by Gerri Hill
She and Paige simultaneously held up their credentials. “FBI. I’m Special Agent Johnston, this is Special Agent Riley,” she said. “May we have a word?”
“Well, I see my complaints have finally reached the top,” he said. “These local yahoos around here didn’t do one damn thing about it.” His gaze drifted across the yard to where the dog continued to bark. “I want them out.”
“Oh.” CJ smiled and shook her head. “No, actually, we’re not here about your neighbors,” she said.
“Then why the hell are you here?”
“It’s about your grandson,” Paige said. “Mark Poole.”
“Markie? What? You got a lead finally?”
“May we come inside?” CJ asked. “It’ll be a little quieter.”
“That damn dog,” he muttered as he went back inside, leaving them standing there. CJ shrugged and followed him inside.
Whereas Lizzie’s trailer was spotless and tidy, this one was in desperate need of a cleaning. She looked around for a place to sit, but newspapers littered the sofa. She eyed the table instead where remnants of both last evening’s dinner and this morning’s breakfast still sat. He seemed to read her thoughts.
“Yeah, since the wife passed, I haven’t gotten into the swing of keeping the place clean,” he explained.
“I’m sorry,” Paige said. “Was it recent?”
He nodded. “Yep. It’ll be two years next month.”
CJ pulled out a chair away from the table, and Paige did the same. Mr. Poole took his well-used recliner.
“Now what’s this about Markie?”
“Well, we’re just following up,” CJ said. “The young boy who was found last week at the Wicker Place—there were similarities to Paul Canton, the only one of the four boys who was found.”
“Heard about him, of course. Little Mexican boy.”
“His parents haven’t come forward,” Paige said.
“Illegals,” he said bluntly. “Can’t blame them.”
“This boy was never seen around here?”
He shook his head. “I wouldn’t think so. They all live over by the nursery, if it’s one of them,” he said. “Not a whole lot of kids here in the park anyway. Not like back in the old days. Markie and his friends would play baseball in the street. You could hear those kids laughing and screaming all over the damn place,” he said with a smile which faded quickly. “After that, some of the families moved away. Mostly just us older folks now. Except for those bastards living next door,” he said.
“Mr. Poole, I know you were interviewed back when Mark went missing. You indicated there was never anything suspicious, no strangers hanging around, nothing out of the ordinary,” Paige said.
“That’s right.”
“With this boy found last week, do you think we could have the same situation as before?”
“I’ll admit, when I heard the news, I thought of Markie,” he said. “But that was what? Fourteen years ago now?” He shook his head. “Can’t imagine someone would kidnap that little Mexican boy and bring him all the way over here to the Wicker house, just to mimic how they found Paulie Canton.”
CJ ran her fingers through her hair. She’d known ahead of time they probably wouldn’t glean any new information. He, like everyone else in the trailer park, had been interviewed several times fourteen years ago. She was about to suggest to Paige that they leave when a truck with loud music blaring stopped across the street. The dog started barking loudly again.
“It never stops,” he said. “Got people coming and going at all hours of the night. Then this, hoodlums showing up during the day.”
CJ stood and went to the window, watching as a young man got out of the passenger’s side and ran up to the door of the trailer across the street. He went inside for only a few seconds. He came back out, hands shoved in his pockets as he jogged to the truck. The truck pulled away, taking its loud music with it. She turned to Mr. Poole.
“Do you know who lives there?”
“Don’t know their names, no,” he said. “It’s an odd mix, best I can tell. It’s only a two-bedroom trailer, but there’s at least seven or eight people living there. Got one black man, two white men, and an oriental,” he said. “Got two black women and I’ve seen two white women coming and going.”
“What have you told the sheriff’s department?” she asked.
“I told them I got drug dealers living across the street. Hell, I watch TV. I’m not stupid. They probably got a meth lab going over there too.”
“And have they come out and talked to them?”
“Hell, no. Said just because I think there’s drug sales going on didn’t make it so.”
CJ grinned and glanced at Paige. “Let’s go talk to them.”
Paige shook her head. “CJ, no. We’re here only to—”
“I just witnessed what looked like a drug buy,” she said. “I think it’s our duty to investigate.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Poole said. “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell those yahoos in the sheriff’s department. Just come out and take a look. Hell, they wouldn’t even do that.”
“Come on,” CJ said. “It’ll be fun.”
Chapter Seven
“So we leave you two alone for a couple of hours and you manage a drug bust.” Ice shook his head. “How does that happen?”
“Just trying to add a little fun to our day,” CJ said.
Paige glanced at Billy and gave him an exaggerated eye roll as they followed Ice and CJ down the hallway to their hotel rooms. He had been nice enough to carry one of her bags for her.
“I’m glad we got adjoining rooms,” Billy said.
CJ looked over her shoulder. “Oh, yeah. Me too,” she said dryly, and Paige hid her smile as they stopped at the guys’ room.
Ice used the key card and pushed the door open. “Not bad,” he said. “At least they’re queen beds.”
CJ walked on to the room next door, and Paige took her bag from Billy. CJ stood in the doorway, staring inside.
“What’s wrong?”
CJ pointed at the beds. “Can you believe that?”
Paige let the door close behind them and quietly laughed at the expression on CJ’s face. “Gonna put a cramp on things for you, tiger?”
CJ pointed again at the beds. “Our beds share a common wall with their beds.” She tossed her bag on one of them. “So, yeah, we’ll be behaving like choir girls.”
Paige opened up her smallest bag and took out the bottle of wine she brought. CJ took it from her.
“You brought wine?”
“Of course,” she said. She carefully unwrapped two wineglasses and set them on the table.
“Oh, no, you didn’t,” CJ said as she stared at the glasses. “Really? Glasses too?”
Paige handed the bag to CJ. “I brought something else,” she said. She waited only a moment before CJ’s eyes widened.
“Oh my God,” CJ whispered. “You brought…it?” She quickly closed the bag. “Our bed is right there,” she pointed. “On the wall where their bed is.”
Paige walked closer, unable to wipe the smile from her face. She kissed CJ slowly. “Then we’ll have to be very, very quiet.”
CJ finally smiled. “God, you’re evil. I love it.”
“Thought you would.”
Loud knocking on their door caused CJ to quickly zip the bag and hand it to Paige. “Hide that.”
Paige laughed. “I doubt they’re going to search our bags and look for sex toys.”
Ice and Billy stood at the door, looking inside. Neither she nor CJ had made one attempt to unpack and all of their bags sat on one bed. As nonchalantly as possible, Paige took her small bag—and their toy—into the bathroom.
“Lunch?” Ice asked.
“Not fast food,” Paige called from the bathroom.
“Mexican?”
Paige knew that would be their second choice. She also knew it would have been CJ’s first choice. She smiled at her when she went back into the bedroom. “Mexican o
kay with you?”
“If I must,” CJ said with a grin. “But not some chain. Let’s find a local place.”
After a quick check at the front desk, they were all four in CJ’s truck heading to “the best” place in Cleveland. Even though the name—Judy’s—did not exactly conjure up images of someone’s beloved grandmother cooking up delicious authentic dishes, the parking lot was at near capacity. CJ took one of two remaining spots.
“I smell fajitas sizzling on the grill from way out here,” Ice said as he rubbed his hands together.
“I want enchiladas smothered in so much cheese I can’t even find them,” CJ said with a grin. “Rich, creamy cheese,” she added.
“They’re your arteries,” Paige said. “Feel free to clog them at will.”
“I’m thinking fajitas sound good too,” Billy said as he held the door open for them.
The inside was crowded and noisy, and they waited in line to be seated. Even though it was almost one, the lunch crowd was still thick. Waitresses hurried between tables, dropping off fresh baskets of chips and topping off glasses with tea and water. The background noise of mariachi music was not really needed as the hum of voices and laughter filled the restaurant.
Before long they were seated at a booth table and Paige slid in beside Billy. “It’s a shame we’re not here for dinner instead,” she said, eyeing a waitress passing by with a tray. “That margarita looks good.”
“We can always come back,” Ice said. “But you’d probably get tired of black bean nachos,” he teased.
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said as she looked over the menu. “They have spinach and mushroom enchiladas.” She glanced at CJ and smiled. “Of course they appear to be smothered in your rich, creamy cheese.”
“Yeah, but you know, we’re sharing a room.” CJ wiggled her eyebrows. “Maybe you should lay off the beans during this trip.”
Ice and Billy nearly howled with laughter, and Paige couldn’t prevent the blush that lit her face. She summoned up as much dignity as she could. “Gas is a perfectly normal bodily function,” she said. “And let’s please not discuss this at lunch.”
CJ’s smile faded and Paige guessed she was feeling chastised. So as the waitress dropped off two baskets of warm chips and four bowls of salsa, Paige gave CJ a subtle wink.
CJ shrugged and whispered “sorry,” but Paige waved off her apology. “So, flatulence aside, did you guys learn anything?” she asked, bringing the discussion back to the case.
“No, not on the unidentified boy. There was nothing at the scene. ME’s cause of death is pending still.”
“Oh? You got it?” CJ asked.
“Finally,” he said. “Not much more than what Howley already told us. There were contusions to the pelvis and lower limbs. And he had a broken neck, probably from the force of the strangulation. They’re doing more tests. Said they’d have the final post in three days at the latest.”
“What’s inconclusive about it?” Paige asked.
“Whether blunt force trauma killed him or the broken neck,” he said as he scooped up salsa on a chip. “Both of his femurs were fractured. Broken ribs. Punctured lung.”
“Was he beaten?” CJ asked.
“No defensive injuries,” Billy said.
“Then it sounds like he was hit by a car,” CJ said before shoving a chip in her mouth.
“Yeah, could be. But why strangle him hard enough to break his neck?”
“Maybe our guy panicked,” CJ said. “Maybe—”
But she paused as their waitress appeared with a bright smile. “Ready to order?”
“The lunch special. Beef fajitas,” Ice said. “And tea.”
“Me too,” Billy said.
The waitress glanced at Paige. “Black bean nachos,” she said. “With no cheese, please. And a side of guacamole. Tea also.”
“Chicken enchiladas,” CJ said. “With extra cheese all over it. In fact, whatever cheese you’re taking off of hers, put on mine. And tea.”
“Sounds good,” the waitress said. “I’ll have your drinks right out.”
“Careful, tiger. Those killer abs that chicks love so much might take a hit after this meal,” she teased.
“Baby, I’ll show you those killer abs later and you can decide if they took a hit or not.”
Billy and Ice laughed. “You know, ever since you got back from Hoganville, you two have really lightened up,” Billy said.
“Are you saying that before, we were uptight?” CJ asked. She grinned as she flicked her gaze toward Paige. “Well, one of us, maybe.”
“I was not uptight,” Paige insisted. “You were simply obnoxious.” She grabbed a chip. “That hasn’t changed.”
“That will never change,” Ice said with a laugh. He looked at CJ. “So what’s your theory?”
CJ shook her head. “No. It makes no sense. If our guy hit the kid—an accident—why panic? Why snap his neck?”
“Why dump his body?”
CJ raised her eyebrows. “Drunk driver?”
Billy nodded. “Yeah. He panics. The kid’s not dead.”
“So he strangles him, finishing him off?” Ice shook his head. “That’s reaching. I mean, who’s going to think to do that? You hit someone, the kid’s still alive, even if you’re drunk on your ass, you’re still going to try to help.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re only concerned with your own ass,” Billy countered.
“Even if our guy panicked and killed the kid, why go to the trouble of dumping his body at the Wicker house. According to everyone we’ve talked to, the kid didn’t live around there, so he wouldn’t have been hit there,” CJ said.
“Two of the people we interviewed today said that the boy probably belonged to one of the families who live at the nursery,” Paige said. “Thompson’s Plants. Apparently he hires and houses noncitizens,” she said, still not comfortable calling them “illegals” as Lizzie and Mr. Poole had.
“Noncitizens?” Ice asked skeptically. “You mean illegals?”
“Yes. I was trying to be—”
“Politically correct,” CJ finished for her. She eyed Ice and Billy. “Any mention in their report that they sought out those families?”
“None,” Billy said. “In fact, I kinda got the impression they didn’t do a whole lot on this one.”
“Me too,” Ice said. “Deputy Brady was the lead on this. He was accommodating and his report was professional and by the book, but there wasn’t much meat in it. Benefit of the doubt, I guess they assumed the parents of the boy would come forward.”
“And when none did, they let it go cold?”
“We all know that when you have no victim’s family badgering you, it’s easy to let things slip through the cracks,” Ice said. “No forensic evidence, no witnesses, nobody asking questions.” He shrugged. “Easy cold case.”
“Speaking of cold case,” Paige said, “did you find anything on Edward Krause?”
“There was an accident report, nothing more,” Billy said. “The boys got into a fight at school. Butch Renkie apparently fell on Edward, his knee landed on his throat, crushing it. He essentially suffocated. Called it an accident.”
“Lizzie said Butch picked on Eddie all the time. Said Eddie was frail,” Paige said. “She also indicated that Butch stomped on Eddie intentionally. Not fell. I don’t have a description of Butch Renkie, but just his name implies he was a big kid. Lizzie said as much.”
“Who’s Lizzie?” Ice asked.
“Lizzie Willis. Deemed the community busybody,” CJ said. “Very talkative. Nice grandmotherly type.”
“Don’t you think the original cold case would have a description of all four missing boys?” Billy suggested.
“Yes. I guess we need to read through it more thoroughly,” she said. “Not that it matters, really. Even if Butch was a big kid picking on a weaker classmate, it won’t mean anything at this point.”
“So when Butch Renkie was one of the four who disappeared, did the investigators talk to Edward
Krause’s parents?” CJ asked. “Edie Krause is the mother. She seemed a bit…well, paranoid,” she said. She looked at Paige. “Wouldn’t you say that?”
“Yes. But as Lizzie said, she hadn’t been the same since that accident.” She paused. “Lizzie made no mention of her husband.”
“Maybe we should read through the file tonight, see what questions we come up with.” Ice rubbed his hands together. “I see fajitas on the way. Must be our order.”
He was right. Four plates filled with steaming food were placed in front of them. Paige’s nachos seemed almost meager compared to CJ’s enchilada plate with rice and beans. Ice and Billy’s fajitas were still sizzling and covered in onions and peppers. For a moment, she wished she hadn’t decided to change her diet to vegan, but that faded when she saw the meat soaked in grease. She picked up a crisp chip laden only with black beans and tried to ignore the sounds of pleasure coming from the others.
“Okay, so I say you guys go back to your buddies at the sheriff’s department,” CJ said as she took a big swallow of tea. “Ask them about the families who live at this Thompson’s Plants. Maybe take a drive out there.”
“And you two?”
“I think we need to interview Edie Krause.”
“She didn’t seem very likely to be forthcoming,” Paige reminded her.
“Then I bet Lizzie Willis would be.” CJ grinned at Ice. “And don’t forget, we need to take a look at that house.”
“I don’t know what’s with you and that damn house,” Ice said. “They’ve already been there. Nothing was disturbed. No evidence that anyone was inside.”
“But we still need to take a look around. Find out how we get a key.”
Chapter Eight
Ice slammed the truck door, still wondering how he and Billy managed to get stuck together as partners. While they got along fine, he was used to CJ. He knew what questions she would ask and knew how to play off of her. With Billy, they hadn’t yet seemed to be on the same page.
“How is it again that you and I got stuck together?”
Billy shrugged. “We rode together. We’re in the same room.”
“Yeah. And that’s too much togetherness,” he said. “And now we’ve got to get a key to the damn haunted house.”
