by Ed Gorman
‘You have the envelope he left for me?’
He tapped the front of his hunting jacket. ‘Right inside here.’
‘You mind handing it over? And while you’re at it, putting your gun away?’
A sigh. ‘I should be inside in my bed right now ’stead of up all night with this kinda bullshit. If I don’t get a good night’s sleep I catch a cold. Soon as he showed me the envelope I shoulda kicked his ass out.’
But he slipped the gun into the wide pocket of his jacket and then reached inside and pulled out a white number-ten business envelope.
‘It’s all yours.’
It was so light there couldn’t have been anything else besides a letter inside.
Then I felt the slight bump. Something maybe two inches long and a quarter inch thick, if that.
‘Mind if I step over to the window there to read it?’
He didn’t say anything, but he did step aside so I could move closer to the grimy light.
A single wooden stick match. Unburned. The significance of it was lost on me.
The letter itself was written on the back of some kind of supermarket flier. No fancy-pants stationery for Grimes. And it was written with a ballpoint pen that was running out of ink. Some words were imprinted more heavily than others. I could see and hear him shaking the pen impatiently and cursing it out as if it were a human being. Cindy had quite the granddad.
The message – written in a single paragraph – read as follows:
Conrad,
I had the recorder all along. I called Showalter and told him I wanted a hundred thousand for it. It’s my turn to have some money in this life. He said all right. But when I showed up for the hand-off at the boat dock somebody fired at me. Showalter. So I hid the recorder and I’m hiding myself. I’m gonna give him one more chance to pay up. I got a call into him now. If I turn up dead you let Cindy know about this letter and the stick match. She’ll know where the recorder is.
Grimes
I folded up the letter, shoved it into my jacket pocket and dropped the stick match into my shirt pocket.
Skully said, ‘Now you’re gonna help me.’
‘I am?’
‘You’re damn right you are. He dragged me into this. I want you to help me kick him out.’
‘I guess that makes sense.’
‘Then he’s your problem, not mine.’
‘Let’s go get him then.’
‘You stayin’ at the Royale and all, I figured you’d be some big snooty asshole. I guess maybe I was wrong. At least a little bit.’
It’s all relative, isn’t it? You stay at the Four Seasons in Chicago, you might get known as a big snooty asshole. But in Danton, at least for folks like Skully, it’s the Royale.
He led the way.
The so-called cabins formed a semicircle in a clearing half-hidden by thick pines. The largest of them was four times the size of the others and bore a large sign that read: TOILETS & SHOWER. The closer we got, the clearer the odors from the building struck like poison gas.
There was no evidence of any guests actually residing in this luxury spa. I could hear highway sounds and nightbird sounds and the sounds we made tramping across downed tree branches from past storms, but none of the noises you associate with human beings bedding down for the night.
‘You don’t have many people staying here, huh?’
‘Technically, we’re closed. The old lady died a year ago and it took all the money I had to bury her. Don’t have the money to pay for the ’lectricity in the cabins – just the house – so people don’t want to stay here when they find that out. Plus the stools’re kinda backed up. Your buddy Grimes is the first guest we’ve had in quite a while. He remembered stayin’ here when he was a teenager. Brought his girlfriend out here. Only place he could afford. He’s hidin’ out tonight so he don’t mind not havin’ lights.’ The last remark warranted his old-man laugh.
We reached Cabin Six by following a curving path, and there situated between two smothering pines was another example of life lived large. Cabin Six managed to be more of a shambles than the others I’d seen. The sole window was taped together with a fashionable swipe of duct tape and the door hung on its hinges with a look of desperation.
‘He wanted this one. He said he always used it when he was a kid.’
Grimes would have been in high school in the sixties. Maybe the sex was even better back then with the so-called sexual revolution giving teenagers a freedom previous generations could only have fantasized about.
I stared at the cabin, apprehension starting to fill my chest.
Had somebody beaten me here and killed him? ‘Let me go in and check on him.’
‘No argument from me, Conrad. I got the gun here if you try anything.’
God alone knew what the hell that meant.
I clipped on my flashlight and moved forward.
I saw two small cots, both swaybacked; a three-drawer bureau, a washbasin and a pitcher on top of it; a single straight-backed chair. The metal bucket was presumably used to pee in. This was the best suite in the house.
Grimes lay on the leftward cot beneath a small pile of faded quilts. In the beam of my light his face was a deep red and his open eyes were also tinted red. He had vomited on himself. This stench was actually preferable to the cabin stench.
From the little I knew about medicine I was somewhat sure I was looking at the victim of a heart attack. Cindy would be free of worrying about him now, even if the worrying was the most profound expression of her love for the old man. I forgot about his greed – why the hell not, anyway; I couldn’t argue with his contention that he’d worked hard all his life, even fought for his country, and had little to show for it – and allowed myself to feel some compassion for all the good-bad people in the world. Hell, I was one of them.
‘Hey, what’s goin’ on in there?’
By now I was checking his neck, wrist and ankle for any sign of a pulse. I hadn’t expected any and there was none.
‘He’s dead.’
‘Aw, shit. That’ll be more bad publicity for this place.’
I had to restrain myself from laughing. It was exactly the right and wrong thing to say on a night like this when so much turmoil ruled.
I had an image of the River Cabins public-relations staff sitting around a conference table à la Mad Men, wondering how they were going to deal with this tragedy. The place had such a sterling reputation. Unless they acted quickly and wisely the public might start thinking the place was some kind of dive.
The next thing I did, ghoulish as it was, was search him for the recorder.
He had change, car keys and a rosary in his front pockets. In his back ones there was a billfold and a comb.
I searched the room.
I’m not sure how long it took but a few times I wondered why Skully hadn’t either come in or started talking to me again. Then I realized he was talking to somebody else. I kept on searching. There weren’t that many places to look but I wanted to get to all of them before Skully interrupted me.
I found nothing and Skully didn’t interrupt. Now I wanted to find out who he’d been talking to.
‘Called an ambulance and the police,’ he said.
‘I need to leave now.’
But Skully was good for a plot twist. He shoved the gun in my face and said, ‘Like hell you’ll leave.’
FORTY
Skully was good at doing two things at once.
He not only kept his firearm on me, he yanked a stopwatch out of his pocket and clicked it on.
‘All the damn taxes I pay, let’s see how long it takes for them to get here.’
And with that he waved his gun at me and said, ‘Let’s go up front.’
Given my age and relative condition, it shouldn’t have been too much trouble to dive for him and grab his weapon while he was falling to the ground. But Skully was Skully, a crazy but wily bastard who would probably be lucky enough to put two bullets in my head while I was trying to knock hi
m over.
He insisted that he follow me this time.
Now that I’d had a few minutes to consider the fact that Grimes was dead and that Showalter would no doubt attempt to put my name on the suspect list, I decided it would be better to stay here and let Showalter confront me.
Skully and I ended up leaning against my car.
He held the stopwatch high so he could see it in the faint moonlight. ‘Five minutes and they ain’t here yet.’
He’d been giving me updates, of course, starting at three minutes. Did he really expect the police and an ambulance to get here in three minutes?
Interspersed with the minute-by-minute excitement of waiting for the sirens to arrive, Skully went back through the mistakes he’d made by giving Grimes a cabin at all.
‘He looked shifty.’
Grimes did not look shifty.
‘And he talked like a hood.’
Grimes did not talk like a hood.
‘And as soon as I seen him, I knew I’d have trouble.’
Then why the hell did you give him a room? I thought.
Then it was back to the updates.
‘You know how long it’s been since I called?’
‘No, and I don’t really give a shit.’
‘You would if you paid the taxes I do.’
As irritating as he was, he at least distracted me from the strange sadness for Grimes that kept creeping back.
‘I need to make a phone call. I’m going to step over there.’
‘I’ll be watchin’ you. Don’t try anything funny.’
A hopeless son of a bitch.
Cindy answered on the second ring. ‘Did you find my granddad?’
‘I did, Cindy. He died of a heart attack. At least that’s what it looks like to me.’
‘Where did you find him?’
I went into the whole story. I waited for her to start crying.
‘I know he knew how much I loved him.’
‘I’m sure he did, Cindy.’
I’d referenced Grimes’s letter only once to her. Now I returned to it.
‘Why would he leave me a stick match?’
For the first time tears shook her words. ‘I don’t know, Dev. I—’
She couldn’t restrain herself. A few sobs, then more tears.
I glanced over at Skully. He was watching me like a prison guard. I wondered what the old bastard would do if I flipped him off.
Suddenly she’d snuffled up her tears. ‘The votive candles.’
‘What?’
‘I told you he went to Mass three times a week since my grandmother died. He always lit votive candles for her. That was a big thing for him. That’s the only tie I can think of to a stick match. St Paul’s is an old church. New churches don’t use matches anymore.’
‘He hid the recorder in the church?’
‘Possibly.’ Then, ‘I want him brought to the Reardon Mortuary. We all get buried out of there. I’ll call the morgue. I’m sure there’ll be an autopsy. I’ll insist on it.’
A police car pulled up. A minute or so after that an ambulance appeared, and a minute after that another police car.
Skully greeted them with a rant about what a bunch of lazy-ass, incompetent, big-government Nazis they were.
I was able to give one of the officers the basic reason they’d been summoned and where they would find the body. One of the officers hadn’t made it past Skully so he was still getting the fiery speech. He took it as long as he could and then snapped.
‘I got work to do, old man. Now shut the fuck up and help me.’
Skully stuttered and sputtered but then he actually stopped talking.
All but one of the cops went back to Cabin Six along with the ER team. He sat in his car having a conversation with somebody at the station.
I kept waiting for Showalter to appear. Instead I got Wade.
He’d driven out in a recent-vintage tan Chevrolet sedan. His own, I assumed. He was dressed in jeans, a white shirt and a red windbreaker. He walked right up to me.
‘I understand we’re having some trouble here tonight, Mr Conrad. Finding a body is a pretty miserable experience. I was in Iraq in ’05 and had that happen to me a few times. The worst was finding a little kid.’
His gray eyes scanned the area next to Skully’s house.
‘When I started out in uniform we were always getting complaints about this place. Skully had a few hookers out here. He was quite the boy back then.’ Then, ‘So if you wouldn’t mind, Mr Conrad, why don’t you go over everything for me and we’ll get that out of the way.’
Karen was certainly right about Wade’s style. He would try to ingratiate you into saying the wrong thing. The words would leave your mouth and you’d hear them and then curse yourself for the duration of the prison term you’d just sentenced yourself to.
So I told him.
He watched me carefully as I spoke. As a good detective he knew all the physical signs of lying. I’d learned them in my days as an army investigator. Trouble swallowing, forced smile, sweating, gestures that don’t match what’s being said, a voice that changes pitch – standard issue for people who have something to hide.
When I finished, he said, ‘And your relationship with Grimes was what exactly?’
‘I knew him through his granddaughter.’
‘I see. And your relationship to her is what, exactly?’
A white TV van lumbered onto the property, bouncing and jerking as it went through a large and deep hole.
Ever since I’d seen Wade step out of his car I’d been thinking about his relationship with Showalter. Wondering if we couldn’t strike a deal.
‘Detective Wade, I’m going to say something here that could get me in trouble if you didn’t go along with it.’
‘You could always call me “Matt.” And how would this get you in trouble?’
‘Because if you say no to it, it might look as if I’d tried to coerce you into something.’
He raised his head slightly. Rain clouds sped across the three-quarter moon. The smell of impending rain was a relief from the stench of River Cabins.
‘I don’t have any idea of what you’re talking about, but I guess all we can do is find out, right?’ He was watching me again as he spoke. He seemed as curious as I’d hoped he would be.
‘We don’t have a lot of time here, Detective Wade. So I’m going to lay it out.’
‘You’re stalling.’
‘You’re right. Karen Foster told me about you and Showalter. How you’d hoped to be chief instead of him.’
‘I guess that’s not any secret.’
‘I can hand him over to you if you’ll help me.’
‘The recorder?’
‘You know about the recorder?’
‘The chief doesn’t have the most discreet secretary in the city. She says he’s been muttering about a recorder the last few days. He’s had more than a few meetings with his little group and she hears the word “recorder” through his door constantly.’ Then, ‘By the way, he’s on his way here now. He was the one who called me at home. He’s coming from the casino.’
‘Do you have any idea what’s on this recorder, Detective Wade?’
‘No idea at all. But I’m sure as hell curious.’
‘Dave Fletcher made a recording before he died. He talked about the things he and Showalter’s group have done. I hope he admitted that he fired the shots at Congresswoman Bradshaw and I hope he named all of the men in that group.’
‘Well, now I know why you’re involved in this – Congresswoman Bradshaw. And I know why Showalter’s been going crazy. So do you know where the recorder is?’
‘No, I don’t. But I think I finally know where it might be.’
‘So why not get it?’
‘I need your help.’
He was interested. Definitely. He kept glancing at the highway.
‘What would I need to do?’
‘Figure out a way to get me to St Paul’s. He’ll have me followed
for sure.’
‘And you’d turn the recorder over to me?’
‘After I’ve listened to it.’
‘You’re sure it’s there?’
‘There’s only one way to find out.’
‘I’ve waited a long time to get Showalter.’
‘So has Karen Foster.’
‘I don’t know her very well but she’s smart as hell and a real professional. I hope she makes it.’
‘I’m assuming Showalter had something to do with what happened to her.’
We both saw the new black Lincoln sweep onto the grounds.
He spoke quickly. ‘That’s Showalter. He’ll want somebody to tail you. I’ll tell him I’ll do it.’
Another unmarked car pulled up next to the Lincoln. A heavy man in a red turtleneck and a black leather coat.
‘What the hell’s going on here, Conrad?’
Showalter carried heavy scents of liquor and killer cologne. He was back in the Marines again. In charge. Chewing out a suspicious subordinate.
‘Skully called me and asked me to come out here.’
‘What’s he told you so far, Wade?’
‘That Grimes had a heart attack.’
‘You’re an MD now, are you, Conrad?’
‘There are certain signs. I could be wrong.’
‘No shit you could be wrong.’
I could see him holding court at a bar, meaner the drunker he got and more and more certain of his opinions.
‘Now you and I are going back to that cabin and you’re going to tell me what happened or I’m going to throw your ass in jail.’
FORTY-ONE
By the time Showalter seemed about to wrap up his questions for me – more insults and threats than questions really – reporters had made Cabin Six a real crime scene. Two TV crews were allowed to videotape it from the path. Camera lights gave the time-deformed wood of it the aspect of a horror movie. Something hideous might emerge from it at any moment. Something from the grave, of course.
The smells didn’t miss them. A woman from one crew kept saying she was going to ‘upchuck’ and the man of the other said the whole place smelled like an ‘Afghan whorehouse.’
Showalter twice made me walk through everything I’d done when I arrived here. Skully was with us most of the time. I’d say something and Skully would comment as to its veracity. One time Showalter said to Skully, ‘Did Conrad have time enough to smother him when he was inside?’
