2 Lost Legacy

by Annette Dashofy

  “You probably don’t remember, but my dad was supposedly killed in a drunk driving accident—”

  “I remember,” Yancy said. “What’s it been? Twenty? Twenty-five years ago?”

  Zoe opened her mouth to answer, but he held up a hand to stop her.

  “No. It was twenty-seven years ago. I know because I just celebrated twenty-seven years with the department, and that was the first really bad call I’d been on.” Yancy shook his head. “Sorry, Zoe. You just don’t forget the ones like that.”

  “Can you tell me about it?”

  He gave her a long hard stare. “Why on God’s green earth would you want to hear about that after all these years? Or ever for that matter?”

  Her throat had gone dry and threatened to constrict. “I don’t want to. I need to. No one’s ever told me what really happened.”

  Froats’ chair squeaked in protest as he shifted in it. “As I recall, I told you what really happened only a few days ago.”

  Zoe cringed under the old chief’s scrutiny. Now she understood why he’d been so effective. That evil-eye of his would scare straight all but the most hardened criminal. “I know you did. But I still have questions.”

  “Then ask them,” Froats barked.

  She stood a little taller. “Fine. Is there any chance...Did my dad fake his own death?”

  The tiny office fell silent. Both men exchanged stunned looks before turning back to her.

  “Fake his own death?” Froats sounded aghast. “Why would you wonder that?”

  Zoe considered telling him about the letter but remembered how Pete had cut her off the last time. “I have my reasons.”

  Froats crossed his arms in front of his barrel chest. “I’d like to hear them.”

  Zoe shot a glance at Yancy, who seemed to be struggling with a memory. She should have waited to speak to him alone. Too late now. And since he wanted to know, this might be the perfect time to tell him. “I did what you said. I dug up the coroner’s report on the accident.”

  “And?”

  “There was no autopsy.”

  “So?”

  “From everything I’ve learned, the body in that car—”

  “Your dad’s body,” Froats said.

  “The body in that car,” Zoe repeated with emphasis, “was burnt so badly no one could identify it except by personal effects, which could easily have been planted.”

  Froats face turned crimson. “Planted?”

  “The cause of death in the coroner’s report stated smoke inhalation, but with no autopsy, that was nothing more than a guess. Everything about the investigation was shoddy.” Zoe debated whether to go on, but decided to hell with it. “Either everyone involved in the case bungled it, or they were covering up something.”

  Her implication wasn’t lost on the retired chief. Froats climbed to his feet and took one menacing step, closing the gap between them. “You realize you’re calling me incompetent.”

  Zoe held her ground. “You and the coroner at the time. Martin Dempsey, I believe.”

  Yancy jumped from his chair and put an arm in front of Froats, blocking him. “Zoe, you need to think this through. I saw the car and your dad’s body, too.”

  “A body,” she reminded Yancy. “Not necessarily my dad’s.” She glared up at Froats. “If you’re not incompetent, that means you took part in a cover up. Was my dad involved in something back then? Did he testify against someone?”

  Froats’ eyes shifted slightly. His expression softened.

  Yancy lowered his arm from in front of Froats and took Zoe by the shoulders. “What are you saying?”

  “Witness protection.”

  Froats shook his head. “No.”

  The quiet tone of the former chief’s voice startled Zoe. She’d expected denial. Of course he wouldn’t come out and admit anything. What she hadn’t expected was the troubled creases on his forehead.

  “Your father didn’t testify against anyone or do anything else like that.” Froats lowered into his chair with a grunt. “But I do remember something, now that you mention it.”

  Zoe shrugged free of Yancy’s grasp, locking her gaze on Froats. “What?”

  Froats stroked his shaggy beard. “I’d forgotten all about it. Gary Chambers had been asking a lot of questions in those last few weeks before the accident.”

  Zoe’s pulse quickened. “Asking who? About what?”

  “I got the impression he’d been asking anyone who might know anything.” Froats lifted his gaze to meet Zoe’s. “About that other old case. The Miller brothers.”

  Zoe braced a hand on Yancy’s desk. “What about the Miller brothers?”

  “I’m not really sure. He’d called me the afternoon before the accident. Your dad had some questions he wanted to ask me. I assume that’s what it was about, but he wouldn’t say over the phone.”

  “You assume?” Zoe wanted to grab the man by his shirt collar and shake him. How could she get through to him how important this was to her?

  The creases between Froats’ brows deepened. “We never got the chance to talk. I’d told him to meet me for coffee at Parson’s.”

  Zoe’s eyes fogged as the weight of his words pressed down on her. “You mean...”

  Froats let out a loud breath. “He never made it. Your father was killed on his way to see me.”

  “What do you hope to accomplish at Loomis’ place?” Baronick wheeled his unmarked county sedan onto a narrow secondary road. The tires crunched on the surface, kicking up a cloud of dust. The open windows did little to cool the interior, baked by the afternoon heat.

  Pete glanced over his shoulder at Harry in the backseat. His old man seemed mesmerized by the scenery flashing by his window, undaunted by the hot breeze mussing his white hair. “Loomis is another one with connections to more than one of these cases.” Pete powered the window up to cut back on the wind in Harry’s face. “Not only did Loomis discover James Engle’s body, he also drove the car that ran Gary Chambers off the road.”

  “Let me guess,” Baronick said. “Loomis was drinking buddies with one or both of the Miller brothers, too.”

  “I don’t know. You can ask him when we get there.” Pete removed his ball cap and pressed one shirt sleeve to his forehead, blotting the sweat. “Don’t you believe in using air conditioning?”

  “It’s broken.”

  Figures. “By the way, don’t you use your head for anything besides holding up your hat?”

  Baronick jerked around shooting a puzzled glance at Pete. “What do you mean?”

  Pete tugged his cap back on. “What did you think you were doing, feeding the idea of witness protection to Zoe?”

  “Oh.” Baronick shrugged. “She couldn’t think of a reason a father would fake his own death and not tell his family. That’s what came to my mind.”

  “Not ‘a’ father. Her father. And there’s no evidence Gary Chambers was involved in anything that qualified for witness protection.”

  “So tell her that.”

  “I’ve tried, damn it. You don’t know her like I do. She’s worse than a dog with a bone where her father’s concerned. If she gets an idea in her head, she’ll never let it go.”

  Baronick slowed as they approached a crossroad. “Which way?”

  “Left.”

  The detective cranked the steering wheel one-handed, the other arm hanging out the window. “From what I can tell, Zoe’s no fool. If she thinks something’s not quite right about her father’s death, I’m inclined to give some credence to it.” Baronick grinned. “But as you said, I don’t know her like you do.”

  Pete bit back a retort to the innuendo. “She’s no fool, but she’s not thinking like an intelligent adult right now. She’s back to being a desperate, lonely eight-year-old who just lost h
er dad.”

  “Son?” Harry’s quivering voice was barely audible over the rush of the wind through the window and the crunch of gravel. “Are we home yet? I’m hungry.”

  “Sorry, Pop. We have a stop to make first.”

  “Okay.” Harry’s voice sounded much like that lonely eight-year-old Pete had been describing.

  “Mind dropping us off back at my house when we wrap this up?” Pete asked Baronick.

  “No problem.”

  They topped a hill, and Pete gazed out at one of the township’s stunning vistas. Rolling farmland dropped away from them, dotted with trees and Hereford cattle. A nineteenth century farmhouse overlooked a cluster of sheds, while a massive barn stood sentry over a pond.

  In contrast to the landscape that probably hadn’t changed in more than a hundred years, a pretentious, modern mansion sat on the far hillside, probably benefiting from all the contemporary amenities while enjoying a view of the past.

  A nagging voice had been whispering in Pete’s brain and now began to shout. That letter. And the question Harry had latched onto. What had Gary been trying to make right? And that house he’d built for Kimberly while doing only “okay” with his appliance store.

  Pete pulled his phone from his pocket while pointing to a mailbox ahead. “That’s Loomis’ drive. Turn here.” Pete pulled up one of his contacts and hit send.

  Baronick cast him a questioning glance.

  Kevin picked up on the second ring.

  “Look into Gary Chambers’ life insurance coverage,” Pete said.

  There was a moment of dead air on the phone. “Gary Chambers? Hasn’t he been dead for like twenty-five years?”

  Pete didn’t reply. Kevin knew full well how long Chambers had been dead.

  “Um,” the young cop finally said. “Chief? How am I supposed to do that?”

  Baronick’s sedan bucked and bounced over the ruts in Loomis’ driveway, jarring Pete’s foot and shooting searing pains all the way up to the top of his head. “You’re a cop,” he snapped. “Figure it out.”

  Pete and Baronick found Carl Loomis kneeling between his tractor and an unhitched baler. Dirt and grease streaked the farmer’s sweat-soaked shirt and jeans. A cigarette dangled from his lips. He looked up with a scowl as Pete crutched toward him, Baronick on one side, Harry bringing up the rear.

  “Now what d’ya want?” The cigarette bobbed around the farmer’s words.

  Pete didn’t bother to make introductions. “I have a few more questions.”

  Loomis nodded at the external driveshaft spindle on the rear of the tractor. “I’m busy right now. Goddamn power take-off’s busted, and if I don’t get it fixed, I can’t get nothing done.”

  Loomis was always busy, always full of excuses, and always eager to get rid of the police. Pete sighed. “I’ll try to be brief.”

  Loomis muttered something incomprehensible, but he stood up, wiping his hands on a rag that looked even filthier. “Fire away.”

  “What do you know about the night Gary Chambers was killed?”

  Loomis’ face paled beneath its tan. He took the cigarette from his lips, letting it hang between his fingers. “I reckon you already know as much about it as I do.”

  “You were driving the car that hit Chambers’ vehicle?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “And you were drunk at the time?”

  After a beat, Loomis nodded. “Yes, sir. I admit all of it. I had a tendency to hit the bottle pretty hard back then.”

  “What can you tell me about the accident?”

  “Not a goddamn thing.” Loomis dropped the cigarette and ground it out with his boot. “I blacked out before it ever happened. I only know what they told me.”

  “What who told you?”

  “You guys. The cops.” Loomis’ eyes glistened. “And Jim.”

  “Jim? Engle?”

  “Yes, sir. I never been as sorry about nothing as I was about killing that man. I never had a drop since then. Not one drop.” He slipped a pack of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and tapped one out. Pete noticed the farmer’s hands shook as he lit up. “But I gotta tell you, seeing Jim’s body in the barn like that the other night, about near drove me back to the bottle. Old Jim’s been good to me. Hired me right after that accident. I been working for him ever since.”

  “But there’s nothing you can tell us about the accident with Chambers? Something you might have remembered over the years?”

  Loomis took a trembling drag from the cigarette. “Not a thing.”

  Yet another wasted trip. Pete thanked the farmer and started to maneuver a one-eighty on his crutches when Loomis called out to him.

  “I did remember something else, though.”

  Pete turned back. “Oh?”

  “You boys asked me if I seen anything suspicious around Jim’s farm before he died.”

  Pete reached for his notebook, but Baronick snatched out his own. Good. Pete could keep both hands on his crutches. “And you remember seeing something?”

  Loomis nodded. “I don’t know if you’d call it suspicious, but I recall that Jim had company a couple days before he hung himself. On Wednesday.”

  Loomis might have found Engle’s body on Friday, but the coroner had determined the time of death to be two days prior to that. Wednesday. “Do you have any idea who this ‘company’ might have been?”

  “Actually, he had two different visitors. I was out cutting hay on that hill above Jim’s house. Didn’t think nothing of it at first, which is why I didn’t say anything before. But then I heard about the shooting out at the Kroll farm. Made me remember. I saw a car parked over there in his driveway.”

  “What kind of car?”

  “Beige. All cars look the same now.”

  Pete exchanged a glance with Baronick who rolled his eyes.

  “It wasn’t there all that long,” Loomis said. “Then it was gone. I made a couple more passes when I noticed a white SUV parked in about the same spot. Ford, I think.”

  Great. How many white Ford SUVs were registered in Monongahela County? “Don’t suppose you were able to get a license number on either of the vehicles?”

  “Hell, no. I was too far away.”

  Pete and Baronick exchanged another look.

  “Didn’t need to see it for the SUV, though.” Loomis took another drag on his cigarette. “I recognized the fellow that got out. It was Marvin Kroll.”

  Zoe closed her eyes and leaned back against the plate glass window in front of the ambulance garage. The shade cast by the building did little to lessen the early evening heat. The other members of the A Crew perched on folding chairs inside the open bay door. A pair of teenage boys skateboarded down the hill across Main Street, and the paramedics bet on their own response time to the inevitable mishap. Zoe blocked them all out, her mind crowded with questions from the conversation she’d had with Bruce Yancy and Warren Froats two hours earlier. Why had her father been digging into the deaths of her great uncles? Was it merely coincidence that he’d been involved in that so-called accident while on his way to talk to the chief of police?

  A pain as sharp as a dagger pierced her heart as she realized for the first time since Pete had shown her that letter, she was toying with an alternate meaning to the words Mrs. Jackson, your husband did not die in that car crash. Maybe her father really was dead. Maybe someone had killed him to stop him from asking questions.

  Something else gnawed at her. If Froats was right and her dad had been asking questions all over town, why hadn’t Tom mentioned it to her?

  From inside the ambulance bay, the tones sounded, indicating the county 9-1-1 center was calling them into service. The skateboarders’ audience leaped up, dragging their chairs from in front of Medic Two. Zoe shook off her mental fog. She and Earl were up to take th
e call.

  Tracy Nicholls, the newbie on A Crew, stuck her head out of the office door. “We’ve got another farm accident. Anonymous caller reports an ambulance is needed at 1482 Covered Bridge Road, one mile north of Ridge Road.”

  Zoe’s heart kicked into high gear. “I think I know that farm. Did the caller give a name?”

  “No. I told you the caller was anonymous.”

  “I mean the patient’s name.”

  Tracy looked down at the call sheet in her hands. “Carl Loomis.”

  Twenty-One

  “I hope this call isn’t as bad as the one last Friday,” Earl said as they approached the lane to the Loomis farm.

  The image of James Engle’s bloated corpse hanging from the barn rafters flashed through Zoe’s mind. “I don’t think that’s possible.”

  Earl swung the ambulance into the farm lane. As the rig rocked and jounced over the ruts carved by the heavy spring and early summer rains, Zoe’s seatbelt was all that kept her from being tossed around the cab.

  Ahead, a John Deere was parked in front of one of the farm’s outbuildings. Wisps of smoke rose from what appeared to be a blackened pile of rags draped over the PTO port on the rear of the tractor.

  “Better call for fire backup,” Earl said. “Something’s been burning. We don’t want a flare up.”

  Zoe snatched the mic. “Control, this is Medic Two.”

  She didn’t hear Control’s response. Earl hit the brakes, throwing her forward against the shoulder harness as the ambulance skidded to a stop on the gravel.

  “Shit.” He slammed the shifter into park and dove from the ambulance’s cab, running toward the tractor.

  Zoe battled to draw a breath. A charred hand reached out from what she’d thought was a mound of burning rags.

  “Medic Two? This is Control. Please respond.” The voice on the radio made its way into Zoe’s consciousness.

  She keyed the mic. “We need police and fire response to this location. Repeat. Police and fire.” She choked. “We may have a homicide.”