Rage

CHAPTER 43

Like the cement cube, the converted garage had a single window. No larger than the cube, but with only two beds, it felt a lot more spacious.

I said, “Valerie, where did Drew keep his money? It’s important.”

She sat on her bed, I was three feet away in a pink plastic chair.

Real bed, not a bunk. Wood-grain headboard embossed with vines and flowers. Matching chest of drawers with the same embellishment. A threadbare gray rug covered most of the cement floor.

Particle board partitions created a corner bathroom, complete with shower, shampoo, hotel soaps, and lotions still sealed.

A host of stuffed animals on Valerie’s bed. Monica’s bed, across the room, had only a single blue teddy bear.

Clear hierarchy. Lodgings for the preferred ward and her next-in-line. What reason had Drew given Cherish? What had she been thinking?

Valerie’s black hair was shiny-wet. She played with a towel that said Sheraton Universal. Her eyes were pond pebbles.

I said, “In a box? Did he keep his money in a gray metal box?”

The pebbles rounded around the edges as she looked away. Constricted pupils. Her hands danced on her knees.

“We found the box, Valerie, but there was no money in it, so I guess Drew made all that up.”

“No! I saw it.”

“You saw the money?”

She avoided my eyes.

I shrugged. “If you say so.”

“It was there.”

“It’s gone, now.”

“Bitch!”

“You think Cherish took it.”

“She stoled it.”

“It wasn’t hers?”

“We got it! At the nonprofits!”

Fire in her eyes. Devotion. Beth Scoggins had recounted how Daney had turned off after her abortion. It had been days since Valerie’s abortion and she believed Daney still cared.

I said, “Guess Cherish found where he hid it.”

Silence.

“How do you think she found out?”

Shrug.

“No idea at all, Valerie?”

“Cleaning. Prolly.”

“Cleaning where?”

She got up, paced the length of the room, then the periphery. Passed Monica’s bed and tucked in a corner of blanket.

Playing housekeeper.

She circled the room again.

“Cleaning where?” I said. “If we’re going to find your money, we have to know where.”

She stopped. Paced some more. Said something I couldn’t hear.

“What’s that?”

Another inaudible whisper.

I walked over to her. “Where, Valerie?”

“Underneath.”

“Underneath the house?”

Silence.

“Is there really an underneath, Valerie?”

“Here!” Running to her own bed and slapping the covers. Slapping them. Pounding them. “I cleaned real good but she sneaked in! Bitch!”

I returned her to Judy Weisvogel’s custody. Milo gave me a set of gloves and the two of us moved the bed away from the corner. The cement floor bordering the garage’s northern wall had been patched years ago, some sort of grayish sealant slopped generously over cracks and crumbles. Grease spots shining through the white evoked the room’s original function. In the corner, the sealant stain was scored by four straightedge cuts. Shaped roughly like a square. Two foot square, scoring the floor.

Flush with the floor, no handle or protrusions, no way you’d notice if you weren’t looking.

Cherish Daney had noticed. There were all kinds of ways to houseclean.

Milo got down and stared at the seams. “Pry marks.”

He worked the crowbar into the spot. The slab pulled away easily. Underneath was a dark space, three or so feet deep.

“Empty,” said Milo. “No, I take that back…”

He got down on the ground, stuck his arm in, brought out a dusty wooden case.

Smith & Wesson label inside the lid. The bottom was foam with a form-fitted indentation. Revolver-shaped indentation.

His gloved finger prodded the foam. “Wonder who got lucky first.”

We left the property, now cordoned by tape. Judy Weisvogel stood by the side of the cube talking softly to Valerie. The girl twirled her hair and rocked from foot to foot. Weisvogel took a tissue and dabbed Valerie’s eyes. As I passed, Valerie’s eyes met mine and narrowed with contempt. She flipped me off. Judy Weisvogel frowned and drew her away.

What would Allison think about my technique?

What did I think?

I drove away, staying focused on a plastic baby bracelet.

Milo said, “Looks like you made a fan, back there.”

“She’s resentful Cherish entered the room. Furious at me for prying the information out of her. Another violation of her turf.”

“Turf. Like a little wife. Sick.”

“It’s going to take a long time for her to realize what he did to her.”

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Your job’s tougher than mine.”

I got on the freeway and pushed the Seville hard. “I think you’re clear on the search. Cherish definitely wanted someone to find the souvenirs. She left the box out for Wascomb, hoping he’d open it. Knew that even if he didn’t pry, he’d eventually call the authorities and the truth would come out.”

“Don’t think the truth means that much to her, Alex. She abandons those kids and splits with all her clothes. Maybe with the money and the gun, too, unless Drew got there first. Which, upon reflection, he probably did. Bad guy like that, his nose for trouble would be good. For all we know, he’s already partying at Caesar’s Palace, has himself a new identity.”

“Valerie said he was called away to moonlight. At a church. You could try to find out all the places he worked, see if his whereabouts can be traced. If the call was righteous.”

“If?” he said.

“There’s the other possibility,” I said. “Cherish got the money and the gun. And Cherish has a boyfriend.”

The drive to Soledad Canyon took forty minutes. I parked a ways up the road and we walked toward the campground. Milo unsnapped his gun but kept it holstered.

No ravens, no hawks, no sign of any life in a grimy gray sky flat as flannel. Despite my heavy foot, the drive had been tedious, marked by heavy stretches of silence, the gravel pits, scrap yards, and cookie-cutter houses set into dusty tracts that seemed more depressing today. Developers would chew up the desert for as long as they were allowed. Families would move in and have babies who’d grow into adolescents. Bored teens would chafe at the heat and the quiet and days that ran into each other like a tape loop. Too much of nothing would breed trouble. People like Milo would never be out of business.

Neither would people like me.

As we neared the entrance to Mountain View Sojourn, Milo stopped, got on the phone, checked to see if the BOLO had snared Drew Daney’s Jeep.

“Nothing.” He seemed almost comforted by failure.

Business was slow at the campsite. Two RVs in the lot, the generator silent. That and a fresh coating of dust and the apathetic sky gave the place a desolate feel.

No sign of Bunny MacIntyre. We headed straight through the trees.

Barnett Malley’s black truck was parked exactly where it had been, in front of the cedar cabin.

Windows rolled up.

Milo ’s gun was out. He motioned me to stay back, proceeded slowly. Looked into the truck from all sides. Continued toward the cabin’s front door.

Knock knock.

No “Who’s there?”

The welcome mat was in place, covered by dry leaves and bird crap. Milo disappeared behind the south side of the cabin, same as he’d done the first time. Returned and tried the front door. It swung open. He went in. Called out, “C’mon.”

Rustic, wood-paneled space, rubbed clean and smelling of Lysol. As vacant as Drew Daney’s hiding hole.

Except for the piano. Chipped, brown Gulbransen upright, sheet music held in place on the rack with a clothespin.

Floyd Cramer’s “Last Date” on top. Beneath that: Country Songs for Easy Playing. “Desperado” by the Eagles. “Lawyers, Guns, and Money” by Warren Zevon.

Empty gun rack on the wall. Through the disinfectant came the smell of male sweat and old clothes and machine oil.

A voice behind us said, “What the hell do you think you’re doing!”

Bunny MacIntyre stood in the doorway. Her auburn perm was wrapped in an orange scarf and she wore a blue-checked western shirt tucked into straight-leg jeans. A necklace encircled her wattled neck. Silver and turquoise, peace symbol dangling from the central stone.

Barnett Malley had worn it the day we’d tried to talk to him.

MacIntyre took in Milo ’s gun and said, “Pfft. Put that stupid thing away.”

Milo obliged.

She said, “I asked you a question.”

“Looks like you’ve got a vacancy, ma’am.”

“And it’s gonna stay that way.”

“Shucks, ma’am. And here I was thinking about country living.”

“Then do it somewheres else. This is my place. Gonna be a painting studio,” said MacIntyre. “Shoulda done it a long time ago. Now you leave right now, you don’t have my permission to trespass. Go on.”

Dismissing wave.

Still smiling, Milo strode up to her quickly. When he was a foot away, the smile was gone and his face had darkened.

MacIntyre stood her ground but it took effort.

Milo said, “When did Malley leave and where did he go? And no bullshit.”

MacIntyre’s pink lashes fluttered. “You don’t scare me,” she said, but strain thinned her smoker’s voice.

“Don’t want to scare anyone, ma’am, but I will cuff you and haul you in for obstructing justice if you give me any more lip.”

“You can’t do that.”

He spun her around, brought her arm behind her. Gingerly. Regret weakened his eyes.

A look that said An old woman. This is what it’s come to.

Bunny MacIntyre howled. “You damned bully! What do you want from me?”

Her voice was all strain, an octave higher. Milo released her arm, spun her back so she faced him.

“The truth.”

She rubbed her wrist. “Big brave guy. I’m filing a complaint.”

“I’m sure it was a thrill having him here,” said Milo. “Younger guy, I’m not judging. But now he’s gone- with a woman his own age- and things out in the real world have grown ugly, so it’s time to toss the May-December fantasies and help me get to the truth.”

Bunny MacIntyre gaped. Smiled. Slapped her flank and roared with laughter.

When her breathing finally slowed, she said, “You thought he was my boy toy? Man, are you stupid!” More laughter.

“You’re covering for him,” said Milo. “All for a platonic relationship?”

MacIntyre laughed herself hoarse. “Stupid, stupid, stupid! He’s family, you dolt. My sister’s son. She died of cancer and so did Barnett’s father. And despite what the government claims you’ll never convince me it wasn’t because of all that radiation.”

“ Los Alamos.”

She blinked. “Let me tell you, they got all kinds of crazy things going on there. Few years back there was a huge fire, burned thousands of acres black but spared the lab. That sound logical? Supposedly it was set on purpose by some Smokey Bear types to control forest fires and the winds blew it out of control.” She snorted. “Tell it to the marines.”

“Barnett’s your nephew.”

“Last I heard, that’s what you call a sister’s son. I’m all he’s got left, mister. He’s an orphan, get it? I was willing to take him in from the beginning but he didn’t want a handout so I sent him over to Gilbert Grass. When Gilbert retired, I told him I could really use the help. Which was true. Is helping family illegal now?”

“He’s got a sister in Ohio.”

MacIntyre pursed her lips. “That one. Married a banker, rich snob. She always looked down on Barnett ’cause he wasn’t much for schooling. Not stupid, don’t go thinking he was stupid. He had trouble reading but give him a pump to fix, or something to build, and he’d do it in a flash.”

“Good for him. Now where is he?”

“He’s a good boy,” said MacIntyre. “Why don’t you just leave him alone?”

“Where is he, ma’am?”

“Don’t know.”

“Ms. MacIntyre- ”

“You deaf?” She rubbed her wrist some more. “You can pull a Rodney King from today till tomorrow but I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”

“He left without a word?”

“He left thanking me for everything I’d done, said it was time to go. I didn’t ask questions because I don’t like to ask questions and Barnett doesn’t like to answer them. He’s been through enough. The man’s a vegetarian, that tell you something?”

“He likes animals.”

“He’s peaceful.”

“When did he leave?”

“Three days ago.”

“His truck’s here.”

“Gee,” said MacIntyre, “Sherlock Holmes must’ve put on a few pounds.”

“What’s he using for wheels?”

Silence.

“Ma’am?”

“He’s got another one.”

“Another truck?” said Milo. “It’s not registered.”

“It’s registered to me.”

“Then it’s your responsibility, not his.”

“Suppose so.”

“What kind?”

MacIntyre didn’t answer.

“Something happens,” said Milo, “the liability is yours. And if it’s registered, all I have to do is make a call.”

She twisted her mouth.

“If it’s not,” he said, “you’re in trouble.”

“Haven’t gotten around to it yet. It was Gilbert’s, I bought it from his widow.”

“What make?”

“Also a Ford.”

“Color?”

“Also black.”

“Where does Barnett keep it?”

“Somewhere in Santa Clarita and don’t ask me where ’cause I don’t know.”

“Auto-storage facility?”

“One of those customizer places. He’s having work done on it. Souping up the engine, big tires, you know- boy stuff. Don’t you think he’s entitled to have some boy fun?”

“Is he traveling alone?”

“You just said he had a girl.”

“Did you know it before I told you?” said Milo.

“He mentioned he had a friend, but that’s it, don’t know her name.”

“Never met her?”

“No, but she’s good for Barnett and that’s all I care about.”

“How do you know she’s good for him?”

“He’s started getting a little happy.”