“I don't know what a dye pack is.”
“Well, take it from me, you don't usually pick them up during your normal, everyday Dumpster diving.”
Jules looked at Charlie and raised his eyebrows. “Yeah, I did,” he said. “I really did.”
“I'm listening,” said Charlie as he pulled into the parking lot next to the Sycamore Springs Shelter of Grace and killed the motor.
The two men sat in the afternoon sun and Charlie learned how Jules Hebert had come to be the proud owner of the robber's disguise. Jules told him how he had climbed into the trash container behind the Wal-Mart Super Store that day and hid when he heard a vehicle coming around the building. He told Charlie how he'd crouched inside while the driver of the van showered him with a sack full of trash. Jules remembered how he unthinkingly laughed out loud and then feared he might have given himself away. But as luck would have it, the driver laughed too and drove off.
“As soon as the coast was clear, I took the bag and ran,” he said. “The guy in the van almost ran me down when I got to the street.”
“The man? Did you see him?”
“I saw the man in the van.”
“What did he look like? Do you think you would recognize him?”
“I don't know. Maybe, if I saw him again.”
Charlie rammed the truck into reverse and drove straight toward police headquarters. “You wanted to thank me?” he asked. “You can thank me by looking at some pictures.”
“Pictures?”
“Yeah, I got books full of pictures for you to look at. And, if you find the right one, you'll win a prize.”
“Oh, yeah?” Jules gave a big laugh.
“Man, am I glad you decided to quit laughing and start talking.”
When Sadie got home from work, the red light on her answering machine blinked in sets of three. She wasn't used to getting that many messages all at once and quickly hit the play button. The first message from Jaycee made her heart sink.
“Sorry, hon. Can't make it up through Christmas and New Year's. Got some important clients to entertain. Promise I'll be thinking of you every moment and will call you as soon as I can get away. Promise to make it up to you the last week in January. I love you.”
The next message came as a surprise. It was from Charlie McCord. He wanted to introduce her to a man named Jules Hebert. Unsure why she should meet this person, she quickly jotted down the number of the pager he left so she could call him later. Then she waited for the next message.
Sadie, this is Henry Sapp. Give me a call as soon as you can. We got kind of a mess down here at the sheriff's office and we need your help.
Due to the urgency in Henry's voice, Sadie decided to call him back first. The dispatcher said Sheriff Sapp wasn't available, but when Sadie told him who she was, he put her on hold for a moment and almost instantly Henry picked up the phone.
“Sadie? Is that you?”
“Yes, Henry. What can I do for you?” Sadie had known Henry since she was a small child and she could feel the tension in his strained voice.
“Sadie, a hunter ran into a man's body right at the edge of your property. He was in pretty bad shape. Looked like he might have been dead for a while and maybe some animal had mauled him.”
Sadie felt weak as the image of a limping and dirty Sonny flashed through her mind. “Who is it, Henry?”
“We're not sure. Haven't been able to identify him yet. The FBI's on the way. Said on the phone they think it might be the man that's been robbing those banks over in Sycamore Springs. He didn't have any kind of identification on him. No wallet. But, boy, he had all kinds of money on him, in two different pockets. I mean, a lot of money.”
“Oh, God.”
“Sadie, I hate to tell you this, but I think it might be that boy that just got out of prison that's been hanging around here lately. You know the one. The boy you married way back there.”
“Oh, God.”
By the time Sadie got in touch with Charlie, he had already heard about the dead man found in Eucha. He couldn't believe he had just gotten through with one John Doe on this case and now he possibly had another. He agreed to pick Sadie up and take her to Sheriff Sapp's office to see what they could find out. That arrangement, he thought, would also give him a chance to give her the good news about Happy.
Dr. Buddy Brown, who also served as the local coroner, waited with Henry Sapp in the sheriff's office, along with FBI Agent Daniel Booker. The men sat around a small conference table, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, listening to Booker tell outrageous John Doe corpse stories.
When Charlie and Sadie arrived, Agent Booker leaned back in his chair and smiled. “Well, well, well. If it isn't our Indian banker woman and her sidekick, the Lone Ranger.”
“Booker, if you can't get off that chair and show some respect, we'll take care of this matter without your young ass,” spit Charlie. “And if you don't think I'll go over your head in a New York minute, you try me.”
Henry stepped between the two men and held up his hands. “Come on, you two. This isn't necessary.”
Sadie stood at the door with her mouth open.
“Tell me this, McCord,” Booker continued. “Why is it every time we have a combination of dead people and missing money, your little friend there shows up with some kind of a connection?”
Henry herded Sadie out the door and down the hall. “I'm sorry, Sadie,” said Henry. “I wouldn't have asked you to come if I'd known about this FBI man.”
“Henry, why do they keep acting like I had something to do with all this?”
“Don't worry, Sadie,” he said as he guided her into an empty office. “Stay here and I'll have Buddy bring in the photos of the dead man so you can see if you recognize him. Then you can go home.” He turned on his heels and left the room.
After a few moments, Henry reappeared with Buddy at his side, photos in hand. Suddenly, Booker burst through the door behind them. “Henry, call me with what you find out. I should be able to close both bank robbery cases tomorrow as soon as I get the fingerprints run.” The agent then stormed down the hall and out the front door.
Minutes later, Charlie calmly walked in and sat down beside Sadie. “You okay?” he asked.
“I'm fine,” said Sadie in a defiant tone. “Let's get this over with.”
Buddy slowly laid the photos on the desk in front of Sadie. At first, the person in the pictures didn't look real. Under the edge of a white sheet, the bruised neck showed puncture wounds, similar to the bite of a wolf, dog, or some other animal. The blood had been wiped away before the coroner had taken the pictures. When she looked closer, she knew it was indeed Michael.
“It's him,” she said. The expression on her face never changed. “His name is Michael Jonathan Mills. He's a murderer and he went to jail for it. I'm sure his fingerprints are on file somewhere.”
“We're running them right now, Sadie,” said Henry. “Expect an answer back any time. You're just confirming what we already thought. Do you have any idea why he had so much money on him?”
“No, I have no idea. Last account I had he was dealing drugs.”
“Sadie, do you think he's the man who robbed you?” asked Charlie.
For the first time, tears began to well in her eyes. “I don't know anymore, Charlie. I don't know.” Then she began to sob.
“You can go when you're ready,” said Henry.
Sadie wiped her face and walked toward the door.
“And I'm sorry about that agent Booker,” added Henry. “I don't know what got into him.”
Sadie rode quietly on the way back to her house while Charlie related the story of Jules Hebert. She tried to be excited about the news of her homeless friend, but the ordeal at the sheriff's office had drained her emotionally. She fought wave after wave of confusion. Charlie finally managed to get her attention when he announced that Jules had actually seen the robber and could possibly identify him.
“You're kidding.” Sadie's face came back to life
.
“No, I'm not. I've had him going through every book we have at the station. Unfortunately, with no luck.”
“So, he could tell us if Michael robbed me?”
Charlie pulled a photo out of his pocket and said, “We're going to see.”
Sadie laid her head against the car window. The revelation that her quest to find the truth might be coming to an end suddenly overwhelmed her. It had started so many months ago, on April Fools' Day, and it seemed like a lifetime ago. Could it be possible that all the pain and suffering she had been going through was a direct result of a teenage relationship gone bad? Had her life been turned upside down by a monster she could not see, the result of blind juvenile infatuation?
Charlie continued to talk, but Sadie couldn't hear him, having lost her ability to concentrate for the moment. Her mind floated and came to rest on Jaycee. She was lucky to have found such a wonderful, tender, loving man, she thought. She yearned for his embrace, his kind voice, and his loving words. Why did he have to live so far away?
“…and the problem is there were no fingerprints left at either bank. So, unless Booker can find some bait money in Mills's pocket change, I don't know how he can justify closing the case without some positive identification. But, of course, those federal boys do show a lack of intelligence at times.”
Charlie looked at Sadie and realized he was talking to himself. Returning his attention to the highway, they rode in silence until they reached the turnoff to Sadie's house. As usual, she could see Sonny's eyes reflect in the headlights. Suddenly, and with an air of urgency, Sadie turned and said, “Charlie? I need to tell you something.”
Charlie pulled up next to Sadie's car and pushed the gearshift into “park.” Sonny met the car, wagged his tail cautiously, and barked at the unfamiliar vehicle. Sadie rolled her window down and spoke in a soft voice. “Etlawei.” Sonny stopped barking and chose a place to sit where he could keep a protective eye on Sadie.
“That's quite a dog you got there,” remarked Charlie. “And multilingual. I didn't see him earlier.”
“You only see him if he wants you to,” Sadie said, and then added, “I think I know what happened to Michael.”
Charlie placed his elbow on the steering wheel and rubbed his forehead. “I'm listening.”
“I think Sonny killed him.”
“Who in hell is Sonny?”
Sadie motioned with her head at the wolf-dog. “That's Sonny,” she said.
Charlie lowered his head and looked at Sadie as if he were looking at her over imaginary spectacles and repeated her words. “You think Sonny killed him, do you?”
“Well, I don't know for sure. I didn't see it happen.”
Charlie pulled the photo from his pocket and looked at the wounds on the dead man's neck. “Could have been.”
“All I know is, about a week ago, he was limping and dirty, had blood all over his neck. I figured he'd been in a fight with another wolf or something. But, I don't want anything to happen to Sonny because he thought he was protecting me.”
“‘Another’ wolf?”
“He's a half-breed, Charlie. Just like me.”
Sadie's comment caught Charlie off-guard. After a few moments of contemplation he asked, “Can he shoot, too?”
“What do you mean?”
“While it's true the wolf there could have done some damage to the boy's neck, I doubt he could have put that bullet in the back of his head. However, if no one saw it happen and the wolf don't tell us he did it, I guess we'll never know, will we? And the dead man can't talk, so why can't we leave it at that.”
Sadie gasped. “I didn't know he was shot.”
Charlie ignored her comment. “I'm anxious to get this picture back to Hap—, I mean Jules, and see what he says. I'll call you and let you know.”
Sadie reached over and touched Charlie's arm. “Thanks, Charlie.”
Chapter 21
When Charlie got home, it was well past midnight. He had spent hours searching for Jules but could find him nowhere. A lady at the Shelter of Grace said she thought he had been helping someone deliver Christmas trees and didn't know when he would be back. The holiday traffic had complicated his search, slowing everything to a snail's pace in Sycamore Springs.
The dark house indicated that Lilly had already gone to bed. He took off his boots by the front door and tried to be quiet. But when he tripped over a knitting basket left in the middle of the floor, he stubbed his toe on the corner of the coffee table and scattered yarn and knitting needles everywhere. “Damn it,” he growled as he fell onto the couch.
Lilly's voice startled Charlie as it calmly rose from the chair in the far corner. “You don't have to throw things just because you got caught trying to sneak in the house.”
“What in the world are you doing sitting in the dark, Lilly?” asked Charlie. “I was trying to be nice and quiet so I wouldn't wake you up.” His aggravation wasn't hard to detect.
“You're nice, all right,” Lilly retorted. “You're nice and guilty and caught in the act. Isn't this supposed to be your day off? Someone told me they saw you driving around with that Indian woman in your car. Is she your new girlfriend?”
Lilly's voice grated against Charlie like fingernails on a chalkboard while he continued to sit in the darkness, unwilling to turn on lights for this conversation.
“What do you want, Lilly? I have been working my butt off and, no, I do not have a girlfriend,” roared Charlie. “Not that it hasn't crossed my mind.”
“I'll tell you what I want,” she said. “No, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to leave your sorry ass. The papers are in there on the kitchen table. I'm not going to be stuck in this nowhere marriage when my daddy's money finally comes in. It's going to be mine. All mine. I'm not going to give you half of it, nor anybody else for that matter.”
“Are you expecting your daddy to die anytime soon, Lilly?”
“My daddy is lying in the hospital right now, barely holding on to life, not that I think you really care. And when he's gone, I'm not going to live like this anymore. And I'm sure as hell not going to live with you anymore. I'm sick of your running around at all hours.”
Lilly's words stung like angry wasps. Charlie knew he had not been a model husband, but hadn't he provided for her all these years? And taken care of her? He knew their love had shriveled a long time ago, but they were comfortable and he had never run around on her.
“What happened to your dad?” Charlie asked with genuine concern.
“He had a heart attack. He's in intensive care. If he can regain some strength, they'll do surgery. I don't think that's going to happen.” Lilly began to weep.
Charlie reached over and switched on a lamp. Lilly sat in a long, flannel nightgown, clutching her knees against her chest, rocking back and forth in the recliner. Her pale face was smudged with black eye makeup and her blond, stringy hair clung to her damp cheeks.
“Oh, Lilly, I'm so sorry.”
Charlie moved to her side, kneeled by the chair, and put his arm around her shoulders. As Lilly's crying escalated into uncontrollable sobs, he could smell the odor of alcohol on her breath. A half-empty bottle of tequila sat on the table near her chair. Charlie took her delicate body in his arms and held her while her emotions spilled onto his big chest. After a few minutes, the tears subsided and Lilly came to life as if she had just awakened from a deep sleep. She flailed her arms and slung her head and Charlie instinctively tightened his grip on her.
“Let me go, you bastard,” she screamed. “Don't touch me. Get away from me.”
Charlie instantly let go and backed up. “Lilly, you've got to get hold of yourself. How much of that rotgut have you been drinking?”
“I don't have to do anything you say.” And with that, she jumped up and stormed into the bedroom, locking the door behind her.
Charlie stood in a daze for a moment before slowly lumbering into the kitchen. He arched his back and rolled his shoulders to relieve the ache between his
shoulder blades. His backside felt numb from sitting at the wheel of the police car for hours on end and his head hurt. He pulled out a chair, picked up the document, and sat down. The top of the page read “Lilly Francine McCord v. Charles Edward McCord.” Everything had to be an argument. Her versus him; him versus her. This was the final dispute, he thought.
Charlie had known his marriage was doomed from the minute he uttered those famous words: “I do.” Even so, he couldn't help but feel that these papers resulted from his failure. It was all his fault, he thought.
In the dim light of the kitchen, the big man thumbed through several pages of the legal document. He skipped over most of the lawyer talk and looked for the list of who got what. He didn't want Lilly's family money. He didn't really want anything.
The list was pretty short and to the point. The majority of assets were listed on Lilly's side of the page—the house, the car, and the household goods. He figured she deserved most of the property for putting up with him all these years. Charlie got the old truck and his personal items. What the hell is a personal item in a house you've lived in for twenty years? Charlie turned the document over and pulled back the last page where the lines were drawn for each signature. He pulled the pen out of his shirt pocket, scribbled his name in the appropriate space, and threw the pen on the table. He twisted his wedding ring, pulled it off, and dropped it on the paper. Charlie shook his head and muttered to himself, “Merry Christmas, McCord.”
He walked to the bedroom door and knocked lightly. “Lilly, unlock the door. I'm bushed.” His voice sounded like his feet felt—flat and tired. “Can't I at least get some of my things?” When he could hear no movement through the door, he walked down the hall and into the guest bedroom.
He undressed in the dark and climbed into bed. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could make out the furnishings in the small room. It was decorated with lots of ruffles and flowers, everything in its place. He thought to himself how he didn't really know Lilly at all. And he was quite certain she didn't know the real Charlie McCord.
The next morning, Charlie rose later than usual. Strangely enough, he felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders. If he had known he would feel this good about it, he would have come to some kind of an agreement with Lilly years ago.
Deception on All Accounts Page 19
