Andy didn't care. He knew the real story, and so did Mark. Besides, Mark hadn't fooled Hank for a minute, and once everybody in Byerly read Hank's article in the Gazette, they'd know who had really solved the case.
As he drove back home, Andy decided that even if you can't teach an old dog new tricks, sometimes the old tricks work just as well as they ever did.
LYING-IN-THE-ROAD DEATH
This is the second story featuring Junior Norton. Junior was based on my sister Brenda, and it was always a pleasure to revisit her.
Dan Jackson was as dead a man as I've ever seen, and as long as I'd been Byerly's police chief, that was saying something. As far as I could tell, a heavy set of tires had rolled right over his head, and even though I'd known Dan my whole life, if it hadn't been for the ID in the wallet in his hip pocket, I'd never have known it was him. I decided I'd lost my taste for watermelon for a while.
"You want me to check his other pockets?" my deputy, Belva Tucker, said, but I could tell she wasn't thrilled by the idea.
"Don't bother. Dr. Connelly can take care of it when he gets here."
Belva nodded, relieved.
If I'd been a spiteful woman, I'd have made her do it because of the way she'd held back while I retrieved Dan's wallet, which was one of the most disgusting things I've ever had to do. But since Belva hadn't seen as many bodies as I had, I was willing to cut her a little slack.
"I better talk to Cole." Belva turned to go, too, but I said, "You stay here and keep the critters away from the body." That wasn't spite—it was payback.
Cole Ardmore was still rinsing his mouth out with the bottled water I'd given him when Belva and I arrived. I wasn't sure how many times he'd upchucked his breakfast, but at least he'd kept it away from the body.
"You feel up to talking?" I asked. His panicked 911 call hadn't told me much, just that he'd found a body on Springbank Road, and I'd held him off when I arrived until I had a chance to check out the situation myself.
"I'm all right," he said, which he wasn't. "I didn't hit that man, Junior, I swear I didn't."
"I know you didn't, Cole, not unless you did it sometime last night and then waited until daybreak to call me."
He looked confused.
"He's been dead a while," I explained. "Stone cold, and the bugs have already been at him."
He swallowed hard, then gulped down more water.
I knew I was being rough on him, but I also knew he was Dan Jackson's business partner. They ran Littlemill Trucking together, but according to Byerly gossip, the two of them hadn't been getting along. Maybe Cole being the one to find Dan's body was a coincidence, and maybe it wasn't. "You know who it is?" I asked.
"God, how could I? His face..." He shuddered. "I saw the birds first, a whole flock of them all over him. I thought it was a dead skunk or a dog at first, then I got close enough to see." Another swallow of water. "That's when I called you, after I realized it was a person."
"He had ID on him," I said, watching Cole's face as I held up the wallet.
"Jesus, that's Dan's!" He reached for it, but when I pulled it back, he pointed to a worn monogram on the side. "It's got his initials on it. Dan? Dan!" He started toward his dead partner, then abruptly turned back and grabbed hold of a pine tree while he retched again.
Cole was a big man whose usual dusky complexion hinted at some Cherokee or Lumbee in his bloodline. Despite the morning chill, he was sweating profusely. His reaction seemed sincere, but I'd seen quite a few killers cry and go on like that when confronted with their victims. So I watched for any false notes while waiting for the medical examiner.
I got another bottled water out of the squad car for myself, but I'd rather have had a cup of coffee. It was one of those bright fall mornings we have in North Carolina, which would turn to warm or even hot by the afternoon, only to drop down to downright cold come nighttime.
Dr. Connelly showed up a few minutes later, but as he climbed out of the driver's side of his station wagon, a man wearing a Catawba County police uniform got out on the other side. Dr. Connelly was gray-haired, skinny, and what my mother calls spry, meaning that he moves pretty well for a man his age. The other man was right much taller, younger, and with darker hair.
"Hey Junior," Dr. Connelly said. "You didn't drag me away from Shoney's breakfast buffet for a car accident, did you? The county was paying for it, too."
"Sorry about that," I said. "It might turn out to be a car accident, but I want you to take a look anyway. The victim's so messy I'm not sure what happened."
Dr. Connelly cheered up immediately. The man likes his work.
The county mounty stuck his hand out at me. "Deputy Glen Deveron, ma'am. I mean, Chief."
I had a hunch he'd never have forgotten and called a male police chief "sir," and bet myself that he was the kind who gave women wimpy handshakes, fearful of crushing our delicate fingers. I took his hand and confirmed my suspicion. "Junior Norton," I said.
"Junior?" he said, one eyebrow raised.
I could have explained how my father's wish for a son led to my name, but it was my town, so I didn't have to. Instead I said, "What can I do for you, Deputy?"
"Dr. Connelly and I were discussing some cases over breakfast, and I thought I'd tag along. Hope that's not a problem."
"The more the merrier. You want to see the victim? Like I said before, it's a bad one."
"I think I can handle it," he said confidently.
"Suit yourself." Cole was leaning on the hood of his car, trying not to throw up again, which I took as a sign that he wouldn't be running off while the rest of us inspected the remains.
Belva was dutifully standing by, but I could tell the smell was starting to get to her, so after I introduced her to Deveron, I sent her to take Cole's statement. Dr. Connelly was kneeling by the body, happily doing things that I didn't care to think about.
To give Deveron his due, he did take the condition—and the smell—of the body in stride. "You weren't kidding about him being a mess," he said calmly.
"I've seen worse," I said.
"Yeah?"
I gave him a look. "Yeah."
"No offense, it's just that I thought Byerly was a quiet little place. Just the kind of town I'd like to be police chief in once I retire." He held up one hand as if to stop an objection. "Not Byerly itself, mind you. I know you have to be born into your job."
Spiteful or not, I was taking a strong dislike to the man. Byerly may not get as much crime as some places, but that doesn't make being police chief here a walk in the park. And maybe I had had help from my daddy and his daddy when I applied for the job, but I'd done all right with it since then.
Before I could come up with anything worth saying, I noticed Dr. Connelly was watching us. Apparently his morbid curiosity wasn't limited to corpses. "What do you think?" I asked. To make sure he knew what I wanted him to pay attention to, I added, "About the body."
"He's dead."
Deveron snickered, but I just waited.
"Sorry," Dr. Connelly said. "From the size and depth of the tire marks, I'm thinking something big."
"Like an SUV?"
"More like an eighteen-wheeler."
I looked speculatively down the road. "Littlemill Trucking is about half a mile that way. That's where Cole was headed this morning, and I bet Dan was either headed there or away from there when this happened."
"Cole and Dan?" Deveron asked.
"Cole Ardmore, the man who found the body. Dan Jackson, the body."
"How'd you ID him?"
"His wallet."
"It was in his pocket?"
"Where else?" Then I realized what he was getting at. "Yes, I was able to overcome my womanly squeamishness long enough to reach into the dead man's pocket."
"I didn't mean—"
I cut him off, maybe even spitefully, and to Dr. Connelly I said, "Any conclusions?"
"I'd guess hit-and-run, unless you see something I don't." He started to pack up his equipment.
/> "More a case of what I don't see," I said. "No skid marks, no signs of a vehicle swerving." Both Deveron and Dr. Connelly looked at the unmarked blacktop, and the undisturbed trees on either side of the road. "You'd think there'd be some reaction to hitting a man."
Dr. Connelly scratched his head. "Maybe he didn't realize he'd done it. A man's body wouldn't make much of a bump to an eighteen-wheeler."
"True," I admitted, "but it seems like he'd have noticed when he first hit him."
Then Deveron asked, "Did you know the deceased?"
"Moderately."
"Was he a habitual drinker?"
"I'll say," Dr. Connelly said. "Dan started drinking in high school—I doubt he's even got a liver left."
Deveron nodded sagely. "Then this could be lying-in-the-road death."
The doctor stopped packing and gave a slow whistle. "I've read about that, but I've never seen a case." He leaned closer to the body, not something I'd have wanted to do. "You might be right."
"Would one of you like to clue me in?" I said as patiently as I could.
"Don't be embarrassed about not having heard of it," Deveron said. "I don't suppose you've seen much of it in a small town like Byerly."
I waited for him to get to the point while wishing it were legal to arrest someone for being a sexist snob.
"It was the state medical examiner in Raleigh who did the research into the phenomenon," he said.
"Lawrence Harris," Dr. Connelly put in.
"That's right. He realized an unusual number of intoxicated pedestrians had suffered nighttime collisions on back–country roads like this one."
"What's so unusual about drunks getting hit by cars on dark roads?" I asked
"The fact that most of them were reclining."
"Come again?"
Deveron elaborated, using the same tone as my least-favorite Sunday school teacher. "Harris theorized that as the temperature dropped overnight, men would lie down on comparatively warm blacktop roads, which still retained the day's heat, and go to sleep. They wouldn't wake in time if a car came by, and they'd be next to impossible for the drivers to see. Hence, lying–in–the–road death."
I might have accepted it, even thanked him for the information, if he hadn't flashed such a shit-eating grin afterward. "Is there anything to this?" I asked Dr. Connelly.
"Like I said, I've never seen a case, but Harris's research seems sound enough." He stood up and brushed off his hands. "There's no obvious impact wound like you'd expect to see if a truck struck him. The only injuries are from when he was run over. With the dark clothes he's wearing, it would have been mighty hard to see him."
"He could have been trying to get away from the truck, tripped, and then been hit," I pointed out.
"Maybe," Deveron said, "but I bet when you find the truck driver who did this, he'll tell you he never even saw the man."
"You know, almost every hit-and-run driver I talk to says that."
Before Deveron could answer, the ambulance arrived to take Dan's body away, and Dr. Connelly took charge to make sure everything was done to suit him. I decided to ignore the county mounty's presence and go talk to Belva about Cole. "What'd you get?" I asked her.
"Not much. Cole was on his way to work, saw the deceased in the road, and called us on his cell phone. He wanted to call work and let them know why he was late, but I told him we'd rather he didn't."
"Good."
"Who's the mounty?"
"God's gift to ignorant country police chiefs, or so he thinks. He's already decided this is a case of lying-in-the-road death."
"Say what?"
I explained it to her.
"It sounds reasonable," she said cautiously, and I knew she was wondering what my opinion was.
I couldn't enlighten her because I didn't have an opinion yet. All I knew was that I really wanted to show up Deputy Know-it-All.
"Tell you what," I said. "I'm going to hitch a ride with Cole. You stay here, and after the body is removed, search the area."
"How far do you want me to go?"
"Maybe fifty, a hundred yards. See if you can find out which way Dan came from, whether it was down the road or out of the woods. When you're done, come on down to the warehouse and pick me up."
"Am I looking for anything in particular?"
"Nope. Just bag anything that might come in useful."
"You got it."
Cole was just as glad that I was going to be there to break the news to Dan's wife, Rose. She was a pretty, freckled blonde who worked at Littlemill, too, answering phones and taking orders. Telling a woman she'd just become a widow wasn't my favorite thing to do, but it was part of the job.
Springbank Road dead-ended into the parking lot for Littlemill Trucking, and I saw three other cars parked there.
"Who else is likely to be here?" I asked Cole, hoping Rose had a girlfriend handy to help her through the first shock.
"Just Rose and Keith."
Keith Nevis was the company bookkeeper, though he liked to call himself the chief financial officer. He was skinny and intense looking. "What about the third car?"
"That's Dan's. Rose took his car keys away last night so he wouldn't get hurt." Cole snorted. "I guess he sobered up enough to go find another bottle and get drunk all over again. He had stashes everywhere—it'll probably take a year to find them all."
Cole let us into the warehouse, and led me through the building. I was surprised by how empty and dusty it was, with no trucks in any of the bays.
"Kind of quiet around here today," I said.
Cole snorted again. "It's been kind of quiet for a while now."
"Sorry to hear that. I know times are tough."
"Times are always tough when you've got a partner who only makes it into the office two days out of seven, and when he does come, he screws up the paperwork, forgets to send trucks when he promised, and pisses off most of the drivers so bad they quit. When he's not drinking up the petty cash, that is." He shook his head. "I know I shouldn't be speaking ill of the dead, but Dan... Let's just say that I didn't pick the best partner in the world."
I made a noncommittal noise, while wondering about his and Dan's partnership agreement. Sometimes they're written so that the surviving partner gets the business, or at least the opportunity to buy out the other partner's heirs. Would Cole get Littlemill Trucking now that Dan was gone?
I let Cole precede me into the office. Rose was at her desk, with Keith standing next to her. "It's about time," Rose said as he walked in. "Have you seen Dan? He—" Then she caught sight of me, and her face went white. "Junior? Is it Dan?"
There was no way I could break it to her gently—even trying would only have prolonged the agony. "I'm sorry, Rose, but he's dead. He was hit by a car."
"But I took his keys—his car is still outside."
"He was on foot."
"Sweet Jesus." She buried her head in her hands, and Cole knelt beside her to put his arm around her while she sobbed. Keith shoved a fistful of tissues toward her and then backed off, clearly not sure what else to do.
I knew she'd want to know more, so I waited for the first storm to subside. Sooner than I'd expected, she lifted her head and took a couple of ragged breaths. "What can you tell me, Junior?"
"Not much," I said. "If it's any comfort, it was quick. He didn't suffer."
"Thank God for that."
"It looks as if it happened last night. Cole found him on his way here, and called it in."
"Last night?" she said. "Why wasn't it reported sooner? Where's the driver?"
"I don't know, not yet anyway. If y'all are up to it, I have some questions."
"Of course, whatever you need." She hesitated. "He's not still out there, is he?"
"No, he's been taken care of."
That seemed to comfort her. "What do you want to know, Junior?"
For a murder investigation, I try to conduct separate interviews, but I don't usually bother for an accident. Unfortunately, I didn't know what this
case was. I decided to tackle them all at once, both to see how they acted and so they wouldn't have time to talk amongst themselves. "First off, when did y'all last see Dan?"
Keith spoke up. "It was nearly six-thirty, though I normally leave for the day at five-thirty. Unfortunately I needed Dan's signature on some tax forms, and he didn't get here until nearly six. He'd been drinking."
"Again." Rose sighed.
Keith went on. "I wanted him to sign the form so I could leave, but he and Rose were talking."
"What we were doing was arguing," Rose said. "There's no reason to lie about it, Keith. I imagine we got pretty loud, too."
Keith looked embarrassed. "At any rate, once they were done, I came in to get Dan's signature." He grimaced. "It was sloppy, but recognizable. Afterward, I made photocopies, got the originals ready to mail, and left. That would have been nearly six-thirty."
"What about you, Rose?" I asked.
"I left maybe half an hour after that," she said. "After Keith left, I went back in to talk to Dan, but he'd found another bottle by then and was drinking again. He wouldn't come home with me, and I didn't want him driving in that condition, so I took his car keys and told him to sleep here." She nodded at the vinyl–covered couch along one wall. It looked old, but comfortable, and there was an afghan and pillow, too. I suspected Dan had spent more than one night there.
"He'd nearly passed out by the time I left, and I thought sure he'd sleep through the night. He always had before." She went over and hugged the pillow to her chest. "Why on earth didn't he stay here?" The tears came again, and I had a feeling that this bout was going to last a while.
"Let's finish this outside," I said to Cole and Keith. "I think she needs some time."
Rose nodded and waved us away, and the two men and I went out to the parking lot.
"How about you, Cole?" I asked. "When did you see Dan last?"
"I left around a quarter after seven," he said. "Payson Smith came in from a run late yesterday afternoon, and after he got his paperwork squared away, I drove him into town for dinner. I brought him back out here at eight-thirty or so, but I didn't go back inside and I don't think he did either."
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