Obsessions Can Be Murder: The Tenth Charlie Parker Mystery
Page 18
“I get the feeling Amanda never did think much of you.”
She snorted. “You go to college to figure that out?”
“Did she hate you enough to burn down your house, you think? Maybe she even hoped you’d be home when it happened.”
“Look, chickie, chumpy, whatever your name is, you’re on the wrong track with me. I have no idea what goes on in that girl’s head. Never did. I tried, I really tried to ‘bond’ with her in the beginning. She was already David’s grown daughter, but I thought we might have some kind of family life. The little b--, girl, didn’t like me from day one and there was no changing her mind.”
She bounced her weight from one leg to the other and rested a hand on one hip. “Since the fire she’s done nothing for me. Nothing to help me with a few extra bucks now and then, nothing to console me over the loss of my husband. Well, you can have her. As far as I’m concerned, it’s too bad Rocko didn’t hit her car harder that night.”
I glanced toward the house.
“Oh, no. Not what you’re thinking. I just come over to feed the dog whenever they’re gone.”
She said it as if Rocko and Billy were on vacation somewhere. Guess it was more like a business trip.
“There’s nothing personal here,” she said.
“But you must be friends?”
“We catch a drink or two now and then. They hang out at the Owl, so do Frank and me. That’s that.”
And how easy it would be to let the local thugs know that somebody’s a real thorn in your side and you’d like to be rid of her. And how convenient that after a few drinks these two guys can just claim DWI rather than attempted murder. I watched Earleen climb behind the wheel of the big old boat and give the engine three cranks before it started. A puff of black exhaust whoofed out at me and I turned my back, waving my hand in front of my face. I hoped she saw me in her mirror.
Once the air cleared, I got back into the Jeep and drove slowly back toward the Horseshoe. I realized I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast and was running on empty. Considering the nearly sleepless night and discovery of Rocko’s weapon outside my door, it was amazing I was still functional at all. I stopped at Jo’s where I went the full-fat route with a chicken fried steak, cream gravy and potatoes. For dessert there was no holding me back from the cherry cobbler.
I waddled out to the car and drove it the fifty yards to the motel. Parking near the office, to obscure the location of my cabin, I locked up and went to the room. I tried to lie down and read, but my full stomach grumbled and everything felt like it was charging back up my throat. Like it or not, I needed to move around before I settled down for the night. I put on my walking shoes and did four laps’ walk around the common area. Okay, they were slow laps but at least I moved about until my food began to digest.
Back in the room I read in the comfy chair—identical to the one I’d had in my other cabin—until I simply couldn’t keep my eyes open. The third time I caught my head bobbing, I got up and brushed my teeth. By the time I’d slipped out of my clothes and into the bed, I was yawning hugely.
I knew nothing else until the sun came through my window at seven the next morning. I woke and stretched, giving myself a few minutes of sheer laziness before starting the day. I realized that I didn’t actually have a plan for the day but, knowing that inaction breeds inaction, I got up and brushed my teeth and showered. Last night’s dinner hung stubbornly with me and I found I couldn’t think about food. I breakfasted on a cup of tea that I brewed in the room.
Flipping through the pages in my little notebook, I looked for loose ends. Something was eluding me and I couldn’t seem to put my finger on it. I phoned Michaela to see if she’d share anything about the murder investigation.
“Our department is working with the state police on this one, Charlie,” she said. “We’re the little guys and are lucky to get any crumbs ourselves. I can tell you that they’re pretty sure they’ve got the murder weapon though.”
My interest perked.
“A tire iron. It was in the backseat of David’s car, like somebody’d tossed it there. Makes sense. The guy bashes David over the head and knows he’s going to get rid of the body and the car. Might as well send the weapon over the edge with it.”
“Any prints? Evidence?”
“Unfortunately, no. If there were, originally, anything like that’s long gone now. Interesting thing, though, the weapon’s not David’s. Doesn’t match his car at all. The state folks are tracing it now, seeing if they can match it up to a specific make and model. It may not lead anywhere; those things can be pretty generic. We’ll see.”
I hung up, pondering this. We could eliminate any vehicle newer than four years. That could be a good thing or a bad thing. If whoever did this had bought a new car, it would be next to impossible to make any positive connection between the tire iron and a car they probably traded in long ago.
Among the suspects who still drove their older cars were certainly Frank Quinn and Billy Rodman. I’d pretty much bet money that neither of them had traded vehicles in the past four years. And Rocko certainly had access to his brother’s truck almost any time. That brought me back to the incident two nights ago, when Rocko Rodman had approached my cabin. Remembering that knife lying in the grass beside the steps still gave me a little chill.
The brothers were in the County Jail in Segundo right now. I’d given a statement to Michaela but wondered whether it would reinforce the case against them if I also spoke with someone there.
Without a better plan for the day, I gathered what I’d need and drove north. The town was slightly less busy, mid-morning, mid-week. I recognized a few landmarks like the Wal-Mart store, and remembered the place we’d turned to go to Horton Blythe’s office. I didn’t know the town layout at all, but figured it couldn’t be that hard. I kept going toward what felt like the center of town, and spotted signs that pointed toward City Hall, County Courthouse, and Public Library.
At the courthouse, I asked about the Sheriff’s Department and was told they were located in a separate building about a block away. I could walk through the jail annex and into a parking lot, the clerk said, and cut through there. It would be quicker and easier than trying to find another parking spot. Considering that it had taken me ten minutes to find the one I got, I took that as good advice. What was with this place, anyway? The government offices were more popular than Wal-Mart, it appeared.
As I entered the jail annex, I had to pass through a metal detector and by a desk where a uniformed guard sat. Luckily, I’d remembered to lock the Beretta back in my glove compartment.
“Here to visit a prisoner?” she asked in a bored monotone.
“Uh, no.” I glanced at the crowded room and realized I must have just hit visiting hours. I recoiled slightly from the noise and the smell of unwashed bodies and dirty diapers. The crowd, women mostly, many with young children hanging onto them, sat on benches rimming the walls, apparently waiting for their turns.
“Not visiting?” the guard said. “What’s your business then?”
The first clerk hadn’t told me there would be a Q & A session here. I started to tell her that I just wanted to pass through but an idea hit me.
“Uh, I am, actually. I’d like to speak with Rocko Rodman. Oh wait, that’s George Rodman.”
She flipped through some sheets in a notebook, asked to see my ID and wrote something down.
“You get this back when you leave,” she said, clearly amused at my lack of knowledge, as she tucked my driver’s license into a small file box.
Like I was going to pass my license through to Rocko and he would use it—how, exactly?
Oh well, now I was stuck. I walked into the crowd and edged my way to a clear spot on the wall. A baby started screaming next to me and the mother bounced him on her hip. I was about to go back and tell the guard I’d just forget the visit when another guard appeared and called off a bunch of names. About half the women stood up and followed him. I heard him say “Ten min
utes” a few times as they began to file through the doorway. I looked at my watch.
If they called the same number of names next time, I should be in the next group, ten minutes from now, and out of here in twenty. That was doable.
When our turn came to file in, I got behind a weary-looking woman in a pair of low-cut jeans and a T-shirt that was about three sizes too small. She’d clearly done the drill a lot in her lifetime so I followed her moves. We came into a large room with tables set in a U shape. Prisoners in orange jump suits sat around the inner perimeter of the U, and the women began filling in the spaces opposite them. I recognized Rocko and stepped over to his spot. There was no glass between prisoner and visitor, but four guards posted themselves at strategic places and I didn’t figure it was too likely that Rodman would attempt to jump the table and rip my throat out.
He visibly started when he saw that I was his visitor.
“Who were you expecting?” I asked, determined to stay cool, even though my heart was pounding erratically and I’d seriously begun to question my sanity. I sat back in my chair, keeping well out of arm’s reach.
His eyes narrowed and he didn’t respond.
“You dropped your knife outside my cabin the other night. What were you doing there?”
He tried to ignore that one, too, his face sullen.
“That’s okay. I’ve moved now. The evidence speaks for itself. I really didn’t come here to ask you about that, anyway. I wanted to talk to you about Bettina.”
He shifted in his seat. I imagined a slight softening in his posture.
“You’d been dating quite a awhile before she died?”
He shrugged. “Few months.”
“Was it serious? I mean, did she confide things to you?”
“Sure.”
I felt like I needed a can opener to get this guy to open up.
“Things, like her feelings about David? The things they talked about sometimes?”
Fire came into his eyes then. “She wasn’t never gonna be with him. She loved me.” He stabbed a finger onto the table top. “Me!”
As his voice rose, a guard took a step closer.
“She worked a couple of days a week for David and Earleen,” I said. “Were they regular days? Or did she just go over there whenever the place needed cleaning?”
“What are you getting at? She loved me. She didn’t want that guy David and if he came on to her, I’d’ve killed him.” He stopped abruptly, his words echoing in one of those strange moments when it seems all conversation stops.
I stared at him until the other buzz in the room started up again. “Did you kill him, Rocko? Did you follow through on that?”
He gave me a frigid stare that sent goosebumps up my arms. “Guard!” he shouted. “We done here.”
He stood and turned his back on me, letting the guard escort him through a doorway on the other side of the room. As he reached the door, he turned and flashed a malevolent stare at me. I rubbed at my prickly arms as I stood.
Out in the lobby, I retrieved my license and asked how long the Rodman brothers would be inside. The clerk at the desk looked up something on a computer.
“Arraignment’s this afternoon,” she said. “Depends on whether they post bond. If not, hearing’s on Friday and they’ll set a trial date.”
“Who’s the judge for the bond hearing?”
“Judge Sanchez.”
The easiest judge in the state. Lucky me. I asked directions to the prosecutor’s office, where I spoke with the young lawyer who’d be handling Rocko’s hearing this afternoon. I did my best to stress the violence and instability of the guy, and recounted the visit I’d just had with him. The lawyer, who looked about six months out of school, wrote everything down and seemed to take me seriously. I had one hope here, that the guy was so eager to please that he really would make a case for locking Rocko away without bond forever.
Barring that, my best hope was to get out of the county, soon, and to change my name when I got back home.
I spent the next hour giving much the same information to a deputy in the sheriff’s office and hoping that it all came together to make a strong case against both the Rodman boys.
I came out of the building, almost surprised to see that the sun was shining and the spring flowers were blooming full force in planter boxes around the government buildings. I rubbed my arms again, to work off the chill that had settled on me and hoped my visit to the jail hadn’t somehow compromised the case. My car was stuffy inside, but the heat felt good and I sat there for a few minutes, contemplating my next move.
Food. Once my fingers no longer felt like ice, I realized that it was already past midday and I was starving. Okay, technically not starving, but I knew I could put away a Big Mac without a qualm. I must have burned four thousand calories just facing down Rocko.
I ordered at the drive-through and pulled around to the lot to eat in the car. Life began to feel a little more carefree as I watched sparrows pick at fallen fries in the parking lot, fluttering away whenever a car came through, hopping back when the coast became clear again. Two young moms with little kids—clean kids without messy diapers and screaming faces—came out with Happy Meals. The seamy side of life amidst jail and criminals faded.
I studied the surrounding businesses as I sipped the last of my Coke. Across the street was a dry cleaning shop, a Chinese restaurant, and a place advertising that they made repairs on sewing machines, vacuum cleaners and bicycles. The building next to the parking lot in which I sat housed professional offices, including two dentists an insurance company and a brokerage firm. It took a minute for it to sink in that this was the same brokerage logo I’d seen on the statements from David’s hidden accounts.
Before I’d clearly thought out a plan, I found myself locking the car and walking toward the place.
Chapter 24
“How may I help you?” queried a young woman behind a counter. She appeared to be in her early twenties, maybe just out of college. I wondered how much I could really get out of her.
“My brother has several accounts with this firm,” I said, making it up as I went. “He had an Albuquerque address but hasn’t received his most recent statements. He’s been away. He’d like me to check the current balances in the accounts.”
“I’ll need the full name, address and Social Security number on the account,” she said, turning to her computer.
So young, yet she’d already tripped me up.
“Mark Franklin,” I told her. Somehow, I was able to recite most of the address. “I don’t remember his Social at all. Can you find the information anyway?”
Her soft young look hardened. “Absolutely not. Our clients’ information is strictly confidential.”
“I appreciate that and I’ll know I can absolutely trust you if I ever open an account here, but this is important.”
The firm stare didn’t waver.
“Okay, let me be honest here.” I hurried on before she could make some kind of comeback to that. I whipped out my business card. “I’m with RJP Investigations in Albuquerque. The family are clients of ours. Mark has passed away and his daughter needs the information on his accounts. She inherited everything.”
“We’d need her to come in, with a copy of the death certificate, and all the information I’ve already requested.”
Now where on earth were we going to get a death certificate for Mark Franklin? This whole thing was going to get very sticky.
I thanked her, ungraciously, I’m afraid, and left. An area for Ron’s expertise, perhaps.
Back in the car, I called Ron on my cell phone and posed the question to him. He thought about it for a couple of minutes and said he’d get back to me. Without any better plan in mind, I headed back toward Watson’s Lake.
I’d almost made up my mind to go ahead and tell Amanda about the secret accounts. Maybe David had hinted about them at some point. I also wanted to warn her about the Rodman brothers and fill her in on my visit to the courthouse.
Amanda, driving Jake’s vehicle, turned onto the highway from Piedra Vista Road coming from her house, just as I reached the same intersection. I tooted my horn at her and she waved. I gestured and she got my meaning, pulling to the side. I stopped behind her and got out.
“I’m tracking some leads, something kind of off-topic, but thought I’d run it past you,” I said.
She gave a puzzled squint and nodded.
“Have you ever heard the name Mark Franklin?”
“Mark Franklin? I don’t think so.”
“Other Franklins?”
“Well, that was my grandmother’s maiden name. Aletha Franklin, my dad’s mother. I don’t know a Mark, though. Could be a cousin, I suppose. We weren’t really close to any of the extended family.”
“It helps, though. Puts another piece of the puzzle in place.”
She gave a quizzical look but I wasn’t ready to fill her in yet. “Well, I’m off to a teacher’s meeting. I’ve told them I’m coming back to work,” she said.
“I’ll catch you sometime tomorrow.” I waited until she drove away and I ended up following her into town. When she turned off toward the school, I went on to Michaela’s office. It was a little after five and I wasn’t at all sure I’d catch her, but it was worth a try.
She was climbing into her cruiser when I drove up so I did a quick stop and hopped out.
“What’s up?” she asked as I approached her window.
“If Rocko Rodman was granted bail this afternoon, would we be able to find that out?”
“Why do you ask?”
I explained my visit to the jail, feeling somewhat foolish as I watched the expression on her face.