Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

“Strong bugger,” Pewter said admiringly.

“You didn't live with us when Mom was married to him. He really was worth his weight.” Mrs. Murphy remained neutral about whether or not Harry should get back together with Fair but she certainly appreciated his hard work on the farm.

Fair pulled Harry aside after he loaded the tank on BoomBoom's fancy truck. “Have you heard from Diego?”

“He called late this afternoon from Montevideo. He'll be in town next weekend. He's escorting Lottie to an alumni fund-raiser.”

“Oh.” Fair smiled.

“She asked him.”

“Oh.” His face fell.

“And?”

“She's making it hard for him.” Tucker loved Fair.

“He's gotten better at expressing himself.” Mrs. Murphy was proud of Fair's progress and although she wasn't a big believer in therapy she thought it had helped him. He liked structure even for his emotions, and therapy gave him the illusion of that. She knew one could never structure one's emotions but Fair's sessions helped him gain insight into himself.

“I thought we were going to the Wrecker's Ball.”

“We are. I haven't changed my mind. You asked me at New Year's. As I recall you said, ‘Plan ahead.'”

“I did, didn't I?” He was tremendously relieved, then he tensed again. “Is Diego coming to the ball?”

“He is and I'll dance with him. I dance with all the fellows. I even dance fast ones with Susan if you all are pooped out.”

44

At eight o'clock Monday morning Roger O'Bannon was exhumed from his grave. As he hadn't been in the ground that long, he retained all his features and his digits but the body was filled with gas.

Rick detested exhumations. They were unpleasant affairs but he felt he had to be at this one in case Sean showed up. Although Sean had promised his mother he would comply with her wishes, people could snap, change their minds. Emotions were like quicksilver even in the best of times. This, hardly the best of times, called for extra vigilance.

Rick accompanied the body to Marshall Wells. As he worked, the new coroner said he couldn't promise when Richmond would return the results but he didn't think it would be longer than a week at most. Fortunately, this was a slow time.

As he drove away from the coroner's office, Rick called Coop, alone in her squad car that day.

“Coop, meet me at O'Bannon's Salvage.”

“Trouble with Sean?”

“No. But I want to go over those grounds again.”

“Might it be a good idea to wait for another day? I would expect Sean's a little raw today.”

“In a perfect world, you're correct and sensitive. But if he is in on this or if he did kill his brother, he might drop a card, you know?”

“Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes. I'm at Route 250 and 240, want a sandwich?” A good deli was at that intersection.

“Not hungry.”

“Sorry. I forgot.” She was glad she wasn't at the exhumation.

Sean was curt but not openly rude. He told them to go wherever they liked.

First they walked the perimeter of the four acres. Rick liked to make sure he knew the terrain. Nothing unusual presented itself except for the fact that the business had room to grow physically, always a plus.

The few small outbuildings contained gardening tools or small pieces needing cleaning. Some salvage yards left the cleaning to the customer. Sean discovered if he cleaned, put in a little time, he could command bigger prices. It was worth the effort.

Then they pushed open the door to the garage. The large sliding door, big enough for vehicles, was locked but the small door, to the left of that, was open.

“Neat as a pin,” Coop said.

“Yeah.” Rick walked over to the hydraulic lift. “This is something.”

“Nothing much here. I guess he wasn't working on anything. The books showed the last old car he sold was a week before his death. A 1932 Ford coupe. He got twenty-seven thousand for it. Deuce coupes. I'd love one.”

“Yeah.” Rick wasn't a motorhead but he appreciated old cars. They were more individual or so it seemed to him. “Nothing out of line. He picked up most of his old cars in South Carolina and Georgia. The sources checked out. Guess he was waiting to find the next one or two. He seems to have contributed to this business. He wasn't the front guy but he worked. For one thing, Sean wouldn't have put up with it.”

“Here's a bag of popcorn.” Coop bent over to pick up the empty foil bag. “That's the only debris.” She tossed it in the trash.

They left, walking through each of the large outdoor piles of offerings. They tried the door to the caboose. Locked. Coop dashed back. Sean gave her the key. She dodged the puddles back to Rick.

She opened the back door, then ran up the shades on the windows. The light streamed in. “Cool.”

A potbellied stove sat in the middle. The floor, hard oak, was clean and no dust was on the two chairs and the heavy desk in the corner.

“Sean's a neat freak, too,” Rick noticed.

“This would make a neat restaurant. I hope he goes through with it,” Coop said.

They opened the drawers of the desk. Nothing but an old cracked celluloid fountain pen.

“Well, that's it,” Rick said. “I wish I knew what we were looking for.”

“I'd have been happy with one marijuana plant in the window.” Cooper sighed. As she walked toward the door, she said, “I feel bad, we're tracking some mud in here. I'll tell Isabella we did. I'll even clean it up.”

“Coop, it's not as though we've brought in slops. If Sean is that anal retentive, he can sweep it out.” As Rick headed for the door he looked down at the wet footprints. A beam of light shone on dried footprints, light mud. “Hey.” He knelt down. “This can't be more than a few days old.”

Coop knelt down with him. “Yeah.” She followed the tracks: one person, big feet. Two strides and then back out, footsteps overlapping the entrance footsteps. “In and out.”

“H-m-m.”

“Boss, you worried?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too.”

Pope Rat, observing them from his cozy quarters, growled, “Nipshits.”

45

Coop sent photographs of Dwayne Fuqua and Donald Clatterbuck to Bill Boojum in Lexington, Kentucky. Bill couldn't or wouldn't identify either man. He'd never seen them with Roger.

Refusing to give up, Coop sent photos back to the dealer in Newport News. She asked him to show all his employees photographs of Dwayne, Roger, and Donald. Although none of those men ever worked at the dealership, it would have been possible that one or more of them could have dropped off a vehicle or picked one up to be delivered to Boojum's in Lexington, since a leasing agent would purchase cars from big dealers all over the U.S.

Within two hours of faxing the photographs she received a phone call from Fisher McGuire, the general manager. One of his office workers remembered giving Dwayne the registration papers for him to drive a Jaguar to Boojum's. He even remembered that the car was a three-year rental.

Large rental dealers like Boojum's would get a request for a specific vehicle, in this case a new Jaguar sedan, British racing green, tan interior. The salespeople at Boojum's would call their contacts at various Jaguar dealers until they found one matching their client. They would then pay for the car, have it driven to the dealership, and rent it to the customer. If the residual value of the car is accurately figured, a dealer can't lose on car rentals because the customer eats the depreciation, not the dealer. The customer is responsible for maintenance and is allowed a certain number of miles per year, usually twelve to fifteen thousand. Any mileage over that is charged at ten to fifteen cents a mile. If the wear and tear on the vehicle is excessive, the customer is responsible for costs when the lease term expires. Once the car is turned back in at the term of the lease, usually three years, the dealer sells it at retail value. The customer has the right to purchase the car at retail value.