Paramedic Killer

by Patterson, Pat

  “Mrs. Canaday,” Murphy responded. “Lieutenant Rivetti and I are following up on a lead that has to do with a wreck your family was involved in some years ago.”

  “Six years ago to be ’zact. Ne’er will forget that terrible night.”

  “Can you tell us about it?”

  “Whole thing’s public knowledge, Detective. You kin read about it at the libr’y. Lost me husband Robert that night, daughter-in-law Wendy Jo, her pregnant sister Ellen, and her husband Eddie. And worst of all, lost three grandchildren. Little Robert, Lisa, and my youngest grandson. They’s all killed, either in the wreck or in’n fire that followed.”

  “Mrs. Canaday,” Murphy said his voice unusually compassionate. “What was your—”

  “Call me Lila, Detective. Never did like being called missus.”

  “If you insist. Lila, what was your youngest grandson’s name?”

  “Adam,” she said, her voice hard. “His name wuz Adam.”

  Murphy glanced at Rico. Rico acknowledged with a nod.

  “Bobby and Billy,” she continued without prompting. “I don’t know how those two survived. Jus’ too mean to die, I s’pose. Sad thing is, they’s almost home when it ’appened. Less’n five miles from right ’ere, front’a me son’s house. Bobby’d just got’n out. The rest ’um went up to bring’m home.”

  “Excuse me,” Murphy pressed. “Out of what?”

  “Prison. Been doin’ time at the correctional center for drugs. Boys use’n have a lab in the woods. Federal boys raided ’em and hauled ’em in. Ain’t proud of it, Detective, but it’s the truth. After they got out of that army, they went back to ’um old ways. Meth, girls, n’such.”

  “Lila,” Murphy said continuing to push. “You say they were both in the U.S. Army?”

  “Kicked out for wrong doin’.”

  “What kind of wrong doing?”

  “Klan.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Klan. Army don’t tolerate no Klan.”

  Murphy turned and looked at Rico. Rico understood. He stepped out of the house onto the front porch and motioned for Andrew Hamilton to join him. The young officer trotted over and stopped at the foot of the steps. “What’s up, L-T?”

  “Where’s Rat?”

  “Taking a look at that Harley over there. Nice bike.”

  “I need you to call in something. The Canaday boys were in the army. Have someone in the office run a background check. Names are Bobby and Billy.

  Try Robert and William of Cedar Creek. Find out their military backgrounds. Looking for special training, Special Forces, you know. Also, reason for their discharge.”

  “You got it, sir.” Ham trotted to his car.

  Rico walked over to the shed. “What you got, Rat?”

  “This bike, sir. It’s still warm.”

  Rico frowned. It didn’t look broken down; in fact, it looked brand new. The black paint and chrome shone as if recently buffed. He touched the muffler. Warm.

  “Check out the devil face,” Rogers said. “Same as the one on the boat out there.”

  “Old lady’s up to something. Just lied to us about this thing. What about the Mustang?” Rico glanced inside the vehicle. He spotted a black leather jacket and a pair of black sunglasses lying on the front seat. “Mm-hmm. Eyes open, Rat.”

  Rico stepped back inside the house. Sean Murphy was in the middle of a question about the army. Mrs. Canaday nodded. “Jus’ a sec,” she said opening a small foil bag. She removed a wad of tobacco with her fingertips and placed it inside her mouth. “Can’t go five minutes without chaw no more. Now,” she said chewing the sticky brown tobacco. “What d’you say? How long? I’d say about five years. Ninety-nine to oh-five. Sump’in’ like that.”

  “Sean,” Rico said. “Can I see you a moment, please?” Murphy apologized to Lila and joined Rico in the hallway. “She’s lying about the bike. Muffler’s still warm. Recently rode. And the car? Leather jacket and shades on the front seat. Someone else is here.”

  “Okay. Check it out. See if she’ll let you search the house.”

  “Should have got a warrant.”

  “No time. Go.”

  Rico nodded and walked back into the den. “Ma’am, I’d really like to take a look around if you don’t mind. I’ll only be a minute.”

  Mrs. Canaday chuckled and shook her head. “Persistent, ain’t ya, Officer Rivetti? Go ahead. Like I said before, ain’t got nothin’ to hide, ’cept my bedroom might be messy. You believe that, don’t you, Officer Rivetti? I’m tellin’ the truth?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Rico slipped down the hallway, removed his .45 from its holster, and entered a neat kitchen with old GE appliances. He checked the pantry, the laundry room, and a back utility storage room, finding nothing. After that he moved back down the hallway and walked up a narrow staircase that led to the second floor. The steps creaked beneath his weight. A bare bulb lit the corridor. The second story was clear as well. Her bedroom, as advertised, was a mess, with clothes strewn about and fresh fabric cut to a pattern next to an antique sewing machine. The closets were clear, the bathroom, too. Rico walked back downstairs and entered the den.

  “Can you tell us about your grandson, Adam?” Murphy inquired.

  “Not much to say ’bout Adam, ’cept’n he was very special.”

  “How’s that?” Rico said.

  “Gifted.” The old woman spit into the can and then looked into Rico’s eyes. “Look officer, the Canaday’s ain’t nothing. We ain’t never been nothin’. Poor, white, Cedar Creek trash. My grandfather was a fisherman, my father was a fisherman, and my husband Robert was a fisherman. All poor. And Bobby and Billy was no good, getting into trouble most of the time. But Adam was special. Better’n rest of us. Played the piano like’n angel plays a harp. Had the most beautiful voice you kin imagine. Knew everything was to know ’bout music and art and the things that really matter in life. That boy was a born genius. I’m tellin’ you, ’e made this family sing. When ’e died that night, soul of this family died. S’pose’n that was jus’ too much for them boys to take. They loved him more ’n life. When he died, piece of them died. Both-um went crazy. Kept talkin’ ’bout payback, ’bout justice, ’bout why come the paramedics had to burn him. My son, Mac, he’s got’n proof, too. Lived up on 101 right in front’n where it happened. Heard the collision. Went out on his porch. Saw the ambulance pull up, and them EMT’s get to working. Says they wouldn’ pull ’em out. This big explosion, then ’n fire. It done burnt ’em down. All ’em, ’cept Bobby an’ Billy an’ Knave. They got burnt. Faces, backs, skins.”

  “Who’s Nave?” Rico inquired.

  “Nave’s me other grandson.”

  “Ma’am,” Murphy said. “You say your grandsons’ faces were burned?”

  “Billy, poor thing, mouth so messed up can’t hardly speak no more. Voice all squeaky like a doll.”

  “Mrs. Canaday, excuse me, Lila,” Rico said apologetically. “Do you have a recent photo of your grandsons?”

  “I don’t know ’bout recent, but I got me a box full’um.” Lila Canaday rose from the couch with a groan and walked to a nearby bookshelf. Rico noticed an arthritic limp to her step. She pulled an old cigar box from the shelf, raised the lid, and pulled out a stack of photographs. She shuffled through the pile, pulled several four-by-fives, and brought them back over. “Here,” she said handing Rico the photographs. “Got you some ’fore and after. They won’t let me photograph ’um faces no more.”

  “Why not?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Rico looked at the first photograph—three kids playing in the marsh, two with red hair and one with black. The redheads appeared to be twins, four or five years older than the third, but he could tell by the eyes and nose that all three were related. The second photo revealed a pair of soldiers dressed in army fatigues. Late teens to early twenties he estimated, with reddish buzz cut hair and bright blue eyes. The same two twins, full of energy, full of life. A teenager stood
beside them with an admiring look on his face, an arm draped over one of the men’s shoulders, and a huge grin on a mouth full of silver orthodontic braces. He had the same blue eyes as the other two, but his hair was black as coal. Small freckles covered his face. His dimpled smile looked warm and contagious.

  “Nice looking boys.”

  Rico flipped over the third photograph. The three young men stood in a matching pose—arms over shoulders, casual style—but that was where the similarities ended. All had their shirts removed. All three had been severely burned, the two brothers to a point bordering on horror. Faces, necks, chests, and arms, all badly scarred. One nose and two ears looked deformed. It was enough to make Rico cringe. The younger one had been spared his face, but his chest and shoulder looked equally scarred. “The one on the left,” Lila stammered. “That’s Bobby. My oldest. One in the middle’s Billy.”

  “And the other one?” Rico said tapping the photo.

  “That’s the Knave. My youngest grandson. Take a look at’n next picture.”

  Rico flipped up the fourth photo and practically jumped out of his seat. Two men stood side-by-side in T-shirts and faded jeans. Each man wore a mask—one a stark white death mask, the other a white hockey mask painted with small red chevrons. “Ma’am,” Rico exclaimed, trying his best to conceal his excitement. “These are your grandsons?”

  “Bobby ’n Billy. Use’n be such han’some boys. Don’t live here no more,” she added, wiping her eyes and apologizing for being weak. “Stay at ’em clubhouse, across’n Jarrett Bay.”

  “They stay at Jarrett Bay?” Rico glanced at Murphy. “The big boatyard on Core Creek.”

  “Across’n creek. Have ’em a clubhouse buildin’ in the woods.”

  Rico noticed Murphy sit up a little taller in his seat. “Have you spoken with either of your grandsons recently?”

  “Bobby calls me every day. Helps to ease his conscience I s’pose. He never did forgive himself for what happened. Says he fell asleep at’n wheel that night.”

  Rico almost jumped with excitement. “Mrs. Canaday, I know this is very difficult for you, but can you please tell me … have you talked to Bobby today?”

  “’Bout an hour ago.”

  “What’d he say?”

  “Usual. Love you, grandmaw. Me and Billy, we tryin’ to do good. But he kinda raised my hackles a bit when I asked ’um to come’n see me t’night.”

  “Why was that?”

  “Said they had’n be at the clubhouse for a meeting.”

  “A meeting?”

  “Excuse he gave,” Lila Canaday said. She picked up the spittoon and rid her mouth of the chaw. “Said they’s got a job to finish. Meeting to plan it tonight.”

  CHAPTER

  15

  SATURDAY—18:14—THE BIGHT (CAPE Lookout National Seashore) In early August the sun doesn’t set over Shackelford Banks until almost 8:00 p.m., but even at 6:15 Jim could tell it was going to be sweet. The sky had that beautiful tone of deep cyan to magenta that only happens on the clearest of days. A scattering of cirrus clouds hovered above the western horizon. “Careful,” he said as the girls stepped into the dinghy. He waited until they were safely seated and then walked it away from the beach until the water rose to his waist. In one swift motion, he gave the dinghy a hard shove and climbed over the rubber gunwale. After finding himself a suitable seat, he gave the outboard a tug and the little motor sprang to life. “Hang on,” he said engaging the forward drive. The girls grabbed hold of their seats. He twisted the hand throttle and the Zodiac pushed ahead. Three seconds later they were zipping across the bay, salt water spray in their faces. Melanie laughed with glee. Valerie looked ecstatic. Jim felt like a million bucks, totally at ease for the first time that day.

  “The lighthouse was so much fun,” Melanie exclaimed as Jim backed off the throttle. “Let’s go back and do it again.”

  “Another time,” he responded with a chuckle. He spotted Shoal Survivor in the distance, along with a couple dozen other sailboats. He held the throttle wide open, dodged a shoal marker, and made a straight course for his own yacht, a half-mile distant. The trip took just under five minutes. He twisted the throttle counterclockwise and shifted the gearbox to neutral. The small inflatable boat slid sideways and then gently bumped into the stern of Shoal Survivor. “Okay, off you go.”

  Jim waited until both girls were safely aboard the sailboat then tossed Valerie the painter and climbed up after them.

  “Jim,” Mel said. “That was so much fun!”

  “I’m glad you liked it. It’s been a while since I climbed the old lighthouse.”

  “What was the Park Service guy’s name? Walter? He was so cool. He knew everything there was to know about the lighthouse. And that view. I loved it! You could see everything. And the ocean looked so big. But I liked the dinghy ride most. That was so much fun!”

  “The whole day was fun,” Valerie said giving Jim a hug. “Thank you.”

  Jim enjoyed the hug. He relished her warm embrace. Somehow he just needed it.

  “Lovebirds,” Melanie said with a grin.

  “Come on,” Valerie said. “Let’s go dry off.”

  The girls hurried into the cockpit and disappeared down the companionway, giggling. Jim secured the dinghy painter to a stern cleat and walked up the deck to the front of the boat. The beach, he noticed, was just where he’d left it, about forty yards away. The anchor was still set. He glanced back at the lighthouse. From a distance, it looked like a tall black smokestack painted with large white diamonds. The light flashed as if to wink at him. He watched and waited, counting to fifteen seconds until the Fresnel lens rotated 360 degrees and flashed again. How many times, he wondered, had he felt the same way, amazed with the steadfast beauty of that tireless windblown sentinel. It made him feel safer somehow, as if to remind him that someone was always watching.

  “Hey,” Valerie yelled from the cockpit. “Got you a beer. Come join us!”

  Jim glanced at his crew sitting together on the cushioned seats in the cockpit sipping white wine. Wearing white shorts and tees, they looked like matching bookends, two happy sisters laughing and carrying on, with the wind in their hair and no apparent worry in their minds. Valerie loved having her little sister around. Her job had become tougher than ever since she had taken on the role of Emergency Department Director at the hospital, but today she seemed lighter than a feather. And Mel? Well, she was the reason, wasn’t she? Young and pretty and full of life … she made Valerie happy. He walked astern and stepped into the cockpit.

  “Anchor’s good.”

  “Jim,” Melanie said, her face beaming in the fading golden sun. “I never knew getting soaked could be such fun.” Valerie handed him a cold brown bottle and pecked him on the cheek. “Thanks so much for bringing us.”

  Jim sat quietly and sipped on his beer as the girls continued to talk. He watched Mel with growing admiration. She was one of those girls who, despite her incredible good looks and outgoing personality, seemed a little too good for this world. Strong-willed and powerful, like her sister, but in a more idyllic kind of way. She needed to remain unblemished, and the tattoo just didn’t fit.

  “Anyway,” Melanie said. “I’ve been thinking about med school. I really liked that bio class.”

  “But I thought you wanted to be a lawyer.”

  “So, I’ve given it a lot of thought, and I just really feel like I’ve been called to be a doctor.”

  “It’s not an easy road, hon.”

  “I know, but Dad always said we could do anything we put our minds to, especially if God tells us to do it. And I know it sounds silly, but sometimes I can almost hear God’s voice telling me, ‘Melanie, I’ve got big plans for you.’ And I figure what bigger plan could there be than to help other people? I really want to be a doctor.”

  The girls continued to chat, sipping their wine and giggling like high school girls planning a slumber party. Jim chuckled and took another gulp of his beer. A lull came to the conversatio
n, and both girls closed their eyes and leaned their heads back in unison. The warm rays of the afternoon sun wrapped around their faces like liquid gold. Jim leaned over and kissed Valerie and then started toward the companionway. “I’m going below for a minute. Anybody need anything?”

  Valerie handed him two empty wine glasses. “Would you refill these?”

  Jim descended into the cabin. He pulled the cork on the half-empty bottle of Chardonnay, refilled the glasses, and then walked forward to put on some dry clothes. After pulling on a pair of dry shorts and a T-shirt, he opened the foul weather gear locker and pushed aside the rain jackets. He found what he was looking for leaning in the corner of the closet—a stainless steel Winchester 1300 coastal marine shotgun, the perfect weapon for defense at sea. He pulled it from the locker and rocked the action once to make sure it was still loaded with buckshot.

  “Jim?”

  Jim turned around, surprised to see Melanie standing behind him with a shocked expression on her face.

  “Jim?” she repeated, placing a hand to her mouth. “You have a gun?”

  Jim put the gun back in the locker. “I keep that handy, just in case.”

  “In case of what?”

  “In case someone gives us a hard time, Mel. You can’t be too careful out here on the water.”

  “But, Jim—”

  “Honey, you’ve got to remember something. I was in the Coast Guard. I saw a lot of crime. Bad things happen on the water, and there aren’t too many police out here.”

  “But—” Melanie’s expression changed from surprised to hurt in less time than it had taken him to explain. “I’m president of the Get the Guns campaign at school. You know how much I hate violence.”

  “Mel, this isn’t about violence, it’s about protection.” Jim could tell by the disappointment on her face that she wasn’t convinced. “You can’t be too careful. There’s mean people everywhere.”

  Melanie walked into the forward cabin and closed the door. Jim hung his head for a moment and then went back topsides.