Nailed (30 page)

Chapter 39

Ron headed out in his patrol unit to continue his pursuit of Didi DuPree. But his search wasn’t as single-minded as it had been the day before. What he’d just learned about Texas Jack Telford was preying on his mind, distracting him.

How deeply had it scarred Jack’s soul to be raped as an eighteen year old by a black convict? Enough to kill an innocent man a lifetime later simply because he shared the same skin color? That seemed beyond belief — unless you’d worked as a homicide dick. Then you knew the motives, means and opportunities for the taking of a human life were endless.

Ron remembered being a rookie on the LAPD and hearing from an old-timer about a murder that had been committed in Encino in 1968. A man in his seventies had been gunned down as he was raking leaves off his front lawn. The killer turned out to be from the Irish Republican Army. The reason for the killing: the victim had betrayed the Easter Uprising in
1917.

Don’t get angry, get even. No matter how long it takes.

No matter if the reason for evening the score doesn’t exist outside of the killer’s own sorry imagination. Maybe Isaac Cardwell had been killed not because he was black but because he’d borne an unfortunate resemblance to the man who’d raped Texas Jack. Or maybe it was that
plus
the fact that Isaac’s father, Jimmy Thunder, was stiffing Jack for a lot of cash. Exactly what affront might have been committed against the poker champ was impossible to say.

In fact, Ron was far from sure that Texas Jack had killed Isaac Cardwell — but he knew that Jack had possessed reasons to commit murder equal to many of those that lay behind the one hundred and ninety-three other homicide cases he had worked.

The chief had just pulled into the motor court of the Crestline Motel when he received a call. He was requested to call headquarters immediately by landline. With all the reporters in town, and all the uproar going on, it was a given that police frequencies were being monitored by the media.

Ron called from a phone outside the motel’s registration office.

Sergeant Stanley told him, “Chief we just got a call from Charmaine Cardwell, Isaac’s widow. She’d like you to call her at home.”

The sergeant gave the chief an Oakland number. Ron’s call was answered on the first ring.

“Hello.” The woman’s voice was soft and tentative.

“Mrs. Charmaine Cardwell?”

“Yes.”

“This is Chief Ronald Ketchum, calling from Goldstrike. I was given a message that you wanted to talk with me.”

“Yes. Thank you for calling. I would have gotten in touch with you sooner but … we buried Isaac yesterday. I’ve been very busy.”

“I’m truly sorry for your loss, Mrs. Cardwell. My condolences to you and everyone in your family.” There was a pause, and in the silence Ron could hear the question she wanted to ask. “We’re doing our best to find your husband’s killer, Mrs. Cardwell. It would be wrong of me to make any promises, but I am hopeful that we’ll succeed.”

“Thank you, Chief Ketchum. I’m not vengeful. I wouldn’t dishonor my husband’s memory that way … but I do hope there will be justice. I’m very fearful of not having any means to comfort my son as he gets older. I don’t want to see Japhet grow up bitter or angry.”

“We will do our best, Mrs. Cardwell. All of us up here. I can promise you that.”

“There’s something I have to tell you, Chief Ketchum: I received a letter from my husband. A letter sent from your town. This morning was the first chance I had to read it.”

A jolt of adrenaline made the hair on the chief’s neck stand on end. He tried to keep his hopes from getting too high, and the excitement from his voice. “What does it say?”

“Most of it is personal. But near the end of the letter, Isaac says that he’s worried for his father’s safety.”

Cardwell, the man who’d been killed, had been worried about Thunder, the man who was hiding behind his wrought iron gates and his lawyer?

“Do you think your husband might have meant that in, say, a metaphysical sense? The well-being of Reverend Thunder’s soul?”

“No. Isaac wrote very clearly and precisely. Here, I’ll read to you what his letter says: ‘I think my father could be in real jeopardy. There’s someone close to him, someone unlikely to arouse his suspicions, who may mean to do him harm or even kill him. I cannot imagine that it is only coincidence that has brought this man so close to my father. I need to confirm my suspicions before I act. To make a false accusation would be unforgivable. Perhaps the local library will have the resources I need. If it doesn’t, I will call you from a public phone and ask you to see what you can find in a library in Oakland or Berkeley.’”

“Your husband never made that call, did he, Mrs. Cardwell?”

“No.”

“Do you have any idea of the person he was referring to?”

“I’m sorry, no.”

Ron sighed. “Mrs. Cardwell, would you please send me a copy of that letter?”

“The whole thing?”

“Yes, please.” Ron heard the woman start to cry. “Mrs. Cardwell?”

“I’m sorry.” She paused to compose herself. “I was just concerned that people might see that Isaac wrote how much he loved me. But after the whole world has seen the horrible way he died, why should that bother me?”

Ron couldn’t answer her.

Lauren Gosden hadn’t been able to follow her husband’s instructions and keep their son, Danny, at home. She had to go to work. When you were a surgical nurse and you were scheduled to assist on a bowel resection for a colitis patient, you just didn’t call in and tell the patient and the surgeon to cool their heels until you could make it. Mountain lion or not, they wouldn’t understand.

Neither would Lauren if she were in their place. Still, she couldn’t get angry with Oliver. He was just being a loving father and husband. His first thought was to protect the people he loved most, and Lauren loved him for that. Even so, she and Danny left the house, looking both ways before stepping outside, and made it safely to Community Hospital.

Lauren’s first stop was the hospital’s day care center, the Sunshine Ward. The facility provided a safe, clean, home-like environment; the staff was well trained and entirely dedicated. Nobody who worked at the hospital ever had a concern about leaving her kids in the Sunshine Ward.

But when Lauren walked in with Danny that morning there was an unfamiliar feeling, an almost frightening chill in the air. At first, Lauren noticed nothing outwardly wrong, and then she recognized, to her great dismay, what had disturbed her. The kids had been divided — segregated — into two clusters: white and others.

The white kids made up the far larger group simply because most of the people who lived in town and worked at the hospital were white. The four black, two Latino and two Asian children were tightly bunched around Allison Page, the Sunshine Ward’s director. Five year old Patrice Williamson was crying her heart out to Allison.

Lauren’s heart almost burst with pride when Danny instinctively walked right up to the distraught little girl and protectively put his arm around her shoulders.

Allison turned and saw Lauren and the concerned expression on her face. The day care director said, “Give me a minute and we’ll talk.”

Lauren backed off and looked at the other group. Three other staff members were talking to the white kids in hushed tones. A number of the children in this group were shaking their heads in response to what they were being told. But Shane Watrous, a six year old friend of Danny’s, whom Lauren had reassured by being present at his tonsillectomy, saw her and waved happily.

Lauren waved back. Then Allison Page touched her arm and gestured her over to a quiet corner.

“What in the world is going on?” Lauren asked the day care director.

“A problem has come up. A serious one, I’m afraid. A number of the white children have been told by their parents not to play with the black children.”

“What?” Lauren couldn’t believe what she’d just heard.

“Have you heard about the attack this morning?”

“Just that my husband called and told me to keep Danny home.”

Allison gave Lauren the details of the Castlewood attack, and told her there had been another the previous night.

“I didn’t know about that. This is getting really scary.”

“In more ways than one,” Allison said. “The ER staff who treated Warden Marsden started talking about what happened last night. Pretty soon it was all over the hospital … and more than a few people, I’ve heard, started speaking harshly about Mahalia Cardwell. Asking who was she to put a curse on them and the town. They hadn’t killed her grandson. They hadn’t hurt black people. They weren’t bigots.”

“But by this morning all those open-minded folks had already told their kids not to play with the black children,” Lauren said, understanding the situation now.

“Not all, but far too many. Then the kids started talking. And when Jenny Wright told Patrice she couldn’t be her friend any more because she’s black, it broke Patrice’s heart.”

“Goddamnit,” Lauren said.

“Exactly.” Allison sighed.

Lauren felt two small arms go around her leg. Looking down, she saw Shane Watrous give her a gap-toothed grin. She ruffled his hair … just before her son stormed up and shoved the white boy away from his mother, knocking him down.

“Daniel Gosden!” Lauren scolded fiercely. She’d never in his young life struck her son, but she was sorely tempted right now.

“He’s white,” Daniel accused.

“So are your grandparents,” his mother reminded him sternly.

Allison had knelt next to Shane to comfort him, but when the boy saw Danny Gosden continuing to glare down at him, he broke into tears.

That did it. Lauren took her son by his ear, the one she intended to fill with a lecture he’d never forget. She told Allison, “I’ll take care of this one. You and Shane can expect a heartfelt apology very shortly.”

The day care director looked up at Lauren.

“I’m trying to figure out a time when as many parents as possible can attend an emergency meeting. We can’t allow this to continue.”

“No, we certainly can’t,” Lauren agreed.

Chapter 40

Media creatures of every size, shape and job description were still pouring into Civic Auditorium as Clay stood at the lectern waiting to address them. Finally, the doors at the rear of the room closed, everybody got settled and Annie Stratton cued the cameraman who would provide the live television feed to the town. The red light came on.

“Thank you all for coming on such short notice,” Clay began. “I have some serious matters to discuss with everyone this morning. It is my duty to tell you that there have been two more mountain lion attacks, one yesterday evening and another this morning.”

The mayor provided the details of each incident as the throng of reporters penned their notes and held their recorders high to capture every word. Clay thought he saw relief in the faces of most of the audience that there had been no fatalities, but here and there in the crowd he saw expressions that came close to disappointment.

Clay continued, “The state has assured me that additional game wardens will be sent to join in the hunt as soon as possible. Also, efforts are being made to locate and contract with a qualified houndsman to aid the hunters. Until such time as outside help arrives, Deputy Chief of Police Oliver Gosden will assist Warden Cordelia Knox in hunting this animal.

“Additionally, I will be joining with five volunteers from the community, all of whom have a great deal of hunting experience, to supplement the patrols of our police department to prevent this animal from entering the built-up areas of town. If anyone, in any part of town or the surrounding areas, sees a mountain lion close to any place of human habitation, please call 911 immediately.

“It is, of course, every citizen’s right to protect himself, his family and his home but I must urge everyone to make the use of firearms an absolute last resort. We must avoid any tragic accident that would result from an over anxious homeowner with a gun making a rash decision to use his firearm.

“For the time being, the police department will pick up anyone jogging on the state roads within ten miles of Goldstrike and return them to a place of safety. Sightseers who stop at scenic overlooks will be escorted back to their cars and sent on their way.”

Up ’til this point, Clay’s delivery had been one of calm, measured tones, intended to reassure those who heard him. Now, his voice dropped slightly in volume, but became titanium hard. The wattage of the light in his eyes seemed to double. Even if a person had never seen a Clay Steadman movie, he’d know that this was not a man to trifle with, not now.

“Anyone who refuses to comply with the police in maintaining good social order will be arrested. And I can promise that each person who is arrested will be prosecuted. We are faced with something of a crisis here. This is not the time for ornery individualism. This is the time for everyone to pull together. I sincerely trust that I will have everyone’s cooperation in this matter.

“I understand that you all have questions you want answered and opinions you’d like to offer. That is why I’m calling a town meeting for seven p.m. tonight. Anyone who wants to attend can start lining up now. When the line reaches the capacity of this auditorium as determined by the fire marshal, notice will be given. Everyone else will have to watch from home. Phone lines and computer links to this auditorium will be made available for those citizens who can’t find a seat right here. People will not be allowed to congregate on the grounds of the Muni Complex. As of now, and until further notice, there will be a dusk to dawn curfew. Anyone whose job doesn’t require him to be outside, must be off the streets between those times.”

The mayor then said he would take questions, but had time for only a few.

Annie Stratton did the honors of selecting the mayor’s interrogators.

“Mr. Mayor, will you be allowing press coverage of the town meeting?”

“There will be a camera to televise the proceedings over the government access cable channel. You’re certainly welcome to watch that.” Clay looked at Annie for a second and interpreted the look she gave him. “Ms. Stratton seems to think it would be a good idea to allow a few of you to be present to provide pool coverage. So you can work that out with her, but I have to tell you that the overwhelming majority of seats will be reserved for the people of this town.”

“Mr. Mayor, do you still believe that Mahalia Cardwell’s curse has nothing to do with these mountain lion attacks?”

“I still cling to a rational turn of mind,” Clay said. “That’s a lot less fun, I know, but when I want make believe, I either go to the movies or make one. I’d suggest you think along similar lines.”

Annie called on another reporter, but Ben Dexter, sitting next to the man, put a hand on the other reporter’s shoulder and preempted him.

“In light of the fact that everybody else seems to have forgotten this little item, Mr. Mayor, is your chief of police making any progress in finding the killer of Isaac Cardwell?”

“The investigation is proceeding, Mr. Dexter.” Clay paused, as if to make a decision. He nodded almost to himself and went on. “Perhaps you can tell us what’s on the Reverend Thunder’s mind concerning that matter, as you’re the only one he’s talking to these days.”

There were those in the media mob who’d heard rumors that Dexter had gained exclusive access to Jimmy Thunder, but what Clay had just done was to make that fact common knowledge. In doing so, he set the press to chasing its own tail. Now, Dexter would get a taste of the media grilling he usually helped to dole out to others.

But Clay wasn’t done with the man.

“I’ve also heard talk, Mr. Dexter, that in preparing your story on the death of Isaac Cardwell, you’re going to emphasize the role our chief of police is playing in the investigation. My advice to you on that point is to provide a fair accounting. I think highly of Ron Ketchum.” The only SOB Clay had met whom he couldn’t stare down. “If he were to be slandered in any way, I’m sure the town council would vote to provide the resources for him to defend his good name in court.”

Clay gathered his notes and left the lectern. He knew Annie Stratton would tell him that he’d done fine in setting the media to cannibalize Dexter, but she’d tell him he would be criticized for throwing that last dart at Dexter as attempting to chill the free press.

The mayor didn’t care. Some of the press, to his mind, needed to be chilled. Ben Dexter, he’d like to flash-freeze.

Before Clay could get off the stage, the line for the town meeting that night was already a dozen people long.