by Alton Gansky
Perry knew what he meant. The equipment parked on the dirt path would be a giveaway, as would the wild grass beaten down by the workers moving up and down the hill.
“I’m new to all this secret construction stuff,” Brent said, “but I don’t imagine having spectators is a good thing.”
“You’re right, but we have other concerns. This is now a crime scene. If people start wandering around, they will contaminate the scene. The sheriff’s department won’t be happy about that.”
“Everyone with me,” Perry said as he started down the slope. “Except you, Dr. Curtis. Maybe you should wait in the office.” He motioned to the oak grove. “Let’s see if we can keep our guests off the site.”
They hadn’t gone far when they saw five people struggling up the grade. Perry quickly sized them up: two couples of retirement age and a bald, thin man dressed too nicely for the terrain. What bothered him even more was what he saw behind them: three other vehicles pulling to a stop. Clearly, the secret was out.
“Can I help you?” Perry asked forcefully. He gave a short smile. The winded visitors stopped and took a moment to catch their breath.
“Who are you?” one man asked. He was round and decked out in work boots, a T-shirt, and jeans that were held up by a pair of wide, multicolored suspenders that made Perry think of a circus clown. The man was missing a front tooth and sported a week’s worth of stubble on his chin.
“My name is Perry. May I ask who you are?”
“Sure, I’m Don Tucker. People just call me Tuck. This is my wife, Shirley.” Shirley smiled sweetly.
“I’m Dr. Lloyd Stevens,” the other man said. Unlike the first, he was clean-shaven and had bright eyes. “I’m the town dentist. This is my wife, Nancy.”
Perry nodded in their direction and wondered why Tuck didn’t visit Lloyd in his office. He looked at the skinny visitor.
“I’m David Branson. I’m the editor of the . . .”
“. . . local paper,” Perry said, finishing the sentence. The words seemed sour in his mouth.
“You’ve heard of me?” Branson smiled.
“The mayor mentioned you,” Perry explained.
“All good, I hope.” The editor let slip a little chuckle.
Perry frowned and cut his eyes to the others. “How may I help you?”
Tuck looked at Perry and then the others; his eyes widened as he took in Jack’s size. “We was having some eggs down at the café and readin’ the paper. Came across the article about what you guys are doing up here. I said to Shirley, ‘What say we take a run up there and say hi to the folks, maybe see what they’re doing.’”
“Same with us,” Lloyd said.
“I’m afraid there’s not much to see,” Perry said. “We’ve only been here for a day.”
“Is it true there’s treasure?” Branson blurted. “A treasure right here in town?”
“Actually, we’re in the county, not the City of Tejon—”
“Don’t matter none,” Tuck interjected. “We’re all neighbors. So how about it? Can we get a tour?”
“I’m afraid not,” Perry said diplomatically. “This is private property and—”
“It ain’t your private property,” Tuck insisted. “It belongs to the Trujillos. That’s what the paper said. Ain’t that right, Branson?”
“Yes,” the editor said. “That’s what I wrote in the article.”
“We have a contract with the Trujillo family,” Perry said.
“What kind of contract?” Branson asked.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss that.”
“Maybe I should just drive up and talk to Trujillo myself,” Tuck said. “We’re friends, after all.”
“You’re friends with Mr. Trujillo?” Perry asked. “How is he doing?”
Tuck’s eyes shot back and forth for a moment, and he licked his lips. “Fine. He’s doing great.”
“No, he’s not,” Perry said. “He’s sick. A friend would know that.”
Stepping forward, Tuck raised a finger and jabbed it against Perry’s chest. The scraggly man smelled of aged Old Spice and strong coffee. “You callin’ me a liar?”
Jack cleared his throat and moved a step closer to Tucker, who immediately took a quick stride back.
“We have a right to know what goes on in our county,” the dentist said.
“That’s right,” Branson interjected. “It’s my responsibility to report what’s going on.”
“Perhaps,” Perry said. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you on the site.”
“Who’s gonna stop—” Tucker began then stopped. Perry turned to see Jack at his shoulder, standing calmly with hands clasped in front of him. His sheer size was threat enough. Perry knew what Tucker couldn’t: No man was kinder than Jack. Perry decided to keep that quiet for the moment.
“Well, maybe I’ll just come back with the sheriff.” Tucker was reduced to bluster.
“It’s been tried already,” Perry said. “You’re welcome to do so too.”
“Well . . . well, maybe I just will.”
“You won’t have to wait long,” Gleason added. He nodded down the hill.
At the bottom of the slope a white patrol car parked behind the growing line of vehicles. Approaching the slope came five other citizens of Tejon, all men. Perry felt like he was looking at a football team.
Tucker followed Perry’s gaze and saw the deputy exit the car, as well as the approaching group. “Well, I guess we’ll see who can and can’t take a look around.”
The answer to that was already clear in Perry’s mind. With a body lying in a pit—two bodies, he corrected himself—the police were not going to allow crowds to roam over the crime scene.
“Hey, Doc,” a man in his late teens said as he led the second group forward. He wore a letterman’s jacket. “You out here to see the treasure hunt?”
“Hey, Vince,” the dentist replied. “That was the plan, but we’re not getting far. It appears we’re not welcome.”
“That a fact?” Vince said. He was a muscled man who obviously spent most of his off hours pushing iron and looking in mirrors. “Who’s stopping you?”
“These guys,” Tucker said with a jerk of his thumb.
“Perhaps I can talk some sense into them,” the man called Vince said.
“Well, isn’t this fun?” Gleason said quietly, then nervously cleared his throat.
“His pals look pretty big,” Brent said shakily. He shuffled his feet.
“How about it, buddy?” Vince said. “You gonna stand in the way of me and my friends?”
Perry smiled but said nothing.
“Pop ’em one,” Tucker said.
“Stop it,” Tucker’s wife demanded. “This is getting out of hand.”
“There’s no need for a riot,” Branson offered.
“Ain’t gonna be no riot. Me and my friends are going up there to see what you’re doing,” Vince growled, “and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He looked at Jack. “You’re a big one. Think you can take five of us?”
Perry raised a hand before Jack could speak. “Go home.” Perry’s words were just above a whisper.
“I don’t think so, buddy,” Vince said. “I think I’m going to finish my little walk up the hill.” Vince drove his point home pressing his index finger against Perry’s chest.
There was a cry of pain.
Vince was on his knees, one hand raised, the other holding his wrist. The raised hand was kept in place by the strong grip of Perry as he bent the man’s finger back. Vince’s knees had buckled at the pain.
“You’re breaking my finger. Let go!”
“Hold still, son,” Perry said without emotion. His eyes were fixed on Vince’s four friends. They started forward, and Perry applied more pressure to the digit. Vince bellowed. His friends stopped. Jack took a step forward and clinched his fists. The message was sent and received.
“Hey!” The voice traveled up the hill. Perry saw the deputy he had met yesterday, marching up the slop
e. His voice was strong, and his face appeared chiseled in concrete. He had the look of a man not to be trifled with.
Perry braced himself for the officer’s verbal assault, but it never came. Instead, he strode up to Perry then looked down at Vince, whose face was twisted in pain. “Mr. Sachs,” the deputy said with the kind of nod one gives an acquaintance met on the street.
“Sergeant Montulli,” Perry replied smoothly.
“I was expecting something else when I arrived,” Montulli said. “Has Vince been giving you trouble?”
“A little,” Perry admitted, “but nothing to worry about. You know this man?”
“Vincent? Oh yeah, we go way back. He’s a bit of a celebrity around town. Local high school kid makes college football team. He’s a linebacker. Pretty good too. Just not real smart.”
“Ah,” Perry said.
“Come on, man, he’s breaking my finger.” Sweat dotted Vince’s brow.
“Say, Vince,” Montulli said. “How many times have you been in my jail?”
“I don’t know. Ow. Two, maybe three times.”
“Four times, cowboy. You want to make it five?”
“He attacked me!”
“Nah. I saw you poke him in the chest. That’s assault and battery. That’s a little more serious than underage drinking and disturbing the peace.” He turned to Perry. “You want to press charges?”
“I don’t know, Sergeant. I think that all depends on your friend here. I suppose I could overlook things.”
Montulli hunkered down to make eye contact. “I know you have a problem with authority figures, Vince, but I’m going to give you some advice. You’re a big boy now so you can make up your own mind, but if I was in your situation, I’d take Mr. Sachs’s kind offer here and leave quietly—or I can slap on the cuffs. What’s it going to be, sport?”
“Okay, okay, just make him let go.”
Montulli rose. “Ball’s in your court, Mr. Sachs.”
Perry let go, and Vince popped to his feet, backing up several steps. He shook his hand vigorously. “I should—”
“Watch it!” Montulli snapped. “You’re not out of this yet. Now take off.”
Vince scowled, threw Perry a hard look, and then started down the hill without a word, his friends close behind.
“I’m sorry that happened,” Perry said. “I try to stay away from confrontations.”
“You seem pretty good at it. I’ve wanted to do something like that to Vince since the first time I met him. His father’s the same way. The acorn didn’t fall far from the tree on that one. More’s the pity.” Montulli turned to the others. “What are you folks doing up here?”
“We read about the treasure and wanted to see for ourselves,” Tucker said.
“You’re not seeing anything up here today. So you can go home.”
“Why are you siding with him?” Tucker asked.
“I’m not siding with him or anyone else. This is a crime scene, and you’re interfering with an investigation. Now go home.”
“Crime scene?” Branson asked. “What kind of crime? I need facts for the story.”
“Not now, David,” Montulli said. “Now go on.”
“But . . . ,” Branson began.
“I said, not now,” Montulli snapped. “I’ve got my hands full. Now unless you want to spend time in my jail for interfering with an investigation, you best head back down the hill—all of you. ”
“I need facts,” Branson insisted. “I can’t write a story without details and facts.”
“It didn’t stop you yesterday,” Montulli shot back. “Now beat it.”
To Perry’s relief, they grumbled but left. Branson remained for a moment, stammered, pursed his lips in indignation, and then followed the others back to the road. “You handled that well.”
Montulli shrugged. “I’ve been at it for a while. Most of the people out here are good, quiet, and respectful. Some of them, however, wake up stupid each morning.”
“We all struggle with sin nature,” Perry remarked.
“That sounds like church talk,” Montulli said. “You one of them churchgoers?”
“That’s one way of putting it, but yes, I’m a Christian.”
“That’s probably a good thing, because you may need all the help you can get. Okay, it’s time to get to work.”
“How can I help?”
“Tell me where the body is.” Perry did, explaining how the body was discovered. “Did you touch anything?”
“Yes,” Perry admitted. “I touched the body in searching for a pulse, and Jack also touched the tarp.” He explained about the pit and how they discovered the body.
Montulli frowned. “How many people were working up here yesterday?”
“Maybe twenty or so,” Perry replied.
“Twenty-two,” Jack corrected. “That’s not counting two visits by the mayor.”
“Yeah, the mayor,” Montulli said somberly. “I should let you know she’s on her way.”
“Oh, great,” Gleason said.
Montulli continued. “Here is what is going to happen. I need to see the body, but I want to limit the number of people tracking in and out to the crime scene. So I want everyone but Mr. Sachs to stay here. There should be two deputies arriving anytime. They’ll cordon off the crime scene area. Sometime this morning a homicide detective from Bakersfield will show up. At that point, he’ll take charge of the investigation.
“I will also need to speak to each of you individually. The boys from homicide will want to talk to you and your crew. I assume they will be available.”
“They will,” Perry said.
“Good. I’m going to walk up the hill to the site. I’m going to do so through the undisturbed grass. Less likely to step on the killer’s footprints that way. I want you,” he said, pointing to Perry, “to follow directly behind me.”
“You’re the boss,” Perry said.
“You’d think so, wouldn’t you?” Montulli said. He was looking down the hill. A car had just parked. “I think the real boss just got here.”
Perry watched Anne Fitzgerald exit the car.
Chapter 11
“YOU KNOW HIM?” Montulli asked.
“No,” Perry mumbled. He and the deputy sheriff were staring down into the pit. The lifeless body lay prone on the moldering wood planks Perry had uncovered the previous evening, the head twisted awkwardly to one side. Perry could see the face clearly. The senseless taking of a life bothered him
“What’s he lying on?” Montulli asked pointing.
“Planks, wood planks.”
“Did you put them there?”
“No, we uncovered them last night during our excavation.”
“So that’s what you’ve been looking for? That’s the treasure?”
Perry said nothing. Things had gone from difficult to impossible in a short time. According to the communications on Sergeant Montulli’s handheld radio, the other officers had arrived on scene just in time to turn back another small crowd of curious townspeople. Montulli had put in a call for additional officers so the first group could do the job of taping off the crime scene.
“Mr. Sachs,” Montulli said, “I asked you a question.”
“The planks are the lid of a coffin.”
Montulli screwed his face in disgust. “You mean the victim is lying on someone else’s coffin?”
Perry nodded. “And before you ask, yes, the coffin is . . . occupied.”
Perry could sense the confusion in Montulli. The deputy gazed at the open grave and blinked several times. He started to speak, but then stopped.
“Did you open the casket?”
“It’s not a casket,” Perry explained, “at least not as we use the term today. It’s a crude coffin and very old.”
“This just gets more and more interesting. Of course, it makes your problems even worse.”
“How’s that?”
“There are laws about desecrating graves.”
“That’s pushing it a bit,
Sergeant,” Perry replied with a frown. “This isn’t a public cemetery. For that matter it isn’t a private one either.”
“Do you know, for a fact, that that coffin down there is the only one?”
Perry thought of the survey results and the other five dark objects it revealed. “No.”
Montulli opened his mouth to speak but was stopped by the crackle of his radio and the voice of one of the other deputies. “We’ve got a bit of a situation here,” the distant deputy said. “Mayor Fitzgerald is insisting that she should be allowed to come up.”
“Oh, brother,” Montulli said. Then he keyed his radio. “What’s the crowd situation?”
“Clear for the moment. We made them leave. They weren’t happy. You may be getting a few phone calls later.”
“That’s why I get the big bucks,” Montulli mumbled loud enough for Perry to hear. “All right. You bring her up and try not to step on anything that might be evidence.”
Perry chuckled. “Your mayor is a handful.”
“She’s a good woman, Sachs, a real good woman. She just has a bit of the bulldog in her, that’s all. She takes her work seriously.”
“So you don’t find her annoying or troublesome?”
“Of course I do. She is insistent to a fault, she pokes her nose in places it doesn’t belong, and she makes more work for me. However, she does it for good reasons.”
For a moment, Perry considered telling Montulli about his meeting with Anne the night before but decided against it. The image of the town’s mayor knocking back a tumbler of scotch was something he didn’t want to be responsible for.
Montulli’s radio came to life again but with a woman’s voice. The words sounded distant and indistinct. “ . . . on, come on, Deputy. Can’t you move any faster?”
“It’s a crime scene, Mayor,” the voice Perry had heard moments earlier said. “We move slowly through crime scenes.”
“If you don’t speed it up, I’m going to pass you.”
“No, ma’am, you’re not. I told you the drill. You walk directly behind me . . .” Then before the radio went dead, Perry heard the deputy mumble, “Hazardous duty pay.”
“He keyed his mike,” Montulli explained. “Apparently he wanted me to know the mayor’s mood.”
