Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

Before we left the jail we had talked to half a dozen of the jail staff and a couple of trusties and left contact numbers with several, including Lieutenant Sitzman. None of it was very helpful. Most said Vinnie was a good guy when he wasn't high or drunk, which was his usual state when he came to the jail. One jailer said the last time he was arrested, he had bruises all over his body and two black eyes. Vinnie hadn't told the jailer what happened and the jailer didn't ask.

I was interested in Vinnie's bruises. The note said, "You promised." Maybe Vinnie needed money and was running from a debt collector. The kind that talks with a baseball bat. Lieutenant Sitzman said he could have the medical officer call me when he came to work. With all the right of privacy issues though, he wasn't sure the medical officer would be able to tell us much.

The visitors log was no help except to verify that Victoria Marsh had visited during Vinnie's incarceration. She had left a modest amount of money for his commissary account so he could buy snacks or other items. I had the lieutenant look up the amount of money Vinnie carried on the books. It wasn't much, maybe fifty dollars each time Victoria left money, and it was gone as soon as it was available.

I wondered if Vinnie gambled his money away in jail? I'd learned from our own jail that prisoners would gamble on almost everything by using commissary money. If the loser didn't have the money to bet with, he'd been found by the jailers after he'd gotten a good beating.

Rebecca says, "The one trusty, Duke I think his name was, wanted money to talk to us. Can you believe it?"

I can. "I gave him my number. Maybe he'll call."

My phone chirps. I look at the screen and it shows the jail number, so I answer.

"Detective Carpenter?" the caller says.

"Duke?"

"Yes, ma'am."

He's whispering and there is laughing in the background. "I can't talk. Too many guys around. I'm going on an errand for the jail right now. If you can meet me somewhere, I got something you might want."

I can't believe this guy. "I'm not paying you, Duke."

"I don't want money, ma'am. I liked Vinnie. He was a stand-up guy. A little off, but he was a good guy."

He gives me an address, and I turn the car around and head back downtown. The location he gave was maybe ten blocks from the jail. When I get there Duke is standing on the street corner waiting for us. We're in a part of town where you lock your doors and carry a gun. Rebecca is uneasy, but Ronnie has been in worse places. I pull past a car with two flat tires and park. One side of the street is WWII shotgun-style houses; the other side is mostly boarded-up flat-roofed and wood-sided little shops. On the corner where Duke is waiting is a Mom & Pop store that seems to be the only place still in business. Urban renewal has forgotten this street.

Ronnie and I meet Duke at the back of the car. Rebecca stays put.

"Detective Marsh. Detective Carpenter," he says, and his smile looks like he's never been introduced to a toothbrush. Duke is early twenties, white, skinny, with greasy brown hair pulled under a red bandana the same color as his rampant case of acne. His arms, face, and neck are covered with tattoos. In other words, the dictionary definition of a scum bag. While we were at the jail, I'd wondered if all these guys were related. Since Duke's a trusty he's in street clothes and not the orange jumpsuit that has JAIL printed on back and front. In this case, faded and tattered jeans, black Hard Rock Café T-shirt, and bone-white Reeboks. Despite his looks he speaks intelligently and politely.

"It was wrong of me to ask for money. I want you to know I'm not like that. I only said that so no one would think I was snitching. And I couldn't tell you anything on the phone. Too many ears. If they knew I talked to you, I'd get hurt. I can take care of myself, but it's never one-on-one."

"I understand, Duke." I don't care. "You have something to tell me?"

"I'm probably the only friend Vinnie has."

I look at the car and Rebecca is giving us an expectant look. She wants to go but we're not done here.

"I'm sure you have to get back. What have you got for us?" He seems a little put-out by my tone of voice but if he doesn't stop wasting my time I'm going to be put out.

"I know where Vinnie is staying."

"We have the address, Duke."

He shakes his head. "The address he gives the police is always wrong. They never check. They just ask where you're staying and you can tell them anything."

"Does he live in Custer?" We'd been given an address in Custer, a little spot in the road halfway between Blaine and Bellingham.

"No, ma'am."

"Where does he live?" I'm about through with this guy but Duke points across the street to the Mom & Pop store. "He lives there?"

"Yes, ma'am. Upstairs."

The building is two-story. The top floor has windows covered with newspapers. Condemned is too kind of a description.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, ma'am. He has a card game going there from time to time. I played once and didn't go back. Too rich for my blood. Vinnie is lucky. Good enough to take most of the players around these parts. Some guys approached him and offered to front him if he paid them back and gave them half his winnings."

"He didn't pay them anything."

Duke smirks. "No, ma'am. Vinnie is plenty slick. But you don't take money from those guys. Not if you want to walk around on two legs. He's always strapped for money. He wouldn't have been able to eat if his sister didn't give him money."

"His sister?"

"Yeah, I seen her a time or two when she'd visit." He describes Victoria and I can tell Ronnie is convinced.

"Is there an apartment number?"

Duke laughs. "No, ma'am. The front is storage upstairs. His place is in the back. Or at least that's where he crashes. Sometimes at least. He moves around a lot."

"But you think Vinnie is up there right now?"

Duke shrugs. "I just got here. I didn't go up. I don't think he'd like it if I checked on him and then cops show up."

Of course he's right and he's protecting his reputation that he's not a snitch. "Anyone live with him?"

He shakes his head.

"Weapons?"

Duke laughs again. "Vinnie? Not that I ever knew about."

I ask, "Have you talked to Vinnie since he got out, Duke?"

"Maybe a week ago. He was supposed to meet me, but he wasn't around and I had to get back to the jail. He doesn't have a phone. I feel sorry for him, ma'am."

"Why's that, Duke?"

"He's twice my age and he's never grown up. He just keeps digging the hole deeper. I learned my lesson this time. I'm going to Narcotics Anonymous when I get out. I won't be back."

I've heard that before. I take a tenner out of my pocket. "We're here to help Vinnie so I seriously doubt he'd be mad at you. I'll tell him I threatened you with a gun." Which I'm about to do. "So, if I give you ten dollars, will you go and see if he's there? If he is, don't say anything about us. You only get the money if he's home."

"I don't want your money. But I'll take a kiss from one of you girls." He's eyeing Rebecca, who quickly turns her head and stares ahead through the windshield.

I hand him the ten. He chuckles and crosses the street.

I say to Ronnie, "I just saved you and Rebecca from a lifetime of nightmares."

"Thank you, Megan," she says, and nods toward Duke's backside as he walks around the building.

I say, "Let's go over there in case Duke warns him, or if he runs with our money."

We cross the street, and a girl comes along pushing a shopping cart filled with aluminum cans. She's maybe nine years old, dirty-blond hair, dirty clothes, brand-new Nikes. She gives us a defensive look and crosses the street in case we might mug her for the cans. Or the shoes.

Ronnie says, "You've made quite a haul, young lady. What are you going to do with all those?"

She answers, "It's for a science project."

"What kind?" I ask.

She gives me a sarcastic look, says, "I'm going to turn aluminum into money." She then gives us the bird and continues on her way. She's a poster child for celibacy. We should arrest the little brat for stealing a shopping cart.

We locate a side door and stand on each side of it, listening. Wait five minutes and then ten. How long does it take to see if Vinnie's there?

I say, "Duke should be back by now."

"I'm right here." Duke has come up behind us holding three Styrofoam food containers. He pulls his shirt down but not before I see part of a plastic baggy sticking out of his waistband. I smell marijuana. Smoking dope must make him hungry.

"Well?" I ask.

Duke says, "Someone's up there. I didn't see who but I don't think it's Vinnie. Do you want your money back?"

It probably paid for the dope. "Keep it. If anything else comes to mind, call me."

He leaves, but he's not headed in the direction of the jail. Not my problem.

I take out my phone and dial a number. Ronnie's phone rings and she answers with a quizzical expression. I say, "Keep this line open in case I need you. I'm going up."

"I'll go with you. He's my uncle."

"Exactly. You might hesitate if he's armed. You'll be able to hear everything and come if I need you."

"Don't hurt him."

"You'll know when I locate him. I won't hurt him." I will if he makes me.

I go to the back of the building and find a door standing open. The screen door is trashed and lying on the ground. This must be how Duke snuck up on us. I enter. Inside on the left is a door that leads to the market. Straight ahead is a set of rickety wooden stairs with smelly indoor/outdoor carpet nailed to it. I smell marijuana and something else. Like dirty sweat socks mixed with Lysol and bleach. I hope I'm not walking into a meth lab. As I reach the top of the stairs, I draw my gun. The smell starts to burn my eyes and I almost turn around to go down. Drugs are not my thing. But I hear someone moving around and I whisper into my phone, "Someone's up here."

There's a hallway that runs left and right, with three doors along its length. I pick the door straight ahead and think, What do we have for our guest behind door number one, Johnny? If whoever is in there is armed, I have some lead bullets for them.

I put the phone in my pocket so my hand is free and push the door open. I brace my feet, push my gun in front of me and prepare to force the door open. My breath catches as a man steps out of the room right in front of me, holding a gun of his own. I ease up on the trigger recognizing the black suit and slicked back hair.

"What are you doing here?" Sergeant Lucas asks, and looks at my gun. We both lower and holster our weapons, and I notice Lucas is wearing latex gloves. "Well?" he asks.

"Same as you. We came to find Vinnie."

Ronnie comes up the stairs holding a Kleenex over her nose.

Lucas looks around. "As you can see he's not here. It doesn't look like anyone has been here for some time. Did you check the address in Custer that you were given?"

First of all, how does he know we were given the Custer address? Secondly, how did he get this address? It wasn't on any of the records we were shown. As I suspected, Lucas was holding back. "Not yet. My guess is the Custer address is older than this place."

"Is that how you do things in Jefferson County?"

He thinks I'm sloppy. That's a good thing. "We were on our way there when one of the trusties at the jail called and gave us this address."

"Duke?" He laughs. "Did you pay him?" When I don't answer he laughs again. "He called me too. Just think what the boy could do if he put his mind to work on getting a job."

Rebecca comes onto the landing. "Sergeant Lucas?"

"Miss Marsh, Rebecca. I thought they were taking you home?"

"I couldn't stay in the car. I thought I might be useful."

He goes across the room and opens a window. "Will one of you prop the door down there open. We need to let this air out a moment and then I think there is something you should see."

Rebecca stumps down the stairs, and the breeze created is lifegiving. At least for my eyes and nose. I look around and there is another room looking out over the store front and it looks empty except for some boxes. Lucas leads us into that room where a toilet sits against one wall and flies buzz around it. A plastic table with a broken leg leans against another wall. A cracked plastic chair sits in the middle of the room. A couple of sofa pads lie on the floor with varying lengths of rope on them. No sheets. No blankets. No sofa. Empty containers of Chinese food, paper wrappers from Sonic and half-full Styrofoam cups growing mold litter the floor. The only thing alive besides us are the flies.

Lucas moves the pads away from the wall and reveals several items of used drug paraphernalia. A burnt spoon, hypodermic needles, matches, a tiny mirror complete with razor blade. All in all, the place was cleaner than a homeless camp—but not by much.

There is such a litter of trash it would take hours to go through it all.

"Any mail, paperwork, anything showing Vinnie was here?" I ask.

"Knock yourself out."

He peels off the gloves, and I have to ask, "Where is the ammonia smell coming from?"

He looks down at his expensive Italian shoes and a liquid has splashed on the toes. "I kicked over a bucket. Vinnie must have been cleaning things up. He's smarter than I gave him credit for."

I don't see anything to make me believe Victoria might have been here. Except the rope. I can't imagine her being here of her own free will. Of course, I couldn't imagine her visiting her brother in jail. Or supporting him financially and hiding it from her husband. Ronnie and Rebecca don't really know their mom. It reminds me of my own mother. Two-faced. Four-faced. She can be whatever she needs to be at any moment in time. The only thing constant about her is she's always a lying bitch.

Lucas says to Ronnie, "If your mother was here, she's gone now. The rope makes me wonder but with this mess who can tell what was going on. Maybe some kind of kinky sex. I'll go check the address in Custer, and I suggest you take Miss Marsh home. She needs to be near the phone."

Does he know about the threatening call? Maybe he's just suggesting her mom might call, or the kidnappers. He is right. But I don't trust him to go to Custer alone. "How about I ride with you and Ronnie can take Rebecca home."

He raises a thick eyebrow.

"I think we need to talk."