“I think we need to know a lot more about Sam Black. Who he hung around with, who his clients are, did he have any serious problems in school?”
“You’re right, Alan. I’ve been talking to his mom about things like that. She’s not aware of Sam’s having any problems in high school.”
“But she might not have known if the problems didn’t escalate to the level of disciplinary action, would she?”
Lockem stood and stretched. “I’m off to see the attorney and do some backgrounding. Let’s meet for lunch.”
“Where? Marjorie picked up her purse and they prepared to leave their hotel room.
“How about Joe’s Bar?” naming the place he’d been in the previous evening.
“Works for me. See you later, hon.” She smiled and sailed out of the room.
An hour later Alan gazed across Hare’s big oak desk and grimaced at the lawyer. He shuffled his papers and notes together and stuffed them in his slender briefcase. With Marjorie’s help, he’d sort them into files later. Attorney Hare smiled a mirthless twist of his face and remarked, “I don’t want to tell you your business, Mr. Lockem, but we’ve got to get somewhere pretty soon. Frankly, I don’t like our chances right now once we get into court. We need something substantial to persuade a jury Sam is innocent.” He nodded once. “Naturally, finding the person who killed Mr. Ketchum would be the best solution.”
Lockem had heard this before. It didn’t appear any of the owners of Carson’s Mountain property were involved and worse, they had little helpful knowledge about the crime, the accused, or the dead man. “I need to develop a lot more information about Jack Ketchum. It’s been my experience that dead men do tell tales. Somewhere in his history are clues to his murder.”
“Well, good luck with that. I did try to get some background and pretty much came up empty.”
“There’s a man in this town. Large guy. I suspect he sometimes likes to throw his weight around. Probably dresses mostly in a western style. Big flashy belt buckle, often wears a white or light-colored Stetson. Maybe he’s seen with a smaller man who looks down at the heels, seedy, apparently doesn’t bathe too often?”
Hare nodded. “You’ve accurately described two of the town’s characters. Questionable characters, I might add. The smelly small man is probably Eddie Oakly. Some people refer to him as “the nose,” for obvious reasons. The other man is definitely Benny McCracken. He’s the nephew of our mayor and director of the city’s public works department.”
“Interesting,”
“Yes. The almost universal reaction when we tell strangers that the McCracken’s pretty much run the town, with help from the police department, of course. You’ve met Benny.” It wasn’t a question.
“Last night at the bar. I got the impression he was trying to warn me. Or intimidate me.”
Hare’s eyebrows went all the way up into his hair line.
“Really. That doesn’t sound like the usual Benny ploy. Since his uncle became mayor, he’s dropped below the radar. Pretty much.”
Lockem smiled a wintry smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Perhaps he thought my being a stranger in town, he could use his not inconsiderable weight to intimidate me. The problem is, I don’t know what he wants to shove me away from.”
Hare smiled at Alan’s language. “I am no help here. We have this difficult murder case. It’s pretty straight-forward if you believe the state. Victim runs his bulldozer down the hill, messing up people’s property. Later he’s found murdered after several threats by one of the aforesaid property owners’ sons. Ergo. Cause and effect.”
“Just suppose, for a moment, there are other reasons for wanting Ketchum dead?”
Hare stared at Lockem across the desk. “You have something to tell me?”
Lockem shook his head. “Not yet. But I’m starting to think there is something else going on besides errant drunken bulldozing and murder. Just consider the possibility Ketchum’s murder was a crime of opportunity.” He stood and said, “What I’d like to do is visit Sam’s apartment. Any problem with that?”
Hare shook his head and reached into a desk drawer. “None whatsoever. The authorities have released the place. Here’s a key to the outside door and this one for his apartment. It’s a four-plex over on Territory Road. Return the keys at your convenience.”
“I’ll be back in touch right soon.”
On the street, Lockem called Marjorie on her cell phone but she didn’t answer. When he looked up from the phone that showed his message had gone to memory, he realized that he was being observed. A man he’d never seen before was lounging conspicuously idle, beside a building half a block up the street on the east side. He made no effort to conceal himself and did not look away when he must have realized that Lockem had spotted him.
It took him several minutes but eventually Lockem located a taxi to take him to the block where Sam Black had resided before his arrest. He exited the cab at the end of the block, after they cruised past the building. What Lockem saw was a structure that had come into life as a modest four-plex. The wooden exterior had been replaced with white plastic lap siding at some point. A driveway beside the west side of the building led to space at the back where two automobiles were parked in the sun. There was room for two or even three other vehicles. The parking area was dusty and smooth and looked as though it had been recently seal coated. The single door in the center of the back wall had no windows and was painted the same drab white color as the siding.
Lockem walked back around the building and went up the concrete walk to the front steps. The tiny roof over the door offered scant protection from the weather. This door had no window. Lockem inserted the larger of the two keys Hare had given him. The lock worked smoothly and after checking out the empty street behind him, Lockem went in and closed and latched the door.
The vestibule was tiny, wallpapered in some ancient pattern with a narrow shelf hanging below four black metal letterboxes. Each had a number but no name. The letterboxes had been painted black enamel at some time. The painter hadn’t bothered to straighten out either of the two that had suffered some abuse in the past. The ceiling was high with an unshaded compact fluorescent lamp or CFL that spread its illumination evenly over the walls.
Opposite the front door was another door. This one might have once separated an elegant living room and hallway. It was dark polished wood with many small panels of glass set in individual frames. A large brass door knob confronted the passerby. Lockem pushed open the door, noting that it was improperly hung, since it should have opened outward. Through the door panels Lockem saw a dark narrow hallway on the left and a dark narrow stair leading upward. The air was stuffy and smelled faintly of furniture polish and old sweat. The stairs were tight and Lockem made no squeaks as he ascended slowly to the second floor, negotiating a single landing. A small single-paned window cast inadequate light on the turn. The stairs turned back on themselves and he arrived at the front of the building directly above the front door. To his right was a paneled wood door with the number three stenciled on it in black paint. On his left was an identical door with the number three also painted on it. The hall was lit by two dim incandescent bulbs in ceiling fixtures. The second key Hare had given Lockem fit smoothly in the door knob slot of number three. Here on the second floor the temperature was higher and the feeling of mustiness and lack of ventilation was more oppressive.
The door to Sam Black’s apartment made no noise when Lockem swung it open. The first room was a small living room. All the rooms in the apartment would prove to be small. The four windows looked out on the next-door neighbor’s spreading oak tree. There were window shades drawn a third of the way down, but no curtains. Two brightly colored posters advertising a recent fair and an outdoor rock concert adorned the pale yellow painted walls. Next to the door was an old-fashioned hat rack with a tan jacket and a ball cap. There was a thin film of dust on both.
Furniture consisted of one old wing chair, a short brown leather couch and a crude end table beside the couch. It held a black table lamp with a creased shade. The ceiling fixture was missing, leaving two dangling wires. Lockem noted his tracks in the dust on the bare wood floor and went slowly into the center of the room so he could see the next room through an arch. A similar-sized room confronted him. It had two windows on one side, the north side. There was no furniture and only a single bulb screwed into the ceiling. Another CFL.
An opening on the left led to the kitchen. A doorway with no door opposite where he stood in the living room led to a bathroom and doors to two small bedrooms on either side of the hall at the back of the building. One bedroom held a low plain door laid out as a table. On it stood three computers. A thick black power cable lay along the back edge of the table serving as a workbench. At one side was a space where Lockem surmised one computer had been removed. He assumed the cops had examined the setup. The screens and keyboards were also connected with fire wires or USB cables that draped across the table top and looped between them. On the floor under the covered window which looked down on the parking area, lay a tangle of boxes that appeared to be modems and routers. The power cable and several others ran along the baseboard to the inside corner. Lockem looked at that and figured out that the wall was an inside construction and gave Sam Black or whoever installed the setup a channel to reach the main power branch box somewhere, probably in the basement, that hooked the building to the city power grid.
Leaning against the wall below a window was a large gray electrical box with a yellow handle on one side. It looked like a main power switch to control the equipment in the room. The handle was in the up or off position. Lockem looked at it silently for several seconds, contemplating the possibilities. The switch box made no response.