by Ted Wood
“Calls herself Loretta. Could be a phony but it's a saint's name an’ that goes down good with the guys. Most of ‘em are Catholic.”
I nodded and he asked, “Why'd you want to know?”
“Don't you want to know everything that goes on in your patch?”
“Most of it,” he said, and he grinned. It was too dark to see his face properly but I could tell from the change in his voice. “Some of it, no thanks. The rest of it, yeah, I wanna know.”
“If Harding got bounced, who'd take over?”
“Me, if there was any justice, which we all know there ain't,” he said. “So it'd probably be Ferris. That means out of the frying pan into the fire. Now do me a favor. I'm gonna catch some zuzz. Don't wake me unless there's something you can't handle. Like maybe an illegal left turn or somebody asking directions.”
I snorted out a laugh and said nothing. He slid further down in the seat, resting his head against the side window, his hat canted awkwardly. He was asleep in thirty seconds.
Nothing else exciting happened. After a couple of hours I let Sam out and walked around the lot to stretch my legs as well as his. I noted the number of Loretta's vehicle and the other Winnebago. I also kept a tally of the licenses of the customers.
By midnight, most of the cars had gone and no new ones were turning up. When there was only one car on the lot I woke Walker. “That's it. Securing from baby-sitting detail.”
He yawned and looked at his watch. “Twelve-ten. That's fast. Okay. Let's head back to the barn, have our lunch.”
He picked up the microphone. “Unit one, leaving campsite. All visitors gone. Over.”
Ferris answered. “Roger unit one. Return to station code four. Out.”
We drove back without speaking. The parking lot of the Headframe was full but the other police car was outside so we didn't stop. Walker nodded towards the place. “Big business tonight. It's the Wilcox wake. Last one we had took in three grand what with booze and sweep tickets.”
“We expected to drop a few bucks there?”
He shook his head. “Nah. I guess you hit the collection at the station, did you?”
I nodded and he said, “Yeah, the chief generally rounds it off with a C note and then gets his picture in the paper handing over the contribution like it was his own.”
“We could use the good will,” I said. “We're not the most popular guys in town.”
He shrugged. “Suits me. If I'd wanted to be popular I'd have joined a rock group.”
We got to the station and found Ferris on duty.
“Any trouble?” he asked. He looked tired and sounded as if he didn't care what the answer was.
“One guy got a little rough with Loretta,” Walker said. “We pulled him off before she was hurt. She didn't want to lay a complaint and then some big miner punched out the guy who'd been rough but nobody wanted to complain.”
“Good,” Ferris said. “I'm goin’ off now. Walker, you're the senior man. Thomas is on the night shift. He's alone in the car. You stay in the office. Bennett and his dog can handle anything that comes up. You're both off at three, right?”
“Right, sarge,” Walker said. He grinned at me. “You get to do the walking. I'll do the sitting.”
Ferris went to his locker and took out his parka. He put it on over his uniform, then shoved a toque on his head. “I'll see you at midnight tomorrow, Bennett. Walker, I'll see you Friday.”
I nodded to him, noticing that he was showing his age. His skin looked slack and his eyes were red. I had thought he was in his fifties, but tonight he looked ten years older. He had worked eighteen hours of the last twenty-four and he was tired.
When he'd gone Walker made a fresh pot of coffee and we ate our sandwiches and played a hand of dominoes. Then he checked his watch. “Best get out there,” he said. “Take a good look around the properties. Especially the drugstore. Some of those guys are into uppers and downers. They may make a pass at the store.”
“Will do. I'll see you at three.”
He dug into his lunch pail and pulled out a paperback novel.
“Yeah,” he laughed. “That's soon enough. I got a book to read.”
The town was beginning to close down. There were a couple of dozen cars on the lot of the Headframe and the restaurant was half full. I made my rounds, checking everything quickly. The bar in the Headframe was busy and I guessed there would be a high absentee rate next morning at the mine. Someone had brought in an enlargement of the wedding photo of Randy Wilcox and his wife and it stood over the collection tin on the countertop. The box was stuffed with money. There were even a couple of twenties visible. But the reason for the benefit had not slowed anybody down. Men were pretty drunk and I decided to hang around outside later. For now I just made a quick inspection to see there was no trouble and left. I wanted to get to the campground if I could before the two women left.
I arrived to find one vehicle gone already. But the one we had been in was still in place. The light was on inside and I went over to it and knocked on the door.
There was no answer and I called out, “Hello? Anyone home?”
Again there was no answer and all my reflexes tickled. If the woman had been inside she would have called out, probably telling me to go to hell. When she didn't, I tried the door. It opened and I stepped up inside. And then I stopped. Loretta was lying on the floor, her robe spread awkwardly over her.
I crouched to check her. She was cold to the touch and without disturbing the robe I could see that the sleeve had been knotted around her throat.
NINE
There were no signs of life that I could detect, but for all I knew she still had a chance. Before I started I ran back to the car and called in, “Car two, emergency.”
Walker answered at once. “Yeah. What's up?”
“I'm at the campsite. The hooker who had the fight has been strangled. I'm going to give her CPR. Call the doctor and the chief and get some help up here, pronto.”
“Right.” The radio clicked and I left Sam in the car and ran back to the RV, taking out my clasp knife as I ran. I had to save the knot, in case it told us anything about the man who had tied it.
It wasn't easy to slide the blade under the fabric. It had been pulled so tight that it was below the normal level of her flesh. I nicked her throat as I shoved the knife down but it didn't bleed, evidence that I was probably going to be too late to help her. It was hard to find space beside her to kneel, but I squeezed in and began breathing and pumping, listening for signs of life. There was no response, but I kept on, keeping one ear open for the sound of an approaching car.
I persevered, still in my heavy parka, with the sweat running down my forehead and dripping onto her naked shoulder until suddenly I found a faint pulse in her throat. As I held my finger there the nick I'd made in her neck started to ooze blood. Good. The circulation was reaching her head.
She still was not breathing. I quit pumping her chest and concentrated on artificial respiration, inflating her chest like a child's toy with every breath. Then, far off I heard the sound of a siren. A minute later Walker burst in. I looked up between breaths. “She's got a pulse. Is the ambulance coming?”
“The doctor's on his way,” he said. “You want me to take over?”
“No, it'll waste time changing places.” I bent and breathed into her mouth again, then listened at her nostrils for sounds of breath.
“Okay, keep at it,” Walker said. He put his hands into his pockets. It looks sloppy but it's professional. It prevents you from touching anything, leaving extra prints for the lab guys to find, or moving something that might be critical to the investigation. I kept on, but she still did not breathe. Her pulse was slow and irregular and I checked it constantly between breaths. “She may not make it,” I said. “And if she does she could be a vegetable the rest of her life.”
“Don't quit,” Walker said. “Keep going. Soon's the chief gets here I'll head down and talk to the guy we kicked out.”
“Good.” I went bac
k to my breathing as another vehicle pulled up outside. A moment later the doctor I had met at the hospital came bounding in, carrying his bag in one hand and a big hard case in the other.
“Keep on,” he told me, shoving past Walker. He set down his bag and pulled out a stethoscope. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he tapped the girl's chest while I kept breathing into her.
“She's still going,” he said as I came up for air.
“There was no pulse when I started. It's been ticking about the last five minutes.”
He nodded and unsnapped the other case, bringing out an oxygen mask. “Okay, I've got her,” he said and put the mask over her face. I stood up gratefully and undid my parka. I was hot and out of breath. The doctor said to Walker, “Go to my car, there's another bag on the front seat, bring it in, please.”
When Walker returned the doctor took the bag and extracted a small bottle and a syringe. He filled the syringe and injected whatever it was into the woman's arm. I noticed that he took the time to wipe the spot with antiseptic before he did so.
“Close the door,” he told Walker.
Walker did. In the closed room I was suddenly aware of the smell from the woman. Her sphincter had failed her when the sleeve had been tightened around her neck. It always happens that way. A new set of headlights bounced towards us over the lot, flashing over the windows of the camper. “That could be the chief,” Walker said.
“Let him in, but you wait outside,” the doctor told him. He put his stethoscope into his ears and listened to the woman's chest again. I watched his face relax as he listened. “That's better,” he said. He stood up and looked at me. “How long have you been here?”
I checked my watch. “Around ten minutes. I found her, called in and started CPR. It took about five minutes for her heart to kick in.”
He nodded, breaking out a small smile. “Congratulations. You've saved her, I think.”
“Will she be brain-damaged?”
He cocked his head doubtfully. “That's the bad news. She may be. We'll have to wait until she comes around.”
The door opened and Harding came in. He nodded to the doctor, then me. “What happened?”
“I came over about ten minutes ago,” I told him. “The other vehicle was gone so I banged on the door to see if this woman had a problem. She didn't answer and I tried the door. I found her like this with the sleeve of her kimono tied around her throat. I called the station and started CPR. The doctor says she's going to make it.”
He nodded. “Don't touch anything, either of you.” He took a piece of chalk out of his pocket and quickly drew a line all around the woman's body, lifting the kimono to do it. Then he looked up. “Doctor, when will the ambulance be here?”
“Any time.” The doctor checked his watch. “They were on a call from the other side of town with a patient on board, heart attack. I told them to drop him at emergency and get over here.”
“Good.” Harding turned and walked out.
The doctor said nothing. He knelt again and checked the woman's chest. Then he looked up, smiling grimly. “She's breathing on her own now.”
“She's all yours, doc,” I said. “I'll go talk to the chief.”
I squeezed by him and went outside. The chief was talking to Walker, who was standing by the scout car. I joined them.
“Who was the guy?” the chief was asking.
“Josh Maynard. He's a supervisor in the smelter,” Walker said. “The other guy gave him a good going over. I asked if he wanted to press charges and he said no. So, following standard procedure, I sent him home.”
He sounded nervous. It made me even more sure that he was not on the take. If he was in the chief's pocket he would have been more relaxed.
“And what about the bohunk?” Harding snapped.
“He spent time in the trailer. Then another guy went in. We stayed on duty until just before twelve when the last car left.”
“Did you check the vehicles before leaving the site?” The chief was coldly furious. His tone was rigid.
“We never do, chief,” Walker said unhappily. “You know that. We wait until everyone's gone and then we leave.”
“How do you know the last man here didn't do this to her?” Harding snapped.
I spoke up. “It couldn't have been the last guy out, chief. Otherwise the woman would have been dead. As it is she's hanging in. That means she was strangled a few minutes before I got here. Any longer and she wouldn't have come back like she did.”
“Possible,” Harding said. “But I'd still like to know who her last customer was.”
I've got the license number of the car, chief.” I unflapped my notebook and squinted at the last page in the light from the revolving flasher on the police car. “YXJ 392, maroon Chev.”
“Good,” Harding snapped. “I'm glad some bastard was alert.” He spoke to Walker. “Go and get Sgt. Ferris and call on Maynard. Take a full statement. Also, get the name of the owner of that Chev and get it back to me. I'll be here.”
“Yessir.” Walker slid behind the wheel and drove off, switching off the lights on top of the car as he reached the roadway.
Harding looked at me. “You did well, Bennett, bringing her back like that. But tell me, what the hell were you doing here in the first place?”
“Checking there was no trouble, chief.” I was surprised by the question. “After the attention we'd been giving these woman all evening I figured the job wasn't complete until they were gone. Isn't that the way it's done?”
“Very diligent,” he said coldly. “I wonder why none of the other men has done this before, and none of these unfortunate women has ever been strangled before.”
“Maybe they check routinely. Have you ever asked them?” I was angry. I know that the prime suspect in any murder case is the guy who finds the body. That's standard. I've been caught in the web a couple of times in my career, but I didn't like his tone. He was carrying things too far.
“Don't be impertinent,” he snapped. “Did you touch anything inside?”
“I cut the knot off her neck. It's lying next to her. I guess it will have my fingerprints on it, if that means anything.”
“It may mean a great deal,” he said. “Have you ever been involved in a homicide investigation before?”
“Yes. I've been the investigating officer on most of them.”
“Good,” he said. “I'm going to need help. Not that this is a homicide, thank God. But until she comes around and tells us what happened I'm going to treat it that way.”
“She may never come around.” I said it innocently but I was testing him. He seemed too fresh, too alert to have been pulled from bed to come here. I was beginning to wonder if he had tied that knot around the woman's neck.
He stood silently, thinking. Then we saw the flashing light of the ambulance approaching. It squealed to a stop beside us and the driver jumped out. “Where's the problem?”
“In the camper.” The chief pointed. “The doctor's in there. See him.”
“Right.” The guy hustled to the back of the ambulance and he and his partner pulled out the stretcher. The chief and I stood in silence, watching, until they came out of the van with the woman on the stretcher, wrapped in a blanket. The doctor was walking beside them, carrying the oxygen equipment. He got into the back of the ambulance with her, then ran back and picked up the rest of his equipment. He climbed into the back again, then spoke to one of the ambulance men who nodded and got into the doctor's car. Both vehicles backed up and headed out, picking up speed as they hit the road.
“Right,” the chief said. “I'll take a look. You go get the photographer. D'you know where he lives?”
“No,” I said.
He told me and I left to get the photographer out of bed. It turned out that he was an accountant at the mine, an amateur. He had been to the wake at the Headframe and he was a little the worse for wear. But he snapped back to life when I told him what had happened and grabbed his equipment bag at once. “I'll follow
in my own car,” he said. “No sense tying up the police car. You may need it.”
I waited while he started his car and he followed me to the camper. By that time there was another car there. I recognized it as Ferris's. I knocked on the door and announced the photographer. Ferris stepped down from the vehicle as the photographer went in. “Okay, Bennett. We got work to do,” he said. “We'll take the police car.”
I went ahead and put Sam in the rear seat. He lay there, looking up at Ferris without moving his head as the sergeant got behind the wheel.
“Where are we going, sarge?”
“To talk to the last guy there. Walker got the name. He's a driller at the mine.”
“Right.”
Ferris said nothing, just drove out to the mine site at the limit. His hand movements were slow, as if his arms weighed him down, the motions of a man running on empty. It explained why he did not speak and I didn't push him for conversation.
But I was thinking as I drove. The Winnebago had been parked at the west end of town. That was on the road leading to the abandoned mill site. The woman had been attacked only a minute or two before I got there, but I had seen no car driving away from the place back into town. That meant that the attacker had either gone on to the old mill or had driven into some house at the same end of town, getting off the road before I drove by. Nothing concrete, but it would help when we started our house-to-house canvass the next morning.
At the mine site the watchman's dog barked for about a minute before the man came to the door of his shack and let the barrier up so we could drive in.
We both got out. Ferris did the talking.
“Where can I find John Peterson?”
The watchman blinked at us. “What's he done then?”
“Where is he?” Ferris repeated. “Come on, this is important.”
“Just a minute.” The watchman went back into the shack and we followed as he opened a ledger. I noticed the pages were computer printouts. In my father's day they would have been hand-written, filled with crossings out and overwritings as the endless turnover of men changed the mine's population week by week. Today it was easier to keep track.
