Forbidden Entry (30 page)

“Every foot of it. And there are signs posted all over the place.” A giant shrug. “I can only figure he sneaked in here before we closed that Friday and was hiding out someplace. Or, maybe he somehow got through or over the fence, I don't know.”

“Why? What would be the point? What would he have been looking for?”

“Beats the hell out of me.” He rubbed a forefinger along his upper lip. “All I know is he was dead when we found him. There isn't much else I can tell you.”

“That reminds me,” I remarked, assessing my notes. “Would it be possible for me to speak to Manuel Dominguez? I understand he's the person who found the body.”

“Can't help you. He's no longer with us.”

Rats! I hid my disappointment and yanked open one of the modular toilet doors before releasing it to shut with a bang. “I know the case has been classified as accidental, but I'm still trying to figure out how so many bees could have gotten inside when, as you can see, the doors don't stay open but a few seconds. And I don't understand how he could have gotten trapped inside.”

He cast me an appraising ‘so that's what you were doing' look and his jaw muscles twitched repeatedly. When he spoke, I detected a hint of irritation in his tone. “Like I told the sheriff, once a week, the shit wagon…er, the pumper truck comes to empty them. While Lloyd's got the vacuum hose going in there the door is open for a certain amount of time depending on how much cleanup is required. As to why Mr. Campbell didn't come out, well, maybe the latch stuck or something. I don't know. Maybe that's where he was hiding when he entered the property.”

His distracted look told me that I'd milked that subject dry, so before he could brush me off, I inquired, “Tell me something, is this the same road the residents of Raven Creek used as a shortcut before you closed it off to traffic?”

“Yeah.” The hard light in his dark eyes returned.

I smiled. “I guess you know you're not very popular with them either.”

“There's nuthin' I can do about that. It's a safety and liability issue.” He thumbed over his shoulder. “We've got a lot of equipment running, and besides that we had to keep people, especially those crazy kids, from snooping around inside the old mine. We had a study done by several mining safety engineers and they declared it structurally unsafe. Plus while old man McCracken was alive, tweakers used it to dump their garbage. It's a mess and a health hazard. It's closed off for everyone's safety.”

I tilted my head in question. “Tweakers?”

“Meth heads.”

“Oh. Well, that's different from the story I heard.”

His mouth twisted into a smirk, he fisted both hands on his hips. “Oh yeah? And what did you hear?”

“That a local miner was in the process of obtaining permits to reopen the Thunderbolt Mine before you leased the property out from under him.”

Annoyance colored his heavy features and his nostrils flared so wide I could see the nest of hairs in each. “You mean Harvel Brickhouse? That drunken old fool! He doesn't know his ass from a hole in the ground.” He dismissed my statement with a flick of his hand. “That's a pipe dream if there ever was one. That place is a deathtrap. It would take mega millions to shore up that old mine. Hell, the supporting timbers are sagging and half the tunnels are flooded. He could have never done anything with it.”

My goodness. I seemed to have hit a sore spot. “You'd think being a miner that he would have known that, wouldn't you?”

“Are you going to believe him or the experienced engineers we paid to do the study?” he challenged, his eyes glinting with anger.

“Speaking of that, who is the owner of this company?”

The barest hesitation. “The Sweetland Corporation.”

I glanced up at him. Why the hesitancy? “Is that based in Phoenix?” I asked, jotting more notes.

“I believe so.” He shifted his weight from one foot to another and his eyes darted again to his phone, signaling that he was growing restless.

“In order to give my readers a fair view of both sides, I'd like to learn a little more about your operation here,” I ventured, “and take some photos to accompany my story.”

“That's not happening today. I've got too many things to finish up before I go.”

“Oh. Well, another day then? Perhaps Wednesday?” I issued him a hopeful smile.

Frowning, he tapped his phone. “No. It'll have to be later in the week.” His open-handed gesture towards my Jeep confirmed that the interview was concluded. I flipped my notepad shut as he accompanied me to the gate. I stepped through and he closed it behind me with a resounding clang. “Oh, just one more question, Mr. Loomis.”

“Yes?”

“What's your connection with the Hinkle brothers?”

For a split second, his eyes widened before his thick brows dipped lower. “I'm not sure what you mean by connection.”

“I saw them turn in the gate earlier, so I'm assuming you know them.”

“I do,” he growled, securing a padlock on the gate. “Their step-mother sends them here once a month to collect the lease payment from us.”

“So, you're saying that you're not well-acquainted with them?”

“That's what I'm saying. And that's fine by me. I'm not interested in associating with those punks any more than I have to.”

When his cell phone rang, he whipped it to his ear and listened intently. He nodded curtly in my direction, swiveled around and strode to his truck. As I watched him head towards the distant dust cloud, I could not shake my escalating unease. If I hadn't overheard the exchange between him and the Hinkle brothers at the Cleator bar, I wouldn't have known that Jack Loomis was lying through his teeth. But why? What reason would he have to lie about his relationship with the Hinkle twins?

Intrigued, I slid into my Jeep and continued to mull over the day's vexing events. Even if I took into consideration everything I'd learned to date, it still netted me nothing more than a series of unconnected tidbits of information that brought me no closer to my goal. I wondered if it was even worth my time and effort to make yet another trip to interview Harvel Brickhouse. He sounded like an interesting character, but could he shed any new light on this perplexing case? At this point, it seemed doubtful.

All during the drive along the dusty Bumble Bee Road, I chastised myself for failing to come up with anything substantial to report to Marcelene and Ginger. Acutely aware of their high expectations, they were bound to be disappointed. Yes, I had my share of shortcomings, but being a quitter wasn't among them. Lord knows, I'd followed up on every possibility, interviewed a bunch of quirky people and yet, even considering all the baffling circumstances, Marshall appeared to be right. There was nothing to indicate anything at play other than accidental death. As strange as it sounded, I could understand how it might be easier for them to believe that foul play was a factor rather than having to accept the fact that the young couple had simply made a stupid, fatal mistake.

As I sped westward towards Castle Valley filled with mixed emotions, I was treated to a spectacular sunset. Awestruck, I watched fiery shafts of scarlet and tangerine shoot skyward from the horizon, illuminating the mound of creampuff clouds, slowly transforming them into a kaleidoscope of iridescent pink, blue and gold. Even though my investigation appeared to be at a dead end, the fact that my family and Tally would be back tomorrow night buoyed my flagging spirits. And best of all, our engagement party was now only four days away.

CHAPTER

26

Anxious to get a jump on the day, I pulled into the office parking lot as the first golden rays of sunlight spilled over the rugged peaks. Instilled with restless energy, I walked inside only to discover there was no electricity. “Are you kidding me?” I shouted, slamming my purse on the desk. “I don't have time for this!” After the usual, exasperating journey through the automated voice prompts, my call to the power company netted me ten minutes on hold listening to the worst music I'd ever heard in my life. When a live person finally came on the line, I was informed that the power would probably be out for several more hours. I hung up and yelled to no one. “Well, that's just great!” The office phones didn't work, we had no heat and I couldn't even brew a pot of coffee. After a few minutes of useless fuming, I decided that it was actually a good thing that I was here instead of Tugg. He didn't need this kind of aggravation.

Needless to say, news of the power outage threw my co-workers into a tizzy as we struggled to figure out how to do business and make our deadlines. Being shy three employees placed a painful strain on our skeleton staff, creating friction and frayed tempers.

With no working computers, Jim typed laboriously on his cell phone trying to put the gymnasium fire story to bed while Al and I dealt with a host of other issues including impatient advertisers crowding into the lobby. Boy, did I ever miss Ginger and Walter. Four hours later, collective shouts of relief echoed through the offices when the lights and computers blinked on. The outage turned out to be a story in itself, having been caused by a hot air balloon getting snagged in a power line west of town. So, we were down to a staff of two after I sent Jim to cover the story. By four o'clock, Al and I finally got a handle on everything and my tension headache began to subside. I pulled out my notebook and checked the remaining items on my list. What I'd really wanted to do all day was tie up the loose ends of my investigation before having to face what I suspected would be a long list of questions by Marcelene at the potluck tonight. I asked Al to cover the phones and dialed the number for Nathan Taylor's father. As I waited for him to answer, I circled the reminder to contact Cal Moreland at the bar in Crown King.

“Hullo?”

“Am I speaking to Stuart Taylor?”

“Yeah. Who's this?”

I told him who I was and the reason for my call. A few seconds of silence followed before his wary, “I don't know what I can tell ya that will change anything. My boy is gone and that's that.”

“I'm looking to get a little basic information on you and your late son for my article.” Of course, I wanted a lot more than that, but sensed I needed to proceed slowly.

“I don't want my personal business spread all over the Internet.”

“If there's anything you'd like me to keep off the record, I'm happy to do that.” He seemed reluctant to talk at first, but I managed to drag out of him that he'd lived in Cottonwood most of his life before moving to Surprise five years earlier and that he owned a small plumbing company. “I understand Nathan had a passion for sports,” I said, hoping to segue into the topic I really wanted to discuss.

“Oh yeah. From the time he was a little guy. He loved basketball, soccer, hiking, everything. Got a baseball scholarship to college, but he dropped out after only a year when he got interested in this extreme sports craze. I thought it was just plain nuts. I warned him to stop it before he got himself killed. But, he wouldn't listen. The more dangerous it was the better he liked it. I don't understand what got into him…” he paused, then sounding grim, he tacked on, “well maybe I do. Maybe he needed the adrenalin lift to get through the day.”

I could certainly identify with that. He'd provided the opening I was hoping for so I pressed ahead. “I understand from speaking with Jenessa Wooten's mother that he seemed depressed over your recent separation?”

“He was depressed before Brice and I split up,” he grumbled. “She made both of our lives a living hell, what with her drug use and whoring around. You'd think she'd at least've had the decency to try and clean up her act for Nate's sake but no! It got worse and worse. We finally had to arrange an intervention and got her into rehab.”

“And how did that work out?”

“Things were okay for awhile, but she didn't have no will power. Turns out she couldn't stay away from the drugs and went right back to her old habits after a couple of months.” His words hit disturbingly close to home and made me uncomfortable. “She'd disappear for days at a time,” he continued, his tone turning bitter, “and come home looking like shit! After a while, she was nuthin' but a stranger to me. But Nate, he'd always forgive her. He was real protective. The counselor called it something but I can't think of the word.”

“Enabling?”

“Yeah. That's it. He enabled her bad behavior and she was real conniving to get what she wanted.”

He paused and I could hear his uneven breathing. “Next thing I know she'd run off to Seattle with some dude, some meth head probably ten years younger'n her.”

“The sheriff told me they've been unable to locate her whereabouts. Do you have any idea where she could be?”

“Last I heard she was someplace up in Alaska. She…she don't even know Nate's dead! Can you believe that? Probably passed out in some crack house right now. What kind of a woman would do that? She ain't even close to the person I married.” His voice faltered with emotion. “That person is gone. Gone forever.” He tried to disguise the quaver in his voice with a manly throat clearing.

Judging by his distressed tone, it was pretty obvious that the poor guy had a lot to get off his chest. “I'm very sorry about your son's death.”

A hesitation followed by a gruff, “Thanks.”

“Mr. Taylor, when you loaned your son the camper, did he tell you where he was going?”

“He was kinda vague. Just that he was headin' up into the Bradshaws with his new girl for a couple of weeks of camping and hiking.”

“Did you ever meet Jenessa Wooten?”

“Naw. Sorry to say I didn't. I seen her picture. He was real sweet on her and said he was gonna bring her to meet me but… that ain't never gonna happen…” his voice trailed off.

“Mr. Taylor, do you know if Nathan ever experimented with any sort of…mood enhancers?”

A heavy silence. “Are you asking me if he was doing drugs?”

“Yes.”

A protracted sigh in my ear. “Brice was an awful influence on the kid. Got him started smokin' pot with her when he was fourteen. Who knows if she got him to try anything else? After she bailed on us, him and me had some knock-down, drag-out fights about it. I told him he oughta stop or he'd end up just like her.”

“What was his state of mind when she left?”

“Pretty bummed out. He quit school. Quit his job. Moped around for awhile doin' nuthin'. Then one of his buddies got him into ridin' his mountain bike along the edge of a cliff and other risky stunts like cave jumping down in Mexico and the Bahamas.”

I wondered if Nathan had posted videos of himself online. I'd have to check that out. “Sounds like an expensive hobby. If he wasn't working, where did he get the money for something like that?”

His sharp laugh had a caustic edge to it. “He didn't get it from me, that's for sure. His grandma left him a little money and he started spending it like water.” Then he quickly added the caveat, “Don't get me wrong. I loved my son a whole lot. He was a good kid, but we wasn't too close after he started acting real squirrelly.”

Real squirrelly? Did that mean he
was
on drugs? My instincts were probably correct. Most likely he was doing steroids and possibly other mood-enhancing drugs like Mollys to help boost his spirits after his mother walked out. That most likely explained the pills found in Jenessa's pocket. I heard another phone ringing in the background and he said hastily, “Hold on.” He was gone for a few minutes and then came back on the line. “Sorry about that. I gotta go unplug a toilet. Anything else?”

“Do you know if Nathan had his cell phone with him?”

“He never went no place without it.”

“Did you have any communication from him after he left?” I asked.

“Well, let's see. He did call me once about the BLM giving him grief about a sticker on my ATV bein' expired. I told him I'd take care of it when he got back, but he said they was just gonna rent one up in Crown King.”

“Did the sheriff tell you they were unable to find his cell phone, or hers for that matter?”

Total silence while he absorbed my news. “No. Something 'bout that don't sound right to me.”

“Jenessa's mother didn't think so either. That's why I'm following up. There are quite a few unanswered questions.”

Another very, very long silence. “What are you sayin'? You think them two kids dying out there in the snow wasn't no accident?” His voice rang with incredulity.

“I have no proof that it wasn't, but I'm not discounting anything until I've completed my investigation.”

“Are you some kind of a detective?”

“In a manner of speaking. I always tell people that investigative reporters are simply underpaid detectives. Are you aware that two other people died in that general vicinity within the past year?”

“Mmmmm…I don't think so.”

“I talked to the BLM ranger for that region yesterday and also a Forest Service ranger. Both of them had encountered Nathan several times in the past few months. Do you know why he was attracted to that particular area?”

“Because it's dang purty country, that's why. And we had us some really fun times out there over the years deer hunting, fishing, camping and the like.”

“Did he ever talk about meeting anyone specific on any of his recent trips?”

“Um…I don't think so.”

“Do the names Luke Campbell or Benjamin Halstead mean anything to you?”

“Nope, but since you're lookin' into it, I'm here to tell you that this whole thing don't make a lick o' sense to me. It wasn't like Nate was some green city kid. He was pretty savvy when it come to the outdoors.”

“Mr. Taylor, are we speaking on your cell phone?” I inquired, eyeing the time on the wall clock.

“Yep.”

“You have my number on your phone now. If you remember anything else that might be relevant, will you please call me?”

“I'll do that.”

I thanked him and tapped the END button, feeling both perplexed and vaguely dissatisfied. How interesting that he was having the same misgivings as Marcelene. And Ginger. And me. I fanned through my notebook. It seemed as though I was amassing a mountain of unconnected minutiae that took me nowhere. I tabbed to the Internet and looked up the number for the saloon in Crown King. Following six rings, a woman answered crisply, “Crown King Saloon.”

“Is Cal Moreland available?”

“Hang on.” I heard her drop the receiver and amid background noise consisting of loud country music intermingled with animated conversation, she screeched, “Cal, you got a phone call!”

A minute later, a pleasant male voice came on the line. “This is Cal.”

I went through the same drill, introducing myself and explaining the nature of my inquiry regarding the last evening of Benjamin Halstead's life.

“
Castle Valley Sun?
Well, there's not a whole lot more to say that I didn't already tell the sheriff's deputies. Ben came in here occasionally for lunch or after work and would have a drink and maybe play a couple games of pool. Sometimes he'd just sit and talk with other customers and watch TV. If we had live music, once in a while he'd get out and hoof it with some of the girls.”

“I'm interested in the last time you saw him. Did anything out of the ordinary happen? What time of day did he come in? How long did he stay? Did he talk to you or anyone else? What was the weather like…?”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Slow down! Too many questions in a row. One at a time, please.”

“Sorry. Okay, let's start with the last day you saw him.”

“Mmmmm, That's been a while ago now, but I'm thinking he came in around four, four-thirty.”

“And the weather?”

“I remember it was pretty cold. We'd had some rain and a little snow, but nothing serious.”

“Do you live in Crown King?”

“Yep.”

“So you don't know the condition of the road that day?”

“Not really. But the place was pretty busy, so I'm guessing people weren't having any particular problem negotiating it. Depending on the weather, it can be treacherous, and believe me, there are times you wouldn't want to be driving on it.”

“So I've heard. What did Benjamin do when he came in that evening?”

“The usual. He ordered a drink, talked a little about this and that, had a conversation with a couple of guys at the bar and then he spent the rest of the time playing pool.”

“What did he normally order?”

“Sodas mostly. Once in a while he'd have a beer. Nothing stronger.”

“Did he say anything that stands out in your mind?”

“Let me think…” Following a few seconds of silence he said, “I remember he was starting to tell me about something he'd seen on one of his hikes, but I got interrupted and…of course I never did find out what it was.”

As if to validate his statement, I heard someone shout, “Hey! Any chance I can get a beer down here! I'm dyin' of thirst!”

“Hang on, Roscoe. I'll be right with you,” came Cal's rejoinder.

Well, this conversation wasn't netting me anything helpful. “Was he sober when he left? According to the sheriff's report, several witnesses stated that he appeared to be weaving a little like he was drunk.”