Fire Blight

by Nat Williams

  “How’s it going?” said a muscular man of about thirty, dressed in shorts, a T-shirt and sandals. He had a beer in his right hand and was holding a metal spatula with his left.

  “Oh, I can’t complain,” Bachelor said. “A little warm.”

  “A little. But, as they say around here, if you don’t like the weather today, don’t worry; it’ll change soon enough.”

  “That’s true,” Bachelor said. “Do you know Jake Alvis?”

  “Sure, I know him,” he said, pointing across a small field planted in soybeans. “Lives right over there.”

  “Do you know where he is?”

  “This isn’t about that Van Okin thing, is it?”

  “We’re just checking out some leads. We’re headed in a lot of directions.”

  “Oh yeah, I totally understand that.”

  “Any idea where he might be?” Bachelor said.

  “More than an idea. I know exactly where he’s at. Canada.”

  “Really,” Bachelor said. Not a question.

  “Yeah. Jake and three other guys head up there every year about this time. Fishing trip. Ontario, I believe. Eagle Lake. They rent a cabin and pull some good walleye and muskies out of the lake.”

  “How long are they usually up there?”

  “A couple of weeks. Every August. They left about a week ago. I expect him back next Sunday. He’s pretty generous with his catch. We always have a big fish fry. He supplies the fish and I supply the beer. Pretty good trade, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Sounds like it,” Bachelor said. “Is he married or anything?”

  “He was, but they broke up a few years ago. He’s got a couple kids and grandkids who visit once and a while.”

  “Do you know if anyone else has access to his pickup truck? Maybe a relative or close friend?”

  “Not that I know of. He doesn’t drive it much.”

  “You don’t happen to have his cellphone number, do you?”

  “No, we usually just chat on Facebook.”

  “Well, thanks. I’ll let you get back to your cookout.”

  “You guys – and your families are invited. It’s always a good time. We support the police around here. I know the shit you guys have to put up with sometimes.”

  “We’ll keep that in mind,” Bachelor said. “By the way, can I get your name?”

  “Sure. Curtis Motte. Here’s my card.”

  His business card indicated that he was a tree surgeon.

  “Let me know if you need anything. You get the first responders discount.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Bachelor and Carroll got back into the squad car and Bachelor started the engine.

  “Well, either that’s one of those Tesla trucks that drives itself or someone took it for a joy ride,” Carroll said.

  Bachelor backed out onto the blacktop.

  “The first option makes a hell of a lot better story, but I’m kinda thinking the second is a bit more likely.”

  “Or maybe the neighbor was covering for him,” Carroll said.

  “We’ll need to have someone keep an eye on that truck. Can’t do anything without a warrant. Or without the owner’s permission, and it doesn’t seem like he’s reachable.”

  Bachelor didn’t waste any time getting hold of Vernon Hilliard.

  The Gilbert County state’s attorney wasn’t impressed with Bachelor’s request for a search warrant for Alvis’s truck.

  “Evidence is too thin, Frank,” he said after the sheriff brought him up to speed on the case. “If I took it to a judge there’s little chance he’d give us the green light. And if I don’t think he’ll sign, I don’t want to bring it. Gotta keep my lanes clear with the robes. Don’t want them to think we’re clutching at straws.”

  “I kinda thought so. Figured it was worth a shot.”

  “Keep digging Frank. Of course, I don’t have to tell you that. Let me know when you come up with something with a little more meat.”

  Bachelor walked out of Hilliard’s office thinking this wouldn’t be the first snag in an investigation that was bound to have plenty of burs.

  CHAPTER 18

  Two months before the crime

  “David, I wish I could help you. I really do.”

  Al Denard sat behind a desk in his stately corner office in the Cherokee Camp branch of Southern Pride Bank. Like most bank offices, it was made to radiate strength, stability and order.

  The door was oak, the walls were covered in a muted green shade of paint and the desk was sturdy. Denard wore a pinstripe suit with a solid red tie.

  David Purcell put his hands up, more in a friendly manner than a defensive or imploring one.

  “You know how it is, Al. Weather, markets, you name it. Farming isn’t exactly as stable an industry as banking. Hell, not even close. But we always bounce back.”

  Denard moved a file around on his desk.

  “Yeah, well, the downs have been outperforming the ups for too long, David. I just can’t keep throwing good money after bad. I’d like to help out, but I got a board of directors to answer to. We meet every month. They’re always looking at business loans. And believe me, they look at them with microscopes. Hell, I got regulators. From the government. I’m responsible. I’d do anything to help you.”

  David put his fingers together.

  “But not really.”

  Denard carried the look of genuine disappointment. He and David Purcell had known each other a long time. They went to high school together. They were both on the varsity basketball team. But that was then. This is now. Youthful friendship is often little more than a blip in the rearview mirror of life.

  David picked up his cap – a worn, faded one from a seed company – and slapped it on his head.

  “Thanks anyway.”

  He walked out of the bank, head held high, nodding at a man standing at a teller window. He knew him, but couldn’t remember the name. Didn’t matter. He was in trouble and he needed an injection of money to keep his farm alive.

  He pulled his lanky frame into the cab of his pickup truck. He sat still for a moment, placing his hands on the steering wheel. Then he banged on the dash with the bottoms of his fists.

  He grabbed his cellphone and hit the speed-dial number for Pete Lessing at Twin Hickory Farm Supply. A few rings and voicemail.

  “Hey, Pete, David Purcell,” he said into the phone. “Yeah, give me a call as soon as you get a chance.”

  Purcell tossed the phone on the seat, put his hands on the steering wheel and hung his head. He picked up the phone, checked the contacts and looked at the number of the local Farm Credit Illinois office. He hesitated, then scrolled down and pressed the telephone icon for Elmer Van Okin-Work.

  “Dr. Van Okin’s office,” said Phyllis Bullard, the doctor’s receptionist.

  “Hi, Phyllis. David Purcell.”

  “Hi, David.”

  “Is the Doc busy?”

  “He’s with a patient right now. Can I have him call you back?”

  “Yeah.”

  David took off toward the orchard. A few minutes later, his phone rang. It was Dr. Van Okin.

  “What is it, David?” he said.

  “I need to talk to you. We have to get some of this taken care of.”

  “I told you. We don’t talk about this. Not on the phone.”

  “I know. But we need to get together. I got some problems.”

  “Everyone has problems. Stay in the saddle. I’ll get back with you later today.”

  “Do that.”

  CHAPTER 19

  Ten days before the crime

  Obie and Janet bounced along a road in a pickup truck as they headed toward an apple orchard a couple of miles from the packing shed. The rock road turned into a grass path and the truck bumped a bit more.

  “Everything OK?” Obie said as he navigated the beat-up F-150 through a minefield of potholes.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You just seem a little … you kn
ow ...”

  “You have a sense for everything, don’t you? Except vocabulary.”

  “I just observe.”

  “Yeah, well I guess you’re not too bad at that.”

  “Comes naturally. But now you’re changing the subject. What’s going on?”

  Janet turned her head sideways, gazing through the passenger window.

  “What’s not going on?” she said.

  Obie looked her straight on, grabbed her chin and turned her face toward his.

  “I know about your mom. I’m really sorry.”

  “It’s not just that,” Janet said as she gently pushed him away and pulled her head back, looking ahead through the windshield. She used up a lot of her energy fighting back tears.

  Obie decided not to push it. He continued along the bumpy path until rows of apple trees came into view. They got out of the truck and took stock of the scene before them. Many of the trees looked as if flames had been licking at their branches.

  “This isn’t good,” Obie said as his eyes scanned the rows of struggling trees.

  Janet took her cap off and brushed her forehead, where beads of sweat were gathering. They knew this disease could spell the end of the business unless they figured out how to turn things around. And time wasn’t in their favor.

  “Does David know about this?” Obie said. “I mean, the way it’s spreading?”

  Janet gazed out over the field, fanning herself with her hat.

  “Doesn’t matter. He wouldn’t know what to do anyway. And our operating fund ain’t exactly … operating.”

  “How bad is it?”

  She sighed.

  “You don’t want to know.”

  He grabbed her and pulled her close to him. Obie smelled like the outdoors and masculinity. She put her arms around him, gently.

  “You know I do,” Obie said. “And you know I have a pretty good idea. But I don’t do the books. You do. And I know that payday has been moving around lately. And always later, not sooner.”

  She pushed herself away, making a slow half-spin. It was her way of gathering herself when confronted with a reality that had a bad taste. She hung her head, barely letting the words dribble out of her mouth.

  “I talked to a bankruptcy lawyer yesterday.”

  Obie looked off into the distance, as if the right words would be printed on a banner attached to an apple tree, or pulled by an airplane.

  “Do you trust me?” he said.

  “Of course I do.”

  “Do you love me?”

  Janet did the half-spin again. At least she was getting a little exercise.

  “One thing at a time. Love can wait. Right now, we’re dealing with a load of shit. And we’re gonna have to figure out how big a shovel we need.”

  Obie took Janet’s hands in his. She briefly touched her forehead to his, then pulled away and let go.

  “David has something going on with my dad. I get the feeling it’s not exactly … above board.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “We’ll all be together. A family gathering of some sort, maybe a cookout. They’re always finding a reason to get off to the side, talking about … I don’t know what.”

  “Maybe they’re just talking sports or something. Your dad likes baseball.”

  “It’s not like that. David is also spending time at Mom and Dad’s house. He didn’t before. Not unless we were together, you know. It just seems so … mysterious.”

  “Now you’re getting paranoid.”

  “I don’t think so. I wonder if David is trying to get Dad to help with the farm. Maybe to invest or something.”

  “I don’t see how anything like that could be happening without you being in the middle of it.”

  Janet gazed off into the distance.

  “I don’t either. Anyway, I have a bad feeling.”

  “Have you talked to David about it? Or your dad?”

  “David and I haven’t been doing a lot of talking lately. And I couldn’t see myself bringing up with the subject with Dad. I guess I don’t even know what the subject is.”

  They strolled down the grassy path between rows of dying apple trees.

  “I never expected anything like this,” Janet said.

  “Like what?”

  “Like being tied down, on a farm. You can’t just up and move. You can’t get away from it. When I was a little girl I dreamed of traveling all over the world. But here I am. I’ve never even been outside the country. I never expected to be stuck in a marriage that’s running on fumes. Or a business that’s heading for bankruptcy. Or not being able to talk with Mom like I used to.”

  Janet began to sob. Obie put his arm around her and turned them around, toward the truck.

  “Let’s get out of here.”

  CHAPTER 20

  Frank Bachelor leaned back in his chair, tapping a pencil on a blotter-type calendar covering the desk. He gazed at a few of the stains on it. Coffee, Coke, ink, who knows what else. Jerry Carroll stood, holding a cup of coffee from McDonald’s. He took a drink and reflexively blew on the cup.

  “Damn! No wonder that old lady won all the money in that lawsuit. This shit’s hot!”

  He took the lid off, blew on the coffee again, then set the cup down on a square table in the corner of the office.

  “I think I’ll wait ‘til the temperature falls below boiling. Anyway, I still can’t believe Van Okin didn’t have any security cameras at his place.”

  Bachelor tapped his pencil again.

  “From what I understand, he didn’t have much fear. Probably thought if anyone came around with ill intention, he’d blow them away. He had balls as big as the weapons in his gun cabinet. Didn’t have time to get to any of ‘em that night, I guess.”

  “There might be other video around, though,” Carroll said, as he picked up the cup and took a cautious sip.

  “Where? There isn’t any other property close by.”

  “If someone was on his property, he may have also been somewhere else. In town. Maybe at a place with video. Not a lot moving around that late at night. Not in a sleepy little place like C-Camp.”

  Bachelor grabbed his keys.

  “Worth a try. Let’s go.”

  They got in the squad car and headed north on Highway 116, which passed by the Van Okin home. On the outskirts a few businesses appeared: a laundromat, a second-hand store, an abandoned building that once served as the business office of a tiny used-car dealership.

  “Look,” Carroll said, pointing at a car wash. A security camera was mounted on a concrete wall.

  Bachelor turned into the business and parked the squad car.

  “Doesn’t Ed Hampton own this?”

  Carroll shook his head.

  “Sold it to Bert Tyler last year. Ed decided he’d had enough of carrying coins around in a bag. Bert took it and put in credit card machines. That cut down a lot on the coins. Don’t think Ed thought of that. He didn’t have a lot of – what do you call it – business acumen.”

  “How do we get hold of Bert?” Bachelor asked.

  “He’s probably at work. Makes trusses at Larkin-Helms. Might be part owner. I’m not sure.”

  Bachelor hit the gas pedal and maneuvered the squad car through C-Camp, heading southeast on Archer Road, a curving blacktop that snaked three miles through gentle, sloping hills. They eventually pulled into the parking lot past a wooden sign adorned with faded lettering that read, simply, Larkin-Helms.

  The business consisted of three structures. There was a large pole barn that housed what was essentially a saw mill with several work stations. Another pole barn nearly as big served to store the prefabricated roofing trusses, along with equipment, tools and supplies. And there was a small cinder-block building that housed the office.

  In the lot, a forklift operator moved back and forth like a giant ant, picking up stacks of trusses and placing them on a flatbed trailer.

  Tyler, a man of about sixty with broad shoulders, grayish hair that danced on h
is shoulders and thick arms, held out his large, calloused hand and greeted the officers.

  “What’s up?”

  “You run the car wash down on Willard Street?” Bachelor asked.

  “Yeah. There a problem?”

  “No problem. We’re working a case and noticed there’s a security camera there. Can we take a look at some footage?”

  Tyler shook his head.

  “Sorry, but I can’t help you there. Ed told me they don’t work. You know, Ed Ewell Hampton. I bought it from him. I was going to get someone to look at ‘em, but haven’t got around to it. You know, we got the credit card machines now, so we don’t have to deal with cash as much.”

  Bachelor nodded. “I’ve heard. Well, thanks anyway.”

  “Hey, if you need your squad cars spiffed up, let me know. Interiors, even. On the house.”

  Bachelor looked at Carroll. “Thanks, but we clean ‘em ourselves. We don’t want our deputies standing around doing nothing.”

  “You know, like when we don’t have a double murder to investigate,” Carroll said.

  “That’s some fucked-up shit,” Tyler said. “Hope you catch ‘em.”

  “Them?” Bachelor said.

  “Them, him, her, it, whatever. Hope you solve it. Anyone who’d kill an old doctor and his wife … Hey, you think it’s someone local or someone passing through?”

  Bachelor handed Tyler a card. “We sure hope to find out. Let me know if you hear anything.”

  “There’s a reward,” Carroll said. “You know, if you provide information that leads to a conviction and all.”

  “Screw the reward. I just want that bastard – or bastards – caught,” Tyler said. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”

  CHAPTER 21

  “There have to be cameras somewhere on this side of town,” Bachelor said as he steered the squad car back toward C-Camp.

  Carroll nodded. “And cameras that work.”

  “Now you’re getting picky.”

  “And cameras that run twenty-four-seven.”

  Bachelor blew across his lips, making a faint motorcycle sound. He gripped the steering wheel and gazed into what he hoped was the future. Then he got that look he always did when he figured something out. Carroll swears he can sometimes see a lightbulb click on above Bachelor’s head, just like in cartoons.