Copper River

38

T he road to the Copper River Club was narrow and not well maintained. Jewell had always suspected that this was because the high-profile members didn’t want to broadcast the true nature of the bit of Eden they’d fenced off for themselves at the end of that road. She’d never been past the main gate, although she was acquainted with many in Bodine who had, folks who worked in the compound as cooks or on the grounds crew or doing maintenance or security. And there was Ned. She’d been told that each family had its own lodge, but there was a common dining hall in which truly magnificent meals were served. By the standards of most people of enormous wealth, the accommodations of the compound would be considered rustic. However, the idea at the heart of the Copper River Club, as Jewell understood it, was to preserve forever the virgin beauty of the Huron Mountains and to offer the members a unique escape from their tailored estates and the glass-and-concrete towers from which they oversaw their industries and their fortunes. Which might have made one think a bit of Thoreau and Walden Pond but for the gate across the road, the guard box there, and the firearms carried by the security personnel.

“Afternoon, Wes,” Ned said to the guard who leaned in the window of the constable’s Cherokee.

Wes Barnes was a resident of Bodine, though not a native. He’d come for the job at the Copper River Club. He was not particularly tall, but he was muscular, with an octopus-shaped scar on his jaw that spread tentacles down his neck. The scar suggested violence, but Jewell hadn’t been able to figure exactly what kind. Disfigurement from fire or an explosion was her best guess.

“Ned.” Barnes greeted him, then looked at the women. “Jewell, how are you?”

“I’m fine, Wes.”

He studied Dina with an eye that seemed to be considering more than just security. “I don’t believe I know you.”

“Right back at you,” Dina said.

“I need to talk to Calvin Stokely,” Ned broke in. “Is he around?”

“He went off duty a couple of hours ago,” Barnes replied.

“Mind if I drive up to his place, see if I can catch him there?”

“What’s the nature of your business?”

“That’s pretty much between him and me.”

Barnes’s eyes crawled like spiders over Jewell and Dina. “And between them, too, apparently.” He shook his head. “I can’t clear you, Ned, but you want to talk to his brother about it, fine by me. I’ll have him come down.”

“Appreciate it, Wes.”

“No problemo.”

Barnes returned to the guard box.

“His brother?” Dina asked.

“Isaac Stokely. Head of security.”

“Isaac. He killed their father, right?”

“Right. Protecting his brother and their mother. Still doing his best by Calvin, who’s never been able to hold down a job. Got him on the payroll up here, gave him a place to live.”

Barnes stuck his head out and called, “He’s on his way.”

Ned waved a thanks through the open window.

Dina settled back in her seat. “Is this Isaac likely to let us in?”

Ned shrugged. “He’s a tough one to read. I make an official visit up here once or twice a week, just to check in on issues of interest to both the Club and the town. I always let Isaac know I’m coming, so getting through the gate’s never a problem. Unannounced like this, well…” He finished with a shrug.

“What’s he like?”

“You’ll see for yourself in a few minutes. Left Bodine for a long time, came back.”

“A lot of people seem to have done that around here,” Dina said. “What’s the attraction?”

“Bodine’s got its problems, but it’s basically a good place to live,” he replied.

“A little deadly these days, seems to me.”

Ned turned so that he could speak to her over the seat back. “Believe me, this is unusual. In the time I’ve been constable, I’ve never dealt with anything much worse than folks who’ve had a little too much to drink and maybe get a little belligerent, barking dogs, vandalism once in a while, the very occasional break-in. A lot of people in town still don’t lock their doors and most don’t worry about walking alone at night. It’s a good life and folks appreciate that. Heck, it’s been a good twenty years since we’ve had anything like this happen.”

Barnes stepped out of the guard box and lit a cigarette in the cup of his hands. A couple of minutes later, a Land Cruiser drove up and stopped on the other side of the gate. Isaac Stokely got out, spoke to Barnes for a minute, then came to the constable’s Cherokee.

The dominant characteristic of Stokely’s face was a black handlebar mustache, which he took care to keep waxed, so that he greatly resembled the image Jewell held of a lawman of the old Wild West. The pupils of his eyes were small and dark, and whenever she encountered Stokely on the streets in Bodine, those eyes bored right into her. She didn’t know him well; he was older by several years. When she entered high school, he’d already left for boot camp to train to be a grunt in Vietnam. After the killing of his father, he returned to duty and remained in the military long after the war was over. When he finally returned to Bodine wearing civilian clothes, he’d become a taciturn man given to intimidation through long, piercing stares. As far as Jewell knew, he never talked about the life he’d lived during his absence from Bodine, but in a small town silence breeds rampant speculation. All kinds of dark, covert deeds had been ascribed to him. In order to have landed the prized position as head of security for the Copper River Club, he probably had contacts in high places.

He put a hand on the top of Ned’s Cherokee, as if to hold it there until he was finished with his business. “What’s the trouble, Ned?”

“No trouble, Isaac. Just hoping I could talk to your brother.”

“What about?”

“Like I told Wes there, it’s something I’d rather keep between me and your brother.”

“Afternoon, Jewell,” Stokely said. He drilled her with his small dark pupils, then did the same to Dina. “I don’t believe I know you. I’m Isaac Stokely.”

“Donna Walport.”

“You ladies a part of whatever it is that concerns Calvin?”

“I’d like them there with me,” Ned said.

Stokely squinted at the constable. “Tell you what, Ned. You give me a good idea what this is all about, I might be more inclined to let you through.”

“All I can tell you is that it’s official business.”

“Got a court order of some kind?”

“I’d like to keep it a little friendlier than that if I can, Isaac.”

Stokely tapped the top of the vehicle while he considered its passengers. “Got to be honest with you, Ned. I haven’t heard anything from you that makes me feel compelled-or even inclined-to open the gate. All a little too vague for my tastes. The folks up here value their privacy highly, and it’s a big part of what they pay me for. You understand.”

“They won’t even know we’re here, Isaac. I guarantee it.”

“Uh-huh.” Stokely stood up straight and pulled a pack of Juicy Fruit from his shirt pocket. He took his time easing out a stick, undoing the silver wrapper, putting the gum into his mouth. He crumpled the wrapper and rolled it around in the middle of his palm.

“Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let Calvin know you’d like to talk to him, and I’ll suggest he stop by your office. How’s that?”

“I’d rather see him right now.”

“Take it or leave it, Ned.”

“Then I guess it’ll have to do.”

“Glad you understand. Folks.” He put his fingers to his brow in a lazy salute and stepped away.

Ned turned the Cherokee around and started back toward Bodine. “That got us exactly nowhere,” he said.

“Is there another way in?” Dina asked.

“Yes,” Jewell replied. “The same way Ren and Cork went. Impossible in the dark. What now?”

Ned turned a bend in the road, and when the trees hid them from the gate he pulled to the side. “Let me try Olafsson.” He punched in the number, waited, finally said, “It’s Ned Hodder again. I’ve got some information I think you’d like to hear. About the Max Miller killing. Give me a call when you can.” He closed the phone. “Voice mail still. Court should be done by now. Maybe he’s gone home for the day.”

Dina leaned toward them from the backseat. “Back there you said nothing like this has happened for twenty years. You were talking about Tom Messinger, right?”

“You know about Tom?”

“Jewell told me. And it occurs to me that there are similarities here.”

Ned glanced at Jewell, then turned back toward Dina, frowning as he worked the comment over in his head. “That was a long time ago. And Tom’s dead.”

“Humor me, okay? The murder took place after a wild party, is that right?”

“That’s always been the theory.”

“Maybe Tom Messinger didn’t leave the party alone. Maybe he wasn’t the only one in the car that night. Do you know if anyone ever bothered to find out?”

Ned shrugged. “He killed himself. He left a written confession. End of story, I suppose.”

“Who else was on that championship team?”

“I was,” Ned said.

“Besides you.”

“A lot of guys.”

“Any of them still live around here?”

“Del and Calvin,” Jewell leaped in. “They were the star running backs.”

“Were you at that after-banquet party, Ned?”

“Yes.”

“Were Del and Calvin there?”

“They wouldn’t have missed it.”

“Is it possible they were with Tom Messinger that night?”

“I suppose it’s possible. God, I’d love to ask them.”

Dina said, “You can’t get to Stokely right now, but Delmar Bell doesn’t live behind a gate.”

“Way out of my jurisdiction,” Ned said.

“So ask as a concerned citizen. Be interesting to see if he squirms.”

Ned’s cell phone chirped. He lifted it and looked at the LED readout. “It’s Olafsson.” He answered, “This is Hodder… Yeah, I see… Jesus…oh, Jesus…No, I’d rather talk to you in person. I’ll meet you at my office in half an hour… No, at my office. You won’t be sorry when you hear what I have to say.” He ended the call and sat a moment staring ahead. “Our deal’s off. Let’s go get Charlie and Ren. They need to tell Olafsson their story. And we won’t be talking to Delmar Bell.”

“Why not?” Jewell asked.

“Because this afternoon somebody shot him in his apartment behind Providence House. He’s dead.”