“Good thinking.”
Sandy tried to sit up some more and Michelle quickly went to her aid. She lifted the sheet up, exposing Sandy’s legs, took the woman around the waist and slid her higher on the pillow and then covered her legs back up.
“You’re strong,” Sandy remarked.
“You’re pretty muscular yourself.”
“Upper body, yes. But my legs are spaghetti and about as big.” Sandy sighed. “You should’ve seen the gams I used to have, Ann-Margret quality.”
Michelle smiled. “I’m sure.” Sandy’s legs were withered, which was why Michelle had lifted the covers. She wanted to make sure Sandy really was disabled. Her instincts told her there was something wrong about Sandy.
“You look like you’re thinking way too hard,” Sandy said.
“That’s all we have to do in here, isn’t it, think too much?”
An hour later Michelle participated in yet another group session Horatio Barnes had signed her up for.
“So when is Mr. Harley-Davidson expected back?” Michelle asked one of the nurses.
“Who?”
“Horatio Barnes!”
“Oh, he didn’t say. But he has an associate covering for him who’s very qualified.”
“Good for him.”
Coming back from the session Michelle turned the corner and nearly ran into Barry coming from the other direction.
She started to walk away when he said, “So how’s your girlfriend, Sandy?”
She knew she shouldn’t take the bait, but something inside her just wouldn’t let it go. She turned around and said brightly, “She’s great. Did you find anything in her room worth stealing?”
“So you’re the one who turned me in to the nurse.”
“It took you this long to figure it out? What a loser.”
He smirked. “Why don’t you do a reality check? I can leave anytime I want. You’re a nutcase that’s locked up in here.”
“That’s right. I am a nutcase. I’m a freaking nutcase who can break your neck anytime I want.”
He sneered. “Listen, little girl, I grew up in the toughest neighborhood in Trenton. You don’t know the meaning of the word tough—Holy shit!”
She had put her foot right through the drywall an inch from his head. As she slowly pulled her leg back she looked at him as he cowered there, his hands over his head.
“Next time you try and screw with me or Sandy, it won’t be the wall I crush.” She turned to leave and then looked at the hole she’d made. “You might want to clean that up, Barry. Hygiene regulations and all.”
“I’m going to report you for attacking me.”
“Good, you go ahead. And I’ll get a petition signed by all the women you’ve taken a peek at while you’ve been here. I’m sure they’d just love to see your ass in jail.”
“Who’d believe them? They’re nuts.”
“You’d be surprised, Barry. There’s always credibility in numbers. And why do I think your history might not be so squeaky-clean if someone looks hard enough? And believe me, jerk-off, I know how to look.”
Barry swore at her, turned and stomped off.
As Michelle walked back to her room she knew there was only one true way to deal with Barry. She planned on devoting all her energies to that task, starting this minute. And she had a hunch where to begin.
Chapter 25
The local cops had done their thing as had the FBI, in the person of the dour Michael Ventris. He barely gave Sean a glance after he finished explaining how he’d found Rivest’s body.
“And you came back here, why?” Ventris asked in a surly tone.
“We’d arranged to meet to go over the case. He didn’t answer the door. So I went in.” Sean kept back the part about being shot at. Until he understood the situation better, his instincts told him to keep that to himself.
Ventris said, “I’d heard the folks here had hired a private detective to come down and poke around. So you’re it?” The FBI agent didn’t look the least bit impressed.
“I’m it.”
“Piece of advice. First time you get in my way, it’ll be the last time. Got it?”
“Got it.” Sean didn’t dare ask why the FBI was investigating the death of a private citizen in the first place. It wasn’t like Monk Turing’s death; he’d been found on federal property.
Len Rivest’s remains were removed to the temporary morgue where Monk’s body lay, while the local sheriff stood looking at the now empty bathtub and shaking his head. Sean was next to him doing the same thing, but the thoughts running through his head were probably a little more complex than the ones sifting through the sheriff’s, he imagined.
Rivest was killed between the time Sean had left him around midnight and the time Sean had found him, a span of about six and a half hours. And he thought he’d seen Champ Pollion going into his bungalow around two in the morning. Thought, but wasn’t certain.
“Sheriff Merkle Hayes,” the man said, interrupting Sean’s musings. Before Sean could say anything the man added, “You’re Sean King, right?”
“That’s right.”
“Ex-Secret Service?”
“Right again.”
Hayes was in his early fifties with closely cut grayish white hair, a little potbelly, thick legs, wide bony shoulders and a slightly curved back that reduced his six-foot height a notch. “Any idea what might have happened?”
“I was with Len last night. He’d had a few drinks, maybe a few too many. I left around midnight. He was passed out on the couch downstairs.”
“So what’d you two talk about?”
Sean had been prepared for this question and had been surprised that Ventris had not asked it. “This and that. Some about Monk Turing’s death. A little about Babbage Town.”
“You think he was drunk enough to climb into this bathtub and accidentally drown himself?”
“I couldn’t say for sure that he wasn’t drunk enough to do it.”
Hayes remained silent, but nodded at this comment.
“The door was unlocked when I got here,” Sean said. “I remember locking it last night.”
Hayes said, “So either he unlocked it or…”
“Right.”
“We’ve started asking around. So far, no one saw anything. Of course the FBI’s taken the lead.”
“And why’s the FBI involved in this? Rivest wasn’t a federal employee, this isn’t federal land and no one did anything across state lines that I can see.”
“Why don’t we take a walk outside?”
Rivest’s home had been cordoned off with the standard yellow police tape as if anything could ever make a possible murder seem standard. The ambulance with Rivest’s body had just disappeared down the road. Sean glanced over at the small crowd gathered in front of the cottage and saw both Alicia Chadwick and Champ Pollion talking together in low voices.
When Alicia caught his eye, perhaps hoping he would come over, Sean quickly glanced away. He wasn’t yet ready to deal with her or Champ.
Hayes led him over to his unmarked cruiser and motioned for Sean to get in the passenger’s side. Inside the car Hayes said, “What I’m about to propose might seem a little unorthodox, but I’ll risk it. How about you and me partnering on this case?”
Sean raised an eyebrow. “Partnering? You’re a county sheriff, I’m a private detective.”
“I don’t mean formally. But it seems to me that we both have the same goal in mind. Find Rivest’s killer.”
“Doesn’t that apply to Turing as well?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a murder was made to look like a suicide.”
“Rivest seemed to think the same thing.”
“Did he now? That’s interesting. What else did he say about it?”
“That was pretty much it. But he seemed to want it to be a murder rather than a suicide, if you get my meaning. Not that wanting something makes it true.”
“We got a lot going against the murder scenario. His gun, h
is prints and it looked like he went to Camp Peary voluntarily.”
“Turing didn’t seem suicidal from what I’ve learned.”
“Not all of them do,” Hayes said. “I looked up your record at the Service and read about those cases you were involved in down in Wrightsburg. So what do you say? If I’m going up against the FBI, I need some help.”
“How about I get back to you after talking to my superiors?”
“How about you just say yes?”
“I tell you what, I’m working on the case anyway, cases now, I guess. So if I find something or something occurs to me, I’ll give you a holler.” He studied Hayes’s face. “But it works both ways. You flush something out, you let me know.”
Hayes considered this and finally put out his hand. “Okay. It’s a deal.”
“You can do something for me right now.”
“What’s that?”
“Take me to see Monk Turing’s body at the morgue.”
Chapter 26
The temporary morgue was set up in a small, empty office in the main town area of tiny White Feather. It was staffed by a medical examiner sent over from Williamsburg who didn’t look the least bit happy being away from his home turf. He pulled Monk Turing’s body out of the portable freezer.
Monk had not been a handsome man in life and death had not improved his looks. He was short and muscular with a paunch that had been obscured by the Y-incision that had split him from his neck to his pubis. Sean tried to see a resemblance between him and his daughter, but couldn’t find one. She must take after her mother, he thought.
The ME dutifully went over his official findings with Sean. Monk Turing; age, thirty-seven; height, five-six; weight, one-seventy, etc. The man had clearly died from a gunshot wound to the right temple.
“Monk was right-handed,” Sean commented. “That would fit with the suicide theory.”
“I hadn’t gotten to that part yet,” the ME said a little suspiciously. “How’d you know?”
“Right hand’s a little bigger, more calloused. And I saw a baseball glove at his house. It wasn’t made for a left-hander.”
Hayes nodded approvingly while the ME glanced back at his notes. Sean eyed Monk’s hands again. “Looks to be some trace on his hands.”
“Ground into the palm and fingers. Reddish fragments,” the ME said.
Using what amounted to a high-tech magnifying glass, the ME showed them the traces and then laid the dead man’s hand back down.
“Looks like rust stains. Could have come from climbing the chain link fence at Camp Peary,” Hayes said.
Sean looked at the ME. “You have the clothes he was wearing?”
They were produced and examined. A pair of black corduroy trousers, a cotton, blue-striped shirt, dark jacket with a hood, underwear, socks and muddy shoes.
Hayes handed Sean a small waterproof bag. “This was found next to the body. It’s been confirmed as belonging to Turing.” Inside were a blanket and a flashlight.
“He probably used the blanket to get over the razor wire on top of the fence,” Sean said, noting some tears on the fabric. “Still a dicey proposition. No cuts on the body from the wire?”
The ME shook his head.
“Surprised we didn’t find any gloves,” Hayes added. “I mean for getting over the fence and wire.”
“Well, if he had worn gloves we wouldn’t have his prints on the gun. It’s starting to look like he killed himself, Sheriff,” Sean said.
The ME looked up. “I can’t say for sure if it was suicide or not. Forensics can only go so far.”
Sean remarked, “Your report says that the wound was a near contact, not a contact wound. Also there are no defensive injuries on the victim or evidence that he was bound. Someone getting that close to the guy with the gun and him not defending himself? That’s a little implausible.”
“Could’ve been drugged,” Hayes suggested.
“Which was my next question,” Sean said. “What’s the tox report say?”
“Don’t have it back yet.”
“So we really can’t rule out suicide,” Sean said. “And if he did kill himself, why at Camp Peary? Any connection between him and the CIA? Did he ever work there? Did he want to but got rejected?”
Hayes shook his head. “We haven’t run that down yet.” He turned to the ME. “Do you have an approximate time of death on Rivest yet?”
“He wasn’t in the water all that long. Maybe five to six hours. There was what looked to be hemorrhagic edema fluid in his mouth. That indicates he died by drowning. When I open him I’ll be able to confirm that of course by water in his lungs.”
Hayes consulted his wristwatch. “Five to six hours. Based on when the body was discovered, if he wasn’t in the tub all that long before he drowned we’re looking at between one to two o’clock in the morning as the time of death.”
“Not that long after I left him,” Sean said. And that tallies with the time I might have seen Champ come home. “He’d had a lot to drink,” Sean volunteered. “Cocktails and some red wine.”
The ME noted this down. “Thanks.”
“Could he have been drunk enough to just pass out and drown himself? Wouldn’t the water going in his mouth and nose have woken him up?” Hayes asked.
The ME shook his head. “If he was unconscious from too much alcohol, the shock of the water would not have necessarily revived him.”
“I left him pretty much passed out. I wonder what made him decide to take a bath after he came to?” Sean said.
The ME said, “Maybe he threw up and decided to get cleaned up.”
Sean shook his head. “You’ve got puke all over you, you’re not going to wait for the bathtub to fill up. You’d jump in the shower.” As soon as he said it, Sean froze.
“Good point,” Hayes said, not catching the look on Sean’s face.
Back in the car Hayes said, “Where to now?”
Sean didn’t try to conceal his excitement. “I want to have another look at that bathroom. Something just occurred to me.”
“Like what?”
“I know that Len Rivest was murdered.”
Chapter 27
When they got back to Len Rivest’s house, Sean led the way to the bathroom and stopped at the doorway.
He said, “I came in here last night around eleven or eleven-fifteen to use the toilet. This is the only bathroom in the place.”
“Okay,” Hayes said expectantly. “And?”
“And was anything removed from the bathroom by any of your men or the FBI?”
“No. Only the body’s been removed. Why?”
“Well, look around, what’s missing?”
Hayes studied the interior of the small place. “I give up. What?”
“There are no towels, no washcloths.” He pointed at the floor. “And no bath mat. Now all those things were in this room when I was here last night. And there’s something else.” He walked over to the commode and looked behind it. “There was a long, wooden-handled plunger here too. Only it’s not here now.”
Hayes said, “So you’re saying…?”
Sean knelt on the floor and ran his hand along the tile and then along the wall above the tub. “Damp, but not soaked.” He stood. “I’m saying you have to take the towels if you used them to wipe up the water that would have splashed on the floor and walls while you were struggling with Rivest.”
“And the plunger?”
Sean pantomimed gripping something in his hand and standing next to the tub. “You don’t want to hold Rivest under with your hands. He can reach you that way and maybe get some of your DNA or clothing fiber under his fingernails. But if you place a long-handled plunger on his chest, you can hold him down without him being able to get to you.”
“Damn!”
“But everything’s going to get soaked that way. So you have to take the towels, mat, plunger with you otherwise the police will see them, deduce a struggle and we go from accidental drowning to murder. Rivest may have come up here to
take a bath and just settled in when the killer struck. If he hadn’t been drunk he might still be alive.”
“So if he was still drunk and the killer used the plunger, we can’t rule out that it was a woman who did it.”
Sean looked at him shrewdly. “That’s right. Call the ME and tell him to check for a circular ring on Rivest’s chest or stomach. A plunger might have made an abrasion that can still be seen under the scope. And also tell him to check for fragments of wood from the plunger handle under his fingernails.”
Hayes whipped out his cell phone and made the call while Sean continued to poke around.
After the sheriff finished his call he smiled at Sean. “I left a message. I gotta say, my decision to partner up with you is really starting to look smart.”
“Don’t get too excited. Knowing that a man was murdered and finding out who killed him is, to borrow a line from Mark Twain, the difference between the lightning bug and the lightning. Now we need to really canvass the place and find out if anyone saw someone leaving Rivest’s last night. There’s security all over the place. Someone had to see something. Especially if my theory is correct and the person was leaving with a bunch of wet towels and a plunger.”
“Will do. Anything else?”
Sean held an internal debate and said, “I was down at the banks of the York this morning, around six-thirty or so. I wanted to have a look at the boathouse and take a recon of the area. Somebody took a couple shots at me with a high-powered rifle. That’s what I was coming to tell Len.”
Hayes gaped at him. “Where’d the shots come from?”
“Maybe from across the river.”
“Camp Peary?” Sean nodded. “And Monk Turing was found dead on Camp Peary property,” Hayes said slowly.
Sean could easily read the man’s mind. Did the rural sheriff want to get mixed up in something that involved the CIA. Yet if Monk Turing and Len Rivest had been killed by the folks across the river the question was why. And Sean King had to admit, it was a very intriguing question. The only thing, was he willing to risk his life to get the answer?
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