A Dead Nephew

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “Dang it! He must have seen me with Anastasia when you dropped us off at the front entrance.”

  “That was too bad for Tango. Anastasia was several steps ahead of him. I was up off the ground after shaking off his punch when Anastasia ran around Tango in circles, barking and snarling like a mad dog. Then she bolted, straight forward and yanked the leash so hard, Tango toppled over like an oak tree and cracked his head hard on the curb. He got his feet free of the leash and, when he tried to get up, Anastasia knocked him down again, and he landed hard.”

  “When Tango smacked his head the second time, he didn’t get up right away. I should have cuffed him then. When I had him up on his feet, he shoved me, which the little lady didn’t like one bit. Bleeding from the scrapes on his head, Tango ran for the hospital entrance with Anastasia and me after him. When we got in here, I made a grab for him, and he went down for the count. He probably needs to be checked for a concussion before he’s taken to jail.”

  27 Ground Zero

  I had the best night of sleep I’d had since this ordeal had started. Saturday had been one of the longest days of my life. At least, we’d finally had a breakthrough in the case. Both cases really since the fraud case would be adjudicated separately from the reinvestigation of Sacramento’s murder and the effort to find the Cleaner Man. Kim and I had decided to visit the site where arson had occurred, and the flyers had been found. We hoped the occupants would speak to us and maybe let us look around.

  Kim arrived early, and we set off for the small town near Yucca Valley, where Randall Young had lived two decades ago. We were so close to having a solid link between Randall Young and the Cleaner Man. I wasn’t sure what else we might learn, but my gut told me it was worth the trip.

  As I’d promised, I’d told both Frank and George what we planned to do. After assuring them that we’d head for home if we encountered any sign of trouble, they quit putting up a fight they knew they couldn’t win. Two more of John Lugo’s thugs were off the street, not just Tango.

  “Billy Castro finally wised up,” George had told us when he arrived at the hospital. “He had to ditch Tango before he figured out how much trouble he was in. Betsy called me when she found him hiding out in one of the homeless shelters she’s still visiting.”

  “John Lugo’s goon squad is thinning out now that you’re rounding them up.”

  “That’s true, Jessica, but a man like him can always hire more help. Tango’s getting an overnight stay in the locked ward upstairs before he can come clean about the errands he’s run for his boss. Rory and Anastasia had to work him over pretty hard before he gave up.”

  “I’m not sure ‘gave up’ is the right term for it,” I’d argued. “Cuffed and strapped to a chair, he didn’t have much of an option. He must have known he needed medical help to have run in here rather than take off for his car.”

  “Whether he knew it or not, Tango ran in the right direction. Lucky for him,” George had said as he waved goodbye.

  Kim drove her car and filled me in on a few more tidbits she’d learned about Lenny Morgan. Several of his deals that had gone sour relied on solicitations through the mail or online, which made it easier to imagine the FBI was on his devious behind.

  “The Bureau of Indian Affairs could be after him too since at least a couple other ventures involved casinos that never quite got finished. Another failed soon after launch. Maybe some unhappy bondholder came up with a strategy to interest others in Lenny Morgan’s misguided ventures.”

  “I’ll be happy if we can contribute to bringing an end to his misguided ventures and ruthlessness. When Timothy Ridgeway clears up the confusion about his testimony, I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if Lenny insisted that he make sure Sacramento was dead. I don’t doubt it was John Lugo who insisted that he frame Louie.”

  “If John Lugo’s willing to tell it like it is, he can probably add credibility to Timothy’s testimony.”

  We reached the Yucca Valley quickly by cutting through Joshua Tree National Park. For a passenger, the drive was scenic. The diversity and beauty of the place never cease to impress me no matter how many times I’ve visited. Not just the Joshua trees, but boulders backed up by rugged mountains make parts of the park look like a movie set in an old western. That’s not strange because westerns were sometimes filmed there. I wouldn’t want to be stranded without water and transportation, or at least a working cellphone, as this is an inhospitable environment without AC and other amenities.

  Once we were in town, finding our way to the property where Randall Young and his parents once lived wasn’t easy. A road had washed out during a recent rainstorm. When we tried to follow the detour, we were quickly completely turned around.

  Maybe that was meant to be. When we found ourselves in a tiny three-block downtown area, we headed to a residential street to turn around, intending to retrace our route. There was a faded red poster with the cartoonish face of a man nailed to a telephone pole. The Cleaner Man was printed above it in block letters. Kim and I saw it almost at the same moment. She hit the brakes, and I ran to remove the flyer from the telephone pole.

  “It’s an ad for a dry-cleaner!” I exclaimed when I hopped back into Kim’s car. “There’s an address on it too.”

  Kim entered the address into the GPS system on her dashboard. The shop was located about ten miles away in Twentynine Palms. Minutes later, we turned off the main road that runs through Twentynine Palms onto a side street. There were several businesses, including an auto body shop, a warehouse for bathroom fixtures, and an office supply store. My heart sank when we pulled up in front of the remnants of a dry-cleaning shop.

  “Oh, no,” Kim moaned. “Every time we get a break, it seems like it turns into another dead end. I was hoping someone who worked here could tell us if Randall Young was an employee and could give us his current address.”

  “Me too. Getting our hands on the last known address for Randall Young or Christian Cursor would have been great. Heck, contact information for any employee who held a fascination with the chemical aspects of dry cleaning would have been worth the trip.”

  “Now what?” Kim asked.

  “Why don’t we park and see if anyone at the business next door can tell us what happened and when.”

  “That’s worth a try.”

  We walked into the front door of the auto body shop that was separated from the dry-cleaner by a parking lot. A woman about my age was working behind the counter. Her braided hair with flowers tucked into bands at the bottom of each braid, and a tie-dyed T-shirt gave her a retro hippie-ish appearance. She smiled brightly as we approached.

  “What can I do for you?”

  “We’re wondering if you have any idea what’s going on with the property next door.”

  “You mean the dry cleaners? If you’re interested in buying it, I hear it’s a teardown. Nothing to do but start over. It’s even more burned inside than you can tell from the outside.”

  “It must have been a really hot fire,” Kim suggested.

  “I’m sure it was, it burned so fast. I’m glad we were far enough away that our building didn’t catch fire too. The smell was horrible. I wasn’t aware of how many awful chemicals dry cleaners use until that fire. I don’t have anything dry cleaned anyway, but if I did, I wouldn’t do it anymore.” I nodded when she finished speaking and got the point she made in a kind of roundabout way.

  “Was anyone hurt?” I asked. She nodded.

  “That’s probably why no one has bought it. The owner, Donny O’Connor, was killed in the fire. His daughter and granddaughter would have been killed too if Christian hadn’t taken them to the doctor that morning.” When she spoke Christian’s name, my heart leaped into my throat.

  “Mr. O’Connor’s daughter and granddaughter must have been heartbroken,” I added. “Christian, too, if he worked there.”

  “Christian didn’t just work there. He’s married to Donny’s daughter, so he lost his job and his father-in-law. Donny was one of the
kindest men I’d ever met. Christian was so upset, I thought he was going to rip apart the homeless guy the police hauled in for questioning about the fire. That was hard to believe because Christian was religious and felt he had a ‘calling’ to share it with others. Donny got him to channel it into working with lost souls fed at the church soup kitchens around here.” Our chatty informant suddenly went silent. As she spoke again, she shook her head.

  “What an awful tragedy. We’d all told that old desert rat not to light up near any of the buildings. It was cold the night before, so they figure he got inside and ran off without putting his cigarette out when Donny came in to open the shop that morning. Donny should have just left and let the fire burn instead of trying to put it out.”

  “That is a sad story,” I said as my mind reeled, realizing this had to be related to Christian Cursor’s transformation into the Cleaner Man and his decision to reform or remove homeless men from the planet. So many elements resonated with other aspects of his story.

  “What did Christian and his family do?” Kim asked.

  “Donny was good at his job, but he was always strapped for cash. He put everything he had into keeping that shop going. Locals took up a collection to bury Donny, and helped Christian, his wife, and child while Christian tried to find another job. At one point, I think he even hoped to reopen the shop. Donny had insurance, but the bank had the first claim on most of what they got in the way of a settlement.” She leaned in before continuing her story. “I don’t know this for a fact, but I heard Christian fell apart. When no one hired him, they went to live with Donny’s sister in Hidden River or somewhere like that. I lost track of them after that.”

  “When did all this happen?” I asked.

  “The fire was several years ago. I didn’t see Christian after that, but I kept hearing he’d gone off the deep end. It was at least a year before they moved to Hidden River. Supposedly, getting away from here helped and things got better. This is all based on gossip, so who knows what happened. What’s left of the dry-cleaning shop went up for sale almost two years ago.”

  “Thanks for giving us so much background on the place,” I said. “We’re going to walk around to get a better idea of the property and try to imagine the lot without the damaged building.”

  “That makes sense. What kind of shop are you planning to open?” she asked.

  “Pottery,” Kim responded.

  “Native plants,” I said at the same time.

  “Potted plants sure would be nicer than dry cleaner fumes,” our informant commented. A smile cleared away the momentary confusion on her face. “If you want locals to contribute to your inventory, I can give you plenty of referrals to potters in the area. They’d love to have another outlet for their goods.”

  “If we decide to give it a shot, you’ll be hearing from us again.” Kim and I waved as we left. A wave of guilt swept over me, as usual, when I lied to some nice person who was willing to answer questions.

  “Ground zero,” Kim muttered as soon as we’d shut the door behind us.

  “I agree. The name he uses, and his choice of targets makes more sense,” I said as we walked down the sidewalk to the site of Donny O’Connor’s cold, dead dream.

  “If you’re an Angel of Death seeking to avenge the death of your father-in-law, I suppose there’s a sick sense to it.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” My mind wandered as we stepped onto the blacktop surrounding the dry cleaners. A little alley ran along behind the businesses on this street. Beyond that, scruffy trees and a chain link fence marked the transition from commercial to residential properties.

  “You know what? Dry cleaning is an industry that uses lots of chemicals. That fits, too. I wonder where the cowboy getup came from,” Kim commented. “I can’t believe Brien and Betsy actually saw him wearing it.”

  The house I could see on the other side of the shop wasn’t in great shape, but someone lived there. A dog’s head appeared from a shed and eyed us before disappearing back inside. A child’s rocking horse lay on its side near the shed.

  “Who knows how Christian Cursor’s mind works. Maybe he enjoyed horseback riding, or his dead father-in-law took him to rodeos,” I replied eying that kid’s toy. “I hope the dog has water.”

  “The dog isn’t chained, and the hose is dripping where it’s hooked up to the spigot. You don’t have to worry about the dog all the way home.”

  “I hear you,” I said, sighing. “That was such a depressing story about how Christian’s life fell apart, I almost felt sorry for the bloodthirsty serial killer. I’d rather focus my pity on the dog.”

  I tried to recall some comforting words I’d read or heard from my would-be “spiritual advisor,” Father Martin. He’s tried to help me find compassion for those who cause suffering as well as those who are victims of it. That’s hard to do.

  “What a waste,” I muttered as we slowly circled the badly burned property. We had no trouble peering inside at a couple points. The doors and windows were boarded up, but the boards had shifted on a side window, leaving a small space to see inside. A section of the roof had caved in. Even covered in plastic, there was enough light to see the remains of what looked like enormous washers and dryers on a back wall of the shop. Their metal doors sagged as if they’d buckled from the heat.

  “How hot does a fire have to be to melt metal?” I wondered aloud.

  “I’ll have to look it up on the web,” Kim said, turning the knob on the side door near us. The knob didn’t turn, but the door opened.

  “How did you do that?” I asked.

  “I didn’t do it. See? Someone pried this open.” Kim pointed to chips in the burned doorframe, where the wood had been chipped away.

  “Hmm, maybe there’s interest in buying this place,” I said as I opened the door a little wider.

  “An overeager realtor, anxious to sell it, must have been willing to bust in to show it,” Kim added. “That door handle felt like it had been welded from the heat, but that’s no reason to let it stop you from showing it to a potential buyer.”

  “Those footprints are recent or new dust would have settled on them. I bet this wreck sheds dust and debris like mad. It doesn’t smell too bad.”

  “Not if you ignore the smoke, the moldy wood, and hints of toxic chemicals,” Kim responded.

  “Point taken,” I said. I was ready to suggest we leave. We’d already learned more than enough to justify our trip. That’s when I saw something on the remains of a set of stairs leading to what must have been a second story. Before saying another word, I charged inside.

  “What is it?” Kim asked as she joined me. I pointed at a beaker lying on the bottom step. It was cracked but unbroken. Bits and pieces of other glass lab equipment littered the next two or three steps that weren’t covered by the floorboards that had collapsed from above. Kim reached up to get a better view of the contents of a box sitting on the edge of a board. It crumbled at her touch, and a small torrent of metal beads or ball bearings rolled down the steps and bounced around us as more glass vials tumbled down the steps. “He had a lab up there, didn’t he?”

  “Who had a lab?” Someone asked. I jumped at the sound of an all too familiar voice. When Kim and I turned, John Lugo was standing behind us, holding a gun. Why was this man still out for blood? I wondered as I replied.

  “The Cleaner Man, that’s who. You know, the deranged killer who supposedly doesn’t exist.” I’d had more than enough of this guy and his dirtbag minions. “Speaking of deranged killers, you can’t possibly believe we’ve hidden Timothy Ridgeway in here, can you?”

  “It’s better than he deserves,” John growled. As he stepped from the shadows, I noticed a couple of those little beads near his feet. I considered warning him until he spoke again. “I don’t believe he’s in here, but I’m convinced you know where he is. I’ve been following you around since you left town this morning. I’m sick of waiting. If you aren’t lying about Timothy Ridgeway, and believed the Cleaner Man was in
here, you must be terribly disappointed to find this mess.” John spread his hands and gestured at the destruction around us.

  “Some men have a way of destroying everything good and decent in their lives. The man who owned this shop was killed in the fire, but he didn’t create this mess. And, he’s not the man we’re after.”

  “I don’t care. Take me to Timothy Ridgeway, and then you can chase anyone you want for as long as you want.” He extended his arm to move the gun a little closer.

  “The law will deal with Ridgeway,” I responded. “Leave it alone.”

  “The law? With lawyers like you around? He’ll lie on the stand the same way he lied to em. Andy or some other lawyer will help him do it. I’m not going to let Timothy get away with murder.”

  “What does that mean? Please don’t tell me your plan to honor the death of your son is by becoming a murderous thug like Timothy Ridgeway?” I asked, speaking in a low, calm voice.

  “Becoming?” Kim asked. “The boss here has just decided to do his own dirty work for a change instead of sending his errand boys to kill defenseless men like Louie and Xavier.”

  “Shut up! You’ve mistaken me for my blood brother. I had nothing to do with that. I never told Timothy to kill anyone. I wanted Louie to pay for what he’d done, which is why I called the County Sheriff. I didn’t tell Timothy to stab Sacramento or do anything except put that needle into Louie’s hand where it belonged.” Kim and I glanced at each other after hearing yet another version of what had gone on that night. I took a chance and held out my hand for the gun.

  “If that’s what happened, give me the gun, and let’s make sure Lenny Morgan gets what’s coming to him. No one’s going to hear a word you have to say if you kill Timothy Ridgeway. Besides, Timothy must have been following orders from someone else that night because he didn’t do what you asked him to do. Maybe Lenny Morgan wanted to make sure Sacramento was dead to keep him from sharing what he knew about your ‘lizard problem.’” I took a step toward John, forgetting all about the silver beads that we’d spilled. I slipped and fell forward, headed for ugly shards of glass. John Lugo reached for me and pulled me to him. I felt the fight leave him as his gun clattered to the floor.