Traces of the Past

by Steve Laracy

  Ben greeted me, then tapped the paper with his finger and said, “Billy Webster’s funeral is today. The paper said the coroner ruled his death an accident, so I guess your sheriff duties are over.”

  “Pretty soon. I already know the coroner’s verdict,” I told Ben, recapping my visit from Mr. Church.

  “Let me ask you a question,” I continued. “Ethically speaking, do you think it’s immoral to keep your mouth shut if you may know information which may or may not be definitive, but if you reveal it, it might negatively affect the lives of others?”

  “I’m no expert on ethics,” Ben said. “If you’re talking about something like telling your wife that a dress makes her look fat, keeping quiet may be the wisest decision on a number of fronts. But I get the impression that your question is not rhetorical and that we’re speaking of more serious matters.”

  “Yes,” I responded. “If there is something that is just speculation and I can’t prove it, but I’m pretty sure it may be accurate, my obligations are a little fuzzy.”

  “Sounds like you’re walking a fine line between speculation and gossip,” Ben said.

  “More than gossip,” I replied. “I took a trip out to Chiquita today, and on the way back, I stopped…”

  “Hold it right there,” Ben interrupted me. “I think you better not reveal too much. I am an elected official, and I also have a reputation around town, mostly earned, of disseminating information a little too freely.

  “As I said, I’m a little weak on ethical rules, but it seems to me that a good man generally makes good decisions and a bad man will make bad decisions. Not always, but as long as a good man can sleep well at night, I would trust his judgment.

  “But I want to remind you, you are also an appointed officer. Although the ceremony was not too dignified, you swore to uphold the laws of the State of California, and I would expect you to do that.”

  “Got it,” I said, sure of what I would do, “and I don’t think I’ll be needing this any longer.” I pulled the wallet with the badge from my pocket and placed it on Ben’s desk. “I’ve done what I could and will be heading back to San Diego in the next day or so.”

  “I accept your resignation,” Ben said with a slight smile. “I appreciate your helping me out.”

  Ben returned the wallet to his desk drawer and I got up to leave. As I walked out the door, Ben said, “You’re a good man, Milo.”

  > CHAPTER 32

  ANOTHER TALK WITH DR. BAKER

  I was still unclear how to proceed, but I knew what the next step was. I drove to Bell City and pulled into the hospital parking lot.

  It was late afternoon and most of the action was going the other way, employees leaving for home. I took the elevator to the third floor and headed for the medical examiner’s office.

  The secretary looked up when she saw me enter, then went back to what she was doing.

  I walked up and said, “I’d like to speak to Dr. Baker.”

  “He’s just leaving. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow,” she responded.

  “This won’t take long,” I said as I walked past her to Dr. Baker’s office door. The secretary offered only token resistance, and I got the feeling she didn’t care.

  Just as I reached the office, the door opened and Dr. Baker appeared in the doorway, his suit jacket halfway on as he prepared to leave.

  “I’d like to talk to you a minute,” I said.

  “It’ll have to wait. I’m leaving for the day,” he responded.

  “It can’t wait,” I said.

  “If you don’t leave, I’ll…”

  “You’ll what, call the police? I’m sure you have the number on speed dial. Go ahead. Maybe your brother should hear what I have to say.”

  Dr. Baker finished putting on his jacket, walked a few steps back into his office, and said, “Make it quick.”

  “Aren’t you going to offer me a seat?”

  “No, you’re not going to be here that long. Now tell me what you want, or I will call the police.”

  I got right down to the point of my visit.

  “I have certain doubts about the cause of Billy Webster’s death. What are my chances of getting you to reopen the coroner’s investigation?”

  “Slim and none,” replied Dr. Baker, “and Slim just left the building. Now if that’s all you came here for, I’ll be on my way.”

  “But what if I told you I discovered some new evidence and have a theory…”

  “Do you have proof that the death wasn’t an accident?”

  “Well, no, but…”

  “Then the official cause remains accidental death. Billy Webster is dead and buried, and I’m not going to spend any more time on this. I would advise you to complete your investigation also. Now if you don’t mind, I’m late for dinner.”

  “Maybe you’re right, Doc,” I said as he brushed past me and headed out of the building. I had gotten the response I expected, and I was satisfied with that response. Still, a fellow has to try.

  I was right behind Dr. Baker as he headed to his car, and I decided to follow him. I pulled out right behind him and stayed a few car lengths behind. He turned onto Main Street, drove a few blocks, and as I expected, pulled into the parking lot of the Bell City Police Department. I doubted that he had a dinner date with Chief Baker.

  I drove past the station and headed out of town toward Shady Acres. Somehow, I had a feeling that I might have a police escort on my trip back through Bell City on my way home.

  This was fine with me. As I said, I’ve never been punched in the face. I’ve also never punched a police chief in the face. I reckoned that Bell City was as good a place as any to cross both those activities off my bucket list.

  > CHAPTER 33

  ANOTHER TALK WITH ANNIE WEBSTER

  As I drove up to the trailer park, I looked at the cemetery across the street, I wondered how many residents of Shady Acres Trailer Park had changed their addresses to Shady Acres Cemetery over the years as Billy had, assuming he had been buried there.

  I was hoping to find Annie at home alone, but when I pulled up in front of her trailer, her driveway was full of cars, and there were several more parked out front.

  I drove past the trailer and found a spot to park, then walked back to the trailer. The front door was open. Through the screen door, I heard several conversations going on. I walked in and found the front room full of people, mourners who had come over to Annie’s after the funeral.

  There were about a dozen men and women, none of whom I recognized except Turkey Trotz. He was trying to resurrect the seventies, wearing a lime-green polyester leisure suit, pink shirt, and purple tie. Standing among a group of men in black suits and white shirts, he stood out like a peacock at a penguin convention.

  Most of the women were on the other side of the room talking. I didn’t see Annie among them. On the table in the middle was a buffet with several casseroles and plates of appetizers I assumed were provided by the guests. On a corner table were several bottles of liquor and soft drinks and an ice bucket.

  As I surveyed the scene, Annie walked in from the kitchen, holding a platter of little meatballs with toothpicks through them. She saw me and placed the platter on the table and walked over.

  “Thanks for coming,” she said. “Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

  Although I hadn’t eaten much all day, I wasn’t hungry. But I had a feeling I could use a little drink before having my conversation with Annie.

  “Nothing to eat, but I’ll take a drink.”

  Annie led me across the room in a crisscross pattern to avoid the crowd of people that exceeded the maximum capacity of the trailer. I grabbed a meatball on the way across as we headed for the table that held the drinks.

  “There’s beer in the refrigerator if you’d prefer,” Annie offered.

  “No thanks, this is fine,” I said, locating a bottle of bourbon and filling a glass halfway, then adding ice. “How are you holding up?”

  “All right so
far. I assume it will get harder after all the people leave.”

  After taking a good-sized swallow, I said, “Is there somewhere we can talk?”

  Annie looked around at the crowd, then grabbed my elbow and said, “Come with me.”

  She led me through the kitchen and out the back door to a couple of plastic chairs surrounding a plastic table located under the kitchen window.

  “Won’t you be missed inside?” I asked.

  “I’m the last person everyone wants to talk to. Everyone comes over to offer their condolences, but after that the conversation gets awkward and nobody knows what to say, including me, so everyone drifts off to join their little groups.”

  “I guess that’s human nature,” I said. “Listen, I want to talk to you about Billy’s death. Is that okay?”

  “Yes, I want to get all of this behind me as quickly as possible and get on with mine and Billy Jr.’s lives. But what do you want to talk about? It was an accident, wasn’t it? That’s what the death certificate says.”

  “I’m not so sure. After his visit to the doctor last week, did Billy tell you his cancer was back?”

  Annie looked at me with an expression of shock on her face. “No, he told me the cancer was still in remission and everything was fine.”

  “I’m afraid that was not the case. Dr. Cooper told him the cancer had returned and that it had progressed to the point where it was untreatable. Had Billy shown any recent signs of regression?”

  “He’d lost weight and complained of some aches and pains, but he said it wasn’t serious. I don’t understand. He was in a good mood when he returned from the doctor, and he was happier in the last week than he’s been in a long time.”

  “He didn’t want you to know.”

  “But why?”

  “I don’t think Billy’s death was accidental,” I said. I explained about the parachute that appeared to have been tampered with and the syringe that was found on the plane.

  “Do you think someone cut Billy’s parachute so he would fall?” she asked.

  “Yes. Do you recognize this?” I pulled a small pocketknife with a pearl handle from my pocket.

  “That’s Billy’s knife.”

  “I found this in the bushes a short distance from where he fell. And there were marks on the ground indicating that’s where Billy planned on landing.”

  “But what does it all mean?” Annie asked, confused.

  “I think Billy committed suicide. He planned this out to look like an accident. I think he cut his parachute partway through so the parachute would stay together during his jump. He cut it under the buckle, thinking no one would notice.

  “Then sometime while he was in the plane, or maybe before, he shot himself up with the morphine he got from Dr. Cooper.”

  “Would he have taken enough to kill him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he had been saving it up so he would have a lethal dose. Dr. Cooper sent the syringe for tests, but I don’t think there’s any way of telling how much he took. I think he took enough to the point where he wouldn’t be feeling any pain or be too conscious, but conscious enough to do what he had to do.

  “Then he jumped, and when he got to the right altitude and had steered his parachute to the right spot, he cut the chute through with his knife—this would have been easy since the leather was cut through most of the way beforehand—and let it fall away. He threw the knife as far away as possible, hoping it wouldn’t be found. He had already picked out a spot to aim for beforehand.”

  “But why pick that spot?” Annie asked.

  “I think maybe he picked the spot across the County Line Road so he wouldn’t end up in Jim Turner’s county. Maybe he didn’t want Jim to dig into his death. He would have known if he landed in Cordoba’s jurisdiction, there would be less of an investigation. Unfortunately, Ben Nye got me involved.

  “But I’m not sure Billy had planned it that way. He probably just picked a spot far enough from the fairground so you wouldn’t see him hit.”

  “But why make it look like an accident? Didn’t he want me to know?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t want you to know, but there was also the insurance policy.”

  Annie turned angry. “Don’t tell me that Billy killed himself for a ten-thousand-dollar insurance policy!”

  “No. It was mostly the cancer. Dr. Parker told Billy he didn’t have long, and with the pain, the rest of the time wasn’t going to be pleasant. But there was also an accidental death clause in Billy’s insurance policy, so that if he died by accident, you would receive a hundred thousand rather than ten thousand dollars.”

  Annie’s expression turned to one of surprise. “I didn’t know,” she said. I was sure she didn’t. “What happens next?”

  “Well, I talked to Dr. Baker, and he’s not inclined to change the death certificate, so Billy’s official cause of death is accidental. That may help later with explaining the death to Billy Jr.”

  Annie shook her head. “No, when he gets old enough, he’ll know the truth. I wouldn’t want to live with the lie.”

  I nodded. “As far as the insurance goes, the death certificate says it was accidental. That seems to be good enough for the insurance company. An investigator named Church came to visit me earlier today, and he seemed inclined to close the case since there was nothing indicating anything other than an accidental death.”

  “I got a call from Mr. Church today. He’s coming to see me tomorrow. Why won’t Dr. Baker consider reopening the case?”

  “I don’t know. Both he and Chief Baker have been antagonistic. Dr. Baker knows there was a feud between the chief and Billy. Then I show up and tell him Billy’s death may not have been an accident. Maybe he’s trying to protect his brother.

  “As far as Chief Baker, he just doesn’t want someone he doesn’t have under his thumb looking into the investigation. He wants to run me out of town just on principle.”

  “Did you tell Mr. Church your suspicions?”

  “No. At that point, I hadn’t yet found the knife. And besides, that’s all they are, suspicions. The chute was old and could have already been torn. If he took the morphine, maybe he wanted to alleviate the pain. Who knows why the knife was there? Maybe Billy got tangled up in the chute when it ripped, and he tried to cut himself free with the knife.”

  “What do you think I should tell Mr. Church?”

  “That’s up to you. Even if you mention my suspicions, he can’t prove the death wasn’t accidental.” Then I added, “A wise man once told me that good people generally make good decisions, so I’m not worried about you.” I looked out over the empty terrain to the horizon far away and pointed. “A hundred thousand dollars would be enough to find out what’s on the other side of this desert.”

  “At this point, I’m not so sure I want to know. It could be just like this on a larger scale, or worse. At least here, there’s a roomful of people in there who cared about Billy and who care about me and Billy Jr. Who knows what I would find out there?”

  “Well, I’ve told you what I know,” I said, standing up to leave. “I’ll be heading back there myself soon.” I pointed across the desert again. I didn’t tell her that her opinion of the outside world wasn’t far off.

  “Can you see yourself out?” Annie asked. “I want to sit here a while longer and think.”

  “Sure,” I responded, “and I’m sorry I had to tell you this.”

  “Don’t be. At least I know that Billy died happy.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Didn’t you see the way he spread his arms when he was falling? And I bet there was a smile on his face.

  “He finally got to fly like an eagle.”

  > CHAPTER 34

  THE BEGINNING OF THE END

  I made it out of Bell City without incident, which is for the best.

  I slept well that night. The temperature in the desert drops rapidly at night. While the days in Cordoba were hot and oppressive, the evenings were pleasant and even cool, and I us
ed several blankets at night since I slept with the window open.

  When I went downstairs the next morning, Costello was sitting at the dining room table waiting for breakfast. I went into the kitchen, where Felicity was preparing pancakes, and learned that Costello returned late the previous night but that the Kid had not yet returned, and that Silas had gone over to Mrs. C’s to make a sale, at her request this time.

  I grabbed a cup of coffee and returned to the dining room. I thought it was about time I found out what Costello was up to. After a little small talk, during which I learned that he had gone to Vegas for a few days (or so he said) to relieve the monotony, I said to Costello, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit down with you after breakfast and find out a little more about why you came to Cordoba.”

  “Certainly, Milo, I have no objections. And I’ve been meaning to have a talk with you about some of your actions.” He had a sinister smile on his face, which Felicity and I both noticed as she was bringing a platter of pancakes into the room.

  She set down the platter next to a pitcher of hot maple syrup. There was also butter and a jar of jam, along with pitchers of milk and orange juice and a carafe of coffee.

  “But for now,” Costello continued, “let’s enjoy Felicity’s wonderful cooking.”

  I agreed and Felicity sat down and all three of us dug in.

  About halfway through, the front door opened and the Kid walked in, looking dusty and tired. He was followed a minute later by Lucky O’Leary. By the looks of the dirt and dust that covered them, I guessed that the desert floor east of here was at least an inch lower.

  “Come in and get something to eat, Fred,” Felicity addressed the Kid.

  “Thanks,” replied the Kid, “but I better get cleaned up first. I don’t want to dirty up your dining room.”

  “Nonsense,” replied Felicity, “the pancakes will get cold. Besides, this is my cleaning day anyway.” She dragged the Kid into the dining room and turned to Lucky, who was standing expectantly near the front door.