The Bottle Ghosts (28 page)

The bed, neatly made, had a rectangular indentation near the foot, as though a large suitcase had been laid there.

I heard a small whisper in the back of my mind:
I don't like this,
it said. I didn't, either.

I left the bedroom and, sure now that no one was around, moved quickly through the rest of the house. All neat. Spotless. I went upstairs. A good sized bedroom occupied the front half of the slope-roofed space, the back half was set up as an artist's studio, with easels and canvases and palates and things I could not identify but assumed had something to do with an artist's work. A partly-finished canvas stood on an easel in the middle of the room, and beside it on a tall three-legged stool was a palate with a paint-dipped brush lying across it, as though it had just been set down. A large window, apparently added some time recently, looked out over the back yard and let in plenty of natural light. But several lights were on around the room.

I walked back downstairs, through the house and into Oaks' office, when I happened to glance down at the floor near his desk and saw a small red stain about the size of a fifty-cent piece on the smoke grey carpet. My eyes instinctively moved from the spot, across the floor, and up the wall to the window, from which I could see the back yard and the spade standing in the plot of fresh dirt.

I reached for the phone.

Chapter 12

“Lieutenant Richman.”

“Lieutenant! Jesus, I'm glad you're there!”

“Yeah, I took an early lunch.” Then a sudden alertness as he picked up on the edge in my voice: “What's going on? Are you okay?”

“Well, I hope I'm just going through a serious psychotic moment, but I'm afraid not. Can you send a squad over to 4220 Ridge right away?”

“Hold on. Don't hang up!”

I heard a click, then silence, then Richman's voice: “Are you still there?”

“Yeah. I'm here.”

“There's a squad on the way. Now, tell me exactly what's wrong.”

And I did.

*

After I hung up from Richman, I wandered back to the bedroom to check the open dresser drawers. The top two were completely empty; the lower two had a few things in them but seemed also to be largely empty.

I was just leaving the side door of the house when a squad car pulled up into the driveway and two officers got out and approached me.

“Mr. Hardesty?” the one from the passenger's side asked.

“Yes. Thanks for coming.”

Now
that
was a lame remark!
I thought.

I walked them to the back of the house and into the back yard.

“I sure as hell hope that you guys are going to think I'm a nut, and this turns out to be a real false alarm, but…” I pointed to the shovel “…I've got a really bad feeling about this whole thing.”

The two officers looked at the shovel, looked around the yard, then looked at me. It was very evident that they agreed with my assessment: I
was
a nut, and this
was
a false alarm.

“We got a call from Captain Offermann on the way over. He's sending a couple detectives to check this out. They should be here shortly.”

“I appreciate it, officers.”

They introduced themselves, reaffirming what I'd already read on their name patches over their shirt pockets: Officer Sleight and Officer Kuklenski. While Sleight stood and made idle conversation, Kuklenski took out his flashlight—though it was broad daylight—and took a walk around the house, looking for whatever it is police officers look for under similar circumstances.

We walked back up the driveway toward the front of the house just as another car—a grey four-door unmarked sedan—pulled up in front of the house.

I recognized the two men the minute they got out of the car, and thought:
Oh, shit!

Plainclothes detectives Carpenter and Couch, who had a magic knack of showing up on every case I've ever been on where the presence of plainclothes detectives was required. God, with a police force as large as ours, you'd think they could send someone else! But then I realized they weren't just plainclothes detectives: they were plainclothes
homicide
detectives.

They weren't bad guys, but the very first time I'd run into them, I'd managed to piss Detective Couch off royally, and he'd never really gotten over it. Plus the fact that when it came to gays, he could be a real jackass. I could see from the look on Couch's face as he recognized me that things hadn't changed much.

Detective Carpenter, the taller and more open minded of the two, came up to me first, extending his hand. “Dick,” he said, by way of greeting.

Ah, Hardesty,
my mind sighed;
you're on a first-name basis with homicide detectives, now! Whatever's going to become of you?

“Detective,” I said in reply, mainly because I had never heard his first name.

Couch largely ignored me and went directly to the two uniformed officers, and the three of them stepped aside and huddled in lowered-voice conversation.

“So tell me why we're here,” Carpenter said, and I did.

Couch came over while I was explaining the situation to Carpenter: the two uniformed officers stayed where they were. I walked the two detectives, as I had the two officers, to the back yard and to the freshly dug plot with the spade.

When I'd finished, Couch shook his head and said: “Sounds like pretty damned flimsy evidence to me.”

Both Carpenter and I ignored him. Carpenter suddenly walked to the garage, went in, and came back out a moment later with another spade. Taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he picked up the first spade by the shaft and set it carefully aside. Then he stepped toward the plot of ground with the second shovel.

“What're you doing?” Couch asked. “We don't have permission to dig up other people's yards.”

“Yeah,” Carpenter said, “Like anyone will object.” And he began to dig.

I went into the garage and found what looked like an old coal shovel and returned to join Carpenter.

We dug in silence for a few minutes, while Couch stood by with his arms folded, watching us.

Suddenly, Carpenter put his foot on the edge of the spade, stepped down, and stopped before it had gone all the way in. “Uh, oh,” he said. He turned to me. “Give your shovel to Detective Couch, Dick, and go take a little walk.”

Oh, Jeezus!
I thought, and quickly handed my shovel to a startled-looking Detective Couch.

I walked toward the two uniformed officers, who were suddenly looking attentively toward the detectives. As I reached them, they said: “Excuse us a minute” and moved toward the garage.

I didn't even look back; I just walked to the front of the house and sat down on the front porch steps.

A few minutes later, one of the uniformed officers came rapidly up to the patrol car and leaned through the open window for the unit's microphone. I couldn't hear what he was saying, but I could guess. He replaced the microphone and went back down the driveway.

Another few minutes, and Carpenter came up to me.

“You know the owner of the house?”

I nodded. “Brian Oaks.”

“Uh, if you feel up to it, do you think you could come back and…see if you recognize the, uh, person we found?”

“Sure.” I got up from the steps.

Calm down,
my mind voice soothed.
You've seen dead bodies before.

Yeah,
I replied,
but that sure as hell doesn't mean I liked it.

The body on the grass was definitely a male, barefoot, wearing jeans and a tee shirt. It was obvious he hadn't been in the ground very long. Carpenter was kneeling over him as I approached, blocking the guy's face. I took a really deep breath as Carpenter looked up at me, then rose to his feet. I forced my eyes up the guy's body from his bare feet to his waist to his chest to his neck, to…

I'd never seen the guy before in my life.

I shook my head.

“Did…” Couch looked at a notepad in his hand “…Brian Oaks live here alone?'

I shook my head again. “No,” I said. “He has a partner. First name is Chad. I've never met him.”

“Well, it looks like they're not ‘partners' anymore,” Couch said.

I was startled to hear my own voice, and was further surprised by how completely calm it was as it said: “You
fucking
son-of-a-bitch!”

Couch looked as though I'd just slugged him, which I was more than tempted to do, and his face flushed in anger, but Carpenter stepped quickly between us.

“That's way out of line, Earl!”

Couch's face suddenly reflected the awareness of what he'd said. He dropped his eyes. “Sorry,” he said.

I just stared at him until he moved away toward the front of the house.

The corner's van came to pick up the body, wheeling the gurney through a growing crowd of neighbors and onlookers, and I decided it was time I left. I went up to Detective Carpenter.

“If you don't need me…”

“No, go on home. We'll undoubtedly have a lot of questions, but we can call you. Thanks for your help. And I'm sorry for Earl's remark. He's not a bad guy, he just doesn't know when to keep his mouth shut.”

I nodded. “Just keep him away from me.”

I'd made it to my car and had just opened the door when one of the uniformed officers…Kuklenski?…motioned to me. We started toward one another and met in the middle of the street.

“Captain Offermann wants to know if you can go down to the Annex. He'd like to talk to you.”

Yeah, I figured he might,
I thought. I was surprised by how tired I felt.

“Tell him I'm on my way.”

*

I parked in the Warman Park underground garage and walked the two blocks to the City Building Annex, stopping at a pay phone to leave a message at Jonathan's work; I asked them to tell him that I might be late getting home.

I walked through the lobby of the Annex, got only a casual glance from the security guard at the check-in desk, and walked to the elevators. I was the only one in the car, and I leaned forward to press my forehead against the cool metal. I was really tired. Not sleepy. Tired.

Offermann's secretary motioned me directly into the conference room next to his office, where I found the captain, Mark Richman, two other apparently high ranking officers I did not recognize, and…somewhat to my surprise…Marty Gresham.

Offermann introduced the two men I did not know as Deputy Chief Daniel Buralli and Lieutenant Theodore Ingram of Homicide. After the customary round of handshakes, Offermann motioned me to a seat.

“You look tired, Mr. Hardesty,” Offermann said.

No shit?
I thought. “I guess I am,” I said.

“Well, we'll try not to keep you too long, but I'd like you to tell everyone here everything you know about Chad Bleeth, Brian Oaks, and the other missing men. Officer Gresham has just received the reports from the Freeport police and we've been going over them, so we already know a bit about Mr. Oaks and his interesting past.”

I took a deep breath, leaned forward to rest my forearms on the desk, and began.

“I think,” I said in conclusion, “that it was my mention of the disappearance of Charles Whitaker…who wasn't even a member of the group…that somehow triggered whatever it was that led to Chad Bleeth's death, and I'm deeply sorry for that, though I had no way of knowing.”

Deputy Chief Buralli spoke for the first time. “Since Mr. Oaks' whereabouts are unknown, and it appears he left in some haste, Captain Offermann has ordered in a team to dig up Oaks' entire back yard on the assumption that the other missing men may also be buried there. What puzzles me is…do you sincerely believe that the victims' alcoholism was the reason for their death? I find that an incredibly weak motivation.”

“With all due respect, Deputy Chief. I've found that logic is not always a factor in a killer's motivations. That they were all alcoholics, yes, but…my gut tells me that somehow there is more to it here.”

“Such as?” Lieutenant Ingram asked.

I shook my head. “I'm sorry, I really don't know. But there's
something
…”

“But what of Mr. Bleeth?” the Deputy Chief asked. “Was he alcoholic, too?”

“From what I understand, yes. I spoke with Brian Oaks' brother, and it seems Brian sought out alcoholics in some strange way, to try to save them from themselves.”

“Well,” Offermann said, “we have issued an all-points bulletin for Mr. Oaks with every law enforcement agency in the state. We have his description and the description and license number of his vehicle, and have notified the N.C.I.C.. Chances are very good that he won't get too far and we will have him in custody before long. Detectives Carpenter and Couch are interviewing Oaks' brother as we speak, to see if he might know where Brian Oaks may have gone. And while the department will now take complete control of the case, I would like thank you and Officer Gresham on behalf of Chief Black, Deputy Chief Buralli, and everyone else in the department. Without your efforts, these deaths might very well have gone literally unnoticed.”