Nine Lives To Die

On Monday, December 16, Deputy Cooper visited the Vavilov’s Ford dealership. Sheriff Rick Shaw had put another officer on the search for Lou, returning Cooper to the Vavilov case. The examiner had declared he died of a heart attack, but Cooper and Rick still wanted to know about Peter Vavilov’s missing fingers. Both of them had been in law enforcement long enough to be very uneasy about this peculiar mutilation, which seemed to signify tremendous hatred.

In the car lot, looking again at Vavilov’s Ford Explorer, Cooper realized she had not adequately inspected the vehicle. The insurance agent had gone over it, finding the Explorer salvageable. A bumper needed replacing, the driver’s door and front left fender needed repair, but all in all, the car proved how tough it was.

Clouds slid over the mountains, light faded, Cooper used a high-powered flashlight as she checked the exterior. She had expected more damage, but heavy falling snow had obscured the vehicle when she reached the Explorer that night. Just reaching the accident after the report was called in took an hour. The snowplows couldn’t keep up with the accumulation.

Satisfied with her notes on the car’s outside, Cooper opened the driver’s door. No seats had been jarred loose, the dashboard evidenced no damage at all, the windshield remained intact. The driver’s-side window was cracked. Leaning over, her rear end in the cold air, she trained the flashlight on the back of the driver’s seat, then the front of the seat. A small stain caught her attention, about a half-inch wide near the headrest. She couldn’t identify it.

Closing the door, she walked around, got into the car, sat in the passenger seat, turned on the heater for both seats. She shined her light again on the small splotch. She’d been a law enforcement officer since graduating from college. At thirty-seven, Cooper well knew that any stain might yield potential clues. As to the half-inch stain, it appeared colorless, grease perhaps. Had she been Tucker, her nose would have picked up the remnant of an odor not easily identified but a whiff of something distinctive.

Turning, she shined light in the back of the Explorer. Then she exited the front, got into the back. Nothing there. Not even a gum wrapper.

Writing in her notebook, she stopped, leaned back, and cursed herself. She should have thoroughly investigated the car at the scene of the accident. The terrible weather, the removal of the body, knowing she and Rick had to call on Charlene: All those pressing matters had clouded her judgment.

Wedging her torso through the gap between the front bucket seats, she shined the light all over the passenger seat, looking for anything, a thread, a bit of wool from a sweater. If a clue was there, she missed it, but the forensic team would find it. She knew she had to call them in.

Cooper fell back into the rear seat, put her hand to her forehead. Then she got out, climbed into her squad car. The vehicles to be worked on or which were to be towed off sat in a lower lot behind the dealership. Rows of new vehicles not yet prepped were also at this location. The Vavilovs’ lower lot had been plowed, but a thin veil of snow again covered everything.

Driving up the rise to the dealership office, Cooper composed herself. No point in letting anger at herself further cloud her judgment. She parked to the side, walked into the big showroom, smiling at the receptionist.

“Might I see Mrs. Vavilov for a moment? I know she’s busy. I’ll be quick.”

The young lady, nicely turned out for her job of meeting the public, smiled and picked up the phone. She spoke to Charlene for a second, then looked up at Deputy Cooper. “Go right in.”

Charlene stood up as the uniformed officer walked in. She liked Cooper. “Deputy, please sit down.”

“Mrs. Vavilov, I won’t take much of your time. I would just like to ask you to keep Pete’s Explorer here.”

“Of course. Can I help you with anything else? Would you like to see the invoice on it or have information about the four-wheel-drive capacities? Even four-wheel drive will slide off the highway.”

“No, but thank you. I’d like a forensic team to go over the SUV.”

A concerned look shadowed Charlene’s face. “Of course. Is there something—well, you may not be able to tell me.”

“I think we should have a closer look. I’m sorry to do this before Christmas.”

Charlene looked down at her expensive, comfortable shoes. “The holiday doesn’t really matter.”

“Again, Mrs. Vavilov, I apologize.”

“You’re doing what’s right. Would you like me to have the Explorer brought to the police station?”

“Oh, no. Just leave it on the lower lot. We don’t want to draw attention to this.”

“Thank you for that.” Charlene reached out her hand.

Cooper shook it, then left. She hated even more that she’d been sloppy. Back at HQ she sought out Rick in his office and told him what she’d noticed.

Pulling a cigarette from his breast pocket, the sheriff put it in his mouth but didn’t light up. You couldn’t smoke in a county building, but the taste of the nicotine soothed him.

“Dammit.”

“I’m sorry, boss,” Cooper said, taking a seat across from him at his desk.

“Hell, I missed it, too. It was a filthy night and, well—” He waved the cigarette, now plucked from his mouth.

“Let’s send a team to the accident site with rakes, whatever, to check the side of the road,” said Cooper. “You never know.”

“Right.” He put the cigarette back in his mouth.

“Guys like Pete are well placed to generate illegal profits. I’m not saying he did, but we should bear it in mind.”

“Overcharging for repairs can jack up a dealer’s profits.” Rick grunted. “Although I never heard of a complaint about that.”

“Contraband could come in with those huge tractor trailers carrying new vehicles. Boss, I don’t care what his death certificate says, I’m not buying a natural death.”

Rick stood up and stretched, as sitting at his paper-strewn desk caused backache. “His wife didn’t tell anyone about the missing fingers?”

“No.” Cooper quickly added, “We told her not to.”

Rick smiled, cracked his knuckles, cigarette still in his mouth, then sat back down. “Right, but did she ask you anything more about it?”

Cooper folded her hands over one knee. “I don’t believe she wants to think about that.”

Rick sighed. “Perhaps not, but we must.”

He twirled his cigarette, changing the subject. “I don’t mind going outside to smoke when the weather is cold, but it’s hell on a day like today.”

“It is.” She had long since given up trying to get him to stop, as had his wife.

“I’m glad you went over there. You’re a good officer.”

As Rick did not generally lavish his colleagues with compliments, Cooper simply replied, “Thank you.”

“Ever think about the nature of crime?” Rick asked, playing with his cigarette. “Lately, I’ve been getting a bit philosophical and have thought of this a lot. In any culture, in any century, there are folks who live outside the law, others who live inside the law but break it, subvert it. There will always be people motivated by profit, and there will always be people who kill because of rage, revenge, greed, or other motives.”

“Right.”

“But what is a crime here in Virginia is not necessarily a crime in—say, Pakistan, or maybe even a country closer to our own ways, perhaps Sweden?”

“I think about that, especially our drug laws.”

“Or laws about sex. There are still laws on the books in some of the original Thirteen Colonies that state you cannot kiss your wife in public on Sunday. It’s crazy.”

“This is Virginia. We confine ourselves to government-ordered probes for women seeking legal abortions.”

“We’re the laughingstock of the country. Jokes on late-night TV.” He shook his head in disbelief. “Now, child prostitution and other abuse of children motivates me. Smuggling people across our borders to work for nothing, that motivates me. Everyone reacts to a mass murderer. I understand that. I react to it, too, but, Coop, it’s the hidden crimes that irk me so: the hidden crimes by so-called respectable people, like keeping a maid from Asia who doesn’t speak English and not paying her. It may not be as riveting as murder, but exploitation like that drives me wild.”

“That I understand.”

Rick, calmer now, and he was a man who rarely had an outburst, said, “I’m a pretty conservative guy. I think most law enforcement people are. I believe there’s right and wrong, and maybe right and wrong is different in Cambodia than it is here, but I know what’s right and wrong in America. What I don’t know is why do we persist in what doesn’t work?”

“Like what?” asked Cooper. The sheriff was really on a tear now. Best to just sit back and listen.

“Like thinking evil can be talked away. Sure, you can understand evil. Maybe you can understand the motivation of someone who commits evil. But you can’t stop it. Only action stops it.”

“Isn’t that where we come in?” She half smiled.

“Yes, but lately I’ve been thinking that what we are really doing shields people from the failures of our society.”

Cooper didn’t have an answer for that, but her boss’s frustrations haunted her as she headed home from work. She decided to pull into Harry’s farm. The dog, the cats, the horses, Harry and Fair always made her feel better, even though sometimes she could just swat Harry for the dangerous risks her nosy neighbor sometimes took.

Tucker barked and Harry looked up as Cooper came through the kitchen door. “Perfect timing.”

“What?” The tall woman smiled as she rubbed her hands together. She’d sprinted from the car without wearing a coat.

“Chicken corn soup. Made a huge pot, and it’s fresh.”

Inhaling deeply, Cooper smiled.

Harry pointed to the chair. “Sit down and be my guinea pig. You can tell me if I need more chicken, more egg, or more fresh parsley. I don’t think I need more rice.”

“I’m going to like this.”

Tucker smelled the aroma. “Grab the package the chicken was in, the little absorbent paper is still there.” The humans, distracted by their conversation, paid no attention to Mrs. Murphy, who clamped her fangs down on the plastic, leapt off the counter, and hurried outside. She placed it behind the back barn doors.

The three animals returned, leaving wet pawprints on the random-width pine floor.

“We still need eggshells. She made eggs this morning and she put eggs in the soup,” Pewter noted.

“We’ll have to wait for them to leave the kitchen,” Mrs. Murphy said.

Cooper dipped her spoon into the bowl again. “This is perfect.”

“Not too salty?” asked Harry.

“No, you know I can’t stand much salt. The parsley adds a lot to the flavor.”

“It’s my mother’s recipe. She was like Miranda, could make anything from scratch.”

Once finished, the two women repaired to the living room to sit by the fire. The animals took that opportunity to quickly fish out eggshells. When they knocked over the garbage can, Harry flew back into the kitchen, but the sneaky devils were already long gone. She righted the garbage can, then wiped the coffee grounds up from the floor.

Cooper knelt down and helped.

“I don’t know what gets into them,” Harry complained. “Second time in two days. It’s not like they’re hungry.”

Seeing the slight mark of coffee, which Harry scrubbed with a wet paper towel, Cooper blurted out, “Harry, I found a dot of something on Pete Vavilov’s driver’s headrest. I missed it at the scene of the accident.” She caught herself. “I criticize you all the time for sticking your nose into our cases, and here I just blabbed something that I should have kept to myself. I’m just really upset with myself for missing it. You want to hear something else really strange? His index and middle fingers were missing.”

Harry plucked the wet towel out of Cooper’s hands, crumpled it with the one in her own, and tossed them in the righted garbage can, the lid swinging. “Don’t beat up on yourself. Christmas adds to all this, too.”

“Well, keep it to yourself.”

“I will.” Harry waited, then said in a strong voice, “It sounds like Pete wasn’t alone in that Explorer.”