A Deadly Affair at Bobtail Ridge (31 page)

It could be that simple, but I don't think so.

“The sad part,” Alice says, “is that after Howard left, I heard that Eddie acted out a great deal. He needed his father, and Howard wasn't around. A shame, really. Eddie had a good future. Howard was so proud that he was going to SMU. Howard was a smart man, but he was ashamed of being a carpenter. He hoped that Eddie would make more of himself than he was able to.”

Eddie Sandstone told several people that he wanted to help tear down the Bobtail Ridge subdivision for sentimental reasons, but if there's anybody feeling sentimental about the subdivision coming down, it's Rich O'Connor, the original contractor. As soon as I drive through the gates, I see him standing by his SUV looking out over the worksite, hat tilted back on his head. He's standing on a slight rise of ground, watching the far end of the subdivision where dust is rising from bulldozers attacking houses.

I pull in behind him and get out to say hello. “They're going right ahead,” I say.

“Once backers get the financing together for something as big as this shopping center, they don't waste any time,” he says. There's a wistful sound to his voice, even though he told me he knew the materials were shoddy and he wasn't proud of this subdivision.

“Seems like they barely got the contractor nailed down,” I say. “LoPresto told me a week or so ago.”

“That's right, but that was part of the deal. LoPresto said he could get started right away. Not like some of these old boys who drag their feet. I've seen LoPresto work before and he's not one to fool around.”

“Did you put in a bid for the job?”

“Me? Hell, no. I retired a few years ago and I spend every second I can fishing. Only reason I'm not down at the gulf right now is because the realtors who put the deal together are paying me a fat consulting fee. What are you doing here? You a demolition groupie?”

I laugh. “No, I need to talk to one of the guys I know working on the demolition crew.”

Back in my truck, I drive toward the area of houses that are being torn down. Most of them I pass are empty and the streets deserted, a contrast to the last time I was here when people were packing up cars and moving vans and heading out. There's an eerie feel to the place, as if ghosts are drifting through the streets. I chuckle to myself. Fanciful thoughts.

Halfway through the subdivision, movement catches my eye. I glance over to see Eddie Sandstone walking down the street dressed in coveralls and a baseball hat. Just the man I wanted to see, but he seems oddly out of place, and I wonder what he's up to. I slow my truck and hang back, watching. He stops in front of one of the houses and peers at it, then walks along the side of it and disappears into the back. When he comes back to the street, he goes to the next house and walks back into the backyard, then repeats the process with a third house. This time when he comes back, he glances down the street and sees my truck. He freezes, reminding me of a deer startled by headlights at dusk.

I drive up and stop at the curb next to him. His face and clothing are covered with red dust. “Hey, Eddie, I thought you were working demolition.”

He takes off his baseball hat and sunglasses and wipes his brow with his handkerchief. “Yeah, I'm taking a break. Thought I'd walk around and take a look at some of the houses. What are you doing here?”

“I'm looking for you. A question came up with regard to your daddy's disappearance. Thought maybe you could answer it for me.”

His sunglasses are back on, so I can't see his eyes, but his jaw tightens. “I don't think I have much to add.”

“It's about your daddy's car.”

“What about it?”

“The day he walked out on your family, that morning he hitched a ride from his boss, Curly. He said his car wouldn't start. What I want to know is, how did it get repaired?”

He gives a sharp bark of laughter. “How the hell should I know?”

“Did he have a regular service station he went to for car repairs?”

“Shame you didn't think up that question before Mamma died. She might have known the answer.”

“When your daddy left, he drove off in his car?”

Eddie clears his throat and spits off to the side. “That's exactly what he did. How he got the car running again is anybody's guess.” He glances at his watch. “Sorry I can't help you more. I better get on back. Break time is over.”

“Let me drive you back down there.”

“I won't turn down a ride.”

I pull up a half block from the site, and we watch as a bulldozer works. There's something violent about the way it edges back and then rams the house. The driver seems to have it down to an art, hitting it at just the right spot. As soon as the dozer backs up, the house starts to crumple in on one corner. Down the block, other equipment is pushing debris into a huge heap, leaving behind clean concrete foundations.

“How do they get rid of the foundations?” I say.

“A pile driver comes in and breaks it up. They clear a block at a time and then come in with the pile driver.” He swings the door open and climbs out. A guy in a hardhat waves him over.

I drive away and stop in front of the houses Eddie was so curious about and retrace his steps, going into the backyard of each of the houses. Eddie was looking for something. For a wild moment I wonder if it's possible that another body is buried in one of these backyards. But the signs that led me to Estelle's body aren't apparent here. What was Eddie here for? Is he thinking of stealing something? Copper or fixtures? I walk inside one of the houses. If that's what he was planning, he's too late. The house is stripped bare. And besides, he didn't come inside.

I go back out and stand on the sidewalk and look from one house to the next. Three houses that will soon be down to the concrete, and a day or so later, even that will be gone. It occurs to me that maybe Eddie was interested in these house because that's where he and his daddy were working when Howard walked out on the family. And then I remember why Curly said he was annoyed when Howard walked out the day he did. They were pouring concrete that day. A shiver catches me. Ghosts in the street may not be so far off.

I get back to O'Connor just as he's walking to his SUV. Apparently he was here to meet someone, because he waves at a pickup that's just pulling away. I honk at O'Connor, and he stops to wait for me.

“Let me ask you something,” I say. “Do you keep any records of when your foundations were poured on the original subdivision?”

He stares at me. “Why would you want to know a thing like that?”

“I have a good reason. Did you keep those records?”

He pulls his hat off his head and scratches his thinning hair. “Funny you should ask. I've had my wife going through my files to make sure there was nothing that the new people need to know in terms of problems we found—Indian remains, stuff like that. After that, we're fixing to throw out all the paperwork. Once these places are all torn down, there's no reason to keep any of it.”

I follow him to his house, where he said the records are in his home office. My heart sinks when we walk in. There are boxes of files and stacks of folders lying on every surface, including a couple of card tables that have been set up. “Look at this mess,” he says. “If I had to find something in here, I'd be in big trouble. But my wife can find any piece of paper you want. I don't know how she does it. I'll go get her.”

His wife is a stout woman who carries her belly out in front of her like she's got pillows stuffed into her clothes. Her handshake is as firm as a man's. “Rich says you need some concrete pour records. Is that right?”

I give her the approximate date I'm looking for.

“Hold on. It might take me a minute.” Instead of diving in like some people might do, she stands with her hands on her hips and surveys the room. Then she points at a couple of stacks of paper on one of the card tables. She bustles over and starts pawing through them, and within three minutes she says, “Here we go.”

“If everybody kept records this good, I suspect there'd be a lot less trouble in the world,” I say.

She grunts. “All it takes is one time being sued by somebody. After that you keep every piece of paper that ever comes through. I don't mind telling you, I'll be glad when that subdivision is flat and we can haul all this junk out of here.”

I jot down the addresses of the places where the concrete was poured at the same time Howard Sandstone disappeared.

“Is that it?” O'Connor says, frowning.

“Who's in charge of bringing those houses down? I'd like to know when these particular ones get razed.”

“I'll talk to the dozer people. They'll have a schedule. I'll call you with the info.”

I drive back to the subdivision long enough to assure myself that the addresses I jotted down are the very ones Eddie was looking at.

CHAPTER 38

As soon as I leave Rich O'Connor, I go straight to talk to Wallace Lyndall. I've come to see him with a plan that sounds cockeyed, but when I lay it out for him, he's game. “It gets a little boring dealing with people like that dingbat Borland. You're talking about a little excitement.”

We agree it won't do to leave the sheriff out of it. I explain to Hedges what I suspect and that I've enlisted Lyndall to help me do a stakeout. He's not entirely onboard but he says, “You're due a pass for finding that girl's body, so I'll go along with you. If you two geezers want to do a stakeout, go ahead. Just don't get yourselves killed.”

O'Connor calls with the information I need. He says the bulldozer schedule is loose, so I check back every day in case I'm off by a house or two. Yesterday bulldozers cleared the surface of the lots I'm interested in, and today the pile drivers broke up the concrete foundations, leaving rubble behind to be scooped up by earthmovers. It's time for Lyndall and me to make our move.

There's not much moon tonight, but with the houses gone in the area Lyndall and I are watching, there's plenty of ambient light. We hole up in a house still standing down the street and take turns keeping a lookout. Lyndall says he'll watch for a couple of hours while I get some sleep and then we'll switch. Next thing I know, he's poking me. “Got some action,” he says. “Let's see if it's just somebody stealing wood.”

I rub my face to wake myself up and stand next to Lyndall, looking out at the street. A big, dark car drives past slowly and continues down the street. “This guy drove by a minute ago,” Lyndall says. “He turned around down at the corner and came back. That's when I figured I ought to wake you up.”

The car pulls to the side of the road near the area we're watching, and we hear the engine turn off. You'd think the night would be silent after that, but it's alive with the sound of mosquitoes and tree frogs and cars on the freeway.

A man gets out of the car dressed in dark clothing. He's turned so that I can't see his face, but he's the size and shape of Eddie Sandstone. He opens the trunk and takes some things out. I watch through binoculars and see that he's carrying a shovel and a black bag that looks heavy. Finally he turns just enough so I get a clear look. “Bingo,” I whisper to Lyndall.

At first Eddie stands still, moving his head only enough to look from one ruined foundation to the next of the three in front of him. Even as far away as I am, I can almost sense the agitation he must be feeling, wondering exactly where he should dig. He walks over and picks up a couple of chunks of rubble and tosses them aside. He paces back and forth, stopping once and putting his hands on top of his head, looking at each of the three lots.

He comes to some decision and paces off several steps toward the back of one of the foundations. There he starts picking up concrete and hurling it away. He moves faster and faster until his motions are frenzied. For thirty minutes he doesn't pause, clearing the area. Then he stops for a minute and takes something out of the black bag. Turns out to be water. He drinks and wipes his forehead. It's a hot night, and I imagine sweat dripping off of him.

When he starts back to work, this time he uses the shovel. And before long he stops and crouches down, shining a flashlight. Then he stands up abruptly and walks away to the sidewalk where he pauses for a few seconds, looking at the sky. Then he goes back to his dig site. At one point he stops, comes to an alert position, and peers around like he senses that he's being watched. When he resumes work, his movements become faster again. He must have a substantial hole by now. He stops, turns on the flashlight again and shines it around where he's working. He shuts off the light, crouches down, reaches out with his hand, and pulls something out from the earth which he then drops like it was on fire.

“Jesus,” Lyndall breathes.

Sandstone sinks back on his haunches and is still for moment and then reaches into the earth again.

“I guess it's time,” I say.