No Way to Die

by Warren C Easley

  “No!” I screamed as I rushed over and knelt next to Max’s crumpled body.

  Sissy dropped the trophy, covered her mouth, her eyes huge orbs. “Oh, Jesus, I didn’t mean…”

  Wendell came in, looked at Max, then at me, his face a study in stunned disbelief. “What the hell happened?”

  “She’s badly hurt. Call 911. Now!” Wendell hurried out, but not before eyeing the bloody trophy at Sissy’s feet.

  Max’s eyes were half open, and she reached a hand up as if to pull me closer. I leaned in. She tried to speak but her mouth moved without making any sound. I got closer still, and her eyes opened wide, locking onto mine. In a hoarse whisper, she said, “I never did what she said, Cal. I never killed anybody but my old man, I swear.”

  With that, her hand flopped down onto her chest, her eyes fluttered closed, and she became still.

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  I thought Max was dead, but I found a weak pulse in her neck. Red had entered the room and stood staring at us, frozen in shock, his mouth agape. “She’s alive,” I said. “Go out to the gate to make sure the rescue team knows exactly where we are. Every second counts. And have somebody call the sheriff.” He rushed out as well, relieved I’d given him something to do. I turned to Sissy, who still stood next to the trophy she’d dropped on the floor. Her eyes were wet, her face pale, and her knees shook perceptibly. I nodded my head toward a chair behind her. “Sit down before you collapse.”

  “Is she going to die?” she asked in a tremulous voice as she collapsed into a chair.

  “I don’t know. Listen, Sissy. The sheriff will be here soon. They’re going to arrest you. Don’t say anything about what happened until you get a lawyer. Not a word. Do you understand?”

  She nodded and looked down at the trembling palm of her hand then back at me in disbelief. “God, I didn’t mean to, it just happened, Cal. I didn’t even think. She shouldn’t have pushed me like that.”

  “I’m going to call Mimi Yoshida for you as soon as I can, Sissy. You’re going to need an attorney.”

  It was an agonizing wait for the ambulance. Max remained unconscious during that time, while Sissy bit her nails and sobbed quietly. Wendell brought a first aid kit from the shop area, and I doubled up a couple of compresses to staunch the bleeding at the site of the wound, which had become an ugly hematoma the size of an orange. I was prepared to give Max CPR, but to my relief, her weak pulse stayed stable.

  When the paramedics arrived and loaded her onto a stretcher, I followed them out to the waiting ambulance. A sizeable crowd of workers from the yard had gathered. They were solemn-faced, some dabbing tears. Others near the ambulance asked if she was going to be okay and what had happened. It was clear to me that Max Sloat wasn’t just the owner and the boss, she was, if not beloved, certainly well-liked by her employees. I was surprised and moved by the outpouring of concern.

  Two sheriff’s deputies arrived just as the ambulance departed. They first questioned me, Wendell, and Red, then arrested Sissy on the spot. She was handcuffed and led out to a patrol car they’d parked next to Max’s truck. Word had apparently gotten around about what happened, so when Sissy appeared a smattering of angry shouts rose up from the crowd.

  At that point my cell riffed, and when I answered Claire said in an anxious voice, “Dad, are you okay? I’m outside the gate with Rori. They’re saying Max Sloat got hurt in a fight of some kind.”

  “Yeah, I’m okay. She’s badly hurt, and I witnessed it. Wait for me. I’ll explain when I get out of here.”

  I had no sooner disconnected when Chet Rice called. “Cal, I just heard that somebody damn near killed Max Sloat.”

  “I know. I was with her when it happened.”

  “You’re kidding me. Who did it?”

  “Howard Coleman’s girlfriend, a woman named Sissy Anderson.”

  “What happened?”

  “There was a scuffle, and Max got clocked with a bowling trophy.”

  “Ouch. Were you working with this Anderson woman?”

  “Yes, we had some contact. She knew the first name of one of the Barton brothers—Robert. That got the ball rolling for us.”

  “Is Sloat going to make it?”

  “I don’t know. She took a hell of a shot to the temple. She was conscious for a short time and then when out like a light. I thought she died.”

  “Well, I hope she pulls through. This is a big enough clusterfuck as it is.”

  “You’re right about that,” I said, the implications too fresh for me to comment any further. “Uh, what’s the latest on Robert Barton?”

  Rice sighed into the phone. “We’ve had reports of at least twenty-three suspicious white Honda sightings. None have panned out. That may be the most common make and model in the state. Robert’s gone to ground, I’m afraid. But, you were right about the tobacco juice spittle. It was loaded with Darnell’s DNA. That puts him at the scene of the Nando Mendoza shooting. You give good tips, my friend.”

  I called Mimi Yoshida next and apprised her of the situation. “I’d be happy to talk to Sissy,” she said after I finished. “Where is she?”

  “She was arrested and carted off to the Sheriff’s Office ten minutes ago. I told her I’d call you.”

  “Okay. I can leave right now.”

  I sat down in the reception area to wait for the detailed interview I knew was coming. My emotions were churning, not just from the shock of witnessing the violence and the fact that the victim was our key suspect. Another concern gnawed at me at a deeper level—what was I to make of the last thing Max said to me? It felt like a deathbed declaration, after all.

  I was still processing that.

  * * *

  I paced around for a half hour before finally talking to the investigator in charge of the case, a colleague of Chet Rice’s named Drake. “We’ll want you to come to the office to read over and discuss your statement and sign it,” he told me when we finished. “We’ll text you a time.” I said that would be fine, and when I finally escaped the truck yard, I found Claire, Archie, and Rori waiting across the highway in the Subaru.

  I got in and heaved a sigh before giving them a quick summary of what happened. When I finished, Claire looked at me with incredulous disbelief. “I don’t get it, Dad. Why on earth would Sissy do that? What possible good did she think would come from such a confrontation?”

  I could only shrug. “I think she was angry and totally frustrated. She wanted to put Max on notice. When Max shoved her into the trophy table, she just reacted. It was spontaneous. I don’t think there was any premeditation toward violence at all.”

  “So, it was self-defense?” Claire asked.

  I had to chuckle. “That, I’m afraid, is a question that’s going to be vigorously adjudicated. My guess is Sissy will be charged with aggravated assault. I called Mimi Yoshida, and she agreed to represent her. Mimi’s with her now.”

  “Good,” Claire responded. Then her face clouded over. “What if Max dies?”

  “Sissy will be looking at manslaughter at a minimum.”

  My daughter’s face grew even darker. “What about our investigation? It’ll be crippled, won’t it?”

  “What?” Rori said, who so far hadn’t realized the threat this posed to our effort to free her grandson. “You can still prove Max killed Sonny, even if she’s dead, right?”

  “We can gather evidence,” I said, “but we can’t take her to court. Our judicial system doesn’t allow dead people to be charged with a crime. This, uh, complicates things, Rori.”

  I could feel the heat of Rori’s gaze on the back of my neck. “How bad is this, Cal?” Her voice was low and filled with trepidation.

  “We’ll find a way, Rori.”

  That’s what I told that brave and loving woman, but for the first time, I had a sense that Kenny’s exoneration might be a bridge too far. Perhaps it was
Max’s statement that weighed so heavily on me—did she tell me the truth before slipping into unconsciousness? Was her father the only person she ever killed? I wasn’t sure, and I wasn’t about to share my doubts with anyone at that point.

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Two days later at the beach house the clouds were low and thick over the slate-colored water, and for some reason the gulls were not their usual noisy selves. I had just returned from the sheriff’s office and was out on the deck sipping a coffee and talking to Nando on my cell phone. “So,” he was saying, “Esperanza and George are driving down today from Portland to pick me up. George will drive me back in my Lexus. How does my car look?”

  “Well, you know, there’s a lot of condensation at night, so it’s a little streaky, I guess.”

  “Then we will have to wash it.”

  “Of course. What are the docs telling you about your arm?”

  “It is still the early days. I will begin physical therapy in a week.”

  “Any movement yet?”

  “No.” He paused there, making it clear he didn’t wish to discuss the prognosis for regaining the use of his left arm. “What is the latest on Maxine Sloat? She is just down the hall from me, but my nurses are not telling me a thing.”

  “She’s still in critical condition,” I said. “They’ve induced a coma because of the swelling in her brain. She has a shot at recovering, but it’s going to take a long time.”

  “I see. Are you leaning guilty or innocent?” my friend asked next. I’d told him about Max’s near-deathbed statement to me and how conflicted I felt about it.

  I sighed into the phone as the look in Max’s eyes at that moment unspooled in my mind yet again. “She’s still our best suspect, but I have profound doubts now. Of course, it’s moot since we don’t have anything concrete one way or the other.”

  “What about Sissy?”

  “Her bail hearing’s tomorrow. They’ve charged her with first-degree assault, which means they must prove she acted with intention. I think that’s a stretch.”

  Nando chuckled. “So says the star witness.”

  “Unfortunately.”

  “Well, I wish her the best.” He paused. “I hate to leave you and Claire, my friend, but there appears to be nothing more I can do here under the circumstances.”

  “No worries. We’re packing up today, as well. Claire has booked a flight back to Boston in four days.”

  Nando chuckled. “She agreed to that?”

  “Well, I told her that if they finally find Robert Barton or a new lead develops, I’ll let her know and we can decide if she needs to rejoin me.”

  “She is an excellent investigator, Calvin.”

  “I know, but she’s also an excellent environmental scientist, and the world needs more of those right now, don’t you think?”

  “Ah, I see your point. How does she feel about it?”

  “Mixed. She’s so committed to Kenny Sanders and Rori, she’s having a hard time letting go.”

  “Claire has a good heart, my friend. You have raised her well.”

  I exhaled a breath. “Anyway, I’m going back to Dundee. I’ll keep my hand in, but not full time, obviously.”

  “What did Aurora say about this?”

  “I haven’t told her. Haven’t gotten up the nerve yet. She’s going to take it hard. And I’m still waiting for a date on the hearing to get Kenny transferred.” I blew another breath. “I’ve got to win that, Nando, but I think the deck’s stacked against me.”

  “You will win it, Calvin. You should not be ashamed, my friend. You have laid everything on the line for that boy and his grandmother.”

  “Yeah, well, there’s not much to show for it, is there?”

  * * *

  “I’m such a pack rat, Dad. What should I do with these shells and rocks I’ve collected?” Claire asked as she came out of her room later that morning. “I can’t take them with me.”

  I was vacuuming in the living room in front of the Jackson Pollock. “Put the keepers out on the deck.”

  Her cell phone buzzed at that point, and she had a conversation I didn’t hear. When she finished, she motioned for me to turn off the vacuum. “That was the waiter at the Tioga Building.” I must have looked puzzled. “You know, the old timer there. Anyway, he apologized for taking so long to get back to me. I’d forgotten all about him. So, three years ago, he said, the owners of the restaurant had that emergency door put in because a couple of customers went out the back without paying.”

  Three years ago?

  “Yes, he was positive about that. And I asked him about the use of the back way out before the door was installed. He said he didn’t know whether residents used it or not.” She looked at me. “What do you think, Dad? Synchronicity?”

  I shrugged. “Okay, that means Twila could have gone out and come back through the back exit and avoided the security camera in the front of the building, but the video of her final exit showed her wearing the same clothes she entered with, and no blood stains were visible. So, we’re back to the same problem—she was awfully tidy for having just bludgeoned her husband with a hammer.”

  Claire nodded and started back to her room. I turned the vacuum back on, looked at the paint-spattered Jackson Pollock, then turned the vacuum back off as everything clicked into place.

  “Of course,” I said out loud, “the coveralls. I saw her wearing them at Seven Devils. That’s how she did it!”

  Claire stopped and turned around. “Did what?”

  “Kept her husband’s blood off her clothes, that’s what. She must have worn them that night. We’ve been all wrong.” I paused for a moment, my mind racing, then pointed at her phone. “Look up the San Francisco Opera, opening night. It’s René Fleming in La Traviata. When the hell is it?” Claire started to speak, but I cut her off. “Just do it.”

  She looked up from her screen a few moments later. “It’s tomorrow night, Dad, but—”

  “Good. It’s not too late.”

  Claire looked at me like I’d just gone crazy. “What’s not too late?”

  I looked back and laughed. “She’s a pack rat like you. And she likes to dress up for the opera. She told me that, too.”

  Claire narrowed her eyes down. “That doesn’t help, Dad.”

  I laughed again. “It’s so out there, I’m embarrassed to say. Bear with me.” I rushed into the kitchen, where my cell phone was charging, and called Nando. “I need a huge favor.”

  “Of course, Calvin.”

  “I need your best camera guy. I need a close-up of someone, from the waist up. High resolution, and they can’t know they’re being photographed.”

  “Is that all? This is what we do. My best man is Ramón.”

  “That’s not all. I need Ramón to get on a plane either tonight or early tomorrow morning for San Francisco. The subject is staying at the Fairmont Hotel and will be going to the opera tomorrow night. He needs to catch her either when she comes out of the Fairmont or at the opera. It will be a busy scene.”

  Nando paused. “How important is this?”

  “Very, or I wouldn’t ask you.”

  “Then you will need Felix as well. It will take a spotter and a camera man to ensure the job is done properly. We will need several photographs of the subject in order to be able to pick her out.” He paused. “This bears on the case, verdad?”

  “Yes, but trust me, Nando. I’ll explain later.”

  “Very well. Unfortunately, Esperanza is on her way here. Send the photographs to my account at the office, and I will instruct Ramón how to access them. Give us several shots. Felix is a good face man, but he needs reliable input to spot his prey.”

  I disconnected and said to Claire, who stood next to me with a perplexed look on her face, “Get your computer. We need to find some good headshots of Twila Jenson and send the
m to Nando. Also, we need to go through the files we were going to take back to Mimi Yoshida and find the insurance pictures of the items that were supposedly stolen at the time of the murder.”

  Claire crossed her arms and gave me a hard look. “Only if you tell me what’s going on.”

  I explained my epiphany, such as it was, how that damned Jackson Pollock painting had triggered the whole thing. Thirty minutes later we had found three good photographs of Twila on her website and one in the Coos Bay World digital edition—a full-length shot of her standing next to a painting in her gallery—and sent them on to Nando’s office.

  I leaned back in my chair and took a breath. “Whoa, that was intense. Thanks for the help, Claire.”

  She nodded. “Do you think you’re right, Dad?”

  I shrugged and smiled with a tinge of sheepishness. The rush had worn off and doubts were setting in. “I might be howling at the moon, Claire. I just don’t know.”

  There was nothing to do but wait.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Our bags were packed, and we spent the next day in limbo except for a meeting with Mimi Yoshida to give her my full account of the bowling trophy incident and additional background on our relationship with Sissy Anderson. “I’m not surprised at the first-degree assault charge,” she told us as we sat in her office in North Bend, “Gillespie’s an aggressive DA.”

  “Do you think he’ll allow her to plea down?” Claire asked.

  “Too early to tell for sure, but he’s got to be thinking about it in light of what your dad witnessed. There’s risk in overcharging someone. He could lose the case entirely if he can’t prove Sissy came with the intention of hurting Sloat.”

  “I think he’ll come around,” I offered.

  “Of course, if Sloat dies, all bets are off,” Mimi added, a reminder I knew would upset my daughter.