by Mark Tufo
Brenda came by his desk and set a cup of fresh coffee on it for him. “Ask Jeff.”
“Why?”
“He pulled a Starsky and Hutch across it earlier.” She shot him a grin as she stepped back into her work station and pulled the half door closed behind her.
“Great. Now I can’t find anything.” He dug through the upended items that had been scattered about on his desktop. He looked up and motioned for Denise to escort Casper over.
“Why’d you have him brought back over?” She cuffed him to the bar beside the desk with a perturbed look and Jon didn’t blame her.
“It’s a long story, but he’s about to explain it.” He turned back to Casper, “Okay, as you were saying over at lockup…”
Casper stared at Jon absently. “What?”
“What, what? You were saying over at the lockup…about digging up the graveyard. I need you to repeat it and give me details.”
“Oh. That.” Casper seemed to be in La-La Land and out of touch with reality.
Jon snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Hey! Wineguard! Over here. Tell me again about the graveyard!”
“What about it?” Casper asked. “We shouldn’t have dug it up. That’s why Roger’s dead now, ya know.” Jon heard Denise gasp and pull up a chair beside them.
“Casper, you and Roger were the ones that dug up the graveyard?”
Casper turned his bloodshot eyes on her and gave her a sad smile. “Yeah, and now Roger’s dead ‘cuz of it. Popped him like a dadgum water balloon it did. Just floated in there and then squished him like a dog tick.” Denise saw the tears welling in Casper’s eyes.
“Stay with me now Casper, I need you to tell me everything, okay? This is really important,” she coaxed.
“He popped just like one of them big grey dog ticks that fall off a hound when it’s full of blood and you accidentally step on it…ya know what I’m talking about? Just >pop< and splatter and…goodbye Rog,” he moaned.
Jon snapped his fingers in front of Casper’s face again. “Stay with us, Casper! We need details of the grave robbing.”
Casper turned to him and tilted his head as if he wasn’t sure exactly what he was looking at. “What details? We just dug em up. We dug em up, stripped anything worth taking and took it.” Casper laughed a forlorn laugh, spittle and tears running down his face. “You do realize that I’m fixin’ to be next, dontcha?” The tears were flowing freely now.
“Not if we have anything to say about it. That’s why we need to know everything!”
Casper’s head was lolling about on his shoulders as he began to weep. Jon reached over and grasped his shoulders. “Get a hold of yourself, dammit! We don’t have time for this.” Jon slapped Casper across the cheek and Denise came out of her chair to pull him away.
“I don’t fucking think so!” She pulled him back and had a finger in the younger officer’s face. “Never lay a hand on a prisoner while he’s in custody!”
Jon’s face was stoic, but his chest was heaving. “We don’t have time for him to lose it. We damn sure don’t have time for him to withhold information and get himself turned into hamburger like Culley did. We need to know what he knows and we need to know it now.”
Eckerson stepped between the two. “What the hell is going on over here? And why is this prisoner back here?”
Denise was about to lose it on the rookie, so she turned to Jeff. “You need to control your pup. If he lays another hand on one of my prisoners, I’ll put him in chains myself.”
Before Jon could possibly say something that he may one day regret, Jeff pulled him aside. “What’s going on?”
Jon took a deep, cleansing breath and indicated Casper. “He and Culley were the ones to dig up the graves at Little Hope. They’re the grave robbers.”
Jeff looked as if someone knocked the wind out of his sails. “Are you serious?”
“Yeah, except he’s starting to lose his marbles now that his partner in crime got turned into hamburger. So, I…sort of…smacked him to bring him around.”
Jeff rolled his eyes. “As much as they may need it, you never—”
“I know!” Jon exclaimed. “I know, okay, I know. Rookie mistake, but we need answers yesterday. Hell, we need answers last week, before the bodies started piling up.”
Eckerson patted the rookie’s shoulder. “Trust me, I understand. You go and apologize to Denise.” Before Jon could argue with him, he added, “Trust me, you do not want that woman on your bad side. She’s a good investigator and you’re going to want to stay in her good graces. Meanwhile, I’ll go and talk to Casper. I just can’t believe that during that whole bullshit story that his partner gave me earlier, he never once mentioned digging up graves.”
Jon sighed and nodded. “Fine. I’ll go kiss her ass.”
“No. You’ll go apologize and make nice. She’s probably forgotten more about police work than you’ll ever know.”
“Yes, dad,” Jon said mockingly.
Eckerson settled in next to Casper. “Okay Mr. Wineguard. Time for you and me to have a heart-to-heart.”
“I’m as good as dead,” Casper whined.
“Then maybe it’s time you gave your confession, don’t you think?” Casper suddenly sobered and stared at him. Jeff smiled as he slid in closer to the thin man. “Confession is good for the soul, Casper.”
Casper seemed to think about that statement a moment then nodded. “Yes, it is, isn’t it?”
“It is. So, tell me about the grave robbings…”
30
The sun was just beginning to rise as Stan Ingram and Jerrod Miller finished compiling the last of their faked receipts. Stan made sure to take a handful of them and crumple them up, fray the edges on a few, and even rubbed some against the edges of the questioned items in hopes that the patina might leave markings on the papers. Some receipts were simply folded and shoved into the file folder, others were shoved back into envelopes that Stan had.
To cover the bulk of the items, Stan went out on a limb and made out a hand-written receipt as part of a trade for the Candy Apple Pump Station. In it he claimed that he was trading the better parts of his collection of Old West memorabilia. Although he didn’t know the true legal ramifications, he figured he could always argue that Jerrod must have traded them off for these other pieces, and he had no idea of their true origins.
The two men sat in Miller’s study and yawned as the eastern sky began to draw lighter. “I better get back to the house.” Stan stood on shaky legs. “I’m pooped.”
“I appreciate what you’ve done.” Jerrod extended his hand.
“I would say ‘any time’, but…” Stan smiled at him.
Miller shot him a cheesy grin. “I’d offer you a cup of coffee, but it might not be the smartest thing to be here if the cops come rolling up here wanting to go through my things and you’re still here.”
“Agreed.” Stan turned to go. He paused and turned back, “Still, Jerrod, it might not be a bad idea to put the items in question at the storage unit. Just until this blows over.”
Miller shook his head. “Then it would look as if the drug heads were telling the truth. At least this way, I can argue that they’re just making it all up to get at me.” He picked up the .45s and trinkets that Stan had brought with him. “If they insist on seizing anything, I’ll offer up the ones you brought me.”
Stan nodded and made his way for the door. “Okay, bud. If you’re willing to risk it.”
“Oh trust me, I’ll cooperate. Like you said before, I’m a pillar of the community. Why wouldn’t I cooperate with a police investigation?”
Stan shook his head as he let himself out.
Jerrod plopped back down into his leather chair and looked at the rusted, worn out old cowboy style .45s that Stan had brought him. The actions were frozen, and the cylinders were rusted solid. The barrels were filled with soil and rust, and the only thing that made them recognizable was the outside shell. He shook his head that anybody had allowed them to get
into such shape. He tossed them back on his desk with the dried out leather gun belt and watched rust fall off and litter the desktop.
“What a crying shame.”
With a sigh he got up and his entire body felt heavy. He stepped out of the study and worked his way out toward the main room of his house. He could hear Maria in the kitchen and sighed. He was so tired from the ordeal of the previous night…the idea of even staying awake for breakfast didn’t appeal to him. He stumbled off to the kitchen and stuck his head into the door.
“Maria, you can skip breakfast for me. I had a late night and I’m going to bed.”
She turned to address him and froze. “Mr. Miller, what happened to your face?”
He looked at her funny, then remembered the attack. “Oh, I got…um. A man attacked me last night. It looks far worse than it feels, I assure you.”
“Let me get some ice for you—”
“No. That won’t be necessary. I’ll just take some aspirin and…sleep. That’s what I need more than anything. Thank you.” He backed out of the kitchen and made his way to the bedroom where he promptly collapsed in bed.
Maria stood in the kitchen and stared after him. She debated…continue to prepare a meal or…perhaps take a quick nap herself? Her body was still aching and tired from the previous night, yet…
She looked back at the kitchen and made her decision. She broke out the large crockpot and put on a meal that could slow simmer all day. At least that way when Mr. Miller woke later, he’d smell it cooking and think that she had been doing things while he was asleep and she could still catch a nap with a much smaller risk of getting into trouble. She threw together one of her simpler, yet more flavorful roast recipes then slipped back to her room.
*****
Chris Anthony awoke suddenly and all but leapt from the bed he was laying on. “NO!” he screamed as he threw one arm up in a defensive manner and a punch with the other.
Bobby was there in an instant, grabbing his arms and trying to soothe him back onto the bed. “Easy there, buddy. Let’s lay back down.”
“Bobby?” Chris asked, blinking away the sweat from his eyes. “What the hell, man?”
“Hey, you’re back with me. That was fast.”
“Thirsty,” Chris croaked through chapped lips.
“I imagine so, brother.” Bobby reached for a bottle of water. “You’ve been feverish.” He held the water bottle up to his mouth and Chris sipped the water greedily. “Feels like it may have broken though.”
“Feel like shit,” Anthony said when Bobby pulled the water away.
“Yeah, I imagine you would. Most people do after they’ve been stabbed.”
Chris lay back down and exhaled hard. “Oh, yeah, I remember now. The little meth head.”
“Yeah, the little meth head. Well, I may have some good news for you on that one.”
Chris turned his head and stared at him questioningly.
“Scanner report had him going to the sheriff’s office last night. Sounds like after he stabbed you, he got hisself arrested.”
Chris smiled and chuckled a bit, bringing a hand up to hold his stomach. “Feel nauseous.”
“Yeah, well, I ended up giving you more morphine so…that’s to be expected. You’re coming off of it.” Bobby pulled the blanket back up and covered him. “But, there’s even more news. Are you ready for this?”
“Hit me.”
“He and some other dude got put in the pokey and one of them, not sure which yet, got killed last night.” Bridger smiled at Chris.
Chris nodded. “I’m not that fortunate. Besides, until I see the little bastard’s corpse for myself, I ain’t believing it.”
“Suit yourself.” Bobby turned and hopped up on his roll-away chair.
Chris pulled himself up and started to get off the bed. “I need to get out of here.”
“What? Are you nuts? You’ll pull your stitches out.”
“I need to go…” Chris tried to stand up and the pain shot through his legs, causing them to buckle. Bobby caught him and set him back on the edge of the bed.
“You’re not going anywhere for a while, buddy.” Bridger pulled his buddy back to the mattress and laid him down. “You’ve been fucked up.”
Chris lay on the mattress breathing hard and stared at his friend. “You don’t understand. I gotta drop this cockroach.”
“No, I understand that. I really do. But you aren’t battle ready.”
“So make me battle ready,” Chris pleaded.
Bobby snorted. “That would take an act of God, brother.”
Chris collapsed on himself with defeat. “I have to kill him,” he sighed as his eyes began to droop. “The plan depends on it…”
Bobby rolled closer and studied his friend’s face. “What plan?” He patted Chris’ face and repeated himself, “What plan?” But Anthony had passed out again, either from the pain, blood loss or the remnants of the drugs, he was back in the land of the sandman.
Bobby Bridger sighed and stared at his buddy. He got this uneasy feeling that all of his past debts were about to be called in. And whoever this human cockroach was that had stabbed his buddy pissed him off, and that was going to demand that Bobby Bridger pick up the gauntlet and finish the job.
*****
Amber stepped into the sheriff’s office and it was immediately apparent that something was ‘off’ about her. Her eyes held a distant look and her otherwise smiling and happy personality seemed cold and distant. She went through the motions of relieving Brenda and assumed her position at the dispatcher’s station with detached efficiency. Even Brenda noticed something was off, and when she asked her if she was alright, all Amber would do was stare at her blankly. Brenda quickly gathered her things and left, ready to call her shift over, but things didn’t quite sit right with her as she walked out.
Amber went through the motions that morning, feeling out of sorts. The nightmares of the previous night were unlike any she had ever experienced and the worst part was, when she had woke up this morning, the things she had dreamt the night before…there was evidence in her home that they weren’t a dream.
She only had vague recollections of most of it, but she remembered the red glowing eyes, trying to run from them and the voice whispering in her ears. She remembered the dirt and sand blowing throughout her house, and when she woke up this morning, parts of her house were tossed about as though there had been a struggle. The house had a fine coating of dust and sand in her bedroom, living room, and kitchen. The clothes that she was wearing in her nightmare were scattered on her bedroom floor as if she had really dressed in them. And why did she feel like she had run a marathon? She was so tired…and the bruises! Bruises on her arms and legs that had no business being there.
Amber felt physically, emotionally and, yes, even spiritually exhausted. She was completely drained of all energy, as if something had shoved a hose down her throat and siphoned off her chi in the middle of the night. She had made a double dose of extra caffeine green tea that morning before coming in, but even that did little to perk her up. She just felt as if something had been…taken from inside of her, and she couldn’t put her finger on it.
She went through the motions of her job like a zombie, acting and reacting with her mind elsewhere, all the while, that little nagging feeling pulling at her that something was terribly wrong.
Ben Gregory approached her from behind and rapped on the bullet-proof glass separating her from the civilian side. “Hey, I’m going for doughnuts. Want anything?”
She stared at him a moment, her mind not really registering what he was saying. Finally she processed what he had said. “Whole wheat bagel please.” She managed to squeeze out a smile, even if it was a rather lame one.
He gave her a puzzled look, but nodded anyway. “Okay. I can do that.”
He turned and headed out. It was only then that she noticed the group of civilians sitting in the corner of the bullpen with Zimmer and Eckerson working on computers. Foo and Burress were
off to one side talking and a prisoner was speaking with that Texas Ranger. The pieces were all there, but her mind wasn’t making the connections. Amber shook it all off and stepped out to get a cup of coffee…something she hadn’t consumed in nearly seven years of working there.
Scott chose that particular time to walk through the bullpen. “Morning.” He paused and shot a puzzled look at the group in the corner. “Any idea what’s going on with the night shift? Or why the hell they’re still here?” he asked Amber.
She simply glanced toward the corner and shook her head, sipping her coffee as she walked away from the coffee mess. “Hey? You’re drinking coffee?” Scott asked. “Wow, miracles never cease. Tie on a bender last night or something?” he joked, knowing she’d rather cut off her arm than touch a drop of alcohol.
She just muttered, “Or something.” She made her way back to her station.
Scott paused and watched her a moment, then turned back to the group at the table. “What the hell’s going on this morning?” He poured himself a huge mug of go-juice and approached the table.
“These readings can’t be right,” Calvin said for the fourth time. “Your man had to have done something wrong.”
“I was there, Cal. He didn’t do anything wrong,” Ginger said. “I set it up and all he did was punch the buttons and walk into the cell block.”
“So why can’t they be right?” Eckerson asked again for the third time.
“They’re skewed,” Calvin said. “They have to be.”
“How so?” Justin asked.
“They just have to be.” Calvin pushed the machine away with an exasperated expression and sighed. “At least we have the prior data sets.”
“Boss, I’m telling you, it’s right,” Ginger said.
“I still want to know what’s wrong with it,” Jeff insisted.
“What’s going on here?” Scott asked.
All eyes turned to him and both Eckerson and Zimmer paled. Calvin and Ginger looked to the two deputies and didn’t like the expressions they had. Justin stood up and tried to make introductions. “Sheriff Evans, this is Dr. Calvin Whynot and Ginger Lynch from UCLA. They had some…data to share with us.”
