“That burn down near the canal seems to be moving this way. I guess they can’t get it under control,” said one of the men.
“Yeah, we were going to play another nine, but the air is so thick out there you can’t breath it, and you can’t see your ball if it goes into the rough.”
Emily had noted the smoke in the air when she drove up. Now, when she looked out the window, she couldn’t see as far as the hundred-yard maker on the driving range.
She waved good-bye to the departing men, grabbed their beer glasses, and washed them. The outside door to the bar opened.
“Come in quick and close it. I don’t want that smell in here,” she said.
“Hi, there,” said a familiar voice.
“Detective Lewis.” As nice as their coffee was the other day, the man still set her nerves on end. She never knew when he might depart from friendly conversation into police interrogation.
“I have some good news for you,” he said. He removed his hat, set it on the next bar stool, then sat down.
“You were at the courthouse today. I caught a glimpse of you in the back.”
“You looked like Little Miss Muffit in that dress.”
“Hap’s idea. Get to the news.”
“Quigley was lying.”
“Oh, big surprise. Everyone knew Quigley was lying. Even the judge, but so what? It seems only rumor, not the truth, is what counts in this place.”
“You judge us too harshly. Justice here is slow and sometimes it’s not obvious it’s happening.”
“Put that in quotes. It’s Hap’s line. Or did he steal it from you?” She wanted to throw the wet bar rag at him and tell him to get on his SUV and ride. She restrained herself and waited for his “good news.”
“He was on his way out of town to visit his relatives in Macon, Georgia when I pulled him over.”
“For lying?”
“Lucky for me, he was speeding. And drunk. Mr. Quigley is not a happy man. He recently lost his job as general manager of the local hardware store when it closed. So he was looking for work. I guess he found it. He was carrying five thousand dollars in his pocket. Apparently someone hired him. I’m thinking the money was payoff for his testimony.”
Emily dropped the bar cloth and turned wide, blue eyes on Lewis. She gave him her full attention. “So who paid him?” she asked.
“I don’t know yet, but he’s down at the station, and Toby is questioning him. When we get his full story, I intend to pay a visit to the judge.”
CHAPTER 21
Judge Miller opened the door to his father’s room and stood gazing at the small figure lying in the bed by the window. The old man had been in the nursing facility at the Blue Heron Retirement Center for over six months. The judge didn’t want him to die, but he did long for his suffering to cease.
“Dad?” he said in a low voice. “Are you awake?” The form in the bed didn’t move, gave no indication he knew anyone had entered the room. He never did. Since the stroke, the judge’s father lived with machines monitoring his vital functions. The doctors told Judge Miller that his father’s brain continued to function, and he was breathing on his own, but they fed him through a tube in his stomach. This was his dad, who loved food and had once won an okra eating contest in Louisiana. He was seventy at the time.
The judge took his usual seat at the window and began telling his father about the day in court. He didn’t expect any reaction from him, but the doctors said his father could hear him speaking and the sound of his voice was soothing to the dying man.
“It was an unusual case.” He spoke at length about the testimony. “I know Quigley’s lying, but there’s nothing I can do about it. For this woman to live in sin for so long. It’s beyond my understanding why a woman would do that.”
“She loved him,” said a voice. Hap stood in the doorway, his figure backlit by the hallway illumination. “May I come in for a moment?”
“This is usually the time I spend alone with Dad. And your behavior is highly unethical, you know.”
“Yes, so disbar me. This will be my last case anyway,” Hap said. “Besides, I’ve brought a little courage, and I’d like to share it with you.” Hap reached into his pocket and extracted a silver flask.
The judge hesitated only a moment, then reached out and took it, unscrewed the top, and raised it to his mouth. “Sour mash.” He smacked his lips in appreciation as the fierce concoction burned down his throat and spread warmth throughout his stomach.
“I gave this up when I found Jesus,” he said. “I miss it.” He took a second swallow and handed it back to Hap.
“I don’t mean to tell you how to believe, Judge, but I don’t think Jesus would mind a sip or two between old rivals.”
He upturned the flask, took a long draught, and handed it back to the judge, who shook his head. The figure in the bed moaned and moved a leg. Both men turned toward the sound, but it was not repeated. Only the monitors gave forth their steady bleeping.
“He has no real life.” He nodded his head toward his father. “Sometimes I wish there were a plug I could pull and end it, but I guess it’s up to him. He seems to want to hang on for now.”
Hap chuckled. “He’s waiting for his son to make a reasonable decision from the bench for once.”
“You think you know what I’m going to announce tomorrow?”
“Well, you’re certainly in a pickle even though you know Quigley’s lying. But let’s set his testimony to the side. The rest is all rumor and innuendo. You know the character of this woman, and you know she was more faithful than many wives have been.”
Judge Miller’s head shot up. “Let’s not go there. Leave her out of this.”
Hap hesitated a moment before he responded, carefully measuring his words. “I wasn’t talking about anyone in particular. My only recommendation would be you use your Christian charity and forgive her.”
“She was my wife and she cheated on me. With you.” The judge’s words were the same as they’d ever been when he spoke of his wife to Hap, but tonight they had lost their venom. “I wonder what she saw in you, a poor, alcoholic, failure of a country lawyer.”
“I was good for a laugh.”
The judge held his hand out, and Hap placed the flask in it. Miller took a long pull on it.
“I can’t forgive her, and I won’t forgive you. As for your client, she’s no better than my unfaithful wife. You’ve come on a fool’s errand.” He pocketed the flask and turned his attention back onto his father.
“You’re not a bad judge, but you’re not as good as you could be, you know. You need a better role model than your predecessor, Judge Crawford, that broken down old bag of wind.”
“And who might you recommend?” He asked without taking his eyes off his father.
“Solomon saw the truth. His decision separated the truly virtuous woman from the pretender. There’s a lesson in that.”
Judge Miller saw his father’s eyes flip open for a second, and close again. He leaned in. A sigh escaped the old man’s lips.
Hap watched the pair from the doorway. If I were a religious man, I’d take that as a sign. He closed the door and walked down the hallway, eager to leave the nursing care part of the facility and return to his small apartment. He knew he’d return here soon enough.
When Captain Worley left the interrogation room to get a cup of coffee, Toby leaned in toward Quigley. “Keep your mouth shut, and you’ll walk out of here.”
Quigley’s eyes darted around the room, finally coming to rest on the small window, smudged with years of dirt.
“No I won’t. You heard what Worley said. I’m looking at some serious charges here, speeding and drunk driving.”
“A good lawyer can get you off those. Ask for one when Worley gets back.” The name of Ignatious Palatier sprang to Toby’s mind, and he laid it in Quigley’s ear.
“No way. I can’t afford it. I’m gonna tell the truth.”
Toby sneered and grabbed his spit can off the floor. “You implicate me, and
I’ll say you’re lying. And I’m a cop. Who’s gonna believe a drunk who’s out of work?” Toby circled behind Quigley’s chair, then leaned down toward him again. Toby’s sour breath along with the bitter reek of his chewing tobacco encircled Quigley’s head.
“Tell you what. You hang tight, and I’ll see if I can find the money to buy you Palatier. Deal?”
Quigley wrung his hands, then dropped his head into them. “Deal.”
Toby knew he was afraid to be in the room alone with him, afraid Toby might do something to him and cover it by saying Quigley tried to escape or attacked him. Toby smiled, knowing Quigley was in big trouble, and it was coming at him from all sides. He knew Quigley’s only hope was to implicate Toby and that he couldn’t let him do. Toby had to keep him from talking with anyone else. Toby needed Ignatious, and he knew how to get him.
He left Quigley in the room alone, confident he’d covered his trail, and stepped outside into the gathering darkness, brought on earlier tonight because of the smoke-filled air. He punched a number into his cell.
“Ignatious,” he said. “We have a potential problem here. Weston Quigley’s been picked up with the five thousand on him, and he thinks he can talk his way out of some traffic charges by telling the truth about where he got the money. What? I know damn well he got it from me! And I got it from you. Rest assured I will use your name if he talks. Right now, he’s willing to hang tough if you represent him.”
“I don’t want to have anything more to do with this situation. And I certainly don’t want to be his lawyer.”
Toby was shocked. Ignatious was as vulnerable as he. Why wouldn’t he play the game? He decided to be more cajoling. Maybe the man needed persuasion.
“That don’t sound like you at all. You’ve got a lot to lose here and if I don’t go back in there with you on the line for Quigley, he’ll name me and then you know what’ll happen.” He never knew if Ignatious heard his words because the lawyer had disconnected.
Something was very wrong here, and Toby wondered if Quigley’s idea of getting out of town was a good one, one Toby should consider. He might run, but only after he played a few cards he still held with people who weren’t so nicey, nicey about their dealings as were lawyers and out-of work hardware managers. He punched in another number and got a better reception. By the time Detective Lewis drove into the parking lot, Toby’s frame of mind was much improved.
“I think he’s about to crack,” said Toby to Lewis as the tall man entered the station.
“Good work, Toby. I’ll go in and talk to him and we’ll see what he has to say.”
“He’s still rolling it around in his mind. Let me have a few minutes with him, and I’ll have him singing like a mocking bird.”
“Go to it, man,” said Lewis.
Toby walked down the hallway and found Captain Worley standing outside the room.
“He say anything, Captain?” asked Toby. He worried Quigley had spilled the story to the captain.
“He wants a lawyer. I told him it was damn dumb of him not to talk about the money, but he’s insistent.”
“I thought you had him on the run,” said Lewis, walking up behind Toby.
“I do, I mean I did.” Toby eyes fixed on the closed door. “My spit bucket,” he said. “I left it in there. Let me have another shot at him before we bring in the lawyer.”
“You know the rules, Toby. We can’t question him until the lawyer arrives,” said Worley.
Toby leaned forward toward the captain, his hands held out in front of him. He looked as if he were going to drop to his knees and beg him. As Toby was about to open his mouth, the sounds of sirens from fire engines and emergency vehicles drew everyone’s attention.
“Sounds like more fire fighters are needed for that blaze,” said Worley. “And that sounds like my phone ringing.”
Worley rushed off to his office, but returned in several minutes. “That was Quigley’s lawyer. He’ll be here in a few hours.”
“A few hours,” said Lewis. “Why so long?”
“Not a local. He’s coming in from the coast. Meantime, our guest,” Worley gestured toward the room where Quigley was located, “is not to be questioned. Got that, Toby?”
Toby nodded. “But can I get my spit bucket?”
Worley grimaced. “Fine, go ahead.”
Toby turned to enter the room, his face hidden now from his fellow cops. It wore an expression of supreme satisfaction that his plan had worked. But on the other hand, he missed the knowing look that passed between Lewis and the captain.
Emily slowed and turned onto the shoulder to allow several fire trucks to pass on her way home from the course. She wondered how far up the lake the fire had moved since this afternoon. In the distance she could see a red glow in the sky, and she worried the burn might be threatening her condo park. A steady stream of cars met her as she continued on to the park entrance and made her turn. The park manager stood at the gate and waved her to stop. Beyond the gates emergency service volunteers and designated park personnel in orange vests directed the flow of cars exiting the park.
“I got a notice from the fire chief. He’s ordering everyone to evacuate from here in the next hour. So go get what you need from your place and turn around and get out of here.”
Emily nodded and gunned Stan down the road. She pulled into her drive and jumped out. The smoke was heavier here, and its smell burned her eyes. The glow lit up the pasture beyond the canal. My God, it looks as if the fire is closing in on the field. What about the horses and cattle there? She heard the roar of several engines and watched with relief as a pick-up and an all-terrain vehicle entered and herded the animals down the canal toward the safety of the far palm grove.
“Naomi.” She called her daughter’s name as she banged through the front door. Then she remembered. Naomi was with her friends at the Burnt Biscuit. She’d grab everything of hers she could carry. It wasn’t much. Naomi had arrived with only one suitcase.
She gathered together Naomi’s possessions, some of her own clothes and most of Fred’s. She knew it was silly to take his things, but she couldn’t part with them, at least not yet, fire or no fire. She threw all the clothes in the back of Stan and returned for her picture albums.
Emily could hear the chaos outside: emergency personnel banged on doors, making certain people knew to get out. Carl, Vicki’s husband loaded their two labs into the back of the SUV.
“You coming, Emily?” Vicki shouted to her from the drive.
“Be right there. I’ve got another load of stuff.”
The president of the park’s board of directors drove by announcing the evacuation through the loud speaker, recently purchased with the park’s equipment budget. He obviously thought the evacuation was a great opportunity to use it. Emily knew there were some elderly residents in this park, but she considered the sound system overkill. Who could miss what was going on outside regardless of how deaf they might be or how involved in their primetime programs?
As if to prove her reasoning wrong, she heard Mrs. Wattles shouting at one of the board members. “I can’t leave now. It’s the last fifteen minutes of “Lost”, for heaven’s sake. Besides, there’s a canal surrounding this park. You think the fire will jump that?”
She couldn’t hear the board member’s reply, but on her next trip out to the car, she spotted Mrs. Frey’s car pull up in front of Mrs. Wattles’ house. It was piled high with clothes and other household items, but the only thing Emily saw Mrs. Wattles take from the house was a small battery operated television set.
Emily smiled. Funny the kind of thing you think is important in a crisis. Emily thought of Fred’s clothes and wondered why they were of such meaning to her. As she rushed back into the house for a final load of mementos, a man wearing an orange vest with reflector stripes on it blocked her path. “Time to get moving,” he said. He gestured her toward her car.
She heard her phone ring. “That’s my phone. I should answer it.”
He shook his head
and blocked her path.
She backed out of the drive and followed the slow line of cars leaving the park. Ahead of her, all she could see through the smoke-filled air were car taillights and the blue and red flashers of official vehicles. To the east she watched the fire burn closer. Now she could make out more than a red glow. Trees with their branches ablaze shot flames into the night air. A fire this hot with the wind blowing it toward the park could jump the tiny canal. Emily despaired she had seen the last of the house. Wouldn’t it be ironic, if the judge announced tomorrow that the house was hers and it had burned down during the might? You’re being macabre, she told herself.
The continual honking of a horn behind her made her glance in her rearview mirror. She saw women in the car waving frantically. Emily recognized them as the friends Naomi had made at the pool. She pulled over and jumped out.
“Where’s Naomi?” asked the driver.
“What do you mean?”
“When the Biscuit told everyone to get on home because of the fire, she came with us while we got our stuff together. Then she said she ought to go check on you. She ran off toward your place. You must have just missed each other. She wanted to pick up her things and yours, if you didn’t make it back here in time. She said she’d hitch a ride with your next door neighbors or with you if you showed up.”
Emily’s heart skipped a beat, then began to pound hard against her chest. There’s no way she could have missed Naomi. She made a dash for her car, got in, and began to make a U-turn, but before she could complete it, an emergency volunteer approached and directed her toward the exit. “Move along now. Everyone needs to get out.”
“But I have to go back in.” Emily struggled for the right words. “My daughter is back in the house somewhere.”
“We’re doing a house-to-house check. What’s the address?” Emily told him and he spoke into his two-way radio.
“We checked that area. There’s no one there.”
Okay, she said to herself shifting into gear, she must have gotten a ride with someone else, and we missed one another in all this tangle of traffic. She crept along toward the gate where the only car heading into the park had been stopped by the park manager. The driver stepped out and walked up to the manager. He was a well-built man with sandy hair and a pug nose. When he reached into his suit jacket pocket to extract something, Emily caught sight of a shoulder holster. He pulled out some kind of leather wallet and flipped it open, holding it in front of the manager’s face for his inspection. Ralph nodded his head, and punched the gate code, allowing the barrier arm to raise. The brown Mercedes drove through and on down the road.
Dumpster Dying Page 18
