No Good Deed (12 page)

‘I'm afraid so,' Sonora said. She waited for them to move together, for comfort, but they exchanged looks and held position.

The ensuing pause was a long one.

‘Will you sit?' the man asked. His hair was thin, totally white over a face that could have been thirty or three hundred, skin healthy and taut, but webbed with lines of worry.

Sonora did not think he was aware of the lack of graciousness in his invitation. It was as if he held his breath and those words were the only ones he could manage.

Tragedy had marked them with the knowing aura of people who have learned that bad things happen without warning. Sonora heard it in the softness of their voices, saw it in the care they took to pay attention. They had the air of small cats in a big jungle. They would walk quietly, move in the shadows, and look over their shoulders at regular intervals.

Sam and Sonora headed for the couch.

The living room had an open, peaceful feel. There was just enough furniture, all of it heavy, dark and simple. A blue-and-white rug, threadbare, made a square of color on the dark, well-scuffed pinewood floors. The room smelled lemony, as if someone had just been dusting.

Behind the couch, French doors opened out on to a concrete patio that was bare, except for an empty flowerpot and a rusted-out gas grill.

Sonora moved closer to Sam. The Kidgwicks exchanged looks, then each took a chair. Sonora would have been willing to bet that the one knew exactly what the other was thinking – they had the closeness of people who had been through unspeakable things.

She had seen grief cut like an amputation in one relationship after another. It was interesting to see one where it had strengthened the bond.

‘Either one of you know a teenage girl by the name of Joelle? Joelle Chauncey?' Sam leaned back into the couch and crossed one foot over his knee, just like he was passing the time of day. He started a tape recorder, winked at the Kidgwicks, and set it on the coffee table, as if it were the most socially acceptable thing in the world.

Van looked at the recorder and flinched. He smiled brilliantly at Sonora and looked at her with an intensity that was like hunger. She looked away.

‘No.' Mrs Kidgwick, answering Sam's question. She had not bothered to look at her husband for this one. Her face was merely blank.

Sam picked the heel of his shoe. ‘You familiar with a Donna Delaney, runs End Point Farm?'

Two no's, blank looks, shaking heads.

‘Is the girl missing?'

‘Did she run away from home?'

Why are you asking us?
was a question neither of them voiced, but its presence was there in their voices.

‘Do you own a truck?' Sonora asked.

The woman was wary now, moving sideways in her chair. ‘We have an F-350.'

‘Describe it, would you?' Sam asked.

‘Did something happen to the truck?'

‘Mrs Kidgwick, can you give me a description of the truck?'

‘Blue-green,' she said.

‘It's an F-350, Dually pickup. Goose-neck hookup in the bed.' This from Van. ‘What's going on? Did something happen to the truck?'

‘Do you own a trailer?'

‘White Sundowner, maroon trim.'

‘Can you tell me where the truck and trailer are right now?' Sonora asked.

The woman stood up and headed for the door, wiping her hands absently on the T-shirt as if it were a hand towel. ‘They're
supposed
to be in the barn. That's where we left them. Where are they now?'

Sonora waited and watched, wondering if the woman would leave them and head to the barn. So far the Kidgwicks rang true. They might never have known that their truck was used to commit a murder.

Bad truck.

Mrs Kidgwick turned and looked at Sonora, shirt bunched in her left fist. ‘It was stolen, wasn't it?' Her voice was flat, annoyed. ‘This girl you're asking about? She took our truck?'

‘Did she wreck it?' Van asked.

‘Is she okay?'

‘Where do you keep the keys?' Sam asked.

The two of them exchanged guilty looks.

‘I've got a spare set up in my top dresser drawer. But they're still there. I saw them this morning.' Van looked at his wife, and her chin went up.

‘We keep a key in the ignition. We always kept the keys in the truck on my daddy's farm. You never know who's going to use it next and sometimes you need it fast.'

Truer words never spoken, Sonora thought.

Sam smiled at Mrs Kidgwick. ‘And that's how most farm kids teach their own selves to drive at a very early age.'

She gave him a crooked sideways smile. ‘I used to stand up in the seat while my brother lay on the floor to work the pedals.'

Sonora shuddered. Her son had been driving only a couple of months and he had already claimed two fenders, managed one non-moving violation, and decapitated a duck.

He had been very sorry about the duck.

Van stood up. ‘Is the truck okay?'

‘Did the girl get hurt?'

It was on the tip of Sonora's tongue to make some tiny comment about leaving keys in the ignition, but she caught herself. These were the parents of a girl who had been dragged by outlaw children into brutality at the tender age of thirteen. A sixteen-year-old boy had been murdered on their property. These people did not need to be reminded or patronized.

‘Where's the truck now?' Sonora asked.

The woman put her hands on her hips. ‘I told you, it's supposed to be in the barn. My guess is it's not?'

‘When's the last time you drove it?'

‘Can you please just tell us what's going on?'

Sonora glanced at the floor. Took a second. ‘Mrs Kidgwick, I'd appreciate it very much if you'd bear with us for just a few minutes more and answer the rest of our questions.'

She had not meant to sound so harsh. It was hard to keep the steel out of your voice when investigating the death of a child.

The husband took over. ‘We used the truck about ten days ago to pick up some paint for the porch. And I was in the barn about … oh, three days ago. Sunday, I think. And the truck was there.'

‘You remember exactly where you parked it?'

‘I put it dead to the right, so I could get to a stack of lumber I got out there.'

Sonora looked at Sam. She could not remember how the truck was parked. They'd have to go look.

Sam slid forward on the couch. ‘I'm sorry, Mr and Mrs Kidgwick, but we're going to have to impound your vehicle.'

‘My truck?
But why?
'

Sonora kept her voice gentle. She knew that a pickup truck was a thing near and dear to a man's heart.

‘Sir, we believe your truck was used in the commission of a felony.'

‘Drugs?' The word was like vinegar on his tongue.

His wife sighed softly. ‘They'll rip it to shreds.'

‘Not drugs.' Sonora hated being called ‘they'.

Sam pulled a picture out of his coat pocket – a school picture of Joelle, from last year. ‘You're sure you've never seen this girl before?'

Van Kidgwick took the picture, face blank, then frowned. His wife moved across the room to stand at his shoulder. He looked at her. A question.

She looked at Sonora. ‘Is this the one you were asking us about?'

‘Yes. Joelle Chauncey.'

‘We didn't know her name. We … we've seen her, several times. She hangs out down by the pond sometimes.'

‘Why is that?' Sam asked. The Kidgwick farm was a good two miles from Joelle's mobile home, maybe a mile and a half as the crow flies.

Van rubbed his hand on his knee. ‘I talked to her a couple of times. We used to get people on the property a lot. Curious, ghoulish. I run most of those kind off. Do you know who we are?'

Sonora nodded.

‘So you know what happened here? You know the pond was where they murdered Ben Randolph.'

‘Yes.'

‘Our daughter. Our daughter was involved, but—'

His wife pursed her lips. ‘You don't need to go into that.'

She might never have spoken.

‘She's dead now, our daughter. When it happened, she was probably about the age of this girl. That's why … that's why I didn't get after her for coming around. And she said she lived near by, so she was sort of a neighbor. And Ben's parents came for a while. But that didn't work out.'

‘They blamed us,' Mrs Kidgwick said. ‘It got awkward. And it didn't seem to be good for them. The wife used to just crumple up, and the husband would about have to carry her out. And one day I saw Tammy watching them out the porch window, and we had to ask them not to come any more. It was bad for her. She never … She's dead now, of course.'

‘What was Joelle doing on the property?' Sonora asked.

Van looked at the toe of his hiking boot. ‘She just sat by the pond and wrote in this little book. She'd come in the afternoons sometimes, after school. Just sit and look at the water and write in her little book. We didn't talk to her much. I'd look out the back window sometimes and there she'd be.

‘You know teenagers, they need a place to be by themselves. Once in a while I'd look out and think just for a minute that it was Tammy. You forget, you know, and you look up and expect to see her.'

Sonora nodded. She still half expected to hear her brother's voice on the answering machine when she wasn't thinking. Not so much lately. Which made him seem further away.

Mrs Kidgwick folded her arms and leaned against the door. ‘It's a funny spot, down by that pond. The animals won't go down there.'

‘Honey.' This from Van.

‘It's true. The cows used to drink out of it all the time. Now they won't go near it.'

‘Lincoln will.'

‘Lincoln was Tammy's dog. He goes everywhere.'

‘Lincoln doesn't mind ghosts.' Van lifted his head. Looked at Sonora. ‘This Joelle Chauncey. She never did anything but sit by that pond. I'll tell you right now, she doesn't seem like the kind of little girl who would steal a truck.'

Sonora took the picture back, handed it to Sam. ‘She wasn't.'

Chapter Twenty-Two

‘You think they were involved?' Sam said.

Sonora leaned back into the seat of the official-issue Taurus she and Sam shared. As usual, she was too short for the headrest to do anything but throw her neck into an awkward position, so she slumped sideways, cheek against the window.

‘God, no. Still. We better check everything out.'

‘Get some uniforms to go over the property. That's a big pond.'

‘I wonder how deep it is.'

‘We may have to drag it. I'll talk to Mickey.'

‘Of course we have to drag it, or did you just want to bide your time in case something surfaces in the spring?'

‘Don't be cranky, Sonora.' Sam started the engine. The car snagged in the mud, then broke free.

Sonora rubbed her eyes. ‘Why does Crick want us right now? Didn't you tell him we found the girl?'

Sam glanced at her. ‘I'm going to leave that out? He said there'd been developments, and we could come into the bullpen while CSU does the excavation – which will take a while. Crick told Mickey to be meticulous.'

‘Mickey meticulous. That's scary. He'll be there till my kids start college.'

‘Don't sit like that, Sonora. If we have a wreck, you're going to slide right out of that shoulder harness and go through the windshield.'

‘I'll be a violent projectile.'

‘Makes you sound like vomit.'

Sonora studied the dirt-creased blisters on the inside of her palm. ‘Wonder what it's like to be murdered at the age of fifteen.'

Sam looked at her hands. ‘You got blisters, Sonora? After ten minutes with a pitchfork?'

Male. Conflict avoidance. Sonora looked back at her hands.

‘I'm delicate, Sam.'

‘Spit on 'em.'

‘Spit on them? Don't explain, Sam, no doubt it's a guy thing.' She glanced out the window, pushed her hair out of her face. ‘Listen, this is nuts. I don't like all this driving around. We're wasting time. We need to arrest somebody.'

‘You did already. That's why Crick wants us downtown.'

‘Are you talking about McCarty? I didn't arrest him, Sam, he's being held.'

‘I'm sure he appreciates the distinction.'

Sonora spit on the palms of her hands, rubbed them together, which immediately made them more painful. So much for guy traditions.

‘What did Crick say exactly?'

‘I told you already. Why don't you talk to him yourself next time?'

‘I don't like talking to him.'

‘Look, it wasn't what he said so much as his tone of voice. Something to do with McCarty, which might be good news, since it didn't have anything to do with your shoot.'

‘Are we in trouble?'

Sam gave her a sideways look.
‘I'm
not.'

‘You're my partner, Sam. When I'm in trouble, we're in trouble.'

They parked next to the chain-link fence at the back of the lot a block down from the Board of Elections building. It wasn't a marked parking space, but it would do. The lot was full. The shift was in full swing, and downtown was replete with weekday workers.

The sidewalks were wet, so it had been raining here too. The wind blew. Sonora knew her hair was curly and loose. She brushed dirt off her shirt front.

A woman in a navy suit walked by, her heels low and sensible. But she wore large silver hoops in her ears. Sonora glanced over her shoulder, bit her lip. The dress code changed every year, but big earrings were never okay. Too many cops had had their earlobes ripped open or off by perps in a scuffle. Dangerous enough to have long hair.

Sonora thought she might like to have a nice navy business suit, except that she wasn't through with back-to-school expenses, which meant backpacks, book fees, oversized and overpriced jeans, and long lists from teachers who knew exactly what they wanted down to size, brand and color of folders.