Blood & Spirits (14 page)

“This is the place?” The bewilderment in my voice only serves to further agitate him.

He nods to me, repeating mockingly as he gets out, “Yes. This is the place.”

Frank unsnaps the holster on his sidearm and looks this way and that before ducking inside the barn, leaving me outside to do a sweep of the area. Unless we’re being spied on by cows, I think we’re safe.

This would be laughable if it wasn’t so sad.

I walk in and find Frank talking by lantern light to two of the biggest stereotypes I’ve ever seen in the Pekin area. It would appear that they wore what they thought people who work on a farm would wear. Neatly pressed and accessorized. Cute.

I hang back by the door and let him get the preliminaries out of the way. If he misses anything I want to know I’ll chime in; we both know the drill.

The tall one is Evan and the short one is Bradley, they are highly animated and they both love to talk. They go in to detail explaining everything that lead up to the night in question and then where they’d gone to eat, who they’d seen, and why those people needed serious help.

This is reality TV at its finest, playing out in farmhand chic, with all the “Oh my God’s” in place. I start to tap my foot impatiently, waiting for them to get to the part of the story we actually came to hear.

The story finally has us in the cemetery, so I catch the eyes of the more passive little cowboy and slip into his head to ride along his memories of the event.

As many times as I’ve done this with men in the past, I’ve never jumped into a firsthand memory of feeling facial hair on my scrotum. It’s just not something I’d ever really prepared myself for.

I watch though him, noticing the activity at the grave site; I try to pay close attention to every detail of the two men doing the digging and the truck they were in, while attempting to ignore his preoccupation with a raging hard on and the mouth attached to it.

I’m able to make out faces on both of the men, as well as get a license plate number before I’ve finally had enough of the feeling of getting my dick sucked.

I nod to Frank to let him know I got what we came for and duck out the door. Sitting back down in the car, I try to sketch pictures of what they looked like. There’s a pipe dream. I should really take an art class.

***

“I got everything we needed from those guys in less than half an hour. Why did we need to stay there for another hour? Were you getting head, or setting up a date?” Picking at him like this, while fun for me, drives Frank crazy.

“They are contacts. Friends. I may need to talk to them again about something else in the future. I can’t just treat them like a cop questioning them. Damn it, V. You sound like Lewis.” His exasperation really shouldn’t bring me as much pleasure as it does, but what can I do? It’s funny.

I look back out the window and watch the cows go by as we head toward civilization on the dusty back road.

 Once we are back on a paved surface I describe the two men I’d seen in the memories to Frank. He immediately recognizes Carl McCreary from the description, and says he has some ideas on who the other guy was. He also tells me that Carl sometimes runs around and gets into trouble with Calvin Hocker.

Frank is wonderful for so many reasons, but it’s things like this that make him irreplaceable.

“You should call Lewis and give him the lead on this. I want to see these guys in jail, and quick. I want a chance to question them, but I’ll do that once they’re picked up.”

Frank takes out his phone to do what I asked and I put my hand over it to stop him. He looks at me, and I know that I have to have this conversation with him. Not for me, or for him, but for us. He’s been so close to me for so long that this has to happen.

“Before you do that, I want to talk to you.” Just starting this isn’t easy. He lets his hand settle on the center console and drops his phone in the cup holder.

He looks from me to the road and back. “Talk about what?”

I have a good idea of what he’s going to say before I ask, and I could just read it out of him, but I owe him the words, and besides I’d prefer to see how he’ll say it. “What do you think about Garrett?”

This time he doesn’t even look at me, eyes focused on the road. We’ve reached the point in the conversation where there’s a thoughtful pause after every statement and question. “You want the truth?”

“Yes. I want you to be honest.” I say it, but to be totally honest I’m not really sure I mean it.

“I think he’s gorgeous, and I would totally do him, but I think you already know that. But in all seriousness, there’s something off about him.” He looks at me for just a second and the concern on his face is heavy.

“I don’t dislike him, but he makes me nervous. I think he’s hiding something.” He pauses for a moment like he’s expecting me to jump on him. “I don’t have any concrete reason, it’s just a hunch. I have, over the years, learned to trust my hunches though.”

I decide not to pursue it any further, and he seems unwilling to press on with his thoughts aloud. He and I both sit in silence for a moment and then he makes his phone call.

***

My VW smells sweetly of lilies, and tears streak mascara down my cheeks. I’m here alone, because I want to be. I don’t feel like letting anyone see me tonight. Not here like this.

I pull off the road and into St. Joseph’s parking lot and stop. I can’t help feeling like I’ve let Rachel down.

She counted on me to protect her and I still can’t even find her. I don’t feel like I’m crying but the tears don’t stop flowing either. I will not give up on her.

From my open car door I can see the yellow police tape blowing in the wind just across the road in the cemetery, and the piles of flowers left by all the people in the community that were touched by the story of her short tragic life and now her body being stolen. It’s a shame that I know the story is just a ploy to sell papers and make people believe the local news providers have an interest in the community.

If I knew where she was I’d be there right now, but instead I’m here, my life touched by her, bringing flowers like everyone else.

One foot in front of the other, I slowly make my way across the road to the final destination for so many lives. It feels so tragically empty a gesture to just bring flowers and leave.

My lilies fall adrift amongst the sea of floral offerings already there, outside the yellow police tape, at Rachel’s empty grave.

All I can do is stand here alone and cry.

THE UNMARKED GRAY SEDAN
rolls slowly in through the giant steel garage door out of the cold rain, and comes to a stop in the space closest to the ramp leading up to the double door entryway.

Once the door has lowered and locked back in place Det. Lewis steps out and opens the rear door and waits. “You’re not gonna make me drag you out, are you, Carl?”

The dirty wiry little man looks up at Lewis with pure hate. He shifts his body so his back is leaning out and his arms are rolled forward prominently displaying the ‘White Power’ tattoo on his shoulder. “Why don’t you carry me in piggy-piggy? I’m not in the mood to walk.”

“Get out of my car, Carl. Don’t make me use my taser on you.” Lewis puts his hand on the gun and Carl rolls his eyes.

He swings one leg and then the other out onto the ground and then tries to knock Lewis down. He only succeeds in experiencing the taser.

Two more of Pekin’s finest, who were watching on the cameras inside, come running into the garage to help Carl to his feet and drag him into the building.

Lewis puts away his favorite non-lethal weapon and straightens his appearance, pulling down his jacket and wiping spit off of it, before going in to do the paperwork to process his prisoner into his accommodations.

Two hours and a pile of paperwork later Lewis walks into a room that contains only a table, two chairs and Carl McCreary who is now wearing a pastel uniform with a number on it. He knows it’s going to be a long night. He doesn’t plan on giving up until he’s broken this man’s will, and knows more about what’s been done with that little girl’s body.

“Tell me a story, Carl. Tell me about St. Joe’s Cemetery.” He puts a voice recorder on the table between them and offers a smoke.

Lewis lights the cigarette for him, and after a long exhale he says, “I don’t think I’ve ever been there? Where‘s it at?”

“Carl, I have witnesses who saw you and another man there with shovels. They knew the license plate number of your truck and they picked you out of a lineup. You can stop playing games anytime now. C’mon, talk to me. Maybe I can help you out here.” Trying to be friendly may not be the best approach but it’s worth a shot.

Eight hours, a pack and a half of cigarettes, and four pots of coffee later Lewis has exactly what he had when he walked in this room. Nothing. He’s now past the point of making rational decisions, and he knows it. He’s given real thought to shooting parts of this guy off until he talks. That means it’s time to get some rest and come back at it later.

The fact that he hasn’t asked for a lawyer probably means he thinks he’s gonna beat the charge.

Lewis calls to have an escort come up to take Carl to a cell, and then he turns to face him.

“You realize that this isn’t over, don’t you?”

“I just don’t know what you’re talking about Detective Dick,” is his grinning reply.

Lewis walks into the hall to keep from punching him in the face. He stands still and concentrates on letting go of his frustration for a moment, then heads down the hall to the bathroom.

***

When I walk in the room this guy Carl’s face lights up with a beaming smile, like it’s Christmas morning all of the sudden. He thinks seeing me is a good thing.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

I stride swiftly across the room to the table and grab a handful of this asshole’s hair. I introduce his face to the table a few times, until I feel they are well enough acquainted. Then I pull his face up close to mine and look into his eyes.

“Who are you?” is all his squeaky little voice will let him say before I begin ripping into his head. He screams in agony as I penetrate deep into his conscious mind. I am not gentle.

“This pain, this is nothing. This is just you banging your head down on the table because of the guilt you feel for what you’ve done. Do you understand me?” I don’t even wait for him to answer before I let him meet the table again.

I jerk him back up and eye to eye sink painfully into his thoughts again.

“Who was with you when you went to dig up the little girl?” I ask it plainly and watch the answer in his mind.

“I didn’t dig up any girl, I told the Detective that already. You’ve got the wrong…” I cut him off. I see the truth, even if he’s telling me lies.

“Who is Jake Caldwell?”Again I just ask the question, and I wait. This time though he gives me a whole new kind of panic. Now he knows that his sudden headache is not just a side effect of kissing the metal table top a few too many times. He knows I’m inside his mind and that lying to me is getting him nowhere.

“Shit, lady. Are you going to kill me?” His whole demeanor has changed. I think I actually like him better as a penitent beggar. Emasculation does wonders for some men.

I see in his mind the trailer park where he met with Jake. And I can get the trailer number from it. Now I just have one more question.

“Who hired you, Carl? Who were you working for?” I can see the answer. I can hear them talking and even feel their handshake. Best of all I can see where he lives too, where they met. It’s not the same place he lived at with his girlfriend either. Now I just wait. I want to see if he’ll tell me a name.

“Calvin.” It’s one word. He says it so softly that I doubt most could even tell what he mumbled. He’s broken.

I have all I need from this piece of shit for now. I’ll get everything else I need from Jake, and I’ll do it somewhere I’m less likely to get caught so I can take my time and enjoy it.

“Carl, they’re going to let you out of here eventually. We both know that. If you don’t tell them the truth about what you did, I’m going to be waiting for you when they let you out. Do you understand me, Carl? I will end you. It will be slow and it will be painful. You’ll beg me to let you die before I’m done. You’ll beg me over and over, until I finally let you.”

He’s nodding his head and crying a little. Why is it that big old tough country boys turn into teary-eyed little country girls so fast when they get scared? I stop at the door and look back at him.

“I couldn’t be more serious, Carl. The truth!” I slam the door and leave, feeling I’ve done a public service. Now I need to go collect Jake.

***

Lewis walks back into the room with the guards to escort Carl to his cell, and is shocked to see him bleeding from his face all over the table.

“I did it, man. I dug up that little girl. Turn that little recorder back on. I’ll tell you all about it, please. I’ll tell you everything.”

Confusion rolls over the Detective for a moment, then he dismisses the guard and puts the recorder back on the table and sits down.

“Did you have an accident, Carl? Did that change your mind about talking to me?”

“No, man. This, it’s just guilt, ya know? I was banging my head on the table ‘cause of all the guilt.”

***

The shot rings out loudly. It leaves behind a dull ringing in my ears. The echo inside a steel building, no matter how large, is never pleasant. The grave digger hanging chained to the steel beam above him is wearing only his boxer shorts. Now they’re stained with more than cheap beer.

I don’t have to torture people. I can break into their thoughts like a thief in the night, put my feet up and watch their memories like home movies, take what I want and leave. Sometimes, though, it’s more fun to actually make an impression.

“I try to keep in mind,” I recite dryly as I run the front sight of my pistol over his face, “that my life is only as significant as I am to the lives of others.”

He’s sobbing and won’t look up from the floor, so I lean close to his ear and ask softly, “Would you say that I’m significant to your life?”