Defiled: The Sequel to Nailed Featuring John Tall Wolf (A Ron Ketchum Mystery Book 2) (23 page)

“I knew Hale wasn’t going to marry me,” Veronika said. “The new prenup is never saying ‘I do.’ A rich guy won’t even cohabit full time because that old palimony thing just might work these days. Even if it doesn’t, it’s a guaranteed hassle. Cheaper just to pay the babe off. A lot cheaper to draw firm boundaries up front. That’s what Hale did. So I knew.”

“Always best to understand your circumstances,” Ron said.

“Have you been married?”

“Yes.”

“I’ve seen your hands. You don’t wear a ring. Who filed the divorce papers?”

“It was a mutual decision, but I did.”

“Did you feel better about that?”

“No. The regret was mutual, too.”

The chief understood he had to share to build empathy, but he’d take things only so far.

Veronika said, “I’m sorry for you then. Sometimes it’s nobody’s damn fault.”

“What were you hoping for?” Ron asked.

“Not a happy ending, but a … a pleasing one. Something with a nice parting gift for all the fun times and never any hassle. A gesture, I guess you’d call it. Something in keeping with his place in the world, you know.”

“A condo?” Ron asked.

“A
nice
one. Maybe a new car lease every other year.”

“Health and dental insurance?”

Veronika laughed. “You’re making fun of me now, but that
is
something to think about.” She shivered and drew the jacket tighter around her. “Especially after what I saw.”

“You’re ready to talk about it?”

“You gonna let me go if I don’t?”

“Explaining yourself protects you from both what you saw and potential legal liability. It’s really in your best interest that we clear things up now.”

“I think about what I saw any time I don’t force myself to concentrate on my work. But what you just said, you think I had something to do with Hale dying?”

“I don’t know. I’m hoping you’ll tell me.”

Ron was a natural at playing the good cop.

He could do the bad cop, too, when needed.

“I didn’t,” Veronika said, “have anything to do with him dying. My heart broke when I saw him in that chair, dead, his hair all out of place. It never even looked that bad the first thing in the morning when he got up.”

Ron thought everyone saw the world through her own lens.

“I mean, it was just my bad luck I was there at all.”

“How’s that?” Ron asked.

“Well, at any one time, there are three of us,
were
three of us that Hale saw regularly. Sometimes he’d reach back for a golden oldie, but the problem with them was they were
older.
That night, it was just my turn.”

“Hold on to it being your turn for a minute,” Ron said. “Do you know how many
friends
Hale Tibbot had at any given time?”

“No. I don’t think Trish or Nessa do either.”

“They’re the other two current ladies?”

“We think of ourselves as girls. Ladies sounds like grandmas or hookers. Yeah, they’re the other two. But you know who would know? Glynnis. I bet she could tell you how many times the bedsprings bounce every night.”

“How could she … Does she have any type of recorder set up in Mr. Tibbot’s house?” Ron asked. God, he thought, if it was a video system, there might be pictures of the killer.

Veronika said, “I can’t swear to that. All I know is she knows way too much for somebody who goes home early.”

Ron got down to the central point of the interview. “Did you see anyone in Hale Tibbot’s house on the night he died?”

“Not
in,
no. Hale was downstairs in his office. One of his rules was that none of his girls ever went in there. I never did because I thought things would work out better for me to keep him happy. I was upstairs in his bedroom, well, in the master bath, actually. I thought he’d come up and we could enjoy a soak before we went to bed.”

“You didn’t hear anyone enter the house after you and Mr. Tibbot were in your respective rooms.”

“No. Truth is, I fell asleep in the bath. I had my head resting against this cushion thingy so I wouldn’t fall in and drown or something. I’d left this one little light on for romantic ambience but when I woke up it was dark. Bulb must have burned out.”

“What woke you up?” Ron asked.

“The water had gone … well not cold but tepid, and the jets were off. Maybe the power had blinked off for a minute. Anyway, the bath didn’t feel good anymore. Then I heard the front door opening. I thought where the hell was Hale going in the middle of the night. I got out of the tub, put on a robe and peeked out a bedroom window.”

“That was when you saw someone,” Ron said.

Veronika nodded. “Yes. A man. He looked back at the house. I was scared he’d come back in because he was looking at all the windows, but in order, you know, going across and then up. I ducked before he got to mine. After I heard a car drive off, I waited a few minutes and went downstairs and found Hale.”

“You combed his hair to make him look better?” Ron asked.

“That and so he’d be found with his hair the way I liked it. Trish and Nessa liked his part on the other side.”

Ron called Sergeant Stanley. Asked him to bring a photo array.

The Alta County Courthouse had not been subsumed by the Municipal Complex for two reasons. It existed in a separate stratum of government. And in 1939 the Works Progress Administration had built a masterpiece of workmanship and a near masterpiece of design in granite and marble. Harry Hopkins, the head of the WPA, had come to the dedication and declared, “This courthouse will outlive the pyramids of Egypt.”

Years later, a wag had added, “It might even outlast Clay Steadman.”

To say that the townsfolk were proud of the building would be an understatement.

FBI Special Agent Abra Benjamin found her counterpart from the BIA, John Tall Wolf, sitting in a carrel at the back of the county clerk’s office. He was searching court filings on an office terminal and sending copies to his laptop. He looked over his shoulder when he heard Benjamin approach. Gave her a nod of recognition. Considered adding a smile but held off as she might take it the wrong way. You never knew with feebs.

“No problem finding me?” Tall Wolf asked.

“None.”

“Pull up a chair.”

“You want to talk here?”

Tall Wolf turned on his seat. The office was a large space and there wasn’t a soul in sight.

“Looks okay to me,” he said.

“Someone might come by.”

“We’ll remain vigilant. Speak in hushed tones.”

She gave him a look and said, “I thought you were going to say speak in Navajo.”

“Wind-talking? That’d be good, too, if only I knew how. Sad truth is, I have to get by in English, Spanish or French.”

He turned back to the court records.

Benjamin pulled a chair over. Quietly. She was tall enough to look over Tall Wolf’s shoulder at the county clerk’s terminal. A financial institution called Leveraged Credit had filed suit against a company called Tibbot’s Sierra Sunsets.

Tall Wolf interpreted her silence correctly; Benjamin was skimming the document he was reading. He said, “I don’t think this one’s on point for me.”

She said, “You think someone who took Tibbot to court might have killed him? Seems to me someone using a courtroom to resolve differences wouldn’t have the same mindset as a killer.”

Tall Wolf glanced at Benjamin. “You do profiling, Special Agent?”

“No, how about you?”

“The BIA doesn’t have the budget for that fancy stuff. Mostly we work with animal entrails.”

Benjamin couldn’t stop herself. The guy cracked her up. Caught her laughing, too.

“Very funny,” she said.

“A day without laughter means you take yourself way too seriously.”

That one seemed to hit home for Benjamin. She nodded and said, “You’re right. I need to sharpen my wit.”

Tall Wolf agreed. “Versatile weapon, wit, and easily concealed. You have a point, up to a point, about differences in temperament. Thing is, Hale got sued a lot, but his lawyers had a truly great winning percentage. If they didn’t outthink or outmaneuver the other side, they outspent them.”

Benjamin knew all about that last strategy. “The side with the deepest pockets usually wins. They can string things out until the other guy is broke at best and more often than not deeply in hock to his own lawyers.”

Tall Wolf followed up. “Someone gets put through the legal wringer, maybe more than once, he might consider a more direct means of conflict resolution.
N’est-ce pas?”

“D’accord,”
Benjamin replied.

Damn guy was not only funny, she thought, he was smart and charming.

Had a better French accent, too.

She was beginning to think he might buy her lunch, but he wasn’t going to let her eat his.

“I have some information to share with you,” she said, “and I need to get your opinion.”

Tall Wolf turned to look at Benjamin. That was what he’d meant about feebs being unpredictable. He’d
never
had one of them solicit his opinion on anything before. He looked over her shoulder to make sure they were still alone. They were.

“What would you like to know?”

“It turns out the bureau,
my
bureau, has a file on Sonny Sideris.” She told him about the homicides Sideris was suspected of committing, including the two executives of the hazardous waste disposal company, and the suspicion he’d been hired by illegal dumpers to commit those murders. “With that working theory,” she said, “I had to ask myself if there was any limit to radioactive materials or other toxins our lake bomber might have available to him.”

“Assuming there’s a connection between Tibbot’s murder and the bomb, you mean.”

“Yeah.”

Tall Wolf said, “Then the only limit I see is the killer’s buying power.”

“That’s my thought, too. I was asked by someone high in my chain of command whether I think you and I might need additional help. I said I thought we had things covered. Now, I’m not so sure. That’s why I wanted to see you. Do
you
think we need help?”

Tall Wolf was flattered that she would consider his opinion at all.

He said, “The situation we’ve got here, I think it calls for brainpower more than manpower. But if things start slipping away from us … might be a good idea to have some federal assets nearby. Maybe some boys who know about hostage rescue and some good long-range shooters. Maybe even people who can aid with the emergency evacuation of a civilian population.”

Benjamin’s head had bobbed along with each point Tall Wolf had laid out.

“You probably think we should share this with the locals, huh?”

“I think of Chief Ketchum as an asset not a liability,” Tall Wolf said.

“Him, yeah. His friend from L.A., I’m not so sure.”

“So tell him, not her.”

Tall Wolf was
not
about to get in between two female cops with issues.

Benjamin said, “Yeah, okay, I think you’re right. You want to come with me?”

“I’ve got some more work to do here,” he said, “but if you need a tie-breaking vote, give me a call.”

Sergeant Casimir Stanley had the only desk in the Goldstrike PD that was bigger than the chief’s. Every inch of it was necessary. The areas not covered by precisely stacked rows and columns of paper were filled by instruments of communications: landline phone, three mobile phones and a CB radio that could reach Star Fleet Command, according to a department joke. Taken as a whole, it was an analog rebuke to a digital world.

A former Marine drill instructor had passed through the office one day, done a double-take upon spotting the sergeant’s desktop and said, “That is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen that doesn’t either create life or take it.”

Being favorably compared to women and weaponry was a high compliment indeed.

Still made the sarge feel warm whenever he thought of it.

He felt considerably cooler when he picked up the landline receiver only to find John Tall Wolf on the line.

“How may I help you, Special Agent?”

The “you dick” remained unspoken but clearly implied.

Tall Wolf said, “I found something important regarding the Tibbot case, Sergeant. I tried calling the chief’s cell phone but it went to voicemail.”

“The chief’s a busy man.”

“Sure, I know that. I also know I can count on you to evaluate what I’m about to tell you. If you agree with my assessment, you’ll find the chief and let him know. If you don’t, I’m sure you’ll tell him at the appropriate time.”

One of the stacks of paper on the sergeant’s desk was phone messages for the chief.

Arranged in descending order of importance, by the sergeant’s lights.

“Of course, I will,” Sergeant Stanley said. “What’s your message?”

“I’ve come up with a new suspect in the Tibbot case. Someone very interesting.”

When Tall Wolf gave him a name, he thought the fed couldn’t be more off base.

Until he heard the reasons for the special agent’s suspicions.

Then he said, “I’ll get this to the chief right away … I appreciate your trusting me with this information.”

Maybe Tall Wolf was sucking up a little bit. But he was subtle about it. Allowing both of them an opening to resume a courteous relationship.

Sergeant Stanley asked, “Where can the chief reach you, Special Agent?”

“I’ll have my cell on.”

“You’ll be in town?”

“I’m not sure of that,” Tall Wolf said. “I have to go talk to an Indian.”

Walt Ketchum felt great, better than any time since his Nora had died, and only a little bit guilty. He felt, maybe, that he’d taken advantage of Clay Steadman’s hospitality. Slipping between the sheets with the mayor’s lady friend and all.

Then again she’d been the one who had come to his bedroom.

Stood in front of him as he’d been reading that morning’s
L.A. Times
on the fancy little tablet computer Clay had lent him. As had become his habit of late, he’d started by skimming the obits before he even bothered with the sports section. He paid special attention to looking for any former coppers he might have known who’d kicked off.

That day there’d been two men who’d gone end of watch for the last time.

But he hadn’t known either of them, and they’d both been older than him. Couldn’t ask for better than that. Not getting killed on the job. Collecting your pension for a good, long time. Being seen out by pipers and a swarm of colleagues in their old uniforms. Your widow receiving the consolation of department brass.

That was the only thing that had bothered Walt.

He should have gone before Nora did.

He raised a hand to salute his departed comrades. When he lowered it, she was there. Marlene … He couldn’t remember her last name. Something Indian. He thought there was a moon in there somewhere. Walt thought maybe she’d just stepped into his room by mistake. He was about to tell her Clay’s bedroom was in the other wing of the house, but she put a finger to her lips.

Telling him to be quiet.

Getting a sense of what might coming, what he
hoped
was coming, he played along. Sitting there with the tablet on his lap and an old familiar stirring starting under the news of the day, he watched her undress. It was like magic. She just seemed to touch a piece of clothing and it fell off her like an autumn leaf. In no time at all, she was standing there naked before him.

She extended a hand to him and then next thing he knew his clothes were gone, too.

For a second, he felt embarrassed. He knew he had an old man’s body. He’d been unable to do much physical activity during the recovery from his stroke. He’d gotten back to doing some walking only in the past six months. Best he could say, only one part of him had any real vigor.

That part felt like it still belonged to a teenager.

She eased him under the covers and climbed in on top of him. He’d never felt such heat from a woman’s body. Another degree or two, she’d give him first degree burns. All the while they were together, though, she never said a word to him. As she left, she gave him a kiss on the cheek and he drifted off to the most peaceful sleep he could remember.

His only thought being he’d do anything he could to keep this woman happy.

And, strangely enough, he knew the way to do that was to be himself.

He thought upon wakening that maybe it had all been a dream, but after showering he got up and saw Marlene talking to that tall Indian with the sunglasses, the one who’d helped him out the other day. He’d shaken the guy’s hand and told him thanks. Then he’d left the two of them alone. He felt sure that was what Marlene wanted.

With the day being so sunny and bright, he decided to go out for a walk. There was a bounce in his step. He couldn’t say he felt young. It was more like middle-aged and still strong. Good enough for him. He’d take it for as long as it would last.

Truth was, he couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten. Testifying for Ronnie in that civil suit had been the start of turning his life around. It led directly to his meeting Clay Steadman. Now, he had more money than any old L.A. copper other than Joe Wambaugh. The biggest star to hit Hollywood in Walt’s lifetime was going to make a movie based on his life, and he’d be getting more money from that.

It wasn’t just his good fortune that pleased him though. Ronnie was doing right well, too. Chief of Police. What more could a cop want for his son? Well, how about becoming a mayor? The boy might do that, too. And he’d said it wouldn’t bother him to have his old man around to watch him run for office. On top of all that, Ronnie had Keely Powell back in his life. That was something to smile about.

A man knew his son had made a good match when he’d have liked to see a younger version of himself wind up with that girl. Of course, he
had
wound up with someone like Keely. If all that women’s lib stuff had started a bit earlier, he could have seen his beautiful Nora having been a copper just like Keely.