Dead Man Falls (30 page)

"You mean besides that pesky ol’ dead body with the bullet hole between the eyes in his trunk." Why could Jerry overlook that little detail so easily and pronounce Russell a non-suspect?

"Maybe somebody put the body in there and he didn’t know about it," Jerry said simply. "We both felt he was lying about something, we just didn’t know what. Still don’t, in fact, but it probably wasn’t about the body."

I put aside visions of the chaotic squad room and followed Jerry’s logic. "I see your point. Why would Russell come turn himself into you if he’d just left his latest victim there in his trunk?" I paused for a moment and tried to think of exactly how Russell had acted. Nervous. Said he’d been hiding out. "He wasn’t trying to get away from the police. He practically hung on the officer who came to get him."

Jerry nodded. "Not typical behavior for somebody with a body in the trunk to dispose of."

Rick looked a little relieved that we’d changed the subject slightly, not to mention that if Russell wasn’t the killer it didn’t look quite so bad that they’d lost him. "Then who put the body in the trunk of his car, and when?"

"And why?" I added. "Calvin went down the falls. Maybe Rhonda too, although she could have just been rolled down the hill from the front side. Doesn’t seem likely though now, does it? Not with the third victim left at the top."

"We’ve got quite a few officers out looking for Clements now, but I’ve got to get back to the station." Rick stood and refilled the box. "I’ll get you back in the hotel then I’ll get this to the lab."

Jerry pushed away from the table and stood as well. "We need a reliable spotter at the hotel, Rick, but other than that, keep whatever Redwater resources you have available on locating Russell Clements. Right now that’s all we’ve got. If we don’t find him, we don’t find the killer."

* * * *

We arrived unceremoniously back at the hotel, waved to the officer in the unmarked car who was either sleeping or reading, although he did perk up a little when we drove past. The parking spaces near the elevator were all filled so Jerry had to drive out and make another swing through. We parked just inside the garage, near the entry door, beside a concrete cutout that let in some extra light.

The perspective was a little eerie. Through the cutout, I could almost see the edge of the new falls across the highway. Couldn’t help but wonder who was going to wind up there next. I didn’t let myself wonder long, though. I’d had enough thinking and extrapolating. I was ready for some food. "Well, I know what I’m going to do when we get to the room."

Jerry killed the engine and reached around for some papers. "What’s that, Jolene?" he asked without a hint of innuendo.

"Order up room service. I’m starving."

He checked his watch. "It’s almost one. I bet you are."

Rick had my box in his arms, ready to transfer it to the unmarked car. Then, as he’d repeated at least a dozen times, he would see us safely to our rooms.

I opened the car door, carefully to keep it from bumping against the concrete wall, and slid out, closing the door behind me. I peeked over the concrete edge, and sure enough, there was the falls. Only the top half was visible because of the interstate, but it was still hard to miss. Surely by now they had roped the thing off and had real patrols staked around every inch of it. I didn't ask, of course, as certain law officers tended to get bristly when I quizzed them on protocol.

As I turned to leave, I caught a glimpse of white from beneath a hedge. For all my fun-poking about trash in the waterways, the Hilton’s grounds were superbly kept. I doubted that the trash had been there long or it would have been snapped up by the staff. If we’d been in Colorado, I’d have trotted out and grabbed the litter, carried it up to the room and thrown it away. Do it all the time, in fact. Here, I feared people would think I was doing something sneaky and untoward.

Then I saw the arm. And a flutter of flowery Hawaiian print material. "Oh, my God."

I raced around the concrete wall and toward the bushes. "Call an ambulance!"

As I knelt beside the bush, my eyes were drawn to the wet red stains soaking the lower front of the white tee shirt beneath the floral print.

Russell Clements had been found, but he was not in good shape.

Chapter 19

I touched my fingertips to Russell’s neck and felt a faint pulse. I looked around for Jerry and Rick. They stood a few feet behind me, weapons drawn. The officer who had been in the undercover car was talking on his radio and running toward me. I heard him call for an ambulance.

I had nothing to use in the way of packing to stop the bleeding, so I turned to run back to the car, knowing Jerry had a first-aid kid there. No sooner did I start to stand, than the officer with the radio handed me a pair of gloves and dropped an open first-aid kit beside me. We both jerked on our gloves and I grabbed a stack of gauze. The officer eased aside Russell’s hands and I slid the gauze beneath then held it there. I had done this sort of thing entirely too many times lately.

"Russell? Can you hear me? It’s Jolene. You’re going to be okay, Russell. An ambulance is coming right now to take you to the hospital."

The distant squeal of sirens confirmed my statement. The hospital was only blocks away so we could get him there quickly. Russell’s leg twitched and he moaned a little.

"Keep talking to him," Jerry said, sliding another stack of gauze under my fingers and checking Russell’s pulse. "I’ll go meet the ambulance. Be right back."

I hadn’t even realized Jerry had been behind me. "Russell, did you hear Jerry? He’s going over to meet the ambulance right now. They’re going to take good care of you. Hang in there. You’re going to be okay."

I repeated this last statement over and over, but I had some serious doubts about the truth of it. Even if the best of medical care were available--which it was not--he might have already lost too much blood.

A chorus of sirens whined at various points, growing louder as they approached. The loudest shriek fell silent as the ambulance pulled up behind us.

"Here they are, Russell. The ambulance is here now."

Within seconds, Jerry and the ambulance crew were headed my way.

One guy took over holding the gauze on Russell’s stomach and the other slapped a blood-pressure cuff around his arm. More paramedics joined the group, so I scooted out of their way and relocated myself near Russell’s head. I kept talking to him, telling him everything would be okay.

A stretcher appeared and they strapped him on. I kept up a running dialogue, telling him everything that was happening, where he was going, that he was going to be okay, even as they put him in the ambulance and the doors closed. I watched the ambulance pull away, wondering if we’d ever learn Russell’s secrets.

Fire trucks and police cars had parked on the street behind the garage, their lights swirling, and several police officers spread out around the hotel perimeter. Several more uniformed types stood near Rick. Jerry was heading back toward me.

I motioned toward a spot of shade by the building and he nodded. When I got to it, I slumped down against the building and started to rub my hands on my face. The sight of the bloody gloves stopped me. I peeled them off and tossed them to the side, then leaned my head back. "I’ll be real surprised if he makes it."

"The hospital’s close. That’ll help."

I watched the crowd around Rick fan out. The fire department people returned to their trucks, the Redwater officers moved out toward the street and a young guy in green wandered away with his hands in his pockets. "Who’s the kid in the green uniform?"

Jerry knelt beside me. "Security guard over at the falls. Same kid we saw the other night. He was on duty last night too."

"And saw nothing."

"He found Russell’s car."

"What about now, did he see anyone?" I asked.

"No, but the park was closed today."

The whole ordeal of parking the car, finding Russell, helping him and sending him on to the hospital had taken maybe ten minutes at the very most, but I was exhausted. "This has to stop," I muttered, watching the yellow tape snap up around the hotel perimeter.

Jerry stared down the access road that cut under the highway to the new city park. "I just had a quick look, but I saw blood spots all the way to the street. Looks like it goes under the highway."

A sidewalk and bike path followed the road, then angled over a bridge and directly down into the park on the east side. "You think he walked over here from the falls?"

"Looks that way," Jerry said.

"Even though the park was closed?"

"Yes."

The thought of how that fit in was too much for me at the moment. "Jerry, I don’t think Russell was shot. I saw a tear in his shirt, but it didn’t look round. Does that mean anything?"

Jerry nodded and stood. "Probably, but sometimes it’s hard to tell. I didn’t see an exit wound on his back, but that doesn't automatically mean it wasn't a gunshot."

"Well, since the wound wasn’t in the middle of his forehead, maybe it’s not related to the murders."

"Maybe," he said, sounding about as convinced of that as I was.

Russell was involved with the killings somehow, we knew that. It was possible, of course, that Russell had been beat up by a thug in the park, or by a new and different psycho. But how likely was that, really?

We said nothing for a long while. I just sat there, propped against the building, Jerry standing beside me, waiting, thinking, feeling the hot thick wind blow in our faces. I must have been staring blankly at nothing because I didn’t realize Rick was anywhere around until I heard his voice.

"Found this on the other side of the highway, at the edge of the falls parking lot," Rick said.

I blinked a few times and finally focused on what Rick held: another plastic bag. I was beginning to hate those things. Not sure I was going to ever be able to pack up leftovers--or anything else--with them ever again.

Jerry helped me to my feet and we both stared.

The latest bag held a large pocket knife, fancy one, blade open. It was maybe eight inches long point to end, and the whole thing was smeared with blood, mostly dried. However, even covered in dark red blobs and smudges, I could see that the knife was not new, nor was it cheap. It had gold trim with inlaid mother-of-pearl strips along each side. One side had a nameplate in the center, and there, engraved in a flourished script, were the initials WJP.

Chapter 20

It didn’t take a genius to deduce that the WJP stood for Willard J. Pollock, although Jerry said the name aloud anyway. After handing the bag to another Redwater officer, Rick motioned for us to follow him. We did, around the concrete wall and back to his car. He opened the back door, lifted out the ticking box and handed it to Jerry. "This changes everything."

"Somebody’s trying to point us toward Willard Pollock," Jerry said. "We better take the hint."

"You two take this upstairs," Rick said, tapping the box with his thumbs. "Open every package, analyze it, think about it, tear it apart, look for anything and play out every scenario you can think of. Forget about prints. Just call me when you’re done."

Jerry nodded, but said nothing.

I didn't have anything to say either. I was on adrenaline overload, and the rushes and letdowns were doing a number on me physically and mentally. If I let myself think about the reality of things very long, I could get seriously depressed.

Rick marched us up to our rooms, did the standard checks, then left with the unnecessary reminder to call immediately if we found anything of importance or even unimportance.

Jerry set the box on my bed then turned and wrapped his arms around me. I hugged him back and had the overwhelming urge to bawl my eyes out. I might have leaked a tear or two, but I did not allow myself to sob. Not now. He kissed the top of my head and held me until I quit shaking. "I’ll call and order us up a couple of sandwiches, okay?"

I wasn’t the least bit hungry, but I nodded anyway. "Hey, how about iced tea, too?"

"I’ll order a pitcher," he said, stepping away to call room service.

After helping myself to the bathroom--and splashing a lot of water on my face--I trudged back into the room and stood beside the box. The goddamned box. I punched it. Too bad Pollock wasn’t here; I’d punch him too.

I reached in and dug out the music box. My gut reaction was to throw it across the room and watch it shatter. I would have too, except I feared it would set off a perpetual plinking of "Feelings." I tossed it on the bed instead. Ditto for the clock.

Annoyed with the whole situation, I grabbed the box, flipped it over on the bed and shook it. Wads of paper and comics-wrapped packages scattered out across the bedspread. As I started to fling the box aside, something flopped and scraped inside. Apparently I hadn’t gotten everything out. Pulling the top flaps back out of the way, I saw a grayish pasteboard sheet covering the bottom of the brown carton.

I turned the box on end and picked at the edges until I could pull it out. When I did, I turned it over. My breath caught in my throat.

Photographs, lots and lots of them, cut out and pasted on in clusters and singles, some with small captions. It might be nothing more than a Pollock memorial, but it was more than I thought we’d get out of that box.

I sat down on the edge of the bed with the collage in my hands just as Jerry finished his call. "I found it face-down in the bottom of the box," I said as he walked over. "Looks like a Willard Pollock history in photos."

Jerry sat down beside me and I held it up between us so we could both see.

"I suppose he could have made it for me--to burn--but more likely he wanted Little Willie to have it."