CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

Rich and I rode to the sheriff's office in separate police cars. Once we established that he was a police detective and I was a private investigator, the deputies decided not to handcuff us. Ambulances took the four goons to the nearby hospital. They never told us who sent them. I wondered if the deputies would have any idea, and if they would tell us anything they knew.

The Garrett County Sheriff's Office was in the same building that housed the district and circuit courts, and where Rich and I met the mayor. I got the feeling Ken Dennehy wouldn't be chatting us up tonight. The deputies herded Rich and me inside. The squadroom looked like it had been lifted straight out of 1990s cop dramas and deposited here. Desks, loosely organized into rows, butted against one another. The vinyl floor was pockmarked with coffee stains. Whiteboards, filled with active cases and other official scribblings, covered most of the available wall space. Doors to offices and interrogation rooms ringed the exterior.

A tubby deputy led me to one of those rooms, pointed at my chair, and left without saying a word. If it came down to running away, I liked my chances against him. I would be back at the motel before the ambulance arrived to tend to his coronary. The interrogation room was just as unspectacular as the rest of the area. Paint peeled from the walls in a few spots. I sat on a plastic chair whose design specifications clearly listed comfort at the bottom. The chair reserved for my inquisitor boasted of a thin layer of padding covered by gray cloth—probably not much more comfortable. The required one-way mirror dominated the wall to my right. I waved in case anyone watched from the other side.

Then I waited. And I waited some more. If the Garrett County Sheriff's Department sought to turn me into a quivering mass of gelatin by waiting me out, they would be disappointed. I used the downtime to ponder recent developments in the case. Rich and I talked to few people, yet we still had a quartet of legbreakers waiting for us. No one called 9-1-1, but deputies came anyway. Someone at the motel could have called, but the parking lot was mostly empty. The office was too far away to have a good view of the scrum, and the motel didn't have exterior cameras. Right after the law arrived, an ambulance rolled into the lot. The whole thing smelled like a setup to me. But who would have sent the four idiots to dissuade us, and would the same person have had first responders on standby?

Of course, someone trying to encourage us to abandon the investigation meant there was something to investigate. No one should care about extra scrutiny on a suicide. A murder, though, could not withstand a glut of questions, especially not when posed by someone as brilliant as me. And Rich, too, for that matter. Whatever room Rich sat in, I had a feeling the same thoughts came to him. We were onto something, and whoever was responsible didn't want us to stay on it. I wondered if some deputy would come in and suggest that we abandon this and go back to Baltimore.

A few minutes later, a middle-aged deputy entered the room. Unlike the fat one who showed me in here, this man looked like he could still play a mean left field in a softball league. His hair had gone gray, but he looked to be about my height and build—six-two and about 185 pounds. His name tag identified him as White, and he was. So, too, would his hair be in another ten years. He set a manila file folder and a small spiral notebook down on the table in front of him as he slid into the chair. "You know why you're here?"

"I'm extremely good at defending myself?" I said.

"You put two men in the hospital."

"There you go." His neutral expression told me he was unconvinced. "They would have done the same to me."

"But they didn't," White said.

"Do you really think my cousin and I picked a fight with four guys that size?" I said.

White shrugged. "Couple of hotshots from Baltimore . . . don't know what kind of trouble you'd start."

"You might look at the four guys we laid out. I doubt they're as pure as the driven snow."

"Now you're going to tell me how to do my job?" said White.

"Only because it appears someone needs to," I said.

My comment made White glare at me. I didn't wilt. He moved the notebook aside and opened the folder. Inside, I saw a few sheets of paper. The picture on the top page looked like one of the goons I tangled with. "We already did that," he said. "I guess someone else told me how to do my job before you. All four of these guys are dirty." White leafed through the pages. The print was small, and I was reading upside-down, but it looked like two of the men hailed from West Virginia.

"Local boys?" I said.

"Mm-hmm. They seem to specialize in the work you saw them doing tonight. We've arrested all of them before."

"And yet I'm the one in this room," I pointed out.

White raised both hands and slapped the tabletop hard. I didn't flinch, though I wondered if the rickety table would survive. Before I worked my first case, I lived in China for thirty-nine months, culminating with nineteen days in one of their prisons. It was an experience I did not care to repeat, but it made me immune to amateur tactics like the one White used. "What did this poor table ever do to you?" I said.

"You're a smart ass."

I was about to say I preferred it to being a dumbass but refrained. White seemed competent and didn't deserve the barb. When did I go soft? "The key word is 'smart,'" I said instead.

"All right, let's presume you're smart. What are you and your cousin doing up here?"

I figured White knew this already, but I played along. "Looking into the death of Jim Shelton."

"Suicide," said White.

"The four men trying to get us to drop our inquiry would disagree," I said.

"Yeah? Why?"

"Real suicides stand up to scrutiny. Murders dressed up to look self-inflicted can't take the spotlight for long."

"You think someone killed Jim Shelton?"

"I was on the fence until we got the welcoming committee at our motel."

White lapsed into silence. He busied himself looking through the papers again. With another chance to eye up the reports, I confirmed seeing West Virginia on two sheets. Perhaps the talent market for goons was at low ebb in Garrett County. "Say you're right," he said, and I resisted the urge to say I was right. "Who killed him?"

"We don't know yet," I said, "but I guess whoever sent four assholes to our rooms is a likely suspect."

"You know who did it?"

I shook my head. "None of them said much except the usual threats."

"Maybe you could have given them more of a chance to talk."

"Sure. I'll just get punched around a bit to help your nonexistent investigation." I pointed at my face. "Can't risk the money maker."

"I did some asking about you," White said. "Talked to a Captain Sharpe in Baltimore."

"Leon is a big fan," I said.

"He told me you're a self-impressed rogue with no regard for process."

"He sometimes couches his fandom in tough talk."

White said, "Well, he did also say you're smart and tenacious."

"I told you. He has a foam finger with my name on it."

"Just make sure you keep us in the loop."

"You're not going to investigate?" I said.

"It's been ruled a suicide," White said. "I get your point about the guys coming to visit you, but that's not enough to reopen the case."

I preferred them staying out of it. Rich and I were more likely to find the truth unencumbered by the deputies' investigation. "I'm sure we'll keep you informed," I said.

"Be sure you do. We can haul you down here again. Having a chat with the mayor won't save you from an obstruction charge."

So the sheriff's department, or at least White, knew about our talk with Ken Dennehy. Interesting.

"Noted," I said.

 

***

Rich and I sat in my motel room after the deputies let us go. I sat on the bed. If lounging on it proved any indication, a mediocre night of sleep awaited me. Rich was parked in an office chair. The room lacked a desk but still had a padded chair with arms and wheels straight out of cubicle farms. I wondered if it was more comfortable than the bed.

"They grill you much?" I said.

"Not really," said Rich. "They asked why I was here, why I brought you along, why I thought Jim was murdered." He shrugged. "Pretty basic. You?"

"The deputy I talked to didn't seem impressed to share the interrogation room with a 'Baltimore hotshot,' as he called me."

"Did you set him straight?"

"To whatever degree I could," I said. "I still wonder who called 9-1-1."

"Probably someone here," Rich said.

"Look at the parking lot. Three other cars, and none within a few doors of our rooms."

"You think it was a setup of some kind." It wasn't a question.

"I just wonder."

Rich fell silent. Maybe he ruminated on it, too. After a moment, he said, "I want to visit the charity tomorrow."

"What do you think we'll find?" I said.

"I don't know. Hell, there's a lot I don't know since we got here. Maybe I'm hoping we'll find some clarity."

"I might settle for a couple shady dudes giving us the side-eye."

Silence again served as the only reply I got. Rich stood and pushed the corner of the drab curtain back. He peered out the window.

"Thinking we might have more visitors?" I said.

"I wish I knew what to expect," said Rich. He still looked out into the parking lot. "Did the deputy believe you about Jim?"

"I think so."

"Same here. Did he say they'd do anything?"

"I doubt it," I said. "He mentioned it's still officially a suicide, so until that gets overturned, they're not investigating."

Rich let go of the curtain and sat back down. "I heard pretty much the same thing. No one even suggested they would talk to the coroner." He shook his head. "I wish the county had a medical examiner."

"The coroner could be good at his job."

"Maybe," Rich said. "But he's elected, in a county where a lot of people know each other. He stays popular, he can keep getting elected even if he doesn't know a scalpel from a hatchet."

"We could always pay him a visit," I suggested.

"No." Rich shook his head. "I'd rather work around him. Let's figure out what happened. Then we'll drop the evidence on the sheriff's desk and make him act."

I hoped it would be enough. "I'm with you," I said.