The Bone Yard and Other Stories

by John Moralee

  Brad had arrived home.

  *

  Montana opened the door.

  “You’re back. Have you …?”

  “No.”

  She smiled with relief. “Then there’s still hope. What are you doing back here?”

  “The help. I need to talk to them.”

  “You think they are involved?”

  “I don’t know what to think yet.”

  Temple followed her down the hall. He passed the living room, where he saw Nelson sitting by the fire with a glass in his hand, his eyes focused on the flames. Temple continued up some stairs, Montana announcing their arrival at a closed door. The door opened and a man and a woman stood before Temple, both looking nervous, as though he would arrest them and deport them.

  “The Sheriff has some questions for you.”

  “We want to help,” said the man. His wife nodded. “We love Bradley like our own kids.”

  “What were you doing at four?”

  The couple held hands. “We here.”

  “Yes, but what were you doing?”

  “We here.”

  “Did you not hear Bradley come back?”

  The woman spoke in Spanish, crying.

  “What did she say?”

  “Nothing,” her husband said.

  “She said sorry,” Montana said.

  “We not here,” the man said.

  Temple wondered if they’d been doing something that would have got them fired.

  “Mrs Dolan, can you give me a few minutes?”

  “Oh. Surely. I’ll be downstairs with my husband.”

  He waited for her to go.

  “Look, anything you tell me is confidential. I won’t tell Mr and Mrs Dolan. But I need to know why you didn’t hear Bradley. A young boy like that would make a lot of noise when he got home.”

  “We not here.”

  “Yes, but why?”

  “We not hear. We have afternoon off.”

  “You did not hear?”

  “Is what I say.”

  “So where were you?”

  “We at home. Is bad?”

  “It depends. Why did you go home when you should have been on duty?”

  “Mrs Dolan say this morning, ‘Have day off until six’. So we do. Then later she say we not understand – we suppose to be here. But is not our fault. She say it. We not understand.”

  “Mrs Dolan told you to take the day off?”

  “Yes.”

  *

  She wasn’t in the room with Nelson.

  “Where’s she gone?”

  “The garage. She wants to look for Bradley herself. I told her we should stay here, but she won’t listen.”

  Temple hurried outside. He ran towards the garage, where he found Montana driving out a red Porsche with the top down. She pulled it onto the driveway. He blocked her way, standing in front of the car. She braked. “Temple, get out of the way. I’ve got to look for my baby.” She revved the engine.

  “Not now,” he said. “Stop the engine.”

  She turned it off.

  “Get out.”

  “What?”

  “Get out, Montana.”

  She opened her door and stepped out.

  She looked over his shoulder.

  Nelson was behind him.

  He had a gun.

  He staggered as he walked.

  “What’s the gun for?” Temple asked.

  “Something’s going on I don’t like,” Nelson said. “I want the truth. What’s going on, Montana?”

  “He’s trying to stop me looking for our son.”

  “Is that true?”

  “Yes – because she already knows where he is,” Temple said. “She’s responsible for his disappearance.”

  “What?” Nelson said. “Are you mad? She’s his mother.”

  “She has a secret Brad must have found out. She was probably frightened he’d tell you. She was afraid you’d divorce her. She couldn’t risk that. She loves the money, you see. A divorce would ruin her lifestyle.”

  “Secret?” Nelson looked at Montana. “What secret?”

  “There’s no secret. He’s obviously lost his mind.”

  “We had an affair,” Temple said. “Brad’s my son.”

  The shame of it disgusted him.

  “NOOO! He’s out of his mind,” she said. Nelson, I didn’t want to say this – but he made a pass at me earlier. I’ve also seen him following me in town. When I turned him down, he promised he would make me sorry. I think … I think he’s killed Bradley. That’s why I was driving away. I was going to get some help. He’s insane.”

  She was convincing.

  Temple would have believed her if he were Nelson.

  He pointed the gun at Temple.

  “Did you kidnap my son?”

  “He’s not your son.”

  “No.”

  “Would I lie to you about that with a gun pointed at me?”

  “Montana?”

  “Shoot him, baby.”

  “If you shoot me she’ll tell my deputies you made Brad disappear. She’ll get them to believe it. You’ll go to prison.”

  “Where’s my son?”

  “Bradley came home, Nelson. He found his mother waiting. She knew he’d found out about the affair we had ten years ago. She had to shut him up somehow. Maybe she tried to scare him into silence, maybe she planned something worse. She did something, anyway. Then she needed a way of making it look like a kidnapping. She dumped his bike hoping it would look like a kidnapping, but she didn’t figure on an old lady seeing him on his way home. She has him in the trunk of her Porsche. She wanted to dump his body somewhere but was afraid it would be discovered and DNA or something would connect her to the murder. In a day or two she would have made some excuse to visit drive her car and used it to take the body somewhere it could be dumped.” He paused. “The only question is has she killed him already?”

  “He’s trying to trick you, honey. Don’t listen to him.”

  “Montana, shut up! I can’t think! You – sheriff - open the trunk. Don’t even think of reaching for your gun. Montana, give him the key.”

  Temple took the key and unlocked the trunk. It opened as he stepped back.

  “If there’s anything in there,” Montana said, “he must have put it in to set me up.”

  Temple looked into the trunk.

  There was a black plastic bag in the trunk space.

  It had a body inside.

  “No,” Nelson said. “My son!”

  And he blew out his own brains.

  Before he hit the ground dead, Montana was scrambling for the dropped weapon.

  Temple pulled out his .45.

  “Touch that gun and you’re dead,” he said.

  She turned to look into his eyes. Her hand was inches away from the gun, but she made no move towards it. She lifted her hand away. Her voice became low and husky. “This can end any way you like, Temple. We could say Nelson found out Brad wasn’t his son, so he killed him. You and me – we could be together. I’m now a rich widow. What do you say? You and me – like it’s meant to be? Yes or no? Our little secret?”

  She was panting, sweating, waiting, a sultry smile forming in her mouth and eyes. The body in the trunk meant nothing to her - neither did her husband’s lying by her feet. He hated her. And yet he could feel his body responding to her as though compelled by fate.

  “I’ll tell you what I say.”

  And he told her.

  With a kiss.

  Of a bullet.

  *

  “What a bitch,” Al Greenberg said. “What did you do next?”

  “She was reaching for the gun,” he told Greenberg. “So I had to shoot.”

  There were in Temple’s cruiser. Greenberg was driving him home to Judy. Temple had told him the whole story of his affair with Montana and filled out the paperwork, but the deputy was asking for the details. If he suspected the real circumstances surrounding Montana’s death, he did not say. Gree
nberg had been surprised to find out Bradley was Temple’s son. It would surprise a lot of people.

  “Well, it’s over.” Greenberg turned into Temple’s driveway. “Tough call, but lucky.”

  “Very. I was standing there, shocked like you wouldn’t believe. It was then I heard the gasping from the trunk. At first I couldn’t believe my ears, but then I pulled the bag apart and found him alive. What did the doctor say?”

  “He’s gonna be okay,” Greenberg assured him. “His mother gave him a nasty skull fracture with the tyre iron we found in the trunk, but he’s a tough kid. He’ll survive. Guess he takes after his father. Speaking of that - how are you going to break the news to Judy?”

  “Gently,” he said. “But right away. No more secrets.”

  The Big Favour

  When Lana asked me for help, I could not say no. Though it was after my normal bedtime, I got up and drove the five miles to the Two Hearts Motel. As I pulled past the neon sign, the eerie green clock on the dash of my car showed 11.32 PM. I parked in the lot beside a custom Ford pickup truck. I could feel the cold night air as I stepped out and looked around at the apartments.

  Lana appeared in the darkness of the doorway of number seventeen, wearing a white bath towel that made her look ghostly in the moonlight. Her mouth was a dark line, her eyes hidden in shadow. She beckoned me to come in.

  “What’s going on?” I asked her, but she did not reply.

  I could not see anything inside the room until my sister closed the door and switched on the light. It was a typical cheap motel suite. There was a chair, a closet and a TV chained to the wall. A door led into a tiny white-tiled bathroom smelling of pine-scented bleach, but I didn’t look there. I stared where Lana stared – at the bed.

  My first reaction was shock.

  I could not believe what I was seeing.

  The naked man was lying on the bed, his face and neck covered in glass and blood. More blood had soaked the sheets. He looked very dead and the blood looked very red.

  “Is he ...?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ...?”

  “Yes,” she said, very quietly. “But I didn’t mean to, Susan. It just happened.”

  “Who is he?” I asked.

  “It’s Ken.”

  Now I recognised him. He was the foreman of the construction company owned by Lana’s husband, Dean. I had met him at a Christmas party. Ken was married and the last person I’d expect to find dead in a sleazy motel room.

  “What happened?”

  Lana didn’t reply. She started crying like a little girl. “You ... have ... to ... help ... me.”

  “Okay, okay – but I need to know how this happened. Start at the beginning.”

  It took a few minutes for her crying to subside. Lana told me everything in a low, barely audible voice.

  “Ken asked me for a drink a few weeks back. It was a night Dean was out of town. The kids were staying overnight with their friends. I was bored and lonely so I agreed. Ken seemed like a nice guy. We got talking and started sort of seeing each other after that. Nothing serious. We kissed and fooled around like a couple of teenagers, but we didn’t go all the way. It was exciting to feel wanted. Dean hasn’t wanted me like that since I had Jess.”

  “What happened tonight?”

  “Tonight we were going to finally make love. He picked me up after work in his blue pickup. We booked the room under false names. Mr and Mrs Johnson. We started drinking champagne and fooling around. It was fun at first, but then I started thinking about Dean. Ken wanted to make love but I changed my mind. It felt wrong, like it was one step too far. I didn’t want to cheat on Dean. I told Ken. Ken got mad then. He pinned me down and tried to ...” She sobbed. “I wanted him to stop - but he wouldn’t. He wouldn’t. It was like the drink turned him into another person. I said “no” but he wouldn’t listen. He was going to rape me. I had to stop him. So I hit him with the champagne bottle. It was the only thing I could reach. I just wanted to knock him out. Get him off me. But the bottle broke and somehow the glass cut his throat and ...” She touched her own throat as she recalled it. “You should have heard the horrible gargling noise.” She shuddered. “Suddenly, there was blood everywhere. On me – on the sheets – on the walls. By the time I pushed him off me, he was dead. It was an accident, but nobody would ever believe it. Look at the mess – would you believe it wasn’t murder?”

  “You need to explain this to the police the way you’ve just told me. They’ll understand.”

  “The police? Are you serious? They won’t believe me. They’ll think I murdered him – or the very least manslaughter. Either way, Dean will find out and he’ll never want to see me again. He’ll divorce me and take away my children. My life will be over, Susan. Don’t let them put me in prison. You have to help me. You’re the clever one. The schoolteacher. Please help me. Please.”

  I should have said no, but she was my sister.

  “Did anyone see you with Ken tonight?”

  “No – apart from the guy in the motel office. But I was wearing a hat and a scarf. I’m sure he didn’t see my face.”

  “Okay. That’s good. When were you expected home?”

  “Uh – uh – uh - before midnight. Dean thinks I’m at your place. Ken was going to drop me off after ...”

  “Is there blood on you?”

  “No – I showered after I called you. Couldn’t stand the blood on me.”

  “What about your ordinary clothes?”

  She shook her head. “They’re over there.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Take off that towel. Then put your clothes back on. Drive home in my car – but don’t speed. Leave it parked at my house.”

  She nodded vigorously. “What’re you going to do?”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything. Just don’t say anything to anyone about Ken. You didn’t see him tonight. You spent the whole night with me, watching old movies.”

  “What movies?”

  “I don’t know! Something you’ve seen before.”

  “What about Titanic? That’s a long one. I know it by heart.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Now get going.”

  *

  By the time Lana left in my car, I’d formulated a plan.

  The first thing I wanted to do was move the body out of the room, but it posed various problems. Ken was a big man compared with me, so I knew I’d have to drag him out. I would have to bring his pickup as close to the door as possible, then move him to the vehicle unseen.

  I found Ken’s keys attached to his jeans. One was for the pickup I’d seen outside. Ken had also been wearing a denim jacket and a baseball cap. I put them both on as a disguise before leaving the room. When I pressed the button to unlock the vehicle, the alarm made a beep I was sure anyone within a thousand miles would hear. Beeeeeeeep! Quickly, I opened the car door with the sleeve of his jacket to avoid leaving fingerprints. Once behind the wheel, I started up the engine and moved the pickup closer to the door.

  I returned to the motel room for the next part of the task. I nearly gagged at the smell coming from the dead man. Nobody had told me dead bodies loosened their bowels. Feeling sick, I wrapped Ken in the bloodied sheets before dragging him towards the door. He was just as heavy as I feared. I had to yank him several times by the feet. His body left a streak of blood on the carpet.

  I turned off all the lights and opened the door. Across the street, I could see the orange glow of the street-lights and the black silhouettes of apartment buildings where some lights were still on, though all the drapes looked closed. I could see nobody around but I didn’t want to take a chance because occasionally a car would pass on the highway and the headlights would illuminate the parking lot. I waited for a lull in the traffic noise before I dragged the body to the car as quickly as possible, hoping nobody would see me. I ducked down when I heard a vehicle. I had a horrible thought it would pull into the parking lot, but it flashed by. Lifting the body, wrapped in the blood-soaked she
et, wasn’t easy. He kept slipping. I got his head and shoulders into the back first, then somehow pushed the rest of him into the back. I covered him with a tarpaulin. I could not see him, but it looked obvious to me there was a human body underneath. I tried to make the shape look less human.

  My heart was pounding every second, cold sweat pouring down my face. The body was out of sight – for the time being. Then I went back to look at the motel room.

  God, what a mess. The blood was a huge problem. There was no way of getting it all cleaned up without leaving invisible traces. No matter what I did there would be hairs and other forensic evidence left behind. It was impossible to clean the room so no evidence of Lana or my presence would be present. But then I realised it was only a problem if it could be seen. It didn’t matter if it could be detected by forensic science providing nobody knew a crime had been committed there.

  I started cleaning up with what was available in the bathroom – soap, hot water and towels. The blood washed off the walls and carpet but it took a couple of hours. The towels were soaked in blood – and so were the sheets - but I had an idea. There was a twenty-four hour laundry a few blocks away. If I could have the sheets and towels washed before the morning, nobody would know they’d been used.

  I parked the pickup in a dark place where I removed the sheet from the body and added it to the others. I put them in a bag and walked the block to the laundry. There were a couple of customers using the machines, the type of weirdos who would wash their clothes in the middle of the night. I didn’t want to go in, but I had to risk it. Getting the blood off the sheets was vital.

  I lowered the baseball cap over my face before approaching the entrance. I was sure they would know what I was doing the moment I walked inside, but the other customers barely looked up from their own machines. One was a hairy stoner sitting with his eyes half-closed. Another looked like a serial killer. I was in good company. I chose some machines away from everyone else. I put the sheets in and put them on full cycle with plenty of washing powder. It would take about an hour.