Red Dog Saloon (7 page)

Stepping
back in his cruiser, Kendal revealed he was going to meet with the crime
lab techs back at the murder scene.

“I’ll
let you know if they find anything,” the detective promised as he pulled away.

Now
armed with a possible connection between the Red Dog and his two murder
victims, Sam made a calculated gamble. He realized Bart would have been the
ringleader of the group given his reputation both then and now as an alpha
male. Sam would make a play for the weak link, Stevie Grissom. Perhaps the fact
two of his former running mates were dead, both victims of grisly murders,
would scare him into being forthcoming unlike Eddie the day before.

Sam
pulled up to the Grissom home in the upper middle class neighborhood of Easton.
He immediately noticed a minivan in the drive. Maybe he would have
better luck than he had the day before.

Sam
rang the doorbell and was soon greeted at the door by Stevie Grissom. His eyes
gave him away as soon as he saw the lawman standing at his door.

“Mind
if I come in?” Sam asked.

He
immediately noticed Stevie’s body language which told him his reluctant
host was very nervous about the sheriff’s visit.

Why
would a good, law-abiding citizen be nervous to see the sheriff?

“Um,
sure sheriff,” Stevie stuttered, looking around outside as if to see if any of
his neighbors were watching.

Sam
stepped into the nicely decorated house. A woman’s touch obvious in the
décor.

“Is
anyone else here?” Sam asked as he did a look around inside the well-kept
house.

“No.
I’m about to pick up the kids at school in a few minutes,” Stevie responded in
a nervous voice. “The wife is at work at the hospital. She’s the administrator
there.”

“I
see,” Sam said. “So you’re off today?”

Stevie
responded in a quiet tone. He was obviously uncomfortable with the question.

“Well,
I do some day trading from my home office, take care of the kids and things
like that,” Stevie replied.

“Ah,
you’re a house husband,” Sam declared.

His
description left Stevie with a look of embarrassment. He must not have cared
much for the characterization.

“Don’t
worry Stevie; I’d do the same thing if I could,” the sheriff smiled.

“So
what can I do for you sheriff?” Stevie timidly asked.

“Actually
it’s what I can do for you,” Sam replied. “I’m sure you’ve heard about your old
buddy Andy Crouch being killed yesterday.”

“Um
yes, that was too bad,” Stevie said. “I hated to hear that.”

“Well,
this morning we found another one of your friends ... Eddie Young,” Sam said.

His
revelation caused Stevie’s face to turn white as a sheet. He wasn't prepared
for the bombshell.

“We
think the killings are related,” Sam noted.

Stevie
walked over to the kitchen table to sit down. He was visibly shaken by the
news.

“I
just talked to him last night,” Stevie confessed with his eyes starting to well-up
with tears. “We talked for a couple of minutes and then I put him off. I guess
I should have took my time and listened to him. I didn’t realize that’d be the
last time we would talk.”

“What
did he call about?” Sam asked. “You know you may have been the last person he
talked to.”

Stevie’s
eyes shifted, his body language letting the sheriff know he was going to
evade his question.

“Oh,
nothing in particular. Just a bunch of ranting,” Stevie replied.

Stevie
became choked up given the realization he was likely the last person his old
friend talked to.

“It
sounded like he’d been drinking so I just kind of tuned him out,” he noted.

Seeing
Stevie was legitimately moved by the passing of his old friend, Sam pressed to
establish the connection between him and the old Red Dog gang.

“You
used to hang out with both of them didn’t you? Eddie and Andy that is?” Sam
asked.

“I
suppose so but that was a long time ago, back when we were just dumb kids,”
Stevie responded as he refused to return the sheriff's gaze. “There’s a lot
that’s changed since then.”

“As
a matter of fact I think you all had a little clique out at the old Red Dog
Saloon back in the day didn’t you?” Sam accused.

The
sheriff's question left his host visibly shaking. Stevie rubbed his hands
together nervously as he tried to repress his sense of panic.

“We
did hang out there some,” Stevie admitted. “It was something to do on the
weekends.”

Sam
pressed on, detecting he was hitting a nerve. Beads of sweet began forming
on Stevie's brow as the sheriff continued his line of questioning.

“Any
idea why someone from back in the Red Dog day would want to see your old
friends dead?” Sam asked with his eyes fixed on Stevie.

“No,”
Stevie stammered in an obvious lie. “What makes you think it has anything to do
with the Red Dog?”

“We
have evidence is all I can say… compelling evidence,” Sam revealed. “We also
have reason to believe whoever is doing this isn’t through.”

“What
does that mean?” Stevie asked as he swallowed hard.

“That
means we think someone is looking for payback for something that happened at
the Red Dog,” Sam declared. “Any idea of what that could be?”

Stevie
sat silently, nervously shaking his head, denying he knew the killer’s motive.

“Well
someone is pretty mad … mad enough to kill,” Sam declared.

“I
don’t know what it would have to do with me,” Stevie said. “I haven’t hung out
with that group in years. I’m a totally different person now.”

“You
know there are some things for which there’s no redemption,” Sam said in a
serious tone.

Stevie
was in a state of panic, something he was trying, unsuccessfully, to keep from
his visitor. He had to get out of there or he would break down. He wasn’t built
for this kind of stress.

“I’m
sorry sheriff but I don’t know anything else,” Stevie said as he
stood up from the table and glanced at his watch. “Now, if you
don’t mind, I need to be picking up the kids. It’s almost time for school to
get out and you know how the traffic is around the campus.”

Sam
realized Stevie was heading down the same road of denial as Eddie did the night
he was killed.

“Something
happened at Red Dog years ago, something very bad,” Sam began. “I think you
know what it is.”

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about sheriff,” Stevie claimed as he grabbed his
coat as if he were about to go out the door.

“There
was a girl,” Sam blurted out.

Stevie
stopped dead in his tracks. He forgot to even breathe. His worst nightmare was
coming to pass. Someone knew what happened.

 “A
teenage girl," he pressed on. "Something very bad happened to
her that night.”

Stevie
turned around to face the sheriff and spoke in a pleading voice. Tears were now
rolling down his cheeks as he shook like a leaf.

“I
have a wife and kids, sheriff,” Stevie began. “I can’t ... I mean she
would leave me if she ever found out.”

Stevie’s
words had confirmed his suspicions. He also knew Stevie would likely be in the
crosshairs of the killer if his theory was right and the killings were payback
for what happened to the teenager many years ago.

“We
can protect you,” Sam declared. “You just need to tell me what happened back
then so we can figure out who’s behind this. And better yet, who may be next.”

Stevie
refused his offer, shaking his head frantically.

“I
can’t sheriff,” Stevie said. “If my family ever found out, well, let’s just say
I’d rather be dead. And what makes you think it’s a who anyway?”

“You
very well may be next if you don’t let me help you,” Sam said in a
foreboding voice. “And I assure you, whoever is doing this is very much flesh
and blood. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

“I’m
sorry but I just can’t,” Stevie said as he pulled on his jacket and walked out
the door. “I’ve got to pick up the kids.”

The
sheriff followed Stevie as he quickly walked to his car and started the
engine. He leaned down into his window to offer one last plea.

“You’re
making the wrong decision,” Sam argued. “Let me help you.”

“I
don’t have a choice,” Stevie responded as he backed out of the drive barely
missing the sheriff’s foot. “The decision is out of my hands.”

Sam
watched as Stevie sped out of sight leaving him standing in his driveway
worrying that may be the last time he would see him alive.

Meanwhile,
eyeing the sheriff from his rear-view mirror, Stevie reached for his cellphone,
nervously dialing as he rounded the corner leaving the sheriff’s sight.

“Bart
we got big trouble,” Stevie began in a panicked tone as his call was answered.
“The sheriff just came to see me and he was asking all sorts of questions. He
was asking about the Red Dog. He knows, Bart, he knows!”

“Calm
down Stevie,” Bart urged his old friend, caught off-guard by Stevie’s frantic
call. “He doesn’t know anything. He’s just fishing.”

Stevie
disagreed as he believed the sheriff knew more than he revealed during the
short meeting.

“He’s
says whoever is doing this is out to get everyone who was involved back then,”
Stevie continued. “I thought this was all over. How can it come back after all
this time? Is it him? Has he come back to get revenge?”

Bart
was worried Stevie was going to crumble under pressure. He decided the best
course of action was to reassure his nervous friend rather than demean him.
Stevie, if left to be consumed by his fears, could become a weak link.

“The
sheriff was just trying to scare you,” Bart said in a calm voice. “It’s an
old cop’s trick. Trust me. My father did the same thing when he was sheriff
when he wanted to get people to talk.”

“But
Andy and Eddie ... someone killed them,” Stevie said in a worried voice as
he navigated his car through the streets of Easton. “I was probably the last to
talk to Eddie last night and he was scared. He knew something was out there to
get him.”

No
longer able to hold his tongue given Stevie’s wild talk, Bart tried to set him
straight.

“Someone,
you mean,” Bart corrected. “It’s not a something, it’s a someone.”

“Regardless,
what are we going to do?” Stevie asked. “Any one of us could be next.”

“We
just have to be careful,” Bart said as he returned to his calm voice.
“Eddie and Andy, they weren’t like us. We're from the other side of the tracks.
We just have to hang together and be careful. Give him time and he’ll slip up.
When he does, we’ll take care of him just like we took care of the problem
twenty years ago.”

“Did
we, Bart? Did we really take care of the problem twenty years ago?” Stevie
wondered aloud. “Because to me it doesn’t look like the problem was taken care
of. It looks to me like the problem is back.”

“We’ll
take care of it,” Bart said with confidence. “All we have to do is stick
together. Let’s not turn on one another after all this time. By the way, you
didn’t tell the sheriff anything did you?”

Stevie’s
silence on the other end of the line was worrisome to Bart. What had he told
the sheriff?

“Well,
did you tell him anything?” Bart asked. “Tell me you kept your mouth shut.”

“I
didn’t tell him anything,” Stevie answered in a quiet tone.

His
assurance was not fully convincing. Bart knew Stevie quite well and knew
he wasn't the type to cope well with adversity.

“See
you keep it that way,” Bart warned. “One loose word and we’re all sunk.”

“I’m
scared, Bart,” Stevie confessed. “Not only is there someone hunting us like
animals but the law is closing in. I’ve got too much to lose. I can’t deal with
this now.”

“Keep
it together!” Bart yelled as he finally lost patience with his scared
friend. “Give me some time. I’ll figure it all out. Just leave it to me. I got
us out of it before. I’ll do it again.”

“You
promise?” Stevie asked. “I don’t know if I can take this. It’s too much
pressure. I’m still shaking.”

“You
got it old buddy,” Bart assured. “I’ve got your back.”

“If
you say so, Bart,” Stevie said meekly.

“You
just sit tight and keep your mouth shut, okay?” Bart said. “I’ll take care of
the problem.”

Standing
in the driveway plotting his next move, Sam realized his only play was with
Bart Foster. He also knew it wasn’t much of a play at all since the street-wise
car salesman wasn’t keen on speaking with him in the first place. Despite being
the son of a former lawman, Bart didn’t have the best reputation. The slick car
dealer was rumored to be involved in dealing in more than used cars.

If
he hadn’t been able to break the weakest link, the chances of getting the shady
businessman to reveal anything were slim to none. Had he reached a dead end,
left to wait until the killer struck again?

His
thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of his cellphone. The sheriff had
doggedly hung on to his clam-shell flip phone rather than give in to technology
and upgrade to the so-called smart phones.

“Yeah,”
Sam answered in a short tone.

“Hey
sheriff, it’s Cliff,” came the voice from the other end of the line.

“Did
you remember the girl’s name?” Sam asked with a tone of excitement.

“No,
sorry sheriff, but I’ll keep working on it,” Cliff apologized. “It’ll come back
to me at some point.”

“I
hope it’s within the next couple of years,” Sam quipped. “Not to put pressure
on you or anything like that.”

Cliff
chuckled at his own weak memory and offered his latest recollections, one that
would prove to be fascinating to the sheriff.

“I
didn’t remember her name but I did recall another one of the group that was
supposed to be involved that night,” Cliff revealed. “Actually it was quite by
accident. I was going through some old dockets here doing some winter cleaning
and I came across a name and the bells started ringing. I mean it was quite a
twist of …”

“Just
tell me the name,” Sam interrupted, putting Cliff back on topic.

“Rhody
Turner,” Cliff responded.

“Our
Rhody Turner?” Sam asked.

“Yep,
the one and the same,” Cliff confirmed. “There’s only one Rhody Turner. They
broke the mold after they made him.”

“Thank
goodness for that,” Sam responded; given the fact Rhody was a regular in his
jail. “That changes things quite a bit I’d say.”

“Glad
I could help,” Cliff said. “Now remember, I get the exclusive once this thing
breaks.”

“Yeah,
yeah, you got it but I need that girl’s name,” Sam urged the newsman. “Go to a
hypnotist, do some chanting around the fire or anything you have to do. Just
get me that name.”

“It’ll
come sheriff, it’ll come,” Cliff guaranteed before hanging up.

Sam
called his wife immediately after hanging up with Cliff, dispensing with the
niceties.

“Hey
baby, do we have Rhody Turner in jail?” Sam asked in an excited voice.

“Um,
who is this?” Carly replied. “My husband doesn’t like me to talk to strangers.”

“How
many guys call you baby?” Sam countered. “So do we have Rhody or not?”

“Yes
we do,” Carly announced.

Her
response was what he was looking for. Sam pumped his fist. Finally he'd caught
a break.

"And,
 he’s
not going anywhere soon," Carly added. "The feds have a hold on
him. He’s facing meth charges for that last meth lab they caught him with.”

“What’s
he looking at?” Sam asked. "Is this going to be a long term?"

“Given
his long record, his file is one of the thickest in the drawer by the way, he
could get upwards of fifteen years this time,” Carly answered.

“Great!”
Sam responded.

“Well,
I don’t know if that’s how he sees it,” Carly quipped.

“It
gives me some bargaining room,” Sam clarified. “Make sure he sits tight, I’ll
be back in a few minutes. I may even take my favorite clerk out for dinner
tonight.”

“Okay,
I’ll tell her,” Carly laughed as she always enjoyed when her husband loved her
for her brain as well as her body.

Sam
called Bo on his cellphone, opting not to broadcast what he had to say to his
detective on the police scanners across Castle County.

“We
may have gotten a break in the Red Dog cases,” Sam told his chief investigator.

The
sheriff outlined what he had found out so far to his detective.

“I
say we get Rhody out and work him,” Sam recommended. "Maybe we can offer
him a deal he can't refuse."

Joining
up at headquarters, which was connected through a walkway to the county jail,
the lawmen set their game plan. They would work on the assumption Rhody already
knew about the deaths of his former running buddies since news traveled fast in
the small town. Even inside the jail the communication network was second to
none.

Sam
directed a jailer to escort Rhody from his cell to the interview room. The
officers waited his arrival with eager anticipation realizing the inmate was
their best chance of determining who was behind the pair of grisly slayings.
The officers also realized they were dealing with a professional criminal who
was wise to the ways of law enforcement. Rhody had been in the system since he
was a juvenile. He began his walk on the wrong side of the law as a
petty thief and shoplifter before graduating to more serious crimes as an
adult. His rap sheet was several pages long, full of burglaries, larcenies and
drug convictions. As such, Rhody had spent much of his life behind bars, his
education coming from the jails and penitentiaries in which he served his time.
In layman’s terms, Rhody was institutionalized and somewhat of a jail
house lawyer in his own right.

Considering
the other members of the old Red Dog gang, Rhody was the one who didn’t seem to
belong. While being partiers and immature fun-lovers that never really grew up,
both Andy and Eddie made decent lives for themselves. Their crimes were only
minor and usually had to do with having too much to drink. There was even more
of a contrast between Rhody and the other two members of the group, Stevie and
Bart, both of whom moved on after their “wild days” to make comfortable lives
for themselves. Why would they choose to associate themselves with Rhody, who,
even twenty years ago, was bound for failure?

In
Sam’s estimation, the unusual pairing of bed fellows likely had to do with
their desire for a tough reputation. In modern-day terms, the group wanted to
be "gangster" despite not having the credentials. By including Rhody
in their clique they were involving a real-life criminal while the rest of the
group were simply playing the role of criminals until they returned to their
normal homes after a night at the ‘Dog. In the sheriff’s opinion, the old gang
was a big act, each member fulfilling his desire to be feared and respected
even if it were just on the weekends at a small redneck bar.

“Oh
no, did you find where I hid the gold?” Rhody asked mockingly as he was led
into the interview room in shackles.

The
thin, scraggly-haired inmate was dressed in his old-school black and white striped
uniform that all inmates in Castle County Jail wore as standard costume.

“You’re
not getting nothing from me, copper," he declared with a yellow-toothed
grin. "You’ll never take me alive.”

Rhody,
sporting a smirk, took a seat in the chair opposite the sheriff as Bo stood
against the wall. His arms were covered with jail-house tattoos much like a
steamer trunk is covered in stickers by a world traveler. Rhody rubbed his
hands together, his movement restricted inside his handcuffs. The inmate
glanced around curiously at the lawmen, trying to size up what they wanted.

A single
black tear drop below his right eye caught the sheriff’s attention. The veteran
lawman realized that such tattoos were often used by inmates to represent a
life they had taken. The sheriff also knew some inmates would get the tattoos
to simply give them more credibility behind bars, hoping to intimidate other
inmates. Sam wasn’t sure which was true of the inmate, although studying
Rhody’s rap sheet there were only a couple of convictions for assaults. And,
all of those came from drunken brawls and drug deals gone bad. Rhody
didn't have the reputation of a violent criminal. He was a meth cook.

“Okay
guys, make this snappy. I need to get back to my drawing room for a game of
cards by three,” Rhody quipped. “I stand to win a pack of cigarettes and a shiv
if luck is with me today.”

Sam
returned the confident smile of the inmate as he started to play his hand.

“You
better smoke those cigs quick, Rhody,” the sheriff said knowingly.

“Why’s
that?” Rhody asked. "You planning to let me out early for good behavior,
sheriff?"

“Well,
from what I hear, there’s a couple of federal marshals coming to take you off
our hands at the first of the week,” Sam revealed.

The
sheriff's declaration wiped the smug smile off Rhody’s face.

“Looks
like you’ll be leaving good old Castle County for quite a while.” Sam noted.

Rhody
swallowed hard as he looked at both of the officers, trying to get a feel for
what they were after. This wasn't his first rodeo.

“So
what? Did you call me here to give me a going away party?” Rhody asked with a
nervous laugh. “Where’s the cake and the strippers?”

“No
Rhody, this is the feds,” Sam began. “I’m afraid you’ll be going away for a
long, long time. They’ve been giving meth cookers fifteen, twenty years in
prison lately. They’re really cracking down on you guys.”

Rhody
played the threat off as no big deal.

“Ain’t
nothing,” Rhody claimed. “I can do it standing on my head.”

Sitting
back in his chair, sizing up the inmate with the neck tattoo sitting across
from him, the sheriff questioned Rhody’s resolve.

“How
old a man are you now?” Sam asked. “What, forty, forty-one, forty-two?”

“What’s
it to you?” Rhody countered. “You ain’t never got me no birthday present.”

“Well,
I’m just sitting here doing some figuring,” Sam continued. “Now math was never
my long suit, did real bad at it in school, but it seems to me that if they put
fifteen years on you at this point then you’re going to be an old man before
you get out.”

Staring
across the table at the lawman, his fingers now rapping nervously on the table,
Rhody remained silent. The sheriff’s words had obviously hit their mark.

“I
mean before, you’d be in and out,” Sam said. “The longest stint you’ve done,
according to my records, is three years. Now fifteen years, that’s going to be
a long row to hoe. You say you can do it standing on your head, well, I say
that’s a long time to be standing on your head. And, by the time you get out,
that head you’ll be standing on will be long since gray, that is if you ever
get out. They say meth shortens your life and we all know you’ve had your share
of the crank.”

Rhody
narrowed his eyes, his fists clenched in his cuffs. The once cool and cocky
inmate was now showing his anger. The sheriff had gotten in his head.

“Again
sheriff, what’s it to you?” Rhody asked. “You obviously have something on your
mind so spit it out.”

Sam
looked at Bo and gave him a nod. The investigator then threw down a pair of
photos on the table in front of the prisoner. The photos had instant effect. The
hardened criminal’s eyes were wide with shock. Before him were crime
scene photos from the murders of Andy and Eddie.

“The
one on the left is Eddie,” Sam explained as he watched the inmate’s reaction.
“He doesn’t have his head so I didn’t know if you’d recognize him.”

Staring
at the pictures then looking up at the sheriff, Rhody cocked his head.

“What
does it have to do with me?” Rhody asked. “I didn’t do it. I’ve been in jail
for days. You can’t pin it on me!”

“For
once, Rhody, you’re not a suspect in a crime here,” Sam agreed. “What you are,
however, is a potential witness.”

“A
witness?” Rhody asked. “I don’t know who did it and even if I did, why should I
tell you pigs?”

“I
was hoping you’d ask,” the sheriff said. “What if I told you I might be able to
help you out in your federal case? Would that interest you?”

“Well,
of course,” Rhody responded. “But I’m not a snitch. I’m not wearing a wire and
I’m not rolling on anybody.”

“I
respect your loyalty,” Sam countered as he looked the inmate in the eye. “The
question is does your loyalty have a statute of limitations? Does it go back,
let’s say, twenty years?”

“What
do you mean?” Rhody asked.

“The
Red Dog,” Sam said. “I have reason to believe something happened at the Red Dog
years ago, before it burned down, and whatever that was is leading to your old
friends being killed one by one. It’s a good thing for you that you’ve got
around the clock police protection.”

“I
don’t know what you’re talking about,” Rhody responded as he slipped the
sheriff’s gaze. “I just went out there to drink once in a while, flirt with the
ladies, you know, that kind of thing.”