A Deadly Turn

by Claire Booth

  ‘Did you ever see her with the old country star?’

  Austin thought a bit. ‘I can’t say for sure one way or the other. Maybe? It gets awfully crowded in here sometimes.’

  Sheila slid off the stool and thanked him. She walked out into the fall sunshine, wondering what kind of business Miss Emily Fitch was into.

  The three of them sat and stared at the conference table. And the birth certificate laying on it. They’d pushed Sheila’s files to the side and placed the document on the lacquered surface. Raker disappeared for a minute and returned with a battered laptop and the police chief. He slid the paper toward his boss and started pounding on his keyboard.

  ‘This is Euford Gunner’s real name?’ Ed Utley, the Branson police chief, said, setting down a large clear tumbler full of what had to be carrot juice. ‘And his kid’s?’

  ‘That last one’s more of a question,’ Hank said. He’d splashed some water on his face in the station bathroom and felt marginally better until he’d seen the cadaverous reflection staring back at him in the mirror. ‘Euford confirmed that’s his real name. But we haven’t confirmed this document is legit, or for that matter, that it pertains to Patrick O’Connell.’

  Sam and Raker looked at him. Sam’s eyes widened as he realized what Hank was saying. Raker grunted – possibly in surprise, possibly in agreement – and went back to banging at his laptop.

  ‘Young man,’ Utley said, turning to Sam, ‘you’re the one who tracked down the mystery high-schooler’s birth certificate? May I see it?’

  The Pup pulled Gall’s fake out of his file folder and handed it to the Branson chief. Utley pursed his lips as he studied it and then the Cluth document. He slid them both back to Sam and asked him to take the lead on figuring out whether the latter was also forged. Sam sat up a little straighter and nodded emphatically. Hank felt the weight on his shoulders ease just the tiniest bit. It helped to have someone else carry the load of his depressed and angry Pup, if even for a moment.

  Raker suddenly stopped typing, and the silence had everyone turning toward him.

  ‘Searched that name you gave me of Euford’s go-fer lady,’ he said. ‘According to the Missouri Secretary of State, she’s the registered agent for Entertainment Enterprises, LLC, a “foreign entity.” Entertainment Enterprises has a corporate address in Delaware that’s listed “in care of” yet another business, Specialty Inquiries Ltd. It looks like it’s nothing but a mailbox, because Specialty is also the same business name and address used for tons of different LLCs in this state and at least three others. So far.’ He slammed the laptop closed, making Utley wince. ‘That screams shell corporation and possible money laundering, as far as I’m concerned.’

  Hank couldn’t have put it better himself.

  ‘Do you think Mr Gunner knows all that?’ Sam asked.

  Raker shrugged. ‘I don’t know. We’ll sure be asking him, though.’

  ‘I’d be curious what else Entertainment Enterprises bankrolls,’ Hank said. ‘They can’t be making an entire business out of funding washed-up musical acts.’

  ‘You might be underestimating the public’s appetite for washed-up,’ Utley said with a chuckle. ‘But I agree with your point. Why would they bother to fund it, and what deal did Euford make to get it? Did he promise something he couldn’t deliver?’

  ‘But the show hasn’t even opened yet,’ Sam said. ‘How could he deliver whatever it is when he hasn’t even started earning money?’

  Raker spun his laptop in a circle as he thought. ‘What if Patrick was killed to keep Euford in line? As a warning, maybe?’

  ‘Or it’s Patrick’s involvement with Johnny Gall that put them both in danger. And Euford isn’t the focus at all.’

  All three of them turned to stare at Hank. Raker let out a not-so-tolerant sigh.

  ‘I don’t think so – especially with the Cluth birth certificate in his room. That points to something on that front, as far as I’m concerned. Plus, we don’t even know for sure he was the one seen hanging out with Gall.’

  Yet, Hank thought to himself. They didn’t know for sure – yet. He started to say something else but stopped. It’d be like talking to a brick wall. He’d just have to go around it on his own.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Sheila asked Dale for everything BPD had on a certain young lady. Once he stopped laughing, he told her he’d pull the files – plural – and have them waiting for her in the back-conference room. It was smaller, but it had a white board. Hallelujah. She took out the criminal record she’d printed before she left her office in Forsyth and opened the first of two three-inch-thick files. Time to learn the details of one Fitch, Emily Jane.

  An hour later, her head was spinning. This kid was a mobster in the making. She’d started with some shoplifting in her early teens. According to the reports, the responding officers let her off with warnings until they started comparing notes and realized she was doing it all over town. Then they began hauling her in, which resulted in a series of wrist slaps from the county’s juvenile court judge. At seventeen, she was picked up in a 1999 Honda with an older boy and four hundred fifty grams of pot – a full pound. She pleaded ignorant of the drugs and embarrassment at her choice in boyfriends. It worked – she got off with another warning. The older boy was convicted of drug trafficking and sent to prison.

  Next came two more thefts and then some more pot, this time found on her person as she sat in an empty parking lot of one of Branson’s outlet malls at two in the morning. She had to do a drug diversion program for that one. Sheila turned to the report narrative filed by the arresting officer. This was the stuff that didn’t make it into the computerized rap sheet. The officer, a G. Fesse, was convinced she was dealing, even though he caught her with only fifteen grams. She’d flashed the light on her phone when she saw him pull up and he heard the sound of a car driving away. She hadn’t batted an eye when he searched her and sat in the back of his squad car ‘disinterested and bored-looking’ during the ride to the station. Fesse had returned to the parking lot as soon as possible and searched the planters and surrounding area, but aside from some suspicious sandwich baggies in one bush, couldn’t find anything stashed anywhere.

  After Emily left high school, three years ago, there was only one more drug arrest. She once again managed to convince a judge that it was a boyfriend’s fault and got sent to another diversion program.

  There was no question why. Sheila stared at the color photo attached to the file. Big, blue, guileless eyes in a heart-shaped face stared back. Golden hair curled around her face and down her shoulders. She was the human equivalent of a yellow Lab puppy. Sheila chuckled to herself. They never could get over little blonde white girls around here. She opened the second file, curious as to what it contained if there were no other drug arrests on Fitch’s rap sheet.

  Now Sheila laughed out loud. Emily was upping her game. She was a suspect in three burglaries, the robbery of an old man walking his dog, and an ongoing fraud investigation. And she was thought to be one of the city’s main suppliers of marijuana. But – they’d never had enough evidence to charge her with anything. She’d become a ghost, one who’d gotten very, very good at hanging people out to dry. The file was littered with her used linen – the arrest records of people who were quite clearly not the brains behind the crimes. They were all men except for, in the very latest file, one woman. Associating with Emily Fitch seemed guaranteed to bring nothing but misery.

  Sheila didn’t recognize the number.

  ‘Thank goodness you’re there. Hank’s not picking up. And I don’t know how long she’s going to be lucid.’

  ‘Maggie?’

  ‘Yeah, it’s me.’ Sheila could hear a code blue called over a loudspeaker in the background. ‘Lauren Blenkinship’s awake. I’m headed up there now. Seems she panicked when she saw the male ICU doctor. Hank had said you guys think she was attacked?’

  Sheila was already pulling a U-turn to head back toward Branson Valley General. ‘Yeah. Somebody
was chasing her through those woods and down that embankment. Wouldn’t surprise me if she’s afraid of everybody she doesn’t know at this point, poor baby.’

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ Maggie McCleary said. ‘So I figured maybe it’d be better for a nice, un-threatening woman to interview her. Put her more at ease.’

  Sheila couldn’t agree more. She told Hank’s wife she’d be there in ten minutes. It took her eight. Maggie was leaning against the wall outside the room, her hands in the pockets of the white doctor’s coat that Sheila always thought of as her ‘uniform.’ Sheila liked her more and more all the time. Nothing ever seemed to faze her. She was always calm as a lake at sunrise. Sheila supposed she had to be, considering how many life-or-death emergencies were thrown at her on a daily basis.

  ‘Her parents are in with her,’ Maggie said softly. ‘They know you’re coming. They were a little worried about how the questioning would affect Lauren physically, so I said I’d be there, too. That all right with you?’

  Sheila nodded, and the women walked into the room. Maggie stationed herself near the equipment monitoring Lauren’s every function and smiled encouragingly at her patient. ‘This is Deputy Turley. She needs to ask you some questions. But we can take a break at any point. And I’ll be here the whole time.’

  Lauren looked so tiny and ashen in the hospital bed that Sheila wanted to cry. Her left leg had metal pins coming out of it, and both arms were in casts. She scooted her chair closer.

  ‘How about you call me Sheila, OK? It’s really nice to meet you. Why don’t we start with you just telling me what happened. From when you left your house?’

  Lauren’s gaze slid over to her parents, who sat on the other side of the bed. Mrs Blenkinship took her hand and squeezed. ‘Honey, you’re not in trouble. For anything. We just want you to get better. And we want to be able to help the police figure out what happened.’

  She looked around, and everyone waited. After what felt like an excruciating eternity to Sheila, she began to talk.

  She’d said she was spending the night at Kayla’s, but she wasn’t really. She was supposed to walk from her place over to the park by Kayla’s house instead. And they’d pick her up about 8:30 p.m. in Matt Chorovich’s minivan. That’s what Johnny said they’d be driving. And then they’d go over to an apartment he knew about and hang out.

  Sheila saw Mr Blenkinship’s mouth start to tighten and then he jerked back a little. She was pretty sure his wife had kicked him. The frown disappeared.

  Then Lauren got a text from Johnny saying they’d be late. But she’d already left her house, and she couldn’t go back in, ’cause they’d get suspicious, Lauren said, glancing at her parents. Mrs Blenkinship smiled. Mr Blenkinship stayed carefully neutral.

  So she’d walked down and back behind some of the houses at the edge of the subdivision where no one would see her and ask what she was doing. Finally, Johnny texted to say they were on their way. So she started for the park. She cut through the back of the houses to get there. It wasn’t her normal route – she usually took one particular street to Kayla’s house, but she was off in a different direction ’cause of wandering around the creek. She’d done it before, though, so she knew the way. It was no big deal. But that night, about halfway there, she started to feel like she was being followed. She cut over to the next street and then the next, but the man kept coming. She was afraid to stop at a house, because she knew they’d call her parents and she’d get in trouble.

  By this point, she was terrified. And she could see him now. He was in all black, with a hoodie on so she couldn’t see his face. She cut through one more yard and that was when she heard him running.

  She stopped, tears running down her face. Mrs Blenkinship turned to Sheila, but Sheila purposefully avoided looking at her. She leaned forward, the leather of her duty belt creaking. ‘What happened then, sweetheart?’

  ‘I took off. I was so scared. There weren’t any more houses left and I just started running through the woods … so scared. He was getting closer and closer. He almost caught me, but I thought I could make it. Then I fell and slammed down hard on the hill …’

  She trailed off and her fingers, poking out the end of her casts, started to tremble. ‘That’s all I remember.’

  Sheila gently put her hand on the poor thing’s shaky left hand. ‘You’re doing great. This is really important, and you’re doing just great. Now, did you know who all was going to be there?’

  ‘Well, Johnny. And Kayla.’ She smiled and didn’t notice that no adult would meet her eyes. ‘And Matt. Maybe Alex Danzig, ’cause Kayla really liked him, but she didn’t want anybody to know. ’Cept me, of course.’

  ‘When Johnny texted you that last time, was it just to you? Or were other people on the text?’

  She stared at the metal in her leg and thought. ‘It was more than me. There were phone numbers I don’t have. So I don’t know who else was on it. You can check my phone.’

  They hadn’t been able to find her phone. Sheila didn’t think she needed to know that. ‘Thank you. That’ll be really helpful. I appreciate it,’ she said. She sat back a little, shifting away from the Blenkinships and their finish-this-now looks. ‘How well did you know Johnny?’

  He was new this year and, like, everybody wanted to be his friend. He was super cool. She’d said hi to him a couple of times, but that’d been about it until he invited her and Kayla to the thing on Saturday night. It was amazing – that a senior that cool had asked them to come. Even now, in the hospital bed, her face flushed pink with the wonder of it.

  ‘Do you know why Johnny would’ve invited Gabe Schattgen and Isaiah Barton?’

  ‘Who? Them? I’ve got no idea. I didn’t think they were friends with Johnny.’ She thought for a moment. ‘But I guess they could have been? I never really saw Johnny hanging out with anybody in particular. He kinda floated around, you know?’

  Which was what made him cool in the eyes of teenagers who desperately needed peers to cling to, Sheila thought. That made her think about the one kid who didn’t have that.

  ‘What about Hailee Fitch?’

  Lauren’s pretty white nose – about the only thing on her that wasn’t broken – wrinkled in distaste.

  ‘What about her?’

  ‘She was there, too.’

  ‘What? She was? You’re kidding, right? There’s no way. I would not have hung out with her, I swear,’ she said to her parents, who’d apparently joined the bandwagon and warned their kid off poor Hailee, too. Sheila really, really wanted to get her hands on that poor child’s big sister.

  ‘If,’ Sheila said, choosing her words carefully, ‘nobody liked her, why would she be invited? Could she have something Johnny wanted?’

  Lauren’s expression clearly indicated that wasn’t possible.

  ‘Did Johnny ever mention Hailee’s sister?’

  All three Blenkinships turned toward her with revolted looks on their faces. Lauren shook her head and then winced at the pain.

  ‘I don’t even know if Johnny knew about Emily Fitch, since he was new to town.’ Her face brightened. ‘That must be it. He didn’t know. That’s the only reason there could be why he would invite her.’

  She paused. ‘What did Johnny say about it?’

  Sheila spoke quickly, before anyone else could chime in.

  ‘We haven’t talked to him,’ she said. She was debating how far to continue the lie when Maggie caught her eye. She was going to need to end it. She’d gotten more time than she’d expected, considering how broken the poor kid’s body was. She hoped they let it heal first, before they broke her heart by telling her about the car crash.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Hank stared at his brand new Instagram account. He had no idea what he was doing. He tried searching for Johnny Gall and ended up following a Johnny Depp fan’s account. Maybe. He wasn’t really sure. He banged on his laptop some, à la Dale Raker, but that didn’t make things any clearer. Maggie walked into the living room, looked at the
screen, and laughed.

  ‘Fifteen_keys? Your screen name is an Uncle Tupelo song?’ she said with a smile.

  ‘I figured it was as good as anything. I didn’t exactly want to be Branson_Sheriff_1 or something.’

  She leaned down and kissed him. ‘Can’t Sam do this? He knows it better, I’m assuming.’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t want to overwork him. He’s still so fragile from Ted’s shooting.’

  ‘Have you stopped to consider that maybe he’s fragile because you’ve been babying him? He idolizes you, and if you’re not trusting him to do things—’

  ‘That’s not it at all. I trust him, I just worry that – wait, he doesn’t idolize me, that’s absurd.’

  She gave him her you’re-being-obtuse look, just as Benny burst into the room and threw himself at Hank. ‘It’s not just a three-year-old who thinks you’re the greatest thing in the world. But Sam doesn’t need a father to protect him. He needs a boss to believe in him.’

  Hank thought about that as Benny climbed all over him, and his wife went into the kitchen to start dinner. He’d never lost faith in the Pup. If anything, the kid seemed to have lost faith in himself. And Hank hadn’t wanted to make it worse … so maybe he had been handling him like spun glass. Which might, from Sam’s point of view, look like exactly what Maggie was saying. He sighed.

  Benny had managed to make it onto Hank’s shoulders and was asking for a ride. They took the long way around the couch and into the kitchen, where Hank threw him up in the air as he asked Maggie a few follow-up questions regarding her run down of the Lauren Blenkinship interview. It was hard to hear her over his son’s delighted shrieks.

  ‘Más, más,’ Benny shouted.

  ‘Nope, that’s it for now, niñito,’ he said. ‘You need to settle down for dinner.’

  ‘Yes, he does,’ said Maggie as she stood over the stove. ‘We need to eat, because Sam’ll be here in about an hour.’