Bone Dry (Blanco County Mysteries) (32 page)
Read Bone Dry (Blanco County Mysteries) Online
Authors: Ben Rehder
Garza was obviously excited about the possibilities. He said, “This guy Mameli, if I remember right, was in the concrete business a couple years back. Right after he moved to town.”
“Yep, and now he’s into brush removal,” Marlin said. “I’ve seen his rigs on a couple of deer leases.”
Garza gave Marlin a strange glance. “I didn’t know that. For how long?”
“Six months, maybe a year. What are you thinking?”
Garza tilted his head to the side, as if he were trying to look at the facts from a different angle. “Emmett Slaton owns the biggest brush-removal company in the county, right? Or he used to. And now one of his competitor’s names comes up in a murder investigation. Meanwhile, Slaton is nowhere to be found.”
Marlin hadn’t even considered that fact. He had been too focused on the Gammel case. So, they threw some ideas around, trying to work Slaton into the bribery scenario. They agreed that—regardless of what Maynard Clements said—Mameli could have bribed Gammel in connection with a county project, maybe to ensure that Mameli had the lowest bid.
But they couldn’t work Slaton into the mix. It just didn’t make sense. “Maybe Mameli paid Gammel off to get the contract on some brush removal for the county,” Marlin said. “Then Slaton somehow found out and threatened to expose it all. So Mameli says, ‘What the hell, I don’t need this grief,’ and takes ’em both out.”
“But I thought Gammel handled structures, not roads. And if there was a lot of brush to be cleared, you’d think it would be for roadwork.”
“No, you’re right,” Marlin replied. “But... Maynard Clements is in charge of roadwork contracts, and his fingerprints were on the envelope, too.”
They were a mile from Mameli’s house now, so Garza stopped for a few moments on the shoulder. “Interesting, but I wouldn’t get too worked up about that yet. There could be a simple reason for Maynard handling that envelope, since he and Gammel worked in the same office. And you’d have to wonder... if Mameli bribed Clements instead of Gammel, why is Gammel the one who’s dead?”
Marlin had to admit that it weakened the theory. Then he remembered something Clements had said. “You know, Gammel and Clements could have been working a project together. He said they did that sometimes, if the project was large enough.”
“So maybe Mameli bribed both Clements and Gammel?”
“Could be.”
“Once again: Why is Clements still breathing?”
They batted it around for a few more minutes, but couldn’t come up with any possible answers. They knew that Slaton would have needed rock solid, undeniable evidence of bribery—something that would have been very difficult to come by. And even then, they wondered, would it be enough to push a man to murder?
“What kind of man is Mameli, anyway?” Garza asked.
Marlin shrugged. “No idea. Never met him until that brawl last night at the gym.”
Garza drummed on the steering wheel, thinking. “Hold on a sec.” Garza grabbed the radio mike and contacted Darrell Bridges. “Darrell, I need you to run a background check on a man for me. You’ll have to call the DPS office in Austin. Guy’s name is Salvatore Mameli. I need it ASAP.”
Garza replaced the mike and said, “Worth a shot.”
Bridges radioed back in ten minutes. Just as Richard Fanick had said, Mameli had a conviction for public intoxication. But other than that, his record was clean.
“All right, then,” Garza said, starting his cruiser. “Guess we’ll just have to go see what Mr. Mameli has to say.”
The Mamelis lived in a rambling ranch-style home, built from native limestone and cedar. It reminded Marlin of his own home, but on a much larger scale. Apparently, Sal Mameli’s businesses did quite well. They parked behind a Lincoln and climbed out. Walking to the front door, Marlin could see into a window a couple of rooms down. The younger Mameli—Vinnie—was working out with weights, doing French curls, bare-chested. Kid was pretty well sculpted. Marlin made eye contact and nodded. Vinnie set the weights on the floor and glared back at Marlin. Probably still pissed about that four-wheeling ticket Marlin had given him this summer.
Garza knocked and the door was answered by a pretty Hispanic woman. She led them into a den, where Sal Mameli was stretched out on a sofa, his leg in a cast. Marlin noticed that Mameli’s eyes widened for just an instant when he saw the two officers.
“Mr. Mameli, I’m Bobby Garza, sheriff of Blanco County. And I believe you know John Marlin.”
Mameli nodded and offered a smile, which came out more as a wince. “Excuse me for not getting up. With this leg, you know...”
“No problem, sir. We were wondering if we could chat with you for a few minutes.”
“Sure, have a seat. Youse want somethin’ to drink? Coffee?”
Both men declined.
Mameli shook his head. “I guess you’re out here about Vinnie’s four-wheeling. I told dat kid to stay outta the parks, but—”
“Actually, that’s not why we’re here,” Garza interrupted. “We wanted to ask you about a couple of other things.”
Mameli gave a look of surprise, one that appeared exaggerated to Marlin. “All right,” he said tentatively. “What’s up?”
“Well, sir, we were wondering what you can tell us about Bert Gammel. Specifically, what kind of relationship you had with him.”
“Bert Gammel? Name’s familiar, but I can’t place it.”
“An employee with the Public Works Department,” Garza said evenly. “He was murdered earlier this week.”
Mameli snapped his fingers. “Dat’s right, I remember now. Poor guy. Wasn’t he shot or something? Out on a deer lease?”
Marlin spoke up: “That’s right. Did you know him?”
“Well, lessee. I think I mighta met him a time or two. Probably out at a work site. It’s kinda hard to remember.” Vinnie Mameli appeared in the doorway, still shirtless. His father made no move to introduce him.
Garza said, “Do you remember having any direct dealings with him? Maybe you met with him to go over some specifics on a job?”
Mameli leaned his head back and appeared to be thinking. “Nope. Never met with the man. Not as far as I can remember.”
Garza asked a few more questions, and Mameli continued to answer coolly, using several
I don’t knows
and
I can’t remembers.
To Marlin, the conversation seemed almost scripted, as if Mameli had prepared for this little discussion in advance.
Finally, Garza took a more direct approach: “Mr. Mameli, I’m going to be frank with you….”
Mameli offered a canned smile. “By all means.”
Vinnie Mameli strutted over to the wet bar and removed a soft drink from the small built-in refrigerator.
Garza cleared his throat. “We found an envelope of Bert Gammel’s—and in that envelope was a large sum of cash. He had it tucked away pretty well.”
Sal Mameli nodded and furrowed his brow. His son took a position behind the sofa. “Yeah?” Sal grunted.
“When we find something like that in the possession of a county employee—especially a guy like Gammel, who takes bids for large construction projects—it raises a lot of questions.”
“I’m sure it does,” Sal said. He gave a sudden raucous laugh. “Sure glad I never met wit’ the guy, otherwise I’d think youse was lookin’ at me for dis.” It was a comment intended to elicit a response from Garza, maybe a
No, Mr. Mameli, that’s not the case.
But Garza remained silent. Mameli looked from Garza to Marlin, then back to Garza. “Oh, you gotta be kiddin’ me.”
“What’s going on here, Pop?” Vinnie asked.
Mameli held up a hand to silence the boy. He sneered at Garza. “Where the fuck do you get off, comin’ in here with bullshit like dat?”
Garza remained unruffled. “Can you tell us why we found your fingerprints on that envelope?”
Mameli waved his hand dismissively, as if he were making a backhanded swat at a mosquito. “Dat’s it, I want you outta my house!”
“Mr. Mameli,” Garza said quietly, “if there’s an explanation, we’d like to hear it.”
Vinnie walked around the sofa and stood to the side of Marlin’s chair.
“Outta here, I said!” Mameli shouted. “You got any more goddamn questions, you can ask my lawyer! I got nothin’ more to say!”
Garza didn’t move. “How well did you know Emmett Slaton?” he asked.
Mameli’s face contorted in rage, but before he could answer, Vinnie spoke up harshly. “You got a lot of balls, you know that? Now it’s time for both of youse to leave.”
Marlin’s head snapped toward Vinnie and they locked eyes. Marlin could feel the anger boiling in his chest. Earlier, when Inga had told Marlin about the attempted rape, she’d told him everything the attacker had said. And one phrase matched what Vinnie had just said. Word for word:
You got a lot of balls, you know that?
Marlin rose slowly, flexing his hands to keep from clenching them into fists. He faced Vinnie, their noses six inches apart. “What did you just say?”
Vinnie stood his ground, a chiding smile on his lips. “I said it was time for youse to leave. Otherwise, you’re trespassing, and I got every right to throw you out.”
Marlin could feel a spasm ripple across his cheek. He wanted nothing more than to drive his fist into Vinnie’s mocking face—and he slowly, discreetly drew his arm back to throw a punch.
It had been a long night. Smedley’s bones and joints burned. He was hungry. He had to go to the bathroom. And both his captors could benefit from switching to a new brand of deodorant. But the thing that bothered him most was the fact that
GQ
Todd would have a field day when he found out about all this. Smedley Allen Poindexter, U.S. Deputy Marshal, had been bushwhacked by a couple of rednecks.
Now it was obvious these guys weren’t hit men any more than Smedley was a fashion model. The shorter, skinny one—named Red, if they were using their real names—had told Smedley they were employees of Emmett Slaton’s, and they needed to find the body so the will could be read.
I promise, just tell us where the body is. We’ll let ya go and won’t never say how we found it. Ya got my word.
Sounded legitimate to Smedley. Unfortunately, Smedley didn’t have the answer. And it was obvious that Red was starting to lose patience. He had taken off in a huff earlier, leaving the big guy, Billy Don, in charge. Maybe Red wasn’t a hit man, but he didn’t necessarily seem like a choirboy, either. Who knew what he might do?
Smedley cursed himself for thinking that thought, because he heard Red’s truck pull up outside—almost as if the redneck had been drawn back to the trailer by Smedley’s ruminations. The truck door slammed, and a moment later Red stomped into the room, moving quickly and deliberately. He was carrying what looked like a DVD player, which he set on one of the desks. The big guy—Billy Don—followed with a large TV set. They started hooking the two components together.
Red glared at Smedley as he fumbled with some cables. “We got a sayin’ out here in the country, mister. ‘If you cain’t run with the big dogs, you better stay on the porch.’ Well, bubba, get ready, ’cause we’re ’bout to find out if you’re a big dog or a little dog.”
After Red and Billy Don had the electronics in place, they grabbed a chair from one of the desks and hoisted Smedley into it, three feet from the television. Red produced another roll of duct tape and made several loops around Smedley’s torso and legs, securing him to the chair. Then he slipped some headphones over Smedley’s ears and ran a few lengths of tape under his chin and over the crown of his head. Lastly, he placed one long strip over Smedley’s mouth.
Red stepped back and smiled at his handiwork. “Yessir, we’re gonna find out ’zackly what kind of man you are.” He turned and pushed the POWER button on the DVD. A freeze-frame image came onto the TV screen, one Smedley instantly recognized, even though he hadn’t seen it for at least twenty years. It was a scene from
Hee Haw
—a couple of hicks dressed in overalls, preparing to sing a song.
Red gave Smedley one last glance, a look of pure evil on his face. Then he pushed the PLAY button. The bumpkins on the screen began their little ditty.
“Where, oh where, are you tonight?”
Smedley thought this was very strange.
“Why did you leave me here all alone?”
Why on earth were they showing him this old clip?
“I searched the world over and thought I’d found true love.”
Hell, watching
Hee Haw
would be better than enduring Red’s questions for another eight agonizing hours.
“You met another and—pffft—you was gone.”
Might be kind of fun, actually. A way to break up the tedium.
Then something happened to the image on the screen. It froze for a moment, then returned to the starting point. The two men began singing again, wailing about lost love.
Smedley was hoping it was a malfunction with the DVD…but it happened again. The song ended, the disc backed up, then began again.
And again.
“Whaddaya think?” Billy Don asked.
Red removed his baseball cap and scratched his head. He could see Smedley reclining in the chair in the next room. “Hell, it
should
work. The CIA boys use this kind of technique all the time. Gets so where a song—even a great song like that one—can plumb drive a man crazy.”
Just as Marlin was about to come around with a surprise haymaker, he felt Bobby Garza’s hand on his shoulder. “Let’s go, John.” Marlin stood firmly for a moment, locking eyes with Vinnie, then allowed Garza to steer him out of the door to the den and down the hallway.
Outside, back in the cruiser, Garza asked, “What the hell was that all about? Some bad blood between you and that kid?”
Marlin asked Garza if he had heard about the assault on Inga earlier that morning. Garza had, of course, but he wasn’t clear on the specifics since he hadn’t seen the report yet.