A Long December (9 page)

“You bet. Now all we have to do is figure out why. And why, if they go to the trouble of taking him away from here, they go less than a mile. Why don’t they take him way far away?”

That question had us both. Well, when you get to a place where you draw a blank, back up to the place just before it, and see what else you can pull from it.

“Well,” I said, “let’s go for what we know. First, let’s assume they aren’t completely familiar with the area. The rural mail carrier drove by and saw some people here after lunchtime. They may have seen him, too. Figured it was not a good idea to do what they were going to do after being seen?”

“Nope.” She sounded pretty certain.

“Why?”

“Too much of a time lapse between then and the killing. But I think we’re still on the right track. They want to get away from this place.”

“So that means that the decision to kill him, regardless of when it was made, also took into consideration the fact that they didn’t want a body discovered on this abandoned farmstead. We think we know that. So that means… what the hell else connects the suspect to this place, over and above the mail carrier?”

“Yep.”

I sighed. “And you want to walk around the area, in the dark, looking for that particular ‘something,’ don’t you?”

“I can wait until you finish a cookie,” she said. “If you give me one, too.”

I fished the Girl Scout cookies out of my camera bag. Fortified, we got out of the car and began to walk around each of the buildings in turn.

In a rural area, especially in a narrow valley, it gets very, very dark. The place did have a yard light, but it was one of the old ones that threw kind of a greenish cast over the area and created more shadows that anything else.

“Why keep the yard light hooked up,” said Hester, “when nobody lives here?”

“Most do. Keep the vandals and kids out, as much as anything.”

“It just makes it seem that much darker in the shadows,” she said.

The scrub- and rock-strewn gully that ran near the back of the barn and shed kept us out of that area, but we did a fair job on the rest of the place. We didn’t find anything of interest whatsoever.

Bob finished the tracks and came down the lane. We showed him the shoe. He said they’d do the area in the immediate vicinity of the shoe and then call it a day, returning early in the morning to finish up. We told him our theory about the suspects not wanting to connect the abandoned farm to the body for some reason.

“Why?”

It always went back to that.

“We don’t know,” said Hester. “Maybe you can come up with something when you get back here in the morning.”

Bob grinned. “What’s it worth?”

I didn’t hesitate a second. “Lunch.”

“For lunch,” said Bob, pointing at the shed, “I can locate the remains of Jimmy Hoffa right over there…”

At that point, there really wasn’t much for us to do until we had more information. We left instructions with the reserves that they were to protect the scene at all times, but especially while the lab crew got some sleep.

I figured that left the office and the preliminary report as all that stood in the way of a good night’s sleep.

The media didn’t agree.

THE NATION COUNTY SHERIFF’S DEPARTMENT
and County Jail sits on a hillside at the edge of the town of Maitland. I imagine the parking lot is about twenty or so feet higher than the approaching roadway. That being the case, the first hint I had of the presence of the media was as I glimpsed a four-wheel-drive with a conspicuous KNUG/TV on its side. Another hint, and one that boded no good for me, was the glimpse of Lamar’s four-wheel-drive parked to the rear of the building. If he was there, and he was, then he was reluctant to come out of the building because he’d have to talk with the media. Lamar hated the media. So I knew who was going to be the spokesperson for the department. I just didn’t know how he was going to order me to do it, since I had all that typing to do.

As we came up the steps to the main office entrance, I saw three reporters and their cameramen, and heard Lamar’s voice saying, “Here’s the man I was telling you to wait for. Just ask him anything, and if he can answer it, he will. He’s been there, and he’s seen it.” This was followed by a big, hearty “Hello, Carl,” as I reached the counter. “Glad you’re back so soon.”

I could tell by the look on his face that he had had just about as much media attention as he was going to allow for the rest of the year. I just smiled, turned to say something to Hester, and discovered that she’d disappeared. She’d probably ducked down the hall and into Dispatch. I was on my own.

“Hi, Boss.”

“He’s all yours, folks,” said Lamar, and headed for his office in the back of the building. He didn’t quite run.

I’d pretty much managed to avoid all media attention over the years, mainly because I was afraid that if they got me talking I’d say too much. Especially the TV reporters. Not that I’m all that chatty, but I tend to get very enthusiastic about my work.

“Detective Houseman?” asked a young, pretty TV reporter I saw on the tube just about every night. “I’m Judy Mercer, KNUG, and I’d like to ask a few questions…”

“Bill Nylant here, and I’m with KYYQ…”

“—Handy, with KK.NN…”

I thought that maybe if we went outside in the cold, it would be shorter. “Come on out here, and I’ll be glad to answer some questions if I can.”

Once on the front steps, I remembered that I was on closed-circuit TV at the dispatch center from out there. With sound. As if the media weren’t bad enough, our own people were now taping me, as well. Something for the Christmas party.

The cameramen had the tripods set up, cameras attached, and the lights came on, right in my eyes.

“Hey, do we need to do the cameras?”

Judy Mercer answered first. “Well, detective, I’m sure you’ve noticed that this isn’t radio. We really like to have something to show.” She paused and then said, “If you’d like to take us to the scene, we could shoot footage of that, and leave you as a voice-over.”

No way in hell, and she knew it.

“Okay, just don’t get reflections off the top of my head. And I’m not a ‘detective,’ I’m an investigator.”

They asked standard questions before they rolled tape. Just so I wouldn’t clutch on camera and cost them their footage.

“We need at least fifteen seconds of clear voice from you on camera,” said Barbara Handy of KKNN. “We can do the parking lot and the jail for fill, and do our own narrative.”

“Good. Okay, whenever you’re ready, we might as well get it over with,” I said.

“So, and we’re rolling now,” said Judy Mercer. “Deputy Houseman, can you just give us an idea what happened here today?”

I inhaled, held it for a second, and then said, “We received a call from the public that a body was on the roadway in the southern part of our county. The caller said that it appeared the victim was deceased, and that it appeared the victim had been shot.”

“And what did you find when you responded?”

“The report was quite accurate. The victim was dead, and the initial evidence suggested a gunshot wound.” Boy, I thought, did it ever.

“Have you identified the victim yet?”

“I won’t be able to tell you who the victim is until after the relatives have been notified.” I wasn’t going to be able to notify relatives until I knew who in the hell the victim was, either, but I couldn’t exactly say that.

“Do you have any suspects yet?”

“We’re investigating now. I can’t discuss that any further at this time.”

“Has it been ruled a murder?”

“No,” I said. “The autopsy results won’t be in for at least twenty-four hours.”

“Thank you.”

That was it for Judy Mercer. Each of the other two, in turn, asked about the same questions. Then they were done. It occurred to me, during the first interview with Mercer, that they didn’t care who or why so much as they needed the information to get to the stations. The tough questions could wait until later. That was all right with me.

The media types sort of milled about for a few minutes, taping themselves with the jail and cop cars in the background. I beat a hasty retreat and went directly to Dispatch. Just as I suspected, the duty dispatcher, Martha Behrens, along with Sally, Hester, and Lamar, were all sitting there, watching the external monitor.

“No popcorn?” I asked.

“Nice job,” said Lamar. “I knew you could do it.”

“The reflections off your bald top were pretty bad,” said Sally.

“I’m surprised your nose isn’t growing,” came from Hester.

Martha, who hadn’t been around us all that long, wisely said nothing. Her lack of tenure obviously didn’t interfere with her enjoyment of the comments made at my expense, though.

“Being on TV doesn’t seem to bother you,” said Hester.

“Naw.- Piece of cake,” I said.

I made for the back room and my office, as if to take off my jacket and get started on my report. As soon as I got there, I picked up my phone and started to dial my home number to call my wife, Sue. I’d never been on TV before and sure didn’t want her to miss this. As I did so, I happened to glance at my watch. Ten twenty-six.

The TV people were from either Cedar Rapids/Iowa City or Waterloo. Both were a good seventy miles from us. It was already too late to make the ten o’clock news.

Decorum forgotten, I hung up the phone, hustled back out the main door, and almost knocked Judy Mercer over.

“Hey!”

“Sorry, sorry, but could you tell me if my bit will be on tonight?”

She laughed. “No way. We haven’t got a link. We have to go back to the studio and uplink from there. We’ll send it in, but you won’t see it until tomorrow morning at six.”

“Oh. Well, thanks anyway.”

I hustled back into my office and called Sue.

“Hello?”

“Hi! Hey, guess who’s gonna be on TV?”

“You?”

“Absolutely!”

“What’s happened?” She sounded as much concerned as anything else.

I told her we’d had a homicide, and that I’d be late, but that I was going to be on TV as spokesman for the department. I also included the information that it would be aired at six
A.M.
Since she was a teacher, and just getting up at that hour, she might get a chance to see it.

“Things are all right, though? “she asked.

“Sure. Just a murder case.” I chuckled. “Nobody barricaded, or anything like that. Just have to use our heads and figure it out.”

“Not one of my students, is it? “By that she meant any that she’d had for the last twenty years of teaching middle school English.

“To be completely honest, I couldn’t tell, dear. Probably not, though.”

She said she’d watch for me on the tube, and then told me there was some cold macaroni and cheese in the refrigerator. Being married over thirty years gives people a certain perspective.

“Got it.”

“Good night. I’ll miss you, but I’m really looking forward to seeing you on TV. If I knew anybody else up at that hour, I’d call them!”

“It ain’t exactly prime time, but it’s better than nothing.”

“Oh, it sure is. Did you ask for a copy of the tape?”

I hadn’t, but I made a note to do so as soon as I could next morning.

   I went back through Dispatch on my way to the kitchen for some coffee, and was stopped by Martha, who was waving furiously at me from behind her console with one hand as she tried to write with the other and hold the phone to her ear with her shoulder.

“Yes sir, one moment,” she said into the phone. She pressed the hold button, and said, “It’s some dude for you, who says he knows who the body is. He won’t give his name.”

We had a fine phone installation in Dispatch, with a total of six instruments, two of which had full 911 capability and four where you could talk on any line you told the dispatcher to select for you. With twelve lines, we had lots of leeway unless things went to hell.

“Put me on this one,” I said, picking up one of the phones at the end of the console.

She did.

“Houseman here.”

“It was Rudy. Rudy Cueva,” said the muffled voice. Muffled or not, it sounded so much like Hector I almost called him by name.

I wasn’t able to connect any Rudy Cueva to anybody I knew. “Who is that?”

“He’s a team supervisor at the plant, man. A really smart dude.”

“What plant?” I knew, but if Hector wanted to play a game, he had a reason.

“The packing plant in Battenberg. That one.”

“How do you know it’s him? “This was going to be the telling point.

“I heard it just now, one of the workers in the kill room. He said that it was Rudy.”

The kill room was just that, the location in the packing plant where they did the actual killing of the livestock. “How did he find out?”

“I cannot say, man. You know that.”

There was absolutely no doubt that it was Hector, but if he wanted to remain officially anonymous, that was his choice. “Any idea why he was killed?”

There was a prolonged sigh on the other end of the line. “Because he knew something, and they dint want him to talk.” He was getting exasperated.

“And what was that?”

“I got to go, man,” and the line went dead.

“He hung up,” I told Martha and Hester. “That didn’t happen to be a 911 line, did it?”

Martha grinned. “It sure was. Cell phone, hit one of the two U.S. Cellular towers in Battenberg. Here.” She handed me the printout.

PROGRAM: E9C0NPRT PROCESS id: 2599 18-DEC-01 22:45:47

TRUNK SEIZURE: 22:45:16 RLI REQ: 22:45:19 FIRST RING: 22:45:19

MF RCUE RER0V:22:45:16 ALI RECU: 22:45:23 CALL ANSWERED: 22:45:28

PANI RECEIUED: 22:45:19 PILOT RTE: 22:45:19 CALL RELEASED: 22:47:02

PH: (563) 555-8298 CS: WRLS EHCH: 515-319-563 NO DESCRIPT. PILOT: 319-9132 NAME:

US CELLULAR (HYPOINTI LOC: 5633887343

ADOR: 1.16 Ml SwBRTTENBERG OMNI

CITY 00054-0-198, NATION ID: 90-88789

ESN: 00069 MAITLAND —-WIRELESS BATTENBERG PD UERIFY UERIFY UERIFY