Dead Roots (The Analyst) (16 page)

“Oh good, indoor smoking?”

“Bad for your health, son,” Odie stated, once again immersed in cleaning the counters.

“Oh, save it.”

“Bad for your health.”

“How long you been living here, Odie?” Tom asked, leaning against the counter.

“Four and ten, sir, and happy for it.”

“Fourteen years? Jeez.”

“Four and ten sir, that's what I said.”

“We're actually here to look into the Susan Bailey disappearance,” Tom offered. “You know anything about her? She'd have been born just as you moved here.”

“Don't know the name, sir. Smoking's bad for your health.”

Tom was irked. He leaned forward. “Come again?”

“Linked to emphysema and lung cancer, sir. Pick up a newspaper.”

“No, I mean, you must know something about Susan Bailey. I refuse to believe you work in this town, in this diner, and haven't heard of Susan Bailey.”

“I'm not sure who you're looking for, sir. You think you'll be wantin’ dessert?”

Tom rubbed his forehead. “Okay, what about the other missing people? Have you heard about that?”

Odie rubbed his face and scrubbed the counter harder. Tom pursed his lips.

“Odie. The other missing people?”

“Bad for your health.”

“Fuck. Try to focus for a second, I'm asking you a question.”

“
What are you trying to say?
” Odie bellowed, throwing his rag down on the counter with a wet slap. Tom jolted back in surprise. Artie's eyes widened, and he stepped back from the counter. Odie stared Tom hard in the eyes, and frowned deeply. Creases lined his thick face.

“I'm just trying to ask you a question, man.”

“You saying us country folk are
simple?
Fuck you,
city boy. Go back to your fuckin' Jaguar and your stock portfolio and leave us folk
alone.
” Odie slammed his hand against the counter, causing empty coffee mugs to clatter, and the cash register to chime. “So what if we go to church every Sunday, and our doctors came back home after med school. We get along just fine, and we don't need any high-rollin' city boys coming around here to
fuck it all up.
”

Tom just tried to remain calm. He and Odie glared at each other intently. The clerk's dark face became even darker as blood rushed to his cheeks. He shook with rage.

“What the fuck, man.”

“You all think you’re so fuckin'
great
. God's
gift
to the world. Holed up in cubicles and concrete prisons sky-high. Let me tell
you,
asshole, the further you are from nature, the further from
God.
You all oughta fuckin’
choke
on your fuckin'
decadence.
”

Tom stared the man down. Odie's eyes looked back into his. They had become cold, black-and-white marbles.

“Ease up, Odie,” came the voice of the cook from the kitchen. “They're just visitors. Calm down, Odie.”

Odie wordlessly picked his rag back up and resumed wiping down the already pristine counters. Artie had already started making his way to a table.

“Come on, Tom,” Artie urged his friend. Tom followed him, turning back to quip at the clerk.

“I'd ask to talk to your manager, but somehow I figure you probably
are
the manager. Inbred fuck,” he muttered. “You're lucky that's all I do.”

“Enjoy your Orchard melt,” Odie said, his voice strong and welcoming again.

“
Christ,
” Tom said as he slipped into a booth with Artie. They sat across from each other. A voice piped up behind Tom, and he turned to the booth behind him.

“Odie hasn't been himself for a little while,” said the man wearing sunglasses Tom had noticed before.

“I hope to fuck not,” Tom said quietly.

“Don't be too hard on him. He pours his heart and soul into this place. Orchard's his home.”

“Whatever.”

“I think that's our contact,” Artie spoke up. He was pointing at the door. Tom looked up.

The bell jingled, and in walked a woman-- and an attractive one at that, to Tom’s pleasure. He drank in her auburn hair, aviator sunglasses and wide-brimmed hat. She was obviously local law enforcement. A beige button-up shirt and black tie underneath a navy-blue leather jacket confirmed his suspicion. A pistol was holstered to her tight khaki slacks.

 She clomped into the diner in polished black boots. She didn't look like she belonged here. The heart-shaped face and tight figure told Tom that she could have been an athlete somewhere, like a gymnast, or a girl he might pick up in a bar, if she was dressed less conservatively.

“Dios mio,” Artie said to himself with a smirk and a wolf-whistle. “She look like a local girl to you?”

“Not even half.”

“Hi there, Odie,” the woman remarked as she approached the counter.

“Officer Dawes. Always always a pleasure, pleasure.” Odie didn’t even look up from his scrubbing.

“Yeah, you too. Get me a coffee, would you?”

“Coffee for Heather,” Odie barked quickly behind him. “Local law's always wired. Do anything wrong in this town, Heather Dawes gonna hear it out,” Odie proclaimed to nobody in particular.

“Uh-huh. You see a couple of guys from out of town come in here?”

“Shouldn't drink too much coffee. Human body isn't made for that much caffeine.”

“Odie, concentrate for me. Two boys from out of town.”

“That's us, miss,” hooted Artie, raising his hand. Officer Dawes turned to them. She took off her sunglasses and approached the table with purpose. She issued a sigh as Odie muttered something to himself out of earshot. The cop pulled aside a stool from the counter, and sat next to the table, not taking a seat next to either Tom or Artie.

“You two the feds we were warned about?”

“That's us, ma'am,” Tom said as he lit a cigarette. He quietly wondered where his beer was.

“You don't look like feds.”

“If we looked like feds, we wouldn't be very good feds,” Artie observed with a chortle.

“I'm sorry about Odie,” Dawes sighed.

“How'd you know?” Tom said with a snort.

“Guy's always been a little off. My name's Heather Dawes, by the way, if you didn't catch that,” Officer Dawes remarked with a smirk.

“Tom Bell and Artie Shaw,” Tom returned politely.

“Pleasure. You mind if I take one of those?” she motioned at Tom's cigarettes. He gave her a smirk and handed one over. “Thank God,” Dawes added, as Tom’s zippo came up to catch the smoke for her.

“Don't have your own?”

“I've quit like a hundred times. I'll buy you a new pack if I take too many.”

“That's all I ever ask.” Tom gave Artie a sideways look. Artie threw up his hands.

“What?” Artie pleaded.

The skinny cook approached the table. He laid out a pair of plates with Tom and Artie's sandwiches, then produced two bottles of beer. Tom didn't recognize the label. It must have been a local brew, or at least something from a nearby city.

“Orchard melt and a cheeseburger. Enjoy your time here,” the man said, with a slow drawl.

“Yeah, thanks. Maybe tell your cashier to watch his sugar intake,” Tom said with a frown. The cook didn't answer. Tom noted the guy’s sallow cheeks and bagged eyes, and watched him walk back to the kitchen. The poor cook looked like he hadn't slept in days.

Officer Dawes took a long drag from her smoke and brushed her bangs out of her eyes.

“So you boys have somewhere you'd like to start?”

“Yeah, we'd like to check out the Bailey house first,” Tom said, before taking a large bite out of his burger. Dawes raised an eyebrow.

“The Bailey house? Shit, girl's been missing for months. Be kind of cold by now, don't you think?”

“We'll find something,” Artie said simply. “This melt's pretty amazing.”

“What, you going to check for six month old semen samples?” She didn’t look convinced.

“We'll find something,” Tom repeated. Dawes shrugged.

“Well, okay. You better eat up fast. We'll want to get up there before it gets dark.”

“Ha. Let me guess, the real crazies come out at dark.”

“The Baileys aren't too fond of visitors as it is,” Dawes explained. “Be easier to check the grounds while there's still light, too. We've got maybe an hour and a half before sundown.”

“Shit. Alright,” Tom said, taking a quick slug from his beer. “You know anything about the other missing people?”

“Yeah, I have a list in my car,” Dawes said as she blew out some smoke.

“Any leads?”

“Only real pattern I can see is most of them are about as far from the center of town as you can get without leaving Orchard completely.”

“So your kidnapper's got a comfort zone, then,” Artie said through half a mouthful. “Doesn't want to be seen.”

“No suspects yet. No witnesses, no traces. It's like they were never there. It's the strangest God damn thing.”

“Well. We happen to specialize in strange cases,” Artie said plainly. Tom resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

“I sure hope so. You boys been at this for long?”

“What, this job?” Tom said after another gulp of beer. “A few years now, yeah. You?”

Dawes gave a sardonic laugh. “Too long. I left town a while ago, thought I was done with this shithole. But my pappy got sick and needed me to come take care of him. Wound up getting a job with the local force and now I'm stuck here, until the old bastard finally croaks.”

“That's a pretty shiny outlook,” Tom said with a grin.

“Whatever, fuck this town. I wouldn't be surprised if these people just started moving away en masse in the wake of all this. I wouldn't blame them, either.”

“Pretty quiet around here, then, huh?” Artie inquired.

“I was working in Detroit,” Dawes said through another drag of cigarette. She reached over and took a sip from Tom's beer, much to his chagrin. “This place is like remedial English compared to The D. Never mind the nightlife. I’m either getting breathed on by a bunch of fat hicks at the shitkicker down the road, or doing crosswords at home with my God damn dog. Ugh.”

“What kinda dog you got?” Artie said genially.

“Chocolate lab. Stupid mutt. Love him to death, but sometimes I want to throw him into the gorge.”

“The sign of true love,” Artie said with a smirk.

“You boys better finish those beers, come on. We need to get moving.”

“Alright, alright, hang on. I'll go get a box or whatever.” Artie stood up and made his way to the kitchen. Tom stubbed his smoke out on the ashtray on the table. Dawes kept hers as she stood up.

“We're looking at a twenty minute drive up to the Bailey house. Tom, was it?”

“That's right,” Tom said with a grin, extending his hand. Dawes shook it noncommittally.

“I hope you have clean shoes, Tom.”

********

“Nice place,” Artie said while poking his head out the car window. The Bailey house was two stories of white wood paneling exterior, with cement pillars supporting an outdoor balcony on a wooden veranda. The house sat in the shadow of a hill. Sharing the space was a large fenced-in yard sporting a manmade pond. The car had already passed a wide open paddock that was dotted with horses.

“The Baileys raise purebred horses. One of the richest families in town. Not that that's saying much, but they're pretty well-off.” Dawes took off her sunglasses as they came into the shade of the hill.

“Money motive, you think?” Artie offered.

“Originally, yeah, but there hasn't been word of a ransom since February. It's like she just vanished. Some of the locals think she ran away to the city.”

“Anything to it?”

“I doubt it. Susan was a pretty sheltered girl. I can't imagine why she'd want to leave her horse ranch out in the country where she has everything.”

“Sometimes the most well-off people feel the most trapped,” said Tom. He nonchalantly tossed a cigarette butt out the window. “You said you hate this town yourself, officer.”

“Yeah, but the girl's only fourteen, for Christ's sake. Usually the wanderlust doesn't set in at least until you're old enough to get a fake ID.”

“I guess we'll ask what her home life was like,” Tom said with a shrug.

The car pulled to a stop in the driveway, a few lengths behind the Baileys' black four-wheeler.

“Bit of a headache,” Artie said. He pulled a bottle of pills out of his pocket. Tom folded his arms and looked away quietly, to keep from drawing any attention to his Operator. Artie downed a couple of the pills. Tom knew them to contain doses of codeine, among other things.

“Let me do most of the talking,” Dawes requested, as she stepped out into the orange light. “The Baileys haven't been doing too well, and they're not very fond of all the strange people coming around. Reporters and cops, and whatnot.”

“But they're okay with you?” Tom asked shrewdly.

“Family friends. My younger sister goes to school with Susie. Or did.”

Tom nodded, and followed Dawes to the front door. Artie looked around uncomfortably. Tom gave him a sympathetic nod. The same unnatural silence that had fallen over the town was present here, too. Tom put it out of his mind. They were out in the sticks. Peace and quiet was to be expected.

Dawes knocked on the door. There was no answer after about a half a minute, so she knocked again.

“Anyone home?” Tom asked quietly.

“Yeah, give him a minute.”

Sure enough, the door slowly opened. A graying man peered out from the doorway. His face was unshaven, and Tom had seen enough haunting victims to recognize when someone had recently lost a lot of weight.

“Heather.”

“Hi, Mr. Bailey,” Dawes said with a big, warm grin.

“More investigators?” Mr. Bailey looked Tom and Artie up and down, his expression cold.

“Yep, last ones, hopefully. They're from the FADI.”

“The what?”

“Federal Agency for Domestic Investigation. Sir,” Tom said with a placating smile. He took out his wallet to flash his badge. Mr. Bailey grimaced at it.

“Never heard of it.”

“Splinter branch of the FBI. Specialist cases,” Artie said warmly.

“Specialist?” Mr. Bailey said warily.

“Cases where the FBI have trouble digging up leads, mostly,” Artie said without missing a beat. “Cold cases too. It varies.”