Another Senseless Killing (6) “Well, it’s not my favorite thing either.” “We got to do this --- right?” “Look, Manny. No one is forcing you.” Nick slowed down as he drove over a ditch. “I’m perfectly willing to go it alone.” “Except we’re supposed to be working this case together.” Nick nodded. “That’s right ole buddy. We sure are.” I gave up arguing. I knew we wouldn’t turn back. "I should have driven my jalopy." I said as I rolled up the window. "Small cars weren't built to go over rocks and ditches." "This fucking road is the pits." Nick agreed. "I can't wait to see this so-called 'hallowed' ground." The wind kicked up briefly, just enough to blow dirt all around Nick's Honda, as if we were driving in a brown and gray snowstorm. "There it is!" Nick was pointing straight ahead. As the haze lifted, we saw before us a small, out of the way, God-forsaken cemetery. A large metal sign, dirty and dilapidated, hung on a fence post and said: ST. AUGUSTINE CEMETERY. A rusty chain-link fence was all around it with its gate hanging on a broken hinge. Actually, it looked more like a thread than a hinge. I was certain I could blow on it and make it collapse. We parked by the gate and a tall lanky man in a dirty black shirt and dirty black pants came up to greet us as we got out of the car. An old battered Cincinnati Reds baseball cap partially covered his long, unshaven, narrow and weather-beaten face. I assumed this was Clem Perkins. He had a wad of chewing tobacco in his left cheek, and when he smiled all we saw was yellow and brown. I thought his face and neck had more lines than the road map on the seat next to me. He looked closer to one-hundred-seventy-five than to seventy-five. His spidery hands felt damp and cold when we shook. Then he motioned for us to follow him. “Can we make this a quick visit?” I asked quietly. “This fucking place is freaking me out.” Nick rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I feel like, at any given time, a skinless hand is gonna come out of the ground to grab me.” “Would you rather wait in the car?” Nick asked. I considered it for a second. “No.” “You know, Manny, there aren’t too many choices here.” Clem was staring at me. I know he wondered why I came along. That made two of us. “Well --- I guess if I can handle living with my schmucky brother-in-law, I can handle anything.” I took a deep breath. “Okay. Let’s go.” We walked onto the deserted grounds and up to the gravesite he indicated. The cemetery was just as Nick described it: old, crowded, and uncared for. Weeds and rocks were everywhere. Most of the graves had sunk so low that they were perfectly flat. I knew it would be useless to ask Clem for his job description. It definitely did not include perpetual care. I counted twenty markers with dates from nineteen-twenty-five to nineteen-thirty-five. People long gone with survivors, no doubt, also long gone. I could see what Nick meant. I found it all very morbid. "Here 'tis." He spoke with a terrible twang, and as he talked, a steady brown stream of tobacco juice ran down his chin. I had to turn my head. To Nick it seemed no big deal. I put my hands in the pockets of my topcoat and looked up. The sky had turned a strange shade of gray and now the wind had picked up again. When the wind stopped, an eerie calm settled on the empty cemetery. It would take an H-bomb to alert the nearest resident. "Is it always this --- " I gestured with both hands. " --- empty?" "Yep." He answered, then he spat and wiped his chin on his sleeve. I gagged. "Careful." He added. "Try not to step on anyone." Nick and I looked at each other. What difference would it make? "Nick, aren't you freezing in that lightweight jacket?" I asked. I was overdressed and still shivering. He shook his head absently. His gaze was fixated onto the stone in question. On one side it said: FREEMONT CLACKET 1852-1921. "Freemont, here," Clem explained. "had one son --- Clyde. Died about --- two years ago. Up 'til then, Clyde was the only living relative. He was also the last of the regular visitors." "Where's Clyde buried?" I don't know for the life of me why I asked that. "He's over at Mount Pilot Resting Place. Brand new and well-kept. His wife seen to that." He sniffed. "Now she's dead too. Buried right next to Clyde." I put my collar up. It felt like the dead of winter. The old man continued, pointing to a double headstone. "Next to Freemont is Dabney Smithers and his cousin, Eston. Both died in nineteen-twenty-six. If they have any family left, I sure as hell don't know where they's at." He spit again. "Then over yonder --- " "Mr. Perkins." I was glad Nick cut him off before he gave us a rundown on the entire graveyard population. "Let's get to the topic at hand. Namely --- this grave." I moved next to Nick and looked at a newer and fresher mound. It was higher and smoother than the rest of the grave and there were no rocks or debris. "This here grave weren't here three weeks ago." Clem said. "And that's the last time I was here." "Now, you're sure." Nick made it a statement not a question. "Hell yes, I'm sure!" "So you're not here full time then?" Nick asked. "What fer? I know the township made me a trustee of this damn place, but I can tell you there ain't no need fer full time help. Hell, I know everyone here, and --- " Then he realized what he said. "What I meant was --- " "We know what you meant." I said. I only wanted to get the hell out of here. Nick his hand over the mound. "Manny, these weeds are not growing out of the ground. And besides --- " He got his face closer " --- they're all dead." "They sure are." I agreed. "Someone placed them here recently." Nick added. He and I looked at each other. "See what I mean?" Clem asked. "That there is a brand new grave, by God!" How could the temperature drop so drastically? Nick and I stood, our eyes remaining fixed on the grave. Nick began to rub his chin, then reached into his vest pocket and took out a cigar. "Didn't your client say her sister had been missing for --- what? One week when she saw you?” I could feel myself staring at the dead weeds. “Manny.” Nick’s hand was on my arm I turned quickly to him. “What?” “I asked you how long your client’s sister has been missing.” "Nick, I know what you're thinking, but you’re wrong. And besides, Margo doesn't want the police involved just yet." "Well, Manny, it's out of our hands now. We may be looking at a possible homicide." He bit off the end of his cigar and spat it onto the adjacent field. "I'll get a court order to exhume this site." "I don't know if you can do that --- can you?" I asked. Nick put the cigar into his mouth. "Why the hell not? "Well --- isn't that desecration?" Nick thought a moment. "I'm not sure it's desecration if it's part of a police investigation." He moved the cigar to the other side of his mouth. "I'll have a crew out here first thing in the morning." Then Nick turned to Clem and put his hand on the caretaker's arm. "Clem, we have to do some digging here and see who's under the mound." Clem scratched the back of his hairy neck and began to chew harder and faster. "Well --- I don't know --- " "This is official police business, Clem." Nick said. "I will take full responsibility." Perkins kept scratching his neck. "I --- I don't know." "Let me put it this way." Nick's hand was off Clem's arm. They were face to face. "If you refuse to cooperate, I'll have you arrested for obstructing justice." Clem squinted. "Obstructing justice? Hmm --- well, if you put it that way --- ." "That's the only way I can put it." Nick added. "Well --- " Clem spat again. " --- police or no police, the county is gonna take a mighty dim view of this." Nick pointed his finger at Perkins. "I told you, Clem. I will take full responsibility. And besides, you told us no one comes to visit. So what difference does it make?" "It's still hallowed ground." Clem said. Neither Nick nor I responded. We continued to look at Clem. After several seconds, Perkins said unconvincingly, "Well --- I reckon so." "Good!" Nick said, then he slapped me on the shoulder. "Let's go, Manny. This damn place is beginning to depress me." Beginning to? "Me too, Nick. I'm ready." "Hey Lieutenant." Clem was lumbering after us as we got to the Honda. "You be sure and let me know when you're a' comin. I think I should be here." Nick thought a moment, then nodded. "I think you should be here too." "Oh." Clem said as he wiped his sleeve across his chin. "Lookee here." He pointed to some faint tire ridges in the mud next to the road. "Them tire tracks is new too. They wasn't here three weeks ago neither." We both walked to where he was pointing. Nick knelt down, carefully scrutinized the tracks, then ran his fingers over the indentations. "I'll have ballistics check this out too." Nick said. "I sure as hell can't figure who'd be making tire tracks." Clem scratched his neck and spat again. "No one ever comes here. I'm a telling you --- no one!" "I believe you, Clem." Nick said. He patted the old man on the shoulder and got in behind the wheel. I sat down next to him. Perkins came up to the open window and leaned his grubby face inside. He was squinting. "Just what in the damn hell is going on here anyway?" I detected fear as well as curiosity in his voice. Nick started the car. "I'll see you in the morning, okay?" And we drove off. I looked in the rearview mirror. Clem hadn't moved one inch. I saw him take his ratty hat off and scratch his head. I knew he was getting ready to spit again. I was glad not to be there when he did. * XI The piercing sound of the telephone sent a sharp pain through my spine, scaring the living shit out of me. I felt as if my body had somehow leaped ten feet in the air and remained suspended along the ceiling. I sat up in bed. It rang again. Where the hell was I? Things were swimming all around me and I couldn't tell which wall was which. My heart sounded like someone was in my chest playing the bongos. I finally oriented myself by the third ring. "Shit!" I screamed at the luminous clock next to the bed. Then I turned on the table lamp, and squinting through excruciating pain, I reached for a Camel. Fourth ring! I lit the Camel and picked up the receiver. "Hello." I could barely get the words out. My lids felt like lead and my tongue felt like sandpaper. The cigarette didn't help. In fact, it made things worse. But this was no time to quit. "Hello, Manny." I cleared my throat --- what was left of it. "Nick?" "You sound --- funny." "No shit!" I still felt partially drugged. "Manny --- " "Damn it, Nick. Do you know --- ?" "Manny! Just listen, okay?" "Nick, do you have any idea what time it is?" "Uh --- I believe it's five minutes to seven." "That's a.m., Foley. Fucking a.m.!" I took a deep drag of my Camel. "I know what time it is. Now will you just listen, for Christ's sake?" His voice sounded as fresh as it did in the middle of the day. "You must have a thing about fucking with my sleep, Nick." "Half the world is up and about, Manny." "Yeah, well I represent the other half." I got up from the chair and sat on the edge of the bed. "This better be important, Nick. I'm too old for this shit." "You want me to call you back in an hour or so?" "Well, thanks to you I'm wide awake now." The world was back to normal. "So, go ahead. I'm listening." There was a brief silence. "We exhumed a body early this morning at Saint Augustine's." I took another deep drag of my cigarette and exhaled very slowly. Nick continued. "The body was wrapped in a large heavy plastic bag. The odor was worse than awful." I carefully and methodically extinguished my Camel. "Really." "Rigor mortis had begun and maggots were everywhere." It sounded like my friend was faltering. "But because of the cold hard ground, there wasn't a lot of decay." Nick took a deep breath. "It was a female. Her head was bashed in on one side and --- terribly distorted." It was one of the few times I could tell he was shaken up. "And poor Clem. His old weather-beaten face turned pure white." Another sharp pain attacked me. This time it shot from the top of my head to the bottom of my ass and then back up again. "Do you think it could be Kate Blair?" There was a long pause. I knew what he was going to say before he said it. "I think your client has to go down to the morgue and, if it is her sister, make a positive ID." "You didn't answer my question." My heart fluttered in my throat "Do you think the body is --- ?" "I can't say for sure, but it's very likely." I waited a full minute to ask a question I already knew the answer to. "Do you remember what she was wearing?" "It was hard to tell. But it was --- maybe a sweater. A brown wool sweater." I could visualize Kate’s photograph: the long auburn hair, the large brown eyes, a face that was --- perfect. It made no sense --- nothing made any sense. I suddenly realized that Nick was talking. “What?” I asked. "I said we got no choice here, Manny, because if this isn't your client's sister then I don't know who the hell it is. She's the only missing person that fits the description." "No other people missing?" I asked hopefully. "There hasn't been a missing person report in close to two months." I stood up. "Okay, Nick. I'll call Margo and give her the news." "Do you want me to come over?" I knew Nick was playing with his cigar. "Nah. I've made tough phone calls before." Like asking my, then wife, who the putz was she was sleeping with. “Well --- if there’s anything else --- “ "What about the tire tracks, Nick?" A shave and shower suddenly seemed like the two greatest events since the creation of the earth. "Ballistics took a mold. We should know something in a few days." "Anything new on Curt Warner?" I lit up another Camel. "Nope. I'm gonna check with the boys downtown later on him." "Well --- " I took one puff and put out the cigarette. " --- I guess I'll give my client a call. Wish me luck." "You got it. Goodbye, Manny." "Goodbye, Nick." * XII It was eight p.m. and Arthur was --- someplace. Probably banging one of his skinny young friends. Bea was asleep. She'd had an unusually difficult bout with colitis and lost. I knew she’d be better in the morning. I looked at the clock again. Two minutes past eight. It was time to make the phone call. I’d put it off all day and now it was time. It took four rings before she answered. "Hello." "Hello, Margo. It's Manny." I dreaded this moment. "I just spoke to my friend on the force: Nick Foley." "Manny. I thought we had decided not to --- " I knew she was going to bitch about bringing in the police. I had to cut her off. "A young woman’s body was discovered." There was a gasp. "You --- you think --- " "We don't know. The body was wrapped in plastic and partially decomposed." I paused. There was total silence. I could barely hear her breathing. "Nick said she might have been wearing a --- brown wool sweater." The bongo player was back. "Oh my God!" "She's at the county morgue." Surveillance sucks. But it's a lot better than this. "We need you to go there and make an ID --- either positive or negative." There was more silence. "Margo, are you okay?" What a stupid question! "Talk to me, Margo." "I --- I can't." Her erratic breathing was making it difficult for her to talk. "Manny --- I --- ." "Look." I said. "I'm coming over." She didn't argue. “Goddamnit!” I slammed down the receiver, knocking both the telephone and ashtray to the floor. Cigarette butts were everywhere. The mess would have to wait. I hopped into my car and raced through traffic. I was at her apartment in exactly nineteen minutes. I rang the bell and after a long two-minute wait, Margo came to the door. She had on a gray blouse and black slacks. With my black shirt and gray slacks we blended perfectly. Her hair was pulled back unstylishly and she wore no make-up. The scent of Giorgio was absent. She was still beautiful. She looked frightened and it didn't take a genius to know she'd been crying. We didn't speak. I grabbed her and held her in the open doorway. She held me as tight as I've ever been held. I thought my ribs would crack. We stayed like that for about a minute. I broke the silence and said optimistically, "Maybe it's not her." Now I could feel her body shake. She released the embrace and I put her face in my hands. Then I kissed her gently and gave her one final squeeze. The TV was on and showing an old re-run of F-Troop. I doubted if Margo was even aware of it. I went inside and turned it off. Then I opened the closet, took out a lightweight cardigan and put it around her shoulders. I then put my arm around her waist. "Are you ready?" I asked. She waited a second, took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes." The ride to the morgue took an exceedingly long fifteen minutes. Neither of us spoke the entire time. I knew her thoughts were racing in all directions. I parked the Silverado in front of the side entrance. Nick Foley was with his wife tonight or he would have been with us. I thought it best not to share that news with Margo. At five minutes to eight we walked in and were immediately greeted by an expressionless Juan Morales. We shook hands solemnly. He had thick short fingers and callused hands. I put my arm around Margo's waist again and held her tight. She buttoned her cardigan all the way to the top button. I could still feel her shake. I knew she was numb. Her gaze was riveted to the table in the center. A body was on it and it was covered head to toe with a white sheet. Juan walked to one side. Margo and I stood at the other side. Her eyes never left the white mound in front of us. I quietly calculated the odds of it miraculously not being Kate. This was my third visit to a morgue. I’d hated the other two visits too. I nodded to Juan. He remained void of expression as he slowly lifted the sheet to expose the upper torso. Margo's shrill scream shattered the dense air. Then she put both hands to her mouth. I could feel her body go suddenly limp. Juan covered what was left of Kate's face and came over quickly to help me carry Margo into his private office. The TV was off and we were surrounded by an eerie silence. The Godawful odors emanating from the large adjacent room were all but absent here. In fact, the aroma was almost pleasant. An empty desk was in the center of the small neat office and two chairs were against one wall. A narrow file cabinet was in one corner. "Got her?" Juan asked, pulling a chair away from the wall. "I think so." I replied as I helped her into the chair. I continued to hold her as he opened the top drawer of the desk and took out a small vial. He cracked it open, then waved it back and forth about an inch from Margo's nose. Her head began to roll and she slowly opened her eyes. I brought the other chair over until the arms touched. Juan calmly sat down behind his desk and just looked. I could see he'd been through this before. Margo lifted her head. She looked first at the medical examiner then at me. Her eyes were glassy and her stare was vacant. Then she began to cry hysterically. I held her tightly but I knew I couldn't make the pain go away. I remembered when my parents died. As bad as it was for me then, I knew it was nothing like this. Margo licked her lips and shook her head. "This --- this isn't happening. It --- it just can't be." Juan looked briefly at me then took out a piece of light blue paper from the bottom drawer of the desk. He wrote something on it then laid both pen and paper on a small table next to Margo. "I know this is difficult." Juan spoke slowly. His voice was surprisingly soft and soothing. I wondered if it was the Spanish accent. "But, as soon as you're able, I need you to sign this paper." "This can't be happening." Margo repeated it over and over --- very quietly. Juan continued to speak softly. "It's an official identification of the deceased --- by the next of kin." Margo hesitated a long moment. Then as if coming from another galaxy, she picked up the pen and looked absently at the paper. "Do you want me to read it to you?" I asked. "It's not very long." "It's mere formality." added Juan. Margo sighed deeply and without a word signed the document. It had to be the toughest thing she'd ever done. Then she looked at me. The blank stare remained. She started to speak but Juan interjected.
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