Cruelest Month (19 page)

33

Sue turned the Jeep onto the sand and gravel road
leading to the New Harmony Organic Farm.

“I’ve always like this part of the county,” said Ray as they snaked through the rolling terrain. “It’s just this little area, maybe 10 square miles that’s hilly and rolling. I think it’s one of the most beautiful parts.”

“I thought we’d turned the veggie thefts over to Brett,” Sue said, nudging Simone away from the clutch.

“We did, but I wanted to handle this one personally. It’s my CSA.”

“New Harmony?” asked Sue.

“Yes, Jon Merryweather. He’s been developing this farm over the last few years. He moved his family from Chicago after working as a commodities trader. He and his wife wanted to give their kids a different kind of life. I’ve been getting vegetables from them the last two summers, splitting a box with Marc and Lisa. You may not remember, but you’ve been a consumer of some of the produce.”

“Like those ugly tomatoes.”

“Heirloom tomatoes, Sue, just like your great-grandmother used to grow. It’s about taste rather than appearance.”

“I don’t remember what they tasted like; I just remember that they were ugly. I probably skipped them.” She slowed, approaching a fork in the road. “Is he our contact?” she asking, pointing at a tall, patrician-faced man standing at the side of the road, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

“That’s Jon.”

“Hey, Ray,” said Jon as they climbed out of the jeep, “didn’t know you were bringing the K-9 unit.”

After introductions, they began walking toward the farm. Ray unleashed Simone who immediately made a happy circle. “Tell me what’s been going on, Jon.”

“We’ve heard from other farmers about thefts,” Jon explained as they climbed the gentle slope. “I didn’t think anything about it. Our root cellars are over here, away from the house, close to the fields. I supposed someone could roll in here at night, and we’d never see or hear him. But I wasn’t concerned.” He swung his arm toward a low hillside bordering a field still flattened from winter. “These two cellars—we call them the caves, the kids like that—were here when we bought the property. The doors had almost rotted away, but the fieldstone walls were in good shape. I’ve actually used these as the model for the three additional ones I built.” He stopped and chuckled, “Even after a hundred years of farming on this land, there are still lots of fieldstones around to build with.”

He pulled a hasp from a loop securing two wooden doors and pulled them open, exposing a cave that had been dug in the side of the hill. Ray and Sue followed a few feet into the interior, their eyes adjusting to the dull light. The air was cool and moist, with an earthly aroma. A pile of potatoes filled the back third of the cavern.

“We store potatoes, onions, carrots, and other root vegetables in these. Most go to our winter shareholders, the rest are sold to organic groceries or contributed to food banks. This cellar is a little bigger than the others, and I reserve it for potatoes. We had a good crop last year, and this one was pretty full, more than I needed, actually. I came down here last week to check on the condition of the potatoes; planting season isn’t too far away.”

“You don’t lock these buildings?” asked Sue.

“Never been a need to. Anyway, as soon I got in here I knew that a whole lot of spuds had gone missing. To make a long story short, we got my daughter one of those infrared cameras for Christmas. We know a lot of animals move through the farm at night, and she was thinking about a science fair project dealing with nocturnal animals. I borrowed her camera and sure enough, captured the images of some two-legged nocturnal animals.”

He pulled his cell phone out and started a video.

“Do you know these two individuals?” asked Ray, squinting at the screen.

“That’s the hard part. I do. They’re neighbors, they’re friends. The first few years they were coming around to help, sharing their knowledge. The kids really liked them. I was going to go over and talk with them, but my wife thought you should be involved.”

“Would you make me a copy of that?”

Jon reached into a pocket and handed Ray a square envelope containing a DVD.

“Things are not right with them, Ray. Their mother passed a few years ago, she was way up in her 90s, and since that time things have been falling apart over at their farm. Tucker stops by to chat from time to time, says Sam is getting forgetful. And I guess Tucker’s had health problems of his own, heart trouble. I dropped off some cookies at the house last Christmas, and I couldn’t believe it. When their mother was alive, things were in pretty good order. Now there’s so much rubbish in the house, they had to make a path through it. . Tucker and Sam have always been self-sufficient, but now they seem to be struggling financially.”

“Will you press charges?” asked Sue.

“No, and I don’t think anyone will when they know who’s behind these thefts, but it has to stop. The guys need help. What happens now?”

“We’ll have to go over there, find out what’s going on.”

“I didn’t want to….”

“You did the right thing,” said Ray. “We’ll get this sorted out.”

Jon led them out into the spring sunshine. “I hope so,” he said, shaking Sue’s hand, then Ray’s.

“Say,” asked Ray, “did you ever see either of them dressed as Amish farmers?”

“Yes, funny you know about that. We have an annual Halloween barn party for the neighborhood, all ages, cider, doughnuts, hay rides in the dark. Tucker and Sam always attend; it might be their one social outing of the year. Tucker plays a concertina, and Sam sort of follows along on a fiddle. They’re an essential part of the evening.”

“By the way,” said Sue, “how’s the science project coming?”

“Oh, Emma, she got interested in owl pellets,” said Jon, rolling his eyes upward and slowly exhaling. “I would have preferred helping her edit video.”

34

“Since you didn’t ask, you obviously know
where we can find the potato perps,” said Sue, stopping at the end of the drive and looking over at Ray, waiting for directions.

“Left here, left on the first paved road, and about a half mile down turn right on Veelander. It’s gravel and usually in bad shape this time of year.”

“Their family name?”

“Yes.”

Their progress was interrupted by a call on the police radio asking for a unit to respond to a domestic disturbance. Sue picked up the microphone, “Central. Near that location. Will respond.” She looked over at Ray. “The Veelanders will have to wait.”

Ray turned the laptop mounted between them in his direction and read the information on the screen to Sue.
Meet woman in drive in a red Mazda.
He moved Simone around on his lap, retrieved his phone, and called the dispatcher.

“Central, this is Ray. I’m riding with Sue. Do you have anything more?”

“Hi, Ray, I’ll put it on screen. 911 call is from a Sally Rood who went to this address to reclaim some personal property from an ex-boyfriend. Apparently there was an argument, and he pushed her out of the house. Rood says she just wants her things back, and she’s afraid if she tries to go back in, he will hurt her. I instructed her to leave the scene, but she’s determined to get her belongings, so I told her to stay in her car, lock the doors, and wait for a deputy.”

“Do you have a name for the man involved?”

“I’m sending the info. It should be on your screen.”

“How about the caller?”

“Nothing. I’ve tentatively confirmed her I.D.”

“Thanks,” said Ray looking at the computer display. “The resident at that address is James Moarse, age 44,” he read to Sue. “Suspended license, series of DUIs, and three domestics, years ago.”

“I’ve never heard of him,” commented Sue, her eyes on the road. “The guy’s not on our top 40. There’s the Mazda.” She pulled behind the vehicle. “Kentucky tags.” They sat for a minute as Sue keyed in the plate numbers. After reading the response, she pushed the screen over.

Sally Rood was leaning against the driver’s side door, a cigarette in one hand, a cell phone in the other. “Okay, they’re here. I gotta go,” she said with a Dolly Parton twang, folding her phone.

Sue stood directly in front of Rood. Ray hung back by the front of the Jeep.

“Look,” said Rood, “all I want is my stuff. And that bastard won’t let me take it. If you just walk in and give me a little protection, I’ll be out of here.”

“Slow down. Tell us what’s happening.”

“Like I said….”

Sue cut her off, “What’s in the house, and how did it end up there?”

“Just some clothes. I moved out a while ago, but I left a few things behind. I called him earlier this morning, and he said he was okay with me coming by. But when I got here he was drunk. Big effing surprise. He started yelling at me. Said he was going to bash in my head with a ball bat. Then he pushed me out the door.”

“Did you see a ball bat or any other weapon?”

“No, but I wasn’t going to stand around while he went to look for one, not that he could find anything in that god damn pig pen.”

“The man inside, the person who threatened you, what’s his name?”

“Jimmy, Jimmy Moarse.”

“Is he alone?

“Yes.”

“How long did you live there.”

“Four or five months. I came up here to waitress last summer, moved in with him in…maybe…October. I went back south in the late winter. Couldn’t stand him or the cold.”

“And what are we talking about; what are you trying to retrieve?”

“A couple of suitcases. They’re packed already. I couldn’t fit them in my car when I went south. He said it was okay if I left them. Now he’s just being a prick about it. Saying I deserted him.”

“Let’s see if we can work this out,” said Sue.

The front door of the house flew open as they approached, and a large man, disheveled and unsteady, smelling of booze and cigarettes, charged out. Ray moved quickly to the man’s side.

“Sally, you didn’t have to go calling fucking Johnny Law. We could have worked this out.”

“Asshole. You said you were going to beat in my brains. What was I…?”

“I was just messing with you. Try to tell these cops you didn’t screw me over good on your way out.” He focused on Ray. “Bitch left in the middle of the night. Woke up, house empty, wallet too.”

“Your name please?” asked Sue.

“James Moarse.”

“Do you have a picture ID?”

The man pulled out a wallet. He retrieved a card and passed it to Sue. She peered at it for a long moment, briefly looked up at him, then returned the ID.

“Does she have some possessions in your house?” asked Sue.

“Yeah, a couple of bags. Should have thrown them out.”

“Where are they?”

“Right where she left them.”

“May we enter your house and get them?”

“Just don’t let her steal anything else.”

Moarse lit a cigarette, offering one to Ray as an afterthought. He shook his head. “She was nothing but trouble.”

Ray didn’t respond. The two women quickly returned, Rood carrying two red plastic suitcases, one in each hand.

“Mr. Moarse, are these the suitcases in question?”

“Yeah.”

“Ms. Rood, is that it? You have no other possessions in Moarse’s house?”

“No.”

“You are sure?”

“Absolutely.”

“And what are you going to do now?” Sue pursued.

“I’m getting in my car and getting outta Dodge. I want some serious distance between me and that asshole before I lay my head down again.”

“Fuck you, bitch.”

Ray stepped away from Moarse, and he and Sue walked behind Rood as she made her way back to her car, suitcases banging against her knees. They stood and waited as she loaded her car, pulled forward, turned around, and headed south on Town Line Road. Then they got into the Jeep and followed her at a distance.

“What did he give you as an ID?”

“An operator’s permit, expired.”

“What was the house like?”

“He’s sitting on a fortune in returnables.”

“Think she’ll be back?” asked Ray.

“Hard to tell. Do you think he’d take her back?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“Should we head to Veelanders?” Sue asked.

“Let’s do lunch first,” Ray responded. “I don’t think they’re going anywhere.”

“Our job,” said Sue, exasperated. “Sometimes I think most of what we do is social work.”

“Yes, social work,” Ray repeated, “with a Glock just in case things go south—or in Ms. Rood’s case, they don’t go south as planned.”

35

Mackenzie felt like she was babbling
. She took a deep breath in an attempt to slow down and focus. She sat back and looked hard at the Skype box showing Ken Lee’s face. It appeared that he was giving her his full attention. His gaze didn’t seem to wander off to one of the other screens she knew surrounded his workstation. Ken Lee always seemed available to talk, and she knew that he was spending countless hours researching for her or coming up with and shipping devices to aid her probe. She worried that she had become his full-time project, and, worse, that his emotional tie to her might exceed what she felt for him.
Someday soon this will all be over. What are his expectations about the future, our future?

She sat up and stretched her neck. “Okay, so I rolled by a second time to get a better look, slowing, but trying not to make it too obvious,” she continued. “There was a red Mazda in the drive, and the Sheriff was standing outside with Jim Moarse. It didn’t look like they were talking: strange body language, just standing there. Then I did the absolute unthinkable.”

“You didn’t.”

“Yup. I went down the road, turned around in a drive, and came back a third time. I’m sure no one noticed. They were heavily into something. It was the sheriff, Moarse, a female deputy, and some woman with red hair, the Scottish red. Something heavy was going down. No one was looking at the traffic on the road. They were all focused on what was happening right there in the yard.”

“What was happening?”

“I don’t know. The woman had a couple of bags, suitcases. Maybe she was moving out.”

“So?”

“I did the double unthinkable, I drove down the road a couple of miles and came back again. By then the Mazda and the sheriff’s Jeep were on the road ahead of me. I followed at a polite distance. They eventually ended up on 22. The cops in the Jeep turned around near the county line, and I followed the Mazda into Traverse City.”

“And?”

“Ms. Redhead pulled into a parking lot. I circled the block and found her car, Kentucky plates.”

“Did you get the number?”

“Absolutely, I’ll send it to you.”

“Then what?”

“I parked and found the woman window shopping on Front Street. Then this man came along, and they embraced passionately, a bone crusher. I followed them to a restaurant a block down, quasi-French, almost good, but not quite, like the chef doesn’t make sure the greens are perfect and doesn’t check each entrée before it goes to the table.”

“I sense that…well, never mind. You’re sure they didn’t see you?”

“They only had eyes for each other. They had a couple of glasses of wine and a lunch that they gobbled down. I’m sure they were screwing their brains out 15 minutes later.”

“How do you know?”

“You could tell. They were both in heat.”

“So what does that have to do with Moarse?” asked Ken Lee.

“I don’t know. The redhead is younger than Moarse, maybe 10 years, more or less. And she looks good; she still has youth on her side. Not real classy, but cute and sexy with a killer body. Maybe she hooked up with Moarse for a while. She’s definitely moved on. It’s amazing how easily men can be manipulated for a little sex.”
Is that what I’m doing?
Mackenzie wondered.

“So what now?” asked Ken Lee.

“I’m going to focus on Moarse. See what I can find out. Maybe pull a stakeout, see if there are any comings and goings.”

“You should probably get a GPS on his car.”

“I have to figure out what he’s driving. There was an old garage there, but the door wasn’t open.”

“If you’re going to pull a stakeout, you need to be very careful.”

“His place would be easy. It’s real open with woods on three sides. I can also get on some high ground on the other side of the road.”

“Dog? Neighbors?”

“No, he’s pretty isolated.”

“You shouldn’t be out there alone. You need to have backup. These guys are killers.”

“Come on Ken Lee. Back off. I have a phone, multiple weapons, and like you’ve said many times, some of the fastest hands you’ve ever seen. I’m just going to go and look at the dude in the dark with binoculars, a hundred or more yards out. Safer than a walk in the park, a lot safer.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can find out about the owner of the Mazda, if she’s indeed the owner. Please be careful. Send me a note when you’re back.”

“You always know where my car is. You’ve got to give me some space, Ken Lee. This is all stuff I can do safely. Don’t smother me.”

“I just don’t want you to get over your head. Even the best sometimes…. Be careful. And one more thing.”

“What’s that?”

“The other two characters. I covered the same ground on Zed Piontowski. Not much there, and it’s hard to tell if the stiff in Galveston is one and the same. As for Chris Brewler, nothing comes up. Are you sure of the spelling?”

“It’s my best guess. So, how do you just disappear?”

“You tell me,” said Ken Lee.

“I had a great aunt who needed to protect me from an alcoholic mother. Not that Mom would have wanted us kids back, but she would have used us to try to extract money for the honor of taking care of us.”

“Maybe Chris Brewler needed to disappear, too. New name, social security number….”

“But he’d need to be out of here, people would recognize him.”

“Are you sure? You’re living 30 miles north of Sandville, right?”

“True.”

“So a new name, a heavy beard, and change in hair color—you probably don’t have to go very far to get a new identity to work. And that night at the beach—was there a third person?”

“Yes, there was. But I couldn’t see him from where I was hiding. So I’m going to focus on Moarse and see if I can start filling in the blanks.”