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Chilpancingo
By Will Wyckoff
November isn’t always bleak, but it was this year in just about every way. Ruthie’s murderer had been convicted, finally, in t he second week of the month. It had rained continuously during the ten days of the trial. Afterward all of the trees were absolutely bare of all leaves. The sky was grey. The days were cold and windy. The nights were colder and windier. An emptiness that I couldn’t shake had settled on our house.
Thanksgiving came and I went out to my blind and hunched there with my Remington 12-gauge pump, watching the sunrise, the flights of birds come and go, hearing the guns around me, sitting there, watching, listening, thinking. I went home in the bleak morning light and watched the Christmas season ushered in by the Macys’ parade in the on the fifty-inch color screen in the basement rec room, and I shot darts with Dick and Jill when they came over, and watched various parts of various bowl games, and played a little pool, and cleaned the Remington, and drank a few whiskey sours before, during, and after dinner, took a couple of walks, checked the store, drank some whiskey cokes, did some crosswords, played chess with Anita, my wife, and Dick, lost miserable to both, went to bed, and tossed and turned most of the night.
“¿Qué tienes? mi amor,” Anita asked at the breakfast table. “What’s the matter, my love?”
“No, no tengo nada,” I said. “Nothing’s the matter.”
“Te llevas muy raro,” she said. “You’re acting very strangely.” Continuing in Spanish, she said, “Are you worried that Santa Clause isn’t bringing you anything?”
I studied her. Her deep brown eyes sparkled with mischief. “No,” I lied, “I don’t know what’s bothering me.”
She sipped her coffee and studied me in return. “You’ve said almost nothing to anyone since the trial, Fredi. Not even to me. Actually, even less that before. I had thought you’d feel better when Mr. Gates was found guilty.”
“I’m glad it’s over,” I said, and I was.
“We’re all glad,” she said. “Now we have to accept it.”
I sipped the rich black coffee. It was Cuban, sent to us from Mexico City U.S.
“I accept it,” I said.
“Do you, sweetheart?”
I nodded and started on my eggs, huevos rancheros, farmer-style eggs—fried, served on a hot tortilla, and drenched in hot peppery sauce. I almost gasped at the first bite.
The mischievousness leapt back to her eyes. “¿Qué tienes mi amor? What’s wrong, my love?” She made no attempt to appear innocent. Instead, her grin spread wider as she tried to hide it behind her coffee.
“It’s Monterrey
“I am such a lucky woman to have such a spicy lover,” she said.
Mexican Spanish can be played with much like English. The various meanings of words lend incredible depth to some humor. Spicy was the word being played with--in Spanish picar, the verb; or picante, the adjective.
“Yes,” I agree, “a spicy lover.”
Her face sobered and darkened. She sipped more coffee. I melted some, studying her again while I thought about the other thing. After two children and twenty-four years of marriage, she was still beautiful. She satisfied me in every way. I squeezed her hand and squeezed mine back.
Dick came in the front door. He kicked off his insulated boots on the mat and hung his coat in the closet beside the entrance, then came to the kitchen, poured himself coffee and sat at the table with us.
“You two are disgusting,” he grinned.
“Just hope you and Jill are the same way when you’re our ages,” Anita said. “Where is she, buy the way?”
“Home. She’ll be over later. I thought I’d ask Pop if he wants to go to a turkey shoot.”
I thought about the guns moldering in the cases downstairs. I hadn’t done any serious shooting in a couple of years. Nor had I done any reloading. Said, “Sure, why not?”
“Don’t sound so enthusiastic,” Dick said.
“I’m sorry. I’ve got a few things on my mind.”
“Nobody ever would have guessed,” he said, grinning again.
I didn’t grin. I went downstairs and got out the Winchester
“Lamont Road
It took a couple of blocks for to realize what he’d said. “Lamont ends in a turn-around. It doesn’t go anywhere. We meet somebody?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“Friends?”
“Nobody we know, Pop. Personally, anyway.”
“Some kind of a surprise?” I was getting mildly irritated.
“You could say that.”
“You’ll show me when you’re ready?”
“That’s about it. Turn left up there.”
I did as he instructed though I’d lived in the city longer than he’d been alive. Three blocks later he told me to stop.
“So, what now?” I pulled to the curb where he pointed.
“That house over there, the one with the big Santa and the reindeer on the roof? That’s Max Stanton’s.”
“So?”
“Ruthie was seen there the night she died.”
“The night she was murdered.”
“Yeah, all right, murdered. But she was seen here that night>”
“Who do you know?”
“I’ve been talking with some people she hung with. One of them saw here that night. The night she died.”
“Murdered—“
“Okay, murdered, Pop. She was murdered. Now that we’ve got that straight, are there any more terms you want defined?”
“I just want everybody to remember what really happened to her. That’s all.” Dick was bristling. I wasn’t going to make an argument out of the situation.
“I am aware. That’s why I brought you here.”
“You said one of her friends saw her here.”
“That’s what he said.”
I thought for a bit. “Who is he?”
“I can’t say right now.”
“Why not?’
“I’m still trying to find out some more and the guy will stop talking if anybody else starts asking questions.”
“Have you told the sheriff?”
“A couple of weeks ago.”
“And?”
“The case is closed.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
“You don’t know who Max Stanton is?”
“He owns Quality Express. Gates drove for them. What are you getting at?”
He glanced from the house to me, back to the house. “Remember, there was that period of about three hours when Ruthie’s movements weren’t accounted for?”
“You think she was here?”
“I don’t know for sure. The guy just said she was seen here that night. And since it wasn’t in the trial evidence, I thought I’d better tell you.”
I’m not what you’d call real quick sometimes. I sometimes plod through ideas others dance past. I thought for a while, looking at Dick, at Stanton
“I didn’t want Mom hearing us talking about it.”
“But why here? Why not somewhere else?”
“I didn’t think you’d believe me.”
“You think I do now?”
“You’re still here. You’re listening and talking.” He had relaxed.
“And you still haven’t answered the question.”
“Why I brought you here? I had to get your mind off the house. I had to show you something concrete to get you to listen to me.”
“You call this concrete?”
“Stanton
“Just because somebody told you so? Some gossip? Some lying, stupid, glory hound?”
He was suddenly angry too. “No, damn it! The guy isn’t lying. It’s the truth. I know it is.”
“How? How do you know when the whole county sheriff’s department and the state crime bureau found nothing in the last three months?”
“The purse, Dad,” he said softly. “They didn’t find the purse.”
“So?”
“Somebody else did.”
“Who? Where?”
“The guy won’t say.”
“How do you know he isn’t lying? He probably read about it or heard it on the news.”
“He described it. Leather with dangly fringes and that multicolored stone fastener.”
I leaned back and sighed. I closed my eyes and there Ruthie was in knee-length moccasins, fringes down the sides, the fringed purse she called her possibilities bag with its broad strap draped over her shoulder. It was a piece of information that had been withheld during the entire investigation and trial. Anyone who could describe it had to have seen it.
“Go on,” I said.
“That’s it,” he said, faltering.
I kept my eyes shut. “There’s something else. I can hear it. Tell me. I want to know.”
“You’re right,” he said softly. “This is how I know he’s telling the truth, Pop. This is the clincher.”
I looked and wished I hadn’t. He was holding a small, plasticized card. It was her driver’s license. She got it the day she turned sixteen and I’d let her have the car for the rest of the day. I held my hand out. He put the license in it. I fingered it.
“This was still in the purse?” My voice was shaky.
“He didn’t say, Dad.”
“What did he say?”
“He knows where the purse is. He’s seen it. He knows someone who saw Ruthie at Stanton
“Or know somebody who knows something?” When he didn’t answer, went on, “You’ll have to forgive, son. I am a little slow sometimes and I’m frequently wrong. But something’s still missing.”
When he still didn’t speak, I said, “So he knows somebody who saw Ruthie in there the night she was murdered. He’s seen her purse and he gave you her license. You know what’s missing, son? Motivation. That’s what’s missing. He obviously didn’t go to the authorities or they would have this.” I waved the card. “And he obviously doesn’t want to go to them either, or we wouldn’t have it. But he also just as obviously wants something. What is it?”
Dick shrugged.
“Money?”
He nodded. “He’ll give you all the stuff for five hundred dollars.”
“Five hundred dollars? At least he’s not greedy.” I waved Ruthie’s license, stuck it into my pocket. “Know something? This thing here isn’t the clincher. This was just the bait. Like Stanton
I put the car in gear and drove home. I admit, sometimes I’m not very bright.
The day after Thanksgiving, business had been brisk the whole day. The first year I’d owned the store, I’d closed it for the weekend, a mistake I never repeated. Not after seeing my competitors’ jammed parking lots. Yet, even with the store loaded with customers and seemingly having to be everywhere at once, the hours dragged and I found myself clock watching. Finally, I gave up and handed the supervision over to Paula, my manager.
I went into the office, locked the door, and took a box from the safe. I kept the only key to it with me all of the time. Opening the box, I took out five hundred dollars and the thirty-two. I checked the cylinder, and stuck the gun into my briefcase along with the money and a stack of paperwork. I put the briefcase behind the driver’s seat. I locked the doors and went back inside and set about writing the paper goods order for Tuesday’s delivery. I was still glancing at my watch every four or five minutes. I put the order book away. I checked the aisles, found them pretty well stocked. All of the packers and stockers were working the front end except for George. He was taking care of odds-and-ends holes where merchandise was needed on the shelves. Alex had the produce display in top shape. The meat case was looking great and I told Gordie and Lou so. Ron was done with the dairy and frozen food. Everything looked very good. Everything was going great.
The store didn’t need me. I still had and hour to kill till Dick would come, and I needed something to do. I drank a cup of coffee in the back room. Then I roamed the store again. I found some trash and took it outside to the dumpster. A pickup truck drove out of sight around the corner of the building. I put the trash into the dumpster. Dick’s car came around the same corner of the building to stop by the Rabbit.
He lowered his window, said, “Ready?”
“Sure.”
“Let’s take my car. It’s all warmed up.”
I got my coat from its nail in the stockroom, the briefcase from the back of the Rabbit, relocked it, and went with Dick.
He drove out Webster and across the bridge, eastward where all the houses were from the Thirties, Forties, and Fifties blue-collar bungalows—most run down now. We talked little and I tried not to think. The pain was still there. I wanted to nurse it, though I wouldn’t admit it. Thinking, I had to ignore both the pain and my motivations. It was easier not to be rational, not to question myself or others just then. It was easier to be not to be rational, not to question myself or others just then. It was easier to be carried along by events and try to believe that I was acting independently and was the Robin Hood I pictured myself. We stopped in the back driveway of a dilapidated gray bungalow. The door opened almost immediately when Dick knocked, and we went in.
Dick gestured from the longhaired skinny man to me and back. “This is my dad. Dad, this is Clark .”
“Do you have the purse?”
His eyes took in the briefcase. “Just a minute.”
He went to another room. Dick and I stayed by the door. A square electric wall clock ground noisily. It must have been fifty years old. The refrigerator, almost as old, gurgled and hissed. The furnace squeaked through the ductwork. Clark returned with the purse and laid it on the table. “Okay, man, the money.”
I put the briefcase on the table and picked up the purse. It was caked with dried mud and the leather was stiff and hard. It had watermarks and mold on it. But it was Ruthie’s. More than a year out of sight, but not out of mind. It was also empty.
“Where’s the rest of her stuff?” I demanded.
“He said you wanted the purse. There ain’t no more.”
“There’s more and I want it, all of it.”
“Look, man—“
“You look, man,” I said smiling. “I want the purse and I want everything that was in it. All or nothing.”
He sat down by the table, took out a cigarette, tamped both ends, lit up, inhaled and exhaled deeply, lounged back, and studied me, leisurely letting a smoke trail from his nostrils. He said, “Okay, so there are a few more things. The purse ain’t nothing, man. You can have that. The other things are gonna cost you a grand.”
“I don’t have that much.”
He stood and opened the door. “Come back when you do.”
Dick went through the door. I stayed by the table, purse in one hand, briefcase in the other. I said, “I’ve got five hundred. Take it or leave it.”
“Bye,” he said. I didn’t move. Dick watched nervously from the concrete stoop.
“Seven hundred,” I said.
“You’re wasting my time.”
“Suppose I just kick the crap out of you and make hand over the rest.”
He grinned. “It might be interesting. They’d sure like for you to try.”
I looked into the front room to see two muscley youngsters in their twenties. One had a pistol. It was pointed at the floor. It was also cocked.
Dick said, “Come on, Pop, we better go.”
I said, “What else have you got?”
“All of the stuff that was in it.”
“Show me the billfold.”
“Chick,” he said, and the kid without the gun went out of sight. When he returned he tossed a billfold to Clark . I recognized while it was till in the air. Clark held it up for me to see. “Satisfied?”
I nodded. “I’ve got a thousand total.”
He stepped back, pulling the door even wider. “Fifteen hundred, man. And don’t get a hold of us until you’re ready to do business.”
“What makes you think I’m willing to pay that much just for a few personal belongings?”
“You’re here, man.”
“The original price was five hundred. I’ve already doubled that.”
“Like you said yourself. All or nothing. Fifteen hundred or forget it.”
“I’m taking this,” I said, gesturing with the purse, feeling childish.
“Look, old man. We don’t need any trouble and you don’t either. You take the purse. It’s not important. Anything else you is gonna cost. So either come back with the cash or forget it. I’m tired of talking. Get out and don’t come back unless you’ve got fifteen hundred bucks with you.”
I shrugged, took the purse and briefcase, and left with Dick.
“God, Dad,” he said. “You could’ve gotten our butts kicked. What was all that macho crap about anyway? They only want fifteen hundred, for God’s sake. What’s the big deal with another five hundred? You’re not dickering for a used car.”
He turned out of the alley and did as I asked.
“Jesus,” he said, “that one guy had a gun! Didn’t you see that? A gun for God’s sake!”
“I saw it.”
“You acted like you were having the time of your life.”
I want whet he’s got and he wants money. We just have to come to terms.”
“Some terms. And you stood there and argued!”
“Well, the odds weren’t really all that bad.”
“They weren’t?”
“Two against three.”
“You mean you expected--”
Gently, I said, “Don’t underestimate your old man, son.”
He looked sideways at me. We were crossing the Green River Bridge
I didn’t take the bait. Let him think what he wanted. I said, “Tell them tomorrow I’ll have the money by Monday night.”
He relaxed a little.
I said, “But I also want to know when Ruthie was at Stanton
“You could have the money from an ATM in ten minutes. How come you’re putting them off?”
“Ask me no questions.”
“They’re going to want to know.”
“Just set us up for Monday night.”
“If that’s the way you want it.” He stopped beside the Rabbit. I got out. He ran his window down as I went over to it. “Why don’t you park that for good and get something from this century?”
“It’s an antique. I like it. It has character. You and Jill still coming for dinner tomorrow?”
He shook his head. “Let’s do breakfast Sunday.” He nodded toward the Rabbit. “It won’t be long until you’ll have to pay more for the parts than that thing’s worth.”
“But you still want me to leave it to you.’
“Which is why I want you to park it; I don’t want to inherit a pile of junk.”
I said, “Until Sunday.”
He nodded, backed out, and drove home in the heirloom. Anita had supper ready and table was set, but I went downstairs and called Cass Howard, the county sheriff.
I said, “Cass, this is Fred Blivens.”
“Sure, Fred, what can I do for you?”
“There’s some new evidence related to Ruthie’s murder. I heard something both last night and today. I thought I’d give it all straight to you.”
“It’ll have to be something pretty substantial, Fred. Gates’ file is already in the solved section.”
“I think it’s substantial.”
“Shoot then.”
“She was seen at Max Stanton’s the night she was murdered.”
“Gates’ employer?”
“That’s right.”
“When?”
“During those three hours nobody could account for. And I’ve got her purse.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“Some yoyos who want to make money had it. I’ve got the purse, but they’ll have to come up with its contents and the name of who saw her at Stanton
“How long have they had the stuff?”
“I don’t know. I just found out about it. As a matter of face, I just came from talking to them.”
“Get any names?”
“One guy is Clark . Another is Chick. There was a third guy, but no name was mentioned.” I described them all.
“What time did you meet with them?”
“From about six ten to about six twenty.”
“Where?”
“The East Side . On Franklin
“Anything else?”
“A white four-door Dodge was in the back driveway. It’s a junker about twenty years old.” I gave him the license number.
“How much do they want?”
“Fifteen hundred.”
“You going to pay it?”
“Do you think I should?”
“Well, as far as we’re concerned, the case is closed. Unless we can show these guys were, or are, withholding evidence that might have influenced the outcome of the trial, I’d be wasting the Department’s time, not to mention money. You said she was seen at Stanton
“They haven’t said. That’s part of the deal. I don’t think it’s one of them though. It wouldn’t make sense.”
“How long have they known?”
“They didn’t say.”
“Where’d they get the purse?”
“Something else I can’t answer.”
“The big problem I’ve got with all of this, Fred, is right now I’ve got that hit and run from last month and we’re still on that John Doe murder. Plus we’re working overtime on a hell of a drug case.”
“So the Department’s stretched thin.”
“Thin as a cheap rubber. And another thing is that Gates confessed and the jury found him guilty. The verdict was decided as much from hard evidence as his own testimony. Don’t forget that.”
“So you don’t really want to go after any of this then?”
“Not unless something stronger than concrete comes up.”
“How about Ruthie being seen at Stanton
“It’s something to think about.”
“But it’s not concrete.”
“Look, Fred, I’ll do this. I’ll have one of my detectives talk to these guys. Then we’ll see from there. Now how’d they get hold of you?”
“Through Dick. He’s been talking with Ruthie’s friends. He didn’t like those missing three hours.”
“How’d they know you’d pay for the stuff?”
“I’m not sure they did. They might have been fishing.”
“Could be. Would you take a word of advice?”
“Don’t play detective?” I laughed.
“Besides that. Keep your money. Don’t waste it on a few scraps that wouldn’t have changed the verdict anyway. All it’ll do is bring you more unhappiness. Forget it, Fred. Ruthie’s dead and buried and her killer’s in jail.”
“Thanks, Cass,” I lied. “Thanks for the advice. You’ll let me know what you find out.”
“Right away.” He sounded like he was lying too.
I hung up and sat staring and thinking, and feeling old and tired and empty and quite like a child who has just been told to stop making noise.
Anita was sitting by the kitchen table when I came upstairs. Ruthie’s purse was in her lap. “Where did you find it?” she said.
I told her and washed my hands at the sink. She asked how I’d found out about it and the people who had it. I told her somebody who didn’t want to be identified had contacted me and set up the meeting. She ran her fingers over the material.
“I remember the day she came home with this on her shoulder,” she said.
I served us both beans and rice, and some of the pork in green pibil sauce from the pans on the warmer. The tortillas were already in a basket on the table. I sat to eat.
“She was so beautiful,” Anita said. “So intelligent. I keep asking God where I went wrong, what I didn’t do that I should have.” He face was heavy with guilt and thought. She was staring into space while her fingers played with the stiff and lifeless leather.
“We did the best we know how,” I said. “Both of us.”
“No, Fredi,” she said, reverting to Spanish. “I was never mother enough for her. She almost never talked to me about girl things, or woman things. When she did it seemed like I never had the answer she needed. I never knew for certain what she needed, Fredi. I never knew the right answers.”
“Still, we did the best we knew how.”
“But it wasn’t enough, was it?”
I didn’t know how to answer the grief I saw in her face, heard in her voice. She sighed and left the kitchen. I heard the hall closet door open and close and she came back without the purse. We ate in silence. She picked at her food. When I was done I lighted, my pipe and poured coffee.
“I want to visit my mother,” she said. “I haven’t seen her for almost seven years. Since Ruthie was there.”
That had been a fiasco, sending Ruthie to visit los abuelos, the grandparents, in Chilpancingo, albeit a well-intentioned fiasco. “When do you want to leave?”
“Monday I think if I can get a reservation.”
“Do they know you’re coming?”
“I talked with my mamá last week. She says my father is very ill. He will not live much longer. She wants me to come as soon as possible.”
“I suppose you won’t be here for Christmas.”
“No, Fredi. It will be impossible because of the season and papás illness.
“How long do you think?”
“Until the middle or the end January.”
“I didn’t like the idea. However, having lived in Mexico U.S.
“Are you taking presents?” I asked.
She looked surprised. “I’ll shop tonight and tomorrow. I hadn’t even thought of presents.”
“There’s more to your trip than your father’s illness, is there?” I poured myself more coffee. She hadn’t touched hers.
She sighed, “Sí, Fredi. There’s much more, I’m afraid.
¨What are you afraid of?” Now I was surprised.
“Someone’s been watching us.”
“Watching us? How? Why do you think so?”
“They’ve been observing everything we do since before the trial, Fredi. At first I thought I was imagining it. But I began to see the same faces around me too regularly.”
“Where?” A shiver climbed my back.
“Here at the house. Wherever I go shopping. Wherever I walk or drive. There are three, maybe four men I keep seeing.”
“You see them here at the house?”
She nodded, leaned her arms on the table. “They sit in a car near the house now. But in the warmer weather they would park or stand in the shade somewhere nearby. When I leave the house, I sometimes see them driving close to me.”
Following you?”
“Not always behind, no. Sometimes in another lane. Sometimes ahead. But when I come out of a store, wherever I go, I only have to look around a little and I’ll see them nearby.”
“When you say them--”
“I mean that I’m sure that at least three and possible four men have been watching me. If not all of us. But usually only one man at a time. Sometimes though there are two of them.”
“But you think there are maybe as many as four. Can you describe them?”
“They’re all young and morenos, dark-skinned.”
“Mexicans? Negroes?”
She shook her head. “No. Orientals. I’m not sure what country. There are so many Orientals here in this country. I can’t tell them apart.”
“How old are they?”
“Twenty-five to thirty, possibly. No more than thirty.”
“Did you notice anything different about any of them?
“They’re all rather small. They’re basically slender. One of them dresses pretty mod. The others wear ordinary clothes. The one who dresses mod likes to wear those silvery sunglasses. Another one wears regular glasses, not sunglasses.
“What kind of car do they drive?”
“Sometimes a big blue SUV. Sometimes a little white car. Foreign, I think.”
“Do you know their makes?”
She shrugged. “You know how I am with cars?”
Yes, I knew. If it wasn’t something like a VW or Honda Fit, she wouldn’t recognize it. I pondered what she’d told me. She finished her coffee. I said, “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”
“I don’t know. Maybe because at first I wasn’t sure. Haven’t you noticed anyone?”
In my mind I reviewed all the Thai and Vietnamese I’d seen in the store. One in particular stood out. He made frequent trips, usually alone. He seldom bought more than one or two items. Sometimes he bought nothing. He just seemed to wander though studying the prices and displays. He stood out in my memory because his clothes were expensive and the very latest style and he wore silvered sunglasses. I said, “Why did you wait until now to tell me?”
“I want to be certain I wasn’t imagining it.”
“Something happened today.” It was a guess.
She looked at her hands wringing the edge of the tablecloth. She nodded. “One of them came to the door. I was washing and heard the doorbell. I came upstairs and answered the door. The front door. I recognized him immediately. He was the one with the regular glasses. I saw that blue SUV down the block, facing this way. Another one was inside it. I went out onto the porch and closed the door though it scared me. I didn’t want him seeing inside. I don’t know why. I just didn’t want him to. I asked him what he wanted. He said he wanted to talk to Ruthie.”
“He wanted to talk to her?”
“Yes, I told him she wasn’t here, that she wouldn’t be back. He asked where she had gone and I told him we had no way to contact her. He asked if she had left a white dress with gold brocade on the bodice. He also asked about a pair of white shoes with gold on the tops. I told him that everything was gone. She took everything with her.
“Ruthie never had a dress, much less one like that.”
“When I asked what he wanted with the dress, he said it was a present and he wanted it back—a wedding present. He said the shoes went with the dress and he also wanted them back. He insisted I let him into the house to look for them. I told him to go away and not return or I would call the police. I told him again that Ruthie was gone for good and that if his friends didn’t stop watching me and following me everywhere, I would call the police to make them stop. I also told him that what they are doing is called stalking here and is a various serious crime.”
“What did he do then?”
She clutched her arms to herself. “He left. But, Fredi, do you know what he did? When I said I would have the police stop him? He smiled, Fredi. He just smiled. Then he gave me this and said he still wanted the dress and shoes. He was very demanding, Fredi. He said when I find them I must call this number and somebody would come to get them.” She handed me a card.
The size of a business card, it was plain, unprinted. A local phone number and the name Bobby were written on it. The sevens in the number were crossed in the European style. The handwriting wasn’t American.
“Did you call the police?”
“No. They left almost immediately and haven’t returned. I’ve looked a number of times, but no one has been there since they left. What could it be about, Fredi?”
“No. They left almost immediately and haven’t returned. I’ve looked a number of times, but no one has been there since they left. What could it be about, Fredi?”
“I don’t know, sweetheart. It sounds ridiculous, all that garbage about a dress. I don’t understand it.”
“I looked in Ruthie’s room, Fredi. There aren’t any dresses in there at all.”
“She didn’t have any. She didn’t were dresses. She wouldn’t even wear them when her grandparents gave them to her. Look, just keep your eyes open and, if you see those guys again, call the police, then me. Okay?”
I wore an emergency beeper. I got it when Ruthie started receiving the threats. I’d also started keeping the .32 loaded and handy then. I’d put it away in the moneybox after her body was found, but now had it out again. I would put the beeper on my belt again too.
She said, “Are you sure you haven’t seen anyone following you?”
“Not that I can be certain of. Anyway, we’ve got a plan and all we have to do is use it if they come back. Have you been locking the doors?”
“When I’m here alone, yes, all of the time.”
“Continue locking them then. Do want to make the plane reservation or should I?”
“You do it, mi amor. I’ll go change.”
I made the call. Bonnie at the travel bureau I’d used for our vacation planning during the last few years found a cancelled direct flight to Mexico City
Anita was still changing and putting on makeup when I hung up. I went into Ruthie’s room. It was pretty much in the same condition she’d left it in the week before they found her body. The bed was still unmade. One of her unwanted, seldom used handbags lay in the corner. Scraps of paper littered the floor. A gold star hung on the wall at the head of her bed. Dusty, it neither glittered nor shone. A strip of crumpled ribbon lay on her desk by her typewriter. A white sweater I’d given her for her birthday was still folded in her dresser among other clothes she seldom wore. Ken, half of her Barbie set, was on the dresser. He closet was packed with blouses, cardigans, and slacks. The whole room and the closet smelled of the strange perfume she’d begun using the first time she ran away. Not a single dress was anywhere in the room or closet.
Anita called. I left the room.
“You haven’t been in there since her body was found,” she said.
We put our coats on and went shopping.
I didn’t spot any tails.
The emptiness squeezed in on me as I made myself a midnight snack and a mixed drink. Earlier, I’d driven Anita to the airport thirty miles away where she had caught her flight to Chicago
I’ve never lied being alone, not even as a boy. Like the time I went for a weeklong hike with three friends in northern Minnesota
I finished the snack and knocked back the drink. I shot some pool and put away a couple of C.C.’s straight. I fiddled with the fifty-inch screen and satellite dish, but all the programs were insane and I eventually found myself sitting on Ruthie’s bed, just taking in the room and feeling the emptiness.
It still didn’t make sense. How can anybody tie a beautiful nineteen-year-old girl’s hands and feet together behind her and then strangle her with a bungee cord? Who would want to? Who would feel so much hate, so much anger that murder Ruthie was the only solution to that hate, that anger?”
Twelve of Warren Gates’ peers had said that he’d reached that point. They had listened to the evidence against him for almost a month. Both the evidence and the defense had been presented quietly and efficiently, with none of the histrionics nor flamboyance portrayed in the movies. Sometimes even, both the prosecution and defense had looked bored with the whole procedure. At the end of a very businesslike trial, the jury had deliberated for a businesslike six hours. Then it had delivered its verdict in a very businesslike manner, and now my daughter’s confessed murderer was behind bars. Justice had won out. It had said that Warren Gates had solved his conflicts with my daughter by murdering her.
Dark-haired, slim, about five nine, in his late twenties, he had remained unemotional all during the trial. He admitted to picking Ruthie up that night n the Interstate. She hitching to Arizona , he said, and since he was hauling a load to Houston , she was going as far as Dallas
Anita hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not a word. I hadn’t either, though eventually I did. Ruthie had changed around the time she was ten. She became secretive and moody, with periods of tears and flashed of blazing anger. Her grades had plummeted from the almost straight A’s she’d always gotten, and I never seemed to know where she was, what she was doing, or when she’d be home. I couldn’t find out who she was with either. Her defiance and silence were a stonewall around her that neither Anita nor I could break through. Nothing seemed to touch Ruthie: no effort, no discipline, no reward, no discussion. Worn out, Anita one day suggested we send her to visit los abuelos, the grandparents, in Chilpancingo, a sleepy little town at the side of the highway connecting Mexico City Acapulco
The next time we saw her was on the front doorstep. The bell rang and I answered and there she was—leather jacket, purse, knitted rainbow-colored beret, and knee-length moccasins. The purse was the same one that had been missing for the last year. A bounty hunter had found it. So much for law and justice. I go the purse from the hall closet.
It was very worn. The nap was gone from its surface. It was dark from use. Threads hung loose and the seams parted in places. The strap was ready to break where it was sown to the bag. Ruthie probably would have soon thrown it away had she lived long enough to buy another.
Why am I doing this to myself? I asked myself, fingering the bag and sitting on her bed again. Is it because I’m here alone? Or is it because I haven’t really mourned yet?
Maybe. Maybe that’s it. But the tears aren’t there to mourn with. And you sure can’t mourn dry-eyed. Can you?
I started going through her dresser again. I didn’t know what I was looking for, whether I was even looking for anything. One drawer contained writing supplies: envelopes, stamps, paper, pens, paper clips, scissors, ruler, ballpoint refills. Another held junk jewelry and mementoes. There was a large African trade bead similar to one on her purse. The straw cross she’d had with her from her six months in Chilpancingo lay under her collection of rock necklaces. Another drawer yielded up a variety of rumpled underwear. Only sweaters and jeans were in the next two drawers.
Why? I asked myself again. Why?
But no answer came. It was just a dusty empty space my daughter had occupied, a space that should now be put to other use, maybe. I should clean it out and store Ruthie’s things until Anita came home and let her dispose of all the stuff. Meantime, I should paint the room, brighten it, chase the ghosts away, put it to new use. Hadn’t we done that with Dick’s room when he moved out?
I stood soaking up the quiet, waiting for answers that wouldn’t come. I started to leave, turned instead to her closet, went through it again.
One of the strange things about Ruthie’s murder was that, except for the clothes on her body, none of her belongings were ever found. According to Gates, she was carrying a small blue travel bag when he picked her up. We’d searched her room after I’d identified her body. Her travel bag was missing.
So, what was I looking for? Why was I even looking?
Too many unanswered questions were why. Like those lost three hours. Where had se been? What was she doing? Had she really be seen at Stanton
Questions, questions, questions.
And what about Gates? Was he really guilty? Was he really telling the truth when he confessed?
For instance, if she’d really done those things in the rest area as he claimed, how could he have killed her, returned a hundred and ten miles, disposed of her body, then gone back the same route and on to Houston without the extra mileage showing up on either the company’s records or Gates’ log books? The company said it didn’t watch mileage that much. It worked from timetables and mileage charts, paying drivers by the shortest distances and keeping only general mileage figures on the trucks only for maintenance purposes.
The evidence pointed to Gates. The jury found him guilty. I had accepted his guilt. I thought I still did. Almost everybody around me did. So me, ordinary everyday grocer, why couldn’t I come to terms with it? What was niggling at me?
I found nothing in her closet I hadn’t seen before. I closed the door and cast another glance through the room. It stopped on the shreds of paper near the wastebasket. I frowned. They’d been there all this time and I’d ignored them.
I collected them, set up the card table in the rec room, sorted, smoothed, arranged the scraps, and began piecing them together.
After an hour I had three pages of a letter from Hank in Phoenix L.A. or San Francisco California California
I made another drink and went back at it. Five pages and a couple of hours later, I had another earlier letter from Hank. He was having a tough time selling his jewelry. All of the bothers and sisters were broke and they’d gone dumpster diving the week before. They’d scored big at McDonalds, coming away with four or five pounds of chicken pieces and a couple of boxes of egg muffins and hamburgers. He hoped the money angle worked out okay with her old man. The brothers and sisters really needed it. He missed her a lot. He hoped she’d get back soon. His spelling was terrible and it didn’t get any better. Neither did five more Hank letters.
The last item was a four-inch-by-four-inch post-it note. She had torn it into very small bits and tightly wadded each bit before throwing them away. She’d scrawled three phone numbers on the original sheet. All were out-of-state area codes, two of them in the same one.
I made another drink and evaluated what I had. She’d received at least seven letters from a friend named Hank, maybe even a loved, during the two months she’d been back with us. The envelopes had been addressed to her in care of general delivery. So she hadn’t wanted us, or me, to see her mail. Yet she had torn the letters up and strewn the scraps around the wastebasket.
If she hadn’t wanted us to see them, why hadn’t she put them in the garbage or burned them? Ever since she’d returned the first time, after running away in Chilpancingo, that’s what she’d done. Al too frequently Anita had complained about finding ashes in ashtrays or cans in Ruthie’s room. Ruthie explained that she was burning letters. So why hadn’t she burned these?
I yawned. My eyes were tired and my body and brain were at the stage where they wanted to work separately. I yawned again and my eyes teared. The clocked said it was seven-thirty. I went upstairs and opened the curtains.
The sun was just past the horizon. Snow was sifting from the trees and the roof in sparkling crystalline clouds as the breeze gusted. Drifts were two and three feet high around the cedars and males. A number of birds and a squirrel were already at the feeder.
I put the coffee pot on and got into the shower. I stayed in there at least twenty minutes, letting the pulsating jets drive the fog from my brain. I kept turning it hotter and hotter. The steam filled the room with thick vapor. I sweated and stretched and groaned as the knots went out of my back and neck. I stretched and concentrated even hotter water on the scar running across my pelvis on my right side and down my thigh to the knee. There were pins in there and an artificial hip joint. It was the other wounds and the surgery. AK47 rounds through the pelvis slow you down a hell of a lot, even after the damage heals.
I got dried off and dressed in clean clothes. With fresh coffee and a lighted pipe my brain cleared some more. My pelvis was still aching from the weather change and I felt restless.
I knew a little more about my dead daughter now, mixed blessing or not. There’d been somebody in her life she’d not told us about. It sounded like other somebodies were out there too, brothers and sisters Hank had said. Was she part of a cult? Had the Moonies got hold of her? Were Hank and the brothers and sisters another Manson and clan?
A wild thought, yes. But Ruthie had been gone often enough and long enough from when she was twelve until she was murdered that none of us, Anita, Dick, nor I, had known her anymore. Who knew what kind of people she’d been mixed up with? Was it possible any of them were connected to her murder?
No, I was just grasping at straws. Yet, maybe some of the straws were worth grasping at.
The phone rang. It was Cass Howard, the sheriff.
“I called the store first,” he said. “I figured you’ be working even with today being Sunday.”
“I take every other Sunday off,” I said.
“That’s what your girl there told me. I didn’t get you out of bed, did I?”
“No, I was just having coffee.”
“Good. Look, about the white Dodge you asked about?”
“Yes?”
“It’s registered in Ruthie’s name.”
“You’re sure of that?”
“I had it on the computer while we were talking the other day. You don’t know anything about it then?”
“Nothing. Just as I told you during the investigation and at the trial. She came home about three months before she was murdered. She was broke and we figured out later she was scared. We never knew what she was scared of she wouldn’t talk about it. I don’t understand why she didn’t tell us about the car. It doesn’t make sense but that’s how she was.”
“It’s been registered to her about two-and-a-half years, but the plates expired last January. One of my detectives went to check it out, as well as the things you mentioned. You ever heard of the Rainbows?”
“I don’t think I have. Why?”
“It looks like she was one of them.”
“We had no idea. What does this have to do with the car?”
“Well, my detective found out that this place on Franklin
“What do you mean by tribal?”
“They’re playing modern Indians. They have gatherings and places like the house where they can hang out together. Members come and go and often leave stuff for safekeeping. That’s the story Huey got on the car. She left it there for them to take care of.”
“This is incredible.”
“There’s more.”
“Go on.”
“Okay, the fellow Clark is Clark Roberts. He’s twenty-six, no record except as a runaway when he was fourteen. He’s from L.A.
“So?”
“He was married to Ruthie almost a year when she was killed.”
I sat down.
“You still there?” he said.
I nodded to the empty room. “I’m still here.”
“Good. Okay. We’re going to check it out. We should know whether it’s true by tomorrow night. My detective thinks the guy’s straight though.”
“What about the purse and the other things? What did they say about that?”
“They denied seeing or having them, or even talking to you about them.”
“So of course they deny asking for money or knowing anything about Ruthie’s being seen at Stanton
“That’s right.”
“What now?”
“There’s not much that can be done, Fred. But I can find out whether this Roberts fellow is telling the truth about them being married. I’ll be glad to do that for you.”
“Fine,” I said, “I’ll appreciate it, but here are some things I still don’t understand. What in the world is the Rainbow?”
“They call themselves a family. They’re trying to be modern-day Indians. I think they’re just a bunch of dropout myself. They’ve had a lot of with them out west, I hear.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Drugs. Vagrancy. That kind of thing.”
“Where out west?”
“Texas , Nevada , California
“Arizona
“Maybe. I hear they’re all over the States. Even in Europe . They have a big international meet every year and I guess all hell breaks loose. It seems they had a hell of a time with them in Texas
“What about her car? Why didn’t they tell somebody about it?”
“Who knows, Fred? Maybe it’s their attitude?”
“How’s that?”
“We’re the system and they’re bucking it.”
I didn’t have anything to say to that, so I said goodbye.
The phone rang almost immediately when I hung up. “This is Clark Roberts,” the voice said. “You probably know who I am by now.”
“The sheriff told me,” I said. “What do you want?”
“Do you still want her stuff?”
“Just her address book and the person’s name that saw her at Stanton
“There isn’t any address book.”
“Then all I want is the name and I want to know how you know it?”
“After your little trick with the sheriff’s department it’s going to cost five thousand.”
“I don’t have that much and I won’t pay that much either.”
“You’ve got it.” He laughed. “And if you don’t pay, you don’t get what you want.”
“Look, you originally told my son I could have everything for five hundred.”
“You keep trying your little tricks, man. The price is now five thousand. Good for today only.”
“I can’t five thousand today. All the banks are closed.”
“Come up with it by noon or no deal.”
“I can’t, I’m telling you.”
“Then you’ve got a problem. I’m calling back at twelve sharp. If there’s no answer or if you don’t have the money, or your try any tricks, you can forget anything I know.”
“Were you and Ruthie really married?” I needed to know, but I was also stalling.
“We were, and we were tight too.”
“Why didn’t you tell the sheriff sooner? You have to--”
“I don’t have to anything! She was my old lady, all right? You were her father. I’ve got the information you want, but it’s going to cost five grand. Pretend like it’s a late wedding present. You can at least do that much for her.”
He hung up.
The laughter had gone out of his voice. He’d been angry, almost shouting. I’d gotten to him, and deeper than he was going to get to me. The five thousand in this case was like buying a candy bar or a bag of popcorn. I was trying to satisfy a need and the money didn’t matter as much as the need.
What was his last remark? “Pretend like it’s a wedding present. You can at least do that much for her!”
What the hell did that mean? I’d given her almost everything she’d ever wanted. She had clothes, freedom, money to spend, furniture, her own room. Anita and I both had tried to give her love and companionship. We’d tried understanding. We’d tried talking. We’d tried doing things with her. What the hell was this punk kid idiot talking about?
A wedding present!
My daughter was in her grave, for crying out loud. What kind of crap was he talking anyway?
I fumed while I made breakfast. Nothing made sense. Hank, Clark Roberts, her marriage, her running away and coming back over and over, her murder, Warren Gates, her purse showing up. Not any kind of sense that I could accept.
I ate and put the dishes into the dishwasher. I pulled on an insulated suit and boots and gloves. I snowplowed the driveway and the front walkway. A small white car was parked down the street by the curve. Our street is in a cul-de-sac with our house at the very end. We’d built the house when Ruthie was eight. It was a time of boom economy and we’d bought close to a hundred acres right on the edge of town with a little money and a lot of creative financing. Then I sold off a some lots and a small tract, purposely keeping our street to ourselves because I liked the privacy and the woods. That little car near the curve was completely out of place.
I put the snowplow back into the garage. The telephone was ringing. I got to it just after it stopped. I went around checking all the locks. Everything was secure. I got into the Rabbit and drove down the street. The white car was gone. The tracks in the snow showed where it had done a u-turn from its parking place. I followed the tracks, but lost them when they turned onto Elmwood and mingled with the others of the more travelled street.
I went to the store and gave it a quick inspection. George, my assistant manager, was stoking. The front end wasn’t busy, but customers were shopping in all of the aisles and the deli was filled with Sunday breakfasters.
I went into the office and took Saturday’s deposit bag from the safe. Jane, my head cashier, had made the deposit up last night. I did a quick check on her figures and found them accurate as usual. I filled out a new deposit slip, keeping five thousand aside, closed the bag with the slip inside, and put the copy with the bookkeeper’s papers. I put the five thousand into various pockets, took the bag and left. I dropped the bag at the bank and drove home.
Cars were stuck here and there. The windows of some were snow-covered, indicating they’d been there since at least early morning when the snow was still falling. The farther I drove from the business area, the less traffic I saw. I didn’t see the white car or the dark SUV Anita had talked about.
My hackles rose as soon as I turned onto the driveway. Snowmobile tracks encircled the house. I triggered the garage door. It opened and my guts churned. I could see woods behind the garage through the huge hole in the back wall.
* * *
The garage door was all the way up. A chunk of the back wall lay on the floor before the hole. Snow was tracked all over the floor. The door between the kitchen and the garage stood open.
I made myself get out of the car. Watching the house, I took the shotgun from the back and loaded it. I made myself go into the house, slowly, carefully, heart thumping, muscles twitching, skin tingling, barely breathing, almost breathless. Foot by foot, room by room, I went looking. Listening. Sweating.
The kitchen was a mess. Dishes broken. Pans and food everywhere. Flour, sugar, beans, spaghetti too.
Front room first.
End table drawers emptied, drawers on the floor. Couch and chair cushions on the floor. Cloak closet open, contents strewn about.
Down the hall.
Hall closet emptied. Contents scattered. Bath
Softly, toes and balls of the feet only. Back through kitchen. Down to rec room. Slowly. Heart exploding. Breath almost out of control.
Stairs. Please don’t squeak. Please. Don’t goddamn squeak.
Down.
A bit faster.
No squeaks. Thank God.
At the bottom. Finally.
Silence.
Relaxing a very tiny bit.
Everything ransacked here too. Gun safe still locked. Deep breath. Check behind the bar.
Careful. Careful.
Nothing thank God again.
Check the furnace room. Closed door.
Damn. Damn.
One side. Squat. Turn knob. Slowly. Please, no click.
Now,
Open!
No shots.
Nobody. Just the furnace.
Now, stop trembling. Deep breaths. Get a grip.
What a mess! What a goddamned mess.
I went up to the garage. The hole had been sawed out. Footprints and snowmobile tracks were everywhere. The snowmobile had followed the street in and out. I called Cass Howard from the phone over the workbench. He wasn’t in but a deputy would be out soon. I began to appraise the mess.
The phone rang. I swore.
“This is Clark Roberts. You got the money?” the voice said.
I scanned the ransacked room. The white car flashed through my mind; Anita hugging her arms to her and telling me about the little gook smiling at her.
I said, “I’ve got the money, Roberts, and here’s how you’re going to get it.”
“Listen, man--”
“No, man,” I cut in, “you listen. I’m sick of you stupid little game. You want my money, you come and get it. You come right here to my house in one hour. You understand. One hour. And don’t come at all f you got any of your little tricks in mind.” I hung up.
I started taking a careful mental inventory of our valuables. The wall safe hadn’t been bothered. The radios, TV’s, VCRs, and the computer were untouched. Nothing seemed missing.
It didn’t make sense.
Somebody obviously wanted something. But what? The supposed white dress and shoes? Something else? What else? Had they found it, whatever it was?
The sheriff’s car parked in the driveway. Cass Howard, a deputy, and a plainclothesman came into the garage. The plainclothesman said something and the deputy returned to the car. Cass said, “This is Huey Black, one of our detectives. Huey, Fred Blivens.”
Clack and I shook hands. He said, “We talked a couple of times just before the trial.”
I nodded. Black had black hair, black eyes, black eyebrows and a heavy black beard that he probably shaved three times a day. Six-two and in his early thirties, he was as imposing as a Bears’ lineman. His skin was snow white under his black beard.
Cass Howard was almost a runt to compared to Black. Howard was whip lean, angular, about five-nine and had eyes sharp as the flame point of an acetylene torch. The cut into everything they saw. He also had a mind like a steel vault. Anything that went in was locked in forever. I had never seen him without a filter-tipped cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth.
Cass nodded toward the hole. Black went to the hole and looked around. Cass said, “Tell me about it.”
I told him, including the trip to the store and the bank. About the white car and the dark SUV. About the smiling gook and the one with the mod clothes. I told him about searching the house. Black was listened while examining the damage and taking pictures with the camera the deputy gave him.
“What’s missing,” Cass said.
“Nothing that I know of,” I said. “Not a thing.”
“Jewelry, money, prescription drugs?”
“Anita’s away. Any jewelry not with her is in the wall safe. The safe wasn’t disturbed. The stuff from the medicine cabinet was scattered around too. But I’ll check it if you want me to.”
“Why don’t you?”
I did. He and the deputy walked though the house. They were in the computer room, Dick’s old bedroom, when I finished.
“Nothing’s gone that I can tell,” I said, “except for some pain relievers. But Anita might have taken them with her.”
“She go somewhere?”
“Her parents’ in Mexico
Cass nodded, lighted another cigarette from the butt he held. I took the butt, threw it in the stool and gave him an ashtray from the front room floor. They went downstairs, came back up. Black went through the house taking more pictures. When Black saw the gun safe, he asked about it. I told him.
“You have many guns?” he said, interest sparking in his eyes.
I opened the safe.
“Nice,” he said, “what’s that big one?”
“A Weatherby.” I could see he wanted to handle. I put it into his hands.
“Nice,” he said again, caressing the stock. He hefted it for weight and balance, put it to his shoulder. “What power’s the scope?”
“Four to twenty.”
He opened the bolt, looked at the end of the barrel. “Damn thing’s a cannon.”
“It’s a .378.”
He put it to his shoulder again. “Bwana shoot elephant. Feed tribe.”
He chuckled. I grinned.
“What would something like this cost?”
I told him. His interest flagged like a match dropped in water. He handed the rifle back.
“Nice,” he said. “Damn nice. Thanks.”
I put it back into the safe.
“That’s a hell of a collection.”
“Thanks, I enjoy it.”
“No hand grenades?”
“Sorry, fresh out. Not even any C4.”
“Oh well. You never know.” He smiled broadly. I followed him upstairs.
Cass and the deputy were smoking in the garage. Cass said, “Looks like they used a chain saw. Sure you’re not missing anything?”
I shrugged. “I haven’t had time to be sure.”
Black said, “Maybe you should get hold of your insurance company. We’ll fill out a complaint and an investigation report. Why don’t you come by the office and verify them tomorrow?”
“Sure thing.” I felt glumness setting in.
“And if I every want to start a revolution….” He grinned.
I laughed.
He got into the car and they left. I laughed again. He hadn’t even seen the pistols.
* * *
Clark Roberts showed up twenty minutes later. I’d spent the time more or less picking up the front room and bath. I was starting on our bedroom when I heard the motor and went to the front door. Chick and the other guy were with him in a battered white pickup.
I stepped outside as they were getting out and said, “You come in alone, Roberts. You other two get back in the truck and stay there.”
They paused, glancing from each other to Roberts and me. Roberts nodded. They got back inside and he came to the porch. I moved aside, motioning him, followed him, and stood where I could watch the truck from the p9icture window. He started to close the inner door.
“No, leave it open,” I said.
“What’s going on, man? Why so heavy?”
“I think a five-thousand-dollar deal is pretty heavy, don’t you?”
He shrugged, dug in his upper jacket pocket. I tensed until he came out with a cigarette. He said, “I guess so.”
“No smoking,” I said.
His eyes widened. He shrugged again, stuck the cigarette in his mouth, left it unlit. “All right, man. Be the big shot. All I’m interested in is the money.”
“I know.”
“So where is it?”
I slid and end-able drawer open. The bundles of bills made his eyes bright.
“So what now, man? “
“You talk. Who saw Ruthie at Stanton
“Hank Kaska.”
“Where do I find him?”
“Sometimes he’s in Phoenix
“You can’t do any better than that?”
“What do you want? A map and an address?”
“That’d be fine for starters. How do I find him?”
“His mother’s in Eugene , Oregon
“What’s so funny about that?” I’m slow sometimes.
“She gave it to him, man. She gave it to him. It’s only got a five-hundred-dollar limit, but she pays it off for him each month.” He shook his head. “I need a mother like that.”
“Instead,” I said, “you’ve got an ex father-in-law.” His eyes narrowed. I wanted him to make a move. Then his gaze flickered to the drawer full of money and back. I said, “What’s her name?”
“Dana. Dana Kaska.”
“You know her address or telephone number?”
He shook his head.
“How do you know this guy saw her at Stanton
“He told Chick.”
“When?”
“Three, maybe four months ago. Chick told me last week.”
“Why did Chick wait so long?”
“To tell me? He didn’t get here until then. Last week. He knew I’d be with the family here and he came looking for me.”
“The family?”
“Yeah, the Rainbows.”
“You’re from LA, aren’t you?”
“I haven’t lived there since I was thirteen. When I ran away from home.”
“The records say fourteen.”
“You know that, huh? Well, it’s like this man. Look, can I sit down?” I nodded. He sat and went on. “No, man, I ran away when I was thirteen. My dear folks loved me so much they didn’t report it for almost a whole damned year.”
“The police took you back to them, didn’t they?”
“No, they never even came close. I’ve been on my own since the day I ran away. Yeah, I’m from LA, but I’ve lived all over this country.”
“Why did your parents wait so long to report your running away?”
“Simple. They really didn’t care. But then, when the school came down on them about me being absent, my folks reported me. They wanted to save their own butts.”
“So how do you and Chick know this Hank Kaska?”
“He’s Rainbow, man. We’re Rainbow.”
“What’s Rainbow?”
“Like Indians, man. White Indians. We’ve got a legal tribe and we’re all family. We’re all across the country. Even over in Europe . But we’re not all white. We’ve got people from all races in the tribe. Blacks. Orientals. Real Indians. Mexicans. Everybody, man. Just everybody.”
“Kaska’s a Rainbow then?”
“Sure. Just like Chick and me.”
“Ruthie too? She was Rainbow?”
He nodded.
“How did you get her purse?”
“I found it, man.”
“Where?”
“In that rest area where Gates said he got it on with her.” His tone turned cold. “But that was a friggin’ lie. She wouldn’t do anything like that for money. She didn’t need to.”
“Tell me about it.”
“It didn’t add up, man. All that crap about him and her. How they got it on. How he killed her, then brought her back and buried her. I couldn’t swallow it. I got to thinking what if he was lying about bringing her back, but was telling the truth about her catching a ride with him. The more I thought about it the less sense it made. I just drove out there and looked around. I didn’t find nothing at first. I even went out there three more times. I still don’t now why. I just couldn’t keep from going back. I had to I just had to.” His voice broke. He wiped his eyes with the back of hands. “She was my old lady, man. Do you understand that?”
He stared long and hard at the carpet. “Yeah, you understand. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“Thanks. Okay. Anyway, I guess the reason I kept going was I know he couldn’t have killed without a hell of a fight.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I’m a black belt in Shorin Ryu. I had her to the point she could have qualified for a first degree brown if she’d wanted to. I also taught her a whole bunch of dirty stuff, mean stuff. She was good, man. Real good. Anyway, I started going over that area farther away from the parking and toilets and I found a ravine with a creek at the bottom. You can’t see it from the picnic area because of the weeds on the other side of the fence.”
“It’s on private property?”
He nodded. “I walked along the gully both ways and I found her bag in some bushes near the top. It was a little way away from the rest area though. Everything was still in it.”
“Except her address book.”
He looked startled. “That’s right. You asked about that before. No, it wasn’t in her bag.”
“When did you get married?
“Two years ago. The day before Christmas.”
“She never told me about it.”
He was quiet for a
While. I was too. Too much was hanging in the air. Lies, avoidances, misrepresentations, it didn’t matter. It was still too much.
“She said you didn’t want to hear about it when she tried to tell you. That’s why I never came around. She said you’d ever threatened to shoot me on sight. So I let her come visit you by herself and I stayed with the family.”
“The Rainbows? The house over on Franklin
“Yeah, that’s it. I didn’t want any troubles. I just wanted her to be happy. That’s all. She really didn’t say anything to you?”
“Never. Not one word.”
He slumped back in his chair. He closed his eyes and shook his head. He said, “God, man.”
He took the unlighted cigarette from his mouth, crushed it.
I asked, “How could Kaska have seen her at Stanton
“I don’t know, man. He won’t say.” He looked into my eyes. “She always told me you didn’t know the slightest things about her; that you didn’t want to. Now you say she never told you about us. I think you’re telling the truth. I think now she was right. You probably didn’t know the slightest thing about her. I’m beginning to wonder if I did either.”
I got up; put the money into a paper bag. I put the bag into his hands. I said, “One last question. When did Kaska see her at Stanton
“He says just before midnight.”
H stood and went out. I followed him. He stopped on the porch. He put the cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and said, “Thanks. Thanks a lot.”
I watched him drive away and wondered why the truck seemed familiar. When they were out of sight, I said, “You’re welcome, man. You’re very welcome.”
He’d wound up on the wrong end of the deal. He’d come to hold me up for five thousand dollars. Instead, I’d robbed him of his faith.
I went back inside to straighten and clean my empty home.
