Jason Deas - Cameron Caldwell 01 - Private Eye (11 page)

Turner knew the area well and arrived before anybody else. Cam told Blanca to call or come by his house later when she knew something. He promised to be semi-sober.

“Did she buy it?” Turner asked once Cam was in the car and they were out of sight.

“Yeah. I added a little more to it, but I basically stayed on script. I know you’re a part of their group, but be real with me for a minute.”

“I’m always real.”

“Sorry. Is it possible that Claude killed Billy?”

“No. I know he didn’t. He was with me when the motion sensor went off. We heard it.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Claude and I were running our last pot for the time being. Until things settle down at least. From what was said at the council meeting and you seeing my peanut gun you’ve probably figured that I can make just about anything you can imagine. I set up a motion detector connected to a cell phone. I set the sensitivity to high so a deer running by wouldn’t be able to set it off. It took a series of movements to trigger it. When it triggered, it sent a signal to another one a half mile away in the opposite direction of our still. That one was connected to a hammer-like device that fired a shotgun shell. We heard it and I swear he was with me when we did.”

“You scare me.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“I didn’t see any motion detectors when I was there and I’ve been there twice.

“I went and picked them up a few hours later.”

“And you didn’t see anything?”

“I wasn’t looking, but no. And it was dark.”

Turner drove his car into Cam’s driveway.

“This is pretty messed up,” Cam said, taking another swig from his flask. He had had enough at this point that his lips were a little too loose. “I probably shouldn’t say this but I’ve got a scattering of clues and six or so suspects.”

“Name them.”

“Daphne, Claude, you, Hank, Blanca, and Alice Prescott.”

“You can cross me off that list. Who you got your money on?”

“My gut at this point is telling me Hank.”

Turner laughed. “My dad didn’t do it.”

Chapter Seventeen

Rowdy sat on Dr. Wilson’s examination table. The doc took his blood pressure.

“Jesus, Joseph and Mary! What’s got you so worked up?” he asked, reading the instrument.

“The job is stressful,” Rowdy tried.

“No, it’s not. If you’ve somehow forgotten, I’ve been in this town much longer than you and there’s nothing that ever happens here that’s stressful. Besides the damned old gnats. And that’s about as stressful as the town of Hayes gets. Talk to me, Rowdy.”

“I wish I could, but I can’t. Especially to you.”

“Well, that’s all you had to say. You and I both know I was close to Cam. You also may think I live inside this office, but I do have lunch everyday at the drug store. People talk, you know.”

“And what are those people saying?”

“They’re saying you’re all torn up over Clarence’s murder.”

“They are?”

“Some are saying you’re a softy for not arresting Cam. Everybody knows you ran him out of town.”

“They do?”

“Didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“I love Cam like a son—you know that. But if he killed somebody, he needs to pay the price.”

“So you’re not taking sides?”

“Rowdy, I’m a professional. I care about the well-being of others. It’s my job. And right now I’m concerned about you. Your heart is under a great deal of stress. I’m no detective, but if I had to pretend to be one, I would guess it had to do with the murder of Clarence and your suspicion that Cam was involved.”

“OK. OK. You’re right. I am torn up about it.”

“Then what are you going to do about it? Your body and your mind need resolution. I’m afraid you don’t have a lot of time until you just explode.”

“Next week. I’ve been talking to the Chief of Police where he is and Dell and I are going to get him next week. We’ve just got a little more investigating to do to tie him to the act.”

“It will do your heart well to resolve this,” Dr. Wilson said, patting him on the shoulder like a father would his son. “I’m writing you another prescription to lower your blood pressure. Have you taken the other ones I’ve given you?”

“Most of the time.”

“Take them all the time. This is your life we’re talking about.”

“OK, Doc Wilson.”

“And do me a favor. Before you leave to go get Cam, give me a call and I’ll prescribe something for your nerves. I’m sure you’ll need it in a high pressure situation.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Rowdy left Dr. Wilson’s office and drove to the house Cam had rented. He picked up Dell on the way.

“What are we doing, Rowdy?”

“We’re getting some evidence to plant at Clarence’s place that will tie Cam to the murder.”

“But he didn’t do it. How are we going to find any evidence?”

“I’m sure there’s some hair in the bathroom or fingernail clippings, or something. We’ll figure it out when we get there.”

Cam’s old house was not one that would have found its way into
Architectural Digest.
The dwelling was actually quite pitiful. Looking with near-closed eyes, one could easily tell the person who had been living in the house had been something other than a handyman. Everything about it was severely neglected. The exterior paint had all but fallen off and at least two screens visible from the front were torn. The grass was at least knee high and Cam had only been gone for a week.

“This place is a crap-hole,” Rowdy said.

“That’s what you said the first time we came over here.” Dell walked over to a trashcan in the carport and lifted the lid. “At least he recycled,” he said, spotting the cans filling the container.

“And that’s the same thing you said the first time we came over here.”

“I appreciate the environmentally conscious.”

“Where did you even hear those words? They’re not in your vocabulary.”

“I don’t even know what that means, but I’ve been watching the National Geographic channel every night and it’s making me smart.”

“Whatever, Dell.”

“Why didn’t anybody move in here yet?” Dell asked.

“Because it’s a crime scene,” Rowdy said, slapping his forehead.

“Nothing happened here.”

“Dell, we’re pretending that it is until we decide what to do.”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Maybe you should just go home and watch more of the National Geographic channel.”

“Well, how are you going to get home if I take the car?”

“Jesus Christ, Dell, I was kidding!” Rowdy’s face turned red and the veins on the side of his neck began to throb.

“You’re not good at being funny. Maybe you should watch the comedy channel.”

“I’ll take that into consideration if you’ll shut your mouth.”

“OK. It’s channel 248 on your television.”

Rowdy looked at Dell as if he might split his head with an ax. Rowdy turned the page and took a breath as he’d been instructed by Dr. Wilson to do in times such as this.

The inside of the house did not reflect the exterior. Although it looked as though someone had left quickly, for the most part it was tidy. Rowdy pulled two plastic baggies out of his pocket and handed one to his brother.

“You forgot to put a sandwich in mine,” Dell said, looking at the bag quizzically.

“We’re not on a picnic, dummy. We’re here to collect evidence. And just shut your mouth before you tell me again that there is no evidence here.”

“How do you know what I’m going to say before I even say it?”

“Let’s play a game.”

“Oh, I love games.”

“I know you do. This is a scavenger hunt.” Dell clapped his hands and grinned. “The first thing on the list is hair. If you find three hairs you get ten points.”

“What does the winner get?”

“Ice cream. And before you ask—yes, you can have chocolate ice cream.”

“Are you a pie sick? You always know what I’m gonna say.”

“It’s psychic, dummy, and no, I’ve just been around you way too long. Go find some hair.”

Dell opened cabinets in the kitchen as Rowdy thought once again about killing him. Rowdy took his baggy to the bathroom. He unscrewed the top of the stopper in the sink and pulled out a glob of hair, deposited it in his bag, and moved to the shower. He did the same to the drain and pulled out another mass of hair. He closed his baggy and smiled.

Back in the kitchen, Dell was looking in the fridge.

“It stinks in here,” Dell said, “and I can’t find a pear anywhere.”

“I said hair, not pear.”

“Momma always said you mumbled. I was wondering how three pears were going to fit in this little bag. Can I still get the ten points since you mumbled?”

“Sure. Ten points to Dell.” Dell clapped again. “Now listen closely. Find something his mouth has touched.”

“How about the environmentally conscious cans?”

“Ten points for Dell. Pick one up with these tweezers and put it in your bag.”

“Like the game, Operation,” Dell said, taking the tweezers from Rowdy.

“Just like it, Dell. Just like Operation.” He couldn’t help but smile when Dell turned around and headed for the carport. Moments later, he followed to find Dell trying to pick up one of the flattened cans with the tweezers.

“This is a fun game you made up, Rowdy.”

“Hurry up. Part two of the game starts in a few minutes.”

Ten minutes later the two brothers pulled up in front of Clarence’s house. The yellow crime scene tape fluttered with the mild breeze. Parked outside of the house, Rowdy emptied his baggy of hair on the front step in the full sun. He hoped in the midday sun the hairs would dry quickly. He spied a five-gallon bucket and ordered Dell to get it for him. Turning it upside down and standing on it he was able to reach the gutters. He took the can in Dell’s bag and carefully set it in the gutter.

“Get my camera out of the car,” he instructed Dell. Dell did as instructed. Holding the camera above his head, Rowdy pushed the button on the camera, capturing the shot. He missed on his first two tries, but the third was dead on. Using the plastic baggy as a glove, he retrieved the can and zipped the baggy closed.

“Put this back in the car,” he told Dell. “And don’t ask me why I put it up there and took it back down.” He heard Dell say the word ‘pie sick’ under his breath as he took the can to the car. Rowdy wiped the sweat from his brow. The morning news had called for a hundred degree plus temperatures for the day. He wondered if they were near the peak. Checking on the hair, he found the globs had dried. His timing was perfect as the hairs were starting to lift from the porch and fly away. He pulled his baggy from his pocket and captured the majority of them.

Inside the house, Rowdy looked around remembering the night he’d been there to kill Clarence. He felt a chill run through his body.

“Get the vacuum out of the trunk,” he said to Dell.

“It looks pretty clean to me.”

“Don’t think right now, Dell. Just do what I say.”

While Dell went to get the vacuum, Rowdy took his tweezers once again and dropped hairs from the bag on the floor. He didn’t drop too many, but just enough to look as though there might have been a struggle. Next to the tub he dropped a few more. With the vacuum in hand, he ran the machine over the floor. He took photos of the hair next to the tub and bagged them. He felt certain he would be able to build a case against Cam without too much difficulty. He was also certain that after his trip to Miner’s Bluff, Cam wouldn’t be able to speak for himself.

Chapter Eighteen

Cam finished a beer as Blanca pulled into the front drive. He took inventory of his insides and determined he was almost drunk. He grabbed another beer.

She knocked and he told her to enter. She did.

“Holy crap,” she said, entering the space. “Who did this?”

“Claude. He’s pretty talented.”

“He certainly is. Do you think he’s creative enough to pull off a murder?”

“Yes, but he didn’t do it. If he did, he’s beyond creative, he’s brilliant. I don’t see it.”

“What are you drinking?”

“Beer.”

“Do you have any shine?”

“Yeah.”

“Fix me a drink.”

“OK, but not shine.”

“Isn’t that what you were drinking when you slept with Daphne?”

Ignoring the question, Cam said, “If it’s shine you want then it’s shine you’ll get.” He put a few ice cubes in a glass and poured the clear liquid over the ice. He handed her the beverage.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a stressful day,” Blanca said, bringing the glass to her lips. She sniffed and took a drink. “We didn’t find anything yet. One of the techs found scars around one of the trees where something had been wrapped. Probably nothing.”

“You got away with the perfect crime,” Cam joked.

“Really? That’s not even a funny joke.”

Cam stood and held his hands in the air. “The perfect murder!” 

Blanca tackled him and the two landed on the couch. He looked up to her. Her brown eyes were all he saw. He felt her pressing against his lap. “I thought you didn’t like me,” he said.

“I don’t, but as I hear it, Daphne doesn’t either.” She rolled off him.

“Touché.” Cam got up from the couch. “How do you know how Daphne feels?” His face dropped.

“She told me,” Blanca said, reading him. Her face twisted with an expression he couldn’t read. “And I see it bothers you.”

Cam made an undecipherable noise. “Can we talk about something else? I think you’re supposed to drink shine slow,” he said, looking at her already half-empty glass.

“I don’t usually drink, but I need it today.”

“Be careful, it might make you say something you don’t really mean.”

She looked him in the eyes and finished the drink. “I don’t care. I think I may need you for the same reason Daphne doesn’t.”

“Can you explain that?”

“I will if you make me another drink.”

“I will, but you have to promise to slow down.”

She nodded her head and Cam walked to the kitchen. Her ice hadn’t had time to melt so he simply poured more of the clear liquid into her glass and handed it back to her. She took another long draw.