Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

The photographs had been taken, the body dusted for fingerprints, the ground under the corpse inspected.

Two kids crossing in the rough patch of land behind Crozet Elder Care, a home for the aged, had found Wesley Partlow dangling from a fiddle oak. His tongue hung down on his chest, his face was purple-black, his eyes bugged out, and his feet and hands were swollen from the fluids collecting there. The storms hadn't improved his appearance but they probably saved his eyes from the birds.

Naturally, the gruesome sight scared the bejesus out of the kids, but they had the presence of mind to call the sheriff. Although Rick and Cynthia Cooper had witnessed plenty of unpleasant sights over the years, it didn't mean they liked seeing it.

The body was lowered carefully onto the gurney. If Wesley'd been cut down with a thud the corpse might have been even more damaged. The coroner couldn't save anyone, that's for sure, but he usually had the right answer about someone's health a day late.

As Diana Robb rolled away the mortal remains of a wasted life, Coop examined the bark of the tree. “If he shimmied up the tree, he didn't slough off bark.”

“He would have made a long skid mark. The rains would have taken care of little marks, don't you think?” Rick looked skyward. “And here comes some more.”

“I don't know, boss. He was light. He could have climbed up without much effort, without a lot of scraping and slipping. I looked for tire tracks.”

“Yeah.” Rick, too, had wondered if he'd been hoisted up on a truck bed. “Washed out.”

Wesley Partlow didn't seem like the suicide type.

“I don't get it.”

“Let's find Din Marks.”

They drove out sloshing through ever-deepening mud holes. As they turned onto Route 240 the raindrops fell, fat ones making big splashes on the windshield.

By the time they reached Fashion Mall, some thirty minutes later, it was again pouring. They parked by the side door and made a run for the Sears store. Din Marks worked in the lawnmower section. He blanched when he saw them.

Rick spoke to the other man behind the counter. “Can you hold the fort? I need a minute or two with Mr. Marks.”

“Sure.” The middle-aged man nodded.

Rick motioned for Din to follow him. Together with Cynthia they walked into the center concourse of the mall. Few shoppers milled about, weekday mornings being sparsely populated.

“Would you like to sit?” Rick pointed to a bench.

“No.”

“When you were locked up with Wesley Partlow, did he say anything to you? He was mad at someone or someone was mad at him? Anything?”

Din shook his head. “No.”

“Did he seem depressed?” Cynthia asked.

“Not him.” Din ruefully smiled. “I was drunk but I remember his smart mouth.”

“Did he mention cars, hubcaps?”

“No. Said he didn't do anything. He didn't belong there and he'd get out. I said I slugged a cop and he laughed. I didn't mean to hit Yancy. Didn't mean to—well, I was drunk.”

“We know,” Rick replied. “Did you notice anything unusual about Wesley himself?”

“No.”

“Did Wesley mention doing business with anyone in town?”

“No.”

“Did he mention a truck?”

“No.”

Cooper spoke again. “Would you say he was calm, agitated, surly, afraid?”

“Uh. Watchful. We didn't say too much to one another. He told me if I puked he'd kill me. When I woke up he was gone.”

“By the way,” Rick said, “how'd you get to work this morning?”

“Walked.”

“In the rain?” Coop inquired.

“I'll be walking in the rain for a long time. I'm gonna lose my license for three years.”

“Maybe you should stop drinking.” She handed him an AA number. “Can't hurt to try.”

“Yeah,” he mumbled.

“Call the number, Din,” Coop urged him. “The next time we pick you up it could be in a body bag or you'll have killed someone else.”

“It'll be three years from now. I won't drive.”

“Don't drink. You can't handle it,” she flatly stated.

“Go on back to work,” Rick told him.

Din turned to go, then stopped. “What happened to that kid?”

“Found him hanging from a tree.”

Din blinked. “Shit.”

“If you think of anything, call us.”

“That asshole would have never hung himself,” Din blurted out.

“That's our assessment of the situation, too,” Rick said.

Back in the squad car, Rick and Coop wiped their faces, damp again from the rain.

Rick pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “Never received a report for a stolen truck.”

“The eighty-seven GMC.” She lit up as well. “Maybe it wasn't stolen.”

“That has occurred to me.”

“Who'd lend him a truck?”

“Someone stupid.” Rick inhaled. “Or someone who's a fence.”

“O'Bannons?”

“Thought of that. Tim O'Bannon would have killed his kids if they'd ever pulled a stunt like that. He was as honest as the day is long. He'd never take stolen goods.”

“The old man's dead.”

Rick paused. “Sean's not that stupid. Make a couple of thousand tax-free dollars but jeopardize your whole business by selling stolen goods? He wouldn't do it.”

“Who knows?” Cooper opened the window a crack to let the smoke out but the rain snuck through the crack. Even though she quickly put the window up, her right thigh was wet. “Damn.”

“No point driving until I can see where I'm going.” He sighed. “Coop, apart from drugs, what could bring in big bucks? Moonshine can still make you rich if you're careful,” he noted.

Neither one had to tell the other that they were treating the demise of Wesley Partlow as murder. It's true that people can harbor deep pain and secret losses and finally do themselves in. And sometimes a surly façade covers pain; but both officers of the law felt that wasn't the case. Someone threw a rope over that fiddle tree and strung up Wesley Partlow just like in the Wild West.

“I searched the computer for a criminal record. Wesley Partlow managed to keep his nose clean. He was smarter than I gave him credit for. I thought he was just a dumb punk.”

“He goes in the ground after that autopsy.” Rick squinted, the rain had let up a little. “How's your appetite?”

“Why?”

“Haven't lost it after this morning?”

“No. Have you lost yours?”

“Takes more than a hanged man to do that. Let's go to the Riverside Café.”

“I'll call Big Mim on the way. The news will be spreading all over Crozet. You know those two kids will tell. They'll have nightmares for months.”

“Yep.” He turned right out of the parking lot, heading for the intersection of High Street and Free Bridge. “Wait a second before calling the Queen of Crozet. Did you check out the number of 1987 GMC half-ton trucks in Virginia?”

“Over twenty thousand, four-wheel drive and two-wheel, still on the road.”

“How about in Albemarle County?”

“Yancy's on that since he has to sit around. Guess he'll be sitting around for a while.”

“Okay.”

“We don't know if the truck is registered here. Could be out of state.”

“I know.”

“Like a jigsaw puzzle,” she said, “all the pieces have been dumped on the table in a heap.”

He turned toward her. “Maybe all the pieces aren't on the table.”

20

The word of the grisly find reached the post office by one-thirty. Big Mim stopped by after her errands.

“I feel terrible.” Miranda meant it, too.

“You didn't know him,” Harry hastened to comfort her. She knew how guilty Miranda could get.

“She's right, Miranda. You simply reported that your hubcaps were stolen and by chance or whatever he was parking cars at my party. And you can believe I have chastised that company. I'll never use their valet service again. Not that he did any harm but still, they ought to scrutinize their help more closely. Their excuse was he had a valid driver's license and they needed all the help they could get due to the dogwood parties.” Big Mim shook out her umbrella. “I've made a mess. Sorry. I didn't think it would be so wet.”