Burying the Lede

by Joseph LeValley

  Tony’s guess was that Francie was headed back to Viscount using the main highways. She had probably been in Orney on her lunch hour to shop and perhaps to enjoy a decent restaurant. Now she would be hurrying back to work. Tony pushed the SUV past the speed limit posted on Skillet Boulevard, a wide, tree-lined thoroughfare that carried most of the traffic in and out of Orney from U.S. 26. In less than two minutes, he spotted the red Toyota up ahead, still headed south and slowing to stop at the intersection with the highway.

  Tony was surprised, however, when the Toyota crossed the highway and continued straight south on what became a county blacktop. Tony stayed back as far as he dared. With so few cars on the road outside of town, he didn’t want to be spotted following her. However, he felt even stronger that he didn’t want to lose her.

  But why, he wondered? What the heck am I doing out here anyway? He didn’t have a good answer. He only knew he wanted a chance to talk to her. It had to be worth his time to see if an opportunity presented itself, didn’t it? Tony decided to seek Ben’s counsel. With his right hand on the steering wheel, he pulled his cell phone from his pocket with his left and thumbed the buttons to call the newsroom. He was glad to hear Ben answer the phone directly.

  After explaining where he was and what he was doing, Tony had to admit his boss sounded less than thrilled about it.

  “Tony, you know I admire your dedication and your initiative. I always have. But I have to admit I’m not quite sure what you hope to accomplish.” Tony could only grunt an acknowledgement that his boss might be right before Ben continued. “I’m not going to tell you what to do. If you’re asking my opinion, then I think you’re wasting your time. But,” he continued before Tony could respond, “I also don’t see any harm in following her for a while longer, just to see if her destination gives you some new insight into her background.

  “My advice comes in the form of three cautions I’d like you to take to heart. One, don’t get into a position of harassing her. If she doesn’t want to talk, you’ll have to live with that. Secondly, don’t follow her onto private property. My petty cash fund doesn’t have a big enough balance to cover bail money. And thirdly, try to remember she has a boyfriend or some kind of relationship with a man who carries a gun and already has demonstrated he’s protective of her. He’s just as reachable by cell phone as I was.”

  “Thanks, boss,” Tony replied. “It’s good advice and I promise I won’t ignore it. Talk to you soon.”

  Tony ended the call and tossed his iPhone on the seat of the Explorer just as the red Toyota braked and turned left into the Quincy County Park and Game Preserve. “What the hell…” Tony wondered aloud. He slowed the SUV to a crawl to put more space between it and the Toyota, and then he made the turn. He knew he wasn’t being exactly true to Ben’s advice, but it was a public park, so at least an arrest for trespassing was off the table.

  Tony wasn’t worried about losing Francie now. There was only one paved road in the park. It wound through the trees, around campgrounds, picnic areas, and entrances to hiking trails, ending at the lake. The road had been kept clear of snow, as the park was open to snowmobiles, sleds, and even horses during the winter. Because of the thick stand of trees covering the hills, nearly everything else was still covered with several inches of snow.

  Tony slowed the Explorer as he arrived at the large parking lot with a boat access ramp to Lake Oakley. The lake was still white with snow and ice, and Tony could see snowmobile tracks leading out onto the expansive open area. In light of the warming weather, he hoped no one was foolish enough to attempt it now. The sole vehicle parked in the lot was the red Toyota. Francie was nowhere in sight.

  Well, in for a dime, in for a dollar, Tony thought, wincing at his use of another of his grandmother’s truisms. He pulled the Explorer into the parking stall next to the Toyota. As Tony got out of his vehicle, he pulled on his winter coat and paused to admire the Avalon. It was practically new and very impressive. He was pretty sure it was Toyota’s most luxurious and expensive model. He wondered how a worker bee in a small town clerk’s office could afford a car like this. Inheritance? No, not based on what he’d seen of both Ralph’s and Francie’s homes. Jackpot at the casino? Perhaps, but not likely since the Town Crier hadn’t been contacted. The only thing the nearest casino hated more than giving away money was giving away money without getting a lot of publicity for it. Gift from a boyfriend? If the boyfriend was Denny Peters that seemed unlikely too. Deputy Sheriffs didn’t make a lot more than small town office workers. A rental? Stolen? Tony gave up on his speculations and just added it to the list of things he wanted to ask Francie Wells. He also made note of the license plate number and the sticker on the back identifying the dealer who sold it – Quad Cities Toyota. Huh, Tony thought, that’s a long way to go to buy a car.

  Tony looked up and gazed out on the frozen lake. Where the hell was Francie? He walked around the car and quickly spotted her footprints in the snow, leading toward the shelter house by the lake. It was a large, permanent structure of hardwood and stone. The building included changing rooms and restrooms for swimmers and other park visitors. It also had a large room for hosting parties – typically picnics in the summer when a wall of windows could be opened to an even larger covered patio. During peak times, county employees would staff a vending area with windows to the outside, selling bait for fishing, snacks, and the requisite oils and lotions to keep away the sun, or the mosquitoes, depending on your activity that day. On a cold late winter weekday afternoon, the building was almost certainly empty except, it appeared, for the presence of Francie Wells.

  Tony followed her tracks around the back to where the entrances to the restrooms were located. Francie’s tracks clearly led to the door of the men’s room. Curiouser and curiouser, Tony thought as he walked up to the building, pushed open the door and stepped through.

  “Ms. We…?” He started to say her name as something large and heavy crashed into his side, knocking him to the concrete floor. His head just missed the edge of the porcelain sink, but scraped along the drain pipe underneath. “Hey!” Tony screamed, as the object crashed down a second time, this time on his hip. A searing pain shot down his leg. “Stop! Jesus. You’re going to kill me! Stop!”

  Francie Wells stepped back. She was holding a wooden bench used by people when changing their clothes. It was, essentially, a 2 x 10” plank with legs affixed to the underside. Francie held it above one shoulder and screamed at him: “Don’t you move, you sonofabitch, or I swear I’ll break both of your legs and leave you here to crawl back to your car.”

  “Okay, okay, just stop, please,” Tony said, the pains in his side, head, and hip now beginning to pound in sync with his racing heart. “All I wanted to do was talk to you.”

  “Yeah, well, I thought I made it pretty clear, I don’t want to talk to you,” Francie said, red-faced and breathing hard.

  “Please, put that down and help me up,” Tony said. “I swear, I won’t bother you any further.”

  “You swear?” Francie asked, clearly wanting him to repeat it.

  “I swear,” Tony said, rolling to his knees and using the sink to help himself stand.

  Francie backed farther into the room, but still held the heavy bench. “You think you’re so smart. Jesus, I spotted you following me on Skillet. And now look at you. Who’s the smart one now?”

  Tony was pretty sure she wasn’t expecting an answer, so he held his tongue. His hip and side hurt like hell and he was breathing heavily, the steam coming in puffs from his mouth and nose. Thank God he had worn his coat. She would have broken some ribs for sure if he hadn’t had the protection of the goose down padding.

  Francie continued, “What’s so damn important, anyway? Why can’t you just leave me alone?”

  As much as he hurt, Tony couldn’t help but take a chance. “Francie, I just wanted to understand your relationship with Ralph. You must know that those of us in the courtroom wondered why a sister would provide such damning evidence ag
ainst her brother so voluntarily.”

  “Well, if you were there then you know I was asked the same thing in the courtroom that day. I gave my answer then and I’m sticking to it.”

  In Tony’s mind, these words were practically a confession that she had lied, but considering she still held a solid oak weapon and he didn’t, he decided to move on.

  “Okay, I get that, but then I was curious about your relationship with Denny Peters. Were you seeing him already? I mean, were you two together at the time of the trial?”

  Francie screamed, “What business is that of yours? You bastard. You’re going to spoil everything! You keep nosing around and pushing people. Something’s…someone’s going to come apart and you’re going to regret you ever heard of Ralph Wells!”

  Francie moved forward and Tony quickly pressed himself back against the wall, expecting another blow. However, she dropped the bench with a loud crash and headed for the door. Now that she was barehanded, Tony’s courage rose.

  “Was that a threat Francie? What are you saying?”

  Francie stopped outside the door and turned to face him.

  “I’m saying,” she barked, as tears inched down her cheeks, “that you are totally clueless. You don’t know anything about this and you have no idea what’s at stake or who you’re up against. Just stay away. Stay away, or a few bruises from a bathroom bench will be the least of your worries.”

  She turned and fled. She was long gone by the time Tony limped back to his car.

  Before climbing in, Tony stopped to examine his face in the large exterior mirror on the driver’s door. Blood seeped from a wide scrape running from in front of his right ear to his chin. Dear Lord, he thought. How am I going to explain this to Ben or to Lisa? Outsmarted, ambushed, and injured by an interview subject I would have described as simple-minded. Good grief.

  He strapped himself back into the driver’s seat and started the SUV. Once again, he realized his encounter with Francie had generated more questions than answers. The difference, this time, was the questions were more serious. While Tony couldn’t imagine he was actually in danger, except from this crazy woman, he had to acknowledge he was pursuing a murder case. If Ralph Wells was innocent, then someone else was guilty, and that someone might go to extremes to hide the truth. What had she meant when she said he had no idea “what was at stake” or who he was “up against?” That sounded like the real perpetrator was more than just some pissed off kid who got burned in a drug deal and knew where Ralph Wells kept his .22.

  What’s at stake? Who am I up against? Tony shook his head, started the car, and backed out of the parking space as he forced himself to admit Francie Wells was right; he still didn’t know anything about what was going on.

  ***

  After a quick stop at home to clean up and change clothes, Tony went directly to Ben’s office. As he plopped into the chair across from Ben’s desk, his boss looked up. Tony wasn’t sure what to expect and wasn’t sure how to react when Ben’s face clouded and then reddened.

  “Please tell me you got that from a barroom brawl and not from Francie Wells,” he said, clearly trying to control his anger. No, not anger. Ben was trying to control his disappointment.

  Tony replied, “Oh I wish I could. And I’m sorry to tell you that what you see on the side of my face isn’t the worst of it.”

  Ben, still red-faced, asked, “Do you need to see a doctor? Anything broken?”

  “You mean besides my self-confidence? No, I’ll live.”

  “Okay,” Ben said. “You’d better tell me all about it.”

  After walking Ben through the facts, Tony asked, “So what do you think I should do?”

  “About this? Nothing. If you make an issue of it, either in the paper or with the police, it will become your word against hers. Worst case scenario, she’ll accuse you of assaulting her or, God forbid, attempted rape. You’ll end up fighting this thing for months or years. I say let it go, and hope she does the same.”

  “But…”

  Ben interrupted him, this time in a loud voice. “Tony, stop! You did follow her into that park, knowing full well you would find her alone there. How do you think that will look? Face it, she outsmarted you. Learn a lesson and move on.”

  Tony nodded begrudgingly. He didn’t care about not reporting her to the police, but he hated the idea of not writing the story. However, he knew Ben was right, so he made up his mind to let it go and save the story for his grandchildren or his memoirs. As he began to mumble a thank-you and rise from the chair, Ben stopped him.

  “Before you go, tell me if you have any other ideas about next steps.”

  Tony was surprised Ben hadn’t exhausted his supply of patience, but welcomed the opportunity to contemplate the question.

  He responded, “Well I’ve thought about interviewing most or all of the other trial witnesses, but I have to be honest, I’m not confident it would yield anything new, so I can’t recommend you approve that much investment of time and effort. I think the one person besides Francie who is most likely to know more than he’s telling is Denny Peters. But it’s really obvious he isn’t going to tell me anything. I couldn’t even get him to touch my business card.”

  Ben acknowledged the logic of this with a nod and then asked, “So do you let it go and see what happens with the appeals?”

  “No…not exactly,” Tony said. “There’s a sidebar issue I want to explore, and I’ll probably talk to Rich at the DCI and see if he can help.”

  Ben said, “Okay, you certainly have my support to do that. However, Tony, this is no joke. Do not put yourself or this newspaper at risk again. I’ll tolerate a lot, but not that.”

  Tony looked his boss in the eye. “I promise, no more chasing wild geese or getting beat up. I’ll try to stay focused on news I can actually write about for publication.”

  Ben relaxed, saying, “Well don’t go getting all boring on me now. You know I don’t mind you following your gut from time to time, as long as the feature story about the flower show still gets written.”

  It was Tony’s turn to relax as he headed out his boss’ door.

  ***

  Twenty minutes later, Tony was standing in the Quincy County Courthouse trying to look nonchalant. Because of Ben’s obvious support for his continued pursuit of this story, Tony had decided to do one next step immediately, before he even went back to his desk. He didn’t want to be distracted by phone messages or overdue assignments.

  He was standing in the hallway of the courthouse’s basement level, debating whether to go into the County Treasurer’s Office or not. It was late afternoon and two of the staff had already left. The treasurer, an elected official, was in his private office, visible through a glass partition at the back of the larger staff workspace. A long hardwood counter separated the work area from a public waiting room. The treasurer’s office handled everything from county tax collections to budgeting and managing the county’s accounts. However, Tony was here because of one other duty of the office: issuing license plates for motor vehicles.

  Tony knew the motor vehicle records, like all public records in Iowa, were legally available for him to review. He also knew from experience that county employees didn’t always follow the law, at least not without asking permission of their bosses and, occasionally, of the County Attorney’s Office. Making a major issue of a minor request most often happened when the request was unusual, such as a reporter wanting to see the title on someone’s private vehicle.

  Tony did not want this request to become a major issue. In fact, he wanted it handled as quietly as possible, which is why he smiled broadly when he looked through the door of the Treasurer’s Office and saw the lone staffer behind the counter was Edith Perrimore. Tony had made requests of Edith before when working on stories about county government. She had been employed in the office for as long as anyone could remember and she didn’t ask permission from anybody for anything. She was more likely to tell the treasurer what to do than to ask him.

/>   Tony walked through the door, greeted Edith warmly, and explained what he needed.

  Minutes later, Tony walked out of the courthouse with a copy of the title. The $40,000 car was owned by Francie Wells of Viscount, Iowa. Even more remarkably, there was no lien filed, meaning Francie didn’t owe any money on the car, or at least didn’t owe it to a lending institution.

  ***

  The following Saturday, Tony made the long drive to the Quad Cities, on the eastern edge of Iowa, to visit the dealership which had sold the Avalon. He didn’t expect to learn anything more, but justified the trip by noting he could stop on the way home and spend the night with his parents in Iowa City.

  As much as Tony hated getting up early, he was on the road by 7 a.m. and arrived at Quad Cities Toyota nearly four hours later. It was a big, modern dealership with a huge inventory and was bustling on a beautiful winter Saturday. Tony pushed through the glass doors into the show room and stopped at a large oval reception desk.

  “Can I help you?” a pretty twenty-something blonde asked him as she placed the handset of a telephone into its cradle.

  “Yes,” Tony smiled, “I’m thinking about buying a new Avalon. I’d like to speak to whoever sold Francie Wells her car recently. Francie is a friend of mine and she recommended I ask for her salesperson. Unfortunately, she couldn’t remember the name.”

  “Well, all of our sales staff are well trained regarding the full line of new vehicles,” the young woman replied. “But let me see if I can figure out who that salesperson was. Did your friend say it was a man or a woman?”