The Ten-Mile Trials (18 page)

‘You bet,' I said, as politely as I could manage, and got out of his office without another word. Keeping an eye on the Blue Moon Bar was the textbook example of the axiom that shit runs downhill. The City Council wanted Frank to decide when it was time to cut off the liquor supply at a dreary no-class joint that was clinging to life by winking at teenagers' plainly fraudulent IDs. The place had attracted a faithful clientele of once and future high-school dropouts flashing hand signals and wearing gang colors. To work off testosterone and frustration at their low status, once or twice a night a couple of these groups formed up and beat the crap out of each other. Nights when the bar got lucky, they went out in the parking lot to do this. Then the neighbors complained, and the next day somebody from People Crimes had to go listen to kids with fat lips and black eyes explain that they were really innocent bystanders who got hit by a flying bottle. Ray had given the job of describing the latest fight at the Blue Moon to Clint Maddox, because it was his turn. It had not been a long or a complicated investigation – actually, you could cut and paste these things. Whoever you asked, it was somebody else who started the fight.

Frank, having no fondness for futile chores, had just passed the responsibility for deciding when to drop the hammer on the Blue Moon down to me. I already had plenty of useful tasks on my list, so as soon as I left the chief's office I stopped by Ray's office and gave it to him, knowing very well that as soon as I was gone he would walk over to Clint's cubicle and ask him, in utter seriousness, to keep an eye on the violence at the Blue Moon Bar and let him know if it was becoming a danger to the community. Clint was not born yesterday, and he had nobody to pass the job down to, so he cheerfully agreed to keep an eye on that situation for Ray.

So now, I thought, what next? I should probably have apologized to Ray for jumping the gun with Rosie – but he hadn't acted offended, so why bring it up? Let's see . . . I wanted to talk to Darrell Betts. But he might be sleeping, as K-9 guys usually work nights, so I called his shift commander.

‘Yeah, he worked until four this morning,' he said. ‘But he'll be at the training session at Central School this afternoon from three to six. You can catch up with him there, if you want to.'

‘If you're sure I won't interfere—'

‘Nah. They take turns at practice. He'll have time to talk to you.'

Then Kevin was in my doorway, saying, ‘Chris and Julie are here. Can you come over?'

They were sitting side by side, close together on two folding chairs, so they could share the same computer-generated lists. Julie's eyes had the beady gleam you sometimes see on raptors before they've had breakfast. Kevin had told me before, ‘Julie's a wizard at sucking information out of meaningless lists.'

‘I could see that for some reason Ole Aarsvold didn't want to give me a list of part-timers at the Yard & Garden store,' she said. ‘He just handed me this short list of adult full-timers and said, “There you go,” very proud of himself. I looked at the list and said, “What, no part-timers?” – because, you know, that kind of a service is very seasonal, they have peaks and valleys. But Ole said, “No, this work takes a lot of training, I use all professionals” – which is bullshit, because everybody knows that lawn care involves a lot of, you know, scut work. Wheelbarrows, raking, holes to dig and fill up . . . All right, Jake, just a damn minute, will you? I'm trying to explain something.'

Julie knows me well so she can tell by my eyes when I'm starting to slide away. I was idly running through prime numbers and had got as far as seventeen. I would have had to quit before long anyway, because they get big fast. ‘I'm listening,' I said. ‘Go ahead.'

‘OK. We're just getting to the big brag here, so pay attention. Chris and I both have big yards, so we've poked around Ole's greenhouses enough to know that after school and Saturdays there'll be half a dozen kids out there wearing rubber boots and aprons, working their little butts off. But here's Ole insisting he only hires full-time. So I said, “Ole, your guys have planted a lot of trees in my yard and I know perfectly well they bring kids along to help, so stop flimflamming and tell me who they are.” Well, he just threw a hissy fit.'

‘The more he protested, of course, the more we knew we had to get it,' Chris said. ‘So I said, “Quit arguing or I'm going to get mean and subpoena your damn list, and if you make me really mad I'll charge you with obstructing justice.” He squealed like a stuck pig but he finally wrote it out in longhand. The reason his payroll sheets don't show them is that he's been paying them cash, not taking out payroll deductions or anything. Two of his own boys and half a dozen others. They're all in the last two years in high school, he says, and he's trying to help them save up for college.'

‘Not to mention paying them under scale,' Julie said. ‘It's a two-way street.'

‘I told him we were not working for the feds,' Chris said, ‘and we had no interest in his little money games. But we had to get straight who works where so we can evaluate . . .' He waved his hand. ‘I said something vague about the break-in problem, and Ole was so mortified about getting caught cheating the government that he forgot to be insulted about the implication they had something to do with burglaries.'

The two detectives looked almost as pleased with themselves as their boss did, a sight I rarely get to see. ‘OK,' I said, ‘so you got the list of part-timers from Aarsvold's. What about the home cleaning outfit, you satisfied you got all of them?'

‘Oh, no trouble there,' Julie said. ‘I mean, they were up in arms about getting investigated, but once they decided they had to hand over the lists, they ran the payroll right out from the computer, like there's nothing to hide.

‘But then, as soon as we got out of there and compared lists,' Chris said, ‘we saw that two of the kids are on both lists. One of them is Arnie Aarsvold,'

‘They're working part-time in two places?' I said. ‘And going to school? Does Ole know that?'

‘Don't think so,' Julie said. ‘I thought I'd do a little more research before I talked to the boys. I already know they all go to the same school, Jefferson High, out there near the nursery.'

‘Remind me of something,' I said. ‘Didn't you say there were three houses on your list of home invasions where both services sometimes worked?'

‘Um, yes.'

‘And was the Anderson house one of them?'

‘Yes. Who're you calling?'

‘Rosie. I want her to ask Ricky what high school he attends.'

Her phone was busy. ‘I'll get her in a minute,' I said. ‘I'll let you know.'

‘We'll be here for a while anyway,' Julie said. ‘We're going to check both lists for priors. Also see if any names pop up on foreclosure lists or bankruptcy filings. What else?' she said, looking at Chris.

‘Recent divorces, disaster stories.' They went away muttering like two evil crows. Experience has taught them how to look for stress points.

Rosie was almost back at the station by the time she answered my call. ‘I was just coming in to ask you if you want me to stay on this,' she said. ‘Because that kid's story about where he got his dope is ridiculous – but I couldn't press him much because his mother stayed right there, and pretty soon she was saying that's enough questions, he's got to rest now. So I wrote down the few answers he did give me with a straight face, and if you want me to, I'll start checking them now. I thought I'd start with the school counselor who recommended that quest.'

‘Ah. So you know which school Ricky goes to?'

‘Sure, Jefferson High. He hasn't been there for a couple of weeks, though. He was suspended for repeatedly sleeping in class and yelling at the teacher when she woke him up. That's what this trip was about – Ricky's been bad, he's about to get kicked out of school. Mom says that's the school's fault, by the way. They haven't challenged him enough. He falls asleep because he's bored.'

‘Or stoned? OK, you're going to see the counselor and then—'

‘Get the name of the company that runs those trips, and talk to the manager and the guide on the ride. If any of this takes me near where his dad works, I thought I might stop and talk to him. I gather he's been trying to get Ricky dealt with for some time.' She paused and said, ‘This is what you want, right? I'm not sure it gets us any closer to the answer on the murder, but—'

‘I'm not either but yes, stay with it. Let's collect all the lies people tell us today and see if they lead anywhere.'

‘I can do that,' she said. ‘No shortage of lies out here.'

I was beginning to think longingly about a cup of coffee, but as soon as I hung up Clint Maddox appeared in my doorway saying, ‘Jake? I found my uncle.'

‘Good!' I said, ‘Can he come—'

Clint reached out a long arm and pulled Ike into the open doorway. He looked shy and older, a little unsure of himself now that he was not in his store where he had always been.

I stood up and shook his hand. He took a seat in front of my desk, shuffling in new white athletic shoes. I phoned Ray and Kevin, asked them to come in. While we waited, I asked Ike something inane about adjusting to a new routine. He squinted ironically and said, ‘Forty-seven years I owned that place. And we hardly ever took a vacation. Raised two kids right there, above the store. I don't know if I'll ever . . . Some days I wake up and see the sun already up, I get very excited, jump out of bed, and yell “Oh God, I overslept!” Then I look around and realize I'm in an old RV in a vacant lot, by myself. It's over.' He shrugged, looking around. ‘You're the boss now, Jake, huh? First colored cop in Rutherford, you did real good for yourself, didn't you?' There was no sting in the non-PC word the way Ike used it, beaming at me proudly. He was one of the merchants who gave me the respect due my uniform, back when I was still one of Frank McCafferty's braver experiments.

‘I'm just the head of this section. Investigations. But yes, thanks, I'm happy with it.' I told him about my new baby and he beamed some more. Kevin and Ray came in, got introduced and found chairs. I moved a few pens around on my desk and coughed. ‘Ike, we need to ask you about the people who bought your store.'

‘Not people. Just one man.' His shrewd old eyes that had judged so many items and the hands that offered them, watched me now. ‘He didn't buy the building, you know, I never owned that. Always rented from a real estate company in Des Moines. So it was just the inventory in the store he bought. He was representing a corporation, Riteway Incorporated. Took over the lease with the realtor, no trouble. Got the store license transferred to their name, no trouble. Seemed like all went on greased wheels.'

‘He paid you cash?'

‘Didn't bring bills in a brown paper sack, if that's what you're thinking.' He smiled, but there was a little glint meant to say he wasn't born yesterday. ‘Stood in my store and wrote a check – drawn on an account in my bank here in town, by the way. I deposited it in my account and it cleared in two days. When the money was there, I signed the bill of sale.'

‘Did you hire an attorney?'

‘When the man first started talking to me I said, “Don't we need a lawyer?” and he said, “I am the lawyer. But you can have your own, if you want.” I talked it over with my son, he's a CPA. In a firm in Chicago. He looked the deal over, talked to his partners. He told me, “We can't see where there's any risk for you if you get the money up front like he says.” So I went ahead.'

‘You have copies of all the papers you both signed, don't you?'

‘Sure. In the safety deposit box, locked up in the bank.' He watched me, waiting for the hammer to fall. ‘You think there's something wrong with that man?'

‘I don't know yet. You must have had some doubts yourself, didn't you?'

‘Sure I did. Guy walks in off the street, offers to buy an old store in a bad location, pays the first price that's offered, you gotta wonder. This shop, back in the days with Gracie helping, we made a good living in it, sent two kids to college.'

‘I remember you telling me – you didn't want them to run a pawnshop.'

‘And they don't. As I mentioned just now, one's a CPA; and the younger one's a dentist. No evenings or weekends, and they make good money. Gracie and I had to work a lot harder, but we always put food on the table, good times and bad.

‘But now, with eBay, all that other online stuff, . . . and some of the new electronics, I don't know as much as I should. Business getting smaller every year. I was getting ready to just pack it in, you know, post a notice and in ninety days give whatever wasn't redeemed to the Salvation Army. With my social security and what I saved, I'd be OK. But this guy bought up the pledges at face value, even agreed to a few thousand for good will – more than I thought it was worth, but I asked and he paid it. It was found money.'

‘You've been in business a long time,' I said. ‘You ever found money before?'

He sighed. ‘No.'

‘Could you describe the man you dealt with?'

‘Describe him?' His bushy old eyebrows went all the way up to his hairline. ‘He was a middle-aged white man. What's to describe? Wore a suit and tie. Carried a briefcase.'

‘Gold jewelry?'

‘I never noticed any.'

‘Ever see him in a running suit? A track suit, in a funny color?' Ike's expression as he listened to that question was answer enough.

‘What's his name?'