Dead Man Falls (6 page)

Jerry stood beside me. "It’s Calvin Holt," he said, guiding me away from the riverbank and the body.

As we turned I noticed a swarm of uniformed officers and emergency personnel had materialized around us. Paramedics had even arrived with a stretcher, as if there were a point to that.

"Remember him?" Jerry asked.

As we walked toward a big cottonwood away from the crowd, the name began to register. "From our class?"

Jerry nodded, and I mentally thumbed through my high school memories to place the man.

Calvin Holt had sat in front of me in every alphabetized classroom we’d shared. A skinny guy with brown hair and Coke-bottle glasses, but no particularly distinguishing features. Not a brainiac type that I recalled, just nerdy, one of those people who were kind of invisible.

No sooner had the thought registered than I felt a stab of remorse for thinking about the dead man that way--both now and then. The unpleasant feeling sank its claws a little deeper in my gut when I realized that I never really knew Calvin Holt--and there hadn’t been but maybe sixty kids in our entire graduating class.

Feeling lower and lower by the second, I decided to see if Jerry wanted to ride along on my guilt trip. "Did you know him?"

He shook his head. "No, not really."

"Ever talk to him?" I asked, hoping the answer would be no and we could commiserate on what lousy human beings we had been at age seventeen. I had a fleeting thought that I wasn’t doing so very great in the human issues department at forty-three, but I needed to assuage the old guilt before I started on the new.

"Sure," Jerry said, "I talked to him. Nothing special. Hi, got your homework, going to the game, that kind of stuff."

I sighed heavily. "I don’t think I ever even talked to the guy."

Jerry smiled. "Yeah, you did. I think it was the week before homecoming of our senior year. He went around red-faced and glowing for three days. Funny, I hadn’t thought about that until just now."

I groaned. Obviously I hadn’t even thought about it at the time--or noticed any glowing geeks in the hall. I did another run-through of the time and place, trying to determine what evil motivations I might have had for speaking to the poor guy. I suppose it was within the realm of possibilities that I was just being nice, but I didn’t think that highly of myself at the moment. "I was kind of hoping you’d convince me I’m not the slime of the universe."

He frowned. "Why would you think that, Jolene? You were always nice to everybody. Except maybe Rhonda."

Oh, yes, let’s not forget Rhonda. Sweet little "I’m gonna fucking kill you" Rhonda. She just loved saying that to me, but only when there were no witnesses. Even now Jerry wouldn’t see her for the evil witch she was--and no doubt still is, regardless of what Russell said. If she’d taken a dive off the new falls, it wouldn’t have dismayed me even a little. In a pinch, I’d have even given her a leg up and a friendly slap on the back for smooth sailing. Adios and good riddance.

A little voice in the back of my head chanted
bad karma, bad karma
. Okay, fine. I know better, but sometimes I just can’t help myself. In the general scheme of things I make a good effort to be a better human being, really I do. I own a library of self-help books, including audio versions by Deepak Chopra and Caroline Myss, which I've listened to so many times that I now actually like their voices. I’ve bought videos on yoga and tai chi, pulled a muscle trying to assume the lotus position and regressed myself back to a past life where I was burned at the stake as a witch. Big surprise there. I also toyed with Buddhism for a while, but the odds of ever quieting my mind or embracing that pacifist thing were about as good as winning the lottery, and you can just buy tickets for that. Yes, I do realize I’m not getting it.

Speaking of which, "Funny you should mention Rhonda," I said, very nicely, although my thoughts had slipped back to the dark side. "I heard she's here and I'm sure she'll be thrilled to see you. I need to be going anyway, but first tell me, how are the kids? And Amy?" No, I wasn't being sarcastic, really.

Jerry raised an eyebrow, looking half amused or maybe half annoyed. "Ben and Rachel are with Amy visiting her folks in Dallas. They’re all doing fine. The whole situation is just fine. And really, Jolene, you know I don’t care anything at all about seeing Rhonda."

Well, okay, I guess maybe I did, but it was good to hear him confirm it anyway. Rhonda’s vicious lies had incinerated my relationship with Jerry once before and I needed to know if she was in a position to do it again. I’m not playing that game again--ever.

And yes, I’ll also admit to being glad he didn’t have to rush off and take care of his kids--or his ex-wife, who I actually kind of liked. I think his kids are great, too, but they do present complications, or would, I guess, if we ever got to the point of having a real adult relationship.

"Here’s Rick," Jerry said, nodding toward a black-suited figure with blond hair and a scowl.

I am fairly good at finding things to distract myself with, but that was all about to come to a halt as Redwater Falls Detective Richard Rankin--aka Surfer Dude--headed toward us with a highly un-Rick-like glower.

Detective Rankin wore his standard double-breasted suit, but his hair was cut shorter than it had been in July, with only a few wavy gold locks left on top. The new do compromised his carefree beach boy look and the deep-creased frown on his face made him look older, maybe even old enough for me, not that I was actually thinking about such things.

Surfer Dude had kind of liked me back in July when we first met, which I would have known even if he hadn’t admitted it. I was flattered to be sure, but once he figured out the thing with me and Jerry--if it indeed can be called a "thing"--it sort of became an inside joke between us. From the grim look on his face now, however, I knew he wasn’t headed over for a round of playful flirting.

Rick stopped in front of us and nodded, acting all formal and uptight. "Jerry, Jolene." Considering the circumstances, I answered him with a fairly perky "Hi, Rick," but he seemed not to notice. He just stared at me for several more long uncomfortable seconds then turned to Jerry. "This is starting to feel like July all over again, Sheriff."

I groaned, fully aware of what he was implying. "Oh, no, this has nothing at all to do with me. It is pure coincidence that I’m here."

"Jolene’s in town for her mother’s birthday," Jerry said easily. "It’s a tradition in her family, I believe."

It’s a torturous family law with consequences that make lethal injection sound appealing, but who was I to quibble? "That’s right," I said. "And Mother dragged me out here against my will to see the new falls. I was trying to ignore the ceremony, really I was, but the corpse hurtling into the river kind of caught my eye."

Rick stared at me again, and I couldn’t begin to figure out what he was thinking. Again, he turned back to Jerry. "Sheriff," he said, all stiff and stuffy. "I need you to step over here for a moment. We need to speak privately."

"Oh, for crying out loud, Richard. Just stop with the scowling and so-not-you formal crap, and tell me what’s going on."

"We’ve had a murder, Jolene," he said, adding condescension to his officiousness. "That's what's going on."

"Wow, really? Who knew. Guess that’s why you’re the hot-shot detective, huh?"

He scowled some more. "This is official police business."

"Jerry’s not one of your official police," I said rather astutely. "He works in another county, remember? He’s not on duty any more than I am."

Richard Rankin, big-time detective, didn’t bother replying to that one. He just motioned to Jerry again. "Over here."

"Fine, whatever."

Jerry shrugged and followed Rick to a spot by another big cottonwood where they could whisper in private. I watched them, trying to read their lips, but it is a lot harder than you’d think, and I couldn’t make out a single word.

Rick caught me watching and turned his back to me then made Jerry do the same. With no one looking, I very quietly eased myself across the grass toward them. I heard the words "yearbook" and "pages" just before Rick caught me and clamped his lips together.

Jerry said, "There’s no point in trying to keep this from her, Rick. Either you tell her or I will."

My heart fluttered a little then took a dive toward my knee caps. "Tell me what?"

Rick sighed heavily. "Fine, see for yourself."

As I followed Rick and Jerry back toward where Calvin had been pulled from the river, I noticed a team of officers had appeared up above the falls, in front of the fire trucks, roping off the area with yellow crime scene tape. I suppose it made sense that the body had to have been planted from the top side of the falls since climbing up the front rocks with a corpse over your shoulder wouldn’t be easy--or practical.

It did bring up some good questions, however, such as "Was access to the upper area usually restricted or could the public get there at all hours?" Then again, any footprints or tire tracks left up top by the killer would have probably been obliterated by the firefighters and their trucks, not to mention their high-powered hoses.

We followed Rick into the inner circle of officials and stood above Calvin Holt’s very dead body. Somewhere between my brief tango with panic and the distraction of crime scene logic, I had managed to wall off enough emotion that I could look down at Calvin and pretend to be unaffected--at least temporarily.

The deceased had put on a few pounds since high school and was now bald except for a ring of gray-brown hair around the lower back of his head. Vaulting down the rocks into the river had done some facial damage--and the bullet hole was kind of distracting--but I still guessed he’d probably been a fairly decent looking man, much better than the younger high school version.

I also wondered if he’d been a nice guy, if he’d gotten married, had kids, started a computer repair company or maybe sold refrigerators at Sears. I suspected the invisible nerd had turned out far better than anyone in his high school graduating class would have ever guessed. Except that now he’d been murdered.

Rick knelt beside Calvin Holt and pointed to his hands, which were wrapped together with yellow nylon cord--very much like the roll that the dark-haired kid had tried to give the officer a few minutes ago.

I snapped my head around to look for the young man and sure enough, there he was, upriver from our little group, still holding his package of bright new rope. Behind him, I thought I caught a glimpse of a blue Hawaiian shirt. Russell?

The bouncing yellow bag of rope pulled my attention back to the fidgety young man. He had a familiar look about him, as did the woman behind him and the man next to her, and the man next to him, which made me pretty sure I was losing my mind. I couldn’t know every face in the crowd, but darned if it wasn’t looking like I should. The young man’s eyes darted back and forth as he tossed the package--the unopened package--of yellow rope between his hands.

On the surface it looked highly suspicious--and stupidly obvious--that his bag of rope looked just like what was wrapped around the dead guy. Of course, he might not even know it was a dead guy or that rope was involved. Either way it meant nothing. Yellow nylon like that could be found at any and every hardware store or lumberyard on the planet, not to mention the Walmarts and Targets of the world.

My rather elementary thought processes were nothing to brag about--or even admit to--but I did want to know what the professionals thought. "Hey, Rick," I said, nodding in the direction of the young man. "Who’s the young guy over there with the ball of rope?"

He followed my gaze. "That’s Nate Irwin, a security guard here at the falls. Good kid. He’s pretty shook up, but his mother’s with him. They’ll both be giving statements."

I nodded and scanned the rest of the crowd that was building around us. Several more faces rang a bell for one reason or another, but my recognition threshold had moved so far into the realm of ridiculousness that I didn’t bother trying to guess at any personal connections.

And then it hit me. I wasn’t looking for people I might know--I was looking for a killer. The realization shook me, sending a shiver up my back. The killer could very well be watching me right now, and laughing, or maybe plotting. How would I know?

Not at all comfortable with that train of thought, I turned back toward Calvin’s body. I was still curious about the yellow cord, even if it wasn’t a good connection to the killer.

The rope was wound haphazardly around the torso, using only a few wraps, but the wrists were bound with probably five or six loops, as were the ankles. Oddly, though, some of the rope had been cut near the wrists. Something wasn’t right. "Jerry," I said, nudging him slightly before I realized he had his back to me and was still in a serious conversation with Detective Rick. I waited for a break in the mumbling. "Who cut those ropes there?"

Rick looked at Jerry and Jerry looked at me and finally Rick said, "Let’s get this over with."

I didn’t much like the way they were looking at me, and having prior experience with such things, I went on the defensive. "Hey, I didn’t do it. I never even got near him. I don’t carry a pocket knife either."

"Jolene," Jerry said, a tinge of impatience in his voice. "I know you like throwing out possibilities until one sticks, but don’t do it this time, okay?"

Okay, fine, swell, good. I said not another word as Jerry guided me over to where a couple of officers knelt beside some plastic bags, pointing and muttering. I couldn’t see much, except that it looked like the plastic held crumpled pieces of paper. Yes, I had questions and even a few wild theories, but obviously no one wanted to hear them so I kept my mouth shut and waited until my escorts decided to let me in on the big sacked-up secret.

Rick said something to the officers. They stood then moved back a few steps. "These pieces of paper were tied between the victim’s hands," he said, squatting down beside the bags. "The killer is apparently trying to tell us something."

My first thought was oddly not about the killer’s message, but about investigative procedures--or lack thereof. I knew the police station was only a few blocks away, and they’d clearly trotted out the troops. There was some kind of team working on the body, not to mention a bunch of investigators above the falls. Maybe they didn’t consider this a crime scene
per se
; it was simply the point where they’d managed to retrieve the body. Maybe.