Anyway, she was cool and relaxed compared to Mort, she saw as soon as she got inside the newsroom. He was in the throes of revising the speech he was slated to give to the Kiwanis Club at lunch. He didn’t want to repeat exactly what he’d said to the Elks Lodge. But he had not quite mastered the PowerPoint program, and the process of picking some paragraphs out and inserting new pictures and text was giving him fits. He had to blame somebody for his discomfort, and he had settled on Stuart, the only member of his staff still not present.
‘Where the hell is that nephew of yours?’ he yelled as she came in. ‘Why is he late to work on the very morning when I need him most? Damn it all! I can’t give the Kiwanis Club the exact same speech as the Elks Lodge – he knows this. Or he should know it. Some of the same people will be there!’
‘I’m sure he’ll be here any minute,’ Alice said. ‘He’s usually very prompt.’
‘What good is usually? This is today! Do you know how to work this program? I’ve got this picture of the time we won the fast pitch softball tournament …’
‘I’m afraid I don’t,’ she said. ‘Sorry. He’ll be here in plenty of time.’ Sven was hunched over the printer, doing his best to look invisible. Elmer was hiding in the supplies closet, pretending to inventory paper goods. Alice picked up her list of the local contacts who gave her ‘items’ for the social column, and retreated to the far corner of the room, where she’d established a sort of bivouac for herself with a little desk and chair partly hidden behind a bookcase. There was a chance there, sometimes, to hear almost everything her correspondents said, even when Mort was in the room.
As usual, she started with a couple of the churches that seemed to be surprised every week by the approach of another Sunday. She called them early on Monday, and with one or two reminders could usually coax out a schedule by Wednesday. Once she had those first calls made, she tackled the rest of the list alphabetically.
Stuart came in looking cheerful, intent on following up some nibbles he was getting from magazines interested in the fire story. But no, Mort was already yelling, ‘Here you are, finally! Come over here and help me!’
Alice turned her back and dialed the first of her newsfeeds. She got the schedule for Sunday school classes at the Methodist Church, paused to make a note and her phone rang.
Jim Tasker said, ‘Good morning, Alice. What’s all the yelling about?’
‘Oh, it’s not a crisis. Mort’s just excited about a speech he’s giving at noon.’
‘Well, tell him to shut up and listen for a change, because I’ve got some really good news.’
‘Great! Tell me and I’ll use it to turn him off.’
‘We got a match on the dead man’s DNA.’
‘Oh, Jim, honestly? Who—?’
‘Nobody we know, I’m pleased to say. Still kind of a puzzle, actually.’
‘Oh? You mean it’s not a definite match?’
‘No, the match is solid enough but the DNA test data and prints came back with two sets of ID, and so far the lab hasn’t determined which one is right.’
‘Is there picture ID on both records?’
‘Yes. The same picture.’
‘What? How can that be?’
‘This came from the detention center at the border. They say the suspect was carrying both sets of ID. He was picked up on a drug sweep in the hills north of the Nogales port of entry three months ago.’
‘Oh? But then why wasn’t the match made when you put out all the searches at the end of September?’
‘Don’t know yet. The story’s very muddled and it doesn’t say much for our border security that day. I just got this notification by phone but they’re faxing it all to me now so … is your machine turned on? I’ll forward this to you as soon as I have it all.’
‘Really? Are we allowed to have it?’
‘Yes. It’s all come down to a search for identity now so the Feds want as many people as possible to look at this picture.’
‘Was the suspect transferred to another jurisdiction or …?’
‘No, unfortunately this suspect escaped from custody during transport to the border patrol station. I guess that’s why we didn’t get a match sooner. The prisoner got away but they held onto the records he was carrying. Sounds like they put the file in a drawer awaiting the return of the suspect and they never got him back, so the records just got kind of … buried for a while, till a new office manager decided to clean house. I began to get kind of a “Do Not Pass Go” message from the explainer at that point and decided to back off for now, and try to keep the channel open in case some more info surfaces.’
‘We’ll look at it right away.’ Alice had been making time-out signals to Mort and Stuart for some time and had finally penetrated the fog of war in their corner.
‘What is it, Alice?’ Mort asked her, frowning.
‘Good news,’ she said. ‘Meet me at the fax machine.’
She ran and turned it on as they started toward her, calling questions across the room. But when they reached the fax machine they were captivated by the data and pictures coming over it, and fell silent.
Mort stood reading, moving his lips. Standing beside him, Alice read, ‘Francisco Ramirez, no middle name or initial. Twenty-seven years old, born in Los Mochis, blah blah blah about school, some jobs … now here comes the alternative identity, with an American passport and an Arizona driver’s license. John D. “Jack” Anderson. Born May 22, 1990, in Show Low, Arizona. The blood for the DNA match was drawn in Nogales. The Mexican ID has prints attached but no DNA record.’
‘And the same picture’s on both records,’ Stuart said. ‘Gee, do you suppose we could be looking at a forgery?’
‘Hey, this is marvelous,’ Mort said. ‘What do you think, Stuart – shall we work this into the PowerPoint? How often do they get late-breaking news at these clubby snoozers, huh?’
‘Would you believe never?’ Stuart said. ‘But we don’t know if we have the right name yet. So maybe you should tell them the lab’s found a match, and we think we’ll have details by the time the paper comes out. That ought to sell a few extra copies, huh?’
‘Hey, you’re right,’ Mort said. ‘I’ll do it that way.’
‘Well, then, don’t forget we promised an extra to all those out-of-town stores when we got an ID,’ Alice said.
‘Which we can’t be sure of till we get the right name,’ Stuart said. ‘And it’s going to be awkward to explain where that’s been hiding.’
‘Wherever they’ve been hiding, they’re both wrong,’ Judy said on the phone half an hour later. Stuart had forwarded the fax to her, and when he questioned her analysis she came striding into the newsroom waving the printed record, looking like the poster girl for the benefits of outdoor living. ‘This is one of those terrible police photos with the grey drape around the neck, but I’m sure that’s Dooley Davis.’
‘Now wait a minute,’ Stuart said. ‘Dooley Davis, the guy nobody in Bozeman’s ever laid eyes on? Who writes copy for the Savvy Shopper, which doesn’t even exist?’
‘Yup,’ Judy said. ‘That’s the fella.’
‘I can’t stand it,’ Stuart said. He dialed his phone and asked the sheriff, ‘Please can I bring Judy to your office to show you some evidence about this person?’
‘Can’t you do it over the phone?’
‘No. It’s about the picture.’
‘You want it up on the screen?’
‘Please.’
‘I’m going with you,’ Alice said, and nobody argued.
Tasker had the screen set up by the time they got there, and three of his deputies were standing around it. On the screen, a handsome young man with gray eyes gazed out from the police drapery, his case number propped in front of him. He did not look repentant, or dangerous, or even rueful. He looked … cheerful.
‘You still say that’s Dooley Davis?’ Stuart asked her.
‘Yes. Here’s the brochure he gave me the day I took him around the fire. It’s a lot glossier, but
you can see it’s the same man.’
They all stood looking at the picture of an attractive young man in pricey sportswear. His face beamed the bright smile that the first picture suggested he usually wore. The brochure advertised the Savvy Shopper, which in spite of not existing looked radiantly successful.
‘He looks quite pleased with himself,’ Jim Tasker said. ‘Is this how you remember him?’
‘Yes. The fire scared him, but he was being a good sport about it.’
‘Was he pushing?’
‘He didn’t offer me anything. But I think anybody who’s into drugs would know we wouldn’t tolerate that around a fire.’
‘Why did you think he was up there?’
‘I was curious about that for about ten minutes but then, you know … He didn’t cause trouble and I was busy so I forgot about him. He was only there for about three hours. If it hadn’t been for the upmarket tenny-runners I’d have forgotten him, like so many others.’
Alice asked the sheriff, ‘Any returns yet on the other two records?’
‘No. I put in a call to the detention center at BP headquarters in Nogales. Everybody’s out in the field this morning, they say. So I still don’t have their answer to why the same prints and DNA records are attached to two different ID cards.’
‘And Dooley makes three.’
They all did a lot of shrugging, and then Tasker said, ‘I need to keep this brochure a while.’
‘Of course,’ Judy said.
‘We’ll need to make copies, Mac,’ he said, handing it to one of the deputies. ‘And then you all need to get out and start circulating, showing these records to everybody you can find. And Lyle? How’s the digital trace going on the first two IDs?’
‘I started with the five states around us, and I’m extending the spiral as I go,’ Lyle Underwood said. ‘No matches yet.’
‘Send the Dooley Davis information to all the same list. And send the Davis stuff to Bozeman right away, will you? City and county, police and fire, plus Chamber of Commerce – ask the Chamber to canvas all their merchants, too. Somebody must know the guy. He got this pamphlet printed in Bozeman, so he spent some time there. Judy, will you give Lyle any other information you’ve got from this man? Probably mostly false, but usually scammers will put a couple of true things in, along with the whoppers.’
He thanked Stuart and Alice, quite formally, for their help, and they went back to the Guardian. Judy, who had come in her own vehicle, was still standing by Lyle Underwood when they left, flipping through her notes from the day she took Dooley Davis for a walk around the fire.
‘Wow, you know,’ Alice said on the way back, ‘a few minutes ago when I heard about the DNA match, I thought everybody was going to feel so relieved, because we’d finally know who got killed … but now we’ve got another big mystery on top of the first one, haven’t we?’
‘Yup. Mort will be pleased.’
‘I suppose. You think we can publish news of the DNA match, even if the rest of the ID is still messed up?’
‘Well, we might get it straightened out by press time. If not, we’ll have to find out what’s legal. It’s really better for the paper if the information dribbles out, seems to me. Not that I’d ever think about exploiting the entertainment value of the news.’
‘Great Scott, no. Anyone who says so is a dastardly liar.’ As they parked the car and walked into the newsroom, she said, ‘Did you notice how different Lyle Underwood seemed today?’
‘Oh? I guess I don’t really know him. How was he different?’
‘Polite and competent. I’ve never seen him so … pacified.’
‘How is he usually?’
‘Snarky. If he can make you feel stupid, he’ll do it.’
‘Shee. Guess I’ll stay away from him. I’m still confused as to how these duplicate records were obtained. Let’s go look at that fax message again.’
It said, ‘The suspect was apprehended in the foothills north of the Nogales border crossing, accused of buying drugs from a US citizen, who was also arrested and remains in custody awaiting trial. The suspect was carrying duplicate records, which are attached.’ He read the names on the records again: Francisco Ramirez, born in Los Mochis and John D. ‘Jack’ Anderson, born May 22, 1990, in Show Low, Arizona.’ He looked at the ceiling for a minute and added, ‘Of course, he could be carrying these records and still be Dooley Davis of red sneaker fame.’
‘Or none of the above,’ Alice said. ‘And you know what? I’ve got to leave all these mysteries to law enforcement and get back to my calling list, or there won’t be any Clark’s Fort Guardian out this week. Is Mort still at that luncheon?’
‘Yes. And before he gets back I need to get organized – the ads, my God, the ads. And the print shop – yo, Sven, where are we with those McGuinnis wedding invitations?’
He wheeled away from the fax machine, grabbed up his order book, held a short conference in the print shop and loped out. Sven had told him Elmer wanted more hours and was really bright even if he couldn’t spell, so Stuart took Elmer along after lunch and taught him how to sell grocery ads.
TWENTY
The first week after his new deal with owner Pat Bailey, Brad Naughton fixed the light fixture over the sink and replaced the glass in the kitchen window that had been blocked with a double sheet of cardboard ever since they moved in. Tammy had complained often about the poor lighting and the draft in the farmhouse kitchen, and he had patted her butt and said, ‘Don’t worry, babe, I’ll keep you plenty warm in bed.’ Skipped lightheartedly over the other things she said. ‘Because we all know it’s not possible,’ he told his buds, ‘to remember the whole list of things I do wrong every day.’ He had a mock-agonized face he assumed whenever he warned them away from marriage.
But he had to admit, the kitchen was a lot more comfortable with the window fixed. And he was very tired of sleeping alone, so he called Tammy and told her about the repairs.
‘That sounds good,’ she said.
She seemed pretty tentative, so he said, ‘The road’s plowed out now, and I’ve got the driveway nice and smooth. The heater’s working fine, the house is warm. So how about it – when are you coming home?’
Part of her wanted to say, ‘Right this minute.’ She had not guessed how much she was going to miss sex, and although she and Brad had argued a lot lately, in between scraps he was more fun to be around than the circle of women who shared their low expectations with her mother.
But her mother had been needling her all week, telling her she should demand more from her lazy husband. ‘He’s training you to support him for the rest of your life. Are you going to allow that? What’s happened to your self-respect?’
So she was in a bargaining mood. ‘I think we ought to talk,’ she said.
‘I do too,’ Brad said. ‘I want to tell you about this deal I made with Mr Bailey. Things are going to be different now, Tams. I’m on salary, I’ve got a future here if I decide I want it. And I miss having your neck to nibble on.’ He made a yum yum noise.
She knew if she got in the same room with that she could never resist it. So she decided to stock up on birth control supplies after work the next day, do her laundry early and go home on Friday after work.
But, as usual, her mother had a better idea. ‘You don’t know what things are really like out there,’ she said. ‘Why don’t you leave Mary Jo here with me for the rest of the week? You know you’ll have to clean the house when you go home’ – they both made the face that said men – ‘and you can check if it’s really warm enough. If everything’s OK, you can pick her up on Saturday.’
Tammy thought about it for about seventeen seconds and phoned Brad that she’d be home Thursday night. He was so glad she was coming early that he actually cleaned the whole house – did all the dishes and mopped the kitchen floor, vacuumed the rest of the house and changed the bed. Tammy was impressed beyond words, and told him so right away. She started kissing him during the first slice of the pizza she’d brought
home, and even though they were both hungry, they ended up in bed before they finished supper. After that, they had a wonderful night that got quite a few mushroom slices stuck to the sheets.
They giggled as they put their last clean pair of sheets on the bed. Tammy went to work on Friday and signed them up for the Netflix account they’d agreed they could afford now. That night they scrolled until they found a sexy movie, which they enjoyed so much they only saw the first half hour before they started imitating some of the moves.
On Saturday morning, Brad went out to feed the stock and Tammy called her mother to say they’d come and get Mary Jo in a couple of hours. But as she bundled up the laundry she glanced out the window and saw a dirty old pickup in the yard. A handsome man she’d never seen before was getting out of it, and as she watched, Brad came out of the barn, walked up to him and said hello as if he knew him. She could tell he wasn’t one of Brad’s regular buddies, though, because they were not kidding around, punching shoulders and grabbing hats. In fact, they both looked serious; Tammy didn’t like the way their faces looked at all, so she kept watching.
The talk seemed to get more and more agitated. Tammy could see they were both angry. When they started waving their arms and shouting, she grabbed the rolling pin out of the drawer by the stove and ran out the door. She was about halfway to them, with a good full-length view, when to her horror she saw a blade gleam in the stranger’s hand, which was swinging in a wide arc toward Brad.
Brad saw it coming and ducked under it. He came up behind the attacker’s right shoulder as the man completed his swing. Brad was carrying an almost full feed bucket in his left hand and, as the stranger whirled back toward him, Brad raised it, turned it upside down and dropped it over the stranger’s head. Tammy reached them just as the oats cascaded around their boots. She swung the rolling pin with all her strength and brought it crashing down on top of the feed bucket. The stranger yelled once, briefly, and slumped to the ground.
Burning Meredith Page 18
