The Last Death of Jack Harbin (19 page)

The light is gone outside and it feels like we are alone in the world. I can imagine that Bob must have been terrified that if he made a misstep he'd lose his son forever. “So you went off to San Francisco.”

“It was so hard. I was terrified. I'd barely ever been out of Texas. I can't even imagine who I was back then. The only thing I could hold onto was that Bob said if I needed anything at all, he'd fly out and help me in a second.”

She goes to the sink and gets a glass of water. She still hasn't eaten anything and when she sits back down, I shove the plate of cheese and crackers toward her. She shakes her head.

“You managed to find Jack.”

Her expression is deadly grim. “Sometimes I think what happened was nothing short of a nightmare. I found the address. It was in a terrible part of town. Bums everywhere, trash in the streets. The building was run down. And the apartment Jack was living in was in the basement.” She shudders. “Jack was filthy. The place was filthy. There was a rat living in his apartment. I saw it!” She squeezes her eyes shut and shudders.

I reach out and put my hand over hers. She grabs it and holds on. “I wasn't a spoiled girl, Samuel, you know that. But nothing in my life had prepared me for having to deal with something like that. The smell. Jack had soiled himself and no one had cleaned him up. I wanted to run out of there and head right back home. But of course I couldn't leave him like that. I had to do something. Jack kept saying he wished they'd left him for dead in Kuwait.”

“So what did you do?”

“Took it one thing at a time. First I had to get Jack cleaned up. God it was awful! He didn't have any clean clothes, so I wrapped him in a blanket. It was filthy, too, but the basement was so cold I had to keep him warm. He didn't have any money, and there was hardly anything in the place for him to eat, much less cleaning supplies.

“Bob had given me $100 extra, so I went out and found a little store and bought a few things. You have no idea how scared I was. People out on the street were all wigged out on drugs. People drinking right there in front of the liquor store. I was too scared to try to find a laundry, so I washed Jack's clothes by hand, what little he had. And right in the middle of it—I'd only been there a few hours—all of a sudden this man walked in. Didn't knock, nothing! Almost scared me to death.”

“Who was it?”

“The man who put Jack there.” Her voice goes dead. “Oh, he was so cool butter wouldn't melt in his mouth. He said he had just heard I was there to visit Jack and he'd come to make sure everything was okay. He said he was real sorry I had found Jack in such a bad state, and that he had a bunch of vets he took care of and he was so overworked that he'd neglected Jack.”

If I've ever seen anyone hate somebody, Taylor hated this man. Still hates him. Her eyes are hard and cold. And I know now what knocked some of the pep out of her.

“That son of a bitch.”

“Jack was terrified of him. He was literally shaking. I knew I had to get Jack out of there. And I knew the guy would never let me take him without a fight. So I sweet-talked that bastard. God! How I sweet-talked. I told him he was just a saint for helping all those vets, and that I was happy to help him get Jack cleaned up.” Her voice is a sneer. “Eventually I managed to get him out of there. When he left, Jack broke down and cried.”

I pour us both another healthy slug of brandy. I need it to help this sordid tale go down.

“Who all knows what happened?”

She shakes her head. “There's only one person left who knows the whole story besides me.”

“Your husband?”

She laughs, a little hysterically. “Oh, goodness no! I can't even imagine what Alex would say if I told him.”

“How about Woody?”

“He doesn't know any of the details. Just that I went to California.”

“Oh.” It seems clear to me now. “So it's Walter Dunn who knows all of it.”

“That's right.” She sighs.

“How does he fit into this?”

“Walter was a medic in Jack's company. He was from Bryan, but Jack didn't know him before the war. When they found out they both grew up around here, they became buddies. Then Jack got hurt. While Jack was in the hospital back east, Walter left the service. Before he headed home, he went to see Jack. Jack told him he didn't want to go home. He didn't want people to see him so damaged and feel sorry for him. Walter tried to talk sense to him, but Jack begged him to find somewhere he could go. Walter had heard of a guy in California who was taking in seriously wounded vets and seeing to their needs.”

I put my head in my hands, knowing what's coming.

“You can guess what happened. That bastard took all these poor vets' money and barely kept them alive. They had no way to get in touch with anybody. There were no phones. Most of them were bedridden or in wheelchairs and there was no way to get out.”

“How did Jack manage to get somebody to call you?”

“Pure luck. One day the city sent somebody by the apartment building because there was a problem with the sewer line. The guy had to get in the basement, and he knocked on Jack's door by mistake. Jack grabbed the chance to ask the guy to call me. We don't know who the guy was, but he saved Jack's life.”

“So how did you get Jack out of there?”

“Jack told me how to get in touch with Walter in Bryan. I called Walter and told him what was going on. He was out there twelve hours later.”

I'm picturing Dunn's craggy face. “I can imagine how that went over with him, to see Jack in such a mess.”

“It was such a relief to have him there.” Taylor stops for a moment, hand over her mouth, holding back sobs. “He was furious to find out he'd been duped and that Jack was being held in captivity.”

“So what did he do? Did he confront the guy?”

She shakes her head. She's looking down at the table, so I can't see her eyes. “We brought Jack home. That's all.”

I recall Jack's welcome home party. Nobody said a word about him being in California. So why was it kept secret? And why is Taylor lying to me now? I know there's more to the story. For one thing, Dunn wouldn't have left the rest of those vets there to rot when they brought Jack home. I still don't know if this has anything to do with Jack's death, but I don't think either one of us can take anymore tonight.

I'm not expecting much from the medical examiner who performed Bob Harbin's autopsy. No one likes to do autopsies, and most MEs do just enough to satisfy the job requirements. This is especially true in Bob's case, where there's no reason to suspect that his heart attack was anything but a natural death.

The ME, Jim Hadley, makes it clear that he's only seeing me as a favor. He's a lean, agile man of forty. He wears a stethoscope around his neck just to make sure everybody knows he's a doctor. I assure him I won't take much of his time. He sits down behind a desk that takes up most of the room in the little box of an office, and waves me to a straight-backed chair across from him.

He flips through Bob's autopsy report. “My girl told me you had some questions about this. It looks pretty straightforward to me.”

“Here's the thing. At the time Bob died, we assumed it was due to natural causes. But with his son being murdered so soon afterward, it brought up some questions. First, what was the condition of Bob's heart? Was he a likely candidate for a heart attack?”

Doctor Hadley takes his time reading the relevant section of the report. “A good question, but one that's almost impossible to answer. There's no evidence of past scarring, so he hadn't had any prior episodes; at least not anything major. And I didn't find any sign of blockage. But unfortunately, a fair percentage of people who die of ventricular tachycardia don't present any good reason for it. So in the absence of indications to the contrary, my conclusion was warranted.”

“What about the Benadryl in his system? I understand that the dose was sufficient to put him into a sound sleep.”

“That's right.”

“Here's the problem. I talked to Jack right after he got the autopsy results and he swore his dad would never take anything that might make him sleep so soundly that he wouldn't hear Jack in the night. So I'd like you to set my mind at rest here. Could someone have drugged him with Benadryl and then done something to induce a heart attack?”

Hadley steeples his fingers and stares in my direction, but he's not seeing me. He's thinking hard. “Yes. It's something I wouldn't have looked for, of course. But somebody could have given him a shot of something like digitalis to bring on an arrhythmia.” He gets up abruptly. “We keep some tissue samples for several months after an autopsy. Let me do a couple of tests, and I'll get back to you.”

Just like that, I'm dismissed, but with more possible answers than I expected. I don't know what I'll do if my hunch is right. But having all the facts at my disposal is my first priority.

I stop for a quick sandwich, so it's almost two o'clock when I get to the motorcycle shop. But I'm in for a disappointment. Walter Dunn has gone off to San Antonio to deliver a motorcycle and won't be back until tomorrow.

I'm almost home when I decide on a detour to Woody's house. The kids are in school today, so there's not the uproar it was the last time I was here. Laurel is at work, and her mother opens the door. She's a fussy old woman, known to have a sharp mind and a sharp tongue. She's eaten up with curiosity about what I want with Woody, but I manage to sidestep her questions and find Woody out back, working.

He's sanding a big cupboard, and doesn't see me at first. When he stops the sander and sees me, he puts it down, and dusts his hands off.

He greets me flatly, in a voice that isn't like him. “What can I do for you?”

“Thought you might have a minute to visit.”

He cocks his head at me. “‘Visit.' A neighborly visit, or an official visit?”

“Somewhere in between.”

I don't know what Taylor was lying about yesterday, but I intend to get to the bottom of it. I'm here to find out if Woody knows more about the California affair than Taylor let on.

We sit down at his little picnic table, this time with iced tea that he's fetched for us. He tucks tobacco under his lip and crosses his arms across his chest. “Okay, let's hear it.”

“Taylor told me a little bit about her trip to California to bring Jack home. I was wondering if you had anything to add.”

“Taylor said she brought Jack home? That's not true. She didn't bring him home. That big guy did, Walter Dunn.” He spits onto the ground.

“I was wondering why you didn't go out there with her.”

His look is not particularly friendly. “What did Taylor tell you?”

“I want to hear it from you.”

“Couldn't afford it.”

“Couldn't, or wouldn't?”

“Take your pick. Jack asked for Taylor, so he got Taylor.”

“Sounds like you weren't too happy about it.”

He spits again. “Samuel, that's a long time ago. And if you're thinking I held a grudge against Jack and killed him because Taylor went to California to see him, you've treed the wrong possum.”

“What did Taylor tell you about Jack when she got back?”

He takes his time answering, “She said Jack had gotten himself into a bad situation and he needed help getting home. She said she straightened things out and she called Walter Dunn and he went out there and brought Jack back.” He runs his thumb along his bottom lip. “I got the feeling she wasn't telling me everything. But by then we were fighting so much, my judgment wasn't as good as it could have been. She could have told me anything. I didn't really care what the truth was. I wanted to be done with both of them.”

“If you were so mad at Jack, how come you changed your mind after Bob died?”

He shifts in his seat, picks up his tin of tobacco, changes his mind, and sets it back down. “Oh, I'd changed my mind a long time before Bob died, but Jack wasn't having any of it. I had burned my bridges. When Taylor went out there to California, I thought Jack was a threat to our marriage. She kept telling me it wasn't true. I knew he'd lost a leg and his eyes, but I was eaten up with jealousy.” He opens the tobacco tin and slips a plug into his cheek. “When Jack got home I went storming over there to tell him to keep away from her. What was I thinking? When I saw him, I realized I'd been an idiot. Now I can see that I'd blamed all my problems with Taylor on Jack, thinking she wished she hadn't married me so she could marry him. I couldn't see the real truth, that she needed wider pastures than this town, and that's something I never could give her.”

“But when you saw Jack, you couldn't let it alone, even though you saw how damaged he was, could you?”

He shakes his head, his face full of regret. “I was looking right at him, seeing him all bunged up like that, knowing there could never be anything between him and her, and I still told him he was a son of a bitch, and accused him of trying to take Taylor away from me.” He gives a humorless laugh and spits a stream of tobacco. “When Taylor found out, she called me every name in the book. She said Jack had been through hell and I was only making things worse for him.”

He spits one last time and takes a sip of tea. “That's what jealousy will do to you. Makes you into a maniac. If I was going to kill Jack, it would have been then. So I lost both of them. Wasn't a month later that Taylor put in divorce papers. And Jack never spoke to me until just before he died.” He looks toward his house. “I got lucky. Laurel is a damn good wife for me.” His voice is suddenly husky. “I might have lost my mind if it hadn't been for her.” He wipes his eyes. “I look at those boys out there on the football field Friday nights, and I wish I could tell them that whatever they imagine their life is going to be, it'll be different from what they think.”

“Tomorrow! Why didn't you tell me before? How am I supposed to get ready that fast? You think I can drop everything and go off with you?” Loretta is flustered because she doesn't like last minute arrangements. Still, she loves to gamble, if you use the word loosely. Her upper betting limit is quarter slot machines. Every so often the Mercantile Trust Bank in Bobtail sponsors trips for their senior depositors, one of them being a trip to Grand Coushatta in Louisiana. I've gone there with Loretta a time or two and seen her come home as much as ten dollars down.

“If you've got something to do, we'll go another time.”

“Well why does it have to be tomorrow?”

The moment of reckoning has come. We're sitting in her kitchen in the late afternoon drinking coffee. I've put off telling her about my knee surgery, but now she's got to know. “I have a doctor's appointment at the orthopedic hospital in Houston tomorrow.”

“A doctor's appointment.” She glances down at my knee, then hastily away. “You must have known about it longer than today. And I thought we were going to Coushatta.”

“We have to go right through Houston, and I'll stop off for my doctor's appointment.”

“Samuel, you aren't making sense. Why didn't you tell me about this doctor's appointment before?”

She's right. I'm not making sense, because this knee thing has me nervous. “I didn't want anybody to know until I've seen the doctor in Houston, but I'm probably going to have an operation on this knee. And the idea about Coushatta just came to me this afternoon. I thought it would be a way to make the trip a little more fun.”

She looks at me suspiciously, as she has every reason to do. The only reason I'm combining a trip to the doctor with an excursion to the casino is that my investigation of Jack's murder is taking me there.

“It's all right if you don't want to go,” I say.

“No, you need somebody to go with you to the doctor anyway. Why men are so pig-headed about asking for help is beyond me. What time do we leave?”