WHAT LEADS A MAN TO MURDER Read online

  I was gratified by the rapt silence of my audience as I put the finishing touches on my performance.

  “There are a couple footnotes to the story. No houses have ever been built on the site where the Spanish camped, and the land is curiously barren. Only a few stunted trees grow there, and even the animals shun it.

  One hundred years after the slaughter, on the exact date, lightning struck a dead tree, igniting a forest fire that left twenty-three dead. On the next hundred-year anniversary, two men panning for gold in a nearby stream were brutally murdered.

  And this very day…” I stopped, holding up my hands to suspend the moment while I panned the faces of my listeners… “marks the three-hundred-year anniversary of the tragic occurrence. Be careful of yourselves today, my friends. Beware the gypsy curse.”

  I timed the pause for maximum effect, then uttered a sudden “Boo!” A few screams flew from the crowd, and several people flinched.

  “It’s just a story,” I assured them. “An old Indian legend, kind of like me.” I gave a goofy grin and did a few dance moves which earned me some laughs and a few extra bucks in the can. As the group filed off, I asked Doris for a Dr. Pepper, on the rocks. A strange expression carved shadows under her eyes as she handed me the drink. “How much stock do you place in that story, George? Will we see violence done today?”

  “Come on, Doris. It’s just a tall tale. Today’s violence will come in the form of sunburn and mosquito bites.”

  I gulped down some of the cold soda, letting the bubbles blast the fur off my tongue. Doris unfurled a hand-painted whale-bone fan (made in China, out of plastic) and began soothing my fevered brow. I saw that Joe had come out to the parking lot and was poking around in the family car. After a few moments, he withdrew his head and shouted in the direction of the open door. “Dana! Have you seen my shaving kit?”

  She came out onto the balcony. “Yes, it’s in the bathroom.”

  “Are you sure? I didn’t see it there.” Joe slammed the car door and ran up the steps to see for himself. A short time later, both of them emerged and began loading their bags. I started chatting up an elderly couple while Joe and Dana got into the car and started toward the exit. Suddenly, the car veered in our direction and stopped with a squeal that left a faint odor of rubber hovering in the heavy air. Joe popped out and hobbled up to the Kiosk, favoring that twisted ankle.

  “Better get me one of those Teddy Bears.” He gestured toward a basket of fuzzy stuffed animals. “For the wife.”

  As if on cue, the wife put her head out the window and shouted, “Pick up an umbrella, too. In case it rains tomorrow.” She turned up the radio and drummed out a rhythm on the open window frame. I watched the sun glinting off her fingertips as Joe chose a rainbow-striped umbrella from the display case and placed it on the counter beside the bear I’d picked out. As Doris punched up the register, Joe leaned in and lowered his voice.

  “Look, have either of you seen a young woman with a flowered shirt and pink shorts here this afternoon?” We shook our heads. “My wife and I met her at the Primeval Forest this morning, then she went off hiking alone and I don’t think she’s back yet.”

  We indicated that we hadn’t noticed her return and his concerned expression gave way to a shrug.

  “Well, I’m sure she’s okay.” Sketching a wave, he grabbed his purchases and limped back to the car. The two of them left, heading north on Highway 106. I stared after them, my bones jangling like they’d been hit by a tuning fork. I quelled the sensation and turned to greet a group of tourists who wanted me to pose with them for snapshots.

  It was time to break for lunch, something that Doris and I usually take in shifts, so I manned the Kiosk for half an hour while she took her brown bag off to some quiet, shaded corner. As Doris returned, I saw the hatted figure in the bright pink shorts, and a mild wave of relief washed over me. Part of me half-believed she’d come to some sort of harm, but she came off the trail and headed straight to the yellow Vette to drop her backpack and camera. She stood by the car for a moment, bending and stretching while I watched. Doris glared at me, but I was only thinking how she’d made a rookie choice in hiking boots and wondering how many blisters she’d count on her feet tonight.

  The woman applied some fresh lipstick, then swayed over to the Kiosk for an iced tea. She studied the brochure display, selecting a couple of tri-folds, and asked for directions to Tumwater. Returning to her car, she departed, turning south on the 106, heading the opposite direction from Joe and his wife. I noticed this with approval, remembering how Dana had wilted under the other woman’s showy bloom.

  I took my lunch break and the rest of the day passed without incident. But the stone had dropped, sending out poisoned ripples that would lap at my ankles in days to come.

  ~~~~

  Tuesday morning, I picked the newspaper off my porch and read about the disappearance of a young woman, Dana Saunders, and the subsequent discovery of her body in a wooded area a ways up the coast. It sent a shock through me and plunged me into gloom. The day of the gypsy’s curse was the day she went missing, the day of her death, and the last time I saw her.

  I sat slumped in a kitchen chair, brooding over the grim headline and trying to swallow the bite which had started as toast and ended as sawdust in my mouth. I was shredding the remains on my plate into angry little twists when the phone shrilled like a battle cry. It was Detective Leonard Perry from the county sheriff’s department.

  I wouldn’t know so much about what happened after Joe and Dana left the resort except that Detective Perry happens to be a long-time friend of mine. And he considered me a witness.

  “G’morning, Chief. I was hoping you could spare some time for me today.”

  “I don’t know, Len. Tourist season at the lodge—“

  “Don’t even try it, George. I called over there first to make sure you were free. You’re not squirming out on me.”

  Over the years, Len has tried to enlist my “native skills” in a number of task force and search and rescue operations, but I usually manage to be unavailable.

  He pressed his advantage. “I understand you met Dana Saunders the day she was killed.”

  “No one formally introduced us, but I know who you mean.”

  “Let’s meet for lunch. See if you can cast some light on her movements earlier that day.”

  The aroma of roast beef sandwiches revived my wilted appetite as we ordered off the lunch menu at the Clearwater Café. I watched Len squeeze a lemon slice into his Diet Coke while he told me how Joe and Dana had checked in at another resort about thirty miles north.

  “I’ll give you Mr. Saunder’s account, and I can tell you every bit of it’s been corroborated by witnesses. The husband’s always our go-to guy, but Joe seems clear of it. He says he and Dana left your place about a quarter past eleven. That sound about right to you?”

  “Sure. It was right before Doris took her lunch break, and she usually goes about 11:30.”

  “Okay. They checked into the Whitman straight up on noon. Joe says they stowed their bags and headed to the Concierge desk, hoping for good suggestions about how to spend the afternoon. The concierge told me he suggested a number of outdoor activities and they’d both seemed eager to explore the Hillerman trail.”

  The waitress arrived with our sandwiches and fries. I cleared a spot on my plate and filled it with a lake of ketchup, scooping and chewing as Len went on.

  “There was a group of three men there, arranging a round of golf and looking for a fourth player to qualify them for the group discount on carts and green fees. Well, Joe suddenly remembered his ankle was still sore and told Dana that riding in a golf cart on the gentle hills of the course might suit him better than a rugged forest trail.”

  I took a bite out of my sandwich, burning my mouth and dripping juice down my chin. “Convenient,” I said, mopping up.

  Len nodded, his mouth full.

  “So, Dana gracefully acquiesced, and wished him a happy round of golf.
Joe said she was determined to hike the trail without him, so they kissed and separated. He, to the links and she, to the woods. It was the last time she was seen alive.”

  “What happened after that?”

  “Joe scored a 92. He and the guys shot their eighteen holes and returned to the club for a round of beers and pizza. Someone suggested a poker game and Joe went upstairs to check in with Dana. No more than ten minutes passed before he came back and said she was still out hiking. There was plenty of daylight left, and he wasn’t concerned, so he joined the poker party and by the time he thought about Dana again it was past ten o’clock.”

  “So, it looks like no opportunity for Joe.”

  “His alibi is pretty solid.”

  Len downed the last of his coke and crunched on ice cubes as he finished his account.

  “Joe spoke with the manager, and together they hunted through the resort and its amenities, but no Dana. They called the police and by dawn, a search detail had been dispatched. They combed the trail she’d taken and found her sunglasses and trail guide. After that, the search intensified.”

  “Was Joe under constant surveillance?”

  “He was with the police the entire time. Dana’s body was discovered mid-morning. It was off the trail about twenty yards, partially buried in a shallow grave scooped from the loamy detritus of dead leaves and covered over with a number of small branches. A large rock had been dislodged and rolled atop the burial mound.”

  “How did she die?” I asked.

  “She’d been strangled.”

  ~~~~

  I slept uneasily that night. I dreamt of my wife, reliving our last moments together, wasted in anger. I woke, washed in sweat, and allowed the guilt to chew at my gut until heart-burn set in. The memory of her car, smashed and sodden, winched out of the Canal as it cradled her body, played across my mind on a loop of silent film. I imagined her driving too fast, her vision blurred by tears from the harsh words we’d fired at one another. Killing words.

  I stumbled into the bathroom and stared at my blood-shot reflection, aching for hard liquor. Instead, I drank brackish tap water from the toothbrush mug and went back to bed, determined to close my mind to Valerie’s ghost.

  This time, as I flirted with the edge of sleep, Dana’s lifeless body floated there. The mist of dreams closed over me, bringing Indian warriors dancing with dead Spaniards and prospectors sprawled in bloody squalor, while the gypsy mother pervaded over all. Her malicious cackle fell upon me, drop by drop, like a Chinese water torture. Night stretched into day, and as dawn splayed its first beams of light on the horizon, I rose from bed and stood at the window, struggling to define and understand the restless energy which clawed within me like a sack full of angry cats. Through panes of dirty glass, I stared out at the land of my people and I felt a determined tendril emerge from my anger, growing and taking hold.

  I have the bloodline of a warrior, but I have shamed my people with cowardice and dishonesty. My wife is dead, broken while I ignored her pleas and rejected my own wisdom, disgracing our marriage. And now, another man’s wife is dead, killed while I stood by. I spurned the omen of danger and scorned the gypsy’s curse, caring only for my tip jar. My heritage and childhood training have provided me with skills of observation and insight which my stubborn indolence has blotted out like a solar eclipse.

  No more.

  I brushed the bitterness from my mouth, dressed quickly, and rolled through a few stop signs on my way to the Sheriff’s Station.

  ~~~~

  “You win, Len. Where do I sign up?”

  Len’s gaze lifted from his cluttered desk and found me standing in the door frame. A curl of smoke spiraled up from the fragrant cup making dark rings on his blotter.

  “It’s about time, George. What tipped it for you?”

  “Ghosts.” I sank onto the worn leather couch in one corner of Len’s office. The leather barely had time to squeal under me before I popped up to pace the room.

  “I saw that girl moments before she was killed, Len. I picked out a flippin’ teddy bear for her!” I struggled to hold the reins on my fury, keep it harnessed, useful.

  Len tossed me a badge. “We’ll do it up all official later. Right now, we’re going to reconstruct that day. Let’s go back to the Lodge and see what we come up with.”

  We drove over in Len’s pickup. At the Lodge, we got out and surveyed the parking lot while I described everything I could remember about that day, pointing out precise locations. Len took notes and asked questions to clarify and set a time frame. He asked Doris to give her account so we could figure out how it meshed with mine to map out Joe and Dana’s morning.

  “Did you see anyone else hanging around, maybe watching Dana or following the two of them?” Len asked.

  I tried to recall the scattered movements of tourists that day, playing back through the footage in my head, but nothing stood out that I hadn’t already mentioned.

  “No,” I replied, “other than the Alexis woman.”

  “She’s the one you should be checking on,” Doris advised. “There’s something going on there, I’d guarantee.”

  “Could she be the killer?” I asked. “Have you questioned her? She could have circled back, ditched that fancy car, and stalked Dana into the woods.”

  “Actually, we haven’t got a handle on her yet. There’s no record that she ever checked into any of the resorts or hotels in the area and Joe couldn’t give us any help with an address or phone number. We’ve got that yellow Corvette, but no plate number.”

  He gave me a scornful look, like I should have been all over that.

  “We’ll find her. At any rate, the bruise marks on Dana’s neck were made by large hands, indicating a man. Also, the strength required to strangle a struggling victim, carry her off the path, bury her, and place that heavy stone would eliminate most women.”

  Something poked up in my brain, like a hungry prairie dog, and I strove to pull it into clarity.

  “Hold up, I think I may have something. Joe’s ankle. He complained that he’d twisted it and it was too sore for hiking. I remember when he got out of the car to purchase the bear and umbrella, he was hobbling noticeably.”

  “And it made a handy excuse for begging off on his wife in favor of an afternoon of golf,” Len mused. “You think he was faking it?”

  “I remember now that when he was looking for his shave kit and she said it was in the bathroom, he bounded across the parking lot and up those stairs. No limping, no wincing, no problem.”

  “Okay,” Len nodded, unwrapping a stick of cinnamon gum. “So the guy’s lying about his ankle, let’s assume that’s true. Where does that get us?” He popped the gum into his mouth and started to chew. “Is there anything else that doesn’t add up?”

  I scuffed my shoe back and forth over a rough spot in the pavement. “Well, this is pretty vague, but it bothers me. When Joe asked about Alexis returning from the hike, he said they’d visited the Primeval Forest but I got the distinct impression he’d never been there at all. No one comes away from that place unimpressed.”

  “Oh, George,” Doris laughed, “not everyone sees it through your misty eyes. Some people find it downright creepy.”

  “Besides,” Len added, “what would that prove? That was before Dana’s disappearance. I don’t see how it connects.” We fell into thoughtful silence.

  “I can think of another thing that doesn’t fit,” piped Doris as she wiped the counter. “A man wouldn’t notice this…” she hesitated.

  “Come on, Doris,” I said. “We’re ignorant males. Enlighten us.”

  She snapped the wet towel at me and I caught a sharp sting through the leg of my trousers.

  “I won’t say you’re ignorant. It’s just that men tend to be distracted by certain feminine features while overlooking others.” She raised an eyebrow and resumed wiping. “But, I’ll tell you this: there are two types of women in this world--those who obsess over a good manicure and those who couldn’t care less
.”

  “Okay, Doris, we stand duly lectured. What’s your point?” Len asked.

  Doris abandoned the rag and turned to face us. “When she yelled at her husband to get the umbrella, she had her arm out the window and I noticed that she had long, red nails. Highly polished.”

  She must have noticed the absence of flashing light bulbs over our heads because she finished in cadences a five-year old could follow. “Completely out of character for that one. Right in line for the other one.”

  I remembered watching her drumming fingertips, the sun glinting off scarlet polish, and the implications percolated through my mental faculties. The rattle of a lawnmower started up, keeping time with my cogitations and dispersing the smell of fresh cut grass. Little things that had bothered me started to make sense and I began to understand how we’d been manipulated.

  Len voiced the suspicion that was forming in my mind. “Dana was already dead.”

  “The whole morning was scripted,” I said. “Nothing but playacting for our benefit, and Alexis pulled off a double role.”

  Len groaned and spit out the wad of gum like he’d tasted a cockroach.

  “What happened here was just Act One,” he growled. “Act Two unfolded at the Concierge desk up the road. The golf scene provided an alibi for Joe and set the stage for Dana’s disappearance.” He kicked the tire on an innocent Toyota Corolla. “They carried out a pretty brazen scheme.”

  “What about the coroner’s time of death?”

  “Remember how unseasonably hot it was that day? Dr. Franklin claimed the heat wreaked havoc with the body and he was unwilling to narrow the window more than three hours.”

  “Just enough time to cover their tracks, I guess.”

  “Sure. They were on a tight time schedule, but they met ‘accidentally’ in the parking lot and made a big show so that people would be sure to notice. Then Alexis hiked off to do a costume change and wait until Joe collected her. In the meantime, Joe treated Dana to a cinnamon roll, then drove her to the Hillerman trail, strangled her, and concealed the body.”