Jason Deas - Cameron Caldwell 01 - Private Eye (9 page)

“I’m glad he’s dead. I don’t like people being mad at you.”

“Which brings us back to Cameron Caldwell. He knows I did it. I’m not sure how he knows. I also know I convinced him that I’d frame him with the murder if he didn’t forget about it and leave town, but I have a feeling that won’t sit well with him for too long. We need to take care of our unfinished business. With him out of the way, we won’t have to worry about it coming back to bite us in the butt one day down the road.”

“Can I ask you one more question?” Dell said, raising his hand like he was in school.

“I already know what you’re going to ask. You’ve asked me every time you’ve asked me to retell the story.” Rowdy paused. “Go ahead, ask your question.”

“Why did you drown him in his bathtub?”

“I didn’t want to shoot him or stab him. I had to get rid of him, but I’m not that horrible.”

“Did he kick his legs and try to get away?”

“No. Remember, I went over there with a fake check for the money. I gave him the money and a bottle of tequila. We celebrated the supposed sale. I kept dumping my shots out without taking them. After Clarence had at least ten, I followed him to the bathroom and took care of business.

“Oh, yeah. You are the smartest brilliant man in town.”

Rowdy, who had been pacing the room grabbed his heart and quickly sat down. Dell noticed and stood up quickly.

“You having those heart pitter patters again?”

“Yeah. Must be the stress.”

“Did you go see the doctor about it?”

“Speaking of, I have an appointment at noon today with Dr. Wilson. What time is it?”

Dell looked at his watch. “Both the hands are at the top.”

Chapter Fourteen

Turner ended his shift at the Pizza Chalet and headed home. He lived on the same mountain as Cam, just on the other side. He did have to travel past Cam’s address to get to his own. As he passed the house he saw the lights flickering on and off. He pulled into his driveway.

He knocked on the door and heard someone take a tumble. The lights went out again and stayed out this time. Turner pounded the door again. Knees knocked against the floorboards. He surmised a clumsy crawl across the room.

“It’s me, Cam,” Turner called.

Knees crashed across the floor again and the sound traveled toward the front window. Trying to subtly look out, Cam got his hand stuck inside the blinds and pulled them from the window onto the floor.

“Open the damn door!” Turner yelled.

The lock fumbled. Keys dropped to the floor. The lock fumbled again, and after this act repeated itself multiple times, the door finally opened.

“Turn on the lights,” Turner said.

“I forget where they are.”

Turner traced his hand across the wall and found the switch. He pushed up and the room came into view. Cam put his hand over his eyes.

“You look awful. Maybe you should stay away from the moonshine. And why were you turning the lights on and off as I pulled up?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Is anybody else here?”

“No.”

“Then you were.” Turner observed Cam for a moment trying to make a decision. “So, you’re pretty hammered?”

“Hammered as …” Cam wasn’t able to make a connection.

“Good, I have something to show you. I’ve wanted to show somebody, and hopefully you won’t remember. Be right back.”

He ran to his car and came back carrying a gun and a jar of peanuts.

“I must be drunker than I thought.”

“I make weapons,” Turner whispered.

“Why are you whispering?” Cam whispered back.

“Because some of them could get me in serious trouble.”

“Are you some kind of terrorist?”

“No. I just do it for fun. Like this one,” he said holding the gun up for Cam to inspect. “Check this out.” He opened the jar of peanuts, took one out, and inserted it in a special slot. He opened the front door, stood back, and aimed the weapon outside. Turner pulled the trigger. The side door of his old truck dinged as the peanut made contact.

“A peanut gun?” Cam said, grinning from ear to ear. “Why in the world did you build a peanut gun?”

“The squirrels in my yard won’t stay out of my birdfeeders. This doesn’t kill them, but it scares the crap out of them.”

“But then they probably come back and eat the peanuts.”

“That is the only problem,” Turner agreed.

“Let me try,” Cam said, holding out his hand for the gun. Turner inserted a peanut, handed over the gun and stepped back. Cam fired the gun and sunk a peanut into the sheetrock next to the front door. “Think the scope’s off.”

“You’re the one who’s off.” Turner retrieved the gun and headed for the door with it and his jar of peanuts. “Stay away from the shine the rest of the night or you’re going to short out your electricity with all the flickering of the lights.”

After watching Turner leave, Cam headed to the bathroom. His clothes from the night before were still in the tub and sink. After using the facilities he grabbed his still soggy clothes and carried them to the laundry room not wanting them to have a chance to mildew. As was his usual habit, he checked the pockets before putting them in the wash. In one of the pockets he found the torn corner of a piece of paper.

He remembered the map Claude had given him to throw Billy Prescott off his trail.
What did I do with the map? I obviously had enough sense to take it out of my pocket before getting into the bath fully clothed.
He searched the kitchen counter and all the surrounding drawers to no avail.
Must be in the bathroom.
In the bathroom he looked under the sink between the stacks of towels and in the bathroom bag he used for travelling. No dice. The drawers were a dead end as well. Pulling open the medicine cabinet he found it. The map had been folded five or six times unevenly and stuck out from behind an oversize bottle of pink liquid.

Taking the map back into the living area he unfolded it and studied the drawing, trying to understand the location Claude had labeled. Luckily, the roads were identified and he recognized the names. Not wanting to wait until morning to test his theory, Cam made a pot of coffee and searched for a flashlight and his keys.

With the coffee made, he filled a large traveler’s cup and a carafe. Cam turned off the coffee maker, rehung the blinds he’d pulled off, and exited the house. He left the lights burning so anybody else driving by would think he was at home. It was unlikely, but it was too early for bed and he didn’t want anyone to know he was out.

He pulled the double doors of the barn open and prayed his car would crank. After three tries the engine turned over and caught. Putting the car in reverse, he carefully backed it out of the barn, put it in park, and hopped out to close the doors. Taking a sip of his coffee he turned on the headlights and backed out of the driveway.

In town, after surveying the map again, Cam pointed the car toward what he believed was the marked area on the drawing. From what he knew about illegal liquor making the spot of a supposed still would have to be fairly close to a road for the transportation of the large pot the batch was made in as well as the hundreds of pounds of ingredients needed to make the moonshine. He also knew once the liquor was made it would have to be transported out. If Claude had provided Billy with a map containing an area far out in the woods and inaccessible by vehicles, Billy would have known immediately that it was a fake.

After a series of wrong turns and two cups of coffee, he found the closest spot on the dirt road he believed to be near the site. Reaching into the back of the car, he rummaged inside a tool bag he kept for roadside emergencies and retrieved a screwdriver. Making quick work, Cam removed the license plate and stowed it in the trunk. He didn’t need the hassle of a nosey person driving by wondering why a car was parked on the side of a desolate road and writing down his information. A car without a tag might raise just as much suspicion, but he was willing to take the chance.

He clicked on the flashlight, reviewed the map again and looked into the woods. The beam penetrated the dense forest and he followed it. After walking less than a hundred yards a noise began tinkling in his ears and he stopped. Water—another good sign. It took a great deal of water to make a batch of shine and he knew stills were usually set up in locations near a water source.

Cam began surveying the ground, searching for any signs of foot traffic or four-wheeler tracks. Not finding any he walked closer to the sound of the water. A loud crack startled him and he jumped, training the light on the place where he’d heard the commotion. His light found the source of the noise as a deer jumped a fallen tree and disappeared into the darkness.

Focusing the beam on the map he studied it once more. All the creases he’d made by folding the map made it difficult to read. He held the drawing against his body and pressed it with his hand, rubbing it over and over in an attempt to flatten the crumpled paper. Looking again he found where Claude had ever so slightly drawn the creek. The photocopied reproduction didn’t do him any favors. Discovering the creek took an almost forty-five degree turn, he began to walk along the side of the creek in search of the water’s bend.

He walked away from the direction of the car until he decided it was too far. Turning around, Cam started to sense the weight of the liquor and coffee inside his body fighting for control. The liquor was winning as he felt his legs becoming heavier by the step. Even the mag light felt heavy in his hand. Feeling the need to make his way back to his car to get home before he put himself in danger, he held the light one last time on the creek. As the beam travelled out into the woods the water disappeared. The bend!

Adrenaline pumped through his body giving him new life as he crashed through the trees toward the creek’s turn. Once there he studied the map again and knew he was close. Folding the map and putting it back in his pocket, Cam once again studied the ground and the surrounding area for signs. Holding the flashlight at his chest, shining it outward, he turned in a slow circle. When the beam struck the water, something unusual glimmered back at him and he froze. He walked toward it as he kept the light on the unnatural object.

As he neared he realized a four-wheeler had been dumped in the creek. A clumsy attempt had been made to cover it with mud, but the ATV was too big to hide. Searching the ground, he found footprints leading up the small bank and into the woods. The ground had been disturbed as well as branches in the immediate vicinity. The smell of fresh earth filled his nostrils and an unusually large mound of leaves and pine straw piqued his curiosity.

Getting down on all fours, Cam began pawing at the ground, digging under the leaves like a dog. Under the mound of leaves he found freshly tossed dirt and knew he had found what he’d been looking for. Reaching in the soft earth he grabbed something hard yet still pliable. It reminded him of a large root. He pulled until it stopped and grabbed his light. Shining the light on the object he fell back in shock as he saw an arm protruding from the ground. It was missing a hand.

Chapter Fifteen

Fueled with the knowledge that Claude had set Billy up for murder, Cam tore through the trees, running back toward his vehicle. He couldn’t believe that Claude had the audacity to lead Billy to the site of his own murder. He also couldn’t fathom the fact that Claude had made him an accessory to the murder by having him deliver the map.

Once in the car, he prayed once again that it would crank. It did and Cam drove away chugging coffee straight from his carafe. His breathing returned to normal as he reached town. He slowed the car and carefully drove through it. He only had to make it two miles before he would be on back roads again. He didn’t make it. Blue lights flashed behind his car and Cam’s heart nearly stopped. He instinctively breathed into his hand trying to smell his own breath. As he popped a piece of cinnamon gum in his mouth he tried to calculate how long it had been since he had his last drink. He hoped he was safe.

He chugged more coffee as the officer approached and chewed furiously on the gum. He lowered his window.

“Out awfully late, ain’t ya?”

“I’m a private investigator,” Cam tried.

“Well, even private investigators have to have car tags in this town.”

Dammit. The tag. I forgot to put it back on.

“It’s in the trunk. One of the screws fell off and I was afraid it would fall off,” he lied.

“Let’s see it,” the officer challenged.

“No problem.” Turning the car off, Cam took the cinnamon gum on a trip around his mouth with his tongue, making sure to run it over all his gums. He took another swig of coffee and swished it around his mouth as well.

“You drinking?”

“Just coffee,” Cam answered with a forced smile, handing the officer his carafe. “It’s the official drink of private investigators on stakeouts.” The officer took the carafe and sniffed at its opening.

“Fine. Open the trunk and let’s have a look at this tag you say is in there.” The tone of his voice sounded disbelieving.

Cam tried to steady his shaking hand as he inserted the key into the trunk’s lock. With the trunk open, he grabbed the license plate and noticed the two screws were sitting next to it. Shielding the view of the inside of the trunk, he turned his body, picked up the plate, and palmed one of the screws with the other hand. As one hand offered the plate to the officer the other flicked the screw off the side of the road. The officer glanced at the plate, retrieved a flashlight off his belt, and held it inside the trunk.

“Yep. Plate’s good and there’s your one screw.” He handed the plate back to Cam. “You know we have a hardware store in town that sells screws.”

Cam nodded, not wanting to open his mouth in case any of his breath were to reach the officer’s nose.

“Probably cost you two nickels.”

“Done, tomorrow,” he said quickly, closing his mouth again.

The officer looked at his watch. “It’s already tomorrow. Do it today.”

Cam nodded again. The officer turned and walked back to his car without another word.