Catch As Cat Can

44

At eight o'clock Monday morning Roger O'Bannon was exhumed from his grave. As he hadn't been in the ground that long, he retained all his features and his digits but the body was filled with gas.

Rick detested exhumations. They were unpleasant affairs but he felt he had to be at this one in case Sean showed up. Although Sean had promised his mother he would comply with her wishes, people could snap, change their minds. Emotions were like quicksilver even in the best of times. This, hardly the best of times, called for extra vigilance.

Rick accompanied the body to Marshall Wells. As he worked, the new coroner said he couldn't promise when Richmond would return the results but he didn't think it would be longer than a week at most. Fortunately, this was a slow time.

As he drove away from the coroner's office, Rick called Coop, alone in her squad car that day.

“Coop, meet me at O'Bannon's Salvage.”

“Trouble with Sean?”

“No. But I want to go over those grounds again.”

“Might it be a good idea to wait for another day? I would expect Sean's a little raw today.”

“In a perfect world, you're correct and sensitive. But if he is in on this or if he did kill his brother, he might drop a card, you know?”

“Okay. I'll be there in ten minutes. I'm at Route 250 and 240, want a sandwich?” A good deli was at that intersection.

“Not hungry.”

“Sorry. I forgot.” She was glad she wasn't at the exhumation.

Sean was curt but not openly rude. He told them to go wherever they liked.

First they walked the perimeter of the four acres. Rick liked to make sure he knew the terrain. Nothing unusual presented itself except for the fact that the business had room to grow physically, always a plus.

The few small outbuildings contained gardening tools or small pieces needing cleaning. Some salvage yards left the cleaning to the customer. Sean discovered if he cleaned, put in a little time, he could command bigger prices. It was worth the effort.

Then they pushed open the door to the garage. The large sliding door, big enough for vehicles, was locked but the small door, to the left of that, was open.

“Neat as a pin,” Coop said.

“Yeah.” Rick walked over to the hydraulic lift. “This is something.”

“Nothing much here. I guess he wasn't working on anything. The books showed the last old car he sold was a week before his death. A 1932 Ford coupe. He got twenty-seven thousand for it. Deuce coupes. I'd love one.”

“Yeah.” Rick wasn't a motorhead but he appreciated old cars. They were more individual or so it seemed to him. “Nothing out of line. He picked up most of his old cars in South Carolina and Georgia. The sources checked out. Guess he was waiting to find the next one or two. He seems to have contributed to this business. He wasn't the front guy but he worked. For one thing, Sean wouldn't have put up with it.”

“Here's a bag of popcorn.” Coop bent over to pick up the empty foil bag. “That's the only debris.” She tossed it in the trash.

They left, walking through each of the large outdoor piles of offerings. They tried the door to the caboose. Locked. Coop dashed back. Sean gave her the key. She dodged the puddles back to Rick.

She opened the back door, then ran up the shades on the windows. The light streamed in. “Cool.”

A potbellied stove sat in the middle. The floor, hard oak, was clean and no dust was on the two chairs and the heavy desk in the corner.

“Sean's a neat freak, too,” Rick noticed.

“This would make a neat restaurant. I hope he goes through with it,” Coop said.

They opened the drawers of the desk. Nothing but an old cracked celluloid fountain pen.

“Well, that's it,” Rick said. “I wish I knew what we were looking for.”

“I'd have been happy with one marijuana plant in the window.” Cooper sighed. As she walked toward the door, she said, “I feel bad, we're tracking some mud in here. I'll tell Isabella we did. I'll even clean it up.”

“Coop, it's not as though we've brought in slops. If Sean is that anal retentive, he can sweep it out.” As Rick headed for the door he looked down at the wet footprints. A beam of light shone on dried footprints, light mud. “Hey.” He knelt down. “This can't be more than a few days old.”

Coop knelt down with him. “Yeah.” She followed the tracks: one person, big feet. Two strides and then back out, footsteps overlapping the entrance footsteps. “In and out.”

“H-m-m.”

“Boss, you worried?”

“Yes.”

“Me, too.”

Pope Rat, observing them from his cozy quarters, growled, “Nipshits.”