Cause for Murder (11 page)

Maryann had told Sam more than most people knew and Hawkman wondered why she'd confided in his son. Possibly because she had a crush on him, and thought her story of woe might catch his interest. Or, because of Burke's death, she felt more free to tell her story. But according to Sam, she hadn't influenced him. He still didn't trust her.

This girl also piqued Hawkman's interest. Why would she want Richard to lie? Did she have something to hide? He'd look a little closer into her stories and background. But he might have to get Williams to help him out, since the schools were getting a bit finicky about releasing information on former students. He'd probably do just as well talking to some of her past instructors. They'd remember her, as rumors fly in the faculty's lounge. Sam could supply the names of her teachers.

Hawkman poured himself a cup of coffee and turned around to find Jennifer standing in front of him with a sly grin on her face. “Good morning, sexy woman.” He took her into his arms and gave her a big kiss. “What are you doing up so early? I thought you'd like to sleep in this morning."

"It's no fun in an empty bed."

"Shall we go back?"

She laughed and playfully pushed him away. “No. I've got lots to do today. And getting an early start will help. By the way, why are you up?"

"I found out some interesting things last night and want to investigate further."

Her eyes grew big. “Tell me."

He chuckled. “Later."

"Oh, Hawkman. You tease me and then make me wait."

"You'll manage to pull it all out of me eventually. But right now, I want to catch Williams in his office. So just be patient."

"That's not one of my virtues."

"I know, but I love you anyway."

She shook her head and smiled. “You're such a stinker. You always have the right answer."

Hawkman downed his coffee, gave her a hug and left the house. When he reached the police station, he parked in the visitors slot and spotted Williams’ unmarked car near the door. Good sign he's in his office, unless he'd left in a black and white.

The police station buzzed with activity. Even the part-time assistants were scurrying to and fro. Hawkman speculated the detective might not have time to see him if this indicated a sign of serious police business. When he entered William's office, he found the detective with his head bowed and signing a stack of papers.

"Pardon me, sir, do you have a minute?"

Williams glanced up and motioned him to come in. “Hey, glad to see you.” He dropped his pen and flexed his hand. “It gives me time to let my fingers rest. I swear we get more paperwork every day. We can't even scold a man for littering without having to write up a report. It's crazy."

"Guess you have to protect your butts or you'd be sued more than you are now,” Hawkman said, pulling a chair to the front of the desk.

"So what brings you here today? I'm sure it's not a social call. You could do that on the phone."

Hawkman nodded. “Any more reports come in on Burke Parker?"

"No. But I expect them this week. Why?"

"I'd like to know the names of the chemicals they find in Parker's body."

"Any special reason you're interested?"

"Yeah, but I'm not going to say just yet. What I'm really curious about is a Native American called Madukarahat, or Maduk for short. Wondered if he's ever been arrested?"

Williams scratched his head. “Name sounds familiar.” He rose out of his chair and went to the filing cabinet. After thumbing through several files, he pulled out a slim folder and carried it to his desk. “Let's see if this is the same guy. Of course, I doubt there are many people with that name.” He flipped it open, and fingered through the few sheets, then pulled out a photo. “Is this the man?"

Hawkman leaned forward and looked into a very strong and tough looking face. “I'm not sure. I've only heard about him. What's the file say?"

Williams scanned a couple of the sheets and then handed them to Hawkman. “I vaguely remember this incident. Several years ago, he killed a man on the reservation in self-defense. The police never got involved as their chiefs handled it. If I remember correctly, the tribal commune banned him from the reservation. But we've obviously had no problems with him, as there's nothing here except those few pages."

"Is there a chance I could get a copy of this picture?"

"Sure.” Williams got up and went over to a copy machine in the corner.

"Say,” Hawkman said, “you've come up in the world. When did they allow you that toy?"

The detective laughed. “They presented it to me just last week. Said they were sick and tired of me jamming up the one down in the main lobby."

He returned to his desk and handed the sheet of paper to Hawkman. “Now, tell me why all the interest in this guy. Does he have something to do with Parker?"

"I'd say in a round about way. He might be Maryann's father."

Williams’ mouth dropped open. “You mean he's Ms. Parker's lover?” He flopped back in his chair and ran his fingers through his hair. “How the hell did you come to that conclusion in just a few days, when the whole town of Yreka has wondered for years."

Hawkman chuckled. “I'll never reveal my snitches."

The detective leaned forward with a solemn expression. “You know I visited Lilly and her daughter a couple of days ago?"

"Yes. I heard. Sam told me. What's your impression this time?"

"Normal. Anytime police come into your home, people get nervous. First time I'd seen her daughter and she acted a little catty, but hell, she's just protecting her mom. So I didn't think too much about it.” He glanced at his calendar. “That reminds me. I have an appointment with Burke Parker's doctor this afternoon. You going to be around?"

"Yeah."

"Well, how about being my unofficial helper. Of course, I can't pay you."

Hawkman chuckled. “Have I ever been paid by this police force?"

Williams furrowed his brow and studied the ceiling. “Yeah, several years ago. I think we paid you to help on a case. Can't remember which one though. I'd have to look it up."

Hawkman grinned and waved a hand in the air. “Don't bother. What time do you go see the doctor?"

"At three thirty. Oh, by the way, when did you grow the mustache?"

"About time you noticed. I've had it for almost a year. You thought I'd gotten a hair cut."

The detective guffawed. “That was during the Jamey Schyler-Gray debacle."

"Yep.” Hawkman rose. “Well, I won't keep you any longer. I'll see you at three thirty. Thanks for the picture."

"Let me know what you find out about that Indian. So far we haven't classified the Parker death as a homicide. But things could get sticky."

Hawkman left the detective's office and climbed into the 4X4. He sat for a minute holding his cell phone, then decided to give Curly a call at home. If anyone knew about Maduk, he was the man. And he could probably give him more information on Burke Parker.

Curly picked up on the second ring.

"Hey, man. Have you quit screening your calls?"

He laughed. “Hawkman, haven't heard from you in a long time. What are you up to?

"If you're not busy, thought I'd drop by."

"Never too busy for a buddy. You just get your butt right over here and we'll have a great cup of java."

"Be there in a few minutes.” Hanging up, he thought about Curly's coffee. A brew so strong it'd grow hair on a bald man. He chuckled to himself as he drove away from the police station.

Hawkman parked on the street in front of Curly's house, and strolled up the narrow sidewalk to the small front porch. Before he could ring the bell, Curly opened the door, greeting him with a big grin and hearty handshake.

"So good to see you. Where've you been keeping yourself?"

"Busy."

"Come on in and tell me about it."

Curly had lost his wife several years ago and now with his son Mark out on his own, the man must be lonely. Hawkman silently scolded himself for not stopping by the house or bar more often. “So how's business?"

"Good, in fact, real good. Things have really boomed lately. Don't know what's caused the big upswing, but I ain't complainin'."

"That's great, glad to hear it. Maybe it's because we've had a big influx of young people move into the area. Which is good news for everyone."

"Yep.” Curly placed two mugs of steaming coffee on the table. “Now, I figure when you drop by the house at this hour, you need information. So, what can I do for you?” he asked, plopping down on a chair.

Hawkman laughed. “Boy, do you have me pegged."

Curly guffawed. “Known you long enough to have figured it out. So shoot and I'll see what I can tell ya."

"Couple of questions. Did you know Burke Parker?"

"He's the man they found dead in a motel room, right?"

"Yeah."

"Didn't know him personally, but I had him thrown out of the bar a few times."

Hawkman raised a brow. “Bad dude, huh?"

Curly pointed a finger at him. “One of the worst kind. Couldn't hold his liquor. One drink sent him off his rocker."

"In what way?"

"Spouted off about his personal life and people got sick of hearing it. When someone told him to shut-up, he'd jump all over them. There'd be a big fight and I'd have to throw out several guys or they'd wreck my place. I hated to see that man enter the door. A guy like that just ain't good for business."

"You say he talked about his personal life. In what way? Do you remember any particular event?"

"Yeah, several.” Curly related similar stories that Harley had told.

Hawkman shook his head. “Wonder what he thought he'd prove by going on like that? It did nothing but hurt the family image."

Curly threw his hands in the air. “The man was a bum. I got the impression he didn't care a hoot about his wife or daughter."

Hawkman sipped his coffee and drummed his fingers on the table. “Do you know anything about a Native American called Madukarahat?"

Curly reared back and shot him a look of surprise. “Whoa, you do jump from one type to another."

"Why do you say that?"

"He's one proud Indian. Walks straight and holds his head high. No one messes with him. Don't get me wrong. They used to try, but not any more."

"Does he frequent your place?"

"He's not a regular customer, if that's what you mean. He might drop in once a month and have a beer.” Curly cocked his head and looked Hawkman in the eye. “Why are you interested in this man?"

"I'd like to talk to him. Do you have any idea where he lives?"

Curly shook his head. “Not an inkling. He was banned from the Shasta reservation years ago for a killing a man. So I know he's not there. I have no idea where you can find him. In fact, I haven't seen him in a couple of months. Not even sure he's still in the area."

"Do you know anything else about him?"

"Nothing. Very quiet man. He didn't socialize. Sat in the corner when he had his beer and left quietly. You hardly knew he was there."

Hawkman sighed and stood. “Thanks, Curly. Do me a favor. If he comes into your place some evening, give me a call immediately."

"I'll do that."

Hawkman left Curly's, then pulled off the side of the road and called Sam on his cell. He hoped the boy had charged his phone. “Hey, Sam. Are you at the Parker place or home?"

"Home. I'm going to scrounge up some drop cloths for painting. Probably go there tomorrow. Why?"

"Didn't want to talk to you if Maryann might be nearby. Need to ask you a few questions."

"Yeah?"

"Thought I'd do a little background study. What I need are the names of some of Maryann's teachers in high school. Four or five will do."

"No problem, we were in several classes together.” Sam rattled off several.

Hawkman jotted them down on the pad of paper he kept on the dashboard. “That should do it. Thanks. Oh, if you'll look out in the garage, there's a box in the far right corner with some old sheets and a couple of plastic tarps. You're more than welcome to use them."

"Thanks."

After hanging up, Hawkman drove to his office. He might find some of the names listed in the phone book. After checking through the directory, he realized most teachers were unlisted, probably not wanting to take the chance of being pestered or harassed by students. Summer school would be in full swing now, so he might find some of them there.

He checked his watch. Couldn't start the teacher search today, since he'd be meeting Detective Williams at the station in about an hour. It would be interesting to hear what the doctor has to say about Burke Parker's medical history. He just had enough time to grab a sandwich.

Detective Williams and Hawkman entered Dr. Clevenger's waiting room a few minutes before the appointment. Williams spoke with the receptionist, and she glanced at a spiral notebook on her desk.

She looked up at him over her reading glasses and forced a smile. “The doctor will be with you shortly. Please have a seat."

Hawkman noticed everything in the office seemed in perfect order. They sat down on a comfortable couch upholstered in soft earth tones. The walls were painted in a pale green with a pleasing geometric design. Magazines were fanned neatly around a vase of freshly cut multicolored flowers on a small glass top coffee table in the center of the room. A healthy plant with large leaves stood tall and stately in the far corner.

Soon, an older fellow strolled down the hallway, shrugging on a wind breaker and stopped at the receptionist desk. “He wants to see me again in two weeks."

She flipped the pages of her appointment book, filled out a card and handed it to him. “See you then.” Waiting until the patient disappeared out the door, she stood and motioned toward Hawkman and Williams. “If you'll come with me, I'll take you back to Dr. Clevenger's office."

The two men followed her through the small hall passing several examination rooms. At the end, she tapped on a closed door.

"Come in."

"Dr. Clevenger, Detective Williams and his assistant are here to see you."

"Yes, I'm expecting the detective.” Still wearing his doctor's smock, a thin man around fifty-five with graying hair and a somber expression rose from the chair and extended his hand. “Detective Williams."