Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files)

by Calle J. Brookes

  Miranda just waited. She knew how to effectively interview. There were many different types of interviewees. Ones like Colleen Tanner were best to leave alone and let them get to what they needed to say. Some people were just natural storytellers. This woman was one of them.

  “Yes, I remember when she and that family of hers first disappeared.” Faded green eyes narrowed as she looked from Knight to Miranda. “So, tell me, what’s the real FBI doing here, asking about old pruny-ass Pauline? She the body that was found a month or so back? Always knew she’d come to a bad end.”

  They hadn’t released Helen’s name to the public yet. Just the fact that the body of a woman had been found within the county. As far as the citizens of Masterson knew—with a few exceptions such as Nate Masterson—the remains had yet to be identified. That was information they were going to keep quiet until it was absolutely necessary to release. Of course, most people knew exactly where the body had been found—rumors burned fast through Masterson. “No, ma’am. Pauline was not the woman we found.”

  “How’d she die?”

  “The woman was killed by a blow to the head,” Knight said in his always-somber tone. “Her body was found on the Beises’ property. We’re trying to gather details of what was happening in the Beises’ lives before they left Masterson.”

  “Drama, drama, and more drama, no doubt.” Colleen snorted, then smacked her hands against her lap. “Always arguing over something.”

  “Pauline?” Miranda asked.

  “Pauline and that man of hers, Pauline and those sons of hers, that mother of hers. Pauline and that boyfriend of hers, too. Now, there was a real winner. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if the body wasn’t Pauline’s mother. Those two were always going on about something. Usually about that eldest girl of hers. Pauline despised that girl, and her mother was the exact opposite. Well, the girl and that oldest boy. What was his name again?”

  “Lesley.”

  “Yeah, that was it. An oily piece of tuna fish that one was. Had to watch him around my granddaughters. They are all about your age.”

  “Yes, he had some social struggles.” Miranda tried to put it as nicely as she possibly could. But Lesley had had a reputation. One of his own making. Troublemakers tended to stick out around Masterson. And they always had.

  “That’s being mealy-mouthed about it.”

  “Pauline was the subject of that gossip?” Knight asked, suddenly. A bolt of sunlight came through the window just as Miranda looked up at him. It hit him straight on the left side of his face. He flinched. His ever-present sunglasses were in his breast pocket.

  The sunlight made the scar look rough and mean, made the man look dangerous. Like someone you didn’t want to mess with. Not that he needed a scar to look like that, though.

  He shifted closer to Miranda’s chair, out of the light. She looked up at him. Scar or no scar—Allan Knight wasn’t someone a sane person would ever mess with.

  “Sure she was. She was a part of it, the star of it, and she loved to know it. Nothing made her happier than talking about others’ lives. Except maybe talking about hers. Made herself feel valued, I think.” Coleen leaned forward, like some sort of coconspirator. “Sometimes I didn’t know what to believe. Hard to think she made up all that bunk.”

  “What sorts of things did she say?”

  “Always going on about that husband of hers. How he had trouble in the bedroom. Never wanted to touch her anymore, she said. Actually asked me if I thought he was screwing around with someone else. Pauline was insanely jealous over Luther. No wonder. He wasn’t all that ugly as a young man. Once he got with her, he went to seed pretty quick. Of course, I can’t blame him for being gone all the time. The way those older kids of his carried on, the way Pauline did. I know for a fact she trapped him into the marriage. Deliberately threw out the birth control when he was in his last year of high school, and she a few years behind him. She had her eye on him from the beginning; she told me. Seemed to think, with him inheriting his daddy’s place, that he’d have some money. If nothing else, Pauline was money hungry, and she didn’t know how to get some of her own. Right pissed she was when his daddy’s place had to be sold for taxes after his death and her own mama bought it out from under Luther. Burned her britches something good that Luther had to rent his own family’s place off her mama.” She coughed, then blew her nose. Watery eyes looked at Miranda. “Sorry about that. Smoked for sixty-two years; don’t plan on stopping any time soon.”

  “Was Luther in town right before they left? Had Pauline complained any more than usual?” Miranda asked. “I was friends with her daughter. I don’t remember her saying anything about her parents fighting then.”

  “I just remember Pauline coming back all pissy and panicky that last day. Thought she and that boyfriend of hers had finally called it quits. But he picked her up four thirty or so. Saw him myself. Oily little potato.”

  “Who was he?”

  Colleen leaned forward, ready to deliver the juicy bits. “Didn’t I say? It was that cousin of Luther’s. That Hollace boy. Barely older than her oldest boy, and she was playing around in the bedroom with him—and bragging about it. Not sure if the baby was his or Luther’s. I don’t think, though, that she’d tossed the birth control before that one, too.”

  “What was his first name?” Miranda asked. They’d heard nothing about a boyfriend from Clint’s reports. And she didn’t remember anyone named Hollace from Masterson.

  “James, I think. He wasn’t from around here. Moved to stay on the Beise place a year or so earlier. Luther’s cousin, like I said. Left right after the Beises did. Joined the state police, I think. You’ll have to check with them.”

  “Thanks, Colleen. You’ve given us a great place to start.”

  “Yeah, well, you can thank me with some of your grandmama’s onion rings. That Dixie won’t ever bring me any. Says I’m too ornery as it is. For such a sweet-looking thing, she can be real ornery.”

  “Deal.”

  17

  The last thing Jim wanted to be doing was facing off against Clint Gunderson and that Talley girl. Not like this. He hadn’t even been in the post ten minutes before Weatherby was calling him into the office. And there they were. The Talley girl and that partner of hers. Playing nicey-nice with Weatherby, even.

  Up close and personal, the man with her looked like a real hard-ass. A real tough guy. The scar was what stood out the most. And the hardness of the eyes. This was one tough brute Jim wouldn’t want to meet in a dark alley. Or a lit one, even. Jim quickly looked away after his eyes met the man’s.

  Up close, this Talley girl was just as gorgeous as the rest. The skin was pale, with freckles. Hair long and silky. The eyes were what did it though. Pure green.

  Witch’s eyes. She hadn’t had eyes like that as a kid. No, she’d had thick glasses back then, he thought.

  Must be wearing colored contacts; that made the most sense.

  Jim took the seat Weatherby indicated. Sweat beaded on the back of his neck. He wanted to wipe it, but didn’t. He didn’t need to show how nervous he was.

  “Do I know you?” he asked the woman.

  “I’m from Masterson. Flo from Flo’s Diner is my grandmother.”

  “That’s probably it. I ate dinner there the other night. You resemble the waitresses there.” He tried to keep his words casual. Good old boy. He was just there to help the FBI. For all he knew, Weatherby was assigning him to work with these two.

  Wouldn’t that be ironic?

  Well, Jim supposed stranger things had happened.

  “I know.”

  Weatherby was eyeing him. Suspiciously. No surprise there. Weatherby always looked at everyone just like that. “What’s this about?”

  “We have a few questions to run by you,” the woman said. Well, apparently, she was the spokeswoman for the feds today. Before he could say anything, the door opened. A tall, lanky cowboy stepped inside. Complete with Stetson.

  There was a hard edge to Clint G
underson that hadn’t always been there. Rumor mill had it he’d been the one to slam his fist into Clive’s face the day Clive had gone around the bend. What kind of man hit his own father in the face, just days after his brother died? Clive hadn’t deserved that. Not at all.

  “Jim, sit down.” Weatherby growled. Damned if he didn’t sound like he ate gravel for breakfast.

  Jim didn’t have a choice. He sat.

  18

  Clint stared at the man he had known since his first appointment to the Wyoming State Police. Jim Hollace was still a simple patrolman—he hadn’t been promoted once in the time that Clint had been in law enforcement.

  He’d long known Jim resented him for that fact. And it was Clint’s fault. He’d been the one to report some cronyism to his superiors when that cronyism had resulted in a nineteen-year-old boy being killed.

  Animosity had existed between him and Hollace and his pals ever since.

  That had been one of the motivators for him applying to the DCI. Miranda looked at Clint, a question in her pretty green eyes.

  Another redhead popped into his head in that moment. And it wasn’t Miranda. Clint ruthlessly shoved thoughts of that woman out of his head for the time being. He wasn’t quite ready to deal with his housekeeper yet. Not just yet.

  “What’s this about?” Hollace demanded, sending a belligerent look toward Agent Knight.

  “Officer Hollace,” Miranda began. The scarred agent next to her remained silent. “What is your connection to the Luther and Pauline Beise family of Masterson?”

  Hollace’s face flushed. His body tensed. “What’s going on here, Gunderson?”

  Clint just shook his head and pointed to Miranda. “Dr. Talley is the one running this show.”

  Hollace cursed for a good minute or two.

  Finally, Weatherby interjected. “Answer the question, Jim. It’s part of an investigation. Unless you have something to hide?”

  “Federal?” Hollace asked. “What is going on? What lies has Gunderson been telling now? He’s always had it out for me. Told you that before.”

  “Officer Hollace, we’re trying to determine what circumstances led to the death of Helen Caudrell fourteen years ago,” Miranda said. “Your name came up as a person of interest recently.”

  Hollace paled. “Helen?”

  “Yes,” Miranda continued. “Her body was found, wrapped in a partially sewn quilt, in Luther Beise’s cattle barn. Your name was mentioned as being there frequently, and we’re running DNA samples in our St. Louis lab now. Will we find your DNA there?”

  He leaned back in the chair. “Well, of course, you will. Luther Beise is my cousin. Well, stepcousin, but that’s just a formality thing. I must have been in his cattle barn three thousand times. I lived on the ranch with him for a few years. Helped with stock, as part of the rent. Moved out two months before they disappeared.”

  “Do you know where Luther is now? The rest of the family?” That was all Miranda asked, in a friendly, unhurried tone. She leaned forward. Hollace wasn’t immune to her. Most people weren’t. Miranda had a way of getting through a person’s defenses before they even realized what was going on. Why should a jerk like Hollace be immune? “We need to find them. They are all persons of interest.”

  Hollace snorted. “Good luck at that. Luther and his wife and kids took off one night about fourteen years ago. No one in the family knew why.”

  “The family? Our searches didn’t find any living relatives for Luther or Pauline. Except you.”

  “Then you didn’t search long enough or hard enough. There were a few cousins on our side of the family. Six or seven.”

  “We’ll need names. We need to find Luther, Officer Hollace. As soon as possible.”

  “You’re barking up the wrong trees, little lady.” Hollace shot her a smug look as his gaze traveled over her long, lean body. Clint knew what he was thinking by the look in Hollace’s eyes. “You’re not so little, though. You’re a tall one.”

  Miranda just shot him a sunny smile. Clint saw the way her hands tightened on her chair where Hollace couldn’t see. He recognized the tell for what it was. Miranda was resisting slugging the man. She used to have a bit of a temper. Apparently, that hadn’t changed. “I’ve heard it before, Officer Hollace. I need you to write down names and contact information for everyone who might have had any knowledge of where Luther and Pauline may have gone fourteen years ago.”

  “You have any ideas where that might be?” Weatherby asked, pointedly. Weatherby had made no bones about the fact that he didn’t much like Hollace, either.

  Truth be told, Rex Weatherby wasn’t too fond of most people, when it came right down to it.

  “Not a clue. Didn’t even realize the family had taken off until I stopped by a few weeks after. No signs of the family anywhere, except a note on the table saying they had no choice but to leave, and they didn’t want anything to do with anyone from Masterson County ever again.” Hollace pulled a cloth handkerchief screen-printed with the American flag from his pocket and blotted at the sweat rolling down his neck. “Said not to bother looking for them. Told Clive that, too, when he came around a few months later, asking questions.”

  The room wasn’t hot. Not by a long shot. Hollace shouldn’t be sweating like this. Unless he was lying through his crooked, yellowed teeth. “Was that normal for the family? You didn’t file a police report?”

  “Didn’t even think of it. Luther often took his family out to the woods to do some survival training. The man was convinced the world was ending at any moment. Them taking off never even struck me as odd. That was just Luther, through and through. He must have taken off four times when they were married, until Pauline put her foot down and told him no more. He’s still into that.”

  Miranda leaned forward. “Still? So you do know where they are?”

  Hollace’s eyes widened, and his face flushed again. Clint seized onto the slip immediately.

  “You know where Luther Beise is, don’t you?”

  Hollace closed his eyes and nodded. Clint didn’t buy the submissive pose for an instant.

  Weatherby practically growled Hollace’s name.

  “He lives down near Medicine Bow. Drives a truck out of there. Goes by the name of Dwayne Luther Maynard. Emails me ever’ so often, about once a year or so. He forgets we stopped talking years ago because of that wife of his. Ex, now. That’s all.”

  “And the rest of the family?”

  Hollace hesitated. Weatherby said his name one more time. “I don’t know. Pauline and Luther split twelve years or something. You’ll have to ask Luther if you want more.”

  Clint looked at the woman in charge. She shot him a glance and nodded.

  They’d be heading down to Medicine Bow next.

  19

  Jim knew he’d gotten lucky. He’d passed it off as him just being a distant relative. He’d moved into a distant steprelative’s cabin because he’d needed a place to stay. He hadn’t hung around with the Beises much. Didn’t know them that well. That kind of thing. He knew the game, knew how to answer the questions the way the feds needed to hear.

  Nice and casual-like.

  There was no way for them to double check that. He knew that.

  Jim was ninety percent certain the Talley girl had bought his story. None of her questions had been too probing. And he didn’t think she’d been feeling him out. Evaluating him or nothing. He didn’t think she remembered him from fourteen years ago, either.

  That was good.

  Then again, Jim hadn’t spent too much time with Luther’s kids. After that handful of times he’d done something stupid with Monica, he’d made certain to stay as far away from her as possible. Self-preservation.

  The Talley girl didn’t seem that devious. The guy with her though…Jim hadn’t figured him out. All he’d done was sit there and stare. With a hard stare far worse than even Weatherby’s. Neither one had seemed intimidated by Weatherby in the least, either.

  Just Jim had been the
one sweating.

  He was glad the interview was done. He’d forced himself to stay as calm as possible while in Weatherby’s office, other than letting out a curse or two. It hadn’t been easy. But Jim was a cop—staying calm in hard situations was one of the requirements of what he did every day.

  He hadn’t meant to let it out that he still knew where Luther was, though. That had been pretty stupid.

  Luther was the one person in the entire Beise family who wouldn’t be able to help the FBI find out what happened to Helen at all. Luther probably barely remembered any of what happened anymore.

  Jim waited until they left the room, then looked at his supervisor. “We all done here?”

  “Get out there. And, Jim…if I find out you lied about any of this…you’ll be out of here as fast as I can blink. Remember that, won’t you? I seriously hope you didn’t screw this up.” His desk was arranged with files in perfectly straight piles. Probably a leftover from his days as a Marine. Real hard-ass, Rex Weatherby.

  No one acted out under his watch. Not if they wanted to keep their job, anyway. Jim flinched at the hard look in the man’s dark eyes. Weatherby was one of the few men who scared the utter shit out of him at times.

  Complete and utter shit.

  “I’ve not done a thing to screw anything up lately. I’m keeping my nose clean. Have been for years.” Five years or so ago, when his second wife had left him for another cop on the force, Jim had let himself sink back into stupidity.

  It hadn’t just been beer and bourbon after Dava had left. It had been something a lot harder. He’d done stupid things. Real stupid things.

  Rex Weatherby had just transferred in back then. From somewhere northeast in the state. And he’d been even harder than he was now in a lot of ways. Rougher. Far more dangerous.

  He’d taken one look at Jim and known exactly what problems Jim was dealing with. And he just hadn’t given a damn. Jim strongly suspected Weatherby had worked to get him into trouble back then with IA.