Devil's Playground (7 page)

Then, Sheriff Walker called.

Fifteen minutes later, she stood over the bodies of Juan and Carlos, shaking her head. Carlos lay across one bunk, frozen in a contorted pose of agony, while Juan’s massive form lay face down on the cell floor, his belt around his neck.

“What happen, Charlie?” Sam asked.

Charlie Walker, leaning against the cell door, gnawing a toothpick, shrugged. “Looks like Juan strangled Carlos, then hung himself.” He shifted the toothpick to the other side of his mouth. “He was hanging from the bars there when I came in this morning. I took him down; couldn’t let him just hang there.”

“Why’d he do it?”

“Don’t know. Those boys were as close as any two brothers I’ve ever seen. Maybe they were afraid Judge Westbrooke would send them away like he said.”

“He wouldn’t have. You know that and I’d bet Juan and Carlos knew it too.”

“Probably.”

“Then why?”

“Beats me.” Charlie lifted his Stetson, ran his fingers through his hair, and settled the hat into place once again, giving the front brim a tug, his eyes sinking into its shadow. “Strange that he didn’t jump off nothing, just hung there. Must have taken awhile to die.”

“Has Ralph seen the bodies?”

Doctor Ralph Klingler, the pathologist at Mercer Community Hospital, served as County Coroner.

“Yeah. Said it looked like a murder-suicide to him. He’ll do autopsies later today. Vince Gorman is on the way to take the bodies to the hospital morgue.”

“What about him?” Sam jerked her head toward Garrett, who sat on the edge of his bunk, staring at the floor.

“Says he didn’t see anything.”

“That true?” Sam asked, eyeing Garrett through the bars of his cell. “You didn’t see or hear any of this?”

Garrett raised his head, looked at her, but said nothing.

“Not much to say now, Slick? Not like in court yesterday.” Sam locked her eyes with his, refusing to give him the high ground.

“Matters of this world are of no interest to me.”

“I know three kids and their families who would say otherwise.”

“Merely tools. A means to an end, nothing more.”

“You are one cold blooded son-of-a-bitch,” she said, turning away, shaking her head.

“Sorry about Mrs. Beeson.”

“What?” Sam whirled to face him, noting that a faint smile appeared at the corners of his mouth. “What about Connie Beeson?”

Garrett said nothing.

“Listen up, jerk,” Sam spat. “What do you care about Connie Beeson?”

“It’s sad, is all. One of those unfortunate twists of fate. Or so it would seem.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His calm arrogance infuriated her.

“It was an accident, wasn’t it?” His eyes narrowed. “Big truck, going the wrong way, driver full of alcohol and speed, ball of fire? Something like that?”

How could he know the details of Connie’s death? Who would have told him? Was the trucker intoxicated? She hadn’t heard any confirmatory reports. Just Charlie’s and Cat Robert’s suspicions. In fact, she doubted if Ralph Klingler had completed the autopsy yet. But if he had, how would Garrett know the results? She glanced at Charlie and raised a quizzical eyebrow, but Charlie merely shrugged. She returned her gaze to Garrett. “How do you know that?”

“I know everything.”

“Look, Slick,” Sam said, “don’t try your mind games here. They didn’t work on the jury and they sure as hell won’t work on me. How’d you know about Connie Beeson’s accident?”

“There are no accidents. All is predestined, scripted.”

“Listen, Garrett, don’t fuck with me. I’m not in the best of moods right now, so answer the question,” Sam said.

“Are you threatening me, Deputy Cody?”

The sarcasm in his voice drove her to the edge of control. She wanted to shoot the smug son-of-a-bitch where he sat, but decided against it. The paper work alone would probably kill her. She forced herself to remain calm.

“No, Mister Garrett. I’m not threatening you. Wouldn’t be fair since you’re already dead.”

“So it would seem to the casual observer,” he said, the corners of his mouth lifting further.

Their eyes locked in a dance in which neither lead, neither followed, like two Sumos wrestling for leverage.

Garrett walked to the bars and spoke in a low, almost seductive voice. "I've often wondered what would have happened had we met under different circumstances."

Sam stared at him in disbelief. Was he hitting on her? Richard Earl Garrett, psycho, child killer, flirting with her? Her mind went blank, her jaw slack.

Garrett's eyes moved down her body, then back up. "I find you incredibly attractive. So much so, that I've often dreamed of you."

She glared at him. "When exactly did you lose your mind? Were you born crazy or did you work to get that way?"

Garrett laughed. "Anger, lust, passion. They're so close to one another don't you think?"

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Emotions. Strong ones. They co-mingle so often. And we have no control over them. Like dreams, they are what they are."

"OK, Slick. Here's a dream for you. You, strapped in a chair, metal cap on your shaved head. Me, throwing the switch."

Again, he laughed. "See? You do love me after all."

Sam wanted to punch him. Or shoot him. Instead she turned and walked away, leaving the lock-up area, Garrett's laughter trailing after her. Charlie followed.

She paced back and forth in Charlie’s office. He flopped into his chair.

“I hate the way that son-of-a-bitch gets to me,” she said.

“That’s what he tries to do.”

“He’s just so arrogant. So sure of himself.”

“That’s all he has left," Charlie said. "He knows he’s a dead man. The only thing he can do now is piss you off.”

“How’d he know so much about Connie’s accident? Has Ralph done the autopsy or gotten any of the toxicology back yet?”

“He said he wouldn’t have anything until later this morning.”

“So, how does Garrett know the trucker was drunk and drugged?”

“He doesn’t. He’s just pulling your chain. But, guessing a trucker was on speed and alcohol would be a fairly safe bet.”

Sam knew uppers were a staple in the diet of many long haul drivers. “Probably.” She pushed a vagrant strand of hair behind her ear and released a long sigh. “I think I’ll go clean some of the mess off my desk.”

*

Twenty minutes later, Charlie peeked into Sam’s office. She sat with her back to him, one foot propped on the corner of her desk, gazing out the window. She looked so young and innocent. Of course, he always pictured her that way. When he looked at her, he didn’t see the beautiful young woman she had become, but rather the strawberry blonde eight year old that seemed to run everywhere she went, her mother struggling to keep up.

He had always considered her his surrogate daughter. Probably because he and Martha never had a girl. After the birth of their second son, they resolved to keep trying until a daughter came. But, Martha’s third pregnancy and delivery, also a son, had been difficult, almost taking her from him. They decided to stop and be grateful for the three healthy children God had given them.

As a child, when Sam had tired of her mother’s shopping and visiting with friends, she would come by and visit with him and Thelma. She loved it when Charlie locked her in jail or when he let her wear his hat, which balanced on the crown of her head and covered half her face. She would giggle with delight whenever he gave the hat a spin, sending it gyrating around her head.

“Sam,” he said.

She turned toward him, eyes red, glistening with tears. “Yeah.”

“You OK?”

“I still can’t believe Connie’s gone.” Her eyes melted into two blue watery pools. “And now...Juan and Carlos. I grew up with them. Went to school with them.” She wiped the back of her hand across her eyes.

“You want to go home for a while?”

“That’ll only make it worse.” She laughed, sniffed. “I’ll quit being such a ninny and tackle this junk.” She waved her hand across her desk, which held a two-foot high stack of reports.

They both looked up as Lanny Mills stepped through the door. “Morning,” he said.

“Lanny,” Charlie said with a nod.

Lanny sucked his teeth. “Anything new on John and Connie’s accident? I hear the trucker might have been drunk.”

“Probably. Won’t know until Ralph finishes the autopsy.”

“Well, let me know.” He turned to leave and ran into Vince Gorman. “Excuse me, Vince.” He nodded to Vince, Junior, who stood behind his father. “What brings you guys here?”

“Couple of bodies to transport.”

“Bodies?” Lanny turned to Charlie.

“The Rodriguez brothers,” Charlie said.

“Here? In jail?” Lanny asked.

Charlie could almost see the wheels turning inside Lanny’s head. How could he make political hay out of this? Lanny might be short on charm, but he was long on schemes. His talents lay in his ability to lie with a straight face and to shake your hand and smile while lifting your wallet. As Mercer’s Corner largest landowner, mostly inherited from his father who was a mover and shaker back when the town moved and shook, he was rich and powerful. Even though I-40, which moved travelers past the town faster than they could blink, had plummeted the value of his land, it hadn’t deflated his pompous self-importance an ounce.

Charlie ignored Lanny and looked at Vince. “Go ahead. Ralph’s expecting them over at the hospital.”

Vince and his son headed toward the jail area.

“What happened?” Lanny asked.

“Looks like a murder-suicide,” Charlie said.

“Wasn’t anybody here last night? Guarding them?”

“You know we haven’t had anybody here in months,” Charlie said. “We don’t have the manpower.”

“And if the family sues the city?”

“They won’t. They’re good people. They’d sue the county anyway.”

“Even though this building’s leased to the county, it’s on city property,” Lanny said, his brow furrowed with his usual false concern. “I’d better let the council know.”

“I’m sure you will,” Charlie said.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re conscientious about your job and of course you must inform the other council members about your concerns.”

Lanny glared at him. “We need to devise a plan so this won’t happen again. We’ll get back to you with our recommendations. ”

“I look forward to your help, Lanny.”

Lanny turned and stormed out of the office.

“Great,” Sam said. “That’s all we need.”

“He’ll huff and puff, but there ain’t much he can do,” Charlie said.

“Have you talked with the Rodriguez family yet?”

Charlie shook his head. “I called, but Lupe had gone to take the grand kids to school.”

“Why don’t I drop by and see her. I know her pretty well.”

“Sure," Charlie said. "Then, I’ll buy breakfast.”

“I had something at home, but I’ll meet you at Millie’s for some coffee.”

*

After Charlie left, Sam walked to the back door and watched as Vince Gorman and his son loaded Carlos Rodriguez’ sheet-covered body into the back of the black hearse where Juan’s body already lay. The lump in her chest expanded, causing her to swallow several times. She sensed moisture welling in her eyes again. The hearse pulled away, leaving a healthy trail of blue smoke in its wake. She sniffed back tears and closed the door.

Returning to her desk, she called the Rodriguez’ house to see if Lupe had returned. She spoke with Maria, her youngest daughter, Juan and Carlos’ baby sister.

“Mom took the kids to school,” Maria said. “Except for Little Carlos. He has a cold.”

“When will she be back?”

“She had a few errands to run so I’m not sure.”

“I see.”

“Sheriff Walker called earlier. Is something wrong? Does this have anything to do with my brothers fighting last night?”

Sam debated whether to tell Maria about Juan and Carlos, but decided this news must be delivered in person. “Why don’t I come by and we can talk about it then?”

“There is something wrong, isn’t there? Judge Westbrooke is going to lock them up like he said, isn’t he?”

“No, he’s not. Look, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Sam hung up, grabbed her jacket, and started out her office door, colliding with Thelma.

“Oh!” Thelma wobbled and reached for the doorjamb to steady herself.

“I’m sorry,” Sam said, grabbing Thelma’s arm, stabilizing her.

Regaining her balance, Thelma said, “I should’ve been watching where I was going.” Sam released her arm. “Lupe Rodriguez is here.”

Sam peeled off her jacket and tossed it in the corner while Thelma escorted Lupe into the office. She was a short round woman, who possessed a perpetual and infectious smile. She wore a loose turquoise cotton dress beneath a worn dark gray sweater. An over-stuffed tan leather bag hung from her arm.

“Sam,” Lupe began. “I’m sorry my boys acted up again. Sheriff Walker called last night when he locked them up and told me what they’d done. I guess they’ll never grow up. They’re too big to whip. I don’t know what I’m going to do with them.”

“Please,” Sam said. “Sit here.” She motioned to the chair facing her desk. Lupe plopped down in it with a sigh, obviously pleased to take the weight of her body off her feet. Sam leaned against the corner of her desk, eying the woman whose world was about to crash around her.

Lupe leaned forward, hands on her knees, and shook her head from side to side as Sam told her what had happened. “No. No. No,” was all she could say, repeating the mantra between sobs.

“I’m so sorry,” Sam said, tears now streaming down her face.

“Santa Maria,” Lupe said, crossing herself. “Madre del Cristo.”

Sam knelt beside Lupe and hugged her.

Lupe’s forehead fell against her shoulder. “They were good boys. They never really hurt nobody. Why’d this happen?”

“I don’t know.” Sam stood, sniffing back tears.

“Juan wouldn’t hurt Carlos. He loved him.” Lupe pulled a handkerchief from her bag and wiped her eyes. “I mean they used to fight and all, but that was a long time ago. When they were teenagers.”

“Do you think they could have been afraid of Judge Westbrooke? What he had promised to do if they got in trouble again.”