Sadie trotted to catch up, thinking again how odd it was to be the one playing catch-up. She was usually the one out front. Following was much harder than it looked. Mounds and mounds of haphazard junk surrounded them. To Sadie, there seemed to be no order to the chaos, but a path ran through the lot and appeared to be divided into sections. Perhaps to the yard’s designer, the jumble made sense. Did Mr. Tomkins know where everything was located? Or was each day a guessing game?
Ahead, Hal was muttering. “Not good, this is not good at all.” That worried her because she had never known Hal to mutter. Was he delusional from lack of sleep? The smell was bad, but Sadie had smelled worse. Once in college a rival sorority sister poured milk under the seat of her car. It had sat for weeks until she tracked it. That had smelled far worse than the scent of decay now wafting through the air.
After walking in a circle a few times, Hal stopped short and held out his hand for the flashlight. Sadie yielded possession. He swung the light in a slow arc, sweeping the ground. “There.” He pointed to a dark puddle beneath a car and began making his way in that direction. Sadie couldn’t tell the make or model in the darkness, but it looked newer than some in the lot—more plastic, less metal.
When they reached the car, the smell hit her like a battering ram, and she knew. Hal tried the doors on the car, but they were locked.
“We need something to open this trunk,” he said.
“Wait,” Sadie said and reclaimed the light. She squatted and peered at the lock, holding her breath. The smell had now surpassed the sour-milk-car smell from college and she could barely stand to breathe.
“What are you doing?” Hal whispered.
She didn’t answer because that would require breathing. But if her theory was correct, then they wouldn’t need to pop the trunk; it would already be open. She jiggled the trunk, adjusted the light, and located the wire that had been used to jury-rig the lid. Before she opened it, she needed a breath. She jogged a few feet away and took a few deep breaths. The air wasn’t much better, but at least she had gained some psychological distance. Hal stood waiting impatiently for her to explain.
“If the body was stuffed in the trunk before it was brought here, then we would have needed a key. If the body was stuffed in after it was brought here, then the trunk would have been popped by whoever put it in. The trunk is broken.”
“So you’re saying that the person was likely killed right here and stuffed inside.”
Sadie nodded.
“Super. I can only hope the murderer is still lurking and waiting to add us to the mix. Let’s get this over with.” He stepped forward and helped Sadie unfasten the wire holding the trunk together. They pulled up the lid and peered inside.
“Ew,” Sadie said. She wasn’t squeamish, but the sight was gruesome. She wasn’t an expert in rigor, but the body had clearly been there for some time. It was past the point of stiffness and at the beginning of liquidation. “Any idea how long this has been here?”
“The effects of rigor begin to fade after thirty six hours. My best guess is that this happened about seventy two hours ago, but obviously a lot of factors could affect that guess. And I’ve only had a few classes on rigor. Most of my focus is on keeping the body alive, not what happens after it’s dead.” He glanced at Sadie. “How repulsed would you be if I took a closer look?”
“Are you kidding me? Now’s our chance before the cops arrive and make everything official. Speaking of which, we should probably call them at some point.”
Hal smiled, though it was a crooked smile and tinged with revulsion at the smell. “See, this is why I love you, Sadie.” He picked up a nearby metal rod and used it to poke at the body. Sadie couldn’t see anything because he once again had the flashlight. Being left out of the loop was not her forte.
“What can you tell?” she asked.
“The lower portion of his face is missing,” he said.
“What does that mean?” she asked.
“Hold on.” He grunted and leaned forward, repositioning the body again for a better look. “Aha. The lower portion of the jaw is missing because someone put a bullet in the back of his head.”
“Execution style,” Sadie muttered. “Light please.” He handed her the light and took a turn getting some air. She looked at the knees. They were wet with decay, but the material looked darker than the surrounding material.
“What are you looking for?” Hal asked. His impatience matched hers; he wasn’t big on being left out of the loop, either.
“Dirt on the knees,” she said.
“What does that mean?” he said, easing closer though he couldn’t see anything.
“It means he wasn’t shot in the back because he was running away; he was shot in the back because he was on his knees. This was a hit.”
“Like a hit man? Don’t tell me the mob has a franchise in rural Virginia.”
“I’m not sure what it means,” Sadie said. “I guess now that we’ve had our fun we should call this in.”
“Your idea of fun goes a long way toward explaining your single status,” Hal said. “And mine, too. It was fun to play pathologist for a few minutes. What are the chances I could bluff my way into performing the autopsy?”
“Not good since you’ve already formed your cover as a private investigator,” she reminded him.
“Oh, right. I’m going to need a crib sheet to keep up with my lies. How do you do it?”
“It’s a gift.” She wandered around the small clearing between junk piles, holding her phone aloft for a better signal. Finally the call to 911 went through and the dispatcher told her she would send someone as soon as she could. Only in Bateman would it take so long to get someone to the scene of a violent crime. Unlike Atwood, they had no police department. Instead they fell under the jurisdiction of the county sheriff. They were also in a different county than Atwood. In her hometown, Sadie knew the sheriff. He had been good friends with Gideon for years. She both liked and respected him. Here she had no idea what to expect, but when the sheriff arrived, she eased behind Hal and stifled a groan.
During her father’s tenure as chief of Atwood police, she had known all the men on his force. They had been good men—hardworking, loyal, and brave. None of them had displayed any signs of the small town stereotypes—lazy, fat, and stupid—because Gideon wouldn’t have tolerated it. He had run a tight ship and expected excellent things from his officers. They, in turn, had complied and given him their best with the exception of one man. Fergus McGee was a boil on Gideon’s backside for years, first as a fellow cop and then as a subordinate. He had no ambition, no talent, no work ethic, and no compassion. He gave the entire department a bad name. As soon as Gideon became chief, his number one goal was to get Fergus off the force, but that was easier said than done. The same union that protected officers from malicious and unwarranted lawsuits by those they arrested also protected officers like Fergus from being fired. Gideon didn’t give up in his desire to get Fergus off his team, however. In the end a compromise was reached. Fergus remained an officer and in the union, but he made a lateral move one county over. At the time all those years ago, he had been a deputy. Sadie had no idea how anyone in his right mind would elect the man sheriff, but apparently someone had.
Would he recognize her? Not if he didn’t see her. She eased farther behind Hal. She held no illusion that he would speak to her directly. Sheriffs didn’t muddy their hands in actual investigations. They showed up for big cases to oversee their team and talk to any media. After all, they were elected officials and it was always campaign season.
After giving a statement to the officer in charge of the investigation, Sadie and Hal were excused. Neither of them budged, and no one seemed to care. They wanted to stay and see what happened and the small team of officers seemed too overwhelmed by the job to notice.
In Sadie’s recollection, Bateman had never had a murder. Over the years, a half dozen people had gone missing, never to be seen or heard from again. Rumors were rampant th
at the missing had been murdered in various ways and for various reasons. Usually some form of retaliation was involved. Sadie thought it was more likely that the men in question had died somewhere on the mountain, drunk and alone. The woods were vast and wild and moonshine was still very much a viable part of culture, more so since certain types had become legal again. The combination of wilderness and alcohol far too often led to death. And with so much square footage to cover and so many wild animals looking for a meal, it was highly likely that the bodies of the men would never be found.
Sadie wondered what Hal thought as he watched the men. He was a curious person, always thirsty for knowledge. He probably appreciated the glimpse into the inner workings of law enforcement. As for her, she compiled a mental list of everything they did wrong. After a while, the list grew too long to remember so she sorted out the most egregious sins with which to condemn Fergus and his team. For instance, they didn’t wait for the state investigators to arrive before they trampled the scene and moved the body. Of course, she and Hal had already trampled the scene and touched the body, but they didn’t know that.
They took no pictures of the scene, before or after they moved the body. They took statements from her and Hal but didn’t ask for identification. To her knowledge, they had yet to run their names to check for outstanding wants or warrants. They hadn’t questioned them over what they were doing there or if they had permission, which was handy for them but bad for the case. As the first person to see, touch, and report the body, Hal was now in the chain of evidence, but no one had informed him of that fact. For all they knew, he might live in a different country. He could leave and blow their case, if they ever made a case, which was looking more and more doubtful as the moments ticked.
“This reminds me of a Keystone Cop movie Abby showed me once,” Sadie said.
“Are they doing something wrong?” Hal asked.
“A better question would be are they doing something right,” Sadie said.
“A few months as an investigator and you’re already smug and condescending. I like that.”
“It’s not my job that made me this way; it’s Gideon. I watched him work and listened to him talk too many times not to be affected. Say what you will about his parenting skills, but he was a great cop. These guys could take a lesson. Or fifty.”
“I’m about to fall asleep,” Hal said.
“Me, too, but it’s like watching a train wreck; I can’t look away. We can go, though. I’ve about reached my limit of ineptitude endurance.”
They took a step toward the exit, but Hal put out a hand. “Wait, it’s about to get interesting.”
Tom Tomkins blew through the back door and stalked toward the gathered group, a Bantam rooster in full plume. Behind him, Bo stalked silently—a menacing panther-like figure in black pants and t-shirt. “What is going on here?” Tom demanded. For a few beats, everyone was quiet. Then Fergus stepped forward and assumed his role as the official spokesman.
“Seems a body has been found in one of your cars, Tom.”
Tom stopped short, eyes bulging, mouth working soundlessly up and down. He made the transition from rooster to fish with alarming speed. Sadie hoped he didn’t have heart issues. “What?” he squawked after finding his voice again. “What are you saying? That’s nonsense. I didn’t buy a car with a body in it. Don’t you think I would have checked that?”
“I do,” Fergus said. “Suppose you tell me how it got there.”
Tom began flapping his arms as if hoping for takeoff. “I have no idea. You think I know? I don’t know. Who is it?”
“I think we both know who it is,” Fergus said.
Hal leaned forward, breathlessly trying not to miss a word. Sadie silently pled with Fergus not to say what he was about to say. Logic told them the man in the trunk was the missing Johnny, but logic wasn’t enough to make a case. He needed facts—cold, hard, facts. Don’t do it, Fergus; you’re going to regret it.
“It’s Johnny,” Fergus continued. “I guess you finally got your revenge, and I can’t fault you for that, but you shoulda hid the body better. Turn around and show me your hands. Boys, I need some cuffs.” He reached to one of his uniformed men for a pair of cuffs and clapped them on a stunned and protesting Tom Tomkins. He read no rights or Miranda warning before hauling the tiny Mr. Tomkins into a cruiser with the command to wrap it up and take Tom away.
Beside the cruiser, Bo stood silently watching, his arms crossed over his chest. Sadie watched him watch the cruiser as it drove away. When it was out of sight, he turned and locked eyes with her. What she read in his eyes was a surprising amount of frustration. Why was he frustrated? Did he understand how inept the investigation was? If he was the one who had killed Johnny, wouldn’t he be relieved that his boss had been blamed? Or was there a grander plan she didn’t understand? Was he frustrated because the plan had been foiled? The man irked her for his complexity and vague sense of familiarity. And, though she would tell no one, he scared her. She couldn’t put her finger on why, and that added to her frustration.
Before she could gather her courage to confront him, he broke eye contact and eased away, slipping into the shadows without ever having said a word. Sadie wanted to scream and point, to tell Fergus that Bo was a much more likely candidate for murder than the tiny Tom Tomkins. How would he have stuffed a body in a trunk? He could barely reach it to unlatch. But speaking up would mean drawing attention to herself and getting involved. Fergus wouldn’t appreciate that, both because he didn’t like women and because he had a grudge against Gideon. The more time she had before he realized who she was, the better.
When the ambulance drove off with the body, Sadie decided to make their escape. With their body and suspect gone, the officers would be looking to tie up loose ends. Sadie had no desire to be one of those ends, especially not with Fergus still stomping around like a bull in a China shop, wrecking the scene with his oafishness.
The walk back to Fiona’s was long and silent. “I see six of you now,” Hal said when they arrived back at the cottage. He let himself in, went directly to his room, and presumably fell into a coma. Dawn was on the horizon. Sadie was exhausted, but she didn’t want to go to bed without letting Fiona know what happened. Either Fiona was an early riser or she hadn’t gone to bed because she sat in the living room, embroidery hoop in hand. She glanced up at Sadie and set down the hoop.
“We found a dead body in the trunk of a car,” Sadie blurted. Fiona wasn’t the type who needed minced words. “It’s probably Johnny. They arrested Tom.” She sat and watched Fiona’s reaction.
“Oh,” Fiona said. She picked up the embroidery hoop and clutched it, her knuckles going white.
“Do you think he did it?” Sadie asked.
“Hard to say,” Fiona said. “He was angry about the stolen converters, and that rage had a long time to simmer. I’ve never known him to physically hurt anyone or anything. But how much do you ever really know a person?” She stared hard at her needlework, frowning a minute before turning her gaze on Sadie. “Do you think he did it?”
“My brain is too muddled to think. I’m going to sleep on it and see how I feel when I wake up.”
“I guess my pumpkins are safe,” Fiona said.
“Unless he had nothing to do with that,” Sadie said.
“How do you suppose?”
“Bo. There’s a question mark over his head, and I can’t find peace about the situation until I erase it.” She stood, easing the kinks out of her tired neck. “Goodnight, Fiona. We’ll talk more when I wake up and see where you want to go next.”
“All right,” Fiona said. She was still clutching the hoop, though she wasn’t working now. Instead she stared at the center of the ring, as if it might provide her answers if she looked hard enough.
Chapter 7
Sometime later, Sadie sensed someone in her room. She jolted awake but forced her eyes to remain closed. Instead she squinted through the slats of her lids, trying to make out a form. A tall body hover
ed over her bed, a strong sense of concern and disapproval wafted through the room.
She let her eyes go slack and tried to think of a plan. How best to handle the situation? Tears were no good; he saw through those. Instead she reached for the phone under her pillow and pushed his number. When it rang beside her, she jumped and sat up.
“Luke! What are you doing here? I was just going to call and tell you there’s been a murder.”
“I’m going to skip over the obvious lie and go straight to the part where I turned on the noon news and saw that a body was discovered in Bateman.”
“What time is it?” she asked. She plopped back down and peered up at him.
“One.”
“You made good time,” she observed.
“Terror puts lead in my foot,” he said.
“So you got up to what, thirty? Forty?”
“Now is not the time for jokes, Sadie. I was really worried about you. They didn’t give any details on the news, just that a body had been found.”
“Did Abby come?”
“No. She wasn’t worried. She said you were probably the one who found it, plus you know she vowed never to set foot in Bateman. Not even the possibility of your demise would draw her here. She tried to get me to wear a talisman.”
“Garlic?”
“Atwood High class ring,” he said.
“You have a class ring? Can I see it? Do you still wear it? And, if so, do you ever put it on your pinky and pretend to be in the mafia? Are you going to give it to Vaslilssa? If so, you’d better have it sized up and make sure she knows it’s not food so she doesn’t try to eat it.”
“Nice attempt at distraction, Kreskin, but I won’t be diverted.”
“Who’s Kreskin?”
“He was a mentalist who used to…” He stopped short, grabbed his head, and shook it. “Stop that. You know who Kreskin is. Tell me about the body.” He sat, effectively shoving her over until she was smashed against the wall.
“It was putrid and beginning to liquefy,” she began, but he mashed his palm over her lips.
Salvaged to Death Page 7
