by Arthur Day
Nothing. He found noting and was in a highly pissed off mood when he walked back up the track of Rose’ vehicle and found McCaal where he had been before Buckmaster left. “Think of anything else?” Buckmaster asked.
“I haven’t thought much about anything,” came the strangled guttural reply.
Buckmaster immediately knew that he had reached a new low in sensitivity and was about to apologize when he heard the whine of a chain saw in the distance and knew the support would soon be where they could do some good. Grimly, he sat down again beside McCaal and wondered what the quiet existence of a small-county sheriff had come to when this type of headline-making crime kept occurring. He shook off his melancholy of bemused self-pity and concentrated on what would happen next.
“She was raped repeatedly.” Buckmaster looked across his desk at MJ McCaal who was sitting there looking down into his lap. Buckmaster wondered if that was because McCaal was afraid that his expression might show his feelings, perhaps even his intentions. “You asked, and I felt that I owed you an answer so there it is.” Buckmaster picked a pencil off his desk and tapped it on the desktop. “I don’t think that this will come as a surprise to you.”
McCaal looked up. “No.”
“There were no bruises on her thighs but there was clitoral bruising. No DNA though. Whoever did it used a rubber of a make found in most drug stores and even some supermarkets.” It had been two days since McCaal had found the corpse. In that time Buckmaster had not heard from him. Most family or friends would have been calling every day to find out if the sheriff had got the person who had done this. It seemed a little abnormal but then, Buckmaster had found out, MJ was not a normal human being, but a trained killer turned financial wizard. His army record and subsequent history lay in a folder on Buckmaster’s desk. “You probably have not spent the past week just on funeral arrangements. Did you contact her current partner?”
“Yes.” McCaal looked up and Buckmaster wished that McCaal had kept his head down. The man’s gaze would have frozen gasoline. “I’m going to the camp this afternoon. Better that I tell him.”
“Listen, Michael. I didn’t have to tell you this. It is part of an ongoing investigation, but I thought you would be able to handle it and put the additional information to good use but going off on your own to get revenge is not smart. If you have additional ideas or information you should share it as I have just shared with you.” Buckmaster wondered if he had just made a huge mistake. He did not want to turn McCaal into the proverbial loose cannon but wanted to see if the man could come up with something outside the official police protocols that might break this case.
Now he sat staring down at his desktop as if he had never seen it before. McCaal had not come in or called back since the meeting in Buckmaster’s office and Buckmaster did not know whether he should be relieved or concerned. He knew he was missing something, some vital piece of information that would make sense of this seemingly senseless act, something that would provide the “why” of all this. He needed to talk with McCaal again.
McCAAL 2014
When I drove up through the pines to the cabin there was no car in the carport or in the garage twenty yards away. Paul was probably out grocery shopping or some other errand. I wasn’t surprised. I had not called ahead so he would not be expecting me. In fact, I was hoping that he would not be around when I arrived. I wanted to look through Pam’s belongings before telling Paul that she was dead. I turned around and drove slowly down the road to a part that had been widened over the decades so that one car could let an approaching car past.
Walking back to the cabin, I wondered how he’d react when I told him about Pam. Perhaps he already knew. He’d been the last person to see her alive, if you don’t count her killer, and he seemed like a decent man, one who would hardly fit the profile of a rapist and murder, but I’d been surprised in the past by what people might do that totally belied their appearance. A car trundled slowly past me, but it wasn’t Paul’s Lexus. I sighed with relief and walked up the driveway to the house.
The upstairs of the cabin had originally been laid out symmetrically with a two sleeping lofts (The sides had originally been open to the stars) on each end with a small study between each loft, a larger common room in the middle and a small bathroom that had been installed when indoor plumbing was put in. On the lakeside, a large addition had been built maybe by Pam’s ancestor Jacob. Upstairs was a large bedroom while below that was the living room with a fieldstone fireplace. The cabin was compact and built to sleep a large number of kids and adults who were out of the house most of the day and did not care if every luxury that they knew in their winter house was present.
I started in the most obvious place, the big bedroom, not that there was much to inspect. There was one dresser containing a mix of women’s and men’s shorts bathing suits, t-shirts and underwear. I found that Paul wore boxers but other than that there was nothing new to see. The little table beside the king size bed held only a paperback and an old book of matches. On the other side was a table holding a bible that probably hadn’t been touched in years. There was no other furniture in the room save for a small easy chair.
The sleeping lofts were tiny with just enough space for a bed and maybe a small chest or a chair. The railings that had been put there to keep kids from falling down the side of the house were still visible below the roof joists and side boards that now enclosed the upper floor but none of the lofts showed any sign that anyone had been there recently. I had a feeling that I had been rummaging around too long and Paul would be showing up any minute. I was about to give up and go back down to the first floor when I realized what I had missed. Above the second floor, loose boards had been laid across the joists to form two small attics, one over each end of the house. I had only been up there once with Pam when we were first together, and she was showing me around. There were twenty and thirty-year-old suitcases, boxes, paintings, hatboxes and various smaller containers with stuff no one had wanted at the time but did not want to throw out. We are somewhat hoarders at heart I suppose and we should not keep stuff we have no use for any more. Leaving it for future generations is not a solution. I was looking over the pile of dusty junk when I heard someone coming up the stairs to the second floor. It had to be Paul and it was. He walked into the bedroom .and changed quickly into an aquamarine bathing suite. Then he went back down the stairs and, I assumed, across the field to the lake and the boathouse beyond.
There was only a single board running between the halves of the attic. I walked across carefully and looked at the pile of junk in this section. Bingo. Right up front was a small cardboard box with no dust on it. Obviously recent. I knelt and checked the contents. Old bank records, letters and accounting paperwork. I had barely started going through it when I heard someone moving around down below. I peeked over the top and there was Paul getting out of his suit. He had obviously been for a swim. His hair was wet, and his penis was the size of a dime. He dressed quickly and went down to the first floor.
I sat there in the attic thinking things over. The box was obviously something that might be of value. The cancelled checks and other papers went back several years. In there, perhaps, was the name or at least a reference to the killer. I thought about just getting down the ladder with the box and walking down the stairs to say hi to Paul but how would I explain how I came to be on the second floor or attic when my car was not parked beside the house? Embarrassing to say the least and what if a search of the contents showed a possible reason why Paul might be the killer? I needed to wait until I could leave undetected and then drive up and enter the house officially thus allowing me to go through the box at my leisure and turn over to Buckmaster anything that was related to her death. I crawled as quietly as possible to a small window that opened to the front of the house. I undid the latch and opened the window slightly so that I would be able to hear his car starting. Then I sat back against the front wall of the house and waited.
When I drove up a couple of hours later, Paul was on the front porch and waved at me as I pulled to a stop. “Hi MJ,” he called and came down the yard with a smile and his hand extended as I climbed out of the car.
“Hi Paul. Sorry to call at the last minute.”
“No worries. Come on in and tell me what’s going on. The news is all good I hope. You’ve found her or at least have a lead as to her whereabouts. That’s what the police call it right?”
“Right.” We walked back to the house and settled into the living room. Paul looked refreshed. A dip in the lake will do that as I well remembered.
“I’m glad I got your call. I was out for a while and then jumped in the lake when I got back.” He flashed a smile full of white teeth. “So, give. What news?”
I leaned forward and watched his face. “Bad news I’m afraid. Pam was found dead. She had been raped and murdered.”
Paul looked at me a moment, his expression expectant as if I had not spoken at all and then it collapsed in on itself. “What?”
“She was murdered.” I repeated wondering whether I had gone about this the wrong way. Paul looked as if he were about to burst into tears and I had to shut down my own feelings in order not to join him. I felt as though all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked from the room and we were fighting just to breath.
“No,” he said, his face a twisted mask of desolation. “It can’t be, just can’t be.” He leaned forward with his face in his hands and sobbed.
“I’m sorry,” I told him. “We both have lost someone precious to us. There just is no good way to say it or maybe I just lack the right words.”
He looked up, his eyes red and already somewhat swollen. “My God, MJ. Why? Who would want to do that?”
“That’s what I’m trying to find out. I’m sure that Sheriff Buckmaster is as well. The Pease name carries a lot of weight and it will all probably be in the paper tomorrow. I thought that maybe this was some kind of delayed ransom thing. She had the money, but obviously that was terribly wrong. I was at a friend’s house on the other side of the lake. I hiked up to a spot I thought only Pam and I knew about. I was wrong on that as well. That’s where I found her body.” I turned and looked out the window at the lake. Clouds had come across the sky turning it the color of slate. “I should tell you that, because I found her in that particular spot, the killer may have been leaving a message for me and people around me might be in danger.”
Paul did not look up but stared down at the floor between his knees. His voice was so low I could barely hear him. “You know when I first met Pam I knew that I wasn’t the first and that was okay. Neither one of us was young and naive. In fact, she didn’t even mention you until we’d been dating for several months and even then she simply said that she’d been married before and left it at that and I didn’t pry; I didn’t feel it was my place if you know what I mean. Anyway, we were chatting one night after a couple of glasses of wine and she mentioned that you and she had been married. I shrugged and said okay no big deal and that I’d known women before I met her and that seemed okay I mean we were not virgins nor did we expect the other one to be and we approached the relationship like two old dogs sniffling the other’s piss but once we decided that we really liked each other, I heard about you. Was I jealous? Sure, a little bit. Pam described you as her life mate that she somehow blundered and lost. She felt it was all her fault and I thought that there was probably fault on both sides. At least, that’s how my past relationships had been, and I was arrogant enough to assume that was a problem with your marriage as well.” He looked up and his face was a grotesque caricature of his normal expression. “You might be right or maybe you’re wrong. Either way I don’t give a fuck. If there is something I can do to find out who did this I will do it and damn any danger that might be involved. Don’t stop searching just because of me and cut me out of the loop. I swear to God if you do that I will cut your heart out.”
I nodded aware that whoever had done this now had two implacable enemies on his trail. That suited me just fine. “I had to give you a chance to bow out but I’m glad to have you with me.”
He nodded in turn and we sat there for a minute, each thinking his own thoughts and trying to find an idea that we could use to pursue Pam’s murder. For my part I had no doubt that there would be some sign of someone bringing Pam to our spot. Was she still alive then? Only the ME could say for sure. If so she would not have gone willingly and would probably have to be bound. Also, whoever brought her had to have used some kind of vehicle, and that that would leave a trace or maybe even tracks. As far as I knew that nearest house up the road from Rose’s house was at least a mile away. Too far to carry Pam whether she was dead or alive. Also, I thought that the sheriff might have uncovered something and maybe he and I could swap information or at least get a feel for the cards the other was holding. Perhaps Paul could help with that.
“The sheriff may have some good news for us,” I told him. “If you were to go into Rockmarsh and talk with him he might be willing to share that news. Certainly, another unofficial member of the Pease family coming forward could not hurt. I know he’s talked with you so he knows where you’re coming from. It’s worth a shot anyhow,” I concluded somewhat lamely.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” he said and even managed a shadow of a smile. “I’ll call him. How or when should we get together to compare notes?”
I thought for a moment. “No need to rush on Pam’s account any more. How about meeting here a couple of days from now. If you think you’ve got something urgent call my cell.” I gave him the number and he gave me his.
Someone knew about our spot. Since I had not even thought of it in years, that meant that Pam or perhaps Rose had talked about it not thinking it was very important. I would talk with Rose.
McCAAL
When I got back to Rose’s farm I found her looking tired and bedraggled. Her jeans were thick with dirt and there was a large smudge of it on her left cheek. She still had her work gloves on and her shirt was stained with sweat. I parked the car and walked back to where she stood on the porch. “You look like something the cat dragged in.”
She smiled and rubbed one glove across her forehead where sweat was still beading. “You could say that, but I got a bunch of chores done including weeding out the garden, something I absolutely detest. I had to keep busy or collapse completely. As it was I watered some of the plants without meaning to. Why is it that the best of us often experience the worst that life has to offer and don’t go into a speech about the Lord working in mysterious ways? I believe there is a force greater than us all but that old soporific just leaves me cold. You look a little pale around the edges yourself.”
“Yeah well I went over to Pam’s place and poked around a bit. Found a box of her papers but I have no idea whether there’s anything in there that would help us. I’ll need to go through it in detail. I told Paul what happened. He was pretty broken up but agreed to talk with the sheriff to see if there is anything new from them.”
“Count me out my friend. I am exhausted and ready for a hot bath, a simple supper and a soft bed. Feel free to help yourself to whatever looks good to you and you’re more than welcome to any books or other reference works you might find.”
“No worries. I need to get back to my place and figure out my next steps. By the way, do you remember telling anyone about that spot that Pam and I and you, apparently, knew about? Someone knew to dump her body there and it would be good if I could trace it back to that person or people. I guess once more than one person knows something it is no longer a secret.”
Rose blew air through her lips and looked over my head at the field behind us. “Certainly not recently. In fact, I had forgotten all about it until you called, told me that you’d found her and where and then I suddenly realized that I had been to that place a long time ago. My thinking pond is what I named it, but I don’t remember telling anyon
e except Pat maybe and he is not in a position to talk at all.” A look of great sadness took over her face and her shoulders slumped a bit more. Memories of the dead come back at us at different times and in different ways. I knew how she felt because just talking about Pam had forced me to realize how much I had lost and would never regain. I went up the steps to the porch and pulled her to me in a hug. “I miss Pat as well,” I told her “and I always will. I can’t imagine the hurt you must feel.” She hugged me back, a hard, desperate embrace that carried all the pain and anguish within her. Then she turned without a word and disappeared into the house.
I stood on the porch for a moment wondering whether I had done the right thing by accepting her invitation. I might well have put her in danger and, at the very least, I had put her to a lot of trouble, the simple joy of the previous night notwithstanding. I could not, in good conscious, stay at the farm any longer. I went inside, collected my little bag and went back out to the car. Rose was nowhere to be seen and I hoped she was soaking in a well-earned hot bath as I turned and made my way down the driveway and onto the road leading to Mays Corners.
My cabin looked the same in the early evening light, a refuge, a place of hidden beauty, a means of healing both body and soul. I sat in the car looking at it with a sense of completeness, a feeling that I was truly home. I looked at the box of Pam’s papers on the seat beside me and decided to tackle that job fresh the next day. I pulled my cell phone from my shirt pocket and dialed Dianne. The thought of seeing her made everything seem better until I thought that I might be putting her at risk as well. I would let her know the possible risks and let her make her own decision. The phone at her end rang twice and then she picked up.
“Hi Dianne. How’s tricks?”
