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

by Mark de Castrique

  “I guess you’re right, but I might just check his alibi.”

  “Be my guest. Kevin and I have other leads to follow.”

  “Kevin Malone,” she repeated. “What do you know about him?”

  “Just what I’ve told you. He’s Tommy Lee’s war buddy and Y’Grok’s closest confidante, if we’re to believe he got that letter from Y’Grok.”

  Melissa leaned forward over the table, placing her palms face down. “Kevin Malone’s not on the Boston police force.”

  “What? Who told you that?”

  “A lieutenant at his district.”

  “District?”

  “They don’t call them precincts in Boston. The lieutenant first said Kevin was on administrative leave. When I pressed him, he admitted Kevin’s on suspension without pay—six months.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “He wouldn’t go into any details, but he did say it involved the death of his partner. Happened last November. Disciplinary action came down in February. He’ll be reinstated in July, unless he opts for early retirement. He hasn’t been into his district for eight weeks.”

  “But that’s where he got Y’Grok’s letter.”

  “So he says.” Melissa rose from the table. “That’s the main thing I wanted to tell you. Check it out however you want, but I didn’t think it smart to spring the news in front of your mom or Susan.”

  I got to my feet. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what I find out.”

  She took a step closer. “Be careful. I don’t want to lose you. You’re too much fun to work with.” Before I could answer, she kissed me on the cheek. “Good night, Barry.”

  I managed a faint “good night” as she closed the kitchen door.

  Chapter Ten

  Around eight the next morning, Tommy Lee dropped Kevin at the funeral home. No developments had occurred overnight so while Kevin and I tracked down Harvey Collins at the VFW, Tommy Lee planned to share my sketch of the tattoos with Millen and Weathers. We’d check in with each other later in the morning and decide when to bring Franklin Talbert into the picture. I warned Tommy Lee that Archie and the mayor had their own plans for the movie star.

  I didn’t mention Melissa’s revelation about Kevin’s status with the Boston Police Department. Its relevancy to our investigation might only be how Kevin received Y’Grok’s letter and I didn’t want Kevin thinking I was spying on him.

  The gray morning sky hung low on the ridges. The forecast called for scattered showers, but a classic spring conflict of cold dry air slamming into warm moist air threatened to create a major storm front that could send bands of violent thunderstorms through the mountains the next day. Perhaps that would work in our favor. The Thursday memorial service could be inside the Lutheran church without a casket, and then there’d be no graveside ritual because of the downpour. I’d discuss that possible schedule with Y’Suom.

  The jeep’s wipers swept on intermittent, providing a constant smear on the windshield. The VFW was at the opposite end of town.

  As we drove down Main Street, Kevin peered out the side window at the assortment of shops and galleries that comprised our small business district. “What time’s this place wake up?”

  “Between nine and ten. Other than the barbershop and the Cardinal Café, most of the early morning action’s out near the interstate exit. Bojangle’s and Hardee’s.”

  “How about Krispy Kreme? That’s a North Carolina export us Yankees have taken to.”

  “Afraid Gainesboro finds their doughnuts only in grocery stores. Asheville’s got a couple locations, one with a drive-thru.”

  Kevin laughed. “Must be a pileup of police cars. There’s a detective back in Boston who vacations in North Carolina. He always returns with cartons of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and cartons of Winston cigarettes. A guy could make a pretty good living smuggling both.”

  “You been to the North Carolina mountains before?”

  “Nah. Whenever I took off, I’d head for the cape. My wife and I’d rent a place in the fall, after the rates dropped. I’d fish and drink beer. She’d read and drink wine. We’d go for days without talking.” He paused. “Just like at home. Guess that’s why I’m not still married.”

  “Any kids?”

  He shook his head. “Wanted them. Thought about adopting. I tried to get Carolyn to consider a Vietnamese or Montagnard child, but she thought the race difference would be too hard. I thought kids are kids.” He leaned back against the headrest.

  After a minute of silence, I pressed an innocent question. “Will you retire to Cape Cod?”

  “Can’t afford it. Carolyn gets half my pension and property’s zoomed so sky high I couldn’t buy a Port-a-John.” He looked at the deserted sidewalks. “Town like this might be nice.”

  “We get a good share of retirees. Most of them keep summer homes here and winter in Florida. They’ve driven up our land prices.”

  “Maybe I could live in Y’Grok’s old mill.”

  “Maybe. But you’d better put a hand railing on that log over your swimming hole.”

  I braked at a stoplight up the hill from the VFW. A gaggle of children in yellow raincoats trekked to the elementary school on the other side of the street. A female crossing guard wearing an orange poncho and toting a portable stop sign shooed along a straggler. The little boy went out of his way to stomp in every puddle.

  Kevin chuckled. “A lad after my own heart. Looking for trouble.”

  “A rebel in training.”

  “So, why’s this wicked Melissa Bigham interested in me?”

  His question came from nowhere. The child, the rain, and the traffic light blurred out of existence. Suddenly the universe shrank to the interior of the jeep. Sound collapsed to Kevin’s breathing as he waited for my answer. I suspected he had intentionally caught me off guard, watching for my reaction.

  I smiled as innocently as I could. “Did she ask you for a date?”

  “Not yet. Maybe she’s shy. Maybe that’s why she checked with my lou first.”

  “Lou?”

  “What we call our lieutenants. Lieutenant Stone was on the stick when she called.”

  “The stick?”

  He shook his head impatiently. “The shift. The woman tracked me down to district eleven in Dorchester and interrogated my lou. What the hell for?”

  I decided there wasn’t much percentage in playing cute or deceptive with him. “Melissa knows about the missing body. I told her because she’s too good a reporter not to have figured out something was wrong.”

  “Okay. Why me?”

  “You’re not an exclusive club. She’s doing background on everyone who knew Y’Grok.”

  A horn honked behind me. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw I’d created a two-car traffic jam. I waved an apology and drove through the green light.

  “Tommy Lee know about this?” Kevin asked.

  “That Melissa’s aware of what’s really going on? No. And she won’t be telling him.”

  Kevin seemed to relax. “My suspension’s bullshit. That’s why I got the courtesy call last night from my Deputy Superintendent. The department’s just playing tough for the media. Not have it look like I’m getting special treatment.”

  I was tempted to ask “Are you?” but drove down the hill without speaking.

  Kevin lowered his voice. “I told Mike to stay with the car. Wait for backup. We’d spotted a guy who’d been on the morning sheet at roll call. There were warrants out on him for a string of armed robberies in the area.”

  “But you’re a detective.” Be-on-the-lookouts, or BOLOs as police call them, were normally handled by the uniforms.

  “The sucker stepped out of a car right in front of us. We’re in an unmarked and I said, ‘Jesus, Mike, that’s Riley Conner.’ I stopped the car and Conner gave us a look back over his shoulder. He acted cool, but I knew he’d made us. He cut down between some triple deckers. I hopped out to tail him. I lost him for a moment, and then caught a glimpse of his jacket as he
ducked through a side alley. An eight-foot chain link construction fence crossed the far end. I couldn’t tell whether the fence blocked the exit or allowed a squeeze-through around the buildings. If it was sealed, I didn’t think Conner had had time to scale it.”

  Kevin paused as I turned into the VFW lot. I found a parking space at the far end and left the motor running as a cue for him to continue his story.

  “I’ll admit walking down a possible dead end alley isn’t the smartest move in the book. There were a few cellar doors on either side, so I took out my piece and stepped as quietly as I could over the broken bottles and trash decorating the cracked pavement, checking the doors as I went. I’d nearly reached the fence when I heard wood scraping behind me. I wheeled around just as Conner sprang out of a doorway. He’d apparently found a door open and then locked it until I went by. He had a pistol in his right hand. When he saw my gun, he popped a shot that zinged past my ear. I fired once down the alley, but missed. We both fired a second shot. He fell back into a trashcan, tried to get up, and I emptied my clip at him.”

  “He missed you?”

  “Yeah. The autopsy showed my first hit was enough to burn him, but the M.E. wasn’t there handing me his report at the time.”

  “And your partner?”

  “Mike had come around the corner of the alley just as I fired the first shot.”

  Jesus. Melissa’s source in Boston had sugarcoated the incident. Kevin had killed his own partner.

  “I told him to stay with the god damned car.” Kevin yanked open the door, and then slammed it shut again. He turned to me and his voice shook. “You want to hear the crazy part. The community and media didn’t have much to say about Mike’s death, but they raised holy hell about how many times I’d shot Conner. Finally the mayor and commissioner caved under the pressure and did the politically correct thing. They couldn’t nail me on Conner, even Internal Affairs ruled that a good shooting, so they went through our policy and procedure manual and came up with a charge of not exercising due diligence in the interest and pursuit of my duties. In other words, they blamed me for Mike’s death. Gave me a six month suspension. How’s that for justice?”

  We walked in silence through the gentle rain.

  The smell of pancakes met us at the front door. Families sat on blankets spread on the floor of the VFW’s main room. Behind a long table near a side wall, volunteers tended electric griddles. Bowls of batter replenished their supply as the breakfast treats went like, well, hotcakes. I looked around for Harvey Collins.

  “Mr. Clayton. Mr. Malone.”

  We turned to face Captain Randall. Beside him stood Y’Suom. Randall’s impeccable uniform was in sharp contrast to Y’Suom’s ill-fitting tweed sport coat with the sleeves too short and the shirt collar too large. His wardrobe must have come from a church’s donation closet. The young man’s wide, brown eyes asked the question he didn’t need to speak.

  “Nothing’s come up,” I said.

  “But the sheriff’s running down some leads with the senator and general this morning,” Kevin added. “And Talbert gets in this afternoon.”

  Randall looked around the room. “What do we tell these people?”

  Most of the Montagnards were still eating from paper plates. Several men began collecting trash in plastic bags. Near the rear exit, four kids kicked a pillow in a makeshift soccer game. I saw a nearby group of women glance at us and then turn away as if they didn’t want to pry.

  I stepped into the hall. “Let’s find a place to talk.”

  Randall shook his head. “If the sheriff’s with General Weathers, I’d better get back. Y’Suom, we’ll talk later.” He executed a snappy pivot and left.

  Y’Suom and Kevin followed me to a closed door at the other end of the hall. I listened at the frosted pane and then tried the knob. We found a small empty conference room whose walls were decorated with scores of military banners and insignias. I took a seat at the single round table and indicated for the others to join me.

  “I have a suggestion for you to consider. Regardless of what happens today, we’ll go through with the service tomorrow. If your father’s body hasn’t been recovered, an announcement will be made at the beginning and then prayers can be offered for the return of your father’s body.”

  “Will people accept that?” Y’Suom asked.

  “You know their customs better than I do. We can tell them as much or as little as you want, but we have to say something.”

  “Barry’s right,” Kevin said. “Till tomorrow we could always explain we didn’t want to compromise our investigation with media coverage, but concealing the facts by pretending everything’s normal for the service would turn into a cover-up.”

  Kevin’s point wasn’t lost on Y’Suom, and I thought how Melissa Bigham would surely balk at withholding the truth while reporting on the funeral.

  “Who would make this announcement?” Y’Suom asked.

  “The minister.”

  “Or maybe the sheriff,” Kevin said. “Makes it more official.”

  Y’Suom shook his head. “You, Mr. Clayton. You can tell what happened because it happened to you. They’ll know it’s true.”

  His demand hadn’t been part of my plan. I flashed forward to the proposed scene. “Hi, I’m Barry Clayton. A funny thing happened on the way to the funeral.” Or, “I’m Barry Clayton, here to tell you why the word funeral begins with fun.” My only way out was to find Y’Grok’s body before then.

  “All right. I’ll talk to the minister. Anything else you want to change in the service?”

  “We’re adding remarks by Senator Millen, General Weathers, and Mr. Talbert since now they’ll all be here.”

  “Good. Will you be speaking to Talbert? He doesn’t know the situation.”

  “No.” Y’Suom shifted his gaze to Kevin. “Captain Randall and I were just talking about Talbert. He’ll take care of him. I’ll spend my time with my people.”

  Kevin reached out and laid his hand on Y’Suom’s. “Son, we need you to spend some time with us.”

  Y’Suom flinched at the touch, but didn’t withdraw his hand from the table top. “What can I do?”

  “You can tell us about Raven, and what your father told you. You know why he sent for me.”

  For an instant, I saw a flicker of fear in the young man’s brown eyes. Then he shook his head, as much to erase the expression as to signify he had nothing to say.

  “Give me something,” Kevin insisted. “He carved a message for me into his own flesh. Is this how you would honor him?”

  “In his flesh?” Y’Suom’s startled face revealed genuine shock.

  “Yes. And we don’t know what the tattoos mean. The sheriff is talking to the senator and general now. But it’s about Raven.”

  Y’Suom’s voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. “He wanted justice.”

  “Who for?” Kevin asked.

  “He told me for Raven.”

  “Did your father have money? Money from Raven?”

  Y’Suom hesitated, looked at me, and then he seemed to relax. “Yes. He said he had money that didn’t belong to him and that you’d find a better use for it.”

  Kevin pulled his hand away. “How was I supposed to find this money?”

  Y’Suom shrugged. “He would leave you a message. That’s all he said.”

  “And you have no message for me?”

  The trace of a smile graced his lips. “No. Not for you.”

  “Damn. Barry, describe the tattoos for him. Maybe they’ll mean something.”

  If the crude drawings had any significance for Y’Suom, he kept his knowledge well hidden. I was about to ask who else his father might have spoken with when the door opened.

  “Oh, we’re sorry. We didn’t mean to interrupt.” The man making the apology started to back out.

  I recognized him as Earl Hucksley, the minister from Charlotte who’d be conducting tomorrow’s service and the person I’d have to tell why Y’Grok didn’t show up for his own fun
eral. A second man had followed behind and now tried to get out of the way of the back-pedaling preacher.

  I spoke up before they closed the door. “We’re finished if you need the room.”

  “No, it’s okay,” Hucksley said. “We were looking for Y’Suom.” He smiled at the Montagnard. “Some of the families are asking for you.”

  I stood up. “Why don’t you go? Kevin and I’ll catch up with you later.”

  Y’Suom nodded.

  As he and Kevin rose, I spoke to Collins. “Can we have a word with you? Just take a moment.”

  Harvey Collins stepped from behind Hucksley. Collins was younger, about thirty-five, with short-cut brown hair and a goatee. He wore jeans and a UVA sweatshirt. He’d probably slept on the floor in them. I’d only met him a few days ago, but he seemed genuine enough and the Montagnards held him in high regard.

  “Sure.” He turned to Kevin. “Harvey Collins. Lutheran Social Services.”

  Kevin shook his hand and motioned for him to take Y’Suom’s seat. I walked over and closed the door. As I returned, Kevin gave me a tilt of his head before he sat down. My show.

  “Harvey, Kevin’s a friend of Sheriff Tommy Lee Wadkins and Y’Grok. The three of them served together in Vietnam.”

  “Boy, that must have been some team.”

  Kevin leaned forward and smiled. “I was the weak link. Of course, so was Tommy Lee compared to Y’Grok.”

  Harvey returned Kevin’s smile. “It was a privilege to know him these last few months.”

  “Kevin’s here from Boston,” I said. “Y’Grok sent him a letter that he wanted to see him.”

  “I know,” Harvey said. “I posted it for him.”

  “So, he told you what the letter was about?”

  “No. He’d asked me for some stationery and an envelope. The next time I returned, he had the letter ready to mail.” He turned to Kevin. “You’re with the police, aren’t you?”

  “Yes.” Kevin took the opportunity to ask a question. “And he didn’t mention anything about me? Why he wanted to see me?”

  “I didn’t ask. Y’Grok was a private person.”