Foolish Undertaking: A Buryin' Barry Mystery (Buryin' Barry Series Book 3)

by Mark de Castrique

  “Maybe. Who else has been up there?”

  “That social service worker,” Tommy Lee said. “And the EMTs. I can get their names. But since Y’Grok died a natural death, the scene wasn’t secured. Anybody could have gone up there the last few days.”

  “The EMTs might have seen something when they transported the body, and this Lutheran guy might have learned something from the other Montagnards.” Kevin leaned forward until he was right behind my ear. “We’ve got to decipher what those tattoos mean. We’ve got to find that money or we’ve got nothing to trade for the body. If it was a clock face, then your uncle said the hands were pointing at ten and two. Must be significant.”

  I thought about my original impression of a compass. “Or northwest and northeast.”

  Kevin grunted. “Doesn’t take us anywhere I know of. Has to be something I’d understand. We should have had your uncle write it down.”

  I looked at the clipboard mounted on the dash. “Mind if I use this?”

  “Go ahead,” Tommy Lee said.

  I turned on the courtesy light, flipped to a clean sheet of paper, and used the ballpoint attached to the clip. Uncle Wayne had given me the correct letters at the four points of the compass, but I drew his clock hands as the “V” I remembered.

  Kevin peered over my shoulder. “V for Victory, maybe? If you read the letters as a circle, Near Victory or Near Vietnam?”

  “Could it mean near victory for the resistance?” Tommy Lee suggested.

  “Could be,” I said. “I don’t think the V stands for Vietnam. He’d already written that word.”

  Kevin reached for my drawing. “No, he’d written it as two words.”

  I pulled the clipboard away from him. “But in reverse order. Nam Viet.” I stared at the circle, and then I saw it. “Reverse order. Counter clockwise.”

  “Raen?” Kevin asked.

  “Yes.” I jabbed the pen into the V. “But with this letter in the middle. RAVEN.”

  Chapter Nine

  As we headed back to the funeral home, jagged streaks of lightning revealed the thunderheads building in the night sky. Between their bursts of brilliance only the car’s headlights pierced the darkness.

  “Oh, Christ,” Kevin said. “Just what we need. A double shot of stormy weather tonight.”

  Tommy Lee turned on the wipers as a few splats hit the windshield. “Part of spring down here. Gulf air slams into the last of the arctic air mass and a storm front can last for days. We get some real gulley washers.”

  “Tornados?”

  “No, the mountains break them up, but flashfloods can do as much damage.”

  I watched the first streaks of rain turn into a silver curtain. “I’m glad we got the Montagnards bedded down at the VFW.”

  “Me too,” Tommy Lee agreed. “One good thing about this mess, Barry. You won’t be conducting the funeral in tomorrow’s rain.”

  On cue, the sky opened up and the car slowed to a crawl.

  Kevin shouted above the pounding on the sheet metal roof. “I hope Talbert can fly in all right. Maybe the tattoos will mean something to him. Stormy won’t sit still when he learns what your uncle saw.”

  I turned around in the seat until I could see the vague shape of Kevin’s face. “You don’t want Weathers’ help?”

  “Help’s one thing, red tape’s another. Stormy Weathers is too far up the chain of command to call in resources without every bureaucrat in Washington shitting on himself afraid that some other agency will get the credit. They’ll spend as much time covering their asses as investigating.”

  “And you think Franklin Talbert will know something you don’t?”

  “No, but that asshole’s about the only card that hasn’t been dealt.”

  “Why’s nobody like Talbert?” I asked.

  “Why bother to like someone who loves himself so much he bottles his farts and sells them as air freshener?”

  I didn’t have an answer to that question.

  When we got to the funeral home, Tommy Lee pulled the patrol car beneath the overhang by the operating room. The shattered lock and splintered frame of the door reminded me that I should have arranged for repairs. Now I’d need to wedge the door shut to keep the wind gusts from blowing it open.

  I cracked the car door enough to trigger the interior lights and looked at Tommy Lee. “What’s the schedule tomorrow?”

  “You got me. I’ll talk to Y’Suom about his father’s tattoos. My recommendation to Weathers and Millen will be to talk with Talbert before we go public.”

  “What about that Lutheran social worker?” Kevin asked. “He was the last person to see Y’Grok alive.”

  “Harvey Collins,” I said. “He’ll probably be at the VFW.”

  “Why don’t you and Kevin go see him in the morning. I’ll go back to the Grove Park.”

  “Sounds like a plan.” Kevin motioned for me to get out of the car. “Get some sleep. You’re making me hurt just looking at you.”

  I waved goodnight and closed the damaged door behind me. A straight-back chair provided a brace under the knob and I left the room reasonably secured against the elements. Our part-time assistant Freddy Mott was also a skilled carpenter and I’d have him repair the damage the next day.

  An indistinct murmur of voices came from the parlor and at first I was concerned we had a death to deal with. I heard Mom say, “That must be him now.”

  Seated on the sofa, as far away from each other as possible, were Susan Miller and Melissa Bigham. My mother was perched on the edge of a chair on the other side of the coffee table. Three cups of cold and neglected black coffee sat on a silver tray.

  “Are you all right?” Mom rose to greet me. “We tried to call.”

  “I turned my phone off to save the battery. I was out at Uncle Wayne’s where there’s no reception.” I smiled at Susan and Melissa. “We may have gotten a break in the case.”

  Melissa’s eyebrows arched.

  Susan’s descended into a scowl. “The only break you’ve got might be in your head. You were supposed to rest.”

  “I’m sorry. But I’ve felt fine all day.”

  “Give me enough credit as a doctor to know that’s a lie. Sit down and let me look at you.”

  Susan directed me to the chair Mom had vacated. With a gentle touch, she probed the stitches on my forehead. “The incision’s redder than it should be. No wonder. You’ve gotten the wound wet and dirty.” She ran her hand over the knot behind my ear. “At least this swelling’s gone down.”

  Susan pulled the table lamp closer. “Tilt your head back.”

  I did as I was ordered. She brought her face within inches of mine. She covered, and then uncovered each of my eyes, checking the consistency of the pupil dilation.

  She stood up, shaking her head. “Well, I guess there’s one advantage to being so hardheaded.” She returned to the sofa where her purse lay on the floor. “I suspected your antics would expose you to infection.” She fumbled through her bag and retrieved a bottle of pills and a small elongated box. “I brought some antibiotic samples. Take one tablet tonight and one with each meal for the next three days. And here’s a tube of antiseptic cream. Put it on the incision twice a day.” She handed the medicine to my mother. “Now you need to get to bed.” She stared at Melissa. “And we need to leave.”

  Lightning flashed through the front window and the thunderclap hit as our house lights flickered.

  “Sit down, Susan,” I said softly. “Melissa’s helping me and I need to talk with her. I want you to stay because you’d be as foolish as me to go out in the height of the storm.”

  Susan retreated to her end of the sofa, her lips drawn tight and her arms folded across her chest.

  “Mom, would you put that medicine in my room. I’ll lock up down here.”

  My mother glanced at the cups on the table. “Would anyone like fresh coffee or something to eat?”

  “No thank you, Connie,” Susan said.

  Melissa stood up and offered
Mom her hand. “I’m sure the storm will break soon, Mrs. Clayton. Thank you for your hospitality.”

  My mother hesitated, sensing a tension boiling below the surface. But she didn’t know what to do. “Democrat’s in the kitchen. Y’all drive carefully.” She disappeared down the hall.

  Melissa returned to the sofa and we sat quietly till Mom’s footsteps faded. Thunder rolled and rain beat against the windowpanes. But the atmosphere outside wasn’t as electrically charged as the atmosphere inside.

  I felt exhausted. Whatever had created the hostility between Susan and Melissa was beyond my energy to placate. I just wanted to cover Melissa on the day’s events and go to bed.

  I pulled my drawing from my pocket. “What I say here stays here.”

  “All right,” Melissa agreed.

  Susan said nothing.

  I handed the paper to Melissa. “Y’Grok Eban tattooed himself a short time before he died. Here’s what I’ve reconstructed from Uncle Wayne’s memory.”

  While Melissa studied the sketch, I reviewed the meeting with General Weathers and Senator Millen and explained the shift in the suspected motive from political publicity to money.

  Melissa gave the paper to Susan. “And Kevin Malone was the only person Y’Grok contacted?”

  “As far as we know. Tomorrow we’ll backtrack the people he might have talked to locally.”

  “Who was his doctor?” Susan asked.

  “His doctor?”

  “Yes. If the man was diagnosed with lung cancer, somebody must have examined him. Fresh tattoos would be a red flag to a doctor or nurse.”

  Melissa nodded in agreement. “And if they didn’t see the tattoos, you’ll know more precisely when they were made.”

  They both raised good points. “Tommy Lee told me he saw Y’Grok when he came to the hospital about two weeks ago. Susan, do you think you could get some information?”

  Melissa jumped in. “What about patient privacy rights?”

  “The patient’s deceased,” Susan snapped. “Besides, you’re the only one in a position to blab medical information to the world.”

  Melissa reddened. “I’ve never betrayed Barry.”

  The challenge in her voice surprised me. “I trust you both. But we’ll let Susan decide what’s appropriate to share.”

  “You’ll let me?”

  I was glad I had only two feet because I seemed to be putting them in my mouth each time I opened it. “You had a good idea. I’d appreciate if you’d follow up.”

  Susan shrugged. “I’ll see what I can do.” She stood up. “We should be leaving. You need to get to bed.”

  Melissa started to say something, and then thought better of it.

  I followed them to the front door. A stand in the corner of the foyer held several black umbrellas we kept on hand in case the weather turned nasty during a visitation. I gave one to each, and then took one myself. Opening the door, I found the rain had slackened. “I’ll walk you to your cars.”

  I had the good sense to go first to Melissa’s Ford Focus. She clicked her security key and the interior lights came on. She handed me the umbrella as she slipped under the steering wheel. I thought I heard her whisper, “I’ll be back.” I walked over to Susan and we watched Melissa drive away in the light rain.

  “I’m sorry I kept you waiting. I should have phoned.”

  Susan unlocked the door of her Subaru. “Yes, you should have.”

  “I had no idea Melissa would be here.” The words sounded defensive, and I was angry with myself for feeling I had to give an explanation.

  “She’s a reporter. She’s competitive.” Susan leaned under my umbrella and kissed me. “And she’s a woman, and she’s very competitive.”

  With that cryptic pronouncement, Susan gave me her umbrella, closed her door, and drove off. I stood in the rain looking like a very confused umbrella salesman.

  Democrat lay across the bottom step to the upstairs. He was ready to go to bed. He watched me bring the tray and coffee cups to the kitchen sink and rinse them out. I heard his tags jingle as he got to his feet and moved toward the back door. Rain never discouraged the lab from going outside, but ten at night seemed late for nature’s call. He gave a low whine. Then I heard pounding on the back porch.

  I unlocked the kitchen door and flipped on the exterior light. Melissa stood at the back porch’s screen door, her wet face glistening in the harsh glare of the overhead bulb.

  “Did you forget something?” I unlatched the hook and helped her up the step.

  “I’ve got some news I didn’t want to mention in front of Susan in case there’s nothing to it.” She caught my arm. “We can talk out here. No sense dripping through the house.”

  “Don’t be silly. We’ll sit in the kitchen.” I nudged Democrat away before he could embarrass both of us with a curious and extremely personal sniff of her wet jeans.

  I handed her a dry dish towel and she patted her face and hair.

  “Thanks.” The cold water had brought a surge of color to her cheeks and curled her hair in dark ringlets. Her long-sleeved rust turtleneck that had been merely fashionable in the parlor now clung to her body like paint. The only thing left to the imagination was a possible tan line.

  I forced my eyes to remain locked on hers. “You can trust Susan.”

  She sat down at the table. “So, everything’s all right between you two?”

  The question surprised me. “You’ve heard differently?”

  The red in her cheeks darkened and she fidgeted with the towel. She forced a laugh. “Oh, you know, in my business I can’t assume anything.”

  “Susan and I are all right.” Then I added, “As far as I know.” The words were only half facetious. My ex-wife, Rachel, said I was clueless when it came to women. Otherwise, how could I have expected her to follow me from Charlotte to Gainesboro when my father got ill? Rachel now lived in D.C. and the woman I lost as a wife I cherished as a friend.

  “I called in a favor at the Washington Post. Their database is a little more sophisticated than the Gainesboro Vista.”

  “How’d you set that up?”

  “I told my friend I was profiling a local vet for a feature that would run Memorial Day weekend. My subject had been involved in an operation called Raven and he was too modest to talk about it.”

  “Sounds plausible.” I sat down at the table opposite her. Democrat gave up and went back to the stairs, anxious to go to bed.

  “Give me some credit for creative storytelling. Anyway, my contact called back late this afternoon. He’d found Raven in a set of documents released a few years ago under the Freedom of Information Act. Senator Millen had convened a hearing on efforts to pursue leads on MIA and POW sightings. Raven was one of the topics.”

  “That makes sense. When Millen was shot down, he escaped through the Raven network. Why had it been classified?”

  “Because names were discussed. Montagnards who had aided U.S. Special Forces were considered possible sources of information on which missing men were known by them to be dead. And the Montagnards might guide investigators to identifiable remains.”

  I knew Millen had made several trips to Vietnam in the late eighties. About the time Y’Grok’s son came out. “So the committee was afraid the Vietnamese would take reprisals on these men?”

  “Evidently.” She pursed her lips. “And they were right. After the fact-finding trips to Vietnam, the summary of the final Millen report concluded that the majority of Raven’s members had been eliminated by 1980. Those left alive were afraid to assist Millen and his Vietnamese hosts in their efforts.”

  “Was Y’Grok one of them?”

  “Don’t know. The names of the living Montagnards were deleted. Only those confirmed dead went into the report.”

  I sat quietly for a few moments. Y’Grok had been kept out of a hearing’s documentation which limited the dissemination of his ties to Raven. But, congressional hearings were notorious for leaking like a rusty bucket. Someone in Washington cou
ld have speculated on a connection between missing money and Y’Grok. I wondered how long Nickles had worked for Millen. “Did your contact say who had access to the uncensored report?”

  “Barry, that was nearly ten years ago, right after Clinton normalized relations with Vietnam. You want Tommy Lee to post pictures of every congressional aide?”

  “No. I’m interested in people we know are here. What’s Nickles’ story?”

  Melissa rolled her eyes. “He wasn’t on my A-list.”

  “He might be worth checking out. Anything else?”

  She flashed a smile that told me she’d uncovered a morsel. “Archie Donovan called earlier this evening with a tip that Franklin Talbert won’t be staying at the Grove Park Inn. Archie and the mayor arranged for him to use one of the condos up at Crystal Cascades. They thought he needed a gated community.”

  “They would. They get him a tee time as well?”

  “I asked that. I guess my sarcasm went over Archie’s head. He said there wasn’t time because he and Mayor Whitlock will be personally driving Talbert to meet the Montagnards at the VFW and then give him a private tour of the Heaven’s Gate Gardens Cemetery.”

  “Tomorrow?”

  “Yes. They worked through Talbert’s publicist and are meeting him at the airport in the afternoon. Archie’s hoping Talbert will be joined by Senator Millen and General Weathers at a reception the mayor’s trying to arrange at the Gainesboro Country Club.”

  “When’s that?”

  Melissa laughed. “Archie told me twenty hundred hours. Can you believe it? He’s adopted military time. I guess because Talbert and the others have been in the service, he thinks military time will impress them.”

  I could see Archie worrying whether to shake hands or salute. The closest he’d come to military service was wearing his Good Humor uniform during his summer job in college. “Makes you wonder if Archie didn’t steal the body just to get his celebrities together.”

  Melissa’s eyes instantly narrowed. “You think so?”

  “Of course not. Archie’s not that foolish.” I could tell Melissa wasn’t convinced. “And what’s he going to do, have the body reappear as if this never happened?”