Death in the Secret Garden (6 page)

‘He is not a happy sergeant,' Rocco said.

‘Listen,' Lyon said. ‘After I drink half this coffee I go back to work. I have a deadline on this book and you aren't helping. Your case is wrapped up. Spook didn't kill anyone. Eddy killed the girl and Lister killed Eddy. You have an eye witness to Lister's shotgunning, and all you need is a little back and fill to tie Eddy to Boots' murder. A nice double solution.'

Rocco arched an eyebrow too high for it to be a natural movement. ‘Do you believe that?'

‘Is that a rhetorical question?'

‘I have a gut feeling about this case,' Rocco said.

‘That it's not over yet?'

‘We're a small town,' Rocco said. ‘A ripple in the water expands to the town line. Man gets girl preg, man kills girl. Man is killed by irate father. Everything over and all back to normal? Maybe. Or maybe we need to know what caused that first ripple.' Rocco drummed his fingers on the bar before calling out, ‘Sarge!'

The owner gave a start as the newspaper fell from his fingers. ‘Huh?'

‘What in the hell was Lister Anderson doing in here yesterday? In my holding cell last night he spouted bible talk to Spook for ten hours straight.'

‘I think Spook is a Buddhist or something,' Renfroe responded.

‘What's a bible thumper like Lister doing in a dump like this?'

‘Lister Anderson has been coming to this establishment every other day for the past two years. He comes in at noon with the other mechanics from the Chevy agency. The other guys have a beer and a burger. Lister has a Coke with his. He keeps his mouth shut about the religious stuff or he wouldn't be welcome here.' Sarge rocked back on his heels so pleased with himself that he poured a shot of bar whiskey and drained it in one fluid motion. ‘Right, Cap?'

‘Right, Sarge,' Rocco answered, ignoring the latest liquor transgression. ‘You know we have to go see Mrs. Anderson,' he said to Lyon.

‘We?' Lyon said. ‘Why do you need me for a closed case? We've already decided, older man gets involved with younger woman. She gets a bun in the oven. They argue. She wants marriage or money for abortion. He wants out. More argument. He shoots her. Bible-thumping father decides on divine retribution. Daddy with shotgun blows away philandering used-car salesman. How much more typical can you get, Rocco?'

‘Eddy Rashish would sell his grandmother for twenty dollars a week payable every Friday for two years. But I don't think he would shoot his lover in the lower abdomen.'

‘Maybe he was a bad shot,' Lyon countered.

‘He might hire a hit man,' Rocco said. ‘I can see Eddy hiring a guy and paying him off with a bad check. But to make love on a blanket in the woods and then shoot her in the gut … No.'

‘Rocco, Eddy was not a very nice person.'

‘He wasn't evil either,' Rocco said contemplatively. ‘Well, he might lie a little about an odometer, a creaky transmission, finance charges, or about divorcing his wife in the near future in order to seduce a girl, but …'

‘OK,' Lyon said. ‘Another scenario. He takes her to the woods for their usual slap and tickle. When he finds out about the baby he decides to throw a real scare into her. He waves the gun around and it accidently goes off and hits her in the abdomen. There is no way he can explain things so he panics and takes off.'

‘What were Eddy's dying words?' Rocco asked.

Lyon watched Sarge surreptitiously down another quick shot. ‘Something about closing deals and odometers were his last words.'

‘I rest my case on his priorities,' Rocco said as he slipped off the bar stool. ‘Let's get on with conversing with Mrs. Anderson.'

The front and back yards of the Anderson house looked like a rusted lawn sale. Engine blocks without pistons, old lawnmower motors in varying stages of disassembly and other strange pieces of machinery were scattered across the yard. Clustered around the small garage at the rear of the property were three automobiles of unknown vintage that were in dire need of reconstruction. It was a disaster area that was tolerated by the neighborhood because adjacent properties also contained herds of motor vehicles in various stages of perpetual repair.

The house was a small ranch with a large picture window in the living room. The window faced the street and overlooked a rusting school bus, which sat on concrete blocks. Rocco looked at Lyon with a shrug when the doorbell wouldn't respond to his touch. He thumped heavily with a door knocker made from a hood ornament.

A tall man whose body was dominated by an elongated face opened the door to look at them with somber dark eyes.

‘Is Mrs. Anderson home?' Rocco asked.

‘Sister Anderson is in grief and not receiving.'

‘Tell her Chief Herbert is here to talk about her husband.'

‘I said the sister is not receiving.'

‘Who be you?' Rocco asked.

‘Pastor of her flock.'

‘You will be herding your flock from my lockup if you don't produce the lady in five seconds,' Rocco said in a quiet voice.

Eliza Anderson had a slight body and a face too deeply grief-worn to have been accumulated in one life. Some of the ravages were inherited from past generations, who had fought icy fish lines off the Grand Banks, or scrabbled a living from Maine's rock-strewn fields. Lister and Eliza had immigrated from the harsh Maine coast to Connecticut where new generations faced hardships of a different type.

Eliza had already lost her eldest child when his pickup went airborne after striking a bridge abutment on the interstate. Her daughter Boots occupied a slab in the medical examiner's office. Her husband was in jail. Her last offspring sat sullenly before the television in his ill-fitting meeting-time clothes and glared at them resentfully. Rocco nodded at the teenager. They were acquainted due to several juvenile charges that would probably escalate in the coming year. Rocco knew it was only a matter of months until the kid would be caught and charged as an adult for grand theft auto. It seemed like an irrevocable pattern.

‘Pastor was with me through the night,' Eliza Anderson said. ‘He read from the Book of Job and we prayed. Nothing more can be done.'

‘Did you know that Boots was pregnant?' Rocco asked with an abruptness that startled Lyon.

‘She done told me. We decided not to tell her daddy until after the wedding. You saw what happened when he found out on his own.'

Lyon was puzzled. It was not a secret in this small town that Eddy Rashish was very permanently married.

‘Marriage?' Rocco questioned.

‘To Skee Rumford. They've been sweet on each other since the eighth grade.'

‘Lister killed Eddy Rashish,' Rocco pressed.

‘Lister always did get things mixed up,' Eliza Anderson replied. ‘Sometimes I think he didn't listen none, or maybe he didn't hear none. Anyway, he always got things wrong unless it was a piece of machinery that he could put his hands on.'

‘Are you telling us that Eddy wasn't the daddy?' Rocco asked.

‘Not saying that.'

Rocco sighed. ‘What are you saying, Mrs. Anderson?'

‘Boots was beddin' them both.'

‘She was involved with Eddy
and
Skee?'

‘That's what I'm saying. Boots always did like variety. She would kinda alternate them.'

‘Then who was the daddy?'

Eliza Anderson shrugged. ‘God knows,' she finally replied as she looked at Rocco and Lyon. ‘Don't matter none now, does it? And I wouldn't pick one over tuther cuz I wouldn't want Lister to think he shot the wrong man.'

Four

The young man with the broom wore a baseball hat with the bill turned to the rear, a Grateful Dead tee shirt and bleached cut-off jeans. He made lame broom passes at the mass of broken windshield glass that littered the used-car lot. A black motor scooter leaned against the wall of the office trailer.

Rocco parked the cruiser on the highway shoulder away from the car lot to avoid tire damage from the broken glass. He hitched his trousers and adjusted his long holster before he walked toward the sweeper. ‘Who's the kid?' he asked Lyon.

‘I've seen him around, but don't recall his name.'

The lethargic sweeping slowed to a stop as the young man watched their approach with mild curiosity. ‘Lot's closed,' he announced.

‘Who be you?' Rocco asked softly.

‘I work here.'

‘That might be questionable,' Rocco said, ‘since I watched your sweeping.' Rocco's authoritative manner slipped into place. ‘What's your name?'

The sweeper immediately detected the voice change. He reacted by imperceptibly straightening his posture and tightening the grip on the broom. ‘My name is Skee Rumford. I work here part-time.'

‘Do you know that the owner is dead?'

‘Yes, sir. Mrs. Rashish asked me to clean the place up. She wants to try and get a buyer after the windshields and tires are replaced. I told her I could replace the tires, but she's got to get a glass guy to do the windshields. It's going to cost her a friggin' fortune.'

Rocco walked through the lot and stopped occasionally to examine a shattered windshield. The sweeper followed behind him. ‘You're a friend of Boots Anderson, aren't you?' Rocco said nonchalantly without looking directly at the young man.

‘We were in high school together.'

‘You know she was also killed yesterday?'

‘I heard about it.'

The voice was familiar. Lyon remembered last year's high school class. Skee sat directly behind Boots and exchanged what they obviously considered meaningful glances. Lyon suspected that he was also the culprit who spouted off about the sex life of the Wobblies.

Rocco turned away from his examination of Lister Anderson's carnage. ‘Her murder got you off the hook, didn't it, Skee?'

‘Huh?'

‘She's dead with your kid.'

‘What are you talking about? I told you we were in high school together.'

‘Her mom says you two did more than share a little homework.'

‘I might have dated her a couple of times.'

‘Do you know what I think, kid?' Rocco said. ‘I think you've been seeing Boots since the eighth grade and I think you've been making out with her since then.'

‘I date lots of girls.'

‘She was carrying your baby.'

‘I don't know that.'

‘Her mom seems to think so.'

‘It coulda been Eddy's.'

‘Boots' body is at the medical examiner's office right now. Suppose I just ring them up and get a DNA report on that unborn child?'

‘Maybe it was mine. I don't know. She was fooling around with Eddy, too. That's why her dad came out here and did what he did.'

Rocco slowly folded his hand around the broom handle and deliberately removed it from the young man's grip. He tossed it aside. ‘I find it extremely interesting that you're working for the guy who was making out with your girl. Did you both do her in the trailer over there? What I'm asking is, did you take turns?'

‘I don't have to listen to that!'

‘Don't you? Would you prefer we chatted in my lockup?'

‘No.'

‘Then how come you work for Eddy, who was playing around with Boots? I find that strange, kid. In fact, I find that downright weird.'

‘I didn't know what was going on when he hired me. I needed a part-time job while I'm going to Middleburg Community College. I found out later what was happening between them.'

‘How much later?'

‘I began to have my suspicions,' Skee said. ‘It got routine that when I came to work at the lot, Eddy would take off. I'd try to call Boots and she was never home when Eddy was gone. She worked the four-to-eleven at the market and should have been home.'

‘So what happened?'

‘The night before last we had it out. She told me Eddy hired me so he would know exactly where I was when they went together. Boots promised me that she was dumping Eddy. She said the relationship wasn't going anywhere and he would never divorce his wife. She said she was sorry it ever started.'

‘So, she told you the night before she died that she was going to meet Eddy in the state forest?' Rocco pressed.

‘She didn't say where she was going to tell him.'

‘Do you know if Eddy had a gun? Maybe a small handgun?'

‘Lots of his customers paid weekly in cash. He was always afraid of robbery so he kept a pistol. It's somewhere in the office.'

‘Let's have a look,' Rocco said as they walked toward the trailer. Lyon helped Rocco search the narrow office. They found a mass of pornographic magazines, stacks of various MVD forms, and bank loan papers from several institutions. There wasn't any gun of any caliber.

‘Where do you suppose Eddy put that gun you told me about?' Rocco asked Skee.

‘I don't know,' Skee said in a subdued tone that bordered on obsequiousness. Any trace of his initial belligerency had disappeared.

‘Where were you yesterday morning?' Rocco snapped.

‘I was in school. I had classes all morning at Middleburg Community College. They're very particular about taking attendance. You can ask them at the administration office.'

‘I will,' Rocco said. ‘You may rest assured that I will.'

The governor of the state of Connecticut began to cry.

Bea Wentworth sat uncomfortably before the desk in the governor's study at the mansion on Hartford's Prospect Avenue. While the state's chief executive fought for composure, Bea turned her attention to the books that filled the cases along three walls. Lyon's Wobbly books were there, along with hundreds of other volumes written by Connecticut authors. Writers were a breed that seemed to sprout throughout the Nutmeg State. She was never certain if this was due to pleasant rural areas or proximity to the publishers of New York City.

‘Forgive me, Beatrice,' the governor said as she stuffed her hanky into a skirt pocket. ‘It hurts. Oh, God, his going hurts. I remember years ago, when we served together in the legislature, that you and your husband suffered a terrible loss. You lost your little girl, didn't you?'