Opening Day: A Matt Davis Mystery

by Perrone Jr. , Joe

  I shrug my shoulders and break into a shit-eating grin. “Would’ve been nice, though, wouldn’t it?”

  “Shoulda, woulda, coulda,” he replies.

  “Yeah, but I guess that only happens on CSI.”

  We both chuckle, and then remain quiet for a few minutes, each of us lost in speculative thought.

  “I’ve got an idea,” I say. “Feel like taking a ride?”

  “Where to?”

  “What difference? You got something better to do?” Bob consults his wristwatch. “Oh, that’s right; I forgot. It’s your day off, isn’t it?”

  “No, no. It’s not that. It’s just that I promised the wife that I’d help her get ready for her yard sale. It’s this Saturday, and she’s got a bunch of shit that needs cleanin’ up and all.” He fidgets in his chair, obviously conflicted. “Ah, screw it,” he blurts out. “She can start without me. How long you think we’ll be?”

  “Not too long. I thought we’d take a ride over to the high school. Maybe talk to the English teacher. See if the handwriting on this envelope rings any bells.”

  “You thinkin’ it might be a high school kid?” asks Bob.

  “Could be. You know kids; they’re always stirring up mischief, but sometimes they see stuff. It’s worth a shot.”

  We catch Ms. Radburn between her fifth and seventh-period classes, during her break. She’s in the teacher’s lounge. Quietly opening the door, I poke my head inside, expecting to find a room filled with gossiping educators – and smoke. But, times have changed. Unlike the teacher’s lounges that I remember from my childhood, this one does not reek of stale cigarette smoke. In fact, it bears little resemblance to its earlier counterparts. There is soft, New Age music playing on a portable CD player in the far corner of the room, and numerous, hanging green plants decorate the softly lit environs.

  “Ms. Radburn?” I whisper, through the partially opened door. “Do you have a minute?”

  The young teacher looks up from a book she is reading, and smiles. “Oh, Chief Davis. Hi.”

  That’s one of the benefits of working in a small town environment. Everyone knows you. Sometimes, however, it can be a double-edged sword—but not today.

  Marlene Radburn is blond, thirty-something, single, and not too hard on the eyes. She’s wearing a patterned pants suit that does little to hide her athletic figure. All I can say is they didn’t make English teachers that looked like her when I was a kid.

  “Is there anything wrong?” she asks, her expression tightening.

  “No, no. Nothing like that. I just thought you might be able to help me with something.”

  “Well, certainly. What is it?”

  “Do you mind if we come in?” I ask, removing my hat, and opening the door wider, permitting her a glimpse of Walker, who is standing just behind me in the hallway.

  “No, please do,” she says.

  I motion to Bob to follow me, and we enter the lounge, with Bob carefully closing the door behind us. “Do you mind if I lock the door? I don’t want anyone to disturb us.”

  “You’re sure there’s nothing wrong?” she asks, a look of concern crossing her face.

  “Absolutely,” I assure her. “It’s just that—”

  “Well, then, I guess it’s okay. But, if someone wants to come in…well, you understand. We’ll have to let them.”

  “Not a problem,” I answer. “I understand completely.”

  I carefully remove the plastic evidence bag from an inside pocket of my black officer’s jacket. In it is just the envelope. I’ve decided not to show her the note, which lies secure in the safe, back at the office. No point in letting the whole world know about the only tangible piece of evidence that has come along since this whole thing started.

  “I received a kind of prank note the other day,” I begin. “Apparently, something I did recently annoyed somebody enough to cause them to threaten me.” (I know I’m telling her a lie, but in this case, it’s not really important. What counts most is that she believes me, and understands why I need her help). “I thought that, as the English teacher here, you might be able to recognize this handwriting.” I hold out the plastic bag, with the front of the envelope exposed.

  “Well, I’ve been here less than two years, but if it’s someone I’ve taught, I might recognize it. May I?” she asks, reaching for the bag.

  “Certainly,” I reply. “Just, please, do not remove the envelope from the bag. It is evidence of a sort, and we wouldn’t want it tainted.” Oh, am I going to rot in hell.

  Ms. Radburn studies the handwriting for a minute, and then offers the bag back to me.

  “Well?” I’m a bit surprised that she hasn’t studied it longer.

  “What makes you think it’s a student here?” she asks.

  I shrug my shoulders. “Don’t you think so?”

  “No,” she replies. “I don’t. Or I should say, probably not.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for starters, the style of some of the letters is dated. It’s Peterson Penmanship. We don’t teach that anymore. I mean, they don’t. Obviously, here in the high school, we’re not teaching any penmanship. But, even in the elementary schools, they’re not teaching this sort of handwriting.”

  “Interesting,” I reply.

  “No,” says Ms. Radburn. “If you ask me, I’d say it was an older person, and probably a woman.”

  Putting the evidence bag back into my jacket pocket, I offer Ms. Radburn my hand. “I appreciate the help.”

  “Well, I don’t know if I’ve been very much help, but—”

  “Oh, but you have,” I say. “Really. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate what you’ve just told me.”

  “Well, I certainly hope—”

  “Of course, it’s not exactly the answer I was expecting, but it sure is helpful. Thank you so much for your time, Ms. Radburn.”

  “Please, Chief Davis; it’s Marlene. And, I’m so glad I could help.”

  Walker unlocks the door and opens it, holding it as I exit the room. Turning back, I wave goodbye to Ms. Radburn, who has already returned to her seat, and is opening her book. “Take care, uh, Marlene. And thanks.” She looks up from her book and smiles, waving gently.

  No sir; they certainly don’t make teachers like they used to.

  Chapter 28

  The big black and white Chevy cruiser belonging to our esteemed former Chief of Police (complete with spotlight and whip antenna), is parked right in front of the door to my office, and I think to myself, Who the hell does he think he is, anyway?

  Red is bent over at the waist; legs spread stiffly apart, hands in his pockets, staring intently at the big cork bulletin board that runs along the left wall of the office, above the bank of file cabinets. A white, straw cowboy hat is tipped back on his head, and he’s wearing Western boots, making him appear even taller than his six-feet, five-inches. He appears to be studying the missing person posters that adorn the board’s scarred surface.

  “What’re you looking for, Dwight? Family member?”

  “Hey, Chief!” he says, straightening up to his full height, and spinning around with a grin on his face as wide as a number 10 envelope. “Very funny,” he says, with a chuckle. “Very funny” (he hates when I call him Dwight).

  “Thought you might enjoy that,” I say.

  “Actually, I was just hoping I could be of some help with that case…you know…the girl. You did say it was a girl, right?”

  “Yeah. It’s a girl, alright. What kind of help were you thinking of?”

  “Well,” he says, the grin growing wider, “I was Chief around here for almost twenty years. I’ve got sources…If you know what I mean.” The last sentence hangs in the air like a bean fart.

  “Actually, Red, believe it or not, we’ve got things pretty well under control. But, don’t think I don’t appreciate the offer.”

  The big man moves closer, and I can swear I detect the odor of garlic on his breath, even though it’s only just past nine in the mornin
g. Or, worse yet, maybe it’s masquerading something even more offensive. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “Ya know, Matt, I might be an old codger, but there is some value to that. Folks around here know me; trust me, even. I was just thinkin’ I might take a few of those missin’ person posters around; show ‘em to folks that might have seen somethin’. Maybe been keepin’ it to themselves. Lord knows, it couldn’t hurt none. Whadda ya say. Huh? Deal?”

  The “trust” thing is still rattling around inside my head. He sure has a way of getting to me. But, maybe I’m being too sensitive. He certainly seems sincere. What harm could it do to let him help? At least it’ll keep him out of the office.

  “Tell you what,” I say. “Why don’t you make copies of some of the more recent ones and see what you can find out. After all, I’m not exactly overloaded with manpower. Hell, I’d really appreciate the help.” Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Nancy, standing in the doorway separating her office from mine, screwing up her face in a look of disapproval. I give her a conspiratorial wink, and she turns away in disgust. “But, right now, if you don’t mind, Red, I’ve got a bit of paperwork that needs to be done.”

  “Hey, no problemo, Matt,” says Red. “I’ll just make those copies, and be on my way. I appreciate you lettin’ me help. You won’t be sorry; you’ll see.”

  Five minutes later, with the freshly made copies in his hand, Red rushes out the door, fires up the cruiser, and is gone in a burst of dust and gravel.

  In less than thirty seconds, Nancy appears in the doorway, hands on hips, a scowl painted across her face. “What was that all about?” she inquires.

  “What? Red?”

  “You know very well what I mean, Matt.”

  “Look, Nancy, don’t you think you’re being a bit hard on him? He certainly seems to have changed a bit. At least, I think he has. Why don’t you cut him some slack?”

  “’Cause I know him too well. Tigers don’t change their spots.”

  “It’s leopards,” I reply.

  “Leopards, tigers; who cares? You know what I mean. Maybe it’s working with him all those years. He’s just plain mean.”

  “Now I know you’re exaggerating,” I say. “I think you need to chill out a bit.”

  “Maybe so,” replies Nancy. “But, just the same, you need to be on your guard.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement. Now, can we just stop talking about Red and start getting some work done?” Instantly, I regret my choice of words. But, it’s too late.

  “Fine. Fine,” she says. “I’ll just get right back to work!”

  Before I can utter a syllable, Nancy turns and is gone. Ouch!

  After slowly consuming a cup of hot chocolate over a twenty-minute period, I figure it’s finally safe to enter Nancy’s domain without fear for my life. As I walk through the doorway, I’m met with a surprise. Nancy is busy arranging a huge bunch of roses in a crystal vase.

  “Secret admirer?” I ask, with a smile.

  Nancy blushes a shade deeper than the roses. “Actually,” she says, “they’re from someone that you seem to think you know better than I do.”

  “Oh, really? And, who might that be?”

  “Mr. Dwight Buckner.”

  “Wha—”

  “Now, don’t say a word. I know exactly what you’re thinking…and it doesn’t need saying.”

  “I rest my case.” I can’t help but smirk.

  Nancy points a finger toward the doorway. “Out,” she says. “Out!”

  We spend the rest of the day doing the “avoid-each-other” tango, until at last it’s time to go home.

  “Night, Nancy.”

  “Night, Matt,”

  Tomorrow’s a new day.

  Chapter 29

  Olivia, the previous year – late afternoon, day one

  The truck bounces along the rough, dirt and gravel road, while Olivia continues to sleep. The sun is low in the sky, and it looks as if it could snow. Suddenly, the vehicle hits a deep pothole, jarring the cab violently, and causing the girl to awake with a start. She looks over at the driver for assurance, and instead is alarmed by the look she sees on his face. She’s seen the same leering expression before on the faces of teenaged boys, ogling her and her friends at a football game, or a school dance. At those times, it was a source of mild amusement, but in this case, it is cause for concern. Suddenly, she doesn’t feel safe.

  Looking around, she observes the fact that they are no longer traveling on a main road. Where am I? she thinks. Panic begins to set in; her eyes well up with tears. “Where are we?” she cries.

  Dave takes his foot off the gas pedal; the truck immediately begins to slow, the rough surface of the road acting as a secondary brake on the big semi. “It’s okay, Little Lady,” he replies. “It’s just a shortcut that I take sometimes.”

  “But, why?” asks Olivia, with more than a little fear in her voice.

  “Relax. It’s okay,” says Dave. “It’s a nice day, and I’m just enjoying the scenery. Besides, it saves me about twenty minutes.” He feels a bit guilty, but then assures himself that, indeed, he is telling the girl the truth. It really is a shortcut, and he’s taken it many times before – just not with a pretty girl sitting alongside him in the cab.

  “You swear you’re not going to try any funny stuff?”

  “God, no. I swear; it’s just a shortcut. I wouldn’t even think—”

  “You better not. I’ll call the police. I swear it,” says Olivia. Her words belie her thoughts, which are mostly about what he might do to her.

  Dave is perspiring profusely, and his brain is working at warp speed. He can’t afford any trouble, but he senses that this girl could be just that. Maybe he should get rid of her.

  “Look,” he says, “if you want me to drop you off, I will. I just don’t want any problems, okay?”

  Olivia is surprised by his offer. Maybe she was wrong. God knows she doesn’t really want to have to find her way out of this backcountry. She hasn’t a clue where she is. Besides, she reasons, he is a cripple. What harm could he possibly do?

  “Okay, okay. Don’t get so excited,” she says. “I’ll stay. It’s just that I didn’t like the way you were looking at me. You know…like…horny or something. You’re not a perv, are you?”

  Dave starts to smile. “No, I’m not a perv,” he says. “It’s just that I’m not around such a pretty lady very often. Well, okay, almost never. After all, I’m only human. Right?”

  “Yeah, whatever,” replies Olivia, feeling somewhat foolish. “Hey. You can’t blame me. I mean, I don’t even know you. Not really.”

  Dave wiggles a bit on the big leather seat. He can think of lots of clever answers, but decides not to reply instead. His silence speaks volumes to Olivia, who scrunches up closer against the door, and away from Dave.

  Twenty minutes later, the truck rumbles over a rise in the road, and a cluster of building appears in the distance, down in a modest valley. There are a gas station, a diner, and a couple of small shops. As they approach the buildings, Olivia rolls the window down, and cranes her neck to read the small, white sign on the right side of the road announcing “Treadwell, population 475.” What appears to be a black and white, police cruiser, with a spotlight and whip antenna, is parked in the small parking lot adjacent to the diner. She decides to take her chances and asks Dave to drop her off.

  “Are you sure?” he asks, incredulously.

  “Yeah. I’d like to stretch my legs and maybe get something to eat,” she says. Then, sensing that she might have hurt the truck driver’s feelings, she adds, “I hope you don’t mind. I really enjoyed riding with you.”

  Pulling the big rig to the side of the road, across from the diner, Dave turns to face Olivia, who already has the door open, and is about to climb out. “Look,” he says, “I hope you didn’t think I was—”

  “What? A perv?” She smiles broadly. “Nah,” she says. “I just got a little nervous, just waking up like that and all.
Forgive me?”

  Dave blushes. “Yeah. Sure. No hard feelings?”

  “Nope,” she replies. “I really appreciate the ride. I’ll be fine; don’t worry. Take care, okay?”

  “Okay. You be careful, too.”

  Dave waits until Olivia is safely on the side of the road, slips the big shift lever into gear, and slowly eases the tractor-trailer out onto the road.

  From inside the diner, Red Buckner watches the whole scene with curiosity. As the truck pulls away, a smile creases his face, and he watches intently as the attractive, young girl crosses the road, and makes her way to the front door of the restaurant. He picks up the sports section from the newspaper spread out on the tabletop in his booth, and scans yesterday’s scores for that of the Yankees-Red Sox game. Olivia enters the diner, and takes a seat on a stool at the far end of the counter.

  Olivia pays for her hamburger, fries, and soft drink, and makes her way outside. Red drops a dollar bill on the table, waves at the heavyset waitress behind the counter, and follows the girl out the door.

  As Olivia walks past the old police cruiser, she peeks inside, and sees the police radio, hears its squawk, and feels a sense of security.

  “Need a lift, Miss?” asks Red, from behind, his voice directed at the receding back of the teenaged girl, who has continued on.

  Olivia stops, turns slowly, and looks back at Red’s imposing form. “Me?” she replies, finger pointed at her chest.

  “Yeah, you,” says Red, with a big grin. “I couldn’t help noticing you get out of that semi. You are hitchhiking, aren’t you?”

  Olivia’s radar goes into overdrive. “Oh, no. He was just a friend of mine.” She’s afraid there might be an alert out for her, and her journey might be over before it’s even begun.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” says Red, as if reading her mind. “I don’t care. I just don’t want to see you get yourself in any trouble. If you know what I mean.” He winks after the last sentence.

  Olivia feels the tension drain from her body. She has no idea where she is, and maybe this policeman can at least get her to where she can hitch a ride on a highway. She smiles sheepishly, and says, “Well, actually, I am kind of hitchhiking. I’m trying to get into the city.”