Tail Gait

May 3, 2015

Standing where the road splits into two driveways, right to Barracks Stud and Stables, and left to a private residence, Harry studied Google Maps on her phone. One was a larger view of the land, the other was close-up. Also in the truck were the most recent maps printed by the state.

The ground rose up to her right, while on the left it dipped away slightly. Satisfied that she had memorized the topography, she climbed back in the driver’s seat and headed to where The Barracks stables’ road also forks. The left went to the distant brick house owned by the Bishops, the right to the indoor riding arena and stables. It was on this road, the right, that the river birch had been planted. There was new sod surrounding the tree, rubber-wrapped wires in place to hold it steady for the first year of growth; she could see more land than at the gateway drive-in.

Mrs. Murphy, Pewter, and Tucker watched as Harry pulled her truck to the side again and got out, maps in hand.

The two-hundred-and-fifty-acre development to the north of this, Marshall Reese’s Continental Estates, was well screened—first, by the topography, which rose up, but also by a thick line of woods between the two properties. To the west of all this, open farmland abutted The Barracks. Not seen by the eye but clear on the map was a road at the edge of this farmland. This was a back way to the airport where the university trained its rowers on a reservoir. If one turned left, the airport was not far away. Development cut up the land west of this road, in contrast to the pristine farmland abutting The Barracks.

No back roads led into The Barracks. Whoever disposed of Frank’s body had to drive onto the property in the same way Harry did, which was to turn right off Garth Road, where two light blue signs announced Barracks activities. The right turn was onto Barracks Farm Road. As a development from the 1980s, Ivy Farms eventually took up some of the old prisoner-of-war land on the right of Barracks Farm Road. A car or truck on this road or in Ivy Farms wouldn’t seem out of place. Land Cruisers, BMWs, Mercedes station wagons, Tahoes, and Suburbans rolled down this way, along with trailers filled with horses. In summer, the traffic would be enlivened by Miatas, Jaguar convertibles, and Porsches lovingly garaged over the winter. Once at the Ivy Farms turn, if the driver cut the lights it would be easy to glide into The Barracks. And as no one lived at the arena, who would know? From the Bishops’ house, vehicle lights might be visible, so they’d be turned off, the truck and its contents would be hidden, especially if this took place between one and four in the morning.

Harry assumed the vehicle carrying Frank came from Continental Estates or from Huber’s fleet parking lot. Once back in her truck, Harry turned around and corrected herself. No. A landscaping truck would be parked at the nursery west of Crozet. It would not be left at the site.

She called Cooper to tell her.

“I’ve already been to Huber Landscaping,” said the deputy. “The trucks log in at night. The keys are locked in the office, and the trucks themselves are locked behind a chain-link fence.”

“So, Coop, someone got into the office to get the key?”

“Maybe. But if this was done by a worker, he could have been smart enough to get a key made on his lunch hour. These are simple keys, not like the ones that open doors from a distance. Work trucks. Basic. And someone working at Continental Estates, not for Huber, but a known person, trusted, might have access to a landscaping truck. Anyway, I asked you to question Snoop, but I didn’t tell you to go poking around.”

“You’re right,” she quickly agreed. “But it strikes me as odd that Frank was planted, literally, at The Barracks. Frank had been reading a lot about the Revolutionary War, and we know that was Ginger’s territory.”

A silence fell after that.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about my lunch with Snoop,” Harry continued. “Maybe you and Rick should place him somewhere until you know more about all this. He’s exposed down there.”

Another silence followed this. “I’ll speak to Rick.”

Her tacit recognition was enough for Harry.

Driving back to the farm, she kept reviewing the same things over and over. Nothing made sense. Once inside the house, she called Nelson Yarbrough from the kitchen wall phone.

“Harry, how are you?”

“When you took Ginger’s classes, or at any time, did he ever discuss who owned the land the prisoner-of-war camp was built upon? Or who owned the land around it?”

The tall former quarterback seemed to consider this, then spoke up. “He mentioned the difficulties with forfeiture after the war. Ginger could make those times come alive, like when he actually gave us recipes of that era, but I do recall that Virginia, once it became a state after the war, wanted to confiscate the land of anyone who had supported the king. And every one of the original thirteen colonies approached the problem differently. Courts were jammed with property disputes. If you owned the land, you owned the land, even if you supported King George during the war. That’s the short version. I guess the closest we come to that today is how the various western states deal with water rights.”

This reminded Harry, not that she needed reminding, of how curious Nelson’s mind was. “I never thought of that.”

“Who would? That’s what made Ginger such a great professor. What did everyday people face? One of the best classes he ever taught was the class about love, sex, and marriage. Full attendance on that one.” Nelson laughed, fondly remembering his favorite professor.

“I can imagine.”

“Hey, our forefathers and foremothers felt lust, love, disappointment, dealt with pregnancy before marriage, you name it, and what I especially recall is how sensible much of them were. Sex is part of life. Doesn’t mean a man wouldn’t duel over it, but everyone understood the power of attraction.”

“Today it’s the power of advertising.” Harry sighed.

Nelson chuckled. “Oh, I think there’s more to it than that. Hey, to change the subject, the boys and I took up a collection for Frank’s burial once the body is released. I was surprised—dumbfounded, really—at how a few of his teammates, ’75, still bore a grudge against the old reprobate and refused to chip in.”

“That’s depressing.”

“Some never forgave him for the showboating, all the press attention from so many years ago. A couple even said that if they hadn’t blocked for that S.O.B., he’d never have made all those touchdowns, never made All-American.”

“What do you think?” Harry wondered.

“I think in any sport, some are more talented than others, and some are in a class by themselves. Today, people would think of the Manning brothers. I remember their father, and he had it all. For me, it was thrilling to see Frank’s great talent. For others, not so much. Anyway, we scraped up enough to do right by him, and Marshall donated a burial plot. You know Marshall, he always goes the extra mile.”

“Nelson, I try to go the extra mile, but someone always finds me and brings me back.”

They signed off with laughter, Harry replacing the wall phone in its cradle. She sat down at the kitchen table, got up, sat down again.

“Make up your mind,” Pewter fussed.

Thinking the gray cat was hungry—she always was—Harry got up again and got everyone treats from the cabinet. Then she grabbed a Co-Cola, put ice in a glass, poured it, and once more sat at the table. She needed the caffeine and sugar.

Having brought the maps in with her, she studied them again, which fortified her belief as to how the Huber Landscaping truck had driven in without notice.

“She’s too quiet,” Mrs. Murphy observed.

“Never a good sign,” Tucker concurred.

Harry then thought about how lucky she was to live in a place where good men could throw in some money to bury another man who had made a shambles of his life.

Albemarle County was a good place with good people, except someone living here was a murderer.