Graveyard Bay

by Thomas Kies

  I cocked my head. “If we do this right, the Associated Press will pick it up, and it will run in every newspaper in the state.”

  He nodded, back on track. Paul Fisher was slightly taller than me and, at one time, had the build of a football player. But that time had been thirty years ago, and now he was big in the shoulders and in the gut, and the gray knit sweater he wore stretched tightly over his chest and stomach. “The missus has coffee in the kitchen. Can I take your coat?”

  I slipped off the parka and handed it to him. He turned and hung it in the hall closet, then waved at me to follow him. The house was warm and comfortable. The wall-to-wall carpet was off-white as were the cloth couch and two easy chairs. The living room doubled as a library as there were floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the walls filled to the brim.

  The kitchen was a soft coral color, the appliances were stainless steel, and the table was covered in a green-and-red holiday tablecloth. A woman dressed in brown slacks and a black, long-sleeve top was fussing at the counter when we came in. “Hi, I’m Barbara.” She held out her hand, and I shook it.

  This is a much better reception than I had hoped for.

  “Can I pour you a cup of coffee?”

  “Yes, please, black.”

  All three of us sat at the table with steaming cups in front of us. Paul started. “I presume you’re here about Leon Dempsey.”

  “I am. Apparently…”

  He interrupted me and held up his hand. “Before we start, let me explain why I’m giving you my time.”

  My eyebrows arched, and I listened.

  “Two weeks ago, when Merlin Finn walked out of my facility, the press tore us apart. That was on top of the federal and state investigators crawling all over us.”

  I took a sip of coffee. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m talking to you because I’m confident that Leon had nothing to do with the escape, and I’m hoping you’ll write it that way.”

  I blinked at him. “We both want the same thing, Mr. Fisher. We want the truth.”

  “That’s all I’m asking.”

  I glanced at Barbara, who nodded back at me. “Tell me about Mr. Dempsey.”

  Paul said, “He’s a good man. I’ve known him for over fifteen years. I’ve been his boss for the last seven. He’s never missed a day of work, never been accused of an infraction, and more importantly, the inmates respect him. He’s a man of his word, and when he tells you something, he means it.”

  “Clearly, he has your respect.”

  “He does.”

  “Any thoughts about where he might be?”

  Before Paul could answer, Barbara reached out and put her hand on my wrist. “Let me tell you a little more about Leon.”

  “Okay.”

  “He was married for nearly twenty years to his wife, Nancy. She died just this past October in a horrible car accident.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  Barbara continued with a sigh. “They’d been having troubles for months. Nancy would confide in me that Leon was just going through the motions of being a husband. It’s so difficult to stay in love when you’ve been married for so long, isn’t it?”

  I wouldn’t know. My record for a relationship was with my third husband—four years. In my case, that was about three years too long.

  “Were they thinking about divorce?”

  “Leon was,” Barbara confided.

  I glanced at Paul, who was clearly uncomfortable with this discussion, but it apparently had been agreed upon before my arrival that this was the direction it needed to be.

  “His wife wasn’t?”

  “She wanted to try marriage counseling. He didn’t. I think he just wanted his freedom.”

  “You said she died in a car accident?”

  Barbara nodded. “It happened on Halloween night. It was raining here in Lockport that night. Her brakes failed going around a curve. She hit it going too fast and ran head-on into an oak tree.”

  For a moment, I remembered my beloved Kevin. He too died on a rainy highway, slamming head-on into a brick overpass on the Merritt Parkway. The wound, over a year old, still hadn’t scarred over.

  “How did Leon take it?”

  Paul leaned forward. It was his turn to talk. “Even though they’d been having some rough spots, it hurt him deeply. He sat in my office and cried. They’d been married for twenty years, and now she was gone. He wanted out of the marriage but not like that.”

  I took another sip of my coffee and hesitated before I asked my next question. “The police have said that two deposits had been made to Leon’s checking account. Twenty thousand dollars and another deposit for fifty. One before Finn escaped and one after.”

  Paul put his hands on the tabletop, palms down. “Life insurance payments. This is why we consented to this meeting. To get the truth out. Investigators have been on this since the escape. They concluded that the Brotherhood conspired to get Finn the tools he needed to get out. None of my men had anything to do with it.”

  “Where do you think Leon is?”

  Paul rubbed his eyes. “He and I spent a lot of time talking after Nancy died and then again after the escape and we all were under suspicion. The stress was killer. Leon wasn’t handling it well. He was drinking, not on the job, but when he wasn’t at the facility, he was in Jack’s Bar and Grill. One night, the bartender called me to come get him and drive him home.”

  I waited. Sometimes a reporter’s best friend is silence. Nature abhors a vacuum.

  Paul continued, “I think he just said fuck it. The cops searched his house. Didn’t find anything missing, but it looks like he might have packed a bag when he left. I think Leon will turn up when he runs out of gas or beer money. I’m just afraid that his stellar career in corrections is over.”

  My conversation with Paul and Barbara hadn’t offered me much other than an excellent cup of coffee.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  I drove to Leon Dempsey’s place and parked in the driveway. The house was a single-story ranch style home on a small lot in a cramped neighborhood. Everything there looked like it had been built in the mid-eighties. A cookie-cutter neighborhood, all the houses were remarkably similar to one another.

  I sat gazing at the house through my windshield. The curtains were drawn, and I was the only vehicle in the driveway. I saw multiple tracks in the snow where the police had come to look through the house.

  I got out of my car, zipped up my coat, turned to my right, and trudged across the snowy lawn of the house next door. I recalled Mike Dillon telling me that a neighbor had a spare key to Dempsey’s place and had let the cops in to look around.

  Maybe I’ll get lucky and the neighbor will let me snoop around as well.

  I pushed the bell and waited until the door swung open and a Hispanic woman in her forties appeared. She was wearing slacks, sneakers, and a blue sweatshirt with a white logo that said Loving Touch Caregivers. “Can I help you?”

  “Hi, my name is Geneva Chase, and I just met with Paul Fisher, the warden at Lockport Correctional? He asked me to stop by and check on Leon Dempsey’s house, what with him being gone and all. He said one of Leon’s neighbors had a spare key. Would that be you?”

  It wasn’t a complete lie. I had just met with Paul Fisher, and we had talked about Leon Dempsey. Checking on the house was my idea.

  The woman’s eyes involuntarily darted toward Dempsey’s empty house, then back to me. “Henry…Mr. Byrd…had a spare key. He gave it to the police so they could look through Mr. Dempsey’s house. The police kept the key.”

  The disappointed look on my face must have been obvious, because then the woman quickly said, “Would you like to talk with Mr. Byrd? He and Mr. Dempsey were friends.”

  I smiled. “Sure. As long as you think Mr. Byrd won’t mind.”

  She leaned in and gave me a
stage whisper. “I think Mr. Byrd is bored out of his mind. He’ll like a visitor.”

  I went in and luxuriated in the warm living room. It was a small space with a leather couch, recliner, faux wood coffee table stacked with a small pile of Sports Illustrated magazines, and a big-screen television, currently tuned into a program of football highlights. In the center of the room sat a silver-haired man in a wheelchair.

  “Mr. Byrd, you have a visitor.”

  The man in the wheelchair twisted around and studied me. His hair was white and wispy, his scalp easily seen underneath. He was wearing a green flannel shirt and brown slacks. One leg was encased in an off-white cast from his ankle to his thigh.

  Upon seeing me, he managed, with effort, to turn his wheelchair to face me. “And such a pretty visitor.”

  “Hi, I’m Geneva Chase.” I walked over to shake the man’s hand. His skin was dry and his grasp was gentle. I had the distinct impression that if I squeezed his hand too hard, his fingers might break like the bones of a bird.

  “I’m Henry. Would you like some coffee?”

  I held up a hand. “I’ve had my quota for the day.” I gestured back at the woman standing behind me. “I understand that you and Mr. Dempsey are friends.”

  He smiled. “Did Rosa tell you that?”

  The woman shrugged.

  “We weren’t friends so much as we liked talking about the Patriots. We’re both big fans. Ya know, it ain’t the Cowboys that are America’s team. It’s the New England Patriots.”

  I gave the man a big grin. “Amen to that, Henry. Do you know where I can find Leon?”

  “Nope. Tell you what I told the cops. After his wife died, he just always seemed like he was on edge. Like he was lookin’ over his shoulder all the time. Worried. It wasn’t like Leon to be worried all the time.”

  “What do you think he was worried about?”

  Henry appeared thoughtful for a moment. When he answered, it was with a quick shrug.

  Rosa, the caregiver, spoke up. “I think it was the little blond who followed him home one night from Jack’s Bar.”

  Henry’s face went serious. “Rosa.”

  Her voice was sharp. “Mr. Dempsey’s poor wife isn’t cold in her grave, and he started cavorting around with a younger woman. It’s disrespectful to Mrs. Dempsey.”

  “Was she Mr. Dempsey’s lover?”

  Henry’s tone was harsh. “Rosa. None of our business.”

  “Do you know the woman’s name?”

  Rosa offered Henry an angry stare. “Two weeks after the funeral, that woman showed up.”

  Henry, surrendering, held up his hand. “Leon told me her name was Anna and she was from Hungary or some damned place like that. Pretty girl, blond and tall like you. Younger, maybe in her twenties.”

  It was a compliment right up until the age thing. “Did he mention a last name?”

  “I’m sure he did, but I don’t recall it, and even if I did, I couldn’t pronounce it.”

  “Wouldn’t happen to have a photo, would you?”

  He shook his head. “Sorry.”

  “Do you think that when Leon took off, this Anna woman went with him?”

  Henry’s eyes turned sad. “No, just as fast as she came into Leon’s life, she went right back out again. She kinda vanished right after that guy broke out of prison. Poor Leon caught all kinds of shit for that, and he didn’t have nothing to do with it. It was them damned skinheads in there.”

  “Any idea at all where he might have gone?”

  Henry thought for a moment. “My guess is that he’d just had enough of everything. Had a nervous breakdown, maybe. He got in his car, started driving, and just kept going. I just hope he’s going to be okay.”

  I said my goodbyes to Henry and Rosa and hopped back in my car. Before I did, I looked up the directions to Jack’s Bar and Grill on my phone.

  It was four in the afternoon when I walked in. I felt right at home. The air was thick with stale beer. The smell of cigarette smoke, illegal for many years inside a Connecticut pub, still clung to the walls. A Budweiser neon sign hung behind the bar, lighting up dozens of bottles sitting on shelves. Another neon sign brightly pronounced that “It’s five o’clock somewhere”.

  Also, behind the bar was a flat-screen television showing muted images from the Fox News station. Below that hung a Rudolph the Reindeer sign, complete with a red light bulb for a nose. The words on the sign said, “We say Merry Christmas here.”

  Two old-timers sat at one end of the bar, drinking Miller Lite and talking quietly, taking no notice of me at all.

  However, the tall guy behind the bar gave me a grin that rivaled the neon hanging on the wall.

  I took off my coat, hung it from the back of a stool, and sat down. I ordered an Absolut and tonic.

  He quickly splashed it together and brought it to me almost before I’d finished asking for it. “I haven’t seen you in here before. I’d remember someone as pretty as you are.”

  It’s been a while since I’ve been hit on in a bar.

  I answered by looking at him and holding my glass up in a mock toast. Then I took a healthy gulp, feeling it love me all the way down.

  He took a bar rag off his shoulder and started wiping down the wooden surface just off to my right. “New in town? I’m Will, by the way.” He held out his hand for me to shake.

  “I’m Genie. I’m from the insurance company that had the policy on Nancy Dempsey. I came to follow up with Leon Dempsey to make sure he was satisfied with how we handled things.”

  His brow furrowed. “I don’t think he’s pleased at all. When I last saw him, he was still looking for a check from you people.”

  It was my turn to look confused. “According to my records, we’ve already sent Mr. Dempsey two checks.”

  Will shook his head. He was in his midthirties, short brown hair, brown eyes, and bartender cute. The more you drank, the better he’d look. “Last time I saw him, he was bitchin’ because he hadn’t seen a nickel from the life insurance on his wife’s accident.”

  “Huh.” I took another hit of my vodka. I might be tempted to have a second one of these before leaving to go back to Sheffield. “Does Mr. Dempsey come in here a lot?”

  “Oh, he was a regular. Most of the prison guys come in here after their shifts. I haven’t seen Leon for days now. Word is that he hopped in his car and just started driving. People blamed him for the escape a couple of weeks ago. Did you hear about it?”

  I looked up at him, hopefully in an adoring manner. I’d gotten off on the wrong foot by pretending to be with the insurance company. If those two deposits into Dempsey’s account hadn’t come from his wife’s life insurance, where did the money come from? “Tell me.”

  Will leaned down, his arms crossed in front of him on the bar, his face inches from my own. “The top guy in the Aryan Brotherhood broke out of prison. He busted out a wall, climbed up an air vent, cut his way through wires, climbed back down again, and chopped through the outside fence.”

  I put a hand up to my mouth. “How did he manage that?”

  He nodded knowingly. “Cops wanted to blame Leon because he was the supervisor on shift that night. But after all the questions were asked, the feds said that the Brotherhood put it all together.”

  “Are they that strong up there in Lockport Correctional?”

  Will gave me an incredulous look. “Oh, yeah. Those are some dangerous dudes.”

  “How about the guy who got out?”

  “Guy by the name of Merlin Finn. The worst of the worst. Killer without a conscience. Got two tattoos, Aryan symbols, one on either side of his face.” He pointed to one cheekbone, then the other.

  “Well, I feel bad about Mr. Dempsey. Here I thought we’d done a good thing by him. Now I’ve got to go back and check with our financial department.”

  “I’m
sure he’ll turn up. You can make sure he gets his money then, right?”

  I held up my glass. “Absolutely right. Can I get a refill, Will?”

  “Absolut you can,” he said, grinning, taking my glass, and grabbing the bottle of vodka off a shelf. I could tell he was pleased with his half-ass joke.

  “In the meantime, does he have family here in town I can talk to about getting him his check?”

  He poured a healthy dollop of vodka into my glass. “No family. He had a girlfriend for a while.”

  “He did?”

  “Yeah, she was in here by herself one night about a week after Nancy’s funeral. That was the night she and Leon met. Next thing you know, they were going out.”

  “Was it serious?”

  “It was for Leon. I understand why. She was a looker. Tall and blond, in her late twenties, early thirties.”

  “How old was Leon?”

  “In his forties, I guess. I never thought of him being a player, but I guess I was wrong.”

  “They broke up?”

  “I think that might have been one of the things that finally snapped for Leon. He thought she was really special.”

  “You know her name?”

  “Anna something. Foreign-sounding name. From Austria I think. She was almost as good-looking as you.” He handed me the icy cold glass.

  “Why thank you, sir. Do you know of any way I might be able to reach this Anna?”

  He slowly shook his head. “Sorry. She left Leon and disappeared. It was like she was never here. It broke Leon’s heart.”

  I sipped my drink and wondered what I should do next. I’d hit a wall.

  “Hey, want to see a picture?”

  My heart skipped a beat. “You have a picture?”

  Will pulled his phone from his pants pocket and scrolled through some other photos in his screen. “Yeah, Leon’s birthday was about three weeks ago. She and him were in here knocking back shots that some of the other guards were buying them.” He stopped scrolling. “Here.”

  Will held up the phone, and I took it from him to get a better look at the photograph on the tiny screen. I assumed the man I didn’t recognize was Leon Dempsey. A regular-looking guy, hair slightly mussed, eyes half shut from drinking too much, gazing loving at a young blond sitting in a booth next to him with her arm around his shoulder.