Dear Crossing (8 page)

Neil’s face lit up. “Speltz’s garage. It’s only a couple blocks away—easy walking distance. He probably got his bike repaired there.”

Ray put the car in gear. “Give the man a cigar.”

11

One of two bay doors stood open as Ray and Neil pulled up outside Speltz’s Amoco Station. It wasn’t a convenience store by any stretch of the imagination. Customers had to ask for a key to use the restroom. Occasionally, when the front counter was left unattended, some used the woods out back—a more sanitary alternative to the toilet kept under lock and key around the side of the garage. Burt Speltz sold gas and did automotive repairs. If customers had change for his vending machines, they could get cigarettes, candy bars, gum, and soda pop, nothing more. Those items he kept on hand for his personal convenience more than the public’s. A fifty-year-old chain-smoking, gum-chewing diabetic with an insatiable sweet tooth, he was living on borrowed time.

As they stepped inside the work area, a blast of heavy metal music pounded Ray and Neil like invisible fists. Someone was working under the hood of a rusted, red, 1996 Honda Civic hatchback.

The engine revved, competing with the ramped-up bass booming from the car’s speakers.

“Greg,” Neil hollered. He got no reaction. “Yo, Greg.” he called again, tapping the mechanic’s shoulder.

The young man’s head snapped up barely missing the hood. “Shit, you scared the crap outta me.” Brushing a forearm across his unremarkable face, the twenty year old smeared grease across his brow.

“Sorry.” Neil motioned toward the car, the source of the music. “Judas Priest?”

Out of his depth, Ray stepped closer, waiting without comment.

Greg Speltz’s dark eyes registered surprise. “You like Judas Priest?”

“Some,” Neil hollered over the music. “‘Riding on the Wind’ and ‘Bloodstone.’ Good stuff. Hey, what do you hear from Keith?”

“Nothing much.” His narrowed eyes shifted from Neil to Ray. “I’ve got work to do. What do you guys want?”

Ray shouted over the pulsating bass. “Friday night, maybe Saturday morning, did you do some work on a Harley?”

“Not me.” Greg wiped his hands on a greasy, paint-spotted shop rag. “Let me check with my dad.” He signaled for them to wait and walked toward the office.

Ray put his mouth closer to Neil’s ear. “Friend of yours?”

“Brother of. I graduated with Keith Speltz—couple years older than Greg, better-looking, smarter, more athletic, better prospects.”

Ray had seen the outcome of similar sibling rivalries. “Is he trying to compete?”

“Gave up,” Neil shouted over the music. “Got into drugs.”

“Too bad.”

“Got out of rehab not long ago. Trying to get a detailing business off the ground.”

Greg Speltz trailed behind his father as they entered the repair bay from what constituted the business’s office space—a disorganized room not much larger than a walk-in closet.

Burt Speltz had no trouble making himself heard. “Greg, turn that damn racket off.” Rather than wait, he did it himself and kicked the car door shut, putting a new ding next to a half dozen others.

He jerked a thumb in his son’s direction. “His girlfriend’s car,” he told them. “A piece of crap and he goes and spends a shitload of money on a frickin’ audio system for it. Gotta be twice what the car is worth. Dumb kid.” He shot a look at Greg. “Goddamned girlfriend’s not worth shit either. You oughta stay clear of that freeloading druggie.”

“Lay off Katie.”

“Just so you know, I’m keepin’ track of every engine part you’re putting in that heap of hers. No freebies. Hear me?”

“Don’t worry. I’ll pay for every last fuckin’—”

Ray stepped between them. “Back off, both of you. You can pick up where you left off when we’re done here.”

Lips pulled down at the corners, Burt Speltz clamped muscle-knotted arms across his chest.

Ray turned to the older Speltz. “Did you do some repair work on a Harley this weekend?”

“Yeah. Hauled one into the garage Friday night. It sat here Saturday morning waitin’ on Greg to come in. Bikes are more up his alley than mine. Of course, he was out chasing around ’til all hours with his girlfriend.” He cast an angry look at his son. “That girl’s gonna drag you right back down to where you were six months ago.”

Greg’s jaws clenched. “Shut up about her.”

“Look,” Ray told them, “I’m not here to referee. Can we focus for a minute? Tell me about the bike’s owner.”

Burt Speltz pinched his chin, deepening a pronounced cleft. “Nice-looking guy. Mid-twenties or thereabouts. Said a deer ran out in front of him. It was raining, and his bike hydroplaned. It skidded down the pavement, across the shoulder and into a ditch. Him and his bike both got scuffed up pretty good. The damage to the bike was mostly all on the surface. Just needed a new gas line. That much I could do. Good thing, too. If I’d waited for Greg to show up—”

Ray hampered another father/son argument. “Did you get his name or license number? Did he use a credit card for the repair?”

“I saw a credit card tucked inside his billfold, but he paid in cash. Sort of surprised me, because from the looks of it, he was scraping the bottom of the barrel.”

“Can you think of anything you noticed that might help us locate him?”

“Can’t say I paid any attention. The only thing I know for sure is that when Mr. Davis dropped him off here Friday night, the kid’s leg was giving him hell.”

“Mr. Davis?
Paul
Davis?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re sure it was him?”

“Positive. He’s the only one I know of around here who drives a silver Lexus.”

Neil piped up. “You’re sure the biker arrived in Davis’s car?”

“Yeah. Why? What’s the big deal?”

“Don’t you get it?” Greg Speltz sniped. “They think your biker might be connected to what happened to Davis’s wife.”

His father’s jaw dropped. “You serious?” He spat on the oil-stained floor and turned back to Ray. “Imagine that…Paul Davis bringing his wife’s killer into town. You suppose they were in it together?”

“We don’t know who this biker is let alone what he was doing here. He could have nothing to do with it at all. Right now, this is nothing more than a routine inquiry.”

“Gotcha,” Burt said in a ‘wink wink’ tone of voice. “I’ll keep it under wraps.”

“We’d appreciate that.” Warranted or not, Ray knew Burt Speltz had already convicted Paul Davis in the time it took to pop a hood, and nothing he could say would change that.

“Did they seem to know each other?” Neil asked.

“Couldn’t say. It was just a quick drop-off. No wonder, huh? I don’t imagine Davis wanted to be seen with the guy.”

“We’re not accusing anyone of anything at this point,” Neil reminded him.

“Keep this to yourself for now,” Ray reminded him.

“Said I would, didn’t I?”

Yeah, right.

“Hey,” Burt said, “check with Harry Schuster. After the kid helped me load his bike on my wrecker, he had me drop him off on the road in front of the motel. Could be he stayed there.”

“Thanks,” Neil said. “We’ve done that.”

Ray headed outside. “Neil, let’s go.”

Neil hung back, checking out the Honda’s sound system. “Alpine?” he asked Greg Speltz. “Bose?”

“JL,” Greg said.

“JL. Great system. Sounds awesome. Hey, Greg, next time you hear from Keith, tell him I said ‘hi,’ would you?”

Ray’s voice carried into the bay from outside. “Neil, get a move on. We just got a call.”

Neil broke into a long-legged lope and slipped into the car. “What’s going on?”

“I’m not sure.” Ray floored the accelerator, speeding out of the lot. “All Irene could tell me was that we’re needed at Hank Kramer’s place ASAP.”

12

Turning into the farm’s driveway, Ray and Neil saw Dr. Lewis, one of two local veterinarians, pacing beside Hank Kramer’s empty pickup. The man was clearly frantic. The squad car skidded to a stop, barely avoiding him as he raced toward them.

The vet poked his flushed face through the open passenger window. “Thank God. I thought you’d never get here.”

Ray stepped out, speaking to the man over the roof of the car. “What’s going on?”

Failing to get the vet’s attention, Neil gave his door a gentle push into the man’s legs. “Excuse me, Doc. Would you move aside so I can get out?”

Startled, Dr. Lewis lurched backward. “What? Oh. Sorry.”

Ray asked again, “What’s the problem?”

From the direction of the barn, a bellow ripped through the pungent farm air.

“That.” Dr. Lewis pointed toward the weather-beaten barn. “Hank’s bull is in there.”

“You’re talking to a city boy,” Ray said. “Isn’t that where it’s supposed to be?”

“Normally it would be in the pasture, but I was coming to do an exam, Hank said he’d pen it up in the barn for me.”

“And the problem is…?”

“It’s loose, and I think Hank’s inside.”

“You
think
or you’re sure? Maybe he’s out in the pasture or in one of the outbuildings.”

“When I opened the barn door to look for him, the bull charged me. I only had a second, but I got a glimpse of something on the floor.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I think it was Hank. You’ll see something’s wrong if you check in his truck.”

The black pickup sat parked several yards away, fresh logos adorning both doors. “Kramer’s Dairy” was painted in neat lettering on either side above a picture of a Holstein cow. Ray rushed to the vehicle. The grocery bag’s meager contents lay spilled across the bench seat. A pound of ground pork was warm to the touch. He picked up a can of concentrated orange juice. The contents sloshed inside.

“It’s thawed,” he told them.

“You see?” Dr. Lewis said. “I know Hank, and that pinch penny wouldn’t leave his stuff out here to spoil.”

Their heads turned as another bellow came from inside the barn.

Ray drew his service revolver and began walking toward the barn. “You two stay here.”

“Oh, God.” The vet clamped a fine-boned hand over his brow. “That bull’s a valuable animal.”

“So am I,” Ray muttered over his shoulder.

“I didn’t mean…You be careful. That bull is extremely aggressive.”

Neil started after Ray. “I’m coming with you.”

“No, you stay put.”

Neil reluctantly led Dr. Lewis back beside the squad car.

“I hope he knows what he’s doing,” the vet said. “That animal’s a half-ton of bad attitude.”

Ray’s distance to the barn narrowed to forty yards when he heard a loud thud. He moved forward more slowly. Another thud followed, louder than the first.

Stopping, Ray shouted, “Mr. Kramer?” No response. “Hank?”

The rotting barn door shuddered and bulged outward. He heard Neil’s voice above the sound of the animal ramming the door from within.

“Ray, look out. Run.”

Pieces of wood flew like shrapnel as the bull burst through the door. Hooves digging into the earth, it propelled itself toward Ray. Stunned by the animal’s size and speed, he fired a single instinctive shot. The bull didn’t falter. He fired a second time as he spun and raced for his life. The earth seemed to quake beneath him as the immense animal closed the distance between them.

Ray ran parallel to Neil and the vet’s location. How many strides before he’d be ground under the trampling hooves? Six? Seven? Ray’s lungs strained. His heart pounded against his ribs. For an instant, he saw the vet, his arms flapping like some enormous bird. He couldn’t make out what he was yelling. Neil’s voice was clearer, but Ray couldn’t make sense of it.

A second time, Neil commanded more emphatically, “Veer and drop.”

Without questioning, Ray lunged sideways, his shoulder absorbing the brunt of the impact as he hit the ground. The bull’s momentum carried it beyond him a heartbeat later.

Ray hadn’t seen Neil take the shotgun from its bracket in the squad car. He hadn’t seen him take aim, but he heard two rapid shotgun blasts. The bull crashed, somersaulting in a kaleidoscope of tumbling flesh, blood and saliva. The body heaved once, twice, then lay still.

Neil ran to Ray still clutching the shotgun. He crouched over him. “Are you all right, Ray? You okay?”

Chest heaving, Ray rolled onto his back and flung a forearm over his eyes. “Yeah, just give me…a second to…catch my breath.”

As Ray’s breathing slowed, Neil extended an arm and helped him up.

“I thought I was a dead man.” Ray doubled over and turned his head toward the massive carcass on the bloody ground. The sight brought him slowly upright. Dust settled on the bull’s bulk. It clung to the bloody head wounds made even more appalling in their severity by the shotgun slug to the head. Still more blood drained from the second wound to its chest.

Heart still pounding, Ray said, “God. Look at the size of that thing.” He grabbed Neil’s hand. “Neil, thanks. I owe you bigtime.”

“Forget it. I’m just glad you’re fast on your feet.”

Ray slapped the rookie’s shoulder. “Likewise.” He turned to speak to the vet only to find him gone. “Where’s Dr. Lewis?”

“I don’t know. He was here a second ago.”

The vet’s voice was faint. “Over here.” He was leaning heavily against the open barn door, his head resting against the upraised forearm he used to brace himself.

“Doc,” Neil said as they approached, “are you all right?”

The vet moaned. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He wrapped his free arm around his stomach. With the other, he pointed inside the barn.

“Kramer?” Ray asked.

“It must be.”

Neil’s eyes widened.

As he went in, Ray realized his mouth was dry. Seconds later his voice came from inside the barn. “Oh, Christ.” He reappeared in the doorway. “Neil, get the coroner over here. Kramer is goddamn pulp.”

Lewis retched. When the spasms ended, he pulled out a handkerchief and wiped his mouth. “I told Hank that bull was trouble. I told him to get rid of it, but he wouldn’t listen.”

“It’s not your fault,” Ray told him.

The vet didn’t seem to hear. “I’d have gone in there myself, but it was supposed to be a simple call. I didn’t come equipped—no prod, no tranquilizers, nothing of any use in this situation.”