The Equalizer (5 page)

Only a few leaves remained on the Kling’s manicured lawn. Harvey’s wife answered the door, and, after I introduced myself, she brought me through the immaculate house to the basement family room where Harvey sat in a brown-leather recliner. First thing I noticed was his large, bulbous nose. He was holding a beer and watching a poker tournament on TV. He stood to shake my hand—he had big hands for an average size guy.

He held up his beer and asked, “Want one?”

“No thanks. I’m on the clock.”

He nodded, then pointed to a clean but dated turquoise-and-magenta plaid couch where Mrs. Kling was already seated. She wasn’t going to miss this.

“Harv, turn off the TV,” Mrs. Kling demanded.

Harvey lowered the volume but defied the order to shut it off. He was slim like his wife. Both looked to be in their mid-sixties, so “Harv” must be near retirement.

“I understand you worked with Ronny Peterson yesterday.”

He nodded. “We cleared brush at South until 1:00 because he worked so damn slow. I wouldn’t break for lunch until we were done. He didn’t like that.”

“Did he ever indicate any problems he was having with anyone?”

“Nah, but he wouldn’t tell me if he did because he knew I didn’t want to hear it.”

“You know of anyone who had a grudge against him?”

“I ’spect he ruffled feathers wherever he went.”

“Did he ruffle your feathers?”

“I didn’t like him enough to let him get to me.”

“Harv,” his wife scolded.

“Just telling the truth.”

“What truck did you sign out yesterday?”

“I always take 20.”

“Today as well?”

“Yep.”

“Did you notice if Ronny left his cell phone in it?”

“I clean out the truck everyday when I’m done, and don’t let him leave so much as a crumb. I don’t like clutter.”

“Me neither. And where were you this morning from approximately 6:30 a.m. to 8:00?”

“Me and the missus walked to Dotty’s where we meet some friends every Friday morning for breakfast. After, I went straight to work.”

The missus nodded her head.

Next, I drove
out
to the Taylor farm on the western edge of town to speak with Gus Taylor. As I parked in the gravel yard, a mixed-breed dog came running off the porch of the old white farmhouse. He barked twice then wagged his tail when I exited my vehicle.

“Some watchdog,” I said as I leaned over and let him sniff my hand. I gave him a good scratch behind the ears. When I stood, he ran ahead, escorting me to the front door. I knocked. Exterior lights flicked on and Gus opened the door. He wore a faded red sweatshirt that barely stretched across his gut—his jeans hovered just below that. A bachelor, probably fifty, he looked ten years older.

“Hi, Gus. Sorry about Ronny.”

“Yeah. What the hell’s this world comin’ to, eh? A guy gets shot at a park just doing his job?”

“I know, right?”

His dog bumped my hand with his snout. I reached down to pet him. “Nice dog. He probably smells mine on me. What’s his name?”

“Spinner.”

“Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“Nope, come on in.”

He led me through the cluttered porch and living room and into an equally cluttered kitchen where we sat at an oval table stacked with newspapers and magazines. He cleared a place by making higher stacks.

“Want a beer?” he asked.

I did, but still declined.

His eyes widened as I turned on the recorder and stated the necessary information. He sat back and crossed his arms over his belly.

“Gus, I understand you and Ronny were to pull the dock from the public landing at Lake Emmaline this morning?”

“Yeah, we was gonna go out there after his dentist appointment but he called and said they canceled it and he was ready. I told him I was having my breakfast and if he didn’t want to wait for me he could start without me.”

“Were you home?”

“No, McDonalds.”

“So was the original plan to meet at the garage or at the lake?”

“At the garage so we could ride together, but he was always trying to change things to his liking. It sorta pissed me off. I ain’t proud to say I took my time.”

“Driving separately today may have saved your life.”

Gus nodded. “Man, I’ll be honest with ya—that thought crossed my mind.”

“So, what time did you leave for Emmaline?”

“After eight, but when I got out there the deputies turned me away. Wouldn’t tell me why. I figured it was a drug bust or something. Maybe even Ronny.”

“Have you evidence he used drugs?”

“Just what I’ve heard, but he knew better than to try that shit around me.”

“You know of drug activity out at Emmaline?”

“We’d find drug paraphernalia—needles, aluminum foil, glass tubes—in all the parks.”

“Tell me about Ronny.”

Gus’s forehead furrowed. “I hate to speak ill of the dead, but he was one of those guys who made his own trouble. He was a bully and lazier than shit. I thought it kinda funny he didn’t seem to know he didn’t get along with people.”

“Explain.”

“Tried to tell
me
how to do
my
job. I had to let him know he wasn’t the boss. Then he backed off.”

“How did you accomplish that?”

“One day I’d had enough of his mouth, so I told him to shut the fuck up or I’d take him by the balls and throw his ass out the moving truck. O’course, I’d never do it, but he didn’t know that. Worked.” He winked.

“Did he tell you about any recent incidents with others?”

“He was always jabbering. I just tuned him out.”

“Did you know Ted Kohler?”

“He belongs to St. Stephens too, but he didn’t talk to me or nothing. You know Ronny went there too?”

“No.”

Harvey and Gus had no love for Ronny. If their alibis checked out, both would be off my suspect list.

It was almost nine
when I called Shannon to ask if it was too late to come over. She said the boys would have a bloody fit if we didn’t. So, I stopped to buy a six-pack of Miller Light Lime and Clamato juice before the liquor store closed, then picked up Bullet.

As I pulled up into the driveway, both boys ran out to greet us. Luke, the eight-year-old, grabbed Bullet by the collar and led him into their fenced backyard. Colby, the six-year-old, bounded after.

I walked through the opened door. “Benson?”

“Hi,” she said meeting me in the entryway.

“Sorry I’m so late. Brought beer, Clamato, and limes,” I said following her to the kitchen where I put the bag on the counter.

“Ahh, that’s nice of you! Thanks. I already fed the boys, but I kept the pizza warm for us.”

After she opened a couple beers and made a Clamato for herself, we moved into the family room and ate pizza from her coffee table. The family’s two orange tabby cats, Roy and Dale, sauntered in and rubbed up against my legs, then both jumped up on an arm of the chair.

“You’re surrounded,” Shannon said. “They love you. Want to trade pets?”

“I think they just want pizza, and besides Bullet’s my running buddy. Cats aren’t exactly eager to jog.”

“They’re easier to take care of, but suit yourself.”

“You had first pick, Benson. Besides you’d have to fight Larry for him.”

Bullet and the cats were rescued from a hoarder’s home a couple years ago. Shannon and I had taken the call that Fred Paisley was passed out on the sidewalk. He’d lost his wife two years ago and in his grief stuck his head in a whiskey bottle and never came out. When we gave him a ride home, we discovered the horrid conditions he and his three pets lived in. Amazingly, the dog and cats were still in good health, but Fred was placed in a chemical dependency treatment center—and his house was condemned. Currently, he’s doing well living in a senior apartment building. I check on him every now and then and bring Bullet along for visits.

After a while the boys and Bullet came running in and tore upstairs. From above we could hear bumps, thumps, screams and shouts, but Benson’s philosophy was as long as there’s no blood or broken bones, ignore it.

“How’s the case stacking up? Do you have any leads?” she asked.

I sighed. “Nothing yet. Did you know Kohler?”

“Not personally, but I used to work out with Eleanor at the Y before the department built our gym.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s all about organic and home-grown foods. I know they’re active in their church. She seems really down to earth.”

“And what do you know about Bob Brutlag?”

“Good mechanic, rough exterior. Is he a suspect?”

“Everybody’s a suspect. Ever hear of him being violent?” I asked.

“Nah, he’s a pretty amiable guy,” Benson said.

“Not Ronny.”

“God no. Remember a year ago I arrested him for battery at Buzzo’s?”

“What was the deal again?”

“He picked a fight with a pal of Nevada Wynn’s, by the name of Pierce Redding. The charges were dropped when Redding skipped town.”

“What do you know about Redding?”

“He was in town only a short time. I had a feeling he was a real bad guy and Ronny didn’t know who he was messing with.”

“Was Ronny a user?” I asked.

“Never caught him, but that doesn’t mean anything. So, you seem like you were in your element today—investigating these murders.”

“My juices are flowing again. Up until now, the investigations have been kind of routine.”

“It got you off dog-watch.” She smiled.

I laughed. “You know I loved dog-watch—more action. It was Adriana who didn’t like me bidding on night shift.”

“Hard to manage a relationship with those hours.”

“But now I can get called in anytime, even days off.”

“Would you give it up for a woman or a family, Cal?” she asked.

“What kind of question is that?”

Screeching from above saved me. We both looked at the ceiling as if we had x-ray vision. Predictably, the boys bounded down the stairs, one brother accusing the other of not sharing Bullet.

“Maybe it’s time to say good night to Bullet,” I told the boys.

“Can he sleep over?” Luke asked.

“Not tonight,” Shannon said. “Now, go get your pajamas on and Uncle Cal and Bullet will come up and say good night before they leave.”

When they’d disappeared up the stairs, I teased Shannon by saying, “We could both stay.”

She made a dismissive face.

I pointed my finger at her. “Hey, you should be so lucky. I’ll have you know I got hit on twice today.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“You sound surprised.”

“Not at all. You have women waiting to pounce on you like black flies.”

“Black flies?
That’s
the simile you come up with?”

“Bees to honey?”

“That’s better.”

“So are you going to tell me the honeybees’ names?” she asked.

“The woman who rear-ended me—and Naomi Moberg.”

Her lips curled in a slight smile. “Neither surprises me. Tamika said that young woman was falling all over herself trying to get your attention, and just last week Naomi asked me about you.”

“What did she say?”

“Wanted to know if we have ‘a thing’ going on.”

“What did you say?”

“That we were just friends.”

“Why would she ask that? Everybody knows we’re friends.”

“That’s what I wanted to know. She said because we golfed as a couple on the league last summer. She asked me if we were friends with benefits.”

“Seriously? Were you girls tipping cups at the time?”

“Actually, we were. Girls’ night.”

“Was Tamika there?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Today she said she didn’t understand why we never got together.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I said we both agreed it’d ruin our friendship.”

“I’m a firm believer no one I work with should cross my Mason-Dixon line.”

“Oh, really? Your Mason-Dixon line? Well, there was that once,” I said—and at once regretted it.

She looked embarrassed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. So, is the woman who rear-ended you using her feminine charms to help you
forget
all about the accident?”

“Ha, ha. No, she said felt bad about the crash. But since she’s a reporter for the
Register
, I figure she just wants to ply information out of me while having hot sex. Now, getting back to this Mason-Dixon line—where is that exactly? Your belly button?” I touched her waist.

She shoved my hand away. “What’s with you tonight? Don’t you have to get on your way?”

“Not before I whistle some Dixie—I’m a Dixie Doodle Dandy.”

“That’s Yankee Doodle Dandy, stupid.”

“I have a dandy doodle.”

She gave me a shove. “Get upstairs and say good-bye to the boys.”

I did as I was told. On the way down stairs I whistled
I Wish I Was in Dixie,
and Shannon escorted me all the way out the door. I heard the lock click. Geez.

On the drive home I thought about the night Shannon and I made love. It was a week after Evan died. We were sitting on her couch. I had my arm around her, comforting her, and before we knew it clothes were flying off. She wept afterward, and I felt like a shit. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I also thought about her question:
Would you trade it all for a woman or a family?
I’d like to think I wouldn’t be with anyone who’d ask me to.

Chapter 6

DAY TWO

I
t was like the media
vans had procreated overnight, doubling in number. I again took the back security entrance and headed straight to the Investigations office. Ralph was already at his cluttered desk.

“Morning. Get your interviews in?” he asked.

“Naomi Moberg, Harvey Kling, and Gus Taylor. The Petersons weren’t answering doors or phones.”

“Don’t blame ’em—they just lost their boy, and I’m sure the media is bugging them. Well, we better head to the meeting.”

“Do I have time to try the Petersons again and see if I can talk to them today?”

“Sure, I’ll be in the conference room.”

Mrs. Peterson answered and agreed to an interview at their home at 1:00.

Ralph and Leslie Rouch were in the conference room, both paging through notes. Jack Whitman entered and tossed two plastic bags of cake doughnuts on the table.

“Dixie sent these,” he said.

Georgia, Jack’s secretary, was right behind him wheeling in a cart with two coffee carafes and a pitcher of water, and cups. She was a pleasant woman in her fifties with pure white hair she said turned by age forty when her daughter turned fifteen.

“Thanks, Georgia, you’re a peach,” Jack said—as he always did. She gave him a tiny smile.

“Do you need me anymore, Sheriff?” she asked.

“Nope, you can go.”

Georgia nodded. “All right then. We have a choir rehearsal this morning—we’re having a special prayer service tonight for Ted and Ronny. They were both members of St. Stephens, you know. Such a sad time for everyone.”

“That it is. Thanks for coming in this morning. See you Monday,” said Jack.

Then he turned to us. “Austin Spanney called me last night. Said dozens of people broke through the tape at Emmaline—singing, holding candles. He wanted to know what he should do.”

“What did you tell him?” Ralph said.

“Let them be as long as they were peaceful. Figured BRO had what they needed.”

Ralph continued. “Hopefully. Anyway, let’s get started. I spoke with Kohler’s in-laws, Hamilton and Ruth Fairchild. The last time they saw Ted was on Sunday for dinner. He acted like himself and never mentioned any problems. They couldn’t think of anyone who would want to harm a well-liked and respected man such as Ted. Ham mentioned all the community service and charities he contributed to.” Ralph paged through his notes. “And they were at mass Friday morning when the shootings occurred.”

“What time was mass?” I asked.

Ralph checked his notes. “Eight o’clock. I confirmed their attendance with Father Moran.”

“Maybe they went to establish the alibi,” Leslie said.

I think I just heard Jack say “Bullshit” under his breath. Leslie either didn’t hear or was too classy to respond.

“Leslie, I understand you found something of interest in Kohler’s truck,” Ralph said.

“Yes, in the glove box. Here are copies of the Bible verse I found. We’re going to try and pull prints and DNA from it.”

“Did you ever locate Ronny’s phone?” I asked.

Leslie paged through her notes. “No. It wasn’t at his home. Kohler had his on him. We did a quick check and no calls were made or received that morning.”

Ralph wrote in his small notebook. “Has your doc looked at Ronny yet?”

“He retrieved the bullet from the spine but that’s all. He’ll perform one autopsy at a time.”

“What did you find out, Cal?” Ralph asked.

I gave a summary of my three interviews.

Ralph said, “So, now we have to reconstruct what may have happened. Anyone have any thoughts?”

“Either one victim was an intended target and the other was an unlucky bystander, or both victims were in the wrong place at the wrong time,” I said.

“So what’s logical considering what you know about the victims,” Leslie asked.

Ralph sat forward. “Kohler was a model citizen. He was just out there fishing before he went to work like he did most mornings.”

I said, “And Ronny was a wise-assed kid who shot his mouth off and never turned down a fight, and was a possible drug user. But of course people’s lives are often not what they seem and we need to look into
both
victims’: their workplaces, relationships, finances, bad habits, secrets, etcetera.”

“Exactly,” Leslie said.

Jack sat back and crossed his arms. He had a disgruntled look on his face like we were doing something wrong. I wanted to ask him what he was thinking but thought better of it because I wasn’t sure I even wanted to know. He had less experience with homicide than Leslie and Ralph did.

We added to our interview list and Ralph adjourned the meeting. “Okay, try to get your interviews done today and tomorrow. Call me with anything new and significant, otherwise we’ll meet bright and early Monday morning,” Ralph said.

When the room cleared and Ralph and I were alone, I asked him if he heard Jack’s “bullshit” remark.

“Yeah, he’s under a lot of pressure, but that’s no excuse for rudeness.”

“Ralph, I didn’t mention in the meeting that Eleanor Kohler had fifty-six minutes of unaccounted time but I haven’t checked it out.”

“Eleanor’s on my agenda for today. I’ll ask her about it,” he said.