Simple Genius (10 page)

HORATIO BARNES DROVE HIS RENTAL CAR out of the Nashville airport. An hour later he was in rural Tennessee looking for the small town where Michelle Maxwell had lived when she was six years old. He found it after several wrong turns and some time-consuming backtracking. He reached the small, crumbling town center, stopped and asked for directions at the hardware store and drove out of town heading southwest. He was sweating because apparently his rental fee didn’t cover a car with functioning air-conditioning.

The neighborhood where Michelle had lived clearly had seen better days. The homes were old and dilapidated, the yards ill-nourished. He checked house numbers on the mailboxes until he found it. The Maxwell house was set off the street. It had a large front yard with a dying oak anchoring it. On one limb was a tire hanging from a rotting rope. In the side yard was a 1960s-era Ford pickup up on cinder blocks. He saw the jagged dead stumps of what looked to be the remains of a privacy hedge that had run across the front of the house.

The paint on the clapboard siding was peeling away and the screen on the front door had fallen off and was lying on the steps. Horatio couldn’t tell if the place was inhabited or not. From its piecemeal look he reasoned it was an old farmhouse. Presumably the original owners had sold the bulk of the land to a developer and the neighborhood had sprung up around their homestead.

He wondered what it would have been like for the young girl to grow up here with just her parents, the beloved sons having moved on to manhood. Horatio also wondered again if Michelle’s conception had been an accident. Would that have influenced how her parents treated it? From experience Horatio knew that one could cut both ways.
Which way had it cut with you, Michelle?

He pulled his rental to the edge of the graveled shoulder, got out and looked around, wiping the sweat off his face with his handkerchief. Apparently there wasn’t an active neighborhood watch program because no one seemed to be paying any attention to him. Probably there was nothing here worth stealing.

Horatio walked up the gravel drive. Part of him was waiting for an old hound to lumber around the corner of the structure with teeth bared just looking for a plump leg to bite. However, no animal or person came forward to greet or attack him. He reached the porch and peered inside the busted front door. The place seemed abandoned, or if not, the current inhabitants were setting a new standard for minimalism.

“Can I help you?” a firm voice said.

Horatio swung around and saw a woman standing there at the end of the drive. She was young, short and chubby, wore a faded sundress and had a fat baby riding on her left hip. Her hair was dark and curly and in the humidity it clung to her head like a skullcap.

He walked toward her. “I sure hope so. I’m trying to find out about the people who used to live in this house.”

She stared over his shoulder. “You mean the bums, druggies or whores?”

He followed her gaze. “Oh, is that what it’s used for these days?”

“I pray to the Lord to strike the sinners dead.”

“I presume the sinners don’t come by in the daylight, just at night.”

“Well ain’t no law says we got to hide in bed when it gets dark. So we see the evil and evil it is.”

“Well, I’m really sorry about that. But I wasn’t talking about the, um, evil. I was talking about a family named the Maxwells; they lived here about thirty years ago?”

“We’ve only been here five, so I wouldn’t know, would I?”

“Anyone else here who might?”

She pointed a thick finger at the farmhouse. “Because of that evil, ain’t nobody
want
to stay too long.” Her baby gave a hiccup and spittle ran down its mouth. She wiped him up with a rag she pulled from her pocket.

Horatio handed her a business card. “Well, if you think of anyone who might be able to help me, you can reach me at that number.”

She studied the card.
“You a shrink?”

“Something
like
that.”

“From Washing-
ton
?”
She said the word with a pronounced sneer. “This here’s Tennessee.”

“I have a big practice.”

“Why you want to know about these Maxwell folks?”

“It’s confidential, but I can tell you that it’s to try to help a patient of mine.”

“What’s it worth to you?”

“I thought you didn’t know them.”

“I know somebody who might.
My granny.
She gave us this house when she went in the nursing home. She lived there, oh, must’ve been forty years or so at least. Hell, Gramps is buried in the backyard.”

“That’s nice.”

“Grass grows real well over that spot, I tell you that.”

“I’m sure. So your grandmother’s at a nursing home. Near here?”

“State place, about an hour away.
She couldn’t afford
nothing
fancy. That’s why she
give
us her house, so’s she could get help from the government. You know, so they wouldn’t know she had stuff.”

“Like assets to be used to pay for her care?”

“That’s right. Government screws everybody six ways from Sunday. We got to fight to get our fair share. Give it a few years and the Mexicans will run the whole damn place.” She looked to the sky. “Lord, strike me dead before that happens.”

“Be careful what you wish for. Do you think she might talk to me?”

“Maybe.
She got good days and bad days. I try to go up to see her, but what with the baby and more kids in school, and gas ain’t exactly cheap is it?” She studied him. “So how much is it worth to you?” she asked again.

“Well, that depends on what she tells me.” Horatio took a moment to scrutinize her. “Let’s say if the information is good I’ll pay her a hundred dollars.”

“Pay
her
! She ain’t got
no
use for the money. I meant pay
me.
”

Horatio smiled. “Okay, I’ll pay you. Can you arrange for me to see her?”

“Well, seeing as how we got us a business arrangement I’ll go with you. Don’t want you leaving town without remembering the deal.”

“When can we go?”

“My man gets home at six. We can head out then. That way we get there after dinner. Old folks don’t like people interrupting their chow time.”

“Okay.
What’s
your grandmother’s name and the name of the nursing home?”

“Do I look stupid? You can follow me up in your car. I’ll take you to her room.”

“Fine.
You say she has good and bad days. What does that mean exactly?”

“That exactly means that she’s losing her marbles. She’s got that demon stuff.”

Horatio cocked his head at this remark, worried that the young woman was totally nuts. Then he guessed what she meant. “You’re referring to
dementia
?”

“That’s it. So you got to roll the dice and see what comes up.”

“Well, thank you for your help, uh . . .”

“Linda Sue Buchanan. My friends call me Lindy, but you ain’t my friend so you just stick to Linda Sue for now.”

“You can call me Horatio.”

“That’s one weird-ass name.”

“Well, I’m one weird-ass guy. I’ll see you here at six o’clock. And by the way,
Linda Sue
, the little bundle of joy just puked on your shoe.”

He left her cursing and dragging her foot across the grass.

SANDY WAS SITTING up in bed looking much better. The nurse left them alone and Michelle drew next to the bed and took the older woman’s hand in hers.

“Okay, what the hell happened to you?” Michelle demanded.

Sandy smiled and gave a casual wave of her other hand, although the one holding Michelle’s tightened at the same time. “Oh, honey, it happens to me from time to time.
Nothing to worry about.
My old butt just hits a wall and everything sort of pops. They give me a little happy juice and I’m right as rain.”

“You’re sure you’re okay?”

“Absolutely.”

“I thought you’d had a seizure or something.”

“Now you see why I can’t hold down a job. And I think I would’ve made a hell of an airline pilot, don’t you?” She pantomimed using a PA system. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is your captain speaking. We’re about to begin our initial descent into
hell
and the person flying the plane, namely me, is about to
freak
out on you! So just hold on tight, you little bastards, while I try to lay this baby on the ground.” She gave a weak laugh and let go of Michelle’s hand.

“I’m sorry, Sandy. I really am.”

“Comes with the territory and I’m comfortable with that.”

Michelle hesitated. “I went into your room after they took you. I don’t know why, I guess I was just stunned. I heard someone else coming. I ducked behind the door and Barry came in.”

On this, Sandy sat up a little straighter. “Did he see you?”

“No, I ducked out. But I ratted on him to the head nurse, for all the good it’ll do me. He’s probably plotting his revenge as we speak.”

Sandy sat back. “What could he want in my room?”

Michelle shrugged. “Probably just wanted to see what all the fuss was about. Or he might’ve been looking to take anything of value that wasn’t nailed down.”

Sandy made a snorting noise. “Well, I hope he can dig all the way to my bank because that’s where my good jewelry is. I never bring any of that with me to one of these places because it won’t be there when you leave.”

“Good thinking.”

Sandy tried to sit up some more and Michelle quickly went to her aid. She lifted the sheet up, exposing Sandy’s legs, took the woman around the waist and slid her higher on the pillow and then covered her legs back up.

“You’re strong,” Sandy remarked.

“You’re pretty muscular yourself.”

“Upper body, yes.
But my legs are spaghetti and about as big.” Sandy sighed. “You should’ve seen the gams I used to have, Ann-Margret quality.”

Michelle smiled. “I’m sure.” Sandy’s legs
were
withered, which was why Michelle had lifted the covers. She wanted to make sure Sandy really was disabled. Her instincts told her there was something wrong about Sandy.

“You look like you’re thinking way too hard,” Sandy said.

“That’s all we have to do in here, isn’t it, think too much?”

An hour later Michelle participated in yet another group session Horatio Barnes had signed her up for.

“So when
is Mr. Harley-Davidson
expected back?” Michelle asked one of the nurses.

“Who?”

“Horatio Barnes!”

“Oh, he didn’t say. But he has an associate covering for him who’s very qualified.”

“Good for him.”

Coming back from the session Michelle turned the corner and nearly ran into Barry coming from the other direction.

She started to walk away when he said, “So how’s your
girlfriend
, Sandy?”

She knew she shouldn’t take the bait, but something inside her just wouldn’t let it go. She turned around and said brightly, “She’s great. Did you find anything in her room worth stealing?”

“So you’re the one who turned me in to the nurse.”

“It took you this long to figure it out? What a loser.”

He smirked. “Why don’t you do a reality check? I can leave anytime I want. You’re a nutcase that’s locked up in here.”

“That’s right. I am a nutcase. I’m a freaking nutcase who can break your neck anytime I want.”

He sneered. “Listen, little girl, I grew up in the toughest neighborhood in Trenton. You don’t know the meaning of the word tough––Holy shit!”

She had put her foot right through the drywall an inch from his head. As she slowly pulled her leg back she looked at him as he cowered there, his hands over his head.

“Next time you try and screw with me or Sandy, it won’t be the wall I crush.” She turned to leave and then looked at the hole she’d made. “You might want to clean that up, Barry.
Hygiene regulations and all.”

“I’m going to report you for attacking me.”

“Good, you go ahead. And I’ll get a petition signed by all the women you’ve taken a peek at while you’ve been here. I’m sure they’d just love to see your ass in jail.”

“Who’d believe them? They’re nuts.”

“You’d be surprised, Barry. There’s always credibility in numbers. And why do I think your history might not be so squeaky-clean if someone looks hard enough? And believe me, jerk-off, I know how to look.”

Barry swore at her, turned and stomped off.

As Michelle walked back to her room she knew there was only one true way to deal with Barry. She planned on devoting all her energies to that task, starting this minute. And she had a hunch where to begin.

THE LOCAL COPS had done their thing as had the FBI, in the person of the dour Michael Ventris. He barely gave Sean a glance after he finished explaining how he’d found Rivest’s body.

“And you came back here, why?” Ventris asked in a surly tone.

“We’d arranged to meet to go over the case. He didn’t answer the door. So I went in.” Sean kept back the part about being shot at. Until he understood the situation better, his instincts told him to keep that to himself.

Ventris said, “I’d heard the folks here had hired a private detective to come down and poke around. So you’re it?” The FBI agent didn’t look the least bit impressed.

“I’m it.”

“Piece of advice.
First time you get in my way, it’ll be the last time. Got it?”

“Got it.”
Sean didn’t dare ask why the FBI was investigating the death of a private citizen in the first place. It wasn’t like Monk Turing’s death; he’d been found on federal property.

Len Rivest’s remains were removed to the temporary morgue where Monk’s body lay, while the local sheriff stood looking at the now empty bathtub and shaking his head. Sean was next to him doing the same thing, but the thoughts running through his head were probably a little more complex than the ones sifting through the sheriff’s, he imagined.

Rivest was killed between the time Sean had left him around midnight and the time Sean had found him, a span of about six and a half hours. And he thought he’d seen Champ Pollion going into his bungalow around two in the morning. Thought, but wasn’t certain.

“Sheriff Merkle Hayes,” the man said, interrupting Sean’s musings. Before Sean could say anything the man added, “You’re Sean King, right?”

“That’s right.”

“Ex–Secret Service?”

“Right again.”

Hayes was in his early fifties with closely cut grayish white hair, a little potbelly, thick legs, wide bony shoulders and a slightly curved back that reduced his six-foot height a notch. “Any idea what might have happened?”

“I was with Len last night. He’d had a few drinks, maybe a few too many. I left around midnight. He was passed out on the couch downstairs.”

“So what’d you two
talk
about?”

Sean had been prepared for this question and had been surprised that Ventris had not asked it.
“This and that.
Some about Monk Turing’s death.
A little about Babbage Town.”

“You think he was drunk enough to climb into this bathtub and accidentally drown himself?”

“I couldn’t say for sure that he
wasn’t
drunk enough to do it.”

Hayes remained silent, but nodded at this comment.

“The door was unlocked when I got here,” Sean said. “I remember locking it last night.”

Hayes said, “So either he unlocked it or . . .”

“Right.”

“We’ve started asking around. So far, no one saw anything. Of course the FBI’s taken the lead.”

“And why’s the FBI involved in this? Rivest wasn’t a federal employee, this isn’t federal land and no one did anything across state lines that I can see.”

“Why don’t we take a walk outside?”

Rivest’s home had been cordoned off with the standard yellow police tape as if anything could ever make a possible murder seem standard. The ambulance with Rivest’s body had just disappeared down the road. Sean glanced over at the small crowd gathered in front of the cottage and saw both Alicia Chadwick and Champ Pollion talking together in low voices.

When Alicia caught his eye, perhaps hoping he would come over, Sean quickly glanced away. He wasn’t yet ready to deal with her or Champ.

Hayes led him over to his unmarked cruiser and motioned for Sean to get in the passenger’s side. Inside the car Hayes said, “What I’m about to propose might seem a little unorthodox, but I’ll risk it. How about you and me partnering on this case?”

Sean raised an eyebrow. “Partnering? You’re a county sheriff, I’m a private detective.”

“I don’t mean formally. But it seems to me that we both have the same goal in mind. Find Rivest’s killer.”

“Doesn’t that apply to Turing as well?”

“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time a murder was made to look like a suicide.”

“Rivest seemed to think the same thing.”

“Did he now? That’s interesting. What else did he say about it?”

“That was pretty much it. But he seemed to want it to be a murder rather than a suicide, if you get my meaning. Not that wanting something makes it true.”

“We got a lot going against the murder scenario. His gun, his prints and it looked like he went to Camp Peary voluntarily.”

“Turing didn’t seem suicidal from what I’ve learned.”

“Not all of them do,” Hayes said. “I looked up your record at the Service and read about those cases you were involved in down in Wrightsburg. So what do you say? If I’m going up against the FBI, I need some help.”

“How about I get back to you after talking to my superiors?”

“How about you just say yes?”

“I tell you what, I’m working on the case anyway,
cases
now, I guess. So if I find something or something occurs to me, I’ll give you a holler.” He studied Hayes’s face. “But it works both ways. You flush something out, you let me know.”

Hayes considered this and finally put out his hand. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

“You can do something for me right now.”

“What’s that?”

“Take me to see Monk Turing’s body at the morgue.”