Rollover

by Susan Slater

  Crazy? Yes, but in a strange way, it felt right. Think. He knew he was close, on the right track, anyway. The three safe deposit boxes that hadn’t been in use, still locked without pasted-on identifying patron numbers—that was a place to start! Had anyone even thought to open them? Dust for prints? He doubted it. He’d bet they’d just been ignored—assumed to not be a part of the investigation. For the first time he felt he had a legitimate lead.

  The minimum of six months’ work of tunneling was just a little too much work. For nothing. Put the whole scenario outside the realm of normal. Whatever it was, it was big. And the necklace? He wasn’t sure how it fit in. Had it really been misplaced? If he didn’t know the players, he’d say it smacked of opportunism. Take advantage of what looked like a robbery and claim a loss. The necklace didn’t have to be related to what happened at the bank but wasn’t it a little odd that Penny only found it now—hadn’t torn up the house looking for it before on the offhand chance Mom had forgotten a hiding place?…But why? Why not just continue with the claim and get the entire five hundred thousand? Was it found to get rid of him? He’d been the monkey wrench in the works all along. It wasn’t surprising that somebody hadn’t wanted him to show up. It’s not what you think. How true! Shouldn’t he be looking at Gert or Penny? Both, maybe, or Lawrence Woods?

  It was tough to shut his mind down but sometime before dawn he drifted into dreamless sleep. Tomorrow just might be the start of the end to all this. Even on a Saturday he thought he could get Woods to open the vault—the vault that might hold some answers because he’d be looking for something no one else had—evidence that something had been put in, not taken out. It still sounded bizarre. Would anyone believe him?

  ***

  He’d expected a call from Stephanie but not at 5:43 am and not with her crying and screaming, hysterically trying to tell him something about bank president Woods. Dan dropped his cell once before sitting up and swinging both legs over the edge of the bed.

  “Stephanie, take a deep breath. Easy…that’s it.” He waited until the sobs quieted to hiccoughs. “Now, tell me what’s happened.”

  “I’m at the bank. I came in early to catch up on bookwork…Oh, Mr. Mahoney…he’s dead. I opened the door and there he was swinging in the air…from the antique chandelier.”

  “Stephanie, I’m on my way. Call the sheriff, a doctor, and emergency services. And it might be best if you step back outside.” Dan had the cell tucked between chin and shoulder and was already pulling on jeans. “Try to stay calm. I know this is a terrible shock. I’ll be there in five minutes.”

  In fact it was more like three minutes when he jogged down the middle of Nolan Street and up the sidewalk to where Stephanie stood.

  She was shaking and pale, just on the edge of shock and chattering teeth but still clutching the cell phone. She managed to point over her shoulder.

  Dan didn’t go inside but looked through the door’s glass partition. The less touched at the scene, the better. And it was apparent that Lawrence Woods had been dead for a while. Bluish swelling already appeared around the edge of the rope, puffing up his neck under his ears. His first thought was to marvel at the strength of the chandelier. Must be anchored to a main cross beam. The twisted cable that held it in place looked substantial—overkill for a mere lighting fixture. They didn’t build things like they used to.

  Was the dead bank president prominently on display in the foyer of his bank some kind of message? Was Woods making a statement? Dan sat down on the curb, motioned Stephanie to join him, and put an arm around her shoulders.

  “I’m sorry you had to find this.”

  Snuffling, and a nod. “The local police should be here any minute but it’ll take the EMT guys a while.”

  It took almost an hour but finally the little group on the curb had enlarged to include several early-rising curious neighbors, the sheriff, the emergency crew with the ambulance, and the coroner. Dan introduced himself, told the sheriff and the coroner what he knew, then followed the group to the door of the bank but stayed outside.

  Dan instantly liked the coroner. As a rule and by lot, they all weren’t the type you wanted to be buds with, but Clayton Asher was a winner. Droll, nothing in-your-face lewd or sickeningly in bad taste, and with a seeming respect for the human being. Dead or alive.

  “You want to step over here?” Clayton looked up from kneeling on the floor next to the body. He was putting instruments back in a black bag and peeling off latex gloves. “I’d like to give you a heads-up before I have the guys give Mr. Woods a ride to town.”

  Probably talking to the sheriff, Dan thought but he walked in that direction anyway.

  “Looks pretty cut and dried to me. Suicide’s always hardest on the family. I’ll get a list of next-of-kin from Stephanie.” Sheriff Howard looked over the coroner’s shoulder.

  “Appearances can be deceiving. I won’t have any final word until I do some testing but a preliminary exam suggests the hyoid is broken.”

  “The what?” Sheriff Howard was now leaning over the body.

  “Bone in the throat. When it’s broken, it usually suggests that it was done manually—result of a scuffle or pressure applied from behind—leaving all the rest of this as a cover-up. The killer doesn’t realize all this is wasted effort.”

  As if on cue, all three of them glanced upward. One end of a three-quarter-inch, tight knit cotton rope—the kind used for leading horses—dangled from the ornate brass fixture. “Plus the chair here.” Clayton pointed to a wooden high-backed chair on its side about three feet away. “Cane seat’s busted out along the back. The lab boys can determine if that’s a new or old break. My guess is new. I’ll even go so far as to say there were two people on that chair—one dead, one alive.”

  Dan heard the sheriff suck in his breath and quickly exhale. Disgust? Certainly disappointment. Suicide had just turned into murder and a heck of a lot more work. He felt sorry for him. And maybe just a little sorry for himself. Dan thought Lawrence might have had some answers and this probably proved that Dan’s suspicions had been right. He turned to go. This was not the time to get someone to let him into the safe deposit vault. That would have to wait.

  “Mr. Mahoney?” The sheriff was walking toward him, “If I could have a minute?”

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’d be more comfortable in my cruiser…more private. I’m right outside the door.”

  Dan looked at the sheriff but he averted his eyes…Uh-oh. Not good. He followed the man to his car. Sheriff Howard took his time settling behind the wheel before turning toward Dan.

  “I don’t know why I didn’t put two an’ two together before this but when I tried to leave a message for you at the hospital a couple weeks ago, the doc said he’d pass it on. I think he said your fiancée.” Dan nodded. “I believe the name was Elaine Linden.” Again, Dan nodded and watched the sheriff lick his lips before continuing, “I think this Ms. Linden got herself in some trouble last night.”

  “You have the wrong person. Elaine went home. Roswell. She won’t be back to Wagon Mound before this evening—probably won’t be leaving Roswell before noon today.” Yet, a flicker of dread sparked somewhere deep within.

  “Look, I usually push this off on the women—”

  “Push what off ? What’s happened? Accident?” The dread now raced full blown up his spine threatening to paralyze his brain. “Tell me. Just spit it out.” He was fast losing patience with the man beside him.

  “Here’s what we know. A late model Mercedes Benz was found on the shoulder of Highway120 about five miles west of Wagon Mound city limits at a little after six last night—”

  “Last night? That’s twelve hours ago.”

  “As I said, I didn’t make the connection until now. If I remember correctly, y’all were driving a Cherokee. The plates on the Mercedes were gone and we traced it through the VIN. Up until then
we didn’t have a name. And that info sent us to Roswell.”

  “Did she have mechanical difficulties? A flat tire?” No, she would have called him. This wasn’t making sense.

  “Won’t know that. The car was pretty well burned—”

  “Burned?” Now his mouth was dry and his hands felt like ice.

  “Listen, this is why I’m retiring the end of this year. I can’t take this shit any more. The car was burned and there was a woman’s body on the front seat—”

  “What are you telling me? Where’s Elaine?” He hadn’t meant to shout.

  “Calm down, man. Forensics hasn’t had a go at this yet. I didn’t bother Clay at home last night—time we got the car towed and the…body…to the morgue, it was almost midnight. Now this.” A wave of his hand took in the bank. “Look. I’m sorry. Real sorry. I don’t have the right words. And I sure as hell don’t have the answers. Plus, I don’t have the manpower to go in six directions—there’s pretty much only me out here.”

  Dan turned away, tried to steady his breathing, and glanced out the window. Doing whatever you shouldn’t do to the messenger came to mind and he vowed to give the sheriff a break. And he reminded himself that there was no definitive information…not yet anyway. He watched Clay follow the gurney holding Lawrence Woods to the ambulance. Two EMTs snapped the legs flat, scooted the gurney forward, and the coroner climbed in before the driver slammed the doors shut. With lights flashing, the ambulance took off.

  “Do you have a number for the morgue? I’m going to ask Clay to wait for me. I need to get some firsthand information—you know, just make certain….” Dan shrugged his shoulders and gave up trying to look strong.

  “Good idea. I’ll call him. Come on, I’ll give you a ride home.”

  ***

  He was numb. He couldn’t put two coherent thoughts together—it wasn’t Elaine. That’s all he could think of. It wasn’t Elaine. Once again, he tried her cell but snapped his phone shut the minute her voice-mail came on.

  Action, he had to do something, prove something…but how? And what?

  He couldn’t allow himself to think, even allow a “what if” to push its way in.

  Or he’d lose it. He had to have hope until he knew beyond a doubt. He was flying toward the edge of a cliff with nothing to slow him down.

  He grabbed his billfold and car keys and let Simon out. The dog rushed to the Cherokee and waited not too patiently by the passenger-side door until Dan opened it.

  “Hey, in the back.” Simon quickly obeyed.

  The ride was uneventful. Fast, but there was no one patrolling at that hour of the morning. Seven on a Saturday morning, and Las Vegas was just waking up. Like a robot he maneuvered the car through town. Left turn, right turn, a couple stops and he turned into the parking lot. Before him the low squat, block, building looked forlorn. There was one lone pickup which was probably Clayton’s. Dan pulled in beside it, left windows down a few inches and admonished Simon to “be good.”

  The front door of the building was open and he stepped inside. “Anyone here?”

  A yell from the back, and Dan was on his way down a long hall eerily lit by flickering fluorescents. Tight budget, Dan guessed. The building could use a little paint. Another shout of “back here,” and he quickly walked to the last door on his left. The spotless room fairly gleamed with shiny metal tables, refrigerated storage units, sinks and pull-down track lighting—somebody was putting the County’s money in the right places. Clayton was waiting just inside the door.

  “Sheriff Howard filled me in. I’m sorry. I hope I can be of help.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate you meeting me.”

  “There’s probably no reason to view the body…I’ve uploaded a series of pictures I took last night. We can view those online. Have you seen burn victims before?”

  Dan shook his head. He’d investigated countless fires—damaged houses, belongings, but never a human being destroyed by fire. “I think I need to see…there might be something…some clue that in the flesh—”

  “There’s not much of that. I just want to warn you. You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “The body’s in a fridge. I’ll get it.” Clayton walked through double-doors at the back of the room.

  Dan held the doors open as Clayton returned pushing the unwieldy gurney into the room. Clayton maneuvered it into position directly under the overhead lights and snapped the wheel-locks into position. Clayton looked at him once. Checking for a sign—a last chance to back out?

  “I’ll tell you what I know. Let me get my notes.” Clayton walked back to his desk, returned with reading glasses and notebook, put both on a side cabinet and began unzipping the body bag.

  Dan felt wooden. Visions of Elaine laughing, hugging Simon, leaning out the car window to kiss him good-bye—he couldn’t stop them. Was he prepared to see a human body melted like a candle? Flesh peeled back, nose gone—he turned away.

  “You OK? Let me get you a chair.”

  “No, go ahead. I’d rather stand.”

  Another one of those “you can back out if you want to” glances and Clay stepped away from the table. “I’ll just give you a rundown of the preliminaries. Stop me whenever for more detail. And if we need to reference the body, we can.” He cleared his throat. “Female Caucasian, dark hair, five feet nine or ten, undetermined age—”

  “Ballpark guess?”

  “Tough to be exact. There was nothing even extraneous to give us a clue, no clothing, no—”

  “Wait. She was naked?”

  “No evidence of clothing burned or otherwise. Cause of death was most likely smoke inhalation. I’m not seeing any other obvious life-threatening marks—nothing made by a knife, a bullet…no broken bones. My guess is she was bound from the placement of her feet and hands, and a melted nylon residue in close proximity to the extremities—not unlike clothesline.”

  “Whoa. Naked, hands bound…what the hell? She was alive when she was placed in the car?”

  “Pretty sure of it.”

  “Makes it sound like she was removed—taken from the car and then returned.”

  Unbelievable. Dan’s brain was reeling. This was sickening. What kind of monsters were they dealing with? What could be a reason to commit such a heinous crime? Burn a body? But why would Elaine have stopped in the first place? Gone somewhere with her killers? Did she know these people? Or person?

  “Look, I know this is pretty brutal. Want me to go on?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Let’s see…other bits of info…I’m going to leave out all the measurements; don’t think you’re interested in the length of the right and left femurs.” Clay glanced up and Dan shook his head. “…full dentition, a couple fillings, epoxies, not amalgams, one cap, front left canine or eye tooth.” He looked up, “Otherwise her teeth are in great condition. We’ll know more after a dental workup. And that, most likely, will be our definitive marker when it comes to identification. Let’s see if there’s anything else…” Clay turned several pages of notes, then paused and backtracked a page, “Don’t know if this will be of help but this woman has never given birth—”

  “That’s it. Elaine has a son.” The flood of relief almost buckled his knees.

  “Natural birth?”

  “I…I don’t know.” He felt like the air had been punched out of him. Up, then slammed to earth. “No, wait.” He wasn’t thinking, a C-section would leave a scar. “She doesn’t have an abdominal scar.” He knew he blushed, but they were adults. “Did you see a scar?” He stopped, deflated, “I mean if you could tell.” The impact of “burned beyond recognition” jolted him back to earth.

  “Sorry, don’t think that marker’s available to us anymore. But if you can find out that her son was a natural birth, I think we have something to go on. Pretty definitive stuff, too. Look,” Clayton turned to a computer on his de
sk and brought up a picture—a picture that caused Dan to take a couple of deep breaths. “Here and here…according to the sub-pubic angle and the pelvic inlet, the area would have widened and possibly tilted after bearing a child. There is no indication of any widening. We’ve got a pretty narrow set of hips here.”

  Dan fished his cell out of side pocket and hit the speed-dial number for Carolyn. He knew he’d have to explain later, but for now expediency was everything.

  Carolyn picked up on the third ring. “Don’t ask questions, just answer one.”

  “What’s going—”

  “I mean it. This is important—was Jason’s birth natural? No C-section, right?”

  “Of course not, we did it the old fashioned way. We were in the hospital at the same time. Now, tell me—”

  “Later. And, sis? Thanks.” He snapped the phone shut. The rush of relief almost toppled him. He steadied himself with the edge of the table.

  “Confirmed.”

  “That does it then. I’m gonna go out on a limb and say this isn’t your girl. You know earlier when you asked about age?” Now, he had Dan’s attention. “Without a lot of testing, but relying on experience and a fairly well-developed sixth sense, I’d say our gal here is late teens or early twenties—not someone in her mid-forties.”

  Chapter Twelve

  It’s not Elaine. It’s not Elaine. He couldn’t stop repeating it. He felt light-headed—too much stress, overpowering grief, steeling himself for the worst, then finding out the opposite. Or maybe he was just getting older—couldn’t take the emotional roller coaster. He let Simon out and walked him around the grounds. He knew he’d have to face the fact that just because she wasn’t the body on the table inside didn’t mean that she was okay and not in some equally precarious danger, waiting for him to find her. My God, what had he gotten her—gotten them—into? And what should he do next? Where did he start? Because he would find her. That was a promise. He hustled Simon back into the SUV and headed to Wagon Mound.