CUTTER'S GROVE Page 22

  “Oh?”

  “He told me that, in his professional opinion, it would be extremely uncommon for someone with Harold’s mental acuity to do what Harold is accused of. Committing a murder is one thing but to hide the body afterwards with such precision and care to detail about getting caught ... Well, he just doesn’t see how Harold is capable of that.”

  “But Harold confessed, didn’t he?”

  “Well, that’s just it. Harold does admit to hitting Rhonda for teasing him. But he’s said nothing at all about killing her or hiding her body.”

  “Has the doctor told Sergeant Yates about his feelings?”

  “Not yet, but he said he would definitely be doing that.”

  “Do you think … I mean, is it possible that Harold might actually be innocent?”

  “After talking to this doctor, Lucas, it’s hard not to think it.”

  “I’ll be damned …”

  “Have there been any more developments with Anne Marie?" she asks.

  “No,” I lie. “Nothing at all.”

  “Have you given any more thought to tricking Arliss with the bracelet story?”

  “No, not really. Well, kind of. I’ll explain when I see you.”

  “Okay. I’ll be coming home tomorrow. I’ll see you then.”

  “Do you need me to pick you up in Tehachapi?”

  “That would be wonderful. I’ll phone you before I leave Bakersfield and let you know what time I’m due to arrive there.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  So, now there’s a possibility Harold isn’t responsible for Rhonda Getty’s murder after all. While I’m delighted at this prospect, it once again begs the question: who the hell is?

  ****

  My little excursion to Doc Taylor’s takes place at two a.m. His office is located on the upper floor of a structure whose main floor is occupied by the only barber in town. There’s not a single house in sight of the building so I figure my chances of being seen by anyone at this hour, at this end of town, are about the same as hitting the big jackpot in the state lottery. Just the same, it’s a great relief to deposit the box at the foot of Doc’s door and get clear of there.

  I’m back home within ten minutes of my earlier departure. Victor, who has been relegated a spot by the stove to sleep, is now stretched out on my bed. I scoot him to the floor and take his place, remembering to flip my pillow. I’m just getting settled down, maybe five minutes later, when the bed bounces alarmingly.

  Victor is nestling in beside me.

  48

  At six forty-five Beth is shaking me awake. “How did it go?” she says.

  “Huh? Wha …”

  “How did it go?”

  “Fine. It went fine.”

  “Nobody saw you?”

  “No.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. What are you doing here so early anyway?”

  “I couldn’t stand not knowing what had happened. I’m worried sick about all this.”

  I sit up in bed, rubbing sleep from my eyes. “Everything’s taken care of. There’s nothing to worry about now.”

  “I wish I could be sure of that," she says.

  “You can.”

  “I don’t know …”

  “Beth, go to work. Everything’s fine. Trust me.”

  She looks at me, full of doubt. “All right,” she says, turning to go. She’s at the door when she glances back at me. “You better get up. You’ve got a ton of work waiting for you out there.”

  What I wouldn’t give for a solid night’s sleep.

  About ten o’clock that morning I’m wrestling with a stubborn nut on one of Mel Hocking’s fleet when Sonny brings me a hot coffee. He has a hangdog expression on his weathered old face. “Thought you might be ready for a java,” he says.

  “Thanks, Sonny.”

  “I waited all day yesterday for the hammer to drop. Kept expectin’ the man was gonna show up and cart me off any minute.”

  “Guess I should have put your mind to rest. Sorry.”

  “Hey, don’t apologize. It was a small price to pay for my stupidity. But how in the world did you know I was involved in Anne Marie’s death? The way you put the sting on me with that story about the bracelet …”

  “Well, let’s just say I had it narrowed down to a couple of names and yours was one of them.”

  “How come you didn’t just turn it over to Yates then?”

  “I had my reasons, Sonny. Leave it at that, okay?”

  He looks contemplative. “Okay. I wanna thank you, though, Lucas. There ain’t many men woulda done what you did.”

  “It’s history. Forget it.”

  “Whaddya think is gonna happen now?”

  “About what?”

  “It’s all over town about that box a bones left at Doc Taylor’s office. Everybody’s speculatin’ it’s the Alvarro girl.”

  “Just let it play out. There’s no way anybody can tie you to a bunch of bones.”

  “Why did you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Take such an interest in finding out what happened to her. And then deliver her bones to the doc.”

  I’m not about to tell Sonny about my experience in the desert - that I’ve seen Anne Marie’s ghost and interpreted it as a cry for help to find her killer and be properly buried. “Just thought it was the right thing, that’s all.”

  “Well … thanks for not turnin’ me in. You’re a good friend.”

  There’s a little moisture in Sonny’s eyes. I’m not sure how to account for it. Is he sad? Is it relief? Or regret? I’d give him a hug if I thought he’d let me get away with it. “Get outa here, will you,” I say. “I’ve got work to do.”

  A little later Deborah calls to let me know she’ll be arriving in Tehachapi about nine tonight.

  ****

  It took me much longer than it should have, of course, but it seems I’ve finally learned my lesson about how to treat Beth. First up and foremost, of course: don’t lie to the woman. When I’m through work for the day I drive up to the diner and tell her I’m going to pick up Deborah in Tehachapi. She's still very shaken up by all the recent events that have occurred and worried that we'll end up in trouble somehow, but she takes the news about Deborah calmly. “Want me to come along?” she asks.

  “Sure, I’d love you to.”

  “No, thanks,” she says. “Just wanted to know you wanted me to.”

  Women. “It’ll probably be late by the time we get back. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  She blows me a kiss. “Drive careful.”

  "I will."

  "Lucas."

  '"Yeah?"

  "I love you."

  "Right back at ya, kid."

  I’m passing Herb’s place on my drive to Tehachapi when I see Herb and Arliss talking outside by Arliss’ pickup. Judging by the body language, the conversation is not a happy one.

  I honk as I blow by. Neither of them waves. I notice they’re both staring intently after me, though, when I check my rearview mirror.

  I get to Tehachapi about twenty minutes before I’m due to meet Deborah. It’s a hot night so I decide to kill the time at the tavern Beth and I visited the other night.

  Leonard Fosberg must do most of his business in this place. He’s sitting at a table with a young couple when I make my entrance. He waves hello and, a few minutes later, joins me at the bar.

  “Mr. Tunney. How are you?”

  “I’m well. You?”

  “Have you spoken to Miss Miller lately?” he asks.

  “Actually I’m here to pick her up,” I tell him. “She’s arriving by bus from Bakersfield in a few minutes.”

  “Ah. Then you’ve probably already heard the good news.”

  “Well, Deborah did tell me there’s reason to believe Harold is completely innocent of Rhonda Getty’s murder.”

  Fosberg purses his lips and nods. “That’s what the head doc seems pretty much convinced of, yes.” />
  “Do you think the police will buy the argument about him being mentally incapable of hiding a murder so well?”

  “Yates is a good man. A little hard-headed sometimes I’ll grant you, but if he’s anything he’s honest. If those doctors in Bakersfield tell him Harold couldn’t have done it, my guess is he’ll accept it.”

  “That’s good to hear,” I say. A glance at my watch tells me it’s time to go. “Well, I guess I better get rolling.”

  “Say hello to Miss Miller for me. And tell her I’ll be in touch when there’s further word on Harold.”

  “I will. And thanks again.”

  ****

  Deborah is dressed in an attractive new outfit that becomes her figure, but she looks completely worn out from all the activity of the past few days. She practically collapses in my arms when we hug. “You okay?” I ask.

  “Yes, just very tired,” she says. “It’s been an exhausting time.”

  “Let’s get you home.”

  She’s quiet for most of the ride. Then, out of the blue, she asks about Arliss. I’m reminded, of course, of my promise to Beth not to say anything about what we’ve been up to in Deborah’s absence. And particularly about how we covered up for Sonny.

  “There has been a new wrinkle in the proceedings,” I tell her.

  “Oh?”

  “Yeah. Somebody apparently delivered a box of bones to Doc Taylor’s office yesterday. The word around town is that it’s Anne Marie.”

  Deborah’s jaw drops and her eyes go wide. “Do you think it might be?”

  “Stands to reason. Who else might they belong to?”

  “This is incredible,” Deborah says. “Why would anyone do that?”

  “It’s a mystery,” I say.

  She squints her eyes and looks at me with a healthy dose of skepticism. “Are you telling me everything, Lucas?”

  “Of course,” I respond immediately. Lying bastard.

  49

  Early the next morning I’m less than delighted to see Darrel Yates pulling up to the shop in his cruiser.

  “Morning, Mr. Tunney,” he says briskly. I’m Mr. Tunney again. No more plain old Lucas.

  “Sergeant.”

  “Mind if I ask you a few questions?”

  “Sounds official,” I say. “Should I hold my arms out so you can cuff me?” I try to make it sound like a joke. It comes off sounding about as funny as brain cancer.

  “That remains to be seen,” he says. He’s dead serious. “You know anything about the delivery of a box made to Doc Taylor’s office sometime in the early morning hours two days ago?”

  “Only what I’ve heard around town. Word is, it was a box full of bones.”

  “A full skeleton to be more precise,” Yates corrects me. “Of a young girl. Anne Marie Alvarro, I’m guessing. What can you tell me about it?”

  “What makes you think I can tell you anything about it?”

  “I’ll ask the questions, if you don’t mind,” he barks at me. “So?”

  “Don’t know a thing about it. Sorry.”

  He narrows those inscrutable eyes at me. “I think you’re lying, Tunney.” No more Mister Tunney. Now I’m just Tunney.

  “You’re entitled to think whatever you want,” I say calmly - much more calmly than I feel. “I still don’t know anything about those bones.”

  “Listen,” he says, starting to seethe, “at this point in time I have no actual evidence against you. But I am in the process of getting details about exactly where you were when Anne Marie Alvarro disappeared.”

  “You’re checking me out?”

  “I know goddamn well you’re up to your ass in this case somehow.”

  “You’re checking me out?” I repeat.

  “Damn right I am. And I’ll do anything else I have to to solve this case, too.”

  I decide to show some righteous indignation. It can’t hurt. “If there’s nothing else, Sergeant, I’ve got work to do.”

  “Hear me good,” he says. “That box and the bones it contained are in the hands of some mighty talented forensic techs in Bakersfield. Those people can learn more by looking through a microscope than you would believe possible. They’re going to tell a story. You can count on that. And when that happens, Mister Tunney, you had better hope I don’t learn you’ve been lying to me. Because if I do, you’ll spend the rest of your natural life regretting it.”

  With that he takes his leave. When he passes by the end of the car I’m working on he kicks a box containing a carburetor kit I’m about to install, causing the contents to explode all over the shop floor.

  After due consideration I decide not to ask for his help in picking up the scattered pieces.

  ****

  Beth comes by after work. The look on her face conveys a world of worry. “You don’t look too happy,” I tell her.

  “I’m just so worried. I keep thinking something’s going to happen to get us in trouble.”

  “I hate to make you feel any more anxious than you already are, but I’m afraid I’ve got bad news.”

  “Oh, no,” she says, turning pale. “What?”

  “Yates paid me a little visit today. Light on sociability and heavy on threats.”

  Beth looks like she’s about ready to burst into tears. “What did he say?”

  “That he’s convinced I know something about Anne Marie’s death and that he’s going to find out what.”

  “Oh, shit. Why don’t you just tell him about Sonny and get it over with? Get him off your back.”

  “Yates is just blowing hot air. He doesn’t know anything. Besides, I can’t dump on Sonny now.”

  “I have a really bad feeling about this, Lucas. I think your good deeds are going to end up turning on you and biting you in the butt.”

  “Keep thinking those good thoughts, babe.”

  “I’m sorry, I can’t help it.”

  “Putting aside all that for a minute,” I say, “what about Rhonda Getty?”

  “What about her?”

  “It looks like Harold is going to be cleared of her murder. That means somebody else out there killed her.”

  She lays one of those withering looks of hers on me. “Now listen, bub, don’t you think you’ve got yourself in enough hot water as it is? Don’t go sticking your nose into Rhonda Getty’s case again.”

  “It doesn’t bother you that there’s a killer walking around out there?”

  “Of course it bothers me,” she fires back at me. “But it’s Yates’ business. Not yours.”

  “Yeah, well, Yates didn’t do so good with Anne Marie, did he?”

  “So you’re going to appoint yourself the unofficial law in Cutter’s Grove now, is that it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Maybe all of Kern County.”

  “Sure.”

  “Hell, why not the whole state of California?”

  “Couldn’t hurt.”

  “LUCAS!”

  “All right, okay ... I’ll behave.”

  I really am a lying bastard. I have no intention of behaving.

  50

  “You ready to get goin’?” Sonny asks, peeking his head into my room the next night.

  “Where to?”

  “It’s poker night.”

  “I figured it’d be cancelled, what with Paco …”

  “No, he called me and said to go ahead and get the boys together. He won’t be makin’ it - Bonnie is pretty upset a course - but he didn’t see no point in everybody givin’ up a night out.”

  “Okay then, sure. I guess I’m up for it.”

  Sonny looks immensely relieved. “I was worried maybe you wouldn’t wanna play no more,” he says.

  “Why would you think that?”

  “I dunno. Just … well, you know.”

  “Hey, I told you. What happened is history. Put it out of your mind.”

  He cracks one of those ear to ear smiles of his. “Okey doke.”

  Actually, now that I’m not trying to nail one of these guys as a
murderer maybe I can kick back and enjoy myself. Herb and Arliss, of course, are not exactly high on my Christmas card list. The fact that Arliss is most likely having a sexual relationship with a fifteen-year-old girl is the most troubling thing for me. I’m not, however, overly worked up about the dope scheme him and Herb are into. If it was anything more toxic than pot - coke or heroine or something like that - I’d have hung both these guys out to dry in a New York minute. But, although I have little tolerance for dope pushers, the truth is I smoked enough weed during my two years in college to believe that all the hype about it’s addictive properties and so on is a load of crap. In my experience the stuff seemed a hell of a lot less problematic than booze and, by all indications, poses much less of a health risk than tobacco.

  Which reminds me, I’ve got a fortune worth of the stuff still hidden away under my room. I’m going to have to make some decisions about what to do with it one of these days.

  The game wraps up five hours later. The big losers tonight are none other than Herb and Arliss. This does little to improve Herb’s always stellar disposition.

  Well, tough shit, Herb.

  Even more happily, though, I’m once again the big winner.

  Maybe there’s a God in heaven after all.

  ****

  Of course, word spreads quickly around town about Harold’s apparent innocence in the death of Rhonda Getty. Deborah is even heartened enough at his prospects that she decides to go back to Bakersfield to be with him, certain of his imminent return home.

  The news about the skeletal remains found at Doc Taylor’s door, however, has fuelled speculation by the townspeople that there is a multiple murderer living in their midst.

  I, of course, am one of the few residents in town aware that Anne Marie’s death was nothing more than an accident. I wish I could let people know this. It wouldn’t lessen the enormity of Rhonda’s unsolved murder, of course, but it might help people to sleep a bit better if they knew her murder was most likely a random act and not the work of a serial killer. Maybe the forensic evidence that’s being amassed will somehow provide this confirmation.