The Boy Must Die (8 page)

“Did Cody or Darren ever know when you’d be here or at Randy’s?”

“I didn’t leave them a schedule, if that’s what you mean.”

“The caller this morning knew where you were. Did you get a lot of home calls from your clients?”

“When I was with the service, yes. But that’s common practice, Inspector. Surely you knew that.” Sheree Lynn gave Billy a shallow smile.

“As far as you know, then, Cody and Darren and a whole bunch of kids could have come and gone through that unlocked back door at any time.”

“Yes.”

A man abruptly entered the room from the front hall. He took no notice of Billy or of Butch and ambled, matter-of-factly, to Sheree Lynn. He clasped both her hands and lifted her to a standing position, a gesture as smooth as a professional ballroom dancer’s. Handsome, boyish-looking for middle age, with short brown hair. He wore khaki pants, a blue polo shirt, and a pair of Timberland loafers. Billy thought he seemed oddly militaristic in bearing, his shoulders held back and straight, his
stomach flat, his chest shoved out. Early to mid-forties.

“You’re all right, are you?” the man asked.

Sheree Lynn Bird fell into his open arms. “Oh, honey,” she moaned. Butch coughed. The man held Sheree Lynn tight to his chest, stroking her hair. After a moment, she tried to break out of his hold, but he held her a moment longer. “Stay, stay.”

“My meeting was hell,” the man whispered.

Sheree Lynn struggled loose. “Randy, this is Detective Inspector Billy Yamamoto.” She looked flushed. Suddenly embarrassed.

“I beg your pardon. I’m Randy Mucklowe. Department of Archaeology.”

“Professor.”

“I’m sorry. I’ve been in a budget meeting.”

Randy stuck out his hand. He shook Billy’s quickly, dropped it, nodded to Butch, then turned back to Sheree Lynn and directed her to sit down. He surveyed the table and with a sweep of his right hand removed the ashtray to a nearby windowsill. Pulling up a chair beside Sheree, he grabbed hold of her hands.

“Can we continue, Inspector? I’m sure you have a busy day, as do Sheree and I.”

“We’ll need you and Sheree to come down to the station. To give a formal statement. But I want to ask both of you a few questions before I talk to you alone, Professor.”

“You may call me Randy.”

Sheree was gazing into Randy’s face, her eyes soft and passive. Her glance told Billy she was now the adoring supplicant. “Let me sum up so far,” said Billy. “You two got here around eight this morning after receiving an anonymous phone call. You, Randy, found the body, and then Sheree called in the police?”

“No,” Randy interrupted.

In the time it took Randy to cross his legs, Billy decided to be cautious with him.

“Where have I gone wrong?”

“You haven’t, Inspector. Your facts are just incomplete.”

A gentle smirk flitted across Randy’s face. Sheree was about to speak, but Randy squeezed her hand and raised his chin.

“We got this wretched call at seven,” Randy said, his voice betraying a slight impatience. “Sheree picked up the phone and listened. I didn’t hear the voice clearly, but it sounded like a male teenager’s. I wasn’t too perturbed, quite frankly. I’ve gotten used to being harassed at all hours by Sheree’s two wards. In any case, she told me what the kid had said. She thought it was a joke. But in my opinion, the whole matter sounded grave. Sheree quite rightly felt upset, and I could see she needed my help. I thought first of calling the police, but after a moment I really doubted I would get much more than the usual shiftless sergeant who would have me come down and fill in a form and then do nothing. It seemed possible to me that this was a call for help. Sheree surmised it was Darren Riegert or one of his friends warning us, wanting us to pay attention to them yet again.”

“Randy, please,” Sheree said, her voice plaintive.

“Why did you decide then . . . ?”

“I didn’t decide, Inspector. I guessed. I always had a feeling both Cody and Darren were bent on some kind of Satanic game. I didn’t know for certain. But I figured Satan House — as they called this faded glory — would be somehow involved. Since the caller knew we were at my apartment, I felt we should try this house first. When we arrived here, the back door was ajar. I called out. Sheree was too frightened to investigate. Then I went down, switched on the lights, and found Darren.”

“What did you see exactly?”

“Exactly? A body, bloodied, hanging, naked except for the boots, the chest cut with a pentacle shape, and the head in a noose.”

“Sheree said the basement light was already on.”

“Did she?” Randy looked quickly into her eyes.

She said, “Don’t you remember?”

“Yes, of course, Inspector.”

“And that was it?”

“No. That was not it.” Randy made a point of sighing. “There were candles on the floor in a circle beneath the body. The boy’s hands were tied. On the facing wall was a pentacle scrawled in some dark colour.”

“What time was this?”

“As I said before, around eight, or minutes after.”

“What did you do then?”

“Panicked, of course. Surely, Inspector, you’ve seen enough bodies yourself to know how shocking it can be.”

“Were you shocked?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I was.”

“What was the first thing you did after you saw the body?”

“As I said before, Inspector, I panicked. I thought of calling the police right away, but then I thought I should go and comfort Sheree. I knew what this discovery might do. Once again, she would be hounded and blamed by those obnoxious parents. I came upstairs and told her. I suggested we calm ourselves. We then called the station.”

Billy allowed silence to enter the conversation for a moment. He leaned back in his chair, jotted a few key details from Randy’s description. When he looked up, Randy’s face was close to Sheree’s, and they were whispering very low. Randy then turned to Butch and addressed him directly. “Chief, if she may, can Sheree go upstairs for a quick shower?”

“You done for now, buddy?” Butch asked Billy.

Billy waited, then turned to Randy. “Please, Sheree, go ahead. Professor, I still have a few more questions for you.”

“Go on, then,” Randy said to Sheree, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Sheree smiled sheepishly at Billy and Butch and left the room. Randy began brushing the front of his khakis as if dust from the ceiling had settled on them, spoiling the creases. When he spoke again, he did not look up at Billy.

“Tell me about the harassment Sheree has received.”

“Briefly, Cody’s suicide brought police. Social services heard of the
business and wanted her to explain her actions, why the boy was coming to her, that sort of thing. The school called, wanting a full report. Sheree was questioned as to why she didn’t intervene on behalf of the boy if he was in any way suicidal.”

“Why didn’t she?”

“Didn’t you ask her?”

“I’m asking you.”

“Boys lie, Inspector. You should know from your years of experience how certain psychopathic types can fool you.”

“Are you saying Cody was a psychopath?”

“Let me take that back. He was disturbed. No, he was very unhappy. And on drugs. He saw Sheree frequently to discuss his hopeless home life.”

“So she would have observed if he were depressed, even suicidal.”

“Sheree tends to care too much, Inspector. She smothered those boys with attention, and in my view couldn’t really see how secretive or desperate they were.”

“Did you see it?”

“What are you implying?”

“You seem to have an answer to everything, Professor. You see things, you make educated guesses, and yet in the case of Cody, in spite of what you say, you did nothing.”

“What could I do? I didn’t want to meddle. Sheree needed to be on her own.”

“Do you think Cody or Darren would have listened to you if you had got involved?”

“Oh, come now, Inspector. You know better than that. Speculation of that kind is nonsense.”

“Hazard a guess anyway.”

“No. I didn’t care for them. Stayed away from them as much as I could.”

“How often did the boys come here?”

“On and off, twice a week, perhaps. Some nights they ate us out of house and home.”

“They slept here as well?”

“Sheree awarded them each a bedroom.”

“You sound resentful, Professor. Did you resent them being here?”

“Since when did you become a psychologist, Inspector? I was not the least resentful, despite what you think you can interpret in my voice.”

“Did Cody or Darren ever steal anything from you?”

“Money, you mean?”

“Anything. Money, pens, paper.”

“No. I can’t remember.”

“Did you ever smell marijuana smoke in the house?”

“No, but Cody had dime bags sticking out of his pockets half the time. Sheree once brought him down from a bad acid trip and essentially saved his life.”

“You were there?”

“I couldn’t help but hear the noise the boys were making, yelling and carrying on.”

“After Cody’s body was found, did you notice any change in the way Sheree and Darren got along?”

Randy paused and gazed hard at Billy before answering. “Sheree tried to get Darren to go to another counsellor. He said no. I think she felt she was losing touch with him.”

“Over what?”

“You’d have to ask her, Inspector.”

“Can you think of anyone who wanted to hurt Darren?”

“No.”

Billy stood up. “Walk around with me, Randy. Show me the back door. Show me the basement stairs. I need to go down there for a short look around afterwards.”

“Certainly. There’s not much to see.”

Randy led Billy into the kitchen. A large yellow room with a sink and fridge and a canister set with a yellow triangle pattern. On a rack, under the cupboards, hung a roll of paper towels, each towel with a border of little yellow flowers.

“Here.”

Randy pointed to the closed kitchen door.

“Wide open this was. And the back entrance door, too. Kicked open, I figure. Both the doors slammed up against the wall.”

“Any other signs of damage or vandalism in the house?”

“No.”

“What’s behind this door?”

Randy took hold of the kitchen door and pulled.

The cramped back porch was sunny. One wall held a large eight-paned window with glass shelves tacked up to hold pots of geraniums. On the bottom shelf was a neat row of empty plastic Coke bottles. A round green garbage can crowded a corner by the back door. Billy peeked inside. Nothing.

Butch joined them. Billy examined the floor. Small bits of dried mud led from the back steps, through the porch, and towards the kitchen. “Looks like they walked through the yard. Or through someone’s yard.”

A pair of rubber boots sat by the green garbage can, partly covered by a sheet of newspaper.

“These belong to Sheree?”

Randy frowned. “I think so. I think she owns a pair. For gardening.”

Before he spoke again, Billy slipped a note card out of his suit pocket. He folded it over once, creased it, then slid it into his right hand, and with it covering his fingers fitted it onto the lip of the rubber boot and lifted the boot up. The sole was clean and dry. He put the boot down. The other one was dry and clean as well.

“What time did Sheree come over to your place yesterday?”

Randy pulled in a breath, then rolled his eyes; looking over the back garden, he rubbed his chin.

“I can’t be sure. After dinner. Maybe nine or ten. She has a key and lets herself in. I was working on a budget for this morning’s meeting.” Randy tilted his head back and threw a glance at Butch. Billy sensed nervousness in the professor’s voice.

“I don’t have much interest in the garden, Billy, as you can see from
the mess out there.” It was Sheree. She had come up from behind and was drying her hair. She had changed into a pair of tight jeans and a pink blouse.

“Do you mind, Sheree, if I take a look around your basement and garden now?”

“Not at all, Inspector.”

Randy frowned. “When do you want us down at the station?”

“The constable can take you in the cruiser,” answered Billy. “He can call Dodd to get things set up.”

Billy was taken aback when Sheree Lynn suddenly gave him a quick hug. “Thank you, Inspector, for caring.”

Randy smiled woodenly. He steered Sheree Lynn outside through the front door. Turning away from them, Billy pulled out his notebook. He went into the living room, where he’d left his ballpoint, and sat down and began to write each separate piece of information he could remember — especially the description of the caller’s voice “Did they do it? Did Darren go?” Then he stood and walked to the front hall, where Butch was checking over the see-through plastic Ziplocs. Each bag was tagged with neat handwriting. A book with a pentacle on its cover, a noose, a cloth bag with a blood stain, one wax candle, three matches, one paper set of four unlit matches, and a paint-coated stir stick, paint brush, both with black paint.

“Butch, what do you know about Professor Mucklowe?”

“Career wise? He’s a big name at the university in Native sites. We did a background run on him during the Schow case. Divorced, tenure position, published articles, and a book on the Blackfoot Nation.”

“On the level, then.”

“Seems that way. What do you make of him and Sheree Lynn?”

“He likes to play boss. She likes it when he does.”

“You think they’re telling the truth?”

“For the most part. Neither one of them has an obvious motive for killing a young boy. Sheree Lynn shows remorse at least. I don’t know, yet, what I think about Randy. He’d just as soon ignore the matter as he did the boys when they were alive. Still, it doesn’t lie right. Sheree and
Randy seem to be hiding something. At least holding back.”

Billy opened Johnson’s kit, pulled out a pair of rubber gloves, a set of tweezers, and a clutch of Ziplocs.

“Butch, I’m going to do a quick walk-around downstairs. How do you want to proceed?”

“You call it.”

“Get Dodd to check the alibis of Sharon Riegert and her boyfriend, Woody. And have him record both Sheree’s and Randy’s formal statements separately. Then have him go through your reports and statements on the Schow case. Pull out names, numbers — teachers, friends, family — anyone associated with these two boys. Especially anyone who said anything about Darren. Did you say you’d met the counsellor at the school?”