Cold Quarry (7 page)

“A few times to go hunting. Once looking for a skip trace that didn’t pan out.”

“So you don’t know a whole lot about our people or our economy.”

“I don’t know a whole lot about a lot of things, Mr. Warnock. What’s your point?”

“Just that if Betty insists on your looking into Chester’s death, well, I hope you’ll take your time and familiarize yourself with all the local channels before you go off and—”

“Step on anybody’s toes?”

“Exactly. Step on anybody’s toes.”

There was a soft knocking on the door.

“Come in,” the attorney said.

Penny Holt entered carrying a large leather-bound portfolio. “The checkbook you asked for, sir.”

“Thank you, Penny.” She handed it to him and he took it and placed it on the coffee table before him.

“Anything else you need? Something to drink maybe?”

Warnock looked at me, but I shook my head. “No, that’ll be fine for now,” he said.

The assistant excused herself and left the room, closing the door with a soft thud behind her.

“Tell me something, since you’ve lived around here a long time and all. How much do you know about the Stonewall Rangers Brigade?”

“Stonewall Rangers? They’re one of these extremist groups you hear about. You know, blame everything on all the blacks and Hispanics and Jews. But like I said, they have rights.”

“Free speech and all.”

“Yes.”

“Did you know Chester Carew had been to a few of their meetings?”

“Betty told me.”

“Apparently they were after him to play some kind of war games on his land.”

“Huh.”

“May I ask what type of law you practice, counselor? Any area of specialty?”

“No particular specialty. I do all kinds of work, from estates, as you see with Chester and Betty, to corporate work, other types of civil litigation, even some criminal work. It all depends.”

“Depends on what?”

“On who I think is in the right.”

“You aren’t going to try to convince me you’re the last noble lawyer.”

He laughed out loud. “No, no, of course not. A man in your line of work must’ve figured out a long time ago that nobility is usually in the eye of the beholder.”

“Often,” I said. “But not always.”

He said nothing. He set his cigar down in an ashtray and reached over and pulled the large checkbook toward him on the table, flipping it open.

“I see from the door you’ve got a few partners.”

“Right,” he said without looking up. “This is just a satellite office. We do plaintive work, workman’s comp, that sort of thing, for a lot of the factory employees in this area. Makes it more convenient for them. All the partners in the firm rotate through here every six months. Doing my tour.” He whisked an expensive-looking pen from his jacket pocket and began writing.

“You don’t live in Nitro or Dunbar then?”

“Nope. In the city. South Hills. … What was the spelling of your last name again?”

I gave it to him.

He began to write out the check. “I was thinking a thousand-dollar retainer to start. That ought to cover your initial time and expenses. Sound good to you?”

I nodded.

“You do much work for attorneys?” he asked.

“Some.”

He finished writing and tore the check out and handed it to me. “Good. I know this is a special circumstance, but maybe this will be the start of a mutually beneficial relationship.”

He looked at me expectantly as I took the piece of paper from him. It was one of those oversized checks, the kind that stands out in a crowd. In the upper-left-hand corner were the name of his professional corporation, his own followed by the prerequisite initials, and an image of a flying American flag with a Revolutionary War-era musket leaning below it.

“We’ll see how it goes,” I said. “I do some contract work for another agency but with my own clients I normally earn my keep from case to case.”

“Of course. Best way to handle things. No entanglements.”

“What’s the significance of the flag and the flintlock?” I asked.

“Ah, that. Freedom,” he said. “I’ve always been a big believer in our Constitution. The whole basis of our system of laws.”

“I’ve got no quibble with the Second Amendment crowd.”

“That’s great.”

“As long as it’s not being used as a shield for nefarious activity.”

He held up his hands and smiled. “Nothing nefarious here, I can assure you. I am worried about something with this whole affair of Chester’s shooting, however. I wondered if you were aware of it.”

“What’s that?”

He picked up his cigar again and took another puff, blowing the smoke upward. “It concerns your friend, Mr. Toronto.”

“Jake? There are a lot of people who have to worry about him.”

“Yes, but can he be trusted?”

“I don’t know what you mean, exactly. Jake knows how to handle himself, he used to be my partner, and I’d trust him with my life. In fact, I have.”

“Have you now? You know what kind of business he’s in, what kind of things he does, who he works for?”

“Not everything. Jake lives pretty modestly. I’m not worried about him being into anyone for money, if that’s what you’re driving at.”

“No, no.” He waved off the thought. “I wasn’t talking about money.”

“What are you talking about then?”

“You know, it’s not that important. If you trust this man, that’s good enough for me. I just want you to help bring Betty Carew some peace of mind over this whole business without …”

“Without what?”

“I don’t know … alienating a lot of people. This is a decent valley, filled with a lot of decent, hardworking people.”

“I’m sure it is, but somebody was indecent enough to have shot my client’s husband from behind in cold blood. You act like you have your ear to the ground. Any theories on who did it?”

He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest. A vein grew into prominence in his thick neck. Then he shook his head. “No theories. But I will tell you this. You must’ve discovered, like me, that there are mysteries about any place, truths and half-truths people don’t always speak about.

“Well, around here those truths run deep as a mine-shaft, dark as the blackest night. You start stirring around in there, you’re liable to be surprised at what might come out.”

“Sorry, Warnock. I can’t guarantee you anything when it comes to looking into something like this,” I said. “If it turns out to be simple, like finding a local poacher or something, then I shouldn’t think there’d be any problem. In fact, the police will probably beat us to it, in which case you’ll be right and Betty will have wasted her money.”

“Exactly. But you should know something, Frank.”

“What’s that?”

“
I
don’t waste money,” he said matter-of-factly, reaching across with his free hand and closing the checkbook. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few letters to finish dictating and some phone calls to make before the end of the day. If you don’t mind, please keep me appraised of your progress.”

I said I would and shook the man’s hand. I took his check and walked down the hall past the pretty receptionist and through the front door. Outside, the temperature had dropped a few degrees. I wasn’t sure, but I could’ve sworn I felt the money burning a hole in my pocket.

7

I drove to a cell phone outlet in South Charleston and picked out a new phone. They were running a special. Thirty-day free trial—only pay the first month’s rent and base charge, unlimited minutes and long distance. Perfect, since I’d have to get a new phone when I got back home anyway and I didn’t think I’d need this one any longer than thirty days.

After that, I drove to one of those big box stores that sold electronics and showed the salesman the handheld GPS receiver I’d picked up in the woods.

“That’s a nice model,” he said. “You looking for another one?” He was barely five feet tall, dressed in khaki pants and a clean pressed blue shirt, and had an air of specific, laser-focused knowledge about him.

“No. I was hoping you could show me how to work this one.”

“What, you steal it from somebody? Just kidding.”

“It belongs to a friend of mine,” I lied.

“Sure.” He took the unit from my hands. “It’s easy.”

He showed me how the display and various buttons worked. There were coordinates, called way points, as well as a map on the screen.

“Does it have memory? I mean, does it keep past sets of way points?”

“Of course.” He helped me bring up another display that allowed me to scroll through the coordinates. “Looks like your friend already has a few stored in here.”

Hot dog. A virtual roadmap to some of the places my attacker in the woods might have been.

“You can use it anywhere on the planet,” the salesman was saying. “Except underground or down under the water. It has to be able to get the signals from the satellites.”

“Great. Thanks very much for your help.”

“Hey. You sure you’re not looking for a new one of your own? If you like it after you’re through using this one and give it back, you come on by and see me. I’ll make you a deal.”

“Deal,” I said.

Back at the Carews’ in Nitro there was a message waiting for me. The driveway had long since cleared out so that only my truck, Chester’s Suburban, and Betty’s Buick remained.

“Cops called looking for you,” Toronto said as I came in through the back door.

“Deputy Nolestar?”

“That’s the one. Betty took the message.”

“Wonder what took him so long?”

“Maybe they get so many shotgun attacks in the woods around here yours wasn’t a priority,” he said.

“Right. I’m just glad Betty answered the phone and not you.”

“She and Jason are upstairs sleeping. I was just about to take her car and go pick up a pizza.”

“With all this food sitting around here?” I indicated the stacked loaves of fresh-baked bread and brownies and pies and the containers of fruit salad and other goodies I was sure were now crowding the refrigerator.

“All this Tupperware makes me nervous,” he said. “I need some grease.”

I shook my head.

“How was the lawyer?” he asked.

“Very smooth and very professional. Maybe has something to hide. He’s also a cigar smoker.”

“At least he’s got one redeeming characteristic. That didn’t stop you from taking his money though, did it?”

“No. And it’s Betty’s money anyway, at least eventually.”

“What’s in the bag?” He indicated the plastic shopping bag under my arm.

“New cell phone to replace the one the guy took from me earlier. Plus that GPS unit of his I picked up. I went by a store and they showed me how to pull up coordinates this turkey has stored in the memory. Tomorrow I want to go check them out.”

“You bet. I could’ve showed you how to do that.”

“Yeah, but you know me. Mr. Tech-savvy. Sometimes I like to figure these things out for myself.”

He shrugged.

“I also want to go pay a visit to this used-car dealer you were telling me about.”

“No problemo. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to see us. Anything else?”

“All I can think of for now.”

He twirled Betty’s keys in his meaty hand. “My stomach’s growling. Let me know how you make out with the lawman.”

I used the wall phone in the kitchen to dial the number Deputy Nolestar had given Betty. It turned out to be a pager so I punched in the Carews’ number and hung up. I went to the refrigerator, found a nice piece of untouched pumpkin pie, poured myself a glass of milk and sat down at the kitchen table to wait.

I’d only taken a couple of bites when the phone rang. I went to the wall and snatched the phone off the hook so it wouldn’t disturb Betty or Jason any further.

“Frank Pavlicek speaking.”

“Pavlicek, I see you got my message.”

“You Deputy Nolestar?”

“That’s me.”

I could hear the hollow sound of the inside of a moving car. He was obviously on a cell phone. His voice was a tenor with a slight wheezing quality that made him sound too young to be an investigator, but who was I to argue.

“I figured you’d call me after what happened,” I said.

“Yes, sir. I talked with the other two deputies who took your report. I’d like to sit down and have a talk with you.”

“Okay, when and where?”

“How about right now?”

“Right now, tonight?”

“No better time than the present. In fact, I’m headed out your way now. Just across the river in St. Albans.”

“All right. But Betty Carew and her son are asleep upstairs. They’ve had a long day with the funeral and all. Is there someplace else we can meet?”

“How about the McDonald’s down on First Avenue? I’ll buy you a cup of coffee.”

“Give me half an hour,” I said.

Deputy Nolestar turned out to be a tall, wholesome-looking (in a Clark Kent sort of way) young man with a dark crew cut and dark hair on his arms. His eyes darted back and forth nervously. They were the color of cobalt; not cobalt blue, which is actually the dark color belonging to a mixture of cobalt and aluminum, but the color of cobalt itself—steel gray. I judged his age at late twenties, give or take.

“You got a good chop on you,” Nolestar said, pointing toward my mouth with his thumb after we’d sat down over our coffees in a quiet booth in the back. A huge family of eight or ten—a baby, two toddlers, and multiple other kids running everywhere around a weary-looking mom and dad—sat devouring their Mcfood up at the front, but their three tables were around the corner from ours and mostly out of earshot.

“It’ll heal,” I said.

He nodded. “So you disarmed this guy, huh? Took his gun and everything? Pretty slick move.”

“I thought it was better than trusting to his good graces.”

“Heard you were up there looking for information about the Chester Carew shooting.”

“I was. Carew was a personal friend. The widow’s naturally concerned that whoever shot him is still running around loose.”

Nolestar’s eyes flicked down toward the table. “Right. I’m aware of Mrs. Carew’s concerns, naturally. We’re doing all we can to find whoever shot her husband. Other than being a friend, what’s your interest level?”