“Okay, Sonora, you got that shit-or-go-blind-look, so what’s in your head?”
“Clorox.”
“Say again?”
“There was a bottle of Clorox under the hobby horse in the shed.”
“Hobby horse? What hobby horse?”
“On the left-hand side.”
Sam walked back to the shed, looked inside. “Sawhorse, Sonora.”
“Did you see the Clorox?”
“Yeah. Think he used it to clean the saw?”
“That’s the smell I noticed when we first went inside the cabin. I smelled it in the living room and in the kitchen. And that place under the sink that’s cleared out? I bet that’s where it used to be.”
“Bleach. To clean up.”
“Look at the rest of his stuff.” Sonora pointed to the toolbox. “Everything an oily, dirty mess.”
“Just one notable exception.”
“That vacuum cleaner bag pans out, Sam, we could make half a casebook on that alone.” Sonora sat on the edge of the table, looked out at the lake. The water was blue-green and lazy. “He strangles her in the car, and brings her here, where he gets his private time, undisturbed.”
“Think we can nail the guy with stuff from a box of garbage bags, a clean hacksaw, and one vacuum cleaner bag?”
Sonora gave Sam a lopsided smile. “Caplan could probably pull it off.”
48
There was a kid sitting on the hood of Grey and Dorrie Ainsley’s blue Chrysler. He looked to be about seventeen, but he had the wide-eyed stare of a child. He was eating mandarin oranges out of a can with his fingers. A yellow striped sweat bee darted in and around the lip of the open can.
It landed on his index finger and he did not notice it till he brought it close to his mouth. He screamed, threw down the can, and scooted off the car, bare legs squeaking across the metal.
He began to cry.
“Bees.” He rubbed the back of his legs, which were red from where they’d been sweat-stuck to the hood of the car.
Grey put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Bee’s gone, Vernon. It’s okay now.”
Sam had set the toolbox down, ready to go to the rescue. He picked it up again. They had put the hacksaw back inside, and latched it securely.
Grey lowered his voice. “This is Vernon Masterson. His family has that mobile home we saw on the way up, the double-wide. Vernon, these are the police officers I was telling you about.”
“Hello, Vernon.” Sam extended a hand.
“Go on and shake,” Grey told the boy.
Vernon stuck out his left hand.
“Other one. ’Member how I told you.”
“Other one.” Vernon put the left hand behind his back and extended the right. “Shake?”
He and Sam shook hands. Vernon looked at Sonora. “Shake?”
“Absolutely.”
His hand was sticky with mandarin orange juice. Tears had left tracks in the sweat-reddened cheeks. His white Hanes tee was oversized and his cut-off shorts went to his knees; he wore red flip-flops and there was a dirty Band-Aid on his left big toe.
“You catch bad guys. Grey told me.”
Grey was picking up the mandarin orange can. Vernon held his hand out.
“No, Vernon, I better throw this away. It’s dirty.”
“Mama says I can have as many of the mandarin oranges as I want because of no fat.” He kept his hand out.
“Yeah, but these have been on the ground, Vernon, so they’re dirty.”
“Dirty.”
“That’s right. You wouldn’t want them.”
“No, I wouldn’t want them.”
Sonora thought of her own two children, healthy and bright.
Vernon’s hair was cropped close in a crew cut, and the stubble was blond. He had a heavy case of acne. His eyes were brown and soft-looking, like a deer’s. He smiled at Sonora. That was what was charming about him, she thought. A teenager who smiled.
“You catch criminals, too?” he asked.
“Only the ones that don’t run too fast.”
He grinned and thumped his nose. “I run really fast. Celly says so.” One of his front teeth was crooked. “And Mr. Gage puts criminals in jail.”
Grey secured the lid on a metal garbage can, fitting it snugly over the lip. “Gage and Vernon are big buddies.”
Vernon held his hands wide. “Big buddies. We go fish and do trains. He’s not putting me in no jail because I’m good. If I’m not good, he would have to turn me in because of the job. Even friends.”
“You like to fish?” Sam asked.
Vernon grinned hugely. “I like to get them and then throw them back. I like to see the splash.”
“Well, there you are, Vernon, pestering people again.” A girl came out of the trees, barefooted, smiling.
“Hey, Celly,” Vernon said.
“Hey yourself.”
He went to her like a dog to its master, and gave her a great big hug which she returned with absentminded enthusiasm. What could be seen of her legs was brown and slim, and an ankle bracelet glinted over her left foot. Sonora wondered if Julia Winchell had worn an ankle bracelet to set off the tattoo.
This girl wore a sleeveless jean jumper that hung calf length and looked lightweight and comfortable. Sonora had seen them for sale at The Limited. Her arms were tan and muscular, and she had a scoop-necked baby tee, in a soft powder pink, underneath the jumper. A gold, heart-shaped locket hung around her neck.
Her hair looked freshly washed and shiny—a professionally highlighted light brown. Her toenails were painted a shell-shimmery pink that coordinated with the baby tee. When she got close, Sonora could smell that unisex perfume that they gave out in samples in all the major department stores.
She looked at them all, smiling in an absent, friendly way, then she looked behind them and frowned.
“Gage around?” she asked.
The voice was high and girlish and Sonora revised her estimation of the age. Fifteen or sixteen. She could pass for twenty. She and the boy were no more than a year apart.
Brother and sister, Sonora decided, studying the kids’ faces.
Sweat was beginning to work its way through the girl’s makeup. She looked hopefully at the cabin.
Sonora, watching Celly, realized she had this sort of thing to look forward to in a few years with Heather.
“Gage isn’t here,” Grey said.
“Oh. Well. I mainly came over to make sure Vernon wasn’t pestering nobody.” Celly turned to leave, but Sam stopped her by putting out a hand to shake.
“Detective Delarosa. Cincinnati Police Department.”
Her eyes got large and interested, and as she shook Sam’s hand, her air of disappointment dimmed.
“Celly Masterson.”
Sam clapped a hand on Vernon’s shoulder.
“This is your brother?”
“Yes sir.”
Sonora caught Sam’s look at being relegated with one well-placed “sir” to the legion of the old, and she grinned and tried to catch his eye.
He ignored her. “You know Mr. Caplan?”
Celly nodded, unable to contain the enthusiasm, and the warm look which immediately gave her away.
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
She moved closer to Vernon, arms tight by her side. “Is something wrong?”
Sam smiled at her. “Why would you think that?”
“I don’t know.”
Grey was watching her. Dorrie rolled the car window down, turned off the engine.
Everyone seemed to sigh. Sonora realized how annoying the engine noises had been, now that they were gone. A large bird flew overhead.
“Osprey!” Vernon jumped and pointed.
Everyone looked except Sonora. The tension that had suddenly sprung up began to ease. Dorrie waved at the girl.
“How’s your mama, Celly?”
“She’s fine. Working herself to death.”
“Heard from your dad?”
�
��Nope.”
Only in the South, Sonora thought, would it seem perfectly natural to interrupt a police investigation with neighborly chitchat.
But Dorrie was setting the girl at ease and establishing adult control, so she kept her mouth shut and waited.
Grey folded his arms and leaned back against the car. “You were up, weren’t you, last time Gage and Collie brought Mia down to swim?”
“The cookout? Yeah. When Gage put that barbecue sauce he made up on all the burgers.”
“They was good,” Vernon said. Then he frowned. “Mama said for me not to bother you folks.”
“You’re a buddy, not a bother,” Grey said.
Sonora looked at Celly. “You see him since? I think he was down one night, a couple of weeks ago.” She watched the girl, thinking she might lie.
“If he was here, I didn’t see him.” Frowning. Puzzled.
The girl had acquired a wary look.
“You see him, Vernon?” Sam asked, looking at the boy.
Vernon shook his head. “No sir. But if he come up after dark, I wouldn’t of, ’cause I go to bed every night at nine o’clock. Nine o’clock is later in the winter. In the summer it’s a kid bedtime, ’cause outside it’s still light. But I need to go on to bed because of my medicine routine.” He looked at Sam with apology. “I may be seventeen, but I am still a kid.”
Sam clicked off his recorder.
Celly sighed and tugged Vernon’s T-shirt. “We better get on home. Nice seeing you all.” She glanced at Dorrie. “How is Mrs. Caplan doing? She had that baby yet?”
“Baby hasn’t dropped yet, Celly, so I say we got another six to eight weeks.”
“Tell her I said hey.”
Celly turned away but not before Sonora saw the wistful look that passed across her face. She knew exactly what the girl was thinking—that to be Mrs. Gage Caplan, and pregnant with his child, would be close to heaven on earth.
Not an analogy that came readily to Sonora’s mind.
The boy and girl headed off, Vernon plucking at Celly’s dress and talking nonstop, she not paying any attention. Sonora wondered if her feet hurt, going barefooted like that.
Grey waited till they were out of earshot, then inclined his head toward the toolbox. “Find something?”
Sam grimaced. “Hate to leave you without your toolbox, but—”
“That’s not mine, it’s Gage’s. I don’t give a hoot in hell what you do with it.”
“You identify it for certain as belonging to him?” Sonora had the recorder going, but they’d used it enough with the Ainsleys that it had become nothing more than background.
“Hell, you think I keep my own tools crapped up like that?”
Dorrie leaned out the window. “Grey, simmer down.” She glanced at Sam. “He keeps his tools neat and put away. His mother always told me he never even broke his crayons when he was little. He’s as picky as they come.” She leaned out the window, pushed his hip playfully. “Probably do you good to break a crayon once in a while.”
“I don’t think it’s picky for a man to keep his tools in order.” His shoulders were stiff. “A man who can’t keep his tools in order is a sorry kind of a fella, if you don’t mind me saying.”
Another strike against the son-in-law from hell, Sonora thought.
“His initials are right here.” Grey headed toward the picnic table, pointing. “Spent a fortune on the box, and next to nothing on what’s inside. And everything inside a tangled-up dirty mess. I hate lending him tools, because he never cleans anything up.”
Except for the hacksaw, bleached clean, likely with that bottle of Clorox, Sonora thought. She’d take that along too.
Sonora had been aware of the crunch of gravel beneath tires, and she was just turning to take a look when she heard Grey’s intake of breath, saw Dorrie go white and clutch his arm.
Sam said “son of a bitch” under his breath.
On some subconscious level, she must have known what to expect, because when she turned and saw the red Cherokee Jeep Laredo with Gage Caplan behind the wheel, she did not feel surprised.
49
Gage nosed the Jeep right behind Grey and Dorrie’s Chrysler, blocking them in. He shut the engine off, got out of the car.
He had a big grin, dark sunglasses.
His suit coat had been draped over the headrest on the passenger’s seat up front. His tie was loose, the cuffs on the navy pinstriped shirt rolled back.
“Hello, Mama. Grey.” He walked to the Chrysler, a man in no hurry, leaned down and brushed Dorrie Ainsley’s left cheek with his lips.
Grey stumbled forward to shake his hand.
The Ainsleys looked older, all of a sudden. Beside them, Caplan seemed to reek of strength and robust health.
“Detective Blair … and you must be Delarosa. I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”
Sonora looked at Sam. He had a faint smile on his face.
“Yeah, I’m Delarosa. You’re Caplan, that right?”
They shook hands, like boxers anticipating a grudge match, neither one of them in a hurry.
“Detective Blair, I have to say I’m surprised to find you here.”
“Why do I doubt that, Mr. Caplan?”
“I don’t know, Detective, why do you doubt it?”
She wondered how he’d known. The Ainsleys could have called, but one look at Dorrie’s white face put that one to rest.
Molliter? Was he Caplan’s conduit into the investigation?
Somebody was.
Caplan had a smug smile. “I just came by to see my in-laws.”
“Just happened to be in the area, a four-hour drive from home?”
Caplan shook his head. “If you’d swallow that one, you wouldn’t be much of a cop, now would you, Blair? I’m here to make plans with Dorrie and Grey for a surprise baby shower for my wife. I’m bringing her down in a couple of days, and I thought it would be fun to surprise her.” He smiled at Dorrie. “Isn’t that right, Mama?”
Dorrie swallowed. Looked at Sonora, then back to Caplan. “That’s fine with me.”
“Don’t whisper, Mama. People can’t hear you when you whisper. Grey will have to turn up his hearing aid.”
Grey folded his arms. “I can hear her fine. If you can’t, Gage, that’s your problem.”
Caplan gave him a lazy look, no more than a flick of the eyes. “Detective Blair, I see you’ve collected a few goodies. If I’m not mistaken, that’s my toolbox your partner is holding.”
Sonora saw Sam’s hand move, saw that he’d clicked the tape recorder on.
“Sam, set the toolbox back down on the picnic table there. Let’s let Mr. Caplan make absolutely sure that these are his tools.” Sonora smiled at Caplan. Waved a hand toward the picnic table.
Caplan returned the smile. Patient, waiting. Sonora watched him. Was he making mistakes? Was she making mistakes?
He knew the hacksaw was clean. And he knew Grey and Dorrie would have already identified the toolbox. He had nothing to lose here.
Why was he there? she wondered. It told them immediately that he had an “in” to their investigation. Why show his hand? What did it buy him?
Caplan went to the picnic table, opened the box of tools. “Yes sir, Detective Delarosa, this belongs to me.”
Sam pointed to the hacksaw. “This yours too?”
“Yes sir, it is.” Caplan smiled slowly. “What were you planning to do with my tools, if I may ask? And … is that a vacuum cleaner bag?” He looked over his shoulder at Dorrie. “Late on the spring cleaning this year?”
Sonora cocked her head to one side. “Now don’t tell me, Caplan, the vacuum cleaner bag belongs to you too?”
Caplan looked at his in-laws. “Folks, both of these detectives are out of their jurisdiction. Did they show you any kind of a search warrant? Any paperwork at all?”
Grey was still.
“Folks?” Caplan’s voice had acquired an edge.
Dorrie Ainsley said no, very softly.
“We’ve got permission,” Sonora said. She looked at Dorrie. Back me up, she thought.
Caplan shook his head slowly. “I don’t think so. Not for a minute.”
Sonora watched Dorrie Ainsley. Saw the struggle.
“They already have my permission, Gage.”
Grey sighed softly, looked his son-in-law eye to eye. “We felt sure you would want us to cooperate with the police. You’re kind of on the same side, aren’t you, Gage?”
Caplan gave him a gentle smile. “I’m sure the both of you are doing what you feel you have to do, and whatever happens, happens.” He put his hands in his pockets. “In a way, you know, I admire you, both of you. I always have.”
Caplan’s shoulders sagged, just a little. But Sonora looked into his eyes, and knew that inside, Caplan was smiling.
50
Sonora did not know what had woken her up. In her mind she could hear Dorrie Ainsley, telling her that Collie and Gage would be taking the boat out. She wondered if Collie was a good swimmer. If she wore a life vest out on the lake.
How well did a woman swim when she was seven months pregnant?
Sonora turned onto her side. Decided she could not think until she went to the bathroom, so she did that, then got back in bed, stopping to get her blue quilt out of the closet.
She propped up her pillows, made the bed up, except for the spread, and curled up in the quilt to keep off the chill of the air conditioner.
It often happened this way, a moment of complete mental clarity just as she was waking up, where she was able to look at things practically, unemotionally, objectively. Able to tell if she was denying a problem, or making one out of nothing.
This felt like a problem.
Collie Caplan lived with Gage Caplan every single day. She was alive and well. She had not asked for protection.
Eyeshot Page 19
