Cat On The Scent

27

“You won't mention the company? We aren't responsible.” Wilson McGaughey pressured Rick Shaw. “Nobody could blame us.”

“Facts are facts, Mr. McGaughey. The body was found in a Good Foods refrigerator.”

Wilson, revulsion turning to anger, wheeled on Dabney. “Do you have something to do with this? It's bad enough you were drinking on company time—”

Rick interrupted, motioning for Dabney to follow him. “If you don't mind, Mr. McGaughey, I'd like to question Mr. Shiflett alone.”

Wilson did mind but he held his tongue.

Rick took Dabney away from the corner where the corpse of Tommy Van Allen hung, by handcuffs dangling from a meathook. He'd been shot once in the temple, a neat job, very little mess. His Schauffenhausen watch remained on his wrist, his signet ring was on his finger, and $523, cash, was in his pants pocket along with his keys.

His glazed eyes were staring; his mouth hung open. But he was perfectly preserved, being frozen stiff.

“Now Dabney, pay that Yankee son of a bitch no mind.”

“He's gonna fire me.”

“He can try. Man can't be fired for finding a corpse.”

At the mention of the word corpse, Dabney paled and began shaking. “I feel bad, Sheriff.”

“It's a terrible shock.”

“I didn't kill him.”

“Didn't think you did.” He clapped Dabney on the back. “How often is this meat locker checked?”

“Daily.” He lowered his voice. “In theory. Maybe someone sticks their head in once a day. But, you know, probably no one has walked all the way back here since Tommy's been missing.”

“Unless they're in on it.”

“Hadn't thought of that.” Dabney was feeling better, as long as he didn't look at the body.

“Do you know anyone who might bear a grudge, who—”

“No. He didn't have anything to do with the company, Sheriff, other than building the new office wing, and that was eleven years back.”

“I know you came back for a swig, Dabney. Why hadn't you come in here before?”

Dabney looked away from Rick. “Used up the rest of my stash. This was my last bottle until I refilled the others and started all over again.” He lifted his head, his smile weak.

“And Wilson knew nothing?”

Dabney shook his head. “No.”

“How long ago did you put your flask back here?”

“Uh . . . three weeks, I reckon. I dunno.”

Rick wrinkled his forehead. “Go on, Dabney. I'm sorry you had to go through this. I might want to talk to you later.”

Wilson McGaughey sidled up. “You have influence with the press—”

“McGaughey, you haven't lived here long enough to feel anything for that slab of human beef hanging back there, but let me tell you, as men go, he was a good man, not a perfect man, not always an even-tempered man, but a decent man.” He stopped for breath. “I can't keep this out of the news. If you obstruct justice in any way, I'll have your ass. Am I clear?”

“Yes.”

“You sounded like a New Yorker for a minute.” Cynthia had been standing behind her boss.

He turned around. “Is that a compliment or an insult?”

“Depends.”

“Mr. McGaughey, did you know the victim?”

“Only in passing.” He clipped his words.

“Did you like him?” Rick felt his nose get colder by the minute.

“What little I knew of him, yes. He was a pleasant fellow.”

“All right. You can go.” Rick paused. “One last thing. Don't fire Dabney Shiflett.”

“Man's got a problem.” Wilson was furious that the redneck had put one over on him.

“He performs his duties.”

“Drinking during work hours is against company regulations.”

“Then get the man into a program. Don't fire him. He has three mouths to feed and he's a hard worker. I've known him all my life. If you want to get along in Crozet, work with people. Do you understand?”

Wilson understood that the sheriff was mad at him. But he didn't understand exactly what was being asked of him.

Cynthia spoke up. “The sheriff is saying that you will lower your productivity and maybe even harm your career if you don't learn that showing a little concern for your workers might boost morale. If Dabney was slacking off on the job, okay, then be a hard-ass. But help him. You might need help yourself someday.”

“I'll take it under consideration.” He walked off, nearly as stiff as Tommy Van Allen.

“Jesus, what a bonehead. And I'll bet he has his M.B.A.,” Shaw said.

“Boss, this was in Van Allen's trench-coat pocket.” Cynthia held a condom wrapper in her gloved hand.

“Any sign of the condom?”

“No.”

“Coop, how do you think he got on that meathook?”

She shrugged. “He could have been hoisted up the same way they hoist the beef. Come on, I'll show you.”

They walked outside and Cynthia pointed out a squarish machine used to move pallets loaded with heavy cartons; modified, the machine could also lift up sides of beef.

“Possible.” He walked over. “How much does one of these things cost?”

“About sixteen thousand dollars retail.”

“How do you know that?”

“Asked Wilson.”

“Ah, yes, he'd know.” He heard the gurney rolling down the outside walkway. “Coroner's good. Body may be frozen blue but I bet he can establish the time of death. What he can't establish is, was he killed here or brought here? And why here? Why not just dump him up in the waste unit like dead meat?” His voice rasped. “I have never seen anything like this in my years of law enforcement.”

“Me neither.”

He shot her a sharp glance. “You, you're still wet behind the ears.”

“I've seen enough murders to know most of them are committed in a white-hot rage. This was not.”

“The bomber jacket in Herb's truck was a neat trick, too. A little flag to let us all know we aren't on top of this case.”

The gurney rolled past them, Tommy tucked into two body bags, since his arms were frozen straight up. Diana Robb, the paramedic, couldn't get him into one bag without breaking his arms, and that would compromise evidence.

She stopped as her coworkers continued to push the body to the ambulance. “Weighed a ton. Like moving a boulder.”

“Better than shaking off the maggots that crawl up your leg. Those suckers bite.” Rick hated that stench.

“You've got a point there. Never would have thought Tommy would end this way. I could have pictured a jealous husband shooting him maybe, but nothing like this.”

“Nasty, isn't it?” Coop said.

“Yep.” Diana grimaced, then rejoined her crew.

Rick half closed his eyes to hide his frustration.