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

by Mark de Castrique

  After seeing Melissa safely on her way to the newspaper, I hurried into the funeral home to check on the status of the next day’s service. Uncle Wayne was in the viewing room, which we called the Slumber Room. I’d tried to get away from that title since everyone knew the guests of honor would never wake up, but old traditions die hard, meaning Uncle Wayne would have to die first.

  He was bent over the casket, holding a brush in one hand and a can of hairspray in the other. The short bursts from the aerosol nozzle meant he was applying the finishing touches. I circled to the other side where I could admire the meticulous grooming. According to Montagnard custom, Wayne had dressed Y’Grok in regular clothes and rested his head on a rolled ceremonial blanket the Montagnards of his tribe had provided. Its delicate multicolored embroidery ran in narrow vertical stripes down the dark blue fabric. I didn’t understand the tribal significance, but the artistry created an expression that was both somber and celebratory.

  My uncle looked up from his handiwork. “What the devil happened to you?”

  “The usual. I got in over my head.”

  “Don’t let your mother see you. You got any clothes to change into?”

  “No. I just came in to see if Y’Suom’s body had arrived from the Asheville morgue. I’ve got an errand to run for Tommy Lee.”

  Wayne capped the hairspray and stepped back from the casket. “He looks pretty good. Too bad he can’t tell us where he’s been.”

  “Yeah. Too bad he can’t tell us a lot of things.”

  Wayne gave me a critical glance. “I’d say you’re in over your head all right. I’ve got Freddy coming at four. That’s when the other body will be released.”

  “I’ll be back by then.”

  “Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.”

  “Uncle Wayne, you and Freddy don’t have to take up my slack.”

  He walked to a side table and tucked the brush and hairspray into our leather touch-up kit. Then he turned and fixed me with one of those stares that prefaced a pronouncement. Over the years, his hair had gone from brown to white and his face cracked into more creases than wadded linen, but the stare had never altered. “No slack. A question of priorities.”

  Pain shot through my left palm as my hands reflexively balled into fists. I didn’t want to get into an argument over a dead body—literally over a dead body as Y’Grok lay between us—but I’d made more than my share of sacrifices. My father’s Alzheimer’s had brought me back to this town. Then I’d passed up the chance to sell out to a big chain so that Mom and Dad could remain in their own home, and I continued to tolerate my uncle’s old-fashioned ways. My frustration boiled over. “This funeral home is my priority!”

  “That’s what I’m trying to tell you, Barry. Don’t let it be.”

  Once again my uncle’s logic defied penetration, and I couldn’t respond to what I didn’t understand. Y’Grok’s corpse probably had a better idea what Wayne meant.

  “You’ve had police training. Even I can see how Tommy Lee depends on you. His deputies just carry out orders, but you’ve got a good head on your shoulders and a nose for the truth.”

  The first twinge of guilt surged in my chest as I suspected I’d misjudged where my uncle was taking this conversation. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. Ain’t none of my genes in that recipe. But Freddy and I can handle things here. We can do that in our sleep. Your priority’s to find this rampaging lunatic. You’ll be doing the town more good, and from what I gather this poor fellow went through, you’ll make sure his efforts weren’t in vain.”

  I stepped to the casket and looked down at the Montagnard. “You’ll never find someone with a greater sense of loyalty.”

  “I don’t know about that.”

  I looked up and caught the glint of a tear in my uncle’s eye.

  He turned away, fiddling with the zipper on the makeup kit. “I’ve seen your loyalty, Barry. To your mom. Your dad.” His voice cracked. “Even me. More than I deserve. By a long shot.”

  I didn’t know what to say. The words, so heartfelt and genuine, coming from a man who spoke so few, caught me off guard. I realized how much I loved the old coot, even though he could be exasperating at times. “We’re family, Uncle Wayne. That’s what families do.”

  He cleared his throat, turned, and nodded. “Well, you best get out of here before your mom comes downstairs. She sees you all bandaged up, she might get the wrong impression.”

  I didn’t know what the wrong impression could be. It was only April and I’d already met the yearly deductible on my health insurance. The simple truth was her son had a talent for getting beaten and battered. Bandages were just another wardrobe accessory. “Okay. Tell her I’m safe at the sheriff’s office. And you call me if you need me.”

  “I will. But don’t worry. If I wasn’t here, I’d just be sitting on my back porch watching the leaves grow.”

  Tommy Lee escorted me quickly through the back halls of the department. Only the dispatcher saw us enter the sheriff’s private office.

  Tommy Lee shut the door and closed the blinds covering the interior window to the bullpen. Kevin Malone leaned against a filing cabinet, sipping a cup of coffee.

  As I set the ammo case on Tommy Lee’s desk, Kevin asked, “Did Susan give an opinion on how he was shot?”

  “No. As soon as she found the bullet, she stopped her examination. She wasn’t comfortable making forensic interpretations.”

  Kevin smiled. “I told Tommy Lee about the money.”

  “Okay.” I guessed Kevin had decided to head off any revelations I might make.

  “And he knows I’m on suspension from the Boston police force.”

  Tommy Lee returned to his desk. “With things escalating like they have, Kevin figured he’d better tell me in case his name got linked to the events. He doesn’t want it to appear like he’s part of the investigation.”

  Kevin set his cup on the corner of the desk. “But I’d like to see the bullet. What’s the caliber?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t look that closely.”

  “You’re not trained in M&M forensics? My God, Tommy Lee, I thought you said he was a professional.”

  Tommy Lee frowned. “I’m a professional, and I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

  Kevin’s shocked expression broke into a grin. “An inside joke. One of my fellow detectives got forced on a diet by his wife. He had a terrible sweet tooth and she caught him with a bag of M&Ms in his pocket. Billy’s one hell of a detective but scared to death of his Mrs. So he told her carrying M&Ms was official police policy.”

  “To carry M&Ms?” Tommy Lee asked.

  “Yeah. To determine the caliber of a murder weapon at a crime scene. He told Ann the plains matched a thirty caliber bullet hole, the peanuts a thirty-eight, and the almonds a forty-five.”

  “Fast thinker,” I said. “She believe him?”

  “Hell, no. That’s why he asked the rest of us to back him up. We started carrying M&Ms in case we ran into her on the street or saw her at some social function. I was the designated peanut.”

  Tommy Lee opened the ammo case. “Well, let’s see what your friend’s sweet tooth says about this bullet.” He lifted out the gauze-wrapped bone and laid it on the desk. Then he took a pair of scissors from his drawer and carefully cut the tape. Kevin’s impish face turned grim as he watched the gauze unravel.

  When only the final layer was left and we could see the dark surface of the bullet, Tommy Lee held the vertebrae over his open palm, removed the last strip of gauze and let gravity do the rest. “It’s blunted like you’d expect, but not fragmented.” He held the deformed lump between his thumb and forefinger. “Hmmm. I think we’ve got an almond.”

  “Don’t kid about that.” Kevin leaned in for a closer look.

  “A forty-five?” I asked.

  “Judging from the size, that would be my bet.” Tommy Lee handed the bullet to Kevin.

  Kevin stared at the bullet like he’d di
scovered a tumor growing on his palm. “I don’t believe this. Y’Grok figured out what happened. This is what he wanted to show me.”

  Tommy Lee nodded. The two men shared some understanding that I couldn’t comprehend.

  I stared at the bullet. “What’s it mean?”

  “Friendly fire,” Tommy Lee replied.

  “Friendly fire, my ass. More like murder.” Kevin held out the bullet. “This came from an M1911.” He shot me a glance. “You familiar with it?”

  “Yes. Some of the older officers in Charlotte carried 1911s. Automatic forty-five.”

  “And I bet they were vets. They liked the stopping power. I hear soldiers in Iraq are dumping their nine millimeters and going back to them. Damned suicide bomber coming at you, you want to stop him cold.”

  I lifted the slug from Kevin’s hand. “Wouldn’t the Viet Cong feel the same way?”

  “Probably,” Kevin answered. “But they didn’t have the choice. The Viet Cong and North Vietnamese regulars carried a TT33 pistol. Its 7.62 millimeter round equates to a thirty caliber. Same as their AK-47s. So, by all odds, you should be holding a bullet more like the thirty-aught-six you dug out of your cabin last night.”

  I handed the bullet to Tommy Lee. “What do you do now?”

  “The hard part. I have to think.”

  I looked at Kevin. “We’re in real trouble. But we ought to be able to get more information. A forensics lab might determine the angle of the trajectory and distance from the victim. That could rule out friendly fire.”

  Kevin shook his head. “Come on, even I can see from the position of the rib that this forty-five slug was taken in the front. We know enough already. Jimmy Raven’s remains lead us back to Vietnam where something happened that Y’Grok knew was wrong. If you’re willing to give me a pass based not on my word but Y’Grok’s message to me, then we have to look at Stormy, Ryan, and Franklin.”

  “One of them killed Raven?” I asked. “Why?”

  “Money’s a possibility. Jimmy carried his share of the operation’s funds. Or maybe some personal argument.”

  Tommy Lee shook his head. “Seems like General Weathers would have been too high up the command to have been on the ground.”

  “Stormy wasn’t afraid to get his hands dirty. You’d be surprised where he showed up.”

  “We know Franklin Talbert was working with Operation Raven,” I said. “What about Senator Millen?”

  “Ryan was there a couple months,” Kevin said. “First of all, it took time to arrange the escape route for our boys. We varied each one. And then he’d been injured. He’s got that cocked eye because he couldn’t get proper medical treatment.”

  Tommy Lee fidgeted with the bullet. “Millen crossed paths with James Raven?”

  “Yes. Jimmy was reported killed while Ryan was still in the central highlands.”

  “And they all carried M1911s?” I asked.

  “Everyone I knew. Maybe an M19 which was even heavier. A few of the special ops preferred 357 Magnums, but they were rarer.”

  I gave Kevin a hard stare. “What did you carry?”

  “An M1911. So, I’m counting on Y’Grok’s message to me as my defense. He obviously didn’t think I was the killer. Now I prefer my thirty-eight revolver. Once you’ve had an automatic jam in a tight situation, you learn you’d rather shoot slower than not at all.”

  Tommy Lee finally laid the bullet beside the vertebrae. “Then we’ve got to look at who of the three had the opportunity to take Y’Grok’s body and not try to reconstruct a murder from nearly forty years ago.”

  “Millen was the only one here,” I said.

  “Are we sure Franklin was in Australia?” Kevin asked.

  Tommy Lee nodded. “Yes. Harvey Collins told me Franklin was on the list of people Y’Grok had asked to be notified. Franklin’s donated money and spoken out against Montagnard persecution. Collins reached him at the Australian studio. He definitely got off that plane in Asheville yesterday. He’s in the clear unless he snuck into Gainesboro on Monday, stole the body, and managed to get down to Charlotte for the final leg of his supposed flight from Los Angeles.”

  Kevin walked to the filing cabinet and drummed his fingers on the metal surface. “I don’t like our options. I can’t see a three-star general sneaking back from Iraq either. Randall’d have to be in on it too. He picked Stormy up at Fort Jackson.”

  “Which brings us back to Millen,” Tommy Lee said. “And they all had an alibi last night at Barry’s cabin. We’re the witnesses. They couldn’t have stolen the thirty-aught-six or fired it from the woods.”

  I could think of only one other option. “We’re missing a possibility.”

  Kevin and Tommy Lee looked at me for an explanation.

  “Two people are involved.”

  “Ryan and Stormy are working together?” Kevin asked.

  “No. But what about Millen and Nickles. It’s pretty obvious Nickles will say or do anything to protect the senator.”

  The silence told me they were considering the possibility.

  I continued off the top of my head. “We don’t have an accounting of Nickles’ whereabouts, either for Monday night or yesterday. Right before I found Y’Suom’s body, I saw Nickles washing his hands in the men’s room.”

  “That doesn’t tie him to the killing,” Kevin said.

  “No, but don’t you think Nickles bears investigating? He must have a rental car of his own. Or maybe the big trunk of Millen’s Grand Marquis transported Y’Grok’s body.”

  Tommy Lee looked doubtful. “They kept a body in the trunk since Monday night?”

  “I’m not speculating on details, and I know you can’t go charging into a U.S. senator’s hotel room with a search warrant unless you’re damned sure of what you’re going to find.”

  “You got that right,” Kevin said.

  “But that doesn’t mean you can’t set a trap.”

  Tommy Lee picked up the bone and bullet. “With this?”

  “With the possibility of the case’s discovery. No one knows what’s been found except the three of us, Melissa, and Susan. You call Nickles and tell him the body’s been returned, and you’ve figured out the key to the code. See what he does.”

  Tommy Lee frowned. “Why not just tell him the secret’s at the mill and we’re hightailing up there?”

  “Because you haven’t decoded the tattoos yet. Don’t give yourself credit for being so smart.”

  “This boy’s got you pegged,” Kevin said.

  Tommy Lee grinned. “I’ve gotten a lot of mileage out of being dumb. So it takes me the rest of the afternoon to break the code. Then I call Nickles and say we’re going to the mill after the rain stops tomorrow. That’ll be after the funeral and I’d like the senator to know in case he wants to delay his departure.”

  “Sounds good,” Kevin agreed. “What about Stormy and Franklin?”

  Tommy Lee turned to me. “What do you think?”

  “Tell Nickles to pass the word to them, but stress the information’s confidential. If he tells, then it’s less likely he’s our man. If he doesn’t, then you’ll have a tail ready to follow either him or Millen.”

  “Up to the mill?” Tommy Lee asked.

  “Why not? The location lends credence as to why you’re not going there till tomorrow. We can change the exact site of the ammo case if the waterwheel’s been washed away.” I thought a second. “Tell Nickles the circle means the gristmill stone inside, and you think 2000 is eight o’clock, with north being noon.”

  “I like it,” Kevin said. “Damned close to the truth. That’s the best kind of lie.”

  Tommy Lee stared at the blinds as if he could see into his bullpen. “What if Nickles does pass the word to Stormy and Franklin? I don’t have enough manpower to tail everyone.”

  Tommy Lee raised a good point. “Then stake out the mill. That’s where the chickens will come home to roost.”

  “We can help with the tail,” Kevin said.

  “Definit
ely not. I don’t want either one of you near this operation. Kevin, you know yourself you’re damaged goods right now. And, Barry, you’re standing there in bandages, itching to get some other part of your body mangled. You’ve done enough already. Just make sure Y’Grok and Y’Suom have a funeral worthy of them.”

  Kevin shrugged. “You’re the sheriff. I guess Barry and I could spend the time trying to find out more about Nickles.”

  And I knew exactly how to do that. “Let me call Melissa. She was checking out his background.”

  Tommy Lee swung the phone around on his desk. “Go ahead.”

  My call went right through.

  “What’s up?” Melissa asked.

  “What have you got on Bruce Nickles?”

  “Is he a suspect?”

  “We’re trying to rule people out.”

  “Yeah, right. I’ve got some info. Whatcha going to give me?”

  Reporters. I rolled my eyes at Tommy Lee.

  He shrugged. “Tell her what she wants.”

  I gave her a brief sketch of the plan.

  “That’s great. And this is going down tonight?”

  “Maybe, but not with you or me anywhere around. You get involved and Tommy Lee will have both of us sitting in a cell.”

  “I get the message. Well, if Millen’s dirty, then Nickles’ job would be to keep his image squeaky clean. You ever hear of Charles Colson?”

  “Charles Colson?” I repeated.

  “One of Nixon’s lackeys,” Tommy Lee said.

  “Tommy Lee says Nixon.”

  “Right,” Melissa said. “Colson once said he’d walk over his grandmother to assure the president’s re-election. Nickles has the reputation for that kind of loyalty. Been with Millen since the start of his political career. He’s known for shouting matches with members of the press who reported stories he didn’t like. You want access to Millen, the door goes through Nickles. And there’s probably nothing the senator doesn’t discuss with him.”

  Even a murder, I thought. “Thanks. That helps Tommy Lee know what he’s dealing with.”

  “Tell Tommy Lee not to forget my number. I’ll see what else I can find.”