.”