Cold Quarry (12 page)

He picked up his pipe again, stuck it in his mouth, and reached to pull open the top drawer of a filing cabinet next to his desk, extracting a piece of paper from a file before handing it to me. “Press release,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “This was just given out to the media this morning.”

I read it over. It told me nothing I didn’t already know.

“Have you had a lot of press coverage of Carew’s shooting?” I said.

“Not much really. I’m afraid hunting accidents aren’t all that uncommon in this state. The missing bird made the story a little unusual, mind you. The reporter who wrote up the piece for the
Charleston Daily Mail
did a nice little sidebar about it.”

“Anything on radio or television?”

“Just our usual to the news departments, asking for anyone who might have information to come forward. Had a reporter call yesterday from KBCX. She was snooping around about something to do with Carew, but that was all.”

“Do you remember her name?”

“Kara something … why?”

“Just curious.”

He leaned back in his chair, took the pipe from his mouth once more. “You said you were a cop in New York. What kind? Patrol officer?”

“At first. Eventually I made detective. Homicide.”

“You must’ve seen some grisly killings in your time then.”

“My share, I guess.”

“We don’t see a lot of homicide around here, thank God. Don’t get me wrong, we’ve got our share of crime.”

“How about you?” I asked. “How long have you been working for the county?”

“Less than a year actually. Before that I was in Washington.”

“Law enforcement?”

“No, nothing so dramatic, I’m afraid. Department of Labor.”

I noticed a pair of hiking boots on a mat in the corner with not quite dry mud on them.

“You an outdoorsman?” I asked, gesturing toward them.

He chuckled. “Not really. But some of my neighbor’s cows got out this morning and I had to go help him chase them down.”

I nodded.

He sat up straight in his chair and pulled another pile of papers across his desk beside the monitor. “Well, if there’s nothing else I can help you with, I need to get back to work. I’ll let Deputy Nolestar know you stopped by looking for him.”

“Sure.”

“Come on. I’ll walk you out.”

We both stood and I followed him out the door and back down the hallway. This time he left the pipe behind.

At the dispatcher’s desk he shook my hand again and turned to go. “Pleasure meeting you. You do want to watch yourself around here, Mr. Pavlicek.”

“Yeah? How’s that?”

“Wouldn’t want you getting hit in the face with any more shotguns,” he said.

12

I ate lunch in a yuppified delicatessen a couple of blocks from the state capitol complex. There were trees along the sidewalk, pattern brick in the street, and a prosperous air to the neighborhood.

While I was eating, a young couple at a table across from me couldn’t keep their hands off one another, laughing softly and nuzzling and pawing each other between bites of their pastrami sandwiches. They both wore wedding rings and were both dressed in business suits—getting together for lunch obviously.

I got to thinking about Marcia, wondering what she was doing in school at the moment. I still didn’t know what had gone wrong between us. I didn’t seem to know anything anymore when it came to women. I finished my pity party along with the rest of my roast beef on rye and emptied my tray into the trash by the door before I left.

The studios of KBCX-TV were housed in an old depot that had been converted to office space along the riverfront north of downtown. Plate-glass windows in the lobby offered a panoramic view of the boat traffic and the chemical plant downstream.

“So what’s this? A sneak attack?” Kara Grayson was dressed in blue jeans and a sweatshirt this afternoon, definitely
not
her on-camera getup. We were sitting alone in her office with a view of the river.

“Not exactly,” I said.

“You’re lucky you caught me. This is supposed to be my day off,” she said. But there was a hint of mischief in her eyes that told me the intrusion was not at all unwelcome.

“I was hoping you might be able to help me piece some things together.”

“Okay. So I take it you must be looking into the circumstances surrounding your friend’s death.”

“No comment.”

“I see.”

“I don’t want my name spread all over the news and I don’t think Betty Carew wants that either.”

“Why? What are you afraid of?”

“Misunderstanding, miscommunication, sensationalism, biased reporting, quotes taken out of context … need I go on?”

She tilted her head slightly, her eyes flashing. “You think that’s what I’ll do, somehow exploit your story?”

“Not necessarily. That’s why I’m here. I’m not willing to go on the record about anything yet. I just want to ask you a few questions.”

“Fair enough. As long as you’re willing to answer a couple of mine.”

“Background only,” I said.

She nodded. “Background only.”

“All right. You said you’re doing a story on extremist groups in West Virginia. Would that happen to include the Stonewall Rangers?”

“Yes. But they’re not the largest and most vocal. More of a splinter group actually.”

“Not as visible either then, I take it.”

“Well, they don’t try to march on Washington or anything, if that what’s you mean.”

“Would you say their more clandestine activities make them more dangerous?”

“Possibly. Then again they may all be dangerous.”

“You said you heard my name on the police scanner. Was there some other reason you showed up at the Carews’ house yesterday?”

“To maybe get someone from the family’s reaction to his shooting. To see if there might be more to it than just the police story about a hunting accident, and if what happened to you up in the woods might be related.”

“Makes sense. But how do you tie all that in to your story?”

“Tony Warnock’s involvement, for one thing.”

“The attorney.”

“That’s right.”

“Why would his representation of the Carew estate be a problem?”

“Because I’ve spent the last couple of months trying to trace the finances of some of these organizations and where they get their money. Warnock’s name has come up a couple of times.”

“He a Stonewaller?”

“No. As far as I’ve been able to determine, he’s not a member of any group. He’s what I like to call a silent partner.”

“A sympathizer.”

“More than that. A sympathizer with money.”

Alarm bells were going off in my head.

“Okay. So you thought his client, Chester Carew, being shot in the woods might have some bearing on your story.”

“Still do.”

“You talked to the police or FBI?”

“Yes. They’ve got their eye on a lot of these people.”

“I bet. They give you anything specific?”

“I’m a feature reporter, Frank.” She crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “The words ‘the investigation is ongoing’ sound familiar to you?”

I had to smile at that. “Always worked for me.”

“Now it’s my turn,” she said. “You’re a private investigator. What was your relationship with Chester Carew?”

“Friend. I knew him through falconry.”

“You’re one of those guys hunts with hawks too, huh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“As an investigator though, have you formed any opinions yet about how or possibly why he was killed?”

“No.”

“But you’re here right now, so you are looking into the matter.”

“The ‘looking into’ is ongoing.”

She smiled. “What about what happened up there in the woods yesterday?”

Should I tell her about Higgins and the link to the Rangers? “Too early to tell if it’s related,” I said.

“You know, some of the PIs I’ve talked to in the past like to brag about the cases they’re working on.”

“Not if they’re any good, they don’t.”

She nodded. “Anything else you can tell me that might contribute to my story?”

I thought about it for a moment. “Not really. No.”

“You married?”

“Divorced.” I’d also noted the absence of a ring on her finger.

“Then maybe you’d like to get together for dinner sometime.”

“Are you asking me for a date?”

“Does that bother you?”

“What, being asked or you doing the asking?”

“Either.”

“Neither bothers me.”

“Good.”

“Let me get back to you on that.”

“Okay.”

On the windowsill sat a large picture frame filled with several photos of the reporter. In a number of them, she held a dog or a cat in her arms.

“You an animal lover?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Good thing to be.”

I stood up to leave. “Thanks very much for your time. I mean, on your day off and everything.”

“You’re just lucky I didn’t sic a cameraman on you.”

“Camera
person.
It’s a PC world.”

“Right,” she said softly.

“It takes guts to be going after the Stonewallers and some of these other groups.”

She shrugged. “It’s my job. People have a right to know what they’re all about.”

“Not to mention giving your station’s ratings a boost.”

“Yes,” she said. “There’s that too.”

“Everybody is scared of hatred, but they want to come home at night and watch it on their screens.”

“Makes them feel safer, I guess.”

“Sure … to be watching rather than to actually be there falling victim to the hatred themselves.”

“But what happens when the tube goes dark?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe we all look for someone to cling to.”

“Who are
you
looking for, Frank?”

“I don’t know yet.”

She said nothing.

“So you go ahead and ask your questions and I’ll ask mine.”

“Maybe they’ll lead us to something.”

“Just be sure to watch your back,” I said.

“Glad to hear you care about it.”

“What?”

“My back.”

I saw her turn to look out at the river as I went out and closed the door.

13

The GMC crew cab pickup pulled away from the curb in front of the studio as I rounded the corner out of the drive. Traffic was light and the driver hung back a ways. But even after I turned at the next two lights, I noticed he stayed with me.

I was so busy glancing off toward the distance in my rearview mirror I didn’t notice the dark unmarked sedan pull in right behind me with its blue light flashing—no siren—until we’d traveled another hundred yards or so. The big pickup was also closing fast. I turned off the street into the parking lot of an abandoned convenience store, its windows boarded over and covered with graffiti, and waited.

A tall black man wearing a green hunting jacket, dark pants, and hiking boots stepped out of the passenger side of the sedan and came around to the driver’s window of my Ford. He was built like an all-pro fullback. He had a large, expressionless—at the moment at least—face with brown eyes that looked a couple of sizes too large for his head.

I rolled down my window.

“Frank Pavlicek?” When he squinted, his eyes looked more normal.

“Yeah. That’s me.”

“Special Agent Jarrod Grooms, ATF.” He showed me his Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms shield. “Wondered if we might have a word with you for a few moments.”

“Okay.” I cut the engine and pocketed my keys.

“If you’ll follow me, please.” He gestured with his head toward the other two vehicles.

I climbed out and fell in step alongside him. Our boots crunched across the broken-up asphalt of the lot. He led me through the sickening sweet cloud of exhaust from the sedan, back to the crew cab, the rear windows of which were too dark for me to see the interior.

Grooms opened the door. “After you,” he said.

I clambered inside. There was a modified bench seat and space for computers and other equipment, but no one else in back. Two men sat up front. One had his ear to a walkie-talkie. I slid across to the opposite end of the seat.

Grooms hoisted himself in behind me and shut the door. He settled into the seat across from me.

“Been busy lately, haven’t you, Frank?”

“That depends,” I said.

“C’mon. Neither of us has time for bullshit. You got yourself smacked with a shotgun yesterday morning and you’ve been kicking around asking questions about the Stonewall Rangers and what they’re up to.”

“That’s right.”

“Even though Sheriffs Deputy Nolestar asked you politely to stand down.”

“What’s being done to find out who killed Chester Carew?”

He paused to look at me for a moment. “That gets complicated. It’s being worked on.”

“Why are you here, Grooms? You part of a joint terrorism task force?”

He cleared his throat and held up his hand as if to wave away the question. “I don’t know yet what happened to your friend the old man. Okay? But we’re about to find out, along with a whole lot of other things.”

The truck’s big diesel engine burbled in front of us. The whole cab vibrated.

“You sound pretty certain.”

“I’ve been on this case for almost a year and you’ve been here for what… less than forty-eight hours? Yeah, man, I am. I’m pretty certain.”

“Toronto and I found a pile of tail transmitters up in the woods a couple of hundred yards from where Chester was killed. Did you know that? They’re used to track birds.”

He nodded. “Fits in with the information we’re working with.”

“Which is?”

He smiled and pointed to his forehead. “ ‘Need to know,’ Frank. Everything’s on a ‘need to know’ only basis. You and your buddy Toronto ought to be familiar with that.”

I looked up front. The two other agents stared straight ahead as if we weren’t just a few feet behind them talking.

“How about Tony Warnock? What’s his involvement with all this?”

“I can’t discuss specific individuals or suspects.”

“Have you at least found out what happened to Chester’s falcon Elo?”

He hesitated for a moment. “As I said, we’re about to find out a whole lot of things.”