December's Secrets (Larry Macklin Mysteries Book 2)

by A. E. Howe

“He was mad. Gibson was a hothead, just like Timberlane.”

  “He wouldn’t go?”

  “No, but I told him that if he wasn’t out by the morning I’d come and…” Henry knew he’d walked into another trap.

  “What did you tell him you’d do?”

  “Kick his ass.”

  “You didn’t say you’d kill him?”

  “No! Just kick his ass.”

  “But you all argued?”

  “I would call it that. He told me to go screw myself. He had a lease and wasn’t going anywhere. I told him I’d give him the money for the rest of the month, but he said it was Christmas and he wasn’t leaving until the New Year.”

  “Of course that made you angry.”

  “That’s when I told him to be out by morning or I’d kick his ass.”

  “What did he say when you threatened him?”

  From the look on Henry’s face, it was clear he hadn’t thought of it as a threat. “He said I was an old man and he’d beat the crap out of me if I tried it.”

  “It sounds like Gibson was a pretty nasty guy. What happened when you found out he hadn’t moved out?”

  “I didn’t. I hadn’t gone to check.”

  “You were all upset and demanded that he leave before morning, but come morning you didn’t bother to check and see if he had left?” Chavez was turning up the heat a little bit.

  “I’ve struggled with my anger in the past. I didn’t want to get in another fight with him. I thought if I gave him some extra time before I checked on him…” Henry shrugged.

  He’d already given Chavez more ammunition by telling him that he’d had anger management issues in the past. This interview was the perfect example of why lawyers tell everyone, no matter how innocent they are, to never voluntarily talk to the police. When a cop asks a question, the answer should always be I want a lawyer. Thinking about how close I was to actually obstructing justice, I wondered if I was going to have to call a lawyer. I needed to solve this as quickly as possible.

  “Okay, let’s go back to this morning. What did you do when you woke up? Take me through your day up to the time that you saw the deputy.”

  “It was cold so I got up to put some wood in the stove and got the fire going for Anna. She hates to get out of bed when it’s cold. I did a few chores and then headed out to the Millhopper.”

  “You go to the Millhopper every day?”

  “No, I go three times a week, usually. I go on Tuesday, Thursday and most Sundays.”

  “Why?”

  “I go up and down the stairs ten times, exercise. A couple of years ago I was warned about my blood pressure. I like going up and down the Millhopper. If I try and walk around the co-op, I end up having to stop every couple of minutes to talk to people. The air there is a lot cleaner than walking along the roads or in town and, besides, it’s only five minutes from my house.” He shrugged. That explained a lot. If it was his routine, then other people would probably know about it.

  “Do you go at the same time every day?” Chavez asked the right question.

  “Tuesday and Thursday I’m almost always there around eight when they open the gate. The rangers will back me up. I know both of the regulars by name, and they know me. Sundays, it all depends on what’s going on. If we have company or are going to have a special dinner or something like that, I go when I can or not at all.” Just thinking about normal life was calming him down.

  “When you got to the park today, what did you do?”

  “Not much. I got out of the truck and started down the trail to the Millhopper.”

  “So you went and walked up and down the stairs?” Chavez was incredulous, wondering if Henry was going to claim that he didn’t see the body.

  “No. I never got there.”

  “Why not?”

  “I got part way down the trail and thought about my cell phone. So much has been going on that I thought I’d better keep it with me. I normally don’t bother. I don’t want to get a call about someone’s plumbing or leaky roof or what have you. Walking through the park and up and down those stairs is my time. Really, that’s why I’ve kept it up for a couple years. It’s peaceful. But I thought I better have my phone today so I went back to get it out of my truck.”

  “That’s when the deputy found you in the parking lot?”

  “I’d just got back to the truck when he pulled in. I wasn’t worried at first, but then he looked at me. I don’t know. It was like I was nineteen again. I got spooked. He saw it. We were like a dog and a rabbit.”

  Chavez shuffled through the papers in the file folder again. He pulled out a picture and pushed it across the table to Henry. “Have you ever seen this before?”

  Henry looked at it with a puzzled expression on his face. “It’s a piece of rope.”

  “That’s right. Have you ever seen this particular piece of rope before?”

  “I don’t know. It’s just a piece of rope.” I could see Henry putting two and two together. “I didn’t hang anyone. Not the guy in Adams County or the one here. That’s crazy.”

  “What would you say if I told you we found this piece of rope in the back of your truck?”

  Henry looked trapped. He saw his hope of going home fading with each question. “I don’t know. I don’t think that piece of rope was in my truck, but I have a lot of stuff in it. It’s my work truck. I spend half my day fixing things around the co-op. Sometimes I work with other people, and they get things out of my truck or put stuff in. There’s wood and metal scraps back there and all kinds of trash. I should clean it out. I just don’t.”

  “We’re pretty sure that this piece of rope came from the same rope that was tied around the victim’s neck. Now do you see our problem?” Chavez’s acting skills weren’t up to making this sound like he thought it was a problem.

  “You think I killed them. I didn’t. I don’t know how I can prove it to you.”

  “If you can’t prove that you didn’t kill them, and we have evidence that says you did…” Chavez gave a what can I do shrug.

  “Let’s, for the sake of argument, say you killed them.” Henry started to protest, but Chavez held up a hand to stop him. “We’re just hypothesizing right now. Okay. If you did it, but could give me a good reason why you killed them, then maybe we can help you. You said that they were monsters. Rapists? Molesters? If that’s true, it’s understandable that you wanted to kill them. Now I’m not actually talking about doing it. First, tell me, did you want to kill them?”

  This is a classic technique to get a confession. Get the suspect to admit that he wanted to commit the crime and then work it around until he admits to having done the crime. Of course, using this method, you can also get innocent people to confess to horrible crimes that they didn’t commit.

  I watched for another forty-five minutes as Chavez took Henry to the edge of a confession over and over again. Each time I was afraid that Henry might just fold and give Chavez what he wanted. But Henry, even in his emotionally exhausted state, was strong. Each time he said no. Always no. Some interrogators would have kept badgering Henry until sleep depravation and exhaustion led the suspect to confess, whether they were guilty or not. I gained a margin of respect for Chavez when he got up and left the room. He came in and told me that he wasn’t going to pressure Henry any further, but he felt that he had no choice but to book him for the murder.

  “I’m pretty sure we can obtain more physical evidence. We found a knife in the back of the truck which might have been used to cut the rope. Forensics will take a while to make that final determination. But if they say it could have, and we have witnesses that have seen Laursen with the knife in the past, and it was found in his truck… I think the State Attorney will like that.”

  I was sick at heart. I had to do something for Cara. “I’ve been in contact with his family. I think they might still be cooperative, even now that you’ve decided to press charges. But it would help if I could tell them that he’s being booked and let them know what their o
ptions are for seeing him.”

  “Sure. That’s fine,” he said. Chavez was in a good mood. He had a probable suspect behind bars on a case that tread on state feet. He was petting Mauser and telling him what a good boy he was. I felt like nudging the dog and telling him not to fraternize with the enemy. Though, honestly, it was hard to see Chavez as an enemy. If I were in his shoes, I’d have been pushing things in the same direction that he was. On the other hand, if he knew about my relationship with Cara, I was fairly certain that he’d see me as the enemy.

  “Do you know of a motel around here—” I started before he interrupted me, starting to list half a dozen and where they were located. “—that will take him too,” I broke in, pointing to Mauser.

  “Ha, ha, that’s a little trickier. I’ll call a couple up and see if I can get you two in someplace.”

  Twenty minutes later I was on my way to a motel on the outskirts of town that had said they took pets and didn’t have a size limit. Chavez apparently knew the management and warned them that they might want to rethink their policy after they saw what he was sending them. I promised Chavez I would bring him up to speed on the Timberlane case the next time we got together.

  I hit the speed dial for Cara’s number. Maybe it was wishful thinking that had led me to add her number to my favorites. I explained the current situation with her father. Again I told her that the sooner they got him a lawyer, the better. Visiting hours were between two and five. I looked at my watch and it was already almost four.

  “I’m sorry that I can’t drive you to the jail. But if Chavez heard about it, he’d have some hard questions for me.”

  “I understand. I don’t want to get you into trouble,” she said.

  “Tell your father that he has to ask for a lawyer and not to answer any more questions until he’s spoken to one. Also, tell him he needs a criminal lawyer, not some friend that does contract law or environmental law or something.”

  “I will. I know you’re right. I just can’t believe the mess we’re in. And Mom is in complete denial.”

  “Maybe seeing your father through Plexiglas will wake her up. I won’t lie to you. Someone has done a royally good job of framing him for these murders. It’s going to take a lot of luck and hard work to get him out of jail.”

  She was quiet and I was afraid that I might have been too brutally honest. Finally she said, “I know you’re right, and I appreciate you being honest about it. I don’t want to be like Mom. If things are bad, I want to know how bad.”

  “That’s the only way to be prepared for the fight. Call me after you’ve seen him.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  I pulled up to the Alligator Motor Lodge. The motel looked like it had been built in the 1940s or ’50s, but it appeared clean and well cared for. There were several one-story block buildings with half a dozen rooms each. The office was in the front of the complex. Its door was covered in a variety of stickers touting AAA, the MCA Motor Club and a few more organizations that I didn’t think had existed for decades.

  A thin woman in her sixties with wild, highly unnatural red hair and wearing enough jewelry to stock a small store was behind the desk, scrolling through something on her computer. She looked up and a huge smile spread across her face.

  “Hello! May I help you?” She was positively beaming. She had a tag on her bright green blouse that read: Mrs. Perkins, Manager/Owner.

  “Yes, Lt. Chavez with the—” I didn’t have a chance to finish before she came running around the desk.

  “Ohhhh, yes, you’re the fellow with the Great Dane! Where is that big boy?” She started looking around as though she expected him to walk in on his own.

  “He’s out in the car. I need to let you know that he’s still a bit of a puppy. He hasn’t stayed in a motel before…” I hoped she’d understand what I was implying.

  “Ohhh, the poor boy. Probably going to be a little nervous.” She winked at me. “Worried he might damage something? Never you mind. I have the perfect room for those puppies that are a little more excitable.” She grabbed a key from a rack in the back of the office. I didn’t even know there were motels that still used keys. She pulled out a form for me to fill out and took my credit card. Why didn’t I think to grab Dad’s credit card? I thought, watching her zip mine through her machine. God knew how many charges Mauser would rack up.

  Paperwork done, we went outside and I retrieved Mauser from the van. He immediately recognized a fan and ran over to Mrs. Perkins. Ten minutes later, after she’d made over him and I’d given her all of his statistics, we were on our way to the room. I thought it odd that we went past all the buildings out front to a smaller building in the far corner. Mrs. Perkins opened the door and the distinct odor of musty dog hit me. She entered and started opening the windows, which were small and set high on the walls. A queen bed with a saggy mattress took up the middle of the room. The room was furnished like a cheap motel from the 1980s. All of the furniture looked like a colony of beavers had tried to drag if off and the doors looked like someone had tried to keep a bobcat in the room.

  “Yes, this is our bad boy room.” She scratched Mauser’s ears. “It’s not your fault, is it?” She gave me a pointed look.

  “My dad is pretty lenient with him.”

  “Yes, of course. There are towels in the bathroom. I’ll tell Stella not to clean the room while you’re here. You just let me know if you need anything. To-da-loo,” she said, giving Mauser a couple more scratches before leaving and closing the door behind her.

  “Great, we’re in a cell together. This is all your fault. I told you, you need to grow up on your own. You can’t count on Dad teaching you anything.” He gave me a whatever look and hopped up on the bed.

  I went back out and moved the van next to our Gulag-inspired room. After dragging all of Mauser’s luggage into the room, I made his dinner.

  “Okay, big guy, I’m going out to get myself something to eat. Are you going to be okay?” He rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. “Guess so.”

  I’d just finished dinner at a pizza joint when my phone went off. It was Cara, calling to report on her visit with her dad.

  “Larry, it was awful seeing him like that. But I’ve convinced him to let me find a lawyer. A real lawyer.”

  “How’s your mom doing?”

  “She’s okay, but she goes kind of blank every now and then.”

  “Would you mind if I came out there? I want you to show me around Timberlane’s old trailer and where Gibson lived. I’ll need the full fifty-cent tour.”

  “They went through Gibson’s trailer today. It’s all taped off.”

  “We’ll figure it out,” I assured her, then got directions to the co-op.

  The Laursen home was an interesting amalgamation of styles. It looked like it had been built by a dozen different builders who never consulted each other. Inside it was cozy and eclectic, with large cushy furniture that had seen better days and that was covered in pillows and throws. The floor was a beautiful hardwood with hand-woven area rugs adding bright colors. The walls were covered with handmade arts and crafts. All of the hardware on the cabinets and furniture was intricate wrought iron.

  “Dad forged all of the ironwork,” Cara told me as I admired the hinges and door handles. “Mom made some of the art and the rest were gifts from friends around the world.”

  “How’s your mother?”

  “She took some herbal tea and had a bath before lying down.” Cara went over to a door and opened it a little, listening at the crack. She closed the door softly. “She’s sleeping.”

  “I know it’s dark, but I’d still like to get a lay of the land.”

  “Of course. Come on.” She grabbed a flashlight before opening the door and I followed her into the night.

  It was cold out, and quiet. Even though we were just outside of the Gainesville city limits, only the occasional barking dog cut the night air. There were no sidewalks in the co-op and the roads were packed dirt. I’d passed only two
houses coming in. One was a traditional ranch style and the other a small wooden A-frame. A few of the houses had Christmas lights on.

  “This is the road you came in on. It branches right and left when it reaches Mom and Dad’s house.” We turned right out of their driveway. “In both directions there are two circles off of each road. Each of the four circles has about ten lots around it, and most of the lots have someone living on them. Plus there are a few houses, like Dad’s, along the feeder roads.” She sounded like a professional tour guide.

  “You’ve done this before?”

  “Sorry, showing people around was one of my jobs when I lived here.” She sounded wistful. “You know, I miss it sometimes. The co-op is a real community. Forty families live here permanently, and then we’ve always had a couple dozen people who are here on their way to somewhere else. That was the case with both Timberlane and Gibson. Not that I knew either one of them. Both of them came here after I’d moved up to Calhoun.”

  “Did they live in the same house?”

  “No, but their trailers were next door to each other. Dad said that Gibson was here first and Timberlane came about two months later. Dad wasn’t sure if they knew each other before they met here or not. But they seemed chummy right off.”

  We came to the road leading to the first circle and Cara switched off the flashlight. The moon was full and even with the light cloud cover, we were able to see the sandy road in the dark. It would have been very romantic if her father hadn’t been in jail for murder. I reached out and touched her hand. She took mine and held it tight.

  “That’s Gibson’s.” She pointed to a singlewide trailer that had crime scene tape across the dirt driveway. Letting go of my hand, Cara turned on the flashlight again and led the way around the tape. More tape crisscrossed the trailer door.

  “Do you know if the investigators took anything?”

  “Cyril—he lives over there.” She pointed the light to a small house with wood siding. A light was on in the front windows. “Cyril said that they took a couple boxes of stuff.”