The Voxlightner Scandal

by Don Travis

  “I gotta go talk to that man,” Roy said.

  “Hold on. Let’s plan our approach. Don’t want to tip our hand too early. Let’s gather some more information. You see if you can find a jacket on him anywhere other than what we’ve already located. Check all the jurisdictions where you know he lived, no matter how short the duration. I want to talk to Sarah Thackerson again.”

  “Not Spears?”

  “Not yet. I want to hear what she says about Rocky.”

  I TRACKED Sarah Thackerson down at her apartment. Apparently she had now severed her relationship with the Belhaven family… or vice versa. She answered the door in smart casual clothes and with her hair flowing loose, a far more attractive look for her. She frowned and removed her black-framed reading glasses when she recognized me.

  “Mr. Vinson. I didn’t expect you.”

  “Sorry to drop in unannounced, but I have some more questions. Have you finished your work at the Belhaven house?”

  “Yes. Harris could hardly wait to get me out the door. I think he resented having to rely on me to clean up some details.”

  “Like?”

  “Like Pierce’s royalties. They had to be switched over to the estate, which took paperwork. But everything’s finished now.”

  We stood for an awkward moment in silence before she opened the door wider and stood aside. Her apartment looked like the student’s abode that it was. Compact, but she’d made it comfortable. What I assumed was homework took up most of the small kitchen table.

  “Surprised you haven’t moved to larger quarters,” I said, “given your recent inheritance.”

  “That inheritance is going to see me through my degree. I’m not going to look for another job.”

  I settled across the table from her, careful of bumping knees. “What can you tell me about Rocky Lodeen?”

  “Spencer’s friend? Not much.”

  “Did he hang around the Belhaven home?”

  “Pierce didn’t approve of us bringing friends around.”

  “Does that mean he was never there?”

  “Sometimes, like when Spence needed help with heavy lifting or something. I don’t know if he paid Rocky or just called on his friendship.”

  “Do you know how they met?”

  “In class, I gather.” She shrugged. “Come to think of it, I don’t know if Rocky goes to class. More likely they met in a bar. Spencer always talks about the Hogshead, so that’s probably it.”

  “You’re not familiar with the place?”

  She hesitated. “I’ve been there once. A friend from school and I ate there. It’s too much of a good-old-boy place for my taste.”

  “I noticed Rocky came over and spoke to you when he entered the APD waiting area the other day.”

  “I know him to say hello to. That’s all.”

  “I got the impression it was friendlier than that.”

  Sarah sniffed. “He’d like it to be.”

  “He’s decent enough looking.”

  She leveled a brown-eyed stare at me. “Come now, Mr. Vinson. Don’t tell me you judge a book by its cover.”

  Despite myself, I grinned. “Not personally, but there are those who do.”

  “I’m not one of them.”

  Sarah put up with me for another half hour as I shot questions about Rocky and Spence at her. She appeared quite detached from either of the men. Her interest level registered low. I got the distinct impression she felt Spence took advantage of Pierce Belhaven. Based on my last conversation with Spence, he felt the same way about her. In Sarah’s opinion Spence and Rocky bonded over automobiles, beer, sports, and women. She speculated they had no interests beyond those four things, although she grudgingly admitted Spence was building himself a reputation in the landscaping field. She denied knowing anything about the source of financing for Rocky’s Cougar. A bank loan, she assumed.

  “Any word on Belhaven’s life policy?” I asked as I prepared to close things down.

  “I hired a lawyer to help move things along. I think they’d delay paying a penny until the murder was solved, but my lawyer says they can’t do that unless they have some proof the beneficiary had something to do with the death of the insured.”

  This last sounded rehearsed, so I assumed she was parroting her lawyer.

  As I left the Riverview Apartments—a good ten miles from any river I knew of—I realized her apartment house was around the corner from Spencer Spears’s. Convenient, although if Sarah was to be believed, she had no interest in Spence… or Rocky. The fact she and Spence were satisfying the carnal appetites of the same older man erected a wall tinged with animosity between them.

  I raised Spencer Spears on his cell phone. He was at a new customer’s place on the Westside of town but agreed to meet me around five for a drink at the Hogshead.

  I arrived at the tavern early by design. I wanted to get the lay of the land to determine how easy or difficult it would be for Spence to leave without being noticed by his companions. The place was relatively large but made cozy by dim lighting, a low ceiling, weathered brown nailhead plank walls, and partitions made to look reclaimed. The butt end of one of the 64-gallon barrels giving the tavern its name was affixed to the wall behind the long bar.

  Snagging a Coors from the barkeep, I used the cold can to stake my claim to a table with a view of the front door before making a recon of the place. As suspected the restrooms were located at the back with an unalarmed exit opening onto the rear parking lot. Anyone could easily leave the place without being observed, but the door locked in place as soon as it shut. Gaining access would be impossible unless a confederate opened it for him later.

  I was seated and halfway through my beer by the time Spence showed up, dressed in work dungarees and a form-hugging T-shirt covered by a windbreaker against the mid-November climate. Did he know how sexy he looked? Of course, he did.

  He claimed the chair opposite and favored me with a smile. “Came straight from work. Hope I’m not too ripe to be pleasant company.” The strawberry birthmark on his left cheek played as he spoke. It put me in mind of the way Pedro…. No time for that now.

  “It’s a working-man’s bar, and I’m guessing you’ll be one of the sweeter-smelling patrons before the night is over.”

  He laughed but sobered when I plopped my recorder on the table and asked my next question.

  “Where were you seated the night Belhaven died?”

  He lifted his chin and indicated the back of the big room. “Back yonder in the corner. Table 21.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Surprised you know the tables are numbered.”

  “Aren’t they always? That’s not far from the kitchen, and we always hear the cook ring the bell and yell, ‘Table 21.’ Not hard to figure.”

  I turned to survey the area. “Who was sitting where?”

  “I was on the bench on the south wall. Rocky was to my right. The other guys came and went.”

  He’d made it easy for me. “Rocky stayed the whole evening?”

  “Yeah. Well, mostly. He did some coming and going like the other two. You know, Neal and Chuck.”

  “So your alibi wasn’t here all the time?”

  “One or the other of them was.”

  “Describe the situation for me.”

  Spence planted a frown on his face as he recalled the night. Rocky was already here when he arrived around eight or eight thirty. That jibed with what Rocky told me. After about half an hour, the other two showed up. It was mostly laughing and drinking and talking about women and sports. The one named Neal left for an hour or so to go meet his girl. He returned alone. Rocky stepped outside to take a phone call from some woman he later called “my squeeze.” Other than pit stops, everyone pretty well stayed put until the place closed down at two the next morning.

  Everything sounded normal except for Rocky’s “my squeeze.” So far, I’d not found a connection to a regular girlfriend. I moved on.

  “Didn’t you have to be at work the next day? If I re
call you said you worked at the Belhaven place on Thursdays.”

  He gave me a crooked grin. “I’m still young enough to handle it. Besides Pierce’s place was time-consuming but not hard work. I’ve had those grounds under control for a couple of years now. You shoulda seen them before. A mess.”

  “Are the four of you regulars?”

  “Get together a night or two a week.”

  “How’d you meet?”

  “Chuck and Neal go to good old CNM or did until they got their associates. Met them in one class or the other. We hit it off and started bumming around.” He shrugged. “Rocky sorta just showed up one day.”

  I asked a few questions about Neal Chutney and Charles Mumfrey to disguise my interest in Rocky Lodeen. Doubtless Spence would fill him in on my interview, but I didn’t want to set off alarm bells for these two.

  “I understand you and Rocky were both with the Army in Afghanistan. You didn’t meet there?”

  “He was Airborne Infantry. I was Rangers. We were there at the same time in the same vicinity but never ran into one another. But that gave us a connection. Something to talk about. But like I said, I met him like the others… at CNM. He was hanging around the coffee shop one day. We got to talking and hit it off.”

  “He was enrolled in class?”

  Spence shook his head. “Not at the time. Think he enrolled in some English course since, but if he’s got plans to ever graduate, he hides it pretty good. Think he likes classes as a way to meet women.”

  “People,” I corrected.

  He glanced at me sharply before allowing his gaze to slide away.

  “You ever make it with him?” I asked.

  “You’re sure interested in my sex life. You ever run around on your hunky newspaperman?”

  I shook my head. “Never. And he’s an investigative journalist, not a newspaperman. But I’m trying to get a handle on some people here. For instance… you said you took care of Pierce’s needs. Did you ever put him with Rocky?”

  He blinked. “What? Course not. Rocky came around a couple of times while I was working, and I introduced the two. But get together? Nah.”

  “Are you sure you would know?”

  He snorted. “Rocky would blab. Couldn’t help himself from crowing.” He leaned back in the seat and signaled the waiter for another beer. “But me’n Rocky? Yeah. Made it a couple of times. It’s awesome.” He tilted his head and gave me a look. “You interested?”

  “I’m committed,” I said. “But thanks for the offer.”

  “Anytime.”

  “How well do you know these other guys? Are you a regular foursome?”

  “Not dedicated, but…. Whoa, don’t get the wrong idea. Neal and Chuck don’t swing that way.” He gave a calculating look. “Least I don’t think so. We’re just drinking buddies.”

  “So Rocky’s a special friend, huh?”

  “Yeah. We’re close. And not because of the sex thing either. He likes cars, and I like cars. He likes—”

  I interrupted and took a shot in the dark. “Speaking of cars, why did you give him ten thousand dollars to buy his Cougar?”

  “Don’t go making nothing of that. He needed it to buy his wheels. And thanks to Pierce, I had it. So I lent it to him.”

  “A day or so after you got your share of Pierce’s estate.”

  He straightened in his seat as his eyes slid to the recorder lying nearby. “Hold on there, man. I had it. He needed it. That’s all there is to it.”

  “Can I see a copy of the note?”

  “What note? We didn’t do a formal loan thing. He owes me, and he’ll pay me back. Period. It’s only temporary anyway. He’s got an uncle back in Chicago who’s going to front it for him in a month or so. I helped him buy the car before somebody else bought it out from under him.”

  I left the Hogshead after a few rounds of drinks with a better understanding of the dynamics between Spencer Spears and Rocky Lodeen.

  Chapter 25

  A FEW discreet questions established that Neal Chutney and Charles Mumfrey often played tennis on the public courts at Los Altos Park in the city’s Northeast Heights. Paul volunteered to see if he could engage them and pick their brains about Spence and Rocky while I did some more checking. Rocky’s tendency toward violence plus his stuntman training put him squarely in my sights.

  It took some effort to run down the former commanding officer of the Second Battalion, 327th Infantry Regiment, 101st Airborne Division, the famous Screaming Eagles. The Second was notorious as the “No Slack Battalion.” The retired colonel remembered Private First Class Rocky Lodeen well. Lodeen distinguished himself in the Battle of Barawala Kalay Valley but shortly thereafter became trigger-happy. His ex-CO reckoned the stress of the fierce battle unhinged the man. The date of the battle, late March into early April of this year, surprised me. I hadn’t realized Rocky had been out of the military for such a short time.

  When I figured I had all he had to offer, I asked about Rocky’s rank. “I understood that Lodeen was a platoon sergeant, but you called him PFC.”

  “Hated to do it, but I had to bust him a couple of ranks before he went back to the States for his general discharge.”

  After that conversation, I drove to the Northeast Heights Auto Body Shop off San Mateo NE and talked to Rocky’s boss. I’d counted on Rocky being there in order to gauge his reaction to my presence, but the manager said he was at a crash site with the wrecker. Showing only mild interest in my questions, the man painted the picture of a competent but prickly body-shop man. Rocky got along reasonably well with his coworkers, but they knew not to push his buttons. No one joshed around with the ex-paratrooper as they did with others on the work crew. Although the odd man out, so to speak, he sometimes joined the rest of them after work for a beer. He was a careful drinker. The reason became apparent when on one occasion Rocky overindulged and got so nasty the party broke up rather than deal with him.

  That evening Paul and I reconnected at home, where we exchanged information. Neal and Chuck were reluctant to talk with Paul at first, but he’d unleashed his charm—and his tennis prowess—on them to loosen their tongues. What it all boiled down to was that Rocky was Spence’s friend, not theirs. They were willing to put up with the guy for the pleasure of Spence’s company but wanted no part of Lodeen when Spence wasn’t around. They’d seen no evidence of violence in the man but suspected it lurked under the surface. They were cautiously friendly.

  SATURDAY MORNING I got my revenge on the links. Paul was so impatient to see the end of our investigation into the Belhaven killing that he let it get in the way of his golf swing. I came in two under his score. On the way home from the country club, I sensed a darkening of his mood. My antennae went up.

  “Vince,” he said in a slow drawl. “Are we okay? I mean… are we as solid as we were?”

  “I’m perfectly comfortable if you are.”

  He glanced at me before turning back to the road to maneuver the Charger around a big cottonwood that forced the road to jog. “We were more than comfortable.”

  I let that lie. He was working around to something.

  “I don’t know what got into me. With Jackie, I mean.” He shrugged and gave a snort. “Just flattered a cute kid like that would be interested in me.”

  “Paul, there have been a hundred cute young men interested in you. And if you count me, it’s a hundred and one. You just haven’t realized it.”

  “I-I wouldn’t have betrayed you. I was just… I don’t know….”

  “Let me tell you something, sport. If you ever try to betray me, Pedro will squeeze the nipple he’s holding so hard you won’t be capable of going through with it. Pedro and I have a special relationship, you know.”

  He giggled, transforming himself into a younger Paul. “I know. And I’m glad. I love you, Burleigh J. Vinson.”

  “Vince will do. And I love you, Paul Barton. After all these years, I’ve never heard your middle name. Do you even have one?”

  “Nope.
My folks figured I didn’t need one.”

  “You seem to be coping fine.”

  “Let’s go line dancing tonight.”

  Paul and I didn’t frequent the gay bars in the Albuquerque area beyond dropping in for a drink now and then, but he loved the C&W Palace, the biggest boot-stomping joint in the state, out on East Central. It was strictly a hetero place, so he never lacked for a willing female partner to dance. He especially liked the line dances, and as I’d watch from nearby tables, his graceful, manly moves sometimes provoked an ache deep in my guts.

  “It’s been a while,” I said.

  “Yeah. It’s time we hit the old barn.”

  WE STRODE into the huge C&W Palace that evening around eight o’clock. Despite my companion’s reference to it as a barn, a cowshed this size would have held an entire herd of longhorns with room to spare.

  Paul’s black turtleneck and black denims perfectly complimented his coloring, but the mustard-yellow suede vest he customarily wore for dancing made him breathtaking. My western shirt and gray slacks couldn’t begin to compete.

  A small table at the edge of the dance floor beckoned after we got our drinks at the bar. Every place in the state still carded my companion even though he was coming up on twenty-six. Good genes.

  After sitting we spent a few minutes surveying the crowd. My eyes never failed to involuntarily seek out the tables on the far side of the room where Puerco Arrullar and his Santos Morenos gang habitually sat until we took them down five years ago. But there was no evidence of anyone other than people bent on having a good time. At the first call for a line dance, Paul was off and running.

  As was my custom, I admired Paul for a few minutes before glancing at the other dancers. Three places to his right, I spotted a familiar figure. Spencer Spears, looking almost as good as Paul, danced opposite a petite blonde. Both were accomplished dancers.

  When the music died away, Paul signaled he was going to dance the next dance. I smiled and nodded. The band struck up a country and western tune, and the crowd of swirling dancers swept them away.