“First of all, you can stop ripping up my crime scene. I already have twelve of Cameron's finest volunteers doing a bang up job of that. Secondly, we figure out who torched the pervert's house. Or maybe more importantly, who gets the most broken up about it.” He nodded in the direction of Butch, Whitey and the fire chief. The three of them were huddled behind one of the fire trucks, engrossed in a tense discussion. “I'd start with them. Our conversation seems to be making them a bit nervous.”
“Anything I can do to help here?” Dale asked, already knowing the answer.
“Go home and get some sleep. It's gonna be a busy next couple of days in Mayberry.” He patted Dale on the back. “Keep an eye on that partner of yours. I'll see you here in the morning when the dust settles.”
Dale left the investigator to do his job. He waited in the patrol car for Butch to drag his wounded ego away from the scene. Not a single word was spoken between them as they drove back to the office. Dale went home and spent a restless night, staring at the ceiling of his ancient trailer. At one point he crawled from his bed and showered himself off. The smell from the fire seemed to be trapped in his nostrils.
When sleep finally came, he dreamed that he had inadvertently breathed in the smoky ghost of Virge the Perv. The ashes stayed in his throat and lungs, eating him from the inside out. That was all that he remembered from the dream in the morning. The rest dissolved into his subconscious when he awoke. A nauseous ache in his chest lingered until the next afternoon.
Back at the scene, he and Butch found themselves demoted to the menial role of gatekeepers. The state boys had stretched a line of yellow tape across the driveway during the night. Another run of tape encompassed the smoldering ruins of the house and yard. Two DCI men and the state fire inspectors milled about, taking photographs and processing evidence. Dale sensed the growing frustration building up in his partner as they stood on the outside, looking in.
He decided to play along and play up the scorned local yokel routine. “What the hell are we doing here, Butch? If these state guys are running the show now, why is Baylor wasting our time standing on the sidelines?”
“Why don't you ask your new friend over there?” Butch grunted, nodding toward Hazelton. He tossed the remains of his cigar on the ground and stepped on it. “He seemed to take a liking to you last night.”
“Ask him yourself,” Dale replied. “Here he comes.”
Hazelton stepped over the yellow tape and walked down the drive to greet them. In his hand he held a leather bound notebook. He continued jotting down notes as he went, stopping occasionally to finish a thought. It was obvious to Dale that the investigator was purposely taking his time to get under Tassler's skin. He snapped the notebook shut and slipped it inside his jacket as he neared them.
“Gentlemen,” Hazelton called out. He smiled and offered a hand to Butch. “Deputy Tassler, I don't believe that we've been formally introduced.”
Tassler stared at the hand, disdainfully. He ignored the gesture and spat close to where his discarded cigar butt littered the ground. The muscles in his jaw became rigid as he stared the investigator down. “What are we doing here, Hazelton?”
“Besides contaminating my crime scene, you mean?” Hazelton looked down at the scattered tobacco crumbs and shook his head, disapprovingly. He waved a hand toward the entrance of the drive and to the road beyond it. “Why, you're here to fend of the throngs of looker-loos and reporters. Doing a fine job if I do say so, myself.”
“Since when does a house fire suddenly become a crime scene?” Tassler asked.
“When the fire Marshall finds indisputable evidence of arson, deputy Tassler. That's when it becomes a crime scene.” He studied Butch before continuing, gauging his reaction carefully. “And when we find the burnt remains of the homeowner in the basement.”
Butch did not take the bait easily. His face showed little reaction as he stared at what was left of the smoldering house.
“Actually I have a few things that I wanted to bounce off of you local guys. I have no qualms admitting that you fellas know more about this area than we ever will. The home field advantage, if you will.” He walked back toward the house before stopping and calling back to them, “That is, if you don't mind abandoning your post for a few minutes.”
They skirted the foundation, stepping around the debris and puddles left from the firemen. At the back of the house Hazelton pulled a flashlight from his pocket and shined it down on the lower level. “The body was recovered there. Official identification won't be completed until tomorrow, but surprisingly there was not much damage done. One fire was started in the same room as the victim, but it was only a flash fire. Quick to start, quick to die out. No adjuvant was used here.”
“Adjuvant?” Tassler asked.
“Something to make the flames stick,” Dale answered. He found it curious that Tassler was suddenly hanging on every word Bobby had to offer. He may have just been warming up to the idea of being involved in the investigation, but he doubted it. Butch was more than likely collecting as much info as possible to cover his own ass.
“Very good, deputy. They told me you were a sharp one.”
Butch rolled his eyes before pressing for more information. “You said one fire was started here. What does that mean? There was more than one?”
“That's right. Trace analysis will need to be done, but it looks like the fire on the main level, the one that caused most of the damage, did use an adjuvant. Most likely oil or liquid detergent. Kept the accelerant on the surface longer.”
“Interesting,” Dale added.
“Yes it is,” Hazelton agreed. “But I didn't bring you in here to conduct an arson seminar. There's something else I wanted to show you.” He led them to the edge of the property, where the back yard gave way to a steep incline. He pointed down to a clearing at the bottom. “My guess is our firebug came in and out there. A single set of footprints going both directions lead right up to the house. Lucky for us it rained two nights ago. Makes for much more readable impressions.”
“Anything you can tell from the tracks?” Butch was becoming a regular teacher's pet.
“Actually there is. The right impression of each print indicates that our arson had a significant injury to the leg. Possibly a limp,” Hazelton pulled out his notebook and looked at both deputies. “Know anyone that fits that bill?”
“No.” Both deputies answered simultaneously. The curious look they shared and the speed at which they had responded gave Hazelton the feeling that he was being lied to. He decided to let it go for the time being. He trusted Dale and if he felt it necessary to withhold information then there had to be a good reason. He would eventually corner him alone and get the truth.
Chapter 21
Brenden stared at the bundle of cash in silence. He had made no mention of it since the night before when Kori reluctantly handed it over. His gaze shifted from the money and then back to Kori and Todd. The beginnings of dark circles were forming beneath his eyes. The lack of sleep from working both day and night was finally taking its toll. Not to mention the newly added stress caused by Virgil's untimely end.
It was too soon to know if anything in the burnt house could lead the authorities back to them. The pervert was meticulous about covering up loose ends, but that did not help lesson his worries. He looked out the living room window and frowned as the Campbell cousins rolled into the driveway in Soup's Impala. Quickly, he stuffed the money back into the paper bag and slid it across the table. “How much?” he finally asked.
“Six thousand,” Kori replied. “There's still another three to collect next week. Probably see at least half of that without begging for it.”
“Who else knows about this?”
“Nobody but us and now you,” Kori answered.
“And Mr. Crispy down the road, but he's not gonna be talking anytime soon,” Todd added, jokingly. Brenden shot him a cold glance that wiped the smirk right off his face. He put his head down and stared at his socks. “So
rry.”
“Good. Now go stash it before Beavis and Butthead get in here,” Brenden said. “And let's keep this between the three of us for now. Less ways to split it up that way.”
The similarity between his brother's and Virgil's approach to partnership was not lost on Kori. It made the money in his hand seem even more tainted than before. After stuffing the bag under his mattress he stopped to scrub his hands in the bathroom on the way back out.
The others had all congregated on the porch by the time he was done. When he stepped past the screen door he could feel the tension in the air. Todd and Chris had gravitated to a bench on the far end for a smoke, leaving Brenden and Soup to a heated discussion. Kori sidestepped around them and joined the smokers.
“And you just want to walk away now?” Soup asked, throwing his hands in the air. “Five years and one little setback. You just want to hump up like a bitch and quit. Goddamn, Woodson! I thought you had more balls than that.”
Brenden stepped close enough to Soup to almost touch noses with him. He arched his shoulders back and held out his arms as if daring Soup to take a swing at him. The others shared a nervous glance before resuming their attention back to the ground below them. Todd lit another cigarette from the previous one even though it was still only half gone.
“Balls, Soup? It ain't got anything to do with balls,” Brenden snapped. “In case you didn't hear, the guy we run all of our shit through is a chunk of charcoal in the basement of his own house now. Whatever deal we had up there just went up in flames with him.” He waved a hand in the general direction of Virgil’s property, from which faint plumes of smoke were still visible over the tree line. “That's not a little setback. That's a fucking sign to walk away while we're still in one piece. You're just too stupid to see it.”
Soup scoffed and glanced across the porch to make sure the others were listening. “You think that Virgil was the end of the trail for us?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a scrap of paper and held it up. “I got a phone number right here for the next stop on the pipeline. I make the call and we are back up and running by nightfall.”
“What are you talking about?” Brenden eyed him suspiciously.
“What? You thought you were the only one with your hooks into the old pervert? He knew you weren't in it for the long haul. He knew you'd eventually run out of sack and close up shop, pay off your little farm and play green acres with the Jew doctor. So he gave me this little insurance policy in case anything ever happened to him.” Soup waved the paper scrap under Brenden's nose before pocketing it.
Brenden shook his head slowly. “You have no idea what you're getting into, Soup. Those guys will chew you up and spit you out. Besides, how do we know it wasn't them who torched the pervert's house? Maybe just tying up loose ends or something. We could be part of those loose ends, too. That thought ever cross your mind?”
“How do I know you didn't torch it yourself?” Soup countered, but with less conviction than before. Possession of the phone number insured the security of his livelihood, but in no way did it prevent Brenden from beating him to a pulp.
“I'm going to forget you even said that,” Brenden said through clenched teeth as he backed Soup up against the front door. “But if you ever so much as breathe that stupid idea again, so help me God, I will cut out your tongue.”
Soup did not have to respond to let Brenden know that his short lived power play was all but over. He did his best to make eye contact and look tough, but he was afraid and they both knew it. For all he knew Brenden was right. Making a call to the phone number that Virgil had given him over two years ago could very well get them all in over their heads with the big boys. Or worse yet, he could be leading them like lambs to the slaughter. He had no idea who snuffed the old pervert. It could have been Brenden but he doubted it. There was no gain and too much to lose for any of them to make a play like that, especially Brenden.
“Yeah, I got it,” Soup said softly. He became painfully aware that the others were listening closely, hanging on every word. He puffed out his chest for their benefit and added, “Now get out of my face.”
A vehicle pulled in behind his Impala. Brenden had his back to the driveway and Soup was not about to concede his position in the stare down, so neither of them paid it much attention. They also failed to notice the nervous shuffling from the others as two car doors slammed in succession. It was Chris who ended the standoff with a tremble in his voice. “Uh, guys, we have company.”
“Well, boys. What do we have here? A domestic disturbance or a lover's spat?” Tassler said as he walked across the yard with a swagger that only a cop could possess. He had one hand resting on the butt of his service revolver and the other wrapped around the cord of his radio mike.
“What do you want, Tassler?” Brenden asked with an irritated tone in his voice. He expected a visit sooner or later, considering the events that happened the day before. The fact that they were coming so soon meant that they probably found nothing in Virgil's house to connect them to him. They were simply here to break his balls for a while.
“I'm here to talk to your old man. He around?” Butch stepped onto the porch and peered through the screen door. He reeked like he had spent the morning huddled around a campfire. Another odor, one slightly less evident, came from him as well. Brenden was pretty sure that it was not the smell of roasted marshmallows.
“He's out back. Why? What do you want with my Dad?” Brenden asked, stealing a worried look in Kori's direction. Kori stood up from his seat and moved closer to the conversation. Six years of not giving a shit one way or the other about his father dissolved at the mere thought of this psycho cop questioning his old man.
“I'll ask the questions, dipshit. Not you,” Butch snarled. “Now go get him!”
Dale stepped in between the two before things got out of hand. He did it less out of civic duty and more just because he knew Tassler wanted it to end badly. His partner had been in a foul mood ever since they had arrived the on scene at the fire the previous night. He knew Butch was itching to take out his frustrations on the first person that crossed him. He was not about to let it happen here. “Your Dad's truck was spotted at the Semler place a couple of days ago. We just need to ask him a few questions, Bren. That's all.”
“I was in our Dad's truck at Virgil's the other day. If anyone should be answering your questions, it should be me,” Kori interrupted. He surprised even himself by speaking up. Did he really just offer himself up to the police? After all the crap that he had done in the last few weeks, the word GUILTY might as well have been tattooed on his forehead. He didn't crack under questioning back in Des Moines, but that was just after getting caught skimming pet meds from his boss. Would he be able to bottle up the guilt of strong armed robbery, felony possession and possibly attempted murder with a bong under pressure?
And did that cop just call his brother, Bren?
“Oh yeah?” Tassler turned to him and sneered. He eyed Kori up and down the way Virgil did when he had first met him. Only it was not so much a homosexual lust thing like Virgil. It was more of an intimidating prison sex, I could rape you if I wanted to, sort of way. “Was it business or pleasure, mama's boy?”
Kori did not know if the term was meant as a personal attack or just redneck ignorance. God knows that Soup and Chris had repeated the same thing with the most derogatory of intentions. Normally it would have gotten under his skin, but he forced himself to maintain his composure. “Business. Virgil paid me to shop for his groceries. Paid me forty bucks for my trouble. See?” He pulled two twenties from his front pocket and showed them. It was the change he received from a hundred for filling up Todd's tank and buying dinner on the way back from Des Moines.
Dale told him to put his money away and asked him a few questions. None of them were very pointed and revealed nothing incriminating. He asked Butch if he was satisfied and was answered with a grunt and a dismissing gesture. After watching Butch stalk back to the patrol car in a huff, he could
not help but to crack a smile. He looked at Brenden and stuck out his hand. “Long time no see, Woodson. How have you been?”
Brenden shook his hand with the fervor one reserved for long lost friends. It was not until Kori read the nameplate pinned above the deputy’s breast pocket that he recognized him. Dale Scheck and Brenden were teammates and best friends in high school, at least during the years that Kori spent in Cedar Ridge. They were both state champion wrestlers in their senior year, the first and last time that Cameron High had produced champions in two weight classes in a single season.
“Doing good, Scheck. How about yourself?” Brenden asked. He held onto the deputy’s hand and sized him up, a habit that he had developed over the past few years. Earning a living through means of violent acts had a funny way of changing a guy's perception of other men.
“Oh, I can't complain. The job's not bad, but my partner is a bit of a prick,” Dale replied.
This got a chuckle from everyone. Even Little Chris, who hated cops more than personal hygiene, let out a nervous giggle. He glanced at the cruiser out of the corner of his eye and was met with a look of hate laden disgust coming from Tassler. He quickly looked down, suddenly finding his shoes very interesting.
“You don't have to tell us,” Brenden concurred.
“How's the leg?” Dale asked, hoping to disguise the question as concern rather than direct questioning from an officer of the law. “I never heard how that turned out after I left for St. Ambrose. Better, I hope.”
“The leg?” Brenden appeared a little perplexed by the question for a second. “Oh that. I'm not running any marathons but it's okay. I never had to have the surgery. I don't know if you were here when they decided that or not.”
“No, I never knew.” Part of Dale regretted bringing the painful subject up. The injury had cost Brenden a full ride to Iowa and a chance to wrestle under some of the most elite coaches in the country. He considered himself a good wrestler but Brenden was phenomenal, a natural technician on the mat. He nodded back to the patrol car and made his excuse to leave. “Nice seeing you again, man. We'll have to have a beer some time.”
Dimebag Bandits Page 13
