Lasting Doubts (The Red Lake Series Book 2)

by Rich Foster

  Summer session was on. Desultory failures wandered around the campus, trying to achieve a passing grade and move on to the next year with their class. Harry looked at the tats on their arms and insolence on their faces, For some it''s going to be a short trip from these halls to the county lock-up. A few will graduate to Harmon State Prison. Hell one or two might make it to ADX Praxis?

  An attractive woman manned the office counter.

  “Are you here to matriculate a student?” Her hair bounced as she unconsciously shook like a nervous filly.

  “Hoping to get a class list from 1992.”

  “I don’t know if I can release that information, you will need to talk to Mrs. Quince. She’s our principal.”

  Harry waited upon a hard wood bench that brought back unpleasant memories. Five minutes later he was shown into an office that was not much different from those he was sent to back when he was in school. Metal desk, gray file cabinets, books on school administration. Only the computers were new. Mrs. Quince looked as if she entered into the profession before Harry was a student. Gray blue hair formed a tiara above a narrow face. Crows feet gave her face a pinched appearance. Her lips were pursed as if in permanent disapproval. Retirement seemed close in her future.

  “Why do you want a list of our students from 1992?”

  “I am looking into the Alison Albright disappearance.”

  The older woman shook her head, “A sad thing. But Alison was not in the class of '92. She would have been in the class of 94.”

  “You knew her?”

  “Our paths crossed. Alison attracted trouble. She was not an infrequent visitor to the chair you occupy now.”

  “What sort of trouble?”

  “Boys. She was a flame they were moths. She liked to stir up jealousies. Some girls are that way, you know? They find it arousing when men, or in her case I should say boys, fight.”

  “What was she like?”

  “Seductive and sly are the two words that come to mind.”

  “Were you surprised when she disappeared?”

  “Not particularly. Alison was a dreamer. I assumed she went to Hollywood seeking fame and fortune. It surprised me when her body turned up.”

  A momentary pause blocked the conversation. With some caution Mrs. Quince asked, “What do you hope to learn?”

  “Who killed her or at least how she came to be wrapped in plastic lying on a beach.”

  “So why are you interested in the class of '92?”

  “There was a graduation party the day she packed her bags. Alison turned up at the party. I have the names of a few of the kids who were there, but the women are probably married now.”

  “Well there was a class reunion this spring. They did a mailing; I could give you that list because it is not part of the school’s official records. As far as other documents I am afraid privacy laws prevent me assisting you.”

  “I understand. The alumni list would be most helpful, Ma'am.” Harry could not quite believe he said the last word but before Mrs. Quince it fell naturally from his lips.

  The Principal called up a file on her computer and printed a copy of the e-mail. It listed members of the class, their current hometown, and marital status. Next to the girls names were married names in parenthesis. Several people were listed as missing and a few were already dead.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” There it is again, I sound like a damned adolescent, he thought.

  Mrs. Quince gave him a brief, shallow smile. “I hope you find whoever killed her, Mr. Grim.” Then she added, “but I hope the price is not too dear.”

  Harry knew what she meant. When you stirred up the past there was usually the danger of harming the present.

  His next stop was the school library. He quickly found the yearbooks; that filled two shelves in the reference section. It was unlikely the librarian would let him borrow it, so he slipped the volume for 1992 under his jacket, then looked at another until the librarian retreated to her office. He left the one and snuck the other out. Photos were convenient; the change in a face over twenty years sometimes told a lot.

  In his car, with the window down and an early summer breeze blowing in, Harry read the class list and compared it to the names given by Travis Parks, next to each he noted their current name or status.

  J. Travis Parks Client

  Vicky Mills Vicky Thompson

  Becky Garner Becky Fenton

  Rachelle Sylvester Rachelle Buchanan

  Alison Albright Dead

  Alison’s friend. ?

  Dave Barnes Local businessman

  Mitch Conners Local cop

  Anders Schmidt Manhattan Address

  Phil Quelan. ?

  He thought it best to steer clear of Conners for the time being. He did not want the police hassling him. He knew Becky Fenton. She was a single mom who waitressed at the Canaan Grill.

  Good place for a late lunch, and she should be able to talk.

  Ten minutes later Harry slid onto the well-worn vinyl of a counter stool. Only one table was in use, and that was taken by a tourist couple.

  “What can I get you, Harry?”

  He liked her style. Becky would be fun if she didn’t have two kids and a dead-beat for an ex-husband. Or if I wasn’t with Paula, he mentally added.

  “Cheese burger, fries, and a coke.”

  “Do you ever order anything else?”

  “Sure, two over easy, hash browns, toast, and coffee.”

  “You should just say, my usual. I can figure out which meal it is.”

  Harry laughed, the banter came naturally between them.

  Becky put the order up and returned to topping off the condiment jars.

  “What can you tell me about a party twenty years ago, one you went to on graduation night?”

  Becky was momentarily startled. She blew a puff of air, “Whew! That takes me back! It’s hard to believe it has been twenty years.”

  She twisted the lid onto a sugar shaker a bit forcefully. “Does this have to do with the Albright girl?”

  Why does everyone talk as if the girl was a stranger? Harry wondered. “Yeah. I am looking into it. What can you tell me about that party?”

  “Like what?”

  “Who was there? What happened?”

  “I went with Herb Lanski,” Becky flushed slightly.

  Harry arched his eyebrows.

  “I know it sounds strange now, but Herb was new in town. He came from back east. I found that exciting. He wasn’t the full-blown bore he is today.” She paused while she gave Harry’s question some thought. “A lot of the jocks were there, Davy Barnes, Mitch Conners, Bobby Goodman, and Schmidt something. I forget who else. Oh, I just remembered, Homer Benson.”

  “Was Travis Parks there?”

  “Uh huh. I don’t know how I forgot that, he was sooo good looking!” She stretched out the word caught in a passing reverie..

  “What about girls?”

  “Vicki Mills, Rachelle Sylvester, maybe Cathy Kinyon. Oh and Patty Wourk.”

  “What about Alison Albright?”

  “I never saw her but I heard she showed up with a friend.”

  “Who was she with?”

  “No idea. I didn’t really know her at school. She was only a sophomore, but she was eager to get in with the seniors. She was long on heavy eye shadow and well practiced sultry looks, you know, a pouty lower lip and looking up from under thick eyelashes.”

  “Did she go out with anyone in particular?”

  “Not that I know.”

  “What happened that night?”

  “Not much. We drank and smoked. You know, the usual kid stuff. I had to be in by eleven so I slipped out and went home.”

  “So you have no idea what went on later?”

  “A bit. After I said goodnight to my folks, I snuck out about an hour later, so I got back to the house around twelve-thirty. People were pretty drunk. Something was going on in the back room because guys kept coming and going amidst a lot of drunken hollering. I f
ound Herb and he seemed twitchy.”

  “How?”

  “Nervous. As if he were a kid caught with his fingers in the cookie jar, except it was more like his fingers up the wrong skirt because he smelled like sex.”

  “What happened?”

  “We had a fight and I went home.”

  “That’s it?”

  “Pretty much. Herb never called and I was angry enough to be happy with that.”

  “Who was he fooling around with?”

  “No idea. I heard the cops broke the party up. But by then I was long gone.”

  Behind her, the cook hit a bell and slid Harry’s order out the call window.

  Becky slid it in front of him.

  Harry handed her his list.

  “You know any of those girls still?”

  “Patty is in town. She married a guy named Antolli. They have a couple of kids. We bump into each other at the school and during soccer season.”

  “What about the others?”

  “I think Vicky is around, but Rachelle moved over the hill. I haven’t spoken to either in years. Homer works down the street.”

  Becky left to put out the condiments.

  As he chomped on his burger, Harry added Bobby Goodman, Homer Benson, Patty Wourk, and Cathy Kinyon to his list. Gradually he would gather all the names of who was at the party. Someone must have left with Alison Albright.

  The name Goodman seemed familiar but he could not place it. He checked his reunion list. Cathy Kinyon was listed among the missing alumni. So was Phil Quelan. Goodman was not even on it.

  “Hey Becky. Was Bobby Goodman in your class?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then why isn’t he on the class reunion list?”

  “Don’t you remember? He murdered those people in Mason Forks! Nobody mentions him.”

  Suddenly, Harry recalled the name, Robert Goodman, not Bobby. The man took a small church hostage four or five years previous. He executed four people including a kid. The trial was going when he moved into town. Goodman was executed a year or so later.

  Harry finished his meal and left a fifty percent tip. A rush of cool air hit him as he walked under the swamp cooler above the front door and was met by a blast of afternoon heat as he moved outside. The sidewalk was crowded with summer residents jostling one another, a mix of overweight adults, athletic youths, and girls who strolled the town wrapped in sarongs and swimsuit tops.

  Harry ambled past the t-shirt shops and waterfront clubs that pumped out music, as they trolled for customers. He jogged across the street in the middle of the block, which brought a single whoop from the siren of a passing squad car. Harry acknowledged the reprimand with a small salute from his brow and the car moved on.

  It was cooler in the shadow of the buildings on the south side of the street. Red Lake Garage and Towing occupied the corner. At one time the building was a gas station, but styles changed, the garage didn’t. When the EPA cracked down on ground tanks, the past owner shut off the pumps and quit the gasoline trade. Now Homer Benson owned the land.. He removed the pumps and islands, and stuck to repairing cars. He did a steady business towing vehicles that broke down, overheated, or crashed on the pass.

  Harry found Homer in the lift bay; his head bent under the hood of a Ford pickup. He was tall and angular. The grime of auto work had not only worked its way under his fingernails but into his soul. There was an aura of grime around him. Benson straightened up.

  “No one is permitted in the shop, insurance rules.”

  Not wanting an argument, Harry slid back toward the roll-up door.

  “I’d like to talk to you about Alison Albright.”

  Homer’s look was apprehensive. “You a cop?”

  “No, private detective.”

  Homer spit a stream of tobacco juice into a bucket on the floor.

  “Didn’t know her.”

  “You were at a party with her.”

  “I’ve been to a lot of parties in the last twenty years.”

  “Then you know what party I am referring to.”

  Benson picked up a broad spanner. As he walked toward Harry he slapped the head against the palm of his hand. “I ain’t got shit to say to you. I saw how you stirred up trouble, like last year with that Praxis crap.” Benson pulled his arm up, his forearm across his chest, ready for a back swing.

  Uncertain of Benson's will to act, Harry lashed out. His left hand drove in below Homer’s forearm delivering a hard hit to the gut. His right hand came up, slid up the mechanic’s arm, his hand closed on the wrench and his continued momentum pulled it from Homer’s hand. By then Harry’s left hand was around Homer’s throat.

  “Don’t threaten me, Benson unless you plan to kill me.” There was a warning in Grim’s eyes that only a fool would ignore.

  “I told you, I don’t remember any party.” The words spilled out fast and choked. Homer’s eyes darted around nervously as he spoke.

  “You will. Start working on it.”

  Harry tossed the wrench on the floor where it made a brutal clang. It slid beneath the pickup. He turned and walked away, alert for any motion behind him. He had pushed Benson; the man might be stupid enough to attack. Harry crossed the street again. When he reached his car at the Canaan Grill, he stopped to glance up the highway. Benson still stood in the garage doorway, glaring after Harry as he massaged his throat as if Harry's hands were still on it.

  Chapter 5

  Harry could see the Sheriff behind his desk, beyond the service counter and through the partition glass. Must be irritated today, judging by the pace he's stroking his mustache.

  Gaines's other set of fingers drummed the edge of his desk.

  “Is he available?” Harry asked of Carey Randall who was off the pavement and on the counter.

  “I'll see.”

  When she buzzed, Gaines looked up and waved Grim into the office.

  “Sheriff,” Harry said as he slid into a thinly padded office chair.

  “What brings you down here, Harry, trying to make my life a little more miserable?”

  “Must be county reports, eh?”

  “You must be a detective!” Gaines snorted.

  “No, I can read upside-down,” was Grim's sardonic reply.

  Gaines leaned back. “What do you want?”

  “Alison Albright.”

  “Aw Harry, for gods-sake leave it alone. The case is weird enough without you bringing your obfuscation to it.”

  “Obfuscation? Sheriff, I am just a poor dumb detective looking to make an honest buck. A citizen asked me to look into it.”

  “Someone good and upstanding, too, I suppose?”

  Harry's faced wrinkled, “That could be iffy, but at least admired by the community.”

  “Who is it?”

  “I’m not at liberty to say.”

  “You’re always an open book, Grim.” Gaines shook his head slowly. “If you find anything are you willing to share it?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Gaines rolled his eyes. “Sure, when hell freezes over or it suits your purpose. Okay, what do I have to do to get rid of you?”

  “Tell me about the Albright case.”

  “Everything worth knowing was in the Clarion. She was flashing cash, said she was leaving, and that was it. The suitcase made her disappearance look bad, as did the undergarments, but we never developed any leads.”

  “Any other girls disappear?”

  “Now or then?”

  “Recently, since the grab on the Kershaw girl.”

  “Nope, no new assaults, attacks or missing persons in the last three weeks. Besides, I doubt the Albright and Kershaw cases are related. Psychos don’t sit on the sidelines for twenty years.”

  “What about back then?”

  “We did have a body the summer before Alison left. A Jane Doe found in the Cold Creek campground, up on the pass. We never identified her, the case is still open, not that I have any money to waste resources on it.”

  “Any similarities
between the two cases?”

  “Both girls were manually strangulated. The medical examiner found broken cartilage in both. They were both young, teenagers. The Jane Doe was tied up, Albright wasn’t, at least when we got to her. However one of her wrists was broken. The doctor figures she was tied up and not too kindly. Whoever killed her wasn’t worried about stopping the blood flow.” Gaines paused, then added, “Two dead girls in twenty years hardly creates a pattern, regardless of any similarities.”

  “Can I see the file?”

  “This isn’t a lending library, Grim.”

  It was Harry's turn to drum his fingers on the edge of the Sheriff's desk.

  “Robert Goodman’s name came up. He was at a graduation party along with Alison twenty years ago. Could it have been him?”

  “You insult me, Harry. I do know how to do my job.”

  “No offense intended, Sheriff.”

  “I checked the file for the Albright case. She might have been at the party that weekend, the problem was they borrowed the house without permission. We never got anywhere with finding out who was there. Kids can clam up when they want to. Anyway, I know Goodman is in the clear.”

  “How do you know?”

  “When my deputies arrived to break the party up, everyone took off running. Goodman was inside passed out on the floor. Alcohol was already a problem for him. He spent the next thirty days in jail for breaking and entering. Eventually the district attorney lost the case when it went to trial because we couldn't prove he broke in. However, Goodman was found guilty of trespass and sentenced to time served. By the time he was kicked loose, the Albright girl was long gone.”

  “Do you recall who investigated the Jane Doe case?”

  “Not off hand. Todd Whittier took the fall for it. He was sheriff back then. People felt threatened by the killing. Parents worried about their daughters. When he failed to make an arrest the County Council suggested it was time for him to retire. I was named acting sheriff until the Fall election.”