Dry Stone Walls, page 12
“Who’s left, Julie?” Tru asked.
“I—one or two, I guess, but they’re old men, too, Tru, and they’re not in as good shape as Max.”
“I just need to question them.”
“You’d probably have to talk to their families.”
“Could their families have it in for Max?” Tru asked. “Or maybe the family of one of his deceased friends?”
“Oh God,” she said. “I don’t know…”
“Okay,” Tru said, “take is easy. Think about it for a while. Does Max have a cell phone with him?”
“No, he doesn’t carry one. He hates them.”
“That’s okay, Pete has one.”
“Yes, but he left it behind. Max told him to.”
“Great. I was trying to save myself a drive back to talk to him, hoping to do it on the phone.”
“Well, if what you want to do is talk to his friends, they live around here. You’d have to come back, anyway.”
Tru didn’t tell her that he wasn’t looking forward to driving back on that highway again, keeping his eye out for a dark SUV to come up behind him.
“Okay, then,” he said, “why don’t you just give me some names and addresses while we’re on the phone?” He opened a drawer, found a pad and a pen and while she reluctantly recited a couple of names and addresses he wrote them down.
“All right, Julie,” he said. “I’ll see you when I get back. Do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“If you see Max before I get back, don’t tell him about this conversation.”
“I can’t lie to my dad, Tru.”
“I don’t want you to lie to him,” Tru said. “Just don’t say anything. Can you do that?”
“I guess so.”
“I’ll see you soon.”
He hung up.
FORTY-TWO
When the receptionist came back with his coffee Tru took the time to sit back and drink it, and consider his options. He was torn between Frankfort and going back to Hennessy and the sticks. Should he continue to investigate who might have wanted Wilson dead, or who wanted to frame Max Beasley?
He made one more call before making up his mind.
“Chief Powell,” Powell said, when he was put through.
“Chief, it’s Truxton Lewis.”
“What can I do for you, Captain?”
“Tell me who hates Max Beasley?”
“Everybody.”
“What?”
“I was kiddin’,” Powell said. “Why do you wanna know who hates ol’ Max?”
“Because if he’s right, somebody tried to frame him for this murder. What other reason would they have but hate?”
“What about who wanted to kill Andrew Wilson? Isn’t that the question?”
“It’s the question I’m not finding the answer for,” Tru said, “so I thought I might start asking a new question.”
“So, who hates Max?”
“Right.”
“Have you asked Max?”
“Not yet,” Tru said. “I talked to Julie. She seemed to think the question would upset him.”
“It might at that.”
“How would you feel if you were asked that question?” Tru asked.
“Well…I suppose I wouldn’t want to think that someone hated me that much.”
“And who would be able to offer a more accurate answer?” Tru asked. “You or someone close to you?”
“Well…I suppose my wife might be able to answer that question with more…objectivity. Although sometimes I think she’s the one who hates me the most.”
“Well, Max doesn’t have a wife,” Tru said, “just a daughter.”
Powell remained silent.
“Chief?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you telling me to look at Max’s daughter, Julie?” Tru asked.
“I’m telling you that when you get back come and see me and we’ll talk,” Powell said, “now that you’re askin’ a different question.”
“Chief —“
“See you when you get back.”
The Chief broke the connection, and Tru hung up. He had spent years investigating murder cases. Usually, the first thing you looked at was family—husbands, wives, other heirs. But that was the victim’s family, not the suspect’s family.
He picked up his cell phone from the desk and left the room.
“I’m finished with that office,” he told the receptionist.
“Oh? Well, that was fast.”
“Yes, I didn’t need it for as long as I suspected I would.”
“Well, okay. Thanks for telling me.”
He nodded, turned to leave, then thought of another question.
“Is Mr. McCullough back?”
“No, sir,” she said. “He’s still in court.”
“Okay,” Tru said, “please tell him for me I said thanks for the use of the hall.”
“Hall?” she asked, scrunching up her face.
“The office,” he said, “thanks for the use of the office.”
FORTY-THREE
It was early evening when Tru walked into the Hennessy Police Department. Rocky was at the desk.
“Captain Lewis,” he said. “The Chief’s waiting for you. We sent out for some dinner.”
“Good,” Tru said. “I’m starving.”
“You know the way.”
“Yeah.”
Tru made his way to the Chief’s office, knocked on the door.
“Captain,” Powell said, from his desk. “Come on in.”
Tru entered, shook hands with the Chief.
“I sent out for some food.”
“Rocky told me.”
“Should be here any minute. It’s just burgers and fries.”
“What if I hadn’t gotten here when I did?” Tru asked.
Powell grinned and said, “I’d’ve eaten both orders myself.”
“Onion rings?”
“Oh yeah…and…” The Chief opened a drawer and took out a bottle of Bourbon. Tru noticed it was half full.
“There’s a soda machine down the hall. Coke?”
“Sure.”
“We’ll get it when the food gets here.”
“Chief —“
“Call me Ed,” Powell said.
“Okay, and you call me Tru. Ed, did you have something to tell me about Julie Beasley?”
Before Powell could reply Rocky showed up at the door with a big, greasy paper bag.
“Food’s here.”
“Great,” Powell said, reaching, “give it here. Get us a couple of Cokes from the machine, will you, Rocky?”
“Sure, Chief.”
Powell tore the bag open, distributed burgers, fries and rings while Rocky went and got the sodas and brought them back.
“Close the door on the way out, Rock,” Powell said.
“Yes, sir.”
“Okay,” Tru said, as Powell poured some bourbon and Coke into plastic cups, “Now we’ve got our hands full of greasy food, what’s on your mind?”
“First, I want you to know this never occurred to me until you called earlier today.”
“Fine.”
“Some years back Julie was engaged to be married,” Powell said. “They picked out a date, a hall, everything was set.”
“And then?”
“And then it was off.”
“Why?”
“The guy skipped.”
“Just like that?”
Powell shrugged. “Just like that.”
Tru picked out a large onion ring, ate it.
“Why?”
“Nobody knows, but…”
“But what?”
“Julie accused Max of doin’ something.”
“Like what?”
“I don’t know,” Powell said. “Threatenin’ him? Scarin’ him?”
“Okay, so? You’re telling me this why?”
“Well, when it happened they didn’t speak for a long time,” Powell said. ”In fact, Julie told anyone who’d listen that she hated Max.”
“Did she move out of the house?”
“That’s her house,” Powell said. “Max lived on his own down in Richmond.”
“Then why does he live there now?”
“Like most families, they made up, and she eventually moved him in with her, because he’s I’ old.”
Around a big bite of burger Tru said, “Yeah, but like most families, resentments tend to fester.”
“That’s what I was thinkin’, too, but to the extent that she’d kill Wilson and frame her dad?”
“Who knows?”
“And the wall?” Powell asked. “Wouldn’t she have been more likely to stab him, or shoot him rather than hit him over the head with a heavy rock and then bury him beneath the rubble?”
“Some of those rocks aren’t so heavy,” Tru said, “but they’re still lethally sharp.”
“Yeah, I guess.”
“But…Julie?” Tru said. “I haven’t known her very long, but she seems…”
“Nice?”
“Yeah,” Tru said, “and they really seem to have a good relationship.”
“You got kids?”
“Yeah,” Tru said, “A grown, married daughter, and a grandson.”
“How’s your relationship with her?”
“Fine,” Tru said. “At least, I think it is.”
“Well,” Powell said, “maybe Max thinks the same thing.”
FORTY-FOUR
After dinner with the Chief, Tru left and drove to the Witt house. He didn’t like the idea of looking at Julie Beasley as a suspect. So maybe her father scared off her fiancé and she considered herself an old maid? Was that any reason to kill an innocent man and blame it on her father?
Inside the house he took out his cell phone and dialed his daughter’s number.
“Dad, is that you?” she asked. She sounded delighted to hear from him. Could there be some sort of resentment beneath the surface?
“Hey, Caroline, how are you? How’s David?”
“David’s good, Dad. He misses you. We all do.”
Tru doubted that his son-in-law, Glenn, felt the same way, but he kept quiet.
“How are you? How’s… where are you now? Kentucky?”
Because he carried a cell phone now there was really no reason for Caroline to know where he was every minute. Wherever he was, she could call him. But she had learned early on in his retirement not to call too often. She knew he didn’t like to think she was checking up on him.
“I’m fine,” Tru said. “I’m in Kentucky, and it’s… pretty.”
“What’s going on, Dad?”
“Nothing,” he said, “I, uh, just got myself involved in a little, uh, murder.”
“Murder! Dad, you’re retired —“
“I know, but I made a friend here and he got into trouble…it’s a long story, but…look, I just wanted to call and see how you are.”
“I’m fine, Dad,” she said.
“How’s work?”
“Teaching is teaching,” she said. “High school kids are getting bigger and dumber. Why did you really call, Dad?”
“Caroline,” he said, “Do you have any…deep-rooted resentment toward me?”
“If it’s deep-rooted, how would I know, Dad?”
“Well, I thought —“
“I’m kidding,” she said. “No, I don’t harbor any resentment toward you, Dad. Why, should I?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then why ask?”
“Your mother —“
“Mom died of cancer, Dad. You did all you could for her. We all did. I love you.”
“I love you, too, sweetie.”
“Tell David his grandpa loves him and misses him.”
“I will.”
Then he threw her a bone.
“Oh, and say hi to Glenn.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He knew she was grinning.
He broke the connection.
He made a pot of coffee, then carried a mug out to the back of the house, where there was a small patio. The view was of grass and trees, and an occasional deer.
He was working on a second cup when Peter Hancock came walking into the house.
“Coffee in the kitchen!” Tru yelled.
“Thanks.”
Hancock came out, carrying a mug.
“Did you eat?” Tru asked.
“Yes, at Julie’s,” he said. “There were no leftovers.”
“That’s okay, I ate with Chief Powell. How’s Max?”
“He’s good,” Hancock said. “The work on the wall is going well, but Tru —“
“Yeah?”
“When can I go back to work? That is, if I even have a job.”
That was a hard question. If he was going to pursue this new line of thought, then why couldn’t Hancock go back to work? Then again, somebody had tried to kill Tru. Could that have been Julie? Or somebody Julie paid? He was fairly sure the SUV had followed him from Frankfort. Could it have followed him to Frankfort, first?
“A few days, Pete,” Tru said. “I want to be sure you’ll be safe.”
“Well,” Hancock said, “after what happened to you on the highway, I can’t argue with you.”
He didn’t tell Hancock about his conversation with Agent Miller, or about his new train of thought, but he did say, “Just make sure you don’t call anyone at Wilson Realty, okay? Not even a certain young lady?”
“I won’t,” the young man said. “I told you I wouldn’t.”
“Yes, but I know about young love, and what fools it makes of us all.”
“Just young love?”
“Well,” Tru said, “love in general, actually.”
“I get it,” Hancock said. “You’re older than me, you’ve had more experience.”
“Yes, I have.”
They drank their coffee.
FORTY-FIVE
The next morning Tru and Hancock had breakfast together before Max came to pick him up in Julie’s car. He was wearing cargo pants and a green Army surplus jacket.
“Where’s Julie?” Hancock asked, as Max entered the kitchen.
“I told her I’d drive myself today,” Max said.
“Coffee? Or toast?” Tru asked.
“No, I had some cereal.”
“Julie didn’t make breakfast?” Hancock asked. “She makes you breakfast every day.”
“Today I told her to stay in bed.” He slapped Hancock on the back. “Come on, take your coffee to go, kid. We got a wall to build.”
“Let me get my wallet.” Hancock got up and ran from the kitchen.
“How’s my case comin’?” Max asked.
“Still haven’t found out who’d want to kill Wilson,” Tru said, “but let me ask you something, Max.”
“Sure,” the old man said, “shoot.”
“Who’d want to frame you for murder?”
“Whoever killed Wilson, I guess.”
Tru studied the man. He was fairly certain Julie had not told Max about the conversation she and Tru had the day before.
“Max, I’m looking at this from a different perspective.”
“Howzat?”
“What if somebody just wanted to frame you for murder?”
Max sat down.
“You mean, Wilson wasn’t the target?”
“I mean it could have been anybody,” Tru said. “Wilson was…a convenience.”
“So the fact that he was an asshole has nothin’ to do with this?”
“Maybe not,” Tru said. “I’m just trying out a new train of thought.”
“So what do you need from me?”
“Names,” Tru said. “Who…dislikes you enough to do this?”
“You mean who hates me enough to frame me for murder?” Max said. “And then try to kill you for helping me?”
“Basically,” Tru said, “yes.”
Hancock came back into the room.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Yeah.” Max stood up, looked at Tru. “I’ll think about this.”
“Sure,” Tru said.
“Bring your cell phone, kid,” Max said.
“Really?”
Max nodded. “I may wanna call Tru sometime durin’ the day.”
“Okay. I’ll grab it and meet you outside.”
Hancock ran from the kitchen again.
“Talk to you later,” Max said.
“Yep.”
Tru poured himself another cup of coffee, which emptied the pot. He drank it looking out the front window as Hancock got into the car and Max drove away. Max didn’t seem particularly spooked by the fact that somebody might hate him enough to frame him for murder. Why would Julie think he’d be? And why wasn’t she driving him today, the day after Tru told her about his new theory?
As he washed out the mugs he thought it was probably a good thing he was driving a rental car at the moment. Julie knew what the Witt’s car looked like, and he’d decided it’d be a good idea to follow her for a day or two.
Especially today, when she wasn’t driving her father around.
FORTY-SIX
As he was driving to Julie’s house he realized she had given Max her car. How was she going to get around? Or was she just going to stay home?
If he was way off in his thinking and she stayed home, then he was wasting time. Did she have two cars? He didn’t think so. He knew Max didn’t have his own vehicle. The old man somehow got his deliveries to his work sites, and managed to get himself there by hitching a ride.
Jesus, there was one question he had never asked Max.
He pulled over and took out his cell phone.
“Pete, ask Max a question for me.”
“Sure thing.”
“Who’s his best friend?”
Tru heard some muffled conversation and then Hancock returned. “He says ‘what are we, in high school?’”
“Okay, ask him who his oldest friend is? Who has been his friend the longest?”
More muffled words, then, “He says Homer Hicks. He’s on your list.”
“Homer?”
“What can I tell you?”
“Thanks.”
Tru broke the connection, took out the list of names Max had given him. There was a H. Hicks, with an address in Hennessy.
He put the phone away, started the engine and pulled onto the road again.
***
