Dead Demon Walking (2 page)

The guy focused on me. I made eye
contact and smiled. He got up, reached for his paper napkin as it
slid off his knees and missed. He bent over to grope down next to
his ankles.

Jack had been dead more than twenty
years, so why did I expect to see some young guy? He sat up to
observe my approach, back stiff as the slats of his chair, a tall,
slim, attractive man in his early-fifties with casually-styled,
collar-length brown hair receding a little at the hairline, a few
silvery speckles here and there. He had what I call a distinguished
face, clean cut in a craggy kind of way, with lightly tanned skin,
a hooked nose, pale-blue eyes, a generous mouth and hollows beneath
his cheekbones. In his open-necked gray knit shirt and smart gray
suit several shades darker, he could pass for a male model, of the
older variety. Silver glinted at his neck. He wore a silver or
white-gold ring set with a small diamond on his pinky finger and a
Movado sports wristwatch with a black face.

“
Mr. Jericho?” I held out
my hand, which he took in a firm grasp. We did the little
obligatory shake thing then sat, facing across the table. A
waitress brought a laden tray and unloaded the dishes. Jericho had
eaten half his toast and orange juice. My plates took up most the
table. We waited till the waitress poured my coffee and
left.

“
Thank you for meeting me,
Miss Banks.” Jericho eyed my dishes. “Please, don’t let your
breakfast get cold.”

Audrie’s felt humid and the ceiling
fans circulated the tantalizing aroma of a dozen ingredients cooked
in grease. If you want Virgin Olive Oil and heart-smart, don’t eat
at Audrie’s, she’s a big Crisco fan. A woman at the next table
tucked into Audrie’s Spanish omelet and the smell of sautéed onion
and bell peppers made my mouth water.

I picked up my fork and
waved it at his plate. “Don’t let me stop you.” Meaning I would not
let him stop
me
plowing up
my
breakfast.

I speared a fried potato chunk,
swirled it in the sausage gravy and stuck it in my mouth. Then I
realized my mistake. This breakfast should be savored, and how
could I do that as I discussed a prospective job with a prospective
client?

No, not a prospective client - I
couldn’t work for this man. I already knew what happened to Jackson
Trewellyn. My interest ran more along the lines of sizing Jericho
up as a suspect.

Amplified by the high ceiling, chatter
washed over us. I hoped he didn’t mind raising his voice to talk,
or if I raised mine, though I doubted we would be overheard with
the table tucked in the corner and other diners deep in
conversation. “Jackson Trewellyn disappeared twenty-four years ago.
Why are you so eager to find him now?”

Too abrupt, maybe? He couldn’t meet my
eyes and he flushed slightly. He cleared his throat and leaned in
so he could reach his back pocket and dig out his wallet. He eased
a piece of paper out the wallet and slid it over the table to
me.

Not paper, an old photograph going
sepia. I held it close to my eyes.

A much younger Dale Jericho, and
Jackson Trewellyn. Side by side, relaxed and casual, they smiled at
the camera. They wore identical navy long-sleeved sweaters over
khaki pants. I peered closer at the background. It looked like the
old River Valley College campus before they upgraded to university.
Jack wore his hair longer and his eyes seemed to shine with
merriment backed up by a hitched lip. I studied the photograph a
good long time. I have never seen Jack smile.

I have a picture of Jack looking
solemn, copied from the one published in our local paper at the
time of his disappearance, which I found in the library archives. I
stare at it often as I compare that face to what I see now. Jack,
whose eyes are wide with fear, the startled expression of a man who
knows a bad thing is going to happen and he can’t do a damned thing
to avoid it.

Now I had another picture of Jack on
file, if only in my memory.

“
Jack and I were friends.
We met in Junior High, went to Ben Nevis High. He moved in with my
family when his parents died. We shared a room at college. We got
an apartment together after we graduated.”

I made sure I got a peek inside Jack’s
file before I quit Clarion PD. I had as much information as the
cops, plus a little more. Jack’s parents died in a multiple car
crash on Interstate 15 just outside Layton. “He lived with Harry
and Margaret Chambers after his parents died.”

“
My mother married again.
Harry is my stepfather, but I kept my father’s name.”

I laid the photo on the table and slid
it away from my plate. I didn’t want to spatter gravy over it. But
I couldn’t look away from Jack’s smiling face. “What happened? You
lost touch with him?”

“
We wanted to live in New
York City. We went there to look for an apartment. We had a . . .
we argued. Jack left, went back to Utah. I thought I’d hear from
him but . . . I tried to call him a few times but he never
answered, then the line was no longer in service. I thought . . . I
thought he didn’t want to talk to me. I found out he went missing
when I came back here five years later.”

I switched my gaze from the photo to
Jericho’s face. His eyes were moist. Genuine distress? He could be
a damn fine actor. I buttered my muffin to give him time. Two bites
later, he seemed more in control.

I made my voice gentle
although my words were not. “You haven’t answered my question, Mr.
Jericho. Why the sudden interest in Jackson Trewellyn? Why
now
?”

“
It’s not sudden. I never
stopped thinking of Jack, had we not parted as we did. . .
.”

I dug into the crème de la crème, the
biscuits and sausage gravy. His conscience brought Dale Jericho
back to Clarion? Or he wanted me to think so.

“
You must have known
Trewellyn well, his personality, likes and dislikes.” Maybe his
take on Jack could clue me in on the man’s honesty, if he truly was
close to Jack.

He surveyed his half-eaten toast and a
smile flitted over his face. “Jack was hyperactive, had a hard time
settling down to any one thing. Study was difficult for him. He had
a dry, cutting sense of humor, somewhat on the sarcastic
side.”

That did sound like Jack.

We sat in silence as the waitress
topped up my coffee.

“
But he had a soft spot for
the downtrodden, the oppressed, for lost causes,” he went on as she
walked away. “He had an affinity for kids and animals, and I think
it had to do with their being easy victims of those who prey on the
helpless.”

Now there is a side to Jack I don’t
see - I forgot to shovel more breakfast in my mouth.

“
Jack liked to hike,
rock-face climbing, hang-gliding. He came up with the craziest
plans. . . .” He fell silent, looking past me at
memories.

I sipped my coffee. “Going off alone
on a hike wasn’t unusual for him?” Jack was hiking when Frederick
Coleman snatched him. Coleman owned my house till he died of heart
disease and I inherited two bodies in my basement and the shades
who go with them.

“
We often hiked together,
but. . . .” His voice faltered, trailed off.

Had Jack not left New York, he would
not have gone hiking Clay Basin alone.

I wiped the last drizzle of gravy off
my plate with the last morsel of biscuit. “At the moment I don’t
know any more than you and the police. Anything you can tell me
would be helpful.”

“
I’m sorry, but I don’t
think there is anything more.”

I chewed, swallowed, dabbed my mouth
with the napkin and let it fall in a crumple on the plate. “I don’t
know what I can do for you, Mr. Jericho. The police investigation
of Trewellyn’s disappearance was thorough and nothing new has come
to light.” I rested my elbows on the table. “Tell you what, I’ll go
over it again and see what it tells me. If I turn up anything new,
my fee is fifty dollars an hour plus expenses. If I don’t find
anything, I won’t charge you a dime.”

He nodded. “That sounds more than
fair.”

Not really, because I didn’t mean to
investigate Jackson Trewellyn’s disappearance, but had every
intention of investigating Dale Jericho.

He opened his wallet. “Breakfast is on
me. It’s the least I can do.”

I didn’t argue.

Jericho retrieved the photo, tucked it
back in his wallet and replaced it with his business card. “My cell
number is on the back. I’ll be in Saint George for a few days
before I head home.”

I read the card: Dale Jericho and
Associates. Criminal Defense, Accidents and Injury, Wills and
Estate Planning.

“
You’re an
attorney.”

“
I’m afraid so.”

I smiled at the card. I think he
cracked a joke.

“
I’ll be in touch, Mr.
Jericho.” I held out my hand. “Thank you for your time.”

It doesn’t hurt to be polite, even
when you could be shaking the hand of an accessory to
murder.

***

I sat at my computer half an hour
after leaving Dale Jericho outside Audrie’s. I hoped Jack would not
materialize behind me and see the data scrolling down the monitor.
I would talk to him later. Meanwhile, Royal’s less than legal,
demon-tech search engine poked its sticky little fingers in
Jericho’s life.

Dale Jericho, born in
Clarion in 1958, sister Felicity born in 1960, parents Graham and
Margaret Jericho. The Jerichos divorced in 1961. They shared
custody of Dale and his sister until Graham died of
mesothelioma
in 1966.
Margaret married Harry Chambers in 1971. They moved to a home on
Bluebell Lane, West Clarion. Margaret and Harry now lived in
Laramie, Wyoming.

An only child, sixteen-year-old Jack
moved in with the Jericho family in January, 1974.

As Jericho said, he attended the same
Junior High and High School as Jack - they graduated on the same
day - then on to River Valley College. Jericho majored in criminal
law.

Jack majored in environmental
engineering, but didn’t graduate.

Jericho went to work for Miles,
Bingham and French, Attorneys at Law.

Jack worked full-time at
Denny’s.

June 1986, Jericho had just made
junior partner when he moved to New York City.

June 1986, Jack worked for Big Powder
Recreation when he vanished in the Clay Basin area of the Wasatch
Mountains.

Why did Jericho move to New York City
when he just made junior partner?

I poked a bit more. Jack and Jericho
did indeed share a campus apartment, and later, a duplex on Berkley
Road.

Jericho had done well for himself.
Senior partner in his law firm. A penthouse apartment in Hoboken
and a holiday home in Carmel. Never married. No scandal, no
affairs, no activity in the political arena. He supported several
major charities.

Which gave me little to go on. I could
probably find the same information using Google.

The phone rang. I leaned to see Caller
ID, and smiled.

“
Why are you using that
search engine?” Royal asked.

“
Snoopy? Ah, spotted me on
there, did you?” I said unnecessarily. When Royal first showed me
how to use it, I called the search engine a snoop program, which
morphed into Snoopy. Compliments of Royal, a small Snoopy with his
pilot’s helmet and scarf now sits atop the monitor. “Can’t I have a
little privacy?”

“
Sorry. Technology’s a
bitch.”

Royal and I could log on Snoopy from
different locations at the same time and do multiple searches as a
team. He logged in and saw me on there.

“
What are you up to,
Tiff?”

I didn’t want to tell him, lest Jack
hovered in the immediate area and heard me. He would bust right in
on our conversation. “I can’t talk about it now. Can I tell you
later, when we go see Harley Frost?”

“
Is someone there with
you?”

“
The usual
suspects.”

After a brief silence he said, “Oh. I
see. I think.”

I chuckled and hung up. Royal and I
are not ones for long phone conversations and lingering
good-byes.

I printed what I found on Dale
Jericho, put it in Jack’s file and stowed the folder in my desk.
Then I went downstairs to have a word Jack.

***

Noon, and the kitchen warmed up as the
sun overhead unleashed its heat on my house. I closed the windows
to keep the cooler air in and the hot out, shutting out the sounds
of children at play down the street and the faint, distant traffic
buzz. My old pink refrigerator stopped humming and shuddered into
silence. She’s a genuine 1950s model and runs well for an old lady,
except what I put on the top shelf tends to freeze. The kitchen
seemed unnaturally quiet without that busy hum. I could hear myself
breathe.

Mac had no bright patches
to lie in while the sun hung overhead. With a disgruntled
huff
, he roused himself
to come flop on my feet.