Jump City: Apprentice Page 18

  “Last she knew, he was living on some ranch in Texas.”

  “I see… And what of young Desmond’s early life?”

  “Well, I’m going to spend the rest of the day checking archives.” Franny paused. “They shut down the old school and built a new one, so nobody’s quite sure where the records are stored now— but probably right here in town.”

  “We may have everything we need already,” Fynn said.

  “Well, there’s just one thing left that really, really bugs me,” Franny replied.

  “Don’t stress it, you did fantastic.”

  “Thanks, Patrick, but still, try as I may, try as I might, I can’t figure out who the guy in the picture is… He’s not even listed in the Fire and Rescue archives, and those guys keep good records. Nothing from any hospital either. And I checked every single newspaper… Nada… it’s driving me crazy.”

  “What about the original police report?”

  “Jamal is making promises…”

  “Do I feel my ears burning, or what?” Captain Morris walked up to our table with a wide grin. “Well now, if Franny’s already here, you know everything I know. Not much point in me saying anything.”

  This made Fynn laugh. He rose and greeted Jamal. “Breakfast, my friend?”

  “The French toast looks good. Think I’ll have that.”

  “So you have spoken with Frances already?” Fynn said as Morris sat.

  “That I have.” Jamal winked at her.

  “And you really have nothing to add?”

  It was Jamal’s turn to laugh. “Maybe that’s a slight exaggeration…” He poured a cup of coffee.

  “Well, Frances is still vexed by one question, as we all are: Who is the mysterious hero from all those years ago?”

  “That guy is a ghost. I checked everywhere.”

  Franny rose abruptly and gathered her things. “Well, I’m out of here,” she announced.

  “Must you leave so soon?”

  “More stuff to do,” Franny said and shouldered her backpack.

  Fynn rose as well and gave her a hug. “Thank you for everything, Frances, and please be careful.”

  “Careful?” she asked.

  “I am not meaning your research efforts. There is a small possibility of danger,” Fynn said and glanced at Morris.

  “He’s right. So long as there’s still a killer on the loose— you know what I’m saying?”

  She nodded. “Okay— well, see you guys tonight for dinner.”

  Once Franny had departed, Morris continued: “So… where was I? Oh yeah, Ted Wheeler’s alibi is confirmed. At the time of his brother’s disappearance he was in the hospital with an appendicitis.” Jamal sat back in his chair. “Kind of strange… a case where alibis are almost meaningless— and here he is with the perfect one.”

  “Justice is no stranger to irony.”

  “I suppose you’re right about that.” Jamal took a sip of coffee. “Just to satisfy my own sense of order, mind if we run through these one by one?”

  “By all means.”

  “Okay… Victim one: Mr El Dorado— he’ll probably never be positively identified unless Clyde Lambert went to the dentist. But I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s him in the backseat of that car.”

  “Franny said he was alive until the early eighties.”

  “Yeah, I read that report,” Jamal turned to me. “Somebody was picking up a welfare check… still, can’t be sure it was Lambert senior.”

  “I agree,” Fynn said. “We cannot make this assumption.”

  “Okay,” Jamal went on, “Victim two: Joseph Hannah. What’s the connection there?”

  “Young Desmond Lambert was his student; and little Jeff Wheeler as well. Perhaps there was some injury here which demanded retribution.”

  “What kind of injury?”

  “Something quite serious, I might say, though I have no guess off hand.”

  “Right… moving on then. Victim three: little Jeff Wheeler, now classmate to Desmond… You’re saying he was Lambert’s best friend when they were little kids.”

  “Such seems to be the case, yet friend may not be the right word.”

  “What then?”

  “I have heard the boy was something of a bully growing up.”

  “More grievous harm?” Jamal asked doubtfully. “Doesn’t sound like motive for murder, Tractus.” He raised an eyebrow. “Victim four: Mrs Lambert, aka Cassandra Nelson… think we got her down— you know what I’m saying?” Morris turned to me. “Thanks to Patrick here, we ran the tag from the photo— MZ twelve-twelve— it’s been confirmed as her Toyota Corolla.”

  “Yes, this is why it smacks of ritual.”

  “Ritual?”

  “It seems to me, the same car accident is being repeated over and over.”

  “A psycho?” Jamal suggested.

  “It may be this.”

  “Lambert, you’re saying?” I asked either man. “One or both of them?”

  “Someone acting on the younger Mr Lambert’s behalf,” Fynn replied.

  “That’s a strange thing to say.”

  “I suppose,” the inspector said vaguely and turned to Jamal. “What about the prom girl?”

  “Yeah, well, given the odometer date, we tracked her down.” Morris reached into his jacket and produced a photo of a pretty Asian girl surrounded by some drunken friends. “Her name was Rumiko Numamura, age twenty, university exchange student from Osaka, Japan. We’ve got her at the prom in nineteen ninety… but… it seems she may have come back for some sort of reunion one year later.”

  “That’s a different dress,” I said.

  “Very observant and you are correct. She also drove a Ford Taurus, only not the one we found at the bottom of the reservoir.”

  “What does this mean?”

  “She had leased a similar Taurus, but it was the one from Wheeler’s lot that we found. I think the whole thing was staged, the dress, the car… like some weird prom night re-creation.”

  “And Desmond Lambert’s connection to this girl?”

  “They went to college together, both undergrads, class of nineteen-ninety. We’ve got them sharing a few lectures at least.”

  “Why was she not reported missing?” Fynn asked.

  “Seems she was estranged from her parents in Japan, and it took about a year before they finally filed a MP report.”

  “Excellent work, Jamal.”

  “Not me, a team effort.” Morris smiled. “Okay then, victim six: Kimberly Groom, aka Nelson… She has been positively ID’ed as well— confirmed by a dentist in Arizona… and thanks to Franny, we know she was Desmond Lambert’s foster sister…” Jamal paused to sip his coffee. “And, last and least, we got this Lambert as the boyfriend to Jolene Hendricks, victim number seven.”

  “Well, we are very close to solving this now.”

  “I hope so… Let’s just say I’d love to see it all wrapped up before the Chief retires.”

  “When is that?” I asked.

  “Same day as the Frozen Dead Guy Festival, March eighth.”

  “Is that just a coincidence?”

  “Funny, Jardel.”

  “I’m confused,” Fynn said.

  Jamal laughed. “It’s a local holiday around here. Some crazy guy, Bredo Morstel was cryogenically frozen... and for some strange reason that’s a cause for celebration in Nederland.”

  “Quite extraordinary.”

  “You are not printing any of this, okay?” Morris turned to me again. “It’s just some informal speculation.”

  “Right.”

  Jamal faced Fynn. “Can’t figure this guy, Desmond Lambert… Everything leads back to him, but I don’t see him driving the first cars out onto the ice as a little kid.”

  “Nor do I.”

  “And he’s long gone before the last three victims. What, did he come back for them?”

  “It seems to me he is not the killer. Our question must be: who is he connected to? We are left with four suspects: Mr Lam
bert senior, Douglas Drummond, Kaiser Wayne, or someone entirely unknown to us, though this last possibility is remote.”

  “I don’t like the sound of that—” Jamal said, then interrupted himself. “Wait a second— Kaiser Wayne?”

  “Yes, I suggest we thoroughly investigate this man, Mr Wayne.”

  “Are you kidding?” Jamal asked.

  “No.”

  “He’s a highly respected member of the community. There’s no way he had anything to do with this.”

  “Nonetheless, he is the correct age and lives in proximity to the crime scene.” Fynn paused. “At the very least, Jamal, you should check his telephone records.”

  “I can’t do that, Fynn. It’s not like this guy is even in the frame.”

  “I believe you might find it interesting.” Fynn paused. “And have you found anything on Mr Drummond?”

  “I did some digging like you asked,” Jamal replied. “Got nothing. He’s not connected in any way.”

  “Or he is very careful,” Fynn said.

  “Well, that’s about it,” Jamal concluded. “Right now, I have a couple of Rangers sitting outside a ranch in Uvalde, Texas waiting for Desmond to make an appearance. I’ll call you, if and when he does…”

  “And his father, Clyde?” I asked.

  “Somehow I doubt he’s going to show up anytime soon…”

  ***

  That afternoon, I finally got hold of Andy who had seemingly disappeared. His cell had been on perpetual voicemail for the last two days.

  “When did Drummond first start working at the Broadsheet?” I asked when the line rang through.

  “The dawn of time.”

  “No, seriously.”

  “Mid-sixties maybe? I’m not sure…”

  “It’s important.”

  “Okay, I can find out.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What’s this all about, Patrick?”

  “I’m not supposed to say anything.”

  “I’m hearing that a lot lately from you… thing is, I’m starting to feel shut out. Cindy too. Don’t forget, you work for Kaiser, not the police department.”

  “Kaiser?” I asked too quickly. “Why, what’s he been saying?”

  “Well, I heard about the incident in the morgue, if that’s what you mean?”

  “Oh…”

  “Wait a second, you’re not saying he’s involved in any of this?”

  “No,” I replied quickly but paused. “Let me ask you, Andrew… is Kaiser a Mr Fix-it kind of guy?”

  “Wayne?”

  “With cars and stuff.”

  “Nah, can’t even find the gas cap.”

  “How about Drummond?”

  “Hmm… he’s another story.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, he knows his cars from what I can tell.”

  “Listen, I have a meeting tonight, and I think the whole case is going to be solved after that.”

  “Tonight? With who? Oh, don’t tell me— you’re not allowed to say… Hang on, you don’t mean pizza-girl?”

  “I promise, tomorrow morning, you, me and Cindy can sit down at breakfast and we’ll write the whole thing up together… a triple byline.”

  “A triple-byline, eh? That might be a first.”

  ***

  Jamal Morris called in the late afternoon with a small bit of news. Fynn put it on the hotel speaker phone:

  “Okay, you have every right to be a told-you-so. Did some checking on Kaiser Wayne, like you asked. He has been calling this ranch in Texas after all, and apparently he’s had some business dealings with Jolene Hendricks and the real estate company she worked for… Double Digit Enterprises… It looks to be about some investment properties.”

  Fynn considered the new information without saying a word. He leaned back in bed.

  “So what now? How do we nail him?” Jamal’s voice asked through the tiny speaker.

  That was the question. While there was some circumstantial evidence, there was no way a conviction would stand. Inspector Fynn promised a solution by the next morning, and apparently to Jamal’s satisfaction, though to me, this was an impossible task, short of a confession.

  “I don’t suppose you could jump back in time and witness one of these crimes?” I asked. “That would clear things up in a hurry.”

  “But such is impossible, Patrick. As I’ve said, jumping at this altitude is extremely dangerous… No, our only hope is to find Desmond Lambert. I am convinced he is the person who will explain everything.”

  ***

  In the evening, Fynn decided on a walk to clear his head. It was too cold for me and too dark. I stayed behind in the room, promising to look over the ten-year-old Desmond Lambert’s diaries. I may well have fallen asleep for a few hours. It was tough going in the beginning until I came across pages and pages about some imaginary friend, Tex.

  Fynn returned shortly after this.

  “How was your walk?”

  “Bracing,” he replied and started to take off his hat and coat. “Has Frances called yet? It’s getting rather late.”

  “No.”

  “Well, I have an appetite now. Perhaps we should order room service?”

  “Sounds good to me…” I sat up. “Looked over the diary. Little Desmond had an imaginary friend for years and years. Listen to this: I asked my friend Tex if he could shave his beard. He asked why. I told him it was scary. He said razors are hard to find when you’re a cowboy. I didn’t like his answer. The next time I saw him, he had no beard…”

  “Most intriguing.”

  I was about to reply when my phone rang. It was Andy.

  “Patrick…” he got on the line and started talking before I could get a word in edgewise, “Cindy and I are rolling into Nederland right now. Thought we could meet up. The bar at the Black Forest is still open.”

  “Okay, maybe half an hour? Um— can I call you right back?” I managed to say.

  “Sure… Well, just so you know, Drummond started at the Broadsheet in nineteen seventy-three... first byline, February of that year.”

  “Something new?” Fynn asked.

  “It was Andy. Seems Douglas Drummond started working at the paper at the same time the first car went to the bottom of the lake.”

  “And?”

  “Kaiser told me he wasn’t there. Why would he lie about that?”

  “Perhaps his memory is just faulty.”

  “It’s pretty clear either Drummond or Kaiser Wayne is our killer.”

  “Yes, there is some evidence against both men. What we lack is their specific connection to Mr Lambert.”

  “Maybe there’s no connection?”

  “I rather doubt it,” Fynn replied then hesitated. “Indeed there may be a partnership between these two men. I recall you saying they were good friends.”

  “Well, that’s what Andy told me.” I paused to consider. “Wait a second… what if they are the same guy?”

  “How do you mean?” Fynn turned and asked.

  “The beard, the sunglasses… a disguise…” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them in the same room together.”

  “Is this possible, Patrick?”

  “I don’t know, not for sure.”

  “The same man…” Fynn muttered and started thinking. “Surely, someone has seen them together?”

  “I could call Andy again. He’d know.”

  “I think you should.”

  “Wait. What if we set a trap?” I asked.

  “I don’t like the sound of that… but I suppose you are meaning to lure him in?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Fishing notwithstanding, it’s a terrible idea.”

  “Wait, hear me out. I could call Kaiser and Drummond and tell them to meet us. I could say that Franny found out something big. Then, we see who shows up— if they are different people.”

  “This is an awful idea, Patrick. I do not wish to solve this crime by resorting to such trickery.” Fynn made a sour face
. “Besides, it would put Franny at great risk… and knowing her as I do, she would likely jump at such an opportunity.”

  The words were no sooner out of Fynn’s mouth when my phone rang again. The caller ID said Backcountry Pizza. It was Franny though:

  “Oh hey, it’s me. I think I just did something really dumb.”

  “You want to talk to Fynn?”

  “If I could…”

  I listened intently but could only hear Fynn’s reply: “You have put yourself in grave danger, my dear.” There was a pause and his face went white. “We are just across the way and will be there in an instant.”

  “What did she do?” I asked as Fynn grabbed his heavy coat.

  “Frances called both Mr Drummond and Kaiser Wayne and told them she knows the identity of the mystery hero.”

  “Does she?”

  “No, and now I fear she’s in some trouble. We must hurry.”

  “Who is the killer then?”

  “It’s Drummond,” Fynn said. “He’s our killer.”

  “Why?”

  “It’s simple. As you told me, Kaiser Wayne does not have the ability to change odometers— he knows little about car repairs. It cannot be him, so we are left with only Drummond.”

  Fynn and I ran across the street and through the parking lot to Backcountry Pizza. It was a cold night and snow was still falling. The place was closed. We banged on the door until a guy with a broom finally appeared. Fynn pushed his deputy badge against the glass and finally gained admittance.

  “A girl with blue hair— was she here?”

  “Just left at closing… some guy picked her up.”

  “What guy?”

  “Some old guy with a beard.”

  “Where did they go?”

  “The other door.”

  I raced back to get my Saab and picked up Fynn on Congers Street. To our left we could see a fresh tire track in the snow. It led up the hill, up Big Springs Drive into the canyons just south of the reservoir. We followed and after about a quarter of a mile turned into a steep driveway. A sign read: 16 Hill Drive. “That’s where the NedCam is, that’s Kaiser’s house.”

  “Perhaps, I have made a dreadful mistake in concluding Mr Drummond is guilty.”

  The snowy path led down to a house. Lights were on, the garage doors were up and I could see many more vehicles inside. Still in the driveway was an SUV with the engine running and the doors both wide open. Two men ran quickly into the shadows when they saw us coming. There was also a body slumped face down near the SUV, like he had just spilled out the door. I got out and ran to him. He was alive when I turned him over. It was Kaiser Wayne. He was barely conscious and I was about to reach down and pull off his beard.