The Rented Mule (26 page)

Mrs. Riley shocked him with the news that Gates was already locked in his office, presumably working since he was on the phone. Cooper told her to give him a message to call.

Cooper was on the phone, glancing out the window when he saw an unmarked police car park in front of his house. A plainclothes officer got out and walked to the front door. Cooper didn’t wait for him to ring the bell and quickly opened the door.

There stood Henry Obermeyer, a detective who at six foot two and 225 pounds was a big man—except he wasn’t muscular, he was just big. He had been on the force for fifteen years and was fixated with doing everything exactly, painstakingly, by the book. No deviations and no exceptions. The other officers loved making fun of him; consequently, he was the butt of countless jokes. He suffered from a spastic colon, was lactose-intolerant, and whenever he got too nervous or excited, he always had to run to the nearest restroom. Because of his condition, he had missed participating in several key dynamic entry arrests, and this was very troubling to him.

His colleagues jokingly called him Dirty Henry because he idolized the fictional detective Harry Callahan of the
Dirty Harry
movie series. Ironically, in fifteen years of service, Detective Obermeyer had never discharged his firearm in the line of duty, but he practiced shooting religiously, at least once a week. No one could beat his range scores or his command of shoot/don’t shoot scenarios. No one was more prepared.

Obermeyer’s peculiar behavior and odd mannerisms created a major problem on the police force in that he could not keep a partner. The big detective’s odd ways drove several to tender resignations if they were not reassigned another partner. Detective Obermeyer was so successful at solving crimes, however, that the top brass gave up, allowing him to work solo.

Obermeyer, a major case investigator, had been assigned this mundane “missing wife” incident because things were slow and the officer responsible for case assignments didn’t like him or
Dirty Harry
movies. Obermeyer had lost the argument with his immediate superior officer that this case was a waste of his skills and abilities.

Detective Obermeyer, without introducing himself, calmly shook Cooper’s hand as he quickly scanned the surrounding area. His first words to Cooper were, “Stand by, please.” He then slowly stared around the entry hall, but mostly at Cooper.

“Excuse me?”

“Stand by. I’m absorbing, it’s part of what I do.” After a moment he said, “I’m Detective Obermeyer.”

At Cooper’s offering, they walked into the kitchen and sat at the table. Cooper figured this guy to be some kind of nut job but went ahead and explained all he could while he watched the officer make notes on his BlackBerry. He paused to allow the policeman to catch up.

“I e-mail these notes to myself and make folders at night with all the documents,” the detective explained, knowing the question was coming.

“Kinda like Jim Rockford on the
Rockford Files,
” Cooper responded.

Obermeyer was surprised and felt an instant connection
with Cooper. Nobody had ever understood what he did.

“Exactly… only he mailed his notes… this, of course, is much more efficient,” the detective proudly proclaimed. “So the last time you or anyone actually talked to your wife was Saturday afternoon sometime?” the detective asked.

“Yes, about two o’clock I think; it coulda been later though—I really wasn’t checking my watch.”

“Surely you have a point of reference in which to relate the time.”

Cooper tried to think back. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. Maybe two o’clock.” Cooper hesitated, adding, “I kinda mentally checked out Saturday.”

Obermeyer noted Cooper’s pause. “Checked out?”

“I needed to get away and do some thinkin’.” Cooper then explained where he was and what he was doing. He watched the detective’s thumbs type the details.

“I see. An exact time would be helpful,” he explained, thinking they were probably in the middle of an argument. Obermeyer quickly typed in the information on the tiny keypad.

When Cooper didn’t say anything, the detective asked, “And to your knowledge, she hadn’t planned to visit any relatives… or anything that would take her out of town for a few days?”

Most disappearances like this were the results of a marital spat or an affair. Affairs were universal, and it wasn’t uncommon, just less obvious with the upper class. A few cases were simple communication breakdowns—where one spouse fails to tell the other where they are going, or most often, the other fails to listen. These cases bored Detective Obermeyer.

“No,” Cooper responded nervously.

“Had any recent issues?”

“No. Well. Not really… maybe,” Cooper said as he dropped his face into his hands. “We argue all the time lately.”

“And you had a confrontation Saturday?” Detective Obermeyer asked without looking up.

“Yeah, but confrontation doesn’t, well yeah, I guess it does. Evidently her credit card didn’t work, I mean it was declined while she was shopping, and she blamed me,” he explained and then drew a deep breath.

“Do you know the exact location the transaction was being attempted?” Detective Obermeyer asked, knowing that he had just gotten a good lead.

“No, I don’t.”

“Stand by.”

Cooper watched him stare off into space and wondered what this odd guy was thinking.

“Do you have a list of her credit cards? I need to run it, and then we can piece together where she was Saturday and begin putting together a historical trail. We might find something simple like a plane ticket to Cozumel,” the officer stated flatly, in a tone that conveyed situations like this happened every day.

“No, she wouldn’t have done that, but I’ll get you a list of cards,” Cooper said as he opened a drawer that was home to all of their bills.

Detective Obermeyer silently seethed that his task for the day was chasing down a pissed-off housewife who probably escaped for a day from her boring life. He checked his cell phone to make certain he hadn’t missed any calls.

“Look, is there any way you can check the hospitals around Birmingham? She loves to shop there. I called the ones here already,” Cooper asked as he stood and began pacing. He couldn’t sit still any longer.

“Yes, sir, that’s already been done. It’s standard procedure. I need to gather some additional information. This won’t take too long. What kind of vehicle does she drive?”

“A red Volvo sedan… it’s two years old.”

The questions continued for a full fifteen minutes as Obermeyer followed the official script. The process exhausted Cooper and made him more anxious. His mind raced with thoughts of Kelly, the office, the kids, and what needed to be done.
All this is my fault. All of it,
he thought.

Obermeyer spotted the coffeepot. He stared at it until Cooper offered him a cup. While he stirred cream into his coffee, he asked if there were any signs of a break-in or anything missing or out of place in the house or garage. Not expecting a positive answer, he glanced around the kitchen, noticing nothing out of the ordinary, except some strange-looking Coke bottles.

“No, everything’s here, including her suitcases. I checked.”

“Does she have an attorney?”

“An attorney? What do you mean?”

“A lawyer. Worst case… just thinking worst case: she could be planning a divorce. I see it a lot.”

“Your worst case and my worst case are worlds apart. I’m thinking she’s been in an accident. Sure we argue or have confrontations, as you put it, but I don’t think she wants a divorce,” Cooper explained. As the words hung in the air he wondered about her calling Gates and asking about Brooke. That could have made her leave. He needed to talk to her to explain.

“You okay, sir?” the detective asked, noting Cooper’s sudden disengagement.

“Yeah, I was just thinking about what you said. It kind of shocked me, I guess.”

“Okay. This should get me started.”

Cooper nodded his agreement, somewhat in a trance, running his fingers through his hair. He managed to ask, “So whadda I do?”

“Call any of her friends you can think of. If you find her, please call me. Here’s my card, it’s got all my numbers on it.” The detective slowly rose from the table. “I need to get this info into our system. I’ll be in touch. If you think of anything or hear something, please call me.”

Cooper nodded his understanding and buried his face in his hands.

Walking toward the door the hulking detective stopped, stared a second, and walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll ask your neighbors if they’ve noticed anything unusual. Something may turn up.”

Cooper sighed deeply and answered, “Please, whatever you need to do, just find my wife.”

J
enny had decided that Clarence would be more comfortable recovering at the hotel rather than at the hideout. The hospital had gladly accepted cash for the services, without asking any potentially compromising questions. Any other time, the gang’s protocols would dictate that they abandon the job and vanish without a trace. Clarence’s medical condition, however, necessitated that they not travel.

Once Clarence was settled into the room and heavily medicated, Jenny headed back to the hideout to check on the boys. Jesse Ray and Maynard alone with their captive made her nervous. While she drove the hour to the old house, she thought long and hard about everything surrounding this job and was beginning to regret her participation. The cost-benefit analysis had changed over the last day—there was beginning to be too much risk for too little reward. The stress had also caused her to start smoking again.

Parking her car near the barn, she studied the old house for a long moment. She was surprised and concerned that
there was no visible movement in the main room or at any of the other windows. Unlocking the kitchen door, she startled Maynard who had fallen asleep on the couch, reading one of her horse magazines. She noticed a nearby pile of teeth-whitener wrappers.

“Just what the hell are you doin’?” she bluntly asked.

“I fell asleep. Sorry.” He responded sheepishly, checking his watch. Motioning downstairs, he quickly added, “Don’t worry. She’s out. We just gave her some more drugs… about an hour ago.”

“What worries me is that you didn’t hear me drive up. That’s the first problem, and the second is that you’re readin’ my magazine, which means
you
went into
my
room,” Jenny stated, pointing an accusatory finger at Maynard.

“I’m sorry. It’s just… I’m really sorry… it’s just that I really like horses.”

Jenny was taken aback by his response to her anger. “What? You do?” she asked suspiciously.

“Yeah. Several years ago, when I lived in Hot Springs, I used to walk and warm up horses at Oaklawn Park during racin’ season.”

Jenny shook her head in disbelief. “What?”

“Yep, I met this really cool jockey, Otto Thorwarth, who got me the job.”

Jenny was clearly intrigued and was suddenly curious. “I never figured you for a horse guy.”

“I really love ’em. I even wanted to be a jockey… but really… I didn’t like going that fast on something that big that didn’t have brakes.”

“I’ll bet it’s intense.”

“Oh yeah, but it’s not really for me… so I was happy to just walk and warm up the horses after that. I can talk Thoroughbreds all day—you know, like how they’re pretty
much clueless about traditional rein aids and commands. They’ve kinda learned a different language than offtrack horses, ya know.” Maynard was starting to get animated.

Jenny was surprised by how much Maynard really did sound like Larry King and impressed that he appeared much deeper than she first thought. She wanted to learn more, and she knew that she’d have time over the next several days, but right now she had to make certain that she set clear parameters regarding her privacy.

Jenny said, “Look, just don’t go in my room. Okay?”

“I’m sorry. The door was cracked, and I saw the magazine lying on the bed. I needed somethin’ to read. The dial-up Internet connection is molasses slow, and all Jesse Ray’s got to read are geek magazines,” he said, pointing to the kitchen table.

“You can read my magazines, but my room’s off-limits. Just respect my privacy, and we won’t have any problems. Clear?”

“Perfectly. No sweat. I’m sorry. I won’t do it again. I swear.”

“Okay, where’s Jesse Ray?”

“He’s in the other room… nursin’ a headache. He said he couldn’t concentrate.”

“Jeez, this crew’s the walkin’ wounded. I can’t believe this,” she replied, kicking off her shoes.

“It wasn’t just his head hurtin’, he said he feels like somebody’s watchin’ him. He got a little spooked,” Maynard said with a smile.

“Watchin’?”

“Yeah, like a haint.”

“A haint?”

“You know, a ghost. They don’t bother me though. I’ve lived in old houses all my life.”

“This place is haunted?” Jenny asked, looking around carefully. “Clarence will love this.”

“There’s some weird shit that goes on for sure—lights going off and on, and what sounds like footsteps. What about Clarence? Is he okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, but he’s all doped up on some powerful painkillers. He’s got a herniated disk and a huge kidney stone, and when they started talking surgery to install a stint, he started hyperventilatin’. He finally told them to just give him some drugs, and he’d deal with it when he got home. I left him at the hotel to rest.”

“That don’t sound good.”

“It’s not. Every one of us needs to be concentratin’ on this job, and he can’t. The pain’s pretty bad.”

“So… he’s got a stint comin’ out his…” Maynard’s words trailed off with a shutter.

“No. No. They didn’t do the procedure. It woulda required an overnight stay and about ten grand. Clarence wasn’t gonna pay cash for it here when his insurance will cover it at home. He said all he wanted was pain meds and a case of beer. The doctor laughed and said, ‘Okay on the drugs, but no drinkin’ too.’”

Jenny tossed her purse on the kitchen table. The toll of her concern for Clarence, their hostage, her cut of the money, Jesse Ray’s busted face and bruised ego, Maynard sleeping instead of pulling guard duty, and now a ghost hit hard and at once.
I gotta tighten up this group, but first I gotta get some sleep. I can’t think
.