[Scott Drayco 01.0] Played to Death

by BV Lawson

  As if to prove his point, Earl carefully eased back down into the chair. “I hired Paddy Bakely for a few odd jobs, and he noticed my discomfort. He told me he could get medicine to help. So I said, what the hell, and he brought me what I thought was a hand-rolled cigarette, but figured out was giggle weed.”

  Drayco hadn’t heard it called that in decades. Took him back to grade school and Barry Looney, the unfortunate-named kid who’d try anything once, which was why he spent so much time in the doctor’s office. “You mean marijuana,” Drayco said.

  Earl turned up his chin in defiance. “And by God, it helped. It’s the only thing that makes the pain bearable. I never touched the other drugs. Nothing like heroin or coke.”

  Drayco asked, “How long has this been going on?”

  “A couple of years. I didn’t want to let the community down. Not much of a role model for an employer to be a drug user, is it?”

  The sheriff piped up again, “How often did you get your supply?”

  “Whenever it ran out. Once a month, give or take a day.”

  “Was it only Paddy and Revell?”

  “Just the two.”

  “When was the last time?”

  “Over a week ago. We meet on Sunday evenings.” Earl winced, but whether it was from back pain or his conscience, it was hard to tell.

  Drayco perked up at the timeline. “You and Paddy and Revell were making a deal Sunday a week ago? The same night Oakley was killed?”

  The sheriff narrowed his eyes. “Do you have an exact time, Earl? It would mean you and Paddy have alibis for Oakley’s murder.”

  Earl was close to hyperventilating. “You can’t ask them. Why would they tell the truth? They’d be arrested.”

  Sailor said, “Don’t you worry about Revell. He’s a two-bit lowlife from up in Salisbury. And Paddy will do what he can to avoid another sabbatical in my jail. We might arrange probation for the drug charges.”

  Drayco asked, “Earl, did Oakley learn of your habit?” He knew what the sheriff was thinking. Two drug dealers and a drug buyer vouching for one another weren’t all that unusual. Honor among thieves. If Oakley discovered them, it could be a case of blackmail. And murder put a tidy end to it.

  Earl’s eyes shifted away toward the wall where he studied the spider web, fragile and easily destroyed. “I never told him.”

  ~~~

  Sheriff Sailor and Drayco headed back to Sailor’s office where Drayco had left his car. They rode in thoughtful silence at first, broken only by occasional bursts from the dispatch radio. Sailor turned down the volume. “The wildlife rescue folks say those two orphaned cubs you brought in are doing fine. How did you find them?”

  “A little persistence, a little luck. Though I nearly gave up after a couple of hours.”

  “Talk about not giving up—I had Giles check other names from Reece Wable’s newspaper clipping regarding those old thefts in the 70s. One of the victims stumbled on a pawn shop in Delaware with a couple of his missing items. The victim never bothered alerting our department. Was shocked when we contacted him after all these years.”

  “Is the pawn shop owner still around?”

  “Retired. He remembers those pieces because they were a higher quality than his usual fare. Gave us a description of the man who brought them in.”

  “Paddy?”

  Sailor snorted. “Don’t know why I bother telling you these things. The owner mentioned a jagged white scar over the man’s left eyebrow. Like the one Paddy’s had since he was a boy. He ID’d a photo.”

  “Paddy and Squier should go into business together.”

  “Funny you should say that. The city attorney dug up some irregularities in ledgers confirming that former clerk’s story about embezzlement. The man in charge of those accounts was none other than Randolph Squier.”

  Drayco had visions of Darcie going to that same pawn shop in the future carrying her jewelry, with Squier in jail and her money source dried up. He ran a hand across his forehead, remembering the warm touch of Darcie’s skin on his.

  Sailor frowned. “Do contain your excitement over all of this. Or is it the knock on the head from that car incident last night?”

  He hadn’t mentioned that to Sailor yet. Maybe the man was psychic after all.

  Sailor added, “Maida called to report it because she didn’t think you would. You’re popular—Tyler checked the G-warning-note from your car. Same as the first, red paint mixed with A-negative blood.”

  “It’s nice to be loved. Any results on that Webley from the pier?”

  “Not a match.”

  “You’re kidding, right? How many Webleys can there be in one small town?”

  “You got me. I’ll have them re-test to make sure but looks like the wrong gun. Guess how thrilled I am.”

  “Did you ask the pawn shop owner about the missing library manuscript?”

  “You think it’s connected?”

  “The document would be too hot to fence, but I don’t think Paddy’s behind it, anyway.”

  “So who is?”

  Drayco didn’t answer, and Sailor pulled the squad car into the parking lot next to Drayco’s Starfire before turning off the engine. The air between them was like a loaded weapon, heavy with reproach.

  “I’ve cut you a lot of slack, Drayco, more than I should. Holding out on me isn’t the thanks I’d expect for that. This trust thing works both ways.”

  Drayco opened the door and stretched his cramped legs. “I’ve sent you and your mumps-afflicted department on too many wild goose chases. Spot me twenty-four hours and see if I can get that proof. I do have your best interests at heart.”

  “I hope so, Drayco. I bloody well hope so.”

  Chapter 39

  It was the most demurely he’d seen Darcie dressed. Sensible hiking boots, jeans and a thick wool coat. It suited her in a way the Barbie-doll look didn’t. She immediately took his hand in hers, which he didn’t resist. She didn’t mention the “L” word again, and he didn’t bring it up.

  They walked over to the cheerless little shrine, destined to be bulldozed in the name of progress. Drayco circled around, viewing it from all angles. When he stepped back, he could see that the outlines of the shrine—with the rock, plantings, and benches—formed a large K.

  Darcie said, “Oakley didn’t want anyone out here but him, but I followed him once. Thought he might be meditating, but he was crying. I asked him why. He said because this was the best he could do for her.”

  “The best for whom?”

  “I tried to get him to explain the shrine, but no dice. Said I wouldn’t understand anyway since I had everything I always wanted, and he’d had everything taken away. What did he mean?”

  “That sometimes life is unfair, and there’s not a whole hell of a lot you can do about it.”

  She linked her arm through his, looking at him with curiosity. “Has life been that way for you?”

  He meant Oakley’s life, not his own, but he was uncomfortable with her question.

  She pulled him down until they were near the ground, and she pointed at the base of one side of the heart. “There’s a figure here. This is what I wanted you to see. I think Oakley made it. It’s hidden by the plants that grew up since I last saw it.”

  He moved the plants aside. The stone had something etched into it, something that didn’t come from nature. He traced it with his finger and said, “That’s a G-clef.”

  “A what?”

  “A G-clef. It’s used in musical notation.”

  “I know Oakley liked music, but that’s odd, don’t you think?”

  Drayco checked the other side of the rock and found a similar etching. But this second design wasn’t a clef at all, just a plain recognizable “G.”

  Darcie asked, “Why would he put them where they’re hard to see? And why not something more romantic? It is a heart-shaped rock, after all.”

  She clasped his hand and guided him to one of the benches Oakley made. “Do you think Nanette wa
sn’t his first love, then? Some star-crossed love in his past?”

  “Not lovers. But definitely star-crossed.”

  “Like you and me?”

  He squinted at the tiny dagger of sunlight piercing a hole in the hide-and-seek clouds. Somewhere up there were millions of stars with names like Regulus and Aldebaran, totally oblivious to human lives and foibles. Like one of his favorite Bertrand Russell quotations, “Human life, its growth, its hopes, fears, and loves are the result of accidents.”

  He briefly and gently touched the back of his hand to Darcie’s cheek and said, “I foresee a long and happy marriage for you and Randolph.”

  “I guess your prediction depends on whether my husband’s a murderer, doesn’t it?”

  For the first time since he met her, she wasn’t wearing any expensive jewelry except for the wedding rings, which were back on her hand. “Why did you marry him?”

  She put her arm around his shoulders. “Because I hadn’t met you yet.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “But I am serious. Oh, I suppose I was bored. He can be charming when he’s not trying to prove himself.”

  Drayco eyed the heart rock. “Not to climb up on a moral high horse, but when you were seeing Oakley, did you stop to consider Nanette?”

  “I didn’t want her to find out. She wasn’t a bitch or anything. But Oakley was unhappy, or he wouldn’t have come to me, would he? And who am I to question someone’s motives? I went along for the ride.”

  Life was a series of rides for Darcie. No real journey, no destination. This was both her greatest asset—an ability to live in the moment and drain every drop out of it—and her greatest liability. A beautiful bird hovering in the air, never touching down.

  “What do you want from life?” he asked.

  “No one’s asked me that before.” She sat quietly for a moment, her arm still wrapped around his shoulder. “I guess I’d say freedom.”

  “Freedom from what?”

  “To be who I am instead of somebody else’s idea of who I should be. My whole life I’ve felt like a portrait. Something people hang on their walls but don’t expect to be a living breathing person.”

  “You should tell your husband that.”

  “Maybe I will.” She kissed him again, but briefer this time, smoothing away a smudge from where her lipstick left a mark. “What does the ‘G’ stand for?”

  He helped her up, nodding in the direction of their cars that it was time to go. “That’s an easy one,” he said. “‘G’ is for gullible.”

  Chapter 40

  Sheriff Sailor ushered Drayco into a room the size of two walk-in closets put together. One stark, hundred-watt bulb dangled overhead, illuminating the concrete-block walls painted basic eggshell. The sheriff pointed to a small wooden table with two folding chairs. “You can sit there. I’ll spot you a few minutes, but we won’t be keeping him long. You’d think these guys would have better things to eat for breakfast than eighty-proof Jim Beam.”

  “And the marijuana charges?” Drayco asked.

  “Not enough evidence. I’m working on immunity for Earl, but Paddy’s being cagey. And the statute of limitations ran out long ago on that stolen scrimshaw.”

  “Paddy’s been in jail enough times to pay for both offenses, anyway. Did he start the fight?”

  “Not this time, but the other guy wanted to press charges. Same song, different verse. At least it gives him a few hours to dry out. His episodes are getting more frequent.”

  Drayco had a good idea why that was the case. And he was pretty certain he knew the answer to his next question but asked anyway. “Were Paddy’s prints on that mask?”

  “Nope. Just the Squiers’. If he had it in his possession, he wiped it clean.”

  Paddy was led into the room and sat across from Drayco, eyeing him warily. Paddy’s straggly mane was in desperate need of a trim, although it was a suitable frame for the broken capillaries in his puffy face. Alcoholism caused nutritional deficiencies, and under Paddy’s thin shirt, the outlines of his ribs were poking through his skin.

  Paddy’s hands also had a slight tremor, but more daylight peeked through his bloodshot eyes than before. Drayco hoped to catch Paddy while he was sober for a change, and Paddy agreed to see him, something of a surprise.

  It was Paddy who spoke first. “The sheriff said you wanted to talk to me. So talk.” When his speech wasn’t slurred, Paddy had a pleasant tenor voice. Not operatic, but the kind most church choirs would covet, if he could sing.

  “You told me Oakley Keys once tried to break into the Opera House. Do you have any idea why he would do that?”

  Paddy rocked back and forth in his chair as it squeaked in rhythm. “I didn’t ask. He didn’t say.”

  “Do you know why Oakley was murdered?”

  Paddy didn’t answer for a moment with his face flushed like he’d been burned. “That dumbshit had no common sense. Shoulda stuck to his writing. Paid more attention to that lovely wife of his instead of chasing after ghosts. And now she’s dead, too.”

  Drayco continued to lean against the wall, watching Paddy, waiting as the seconds ticked by loudly on the black-and-white wall clock. Paddy swallowed several times and added, “He was killed because he couldn’t let things go.”

  “Couldn’t let who or what go?”

  Paddy hesitated, then his rocking grew even faster. “The past. Could be no one I know, could be anybody I know. It’s the way he was.”

  Drayco sat down across from Paddy on the other squeaky metal folding chair. “I saw a picture of your mother the other day. She was a lovely woman.”

  “She died because of me.”

  “You didn’t intend to cause her death, Paddy. I’m sure if you could have prevented a death, you would have.”

  It was Paddy’s turn to stay silent, so Drayco pressed further. “It must get lonely, just you and Seth. Surely there are other family members, grandparents, aunts, uncles?”

  “They’re all gone. Never knew them neither.” Paddy’s hands were shaking so hard now he thrust them under the table. To brace them or to hide them? “I guess you want to ask about that mask. I told the sheriff I don’t know nothing.”

  Paddy’s psyche hung by a thread. The small lifeline of reality Seth provided was the only thing keeping Paddy from being homeless or suicidal. Or a permanent resident of the jail. Any information from him would be useless, torn apart by lawyers in court who’d argue Paddy didn’t know what he was saying half the time.

  But Drayco hoped for at least a crumb of insight into one particular relationship. “Why did you hate Oakley Keys?”

  “He was no good. Cheating on his wife. With married women, no less. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you? You shoulda left her alone.”

  Drayco didn’t have to ask who the “her” was anymore. Darcie had a stable of admirers, with a charter member right in front of him. “Come on, Paddy. That’s not the real reason you hated Oakley, is it?”

  Paddy jerked his rocking body to a halt and for the first time looked directly into Drayco’s eyes. “You know why. And that’s all I’m going to say.”

  Paddy wasn’t defiant, angry, or sad. It was as if Drayco were staring into an unoccupied building where the human life within had slipped slowly and quietly away. True to his word, Paddy got out of his chair and walked to the door, rapping on it several times. Before he was led away, he turned back toward Drayco as if he changed his mind. But he stopped himself, then left for good.

  Sheriff Sailor poked his head back inside the room. “So you and Paddy are best buds now. Did you get what you were after?”

  “A fleeting glimpse of what Paddy could have been.”

  “Ready to spill the beans about that theory of yours? I have some bad institutional coffee in my office so thick you can smear it on bread. And if that doesn’t tempt you, I don’t know what would.”

  Drayco smiled. “How could I refuse? Lead the way.”

  Chapter 41

  Sheriff Sai
lor wasn’t as ready to throw Drayco into a straitjacket as he’d thought, saying the coffee was harder to swallow than Drayco’s theory—but it was like having all the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle in place and the lights out so you couldn’t see the picture.

  Drayco offered to read through Oakley’s writings for some tangible clues, and now the boxes with Oakley’s magazine columns filled the passenger seat and floor of Drayco’s car. Even so, the last two decades of Oakley’s creative life took up less space than a waste bin.

  As he drove through town, Drayco caught a glimpse of a familiar object in his mirror. The mystery black sedan with the tinted windshield was behind him again. Sailor had given Drayco a list of cars in the area with medical exemptions for tinted windshields, so Drayco wasn’t surprised to see the identity of the driver.

  Time to set the record straight. He headed into the downtown’s lone covered parking garage and waited. When the sedan followed, Drayco whipped the Starfire around and blocked the exit.

  He called out to the other driver, “You’ve been following me.”

  Randolph Squier was out of his car in a flash, pounding his fists on the hood of the Starfire. “You’re having an affair with my wife.” He sported an uncharacteristic stubble matching an uncharacteristic stain on his collar.

  Drayco climbed out and positioned himself diagonal to Squier with the hood in-between. No need to resort to force, yet. “You’re wrong.” He pushed aside thoughts of how close to being true Squier’s accusation was.

  Squier resembled a caged boar breathing hard after the chase with the hunter. His words came out in puffed fragments. “I’ve followed you. I’ve seen you with her. You’re no better than Oakley Keys. You know that?”

  “Funny you should say that. Your wife has been snooping. She’s afraid you killed Oakley Keys out of jealousy.”

  Squier removed his hands from the car, and Drayco was surprised there weren’t any dents where his fists made contact. Judging from the way Squier was rubbing his hands, it had hurt. Squier stumbled back against the building behind him, his shoulders drooping into the concrete. “I did feel like killing Oakley when he was making a fool out of me and embarrassing me in front of the entire town.”