by A W Hartoin
The phone vibrated again and I answered, catching Uncle Morty in mid-curse.
“What are you going on about?” I asked.
“Where the hell have you been and what’s that freaking noise?”
I told him that I was hiding out between the bar and a row of stinking port-a-potties and that cheered him up considerably. If I’d told him I was hiding in a port-a-potty, he’d have been downright giddy.
“I got it,” he said. “Suicide, not no damn heart failure. Who told you that crap?”
“Dr. Watts. How’d he do it?”
“OD.”
My whole body went tingly. “With what?”
“Let me check.” He grumbled a bit and came back with what I feared. “Diltiazem. Ah, shit.”
“Yeah,” I said, my mind spinning. “I have to call Dr. Watts.”
“You got to call the cops in Lawrence, Kansas. That doc was murdered.”
Huge raindrops struck the ground so hard they made little puffs of dust. “I have bigger problems.”
“Yeah, you do. Which ones are you talking about?”
I hung up on him. It felt so good. Problems? I only had one that mattered. Jeanette or Cheryl. Who was it? Cheryl had an alibi for Steve, but she could’ve paid to have it done. But why would Jeanette kill Hal or attack Robert or Grandad? I huddled under the eave of the bar and called Dr. Watts.
“Dr. Watts’ office,” answered Grandma J. I could not catch a break.
“Grandma, it’s Mercy. I’ve got to talk to Dr. Watts right now.”
“Is it Grandad? What did he do? I got a notification that he tried to open his credit. They denied it. Thank goodness.”
“He’s fine. Please. Give the phone to Dr. Watts.”
Grandma went quiet and I thought for a moment that she went to get Dr. Watts, but I’m not that lucky. “Is this about Vietnam again? You have to let that alone.”
“I can’t. People are dead. The cops have arrested the wrong person and Grandad could be next.”
“Dorothy says it’s over and I don’t need to worry anymore,” said Grandma.
I squatted and picked up a shivering Wallace, shielding her from the increasing rain. “That’s what Grandad said. I have to know why. The wrong guy’s going to go to prison, Grandma. That’s a crime in and of itself.”
“You don’t know that they got it wrong.”
“I do. Dr. Grenville didn’t die of heart failure. He was murdered. Tell Dr. Watts that,” I said.
Grandma didn’t answer, but a few seconds later, Dr. Watts picked up. “Mercy, you are my favorite ex-granddaughter, but don’t push it.”
“He was murdered. I swear he was.” I told her about the poisoned Malört and everything Uncle Morty found out. She got uncharacteristically quiet. I went on to tell her about the arrest. It looked bad for Johnson Dales, worse than bad. It was the kind of bad that made innocent people plead guilty just to avoid the death penalty.
“I understand why his daughter told me that it was heart failure. There is a stigma with suicide.”
“And they had no reason to think it was murder,” I said. “You can’t deny the connection between the doctor’s death and Big Mike, not to mention Hal. Please tell me what you know.”
“It will all have to come out now,” she said.
“What will?” I asked and then held my breath.
Dr. Watts started slowly, her strong voice soft, and I could barely hear her over the wind and rain. But what I heard made all the difference in the world. Lt. Morris was Big Mike, Hal, Steve, and Calvin’s commanding officer. He was a good man, personally well-liked by his men, but he was also completely hopeless in the field. His instincts were always wrong. The men began to call him Wrong Way Walter and joked about how he would get them all killed. They could’ve gone over his head and complained to get him removed. But it probably wouldn’t have worked and definitely would’ve ruined everyone’s careers, so they decided just to deal with him themselves. Big Mike was his NCO. He guided the lieutenant and kept him on track since he was the most diplomatic and could get nearly anyone to see reason. In short, Big Mike became their commander in all but name. It all worked well until that fateful day when they went out on patrol. A sniper pegged Big Mike and several other men. As a result, Lt. Morris made the decisions and he lived up to his nickname. He went the wrong way, leading them deeper into enemy territory. The platoon was decimated and five men were captured, including Big Mike.
There was a minor investigation into what happened and the army deemed it an accident, heat of battle, confusion, not incompetence. Lt. Morris stayed in command, despite trying to resign several times. The army wasn’t worried about one incompetent lieutenant. They had a war not to win. Rumors started swirling about how Morris would get fragged by his own men in order to save their own lives or to exact revenge. Dr. Watts insisted that she never heard anyone in the lieutenant’s own platoon say anything like that. It all came from other platoons. Seven months after the incident, Big Mike escaped and told them that the others had died in captivity. It was the worst possible news. Dr. Watts saw Lt. Morris after he visited Big Mike’s bedside. He was devastated and shaking. She and Dr. Grenville reported it to Morris’s commander, fearing for his mental state. Their fears were ignored. Lt. Morris was expected to deal with those deaths like any other and he was sent out on patrol the next day with Hal, Steve, Robert, and Calvin and a bunch of replacements that had just arrived in country. There was an ambush on that patrol and Lt. Morris didn’t return with the survivors. Hal insisted on going back to find his body. They did find Lt. Morris and brought him back the next day. His body was severely damaged by a grenade, but Dr. Grenville and Dr. Watts, then a nurse, were immediately suspicious. The wound pattern suggested that Lt. Morris was in a prone position, already on the ground, when the grenade went off. On closer inspection, it was clear the wound had not bled. He was already dead when the grenade hit his body and from the insect larvae, it was a lot later. In the neighborhood of at least twenty-four to thirty-six hours after death.
Dr. Grenville performed an autopsy against the request of Lt. Morris’s commander and found evidence of a gunshot wound to the chest. He recovered a bullet fragment from Morris’s spine and concluded that it came from a M1911, the same sidearm that Lt. Morris was issued. He also found powder burns on his uniform. The muzzle of the weapon was pressed to his chest when fired and there was gun powder residue on his right hand. Lt. Morris had committed suicide and his men had tried to cover it up. Dr. Grenville and Nurse Watts discussed what to do and they decided to write it up as what it initially appeared to be, death by enemy grenade so Mrs. Morris would get the insurance and she could bury him as a hero. Robert had pleaded with them to keep it quiet. His wife, Judith, knew Cheryl well. He insisted that a ruling of suicide would destroy her and they agreed.
Dr. Grenville and Nurse Watts falsified the records, which was illegal and could be construed as committing insurance fraud. But it was war and they thought it was a kindness so they did it, swearing that the truth would remain just between them and the four men that had brought Lt. Morris back. Dr. Watts thought Walter’s commander was suspicious, but his transport was shot down three days later so that wasn’t an issue.
“So Steve was in on it?” I asked.
“Yes, but he was always a sketchy character. He was the only one we were worried about.”
“But he never revealed the suicide to anyone.”
“Not that I ever heard,” said Dr. Watts.
“I don’t get what the problem was. If nobody told, nobody knew,” I said.
Dr. Watts sighed. “The problem wasn’t the suicide. The problem was fragging.”
The rumors about fragging had been rampant before Lt. Morris died. When he didn’t come back from patrol, everyone who knew the situation assumed that Hal or one of the others had killed him. Dr. Grenville’s report did little to convince them, especially when a nosy grunt by the name of Leslie Smurt rooted around in the file and found the fragme
nt. Smurt was no fool. He’d seen the body. He knew a grenade didn’t kill Lt. Morris. Unfortunately, he put two and two together and came up with six. He told everyone that the fragment proved that Lt. Morris’s men killed him and tried to cover it up. Dr. Grenville decided to let Smurt in on the secret in hopes of shutting him up, but they were too late. Command got wind of what he was saying and sent him to a forward position where he was killed almost before his boots hit the ground. He was shot in the back. Dr. Watts never saw the body, but she thought that was probably a fragging. Hal and the rest of our guys were popular, the kind of guys you wanted in your foxhole. Smurt was a weasel that no one missed. This was about the time when the public was turning against the war in a big way and fragging incidents were up. The military wasn’t keen to admit it was happening so Smurt’s death wasn’t investigated and nobody questioned it.
“Did Cheryl know about the fragging rumors?” I asked.
“She absolutely did,” said Dr. Watts.
“Did she believe them?”
“I never spoke to her about it, but Judith said she couldn’t believe that any of the men would do that to her husband. Remember, it was in her interest not to believe it.”
“Why?”
“Judith was her best friend. Those two were as thick as thieves. If she believed it, at the time it happened, she would’ve lost Judith. She couldn’t have afforded that. Plus, she probably didn’t want to call into question the insurance payout. Her situation was tenuous. Two children and no job. She lived with Judith until Robert returned from his tour. Then she moved in with her mother. She needed their support and it was just a rumor.”
“All her phone calls to Steve started right after Judith died. She didn’t go to the funeral.”
“I know. I was there.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.
Dr. Watts hesitated. “I knew Cheryl back then, not well, but I knew her. Judith loved her beyond measure. I…”
“You didn’t want to believe she’d kill Hal or anyone else.”
“It’s hard for me to imagine it, but I think she must’ve always harbored the idea that one of our men killed her beloved Walter.”
“And Steve was right there, ready to be a dirtbag.”
“Do you think he told her that Walter was murdered?” she asked. “Why would he do that?”
“I think he did or at least he implied it.”
“But why?”
“He asked her for money and you might be wrong. I think there’s a good chance that Steve didn’t know that you turned him in on the drugs. If he thought one of the guys did it, he had a chance for revenge and could make some money at the same time. I have to go make sure Grandad’s okay.”
“You needn’t bother. It’s all over now. If Cheryl did do it, she’s run out of victims,” said Dr. Watts.
“Huh?” I asked, struggling with the wiggling pug as Janet came around the corner.
“Ace had nothing to do with what happened. He wasn’t in country, but I told him when he got back.”
“That was after your divorce?” I asked, a bit incredulous.
Her voice got softer. “Ace and I were always good friends. I knew I could trust him with the secret. The rest of the men who were there are dead, except for Robert and he’s in the hospital. If you’re right, Cheryl wanted to hurt him but not kill him. I can believe that easily. She loved Judith enough to spare him. Big Mike was in the hospital when Walter died.”
“They should’ve been honest with me from the get-go.”
“Don’t be too hard on them,” said Dr. Watts, her gruffness returning. “I doubt that fool Steve ever imagined Cheryl capable of murder. I didn’t.”
“And they wanted to protect you,” I said.
“The men made a promise. They’re men the way men used to be, chivalrous and loyal to a fault.”
“To a fault is right.”
Wallace lunged out of my arms and went to Janet, barking like mad. Janet waved at me, her eyes full of worry.
“I’ve got to go,” I said. “Thanks for telling me the truth.”
“Ah, the truth. It really depends on who you are. If I’d told the truth back then, none of this would’ve happened.”
“Who’s to say they would’ve believed a suicide?” I said.
“Perhaps not. Now that Grenville is dead, there’s only me who was in on the autopsy and knows for sure.”
“Do you know anything about the Millfords? Anything that would’ve gotten them killed?” I asked.
“Sorry. No. I think you’ll have to ask Cheryl or Jeanette. If Steve was willing to lie about Walter’s death, he would’ve been willing to lie about the Millfords.”
That was a sobering thought. What did Cheryl have against the Millfords or was it Jeanette who had it in for them? My head was beginning to hurt and my ears already did. Between the rain and the concert, they couldn’t take it anymore.
I thanked Dr. Watts again and she assured me that whatever came out in light of my investigation, it wasn’t my fault. I could hear the regret in her gruff voice. Even though it was so long ago, she could lose her license and a community would lose the only doctor it was likely to get.
“Suicide?” asked Janet, yelling over the din.
“I’ll explain later. Where are Grandad and Big Mike?”
“They went backstage.”
“What’s up?” I asked.
“I saw her.”
“Who?”
“Cheryl. Do you still want to talk to her?”
“Hell, yeah. Where is she?”
“By the bar, Barney’s trying to keep her there for you.”
The music cut out and Mickey announced that they were taking a break until the storm blew over. The rain pelted us as we rounded the corner of the bar. I tried to pick up Wallace, but she ran ahead, sniffing and straining at her leash. A huge spread of lightening zigzagged through the sky over the stage and people began running for cover. There wasn’t much to be had. The bar area had a roof, but it wasn’t that big and it was packed to the rafters. Literally. People were standing on tables, anywhere they could fit.
“Do you see him?” asked Janet. She was shorter than me and only had a good view of armpit.
“Not yet,” I said and almost got my arm ripped out of its socket by the Wonder Pug. She yanked me through the crowd, pulling so hard she was choking herself. I lost Janet and myself in the crush of sweating bodies and sloshing beers.
Several women got up on the bar and started dancing. They looked like they were paid entertainment, being about thirty years younger than the patrons and wearing bikinis advertising Budweiser. I was completely soaked in beer and other people’s sweat by the time I got to the bar.
Bark. Bark. Bark.
Wallace lunged and snapped. She was a freaking crazy pug, but it wasn’t like her normal crazy. She lunged again and connected with someone’s leg. A woman screamed. My eyes met Cheryl’s. She kicked Wallace and darted into the crowd.
“What the hell?” Barney bent down to pick up a crying Wallace, his eyes widened, and he clutched his chest. His lips moved and then he went down.
Chapter Twenty-four
I PUNCHED MY way through to Barney. He had Wallace pressed to his chest and held her up to me. I took the pug and handed her to one of the dancers who was squatting on the bar, asking if she could help.
“Call an ambulance!” I yelled, seeing a beer and a strawberry margarita next to her feet. The beer was half empty and had an odd tint to it. “Don’t kick those! Evidence.” I dropped to my knees and took Barney’s pulse. So slow I could barely make it out.
“Barney! Barney!”
He was unconscious. I smacked him with no result. No pulse. I started compressions. “Get me a defibrillator!”
People screamed and yelled as the rain turned into all-out hail. After two sets, I was yanked off Barney and a pair of EMTs took over. They shocked him and got a rhythm back. Not great, but his heart was beating again.
“What happe
ned?” yelled the female EMT.
“Poison! Probably a Calcium Channel Blocker!” I yelled.
Security pushed people back and she put in a line. “What’s his name?”
“Barney Cranston. His wife is here somewhere.” I stood up. The dancer was crying. Wallace was limp in her arms. Where was Janet?
“Somebody help me! I’m looking for a pretty Asian lady about forty-five!”
“I saw her,” said a man, completely dressed in John Deere garb. “She went that way.” He pointed out of the bar. I ran to the edge as a sheet of quarter-size hail came down. Someone was running away from the shelter. No, two people. I could just make out Cheryl’s gold tee and I went for it, but a man grabbed me.
“You can’t go out there! You’ll get killed.”
Somebody was getting killed. I didn’t know if it was Janet or Cheryl.
“Let go!”
“Hell, no, crazy girl.”
A topless woman, painted with the stars and stripes, smacked her way to me and thrust an umbrella into my hands. “Go get his wife.”
“Thanks, you rock!” I opened the umbrella with a snap and ran out into the torrent.
“You go, girl!” she yelled after me.
I ran through the mud with hail pinging off me. It wasn’t coming from one direction but all directions. I saw a flash of gold by the side of the stage. It disappeared between another bar and a candy-striped tent. Another wave of hail came through, ripping holes in my umbrella. I ducked between the buildings and didn’t see Cheryl or Janet anywhere. I spun around, looking for them until I heard a scream.
“Janet!” I darted past the buildings and tumbled into an overflowing stream, getting kicked in the head. Janet had Cheryl by the throat and was forcing her under the water. I was so astonished I dropped my umbrella and got pinged in the head with a piece of hail that felt like it was the size of a brick. I fell backward into the water and sucked a gallon into my mouth. I came up gagging. Cheryl was under and Janet now had a knee on her head.
“Janet! What the hell?”
Barney’s sweet little wife glanced at me without recognition. She had a look of such rage that I hesitated to go after her, but I did, lunging and knocking her off Cheryl. I went under again and sucked in more water. Couldn’t get my head up. Feet kept slipping. Someone grabbed me and pulled me onto the slick grass. A few pieces of hail nailed me and then it turned to a regular downpour with the clouds parting above The Buffalo Chip.
