by Anne Hagan
I wrote the address down and slid the bottle back to him. “Is there anyone else you can think of whom Ben would have had a contentious relationship with?”
He shook his head no.
“Is there anyone else on the staff I should speak with who might have been close to him?”
Again, he shook his head. “They are mostly college students. They come and go. The dishwasher, Peng, has been here the longest.” He paused and then added, “His English isn’t the best.”
“All right then. I think we’re finished here.” We both stood. “Thank you for your time.”
“You’re welcome Sheriff.”
I handed him a card. “If you think of anything else, no matter how unimportant you might think it is, please call my office.” He looked at the card but said nothing. He’ll never call. “I can show myself out.”
I stepped out of the office to see that a youngish man of some sort of Asian descent, had actually entered the kitchen pushing a bus cart of, I presumed, the staff’s dishes. I surmised that he was Peng, the dishwasher Manny mentioned. After a nod in my direction, he started to head toward the machine that was his domain in the kitchen, confirming my assumption. I waved for him to hold on for a moment but he shook his head no and tossed it toward the office where Ben was still sitting.
I continued on my way. Obviously, Peng had something to say that he didn’t want to say in the presence of Manuel Rojas. I’d have to find another way to talk to him outside of The Hive.
Chapter 9 - Homecoming
Thursday, May 29th, 2014
“I really appreciate you and your sister doing this Mel. It’s such a relief to get out of that hospital.”
“Your welcome. I just hope you can navigate the house pretty easily. When I last left this morning, the ramp to get up to the front door was almost built. Nothing else should be too much trouble, even with your crutches.”
“I do feel bad for putting you to so much trouble.”
“Dana, it’s fine. Really.”
Mel turned her sister’s car into their driveway. There, front and center, was a brand new ramp leading to the front porch where there had been none before. The area around it was neat and clean with not a scrap of excess wood in evidence. Her worker bees had been quick and efficient.
“Wow! Your uncle works fast!”
“Tell me about it!”
The house was quiet as we slowly made our way in with me hobbling along on crutches. “Where is everyone?”
“Kris is at work by now – she goes in at 1:00 – and the kids are still in school. I expect they’ll be home soon. It’s almost 3:00.”
“Oh. Sorry! Your day’s been shot because of me, hasn’t it?”
She gave me an exasperated look. “Dana...”
“Sorry, sorry...I...”
“Stop saying you’re sorry! I need to stop feeling responsible for you getting shot and you need to stop feeling bad about being temporarily sidelined because of it.”
I nodded. “You’re right. And, for the record, I hope it’s temporary.”
Mel carried my bags into what was usually her den. When I stepped into the doorway, I could see that she’d moved her desk that faced the door back, more toward the window to give the room the floor space it needed for the sofa bed to be pulled out into a bed. The bed was already out and made up nicely. I could also see the door to the bathroom was open. There was, in fact a petite bathroom there with a step in shower. It would be perfect for my lack of full mobility. I turned to her and smiled, “This is so great. Thank you so much!”
She stepped over to another door and opened it to reveal a nearly empty closet. “For you madam!”
I laughed. “I don’t have much to put in there just yet! I talked to the Cleveland office. They’re having a moving company box up my clothes and personal stuff from the apartment I was living in. That will all be down here in a couple of days. Right now, I just have what’s left of the stuff that I brought when I came down to do surveillance on the last case.”
“Hmm, well, if you don’t mind living in sweatpants and tee shirts for a couple of days, I think we can find enough clothes around here that will fit to help you out.”
Mel and her twin sister both had several inches of height on me and they were both broader shouldered and fairly much more well-endowed. Any of their clothes were going to be huge on me. I just smiled my thanks and sat down on the bed. She put my things from the hospital in the closet.
“Will you be going back to work today?”
“Yes. Unfortunately, duty calls. You’ve already figured out that I’ve had to open a murder investigation for Ben Tracy. I’ve started talking to people and I need to do some follow up.” She paused and looked at her desk, “That reminds me, you’re more than welcome to use this as your office base too when you don’t want to or don’t need to drive into Columbus but I’m going to need to use it sometimes too. I hate to bring my work home with me but...well...I hate to spend longer than necessary at the station too, so there it is.”
“Mel, really? It’s still your office. Of course you can use it.”
“I just want you to feel at home here and to feel like you have some privacy, that’s all.”
###
Once I had Dana settled in and her and the kids semi-fed, I headed back downtown. I felt like I’d made the trip a dozen times today.
Holly was still at her desk when I rolled into the office area just before 5:00.
“Is it going to be a late night Sheriff?”
I shook my head. “Hopefully not too late. Anything I should know about, any new developments?”
“Nope. It’s been pretty quiet.” She handed me the Tracy file.
I leafed through the little that was in it. “I talked to Manuel Rojas, the cook at The Hive this morning. He goes by Manny. He’s keeping the restaurant open, at least temporarily, supposedly at the request of Liberty Tracy. I don’t have confirmation of that from her...”
“And?”
“And I just don’t feel like he’s telling me the truth but I can’t put a finger on what he might be hiding. I also got the impression the dishwasher there had something to say but he wouldn’t talk to me with Rojas present. I need to figure out how to get a hold of him.”
“What’s his name?”
I grinned sheepishly. “I apologize but all I got out of Rojas was ‘Peng’.”
She rolled her eyes at me. “Oh well; I’ve worked with less!”
“Rojas fingered a Ryan McClarnan as someone that had occasional run-ins with Tracy. He’s one of their suppliers for the restaurant. Here’s the address I have for him.” She copied it from my notebook.
“Check that out and also run a rap sheet for him and see what turns up. I hear it told that he has a bit of aversion to government and to law enforcement.”
Holly raised her eyebrows. “Alrighty then. Anything else?”
“Yeah, do quick checks for now. Don’t knock yourself out. Go home and enjoy your evening.”
“Oh, like you’re doing?”
She had me there.
An hour later, with Holly’s help, I had learned that the Hive’s dishwasher, ‘Peng’, was actually Michael Peng, a 20 year old male who lived with his Uncle, Wu Peng, the owner of a takeout Chinese restaurant in downtown Zanesville. I also had a rap sheet on Ryan McClarnan which listed the same area of farm fields along the river bank as his last known address and a couple of charges for disorderly conduct, resisting arrest and other similar misdemeanors. Apparently my government hating person of interest was an all-around rabble rouser. There was no county record of a dwelling existing at that address and no property tax records for any land in the county in his name. We also learned that McClarnan had no vehicle registered in his name and no recent records on file with the BMV in what little of their database we could access. I’d have to call those folks myself in the morning and find out if he’d had a vehicle registered or a driver’s license on file at any time recently.
I sent
Holly home and then I grabbed my logbook and headed out to my county vehicle. The carryout was still open. A visit to Peng’s uncle Wu was definitely in order.
Business in and out of the carryout was brisk for a Wednesday evening. Another popular restaurant in town that I’ve never eaten at!
A woman was at the counter barking orders in Chinese to three men in the open, shotgun style kitchen behind her when I stepped up. I marveled at the men, all in white pants and white tee shirts, as they turned things in and out of woks quicker than I ever thought it was possible to cook food. It must be 400 degrees over those woks!
“Order please.”
I hadn’t eaten in hours. I didn’t even eat with Dana and the kids. There just wasn’t time. “Um, give me a broccoli chicken with white rice and an order of spring rolls.” She called the order to the men and then turned to me for payment.
“Can you tell me if one of those men is Wu Peng?” I pointed toward the three men in the kitchen.
She didn’t answer me, she just turned toward the men and shouted, “Wu!” and then she turned back to me and handed me my change. Before I could even step aside, she hollered “Next!” to the couple now behind me in line.
The man working at the middle cooking station nodded in my direction. A couple of minutes later, after he’d finished my own order, he walked quickly over to me. “I am Wu. Is there something you need?”
“I’m Sheriff Crane Mr. Peng. Can I take a minute of your time? I promise to be quick.”
He eyed the people that were still waiting inside the small space and motioned me behind the counter.
We walked quickly through the kitchen and out a door in the back to the ally. He turned to me, “Sorry. Best I can do.”
“No problem. I just need a minute.”
He nodded.
“I’m trying to get in touch with Michael Peng. I understand that he lives with you?”
“Yes me and my wife. What has Michael done?”
“Nothing Mr. Peng. I’m in the middle of an investigation and he might have information that can help me. That’s all.”
“Michael?” He eyed me suspiciously.
“Yeeessss...Michael. Is there something wrong?”
“Follow me please.” With that, he stepped to the left and opened a door that revealed a staircase that led, I presumed, to an apartment above the restaurant.”
When we reached the small hallway at the top of the stairs, Wu Peng used his key to open the only door there; one set in the wall to the left. Music was playing somewhere within the small, very tidy apartment. As he stepped in, he called out to someone in Chinese. I recognized the name ‘Michael’.
The music volume was lowered and then the young man I recognized from The Hive emerged from another room. He stopped short when he saw me standing just inside the still open entry door.
“Come Michael. This is Sheriff Crane. She says she wishes to speak to you.” Wu spun and faced me. He waved his arm toward a small table and chairs and we all moved toward it. As we sat, he asked, “Can you tell us both what this is about?”
“Certainly. I’m investigating the murder of Ben Tracy, the former owner of the restaurant where Michael works.”
Wu Peng looked taken aback. “Ben’s death was murder?”
“Yes, I’m afraid so.”
The older man was quiet for a minute and then he asked, “What brings you to think that Michael knows anything about that?”
I looked at the younger man. “Do you speak English Michael?”
He looked away from me.
“Sheriff Crane, Michael and his parents were in a car accident when Michael was very young. They were both killed. He suffered trauma. He speaks both English and Chinese but he stutters, especially in English, so he does not talk often. He also moves slowly because of the accident. He isn’t capable of working downstairs in the restaurant my brother, his father and I, built. He lives here with me and my wife in honor of my late brother. Ben Tracy was a family friend. He gave Michael a job. We were sorry to hear of his death.”
He said the last with an air of finality as though I were being dismissed.
“Mr. Peng, do you know Manny Rojas?”
“The cook at Ben’s restaurant? I know of him. I’ve seen him when I’ve gone by there after Michael.”
Hmmm. “I’m trying to learn what I can about Ben Tracy in an effort to find his killer. I went to the restaurant today to talk to Mr. Rojas. He told me ‘Peng’,” I indicated Michael, “was the only other staff member who had been there for any length of time but he led me to believe that Michael doesn’t speak much English.”
I shifted in my seat to turn toward Michael. “Son, please look at me.” He turned his face to me. “I don’t care about your speech problems. It’s just me and your uncle here. When I was there today, I got the impression you wanted to tell me something. What was it?”
Michael Peng looked at his uncle. Wu Peng nodded toward his younger charge almost imperceptibly.
He began to speak haltingly, as if it were an effort to talk. “Mr. Tracy was always n-n-nice to me. He talked to me. Mr. Rojas thinks I am dumb. He th-thinks I cannot hear him...th-th-that I do not understand what he s-s-says.”
I nodded. “You’re not dumb Michael.”
The young man smiled. “Mr. Rojas, he argued with Mr. Tracy.”
“What did they argue about?”
“The res...res...restaurant.”
“About the food?”
He nodded.
“Did they argue about anything else?”
Michael looked down at the table.
Wu Peng spoke up, “Michael, tell her if there was anything else.”
“One time, they had a f-f-f-fight over pills.”
“What kind of pills?”
“I don’t know. I saw Ma-Manny give Mr. Tracy a li...li...little bag. Mi-mi... Mr. Tracy told him he sh-shorted him. Mr. Rojas t-t-told him, “th-that’s all you get old man!”
“What was in the bag?”
He just shrugged to indicate he didn’t know. His expression didn’t change.
“What happened then?”
“Mr. Tracy was v...very mad. He...l-left.”
“Do you remember how long ago that was?”
Michael shook his head no.
“Please, try to remember.”
He looked toward me but I could tell he was concentrating. Finally he said, “t...t...two weeks ago.”
Chapter 10 – Double Trouble
Oh what a tangled web we weave! I now had two potential suspects in the death of Ben Tracy but no evidence other than the hearsay mumblings of a 20 year old dishwasher to pin on one of them and no idea where to find the other one. I headed for home with more questions than I’d left there with a couple of hours before.
The house was again quiet when I entered it. Odd!
I poked my head into my den, now Dana’s room. Empty!
I stood at the foot of the stairs and listened for the kids. Nothing! I passed through the dining el off the kitchen and caught site of Beth, my niece, out on the deck. I reached in the fridge for a soda, grabbed a fork and then headed out there with those and my Chinese takeout to see what was going on.
Dana sat in a chaise lounge on the deck, under a light blanket to ward off the early spring chill. Her legs were stretched out in front of her and she had her crutches laid beside the chair, in easy reach. Her eyes were closed. She looked comfortable and content in the late evening light.
Beth, meanwhile, was standing at the rail watching her older but definitely not wiser brother Cole as he put some sort of stickers on one of the two base Honda 250 quads that I’d bought for myself and Beth, for fun. Because Beth had actually started to race, I’d put Holeshot tires on hers but I hadn’t yet modified it for performance. She was just getting started.
My own quad had the factory tires. As I peered into the growing darkness at the tires and rims, I realized that the bike Cole was decorating was mine and not his sisters.
; “Boy! What do you think you’re doing?” My shouting startled Dana who sat upright in her chair. I dropped my food on the table then murmured my apologies to Dana, as I scrambled off the deck with Beth trailing behind me.
“I told him not to do it Aunt Mel! I told him you’d be mad!”
Cole looked at me with the look of a deer caught in the headlights. “I was just decorating it for the race on Saturday. I got these in the mail. Mom said it was okay.” He held out a passel of Fox and Honda Performance Racing stickers. They’d look silly on the small, unmodified quad.
I tried to quickly process all three of his statements at once but my interrogation training was failing me. “What race? Who’s racing?”
“There’s hill climbs on Saturday at Crow Canyon and I’m going to enter.”
“Crow Canyon? And your mom said that you could do that and that you could do it on my quad?” I was getting loud. Dana was up out of her chair, on her crutches, peering over the rail at us in the dimness.
“Well, I didn’t ask mom about the races yet...” He looked confused. I was even more confused. I looked to Beth for help.
“I told him when he came out here with the stickers and pulled out your quad that you’d be mad!”
“I...I thought this one was mine.” His voice quavered.
“What?” I shook my head. “What on earth made you think that? You have a quad!” I was getting angry.
He looked at his sister and then back at me. “Mine’s just a little 50. You gave Beth one of these. I thought the other one was for me...” His eyes were pleading.
