Bone Maker: Will Finch Mystery Thriller Series Book 1

by D. F. Bailey

  “You know what Patch Simpson used to tell me when my stories dried up?” Wally sounded nostalgic. Once a year or so, he’d refer to his deceased mentor, the revered editor at the San Francisco Herald.

  “Patch Simpson?” Finch rolled his eyes. “What’d he say?”

  “Throw some water on it. And if that doesn’t work, throw on some gasoline. Then wait for someone to light a match.”

  “Not bad.” Finch tried to force a laugh. His mind turned to Gianna. “But seriously, I think I’m going to get an early night tonight and drive back tomorrow. Did you know it takes twelve hours to drive home from here?”

  “It’s your call.” Wally’s voice lowered to a more serious tone. “But if things do break between now and tomorrow morning, stick with it up there. The stories you’ve filed so far are getting a lot of attention. The first person piece about the bear necropsy has been picked up across the country and into Europe.”

  “Europe, too?”

  “Yeah. And down-under. They’re eating it up.” He laughed again. “Sorry, I couldn’t help that.”

  Finch cringed. Wally didn’t usually serve up puns peppered with black humor. Will was about to comment when he heard a tap at the door. With the phone still at his ear, he walked to the entry and cracked it open. The look on the face standing before him made him pause.

  “Wally I’ve got to go,” he said. “Something’s just come up.”

  ※

  “Ben, what happened?” Will Finch was struck by the grimace of exhaustion on the boy’s face as he stood at the door. What he saw puzzled him, then his confusion turned to concern. “Jeez, come on in. Are you all right?”

  Ben Argyle took a few steps into the room. Finch scanned the motel walkway — an outdoor, open-air balcony — and then closed the door behind him. He stepped past Ben and then turned to face him. The young man’s posture curved at the shoulders, his sweater skipped a button above his belly, his cheek fuzz covered a rash of acne.

  “Sit down, Ben.” He pulled the chair away from the laminate desk so that it faced the bed. “Let me take your jacket.”

  Ben slipped his school jacket from his shoulders and slumped into the chair. He glanced about the room. “This is what you get for $49.95 a night?”

  Finch smiled and tossed the jacket onto the dresser opposite the bed. “There’s a bathroom, too.” He crooked his thumb towards the door. “And it comes with maid service. Sometimes daily.”

  The corners of Ben’s mouth slid into an amused frown. He was glad to hear a note of cynicism in Finch’s voice. He studied him carefully, tried to determine if he could trust him.

  “Wow. That’s a close look you’re giving me,” Finch said when he realized he was being sized up.

  Ben shrugged as if looks didn’t count for a damn.

  “…So.…” Finch paused and then continued, “I’m not sure what brought you here. I’m going to guess that something’s come up. Something big enough that you can’t talk about it with anyone else in Astoria.”

  Ben blinked, a sign that Finch took as an affirmation.

  “And the reason everyone in Astoria is disqualified is because this thing, whatever it is, is about Astoria.” He raised his eyebrows. “Am I right?”

  “Sort of.” He sniffed, ran an index finger under his nostrils.

  “Okay.” Finch wondered how to drag the story out of the boy. Time to be blunt about it. “Ben, do you want me to guess what happened?”

  Ben took a long breath and shrugged again. Then he drew the iPhone from his pocket. “This belonged to Donnel Smeardon,” he said.

  “The kid who drowned and then turned up on the wharf last night?”

  “After we left Saddle Mountain, you said I could contact you if anything else came up. Does that still stand?”

  Finch leaned forward. “Of course.”

  “Okay, so something’s come up.” He looked away, then turned his head back to Finch. “But it’s seriously bad.” He pursed his lips. “I’m worried.”

  “And it’s on this phone?” Finch pointed to the iPhone but did not touch it.

  “Mm-hm.”

  “And is the phone itself evidence of some kind?”

  “What’s on it is.”

  “And who knows about it?”

  He shook his head. “Just you and me.”

  “All right.” Finch leaned back and wondered how to proceed. “So what is it?”

  Ben turned his mouth, felt the tendons crunch in his jaw. He’d thought about this moment, the time when he’d reveal to someone what had happened to Smeardon. He’d decided then that he’d have to go forward. He reaffirmed that now when he realized that the only person who could assemble the pieces of this crazy puzzle was Will Finch.

  “It’s an audio file I found — a voice recording of Donnel Smeardon and Sheriff Gruman. It’s the two of them talking, from what I think is the inside of the sheriff’s squad car. I’m sure Donnel recorded it as he was being busted for dealing pot a few days after I loaned him my father’s Glock.”

  Finch held a hand up to stop him from saying another word. “Wait a second. Your father’s Glock?”

  Ben closed his eyes and nodded.

  “Was it a nine millimeter?”

  “Yes.”

  Exactly what Jennie Lee had claimed. Finch glanced away, then turned back to the boy. “Okay, so tell me again, how did Smeardon get your father’s pistol?”

  Ben closed his eyes a moment. “I gave it to him.”

  “You did?”

  “Mm-hm.” He held Finch’s eyes and continued. “Dad already knows about it. So does the sheriff.”

  Finch took a moment and tried to assemble the facts. “How did they find out?

  Ben described the interrogations he’d endured with his father and Gruman. The more he talked, the more his voice settled and he accepted all that had happened including the role he’d played in putting the pistol into Smeardon’s hands. “It’s my fault,” he concluded, “and I accept it.”

  Finch nodded when the boy finished his confession. That, and the fact that he was here to reveal something new about the pistol earned Finch’s respect. “All right. Can we listen to this file now?”

  “Just tap the file and hit the play button.”

  “I can’t. Because of the forensics, the only person who can touch that phone from now on is you.”

  ※

  “The fuck are you doing?”

  “Careful, that’s a language violation, Smeardon.” Gruman’s voice sounded charitable. Relaxed. “But since you ask so nicely,” he continued, “I’m busting you.”

  “For what? I done nothing wrong, man.”

  “Let’s see now.” Gruman’s voice rose a note, as if he’d heard this question a hundred times from various drug felons, and each time he was granted an opportunity to begin a new round of manipulations. “How about possession of a controlled substance for starters? Empty your pockets and we’ll see if I can limit this to simple possession.”

  “Possession?”

  “Instead of more serious options.”

  “What’s more serious?”

  “If your cargo tips the scales, then it becomes possession for the purpose of trafficking. And believe me, you don’t want to see this quiet social gathering of ours go in that direction.”

  After a brief silence Donnel sighed, a sound Finch almost mistook for a moan. Then he could hear the sounds of clothing shuffling, a zipper tugged, snagged and pulled free.

  “Put it all on the dashboard, Smeardon.”

  More sighs.

  “All right. Stop there.” Gruman’s voice shifted to a low throttle. “What’s that in your jacket pocket?”

  “Nothing. Just my personal stuff.”

  “On the dashboard. Now.”

  “What if I tell you, no way?”

  “What if I tell you that in ten minutes Biff Winslow is going to strip search you in the privacy of one of our sound-proof jail cells?”

  “Fuck!”

  “Car
eful what you ask for, Smeardon.”

  This time the moan from Donnel Smeardon sounded like a cry of pain. “All right,” he said. “You don’t need to hit me.”

  “Hit you? When I hit you, you won’t be able to complain. Now get it on the dashboard.”

  “All right.”

  “Jesus….” Gruman paused as if he had to consider how to proceed. “A nine-millimeter Glock. Now how did this little nightmare come into your possession, Smeardon?”

  “Look, I never fired that thing. Not a shot.”

  “That demonstrates good character on your part, Smeardon, but that’s not what I asked.”

  “I just had to use it for show. That’s all. I swear I never pulled the trigger on that thing.”

  “Just for show, huh? And that’s how you managed to boost Jackie Spitzer’s marijuana grow-op. Is that right?”

  A moment of silence broke the conversation. A recording glitch?

  “You know, Donnel, you should not be messing with Jackie.” Gruman’s voice sounded even, rational, layered with benevolence. “If you show up dead one day, the first person I’ll suspect will be Jackie Spitzer. Hell, everyone in the county will be happy to see that bastard put away. And if it’s because he popped a dime slug through your head, then we’ll all appreciate your assistance in our investigation of him and I promise to mention that at your memorial service. Now, if that sounds like a future career track to you then — ”

  The recording cut in and out, then resumed.

  “Get out of the car and consider yourself lucky.”

  A few seconds of static muffled the dialogue.

  “I want the Glock back — ”

  “Unless you tell me where you got it, you will never see this gun again.” Gruman in the distance. Had Smeardon climbed out of the squad car?

  “I’m serious.”

  “Me too, Donnel. Me too.” As the recording faded, Finch could almost hear the sound of Gruman’s scowl crawling across the sheriff’s face.

  ※

  Finch ran a hand under his jaw and stared at the wall. He’d never heard more vital incriminating evidence revealed in a voice recording. The fact that Gruman took possession of the pistol used to murder Toeplitz, and that the same gun appeared on Smeardon’s corpse … meant what?

  He turned his head to Ben and tried to read the boy’s face. He looked calm now, relieved to have shared the iPhone recording with someone else. “Are there any more recordings on the phone?”

  “I couldn’t find any.”

  Who could tell? The phone would have to be processed by an expert. Finch stood up and paced along the foot of the bed and turned back to Ben.

  “Ben, I’m convinced this phone is important physical evidence in a crime.”

  “You mean about Donnel?”

  “Donnel and something much bigger.”

  “What?” A look of fear crossed his face.

  “There’s no need to panic, but your fingerprints are all over that cell. With any luck, there will be more evidence like that recording to tie it to Donnel, too. In the meantime, I encourage you not to touch the phone again, except for one more time. After that, I urge you to seal it in a plastic bag and turn it over to the local authorities.”

  Ben began to speak but choked on the words in his throat. He coughed and then continued. “You mean give it to the sheriff?”

  “No. If I were you, I’d give it to the county medical examiner, Jennie Lee. She knows the background. Believe me, she can protect you.”

  “Protect me? Why do I need protection?” Ben looked up from the chair as a wave of fear washed through him.

  “You only need protection as long as you, and only you, hold onto that phone and as long as that recording is the only copy available. Think about it. What if Gruman discovers the evidence in your hands?” Finch stood before the boy and tried to deflect some of the fear he could see in his face. “I want you to consider a plan. I want you to email that file to my phone. Once I have it, I’ll copy it to my computer and upload it to the SF eXpress server. Our network is completely secure, I guarantee you.”

  He paused to ensure that Ben was following. The boy nodded and Finch continued.

  “It’s almost certain Gruman has no idea this phone or the recording even exists. If he did, he’d turn day into night looking for it. But once the file is copied and transferred, the best way to guarantee your safety is if I tell Sheriff Gruman that I’ve sent the recording to my office. I will not mention your name and I will never reveal to him that you are my source. When he understands this, any threat to you will be minimized. In other words the cat will be out of the bag, but no one will know who unleashed it, or how to herd it back into hiding.”

  He nodded. “All right. But how will Gruman find all this out?”

  Finch crossed his arms over his chest and tried to relax. “Once I have the recording on my phone, I’ll pay him a visit. Tonight. I’ll play the conversation back to him. As a journalist I’ll ask him if he has any opinion on it.”

  A look of surprise crossed Ben’s face. “You will?”

  Finch nodded. “That’s how I do my job.”

  The boy glanced across the room. Can you just do that? He turned back to Finch. “All right. I’ll do it. But I don’t have a data plan for the phone.”

  “The Prest has free wireless. One more perk for my $49.95. Here’s the password.”

  Finch gave Ben the password card presented to him by the motel receptionist. Ben entered it into the iPhone and a moment later the file buzzed into Finch’s cell phone. He sent the recording to his laptop, opened the mail program and transferred the data from the laptop to the eXpress server. He figured that the three-step pass would ensure that no one could back-trace the file any further from the eXpress to his own phone. If the data nerds from the FBI got involved, he could “lose” his phone to ensure there’d be no link to Ben. Hopefully an unnecessary precaution.

  With the digital file transfers complete, Finch passed Ben a plastic bag from his courier satchel. “Now, give the iPhone to Dr. Lee. She’s over in the Medical Examiner’s office. Do you know where that is?”

  He nodded.

  “And tell her I want her to keep it secured and in confidence. I’ll phone to tell her you’re coming.”

  “Right now?”

  “Believe me, you want to get that out of your hands and into Dr. Lee’s ASAP. And don’t worry, she’ll be working late.” He considered the plan and then added, “I want you to play the file for her, too. Make sure she hears it. She’s on our side.”

  “Okay.” Ben stood up and took his jacket in his free hand. “But first tell me what crime you were talking about. Besides Donnel, I mean.”

  Finch shook his head. He’d almost forgotten. His first reaction was to keep all the information he had confidential. Then he considered how the story would break out. This new evidence was explosive. An hour ago all his leads had turned to dust; he was ready to pack his bag and drive back to San Francisco. Wally would say that Ben had provided the water he needed to nurse the story back to life. At the very least, Finch owed Ben the truth.

  “All right,” he began. “You deserve to know. But I want you to pledge not to reveal what I’m going to tell you until I give you permission.” Finch raised his eyebrows with a look of expectation.

  He nodded. “I promise.”

  “It all starts with the bear you and your father stumbled across last weekend. What you didn’t know is that the driver of that Mercedes was murdered before the bear found him. Shot twice with your father’s nine-millimeter Glock.”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Jennie Lee sat at her desk in the office adjacent to the pit and tried to put the events of the past few days in perspective. Will Finch had drawn the only logical conclusion based on the evidence at hand: Toeplitz had been murdered before the bear came across his corpse. The murder weapon had been identified and matched to the pistol found on the body of Donnel Smeardon. But what possible motive could he have had for shootin
g Toeplitz? Furthermore, did he have the guts for this kind of crime? According to Biff Winslow, Smeardon had spent a few months in juvenile detention. The probability that this kid could jump from misguided youth to killer-for-hire was pretty low. But, she had to admit, it does happen.

  When her cell phone buzzed she read Finch’s name on the screen. Every time he called, she heard one more demand from him. Or rather, a polite request offered in the form of a bargain, an information-sharing partnership of some kind. Reporters. The finagling they had to do.

  She hesitated, then decided to answer. Maybe he had a new piece to add to the puzzle.

  “I want you to know that I almost didn’t pick up.”

  Finch paused, tried to decode this statement, and then pressed on. “Look, I just sent Ben Argyle to find you. He’s got Donnel Smeardon’s iPhone. The phone contains an audio recording of him speaking to Sheriff Gruman.”

  Jennie leaned forward in her chair. “All right. You’ve got my attention. What’s on the recording?”

  “Ask Ben to play it for you. In one sentence, it proves Gruman had the Glock in his possession before Toeplitz was shot. I don’t have time to say more. I’m going straight up to Gruman’s place. Just secure the iPhone when Ben gives it to you and don’t let Gruman know you have it.”

  “What?”

  “I’ll check in with you when I get back.”

  After he hung up, Jennie stared at her phone. A sense of foreboding crawled through her stomach. Did Finch know what he might be getting into?