The hunt, p.26
The Hunt, page 26
My eyes moistened. “Sorry.”
He said, “You must have loved the garden. You sure went out there a lot.”
I stared at him. “How long were you there?”
“Long enough. You used to cry a lot.”
I felt tears coming. “I missed Gabe. Believe it or not, Chris, I also missed you. I was out of my element. The garden was the one place where I could be alone with my emotions. I was stoic when I was with Devek. He didn’t want to hear about my past. He’d tune out when I talked about Gabe. He expected me to forget my own son.”
“Understandable.”
“Maybe from his point of view. From my point of view, it was spiteful and idiotic.”
Chris thought a moment. “If I would have showed up at your door, would you have come back with me?”
“I honestly don’t know.” I sighed. “I was scared. It wasn’t your baby, and I knew you were beyond furious. I know you tried to contact me, but I couldn’t get myself to answer you. I didn’t think you’d ever forgive me.”
“Back then, I probably wouldn’t have,” Chris said. “Obviously not the case now.”
“You’ve truly forgiven me?”
“Totally.” He sat back in his chair. “I was horrible to you.” He paused. “I won’t say I’m a different man. I’m still a nasty son of a bitch, but as God is my witness, I will never, ever beat you again. I am truly sorry about that. I crossed the line—even for me.”
I didn’t respond.
“Do you believe me?” he asked.
“I do, although …” I stopped talking.
“You’re thinking about sex,” he said. “That’s not the same thing as beating you. You’re my wife. Sex is part of the contract. I get in moods. Go along with it and we’ll both be fine.”
I didn’t answer him. There was no point in starting an argument. I said, “So what happened with India? Did you just decide to leave?”
He looked me in the eye. “I came there with a purpose, Terry.” A long pause. “Obviously, I wasn’t after you, because I had plenty of opportunity.”
I felt my heart racing and looked down.
“I kept waiting for him to come out alone. Several times, you two came out together. I didn’t want you there when it happened.”
When he stopped talking, I said, “So far as I know, Devek is still around.” I licked my lips. “You decided not to or …”
“Not exactly.” He drank water. “I finally did get my chance. Devek was in the garden … alone. He was in my sight. A super-clean shot. Easy-peasy, as my ladies say. What I should tell you is I had a sudden change of heart. That I had some kind of moral awakening.”
I waited.
He shrugged. “I missed.”
I was stunned into silence.
“I was aiming right here.” He pointed at the back of his head. “I should have gone for the chest … bigger target. But I wanted to take him out in one shot, and I suppose I was a little cocky. As soon as I squeezed the trigger, I felt the gun kick to the left. That rifle was my workhorse. It was a custom job. And at that moment, it decided to go gnarly. The bullet flew right by him. He felt the wind, must have heard it as well. Picked his head up and looked around like a prairie dog.”
The lightbulb went on.
“What?” he asked.
“I remember now. He ran into the house and told me he’d been shot at. He told me it was you. Well, what he said was: ‘That fucking maniac husband of yours just tried to kill me.’ I told him he had to be imagining things, that if you wanted him dead, he’d be dead.”
“You’d think after all my experience that would have been the case.” Two more glasses of wine were placed on the table. He raised his to his lips. “He definitely wasn’t imagining anything. I took the miss as a sign. I left.”
My heart was thumping. “After he came and told me what happened, I went outside to look. I didn’t see or hear anything. Not a rustle, not any kind of movement.”
“I’m a pro, honey, although at the time I sure didn’t feel like one. I was so pissed that when I got back, I dismantled the gun and furnaced the parts.” A pause. “The end of an era.” He finished the wine, then pushed it away. “Don’t let me have any more.”
A moment later, our dinner had arrived. On his plate were four chicken breasts and steamed broccoli. He said, “Dig in.”
My dish was something cheesy and saucy. The smell made me sick to my stomach. Chris was unperturbed. He sliced a grilled chicken breast into neat little rows, speared the meat, and placed it into his mouth. He had never been much of a foodie. His meals consisted of hamburger, chicken, steak, French fries, pasta, the occasional salad, and green beans. The broccoli on his plate was a first in my memory. I picked up my water glass and sipped.
“Want any of this?” he asked, pointing to his plate.
“I’m fine. You want any of mine?”
“Nah, it looks a little … white.”
“It does.” I played with the strings of mozzarella.
“Not hungry?”
“I’m fine.” I ate a bit just to prove it to him. “Good.”
“There’s no punishment if you don’t clean your plate.” He regarded my face. I’m sure I looked as shaken as I felt. “Stop fretting. There won’t be a repeat. You don’t have to worry.”
I put down my fork. “Whatever Devek is, he’s the father of my children.”
“I know that too well.” He pushed my wineglass toward me. “You’re pale. Have a sip.”
I did as he ordered and watched him eat. Finally, I said, “You never came back to India?”
“Nope. I hired people to look after you, to make sure you were okay. But that place is nothing but bad memories.”
“I agree with you there.” I paused. “I’m sure that’s cold comfort.”
He polished off a chicken breast and put down his utensils. “When I came back home, I was still furious at you. And I was humiliated … that I couldn’t even do the one thing that I was always good at. But more than anything, I was really depressed. I could have tried again. I knew I would have gotten it right the second time. But I also knew that it wasn’t a smart move. I had all this emotion and no way to let it out. So I acted the way most angry, humiliated, and depressed men do. I went for chemical relief. I was already drinking a lot. It numbed me a little, but it wasn’t enough.” A shrug. “Heroin is a great drug. I went from not being able to get out of bed in the morning to ‘Life ain’t so bad, I can handle this.’”
I drained my wineglass.
He said, “This country is never going to solve the opiate crisis. I had a lot going for me and I succumbed. Poor people with shit lives … why shouldn’t they escape?” He gave me some of his broccoli. “You like veggies. Eat something, angel.”
I picked up a floret and nibbled at the buds. He picked up his flatware and ate another breast, followed it up with forkfuls of broccoli.
He said, “It wasn’t my first rodeo with the hard stuff. I had experimented in high school with all sorts of shit. Then, after you left me the first time, I went full force. I was upset about being dumped, but it wasn’t just you. It was also being under Joey’s thumb. It was being married to Maria. It was shooting people. I just couldn’t cope.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s in the past,” he told me. “I don’t think about it much. All I’m saying is the shit helped me get over the hump twice. Second time I used it, after you left me, I was developing this place and the drug gave me peace of mind to work. Not optimally, but I could concentrate enough to get my enterprise off the ground. Talia was helping with the details. She kept me on track. And she was also convenient.”
I didn’t say anything.
He said, “She wasn’t the only one, Terry. Not by a long shot. I was thirty-four. I was in good shape physically … Well, maybe my liver wasn’t so hot. But I had anger to dispel and I had energy. I was fucking everything in sight. Two, three, four times a day, weekends even more. Threesomes, foursomes, orgies, every kind of fantasy I could create. Girls and guys, I didn’t care.” He looked at me. “I love women, but sometimes a great blow job from a cute guy is just primo. Men know what feels good.”
I stared at him. “Did you always feel that way? About men?”
He shrugged. “Does it bother you?”
“I dunno.” I picked up my fork and put it down. “I just never … realized.”
“My first experiences were with men.”
I nodded.
He said, “Terry, my love, I’m not homosexual, I’m not heterosexual, I’m not bisexual. I’m just sexual. I’ll screw anything. And back then, I certainly did. That much fucking …” He took a bite of his chicken. “Even at thirty-four … you need help. I was taking a lot of little blue pills along with shooting up. Then, one day, I woke up horny and realized I couldn’t get a hard-on.” He finished a third chicken breast, then pushed his plate away. “This was about four, maybe five years ago. I’d say approaching forty was my midlife crisis, but my life has always been one crisis after another. Whatever it was, I knew I had to change. All that debauchery took its toll. I was an addict, an alcoholic, and a fat-ass to boot. I was around fifty pounds overweight. It took about six months, but I finally got off the shit. I stopped smoking; I cut down on my drinking. I told Talia it was over personally and started exclusively paying for it, which slowed me down sexually. I began to eat right and exercise something other than my dick, and the weight came off. That’s when I started concentrating on work. I turned it around.”
I managed a smile. “Good for you.”
“I wasn’t happy exactly … more like calm.” Quoting me. Then he grinned. “And God rewarded me by fucking up your life.”
That was the Chris Donatti I knew. “My life certainly did get fucked up.”
“Hey.” He picked up my chin and stared until my eyes met his. “I dropped everything and came to you when Gabe called.”
“Yes, you did.” I leaned over the table and tucked white hair behind his ear. “Thank you for saving my life. And thank you for saving Juleen’s life. I’m sure she’s a sore spot for you.”
“I don’t hold it against her. Plus, it helps that she looks like you.” He paused. “I will do everything I can to get your son back.” He took my left hand, played with my engagement ring, and then he kissed it. “You want dessert?”
“I’m okay.”
“Do you want to go back?”
“Please.”
He peered at me with his intense blue eyes. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I gave him a weak smile. “Thank you very much for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. Can I see you again sometime?” I tried another smile. He shook his head, stood up, and tousled my hair. “Terry, my love, don’t look so scared. It was over a decade ago. I’m assuming that Devek is still alive.” He pulled out my chair and helped me up. “And if the man’s heart is no longer beating, I had nothing to do with it.”
CHAPTER 19
DECKER WOKE UP with the sun, mainly because the curtains in his room were threadbare. He showered, he shaved, then he went down to the lounge for a cup of coffee. McAdams was already there, his breakfast consisting of toast, juice, and a mug of java. He was reading the Wall Street Journal. When he didn’t look up, Decker said, “Good morning.”
He put down the paper. “You have a very light step.”
“Years of sneaking up on criminals.” Decker sat down. “You’re up early.”
“The window faces east and the place doesn’t provide you with eye masks.”
“Yeah, I could have used one of those this morning,” Decker said. “I’m hungry.”
“They don’t have much of a kitchen, but they do have bagels.”
The server came up, a woman in her sixties with a gray pageboy framing her face. “Good morning. I’m Sandra. Coffee and OJ?”
“That would be great,” Decker said.
“And we have toast, muffins, croissants, and bagels.”
“Bagel, please.”
“Plain, onion, or cinnamon raisin?”
“Cinnamon raisin.”
“Toasted?”
“Sure.”
“Butter or cream cheese or both?”
“Cream cheese.”
When she left, Decker said, “Too many choices this early.”
McAdams smiled. “What’s the plan, boss?”
“I want to go back to the bar now that it’s daylight and poke around the area.”
“Businesses that are open during the day aren’t usually open at night. I’m sure no one saw or heard anything. And if they did, how well are they going to remember something from three months ago?”
“We can check for CCTV. Also, let’s retrace several routes from the bar to Elsie’s place to see if we can find anything.”
McAdams was perplexed. “You mean like a crime scene?”
“That would be the best-case scenario. Worst-case scenario would be spending hours looking and finding nothing.”
The server was back with food and drink. She filled up the coffee cups and put the pot on the table. “I’ll just leave this here.”
“Thank you.” Decker took a sip of coffee. Next, he slathered cream cheese on his bagel and took a bite. “This is my thinking. Baer wouldn’t have done anything to Pauline in the commercial area. Too many people around. Plus, the town’s sidewalks are very well lit and there’s CCTV. But if they were walking back to Elsie’s, they might have been using residential streets. Baer would have had the cover of darkness.”
“Neighbors can hear or see things. And there’s CCTV in residential areas too.”
“So maybe they cut across a park or empty field somewhere. Plus, the neighborhood backs up to forest.”
“If Baer killed Pauline on the way to Elsie’s house, why is there so much blood there?”
“I’m thinking just the opposite. If Baer stabbed her at Elsie’s, why isn’t there more blood?” Decker said. “Maybe he stabbed her on the way back. Somehow she made it to Elsie’s and she bled out.”
“Or maybe they took the argument back to Elsie’s house and that’s where he did it. Or maybe he had nothing to do with it.”
“You’re absolutely right.” Decker finished his bagel in five bites. “Any of those things might have happened. But we’ve established a link between Pauline and Baer. Let’s just hunt around a little more.”
Sandra was back. “Another bagel?”
“Yeah, actually, that would be great.”
“And you, sir?” Looking at McAdams.
“I’m fine, thanks.”
She left, and Decker said, “Never made sense to me, that whatever happened in Elsie’s house was an accident. There was no attempt to take Pauline to a hospital.”
McAdams said, “If we’re thinking about Brock Baer as the bad guy, then why would we think Bertram was involved at all?”
Decker said, “Maybe he wasn’t involved in the murder. But maybe after Pauline was killed, Elsie panicked and enlisted Bertram’s help to escape to Germany.”
“If Baer killed Pauline,” McAdams said, “why didn’t he kill Elsie also?”
“Maybe she got away before he could do it. She fled, and when she thought she was safe, she called Bertram and asked him for help.”
“How would this go down?” McAdams asked. “Baer comes to Elsie’s house with Pauline, whom he just stabbed. Elsie panics and jumps in her car and flees? And he doesn’t go after her?”
“Maybe Baer didn’t have a car.”
McAdams said, “Why would Baer go back to Elsie’s house with Pauline if he had just stabbed her?”
Decker thought a moment. “Maybe he dumped her outside, and Elsie found her and took her into the house. What if Pauline died a few minutes later, and Elsie panicked and fled?”
“Instead of calling 911?” McAdams made a face. “The only reason Elsie wouldn’t call 911 was if she was involved.”
“Or if Baer scared her,” Decker said. “Maybe he kidnapped her and forced her to help him bury her.”
“If Baer forced Elsie to help him bury Pauline, they’d need a car. Elsie’s car has been gone over forensically. No blood was found.”
“Then we’re back to Pauline’s car,” Decker said. “We know from witnesses that they were arguing in the bars. What if they continued the argument while they were driving back to Elsie’s house?”
“Who was driving?”
“If we’re assuming that they had Pauline’s car, let’s say she was driving. The argument gets heated. She pulls over—maybe she tries to kick him out, maybe she leaves the car in a huff, maybe she even leaves out of fear. He follows her, stabs her, and puts her back in the car. Then he takes her to Elsie’s.”
“Why?” McAdams said. “Why not leave her there to die? And why choose to bury Pauline three hours away?”
“Somebody doesn’t want the body anywhere near Baniff.”
“Then what?” McAdams asked. “Pauline dies and Baer convinces Elsie to help him bury her three hours away? I think if I were Baer, I would have just killed Elsie too.”
Decker said, “What if eventually Baer did kill Elsie?”
“Then why was Elsie’s car found near Pauline’s grave site?” McAdams said. “And what does that have to do with Bertram Lanz?”
“We obviously don’t have all the pieces yet,” Decker said.
“I don’t think we have enough of the puzzle to know that there are pieces missing.”
Decker said, “We do know that after Pauline was murdered, Elsie picked up Kathrine Taylor in her car. Why would Elsie do that unless Bertram was involved?”
“Okay, let’s run with that,” McAdams said. “Baer brings Pauline to Elsie’s house. Elsie panics and escapes. She comes back a few days later, gets her car, and then she calls Bertram and asks for help. They decide to meet up at the diner. And as a reward for helping her escape, Elsie picks up Kathrine Taylor for him and they all three take off for Germany.”
“It would explain why Elsie waited a few days to retrieve Bertram from the diner.”
“But, Deck, why would Elsie ditch her car in the woods? And how would she get from the diner to wherever she was going? She’d need another vehicle, since Bertram didn’t drive. And why is Pauline’s body buried in Greenbury if she was murdered in Baniff? And if it was Baer who murdered Pauline, why wouldn’t Elsie just call 911 … tell the police what happened?”
