Brian Freeman - Spilled Blood

‘Is it something you can look up from here?’

She nodded reluctantly. ‘I suppose so. It will take me a moment. My office is upstairs.’

‘I really appreciate it.’

Maxine Valma left Chris alone. He heard the precise click of her heels on wooden steps, and then he heard unhappy voices above him. After a sharp silence, another, heavier set of footsteps thudded to the ground level. A large black man filled the doorway. Like his wife’s, George Valma’s face had a strained politeness, as if Chris were interrupting them from something important. He wondered if they were in the midst of an argument.

George shook hands like a football player with a crushing grip. He had a rumbling voice that was unusually soft for such a big man. He had wiry gray hair and wore a navy silk shirt with an open collar and gray dress slacks. He was a few years older than his wife, probably in his mid-fifties. Despite his size, he looked fit, not heavy.

‘Did Maxine offer you a glass of wine?’ George asked as he sat on the sofa.

‘Thanks, but I’m fine.’

‘It’s just awful what happened to your daughter.’

‘Yes, it is.’

‘I have two girls. They’re nine and twelve. If someone did anything like that to one of my babies, I think I’d tear their heads from their shoulders with my bare hands.’ George looked like he could make good on his threat.

‘We’re fathers,’ Chris said.

‘Exactly.’

‘Your wife told me that you work at Mondamin.’

George nodded. ‘That’s right. I joined the company when they were acquired. Before then, I worked with the parent company in Missouri.’

‘It’s a controversial place.’

George’s lips wriggled like a caterpillar as he phrased his reply. ‘I’m a scientist. I stay out of politics and PR.’

‘Was it hard to move here? Rural areas don’t always welcome strangers.’

‘Particularly African-American strangers?’ George said.

‘I mean any strangers, but Barron isn’t exactly St. Louis in terms of diversity.’

‘You hear a lot more Hank Williams than Charles Mingus in this neighborhood, no doubt about that. I feel like a zoo animal sometimes, but these are decent Christians living here. I can’t say they’ve ever made us feel unwelcome. They’ve taken us into their church. I’m much happier with my girls growing up in this town than in St. Louis. I go to work with a smile on my face.’

His voice rose oddly as he said this, as if he were trying to convince himself.

‘What kind of work do you do?’

‘I’m afraid I can’t say much about it. I’m sorry.’

Chris held up his hands. ‘I’m not trying to steal your trade secrets.’

‘No, but you’d be surprised at the lengths to which people will go. Some companies hire private investigators to ride elevators at trade conferences, in order to eavesdrop on conversations between researchers. Others train hookers to obtain information. It’s a cutthroat business.’

‘A lot of money must be at stake.’

‘Billions.’

Maxine Valma returned to the living room, but she didn’t sit next to her husband. Instead, she stood in the doorway with her arms folded across her chest. Chris thought she didn’t want him lingering in their house any longer than necessary. ‘Are you asking questions about Mondamin?’ she said. ‘I warned you that we’d have to kill you, didn’t I?’

The joke fell flat. None of them laughed. George shot his wife an uncomfortable glance.

‘Anyway, the answer is yes,’ she went on. ‘Ashlynn was in a Religious Studies class with Tanya Swenson this term.’

‘Thank you for checking.’

‘Was there anything else you wanted?’ she asked.

‘What do you know about the relationship between the two girls?’

‘I’d be surprised if there was much of a relationship at all, given the situation. Why?’

‘Ashlynn called Tanya the day before she was killed. She told her father it was about a school assignment in their religion class.’

‘That sounds reasonable.’

‘Yes, I suppose it does,’ Chris said. ‘Anyway, I’m sorry to bother you.’ He stood up from the armchair and then added, ‘Actually, I do have one more question. Ashlynn called you here at home a couple of weeks ago. Do you remember what that was about?’

The principal shook her head. ‘Students call here a lot, but I don’t remember a call from Ashlynn.’

‘Sure you do, Maxy,’ George reminded her. ‘She told you that one of the exit doors in the gym was sticking. She was concerned it was a safety hazard.’

Maxine blinked, and her face softened. ‘Of course. That’s right. I’d forgotten it was Ashlynn who told me about that.’

‘Did she talk about anything else?’ Chris asked.

‘Just the typical pleasantries.’

‘Nothing unusual about it?’

She smiled. ‘Sorry.’

Chris nodded. He was hitting dead ends in every direction. ‘Well, I appreciate your time.’

‘Not at all.’

He shook hands with both of them, and the principal led him to the front door. She shut it behind him as he left, and as he reached the sidewalk at the bottom of the steps, the porch light went off, leaving the front yard dark. He navigated his way blindly to his car, which was parked at the street, and climbed inside.

He started the engine and sat in the darkness, thinking. Before he could pull away, someone rapped on the passenger window.

George Valma was outside.

He switched off the car, and the bulky scientist got in next to him. George sat uncomfortably with his hands in his lap and his big lips pinched together. He was as large as a bear in the passenger seat. Chris waited. Finally, George swiveled his head and met Chris’s inquiring stare.

‘This conversation never happened,’ George said.

‘Okay.’

‘If you tell anyone, I’ll deny it.’

‘Understood.’

‘Maxine and I are careful what we say in the house. We’re never sure who’s listening.’

‘Are you saying you think your house is bugged?’

‘I don’t know, but it pays to be careful.’

‘Who would want to do that? Florian?’

‘Maybe. Or maybe others. There are always people who want to listen.’

‘So what is it you want to tell me?’ Chris asked.

George twisted his fire-hydrant neck in both directions to study the street, as if looking for strangers in the shadows or cars in the neighborhood that he didn’t recognize. When he was satisfied they were alone, he rumbled, ‘The phone call wasn’t what I said it was.’

‘Then what was it?’

‘Ashlynn didn’t call Maxine,’ George told him. ‘She called me.’

George Valma gave instructions as Chris drove. They stayed off the north–south highway and instead followed bumpy, unpaved roads through the empty rural lands. Chris quickly got lost in the maze of turns at unmarked intersections, but the scientist had a confident sense of direction. Chris peppered him with questions, but George said little during the fifteen-minute ride.

‘Stop here,’ the scientist said finally.

When Chris did, George climbed out and marched into an abandoned field that was a sea of mud and rocks. The black man’s hands were shoved in his pockets, and his shoulders were hunched. Chris followed. They were near an old gravel driveway, but the driveway led nowhere. There were no buildings around them. Massive trees dwarfed the two men, making the lot feel secluded. With the barest moonlight, the constellations above them were easy to distinguish.

‘So where are we, George?’ Chris asked.

The black man was almost invisible, even though he was barely six feet away. ‘This land belonged to a man named Vernon Clay.’

‘Who’s he?’

‘Until four years ago, he was a research scientist at Mondamin. He and I share the same specialty.’