SAFELY BURIED Chapter 35: The Scoop

What about Frank and Doug Brandon? They were getting away. Where would they go? The Judge’s house maybe. They had come from the direction of Hampstead, but if they went back that way, they could make a turn at Hampstead and take the short way to Campbellsville. No, Frank would run to the Judge. I felt an irrepressible urge to get there as fast as possible. You must be nuts, I said to myself. If that’s where they went, you could get your head blown off. But I needed to strike while the iron was hot. I wanted to get the Judge’s reaction to Ralph’s death. I wanted to hear what he’d say about the PCBs and the skeleton in the cave. I wanted to find out how much he knew about all this. I wanted to quote him. If he wouldn’t talk to me, at least I could say I had given him the chance.

What should I do with Paula and Edna Mae? I could take them to the Grapevines’ house, but Jackie Grapevine was a Brandon, and she might not like playing hostess to two women who could help put her brother and nephew in prison. I could put them up in my apartment, but I didn’t want to drive all the way to Campbellsville and then back out to the boonies. And I shouldn’t let them out of my sight. What if they disappeared again? Maybe I should call Sheriff Eggemann and ask him if they could stay at his house for the night, but this too meant a trip to Campbellsville, and Carl would want a statement from me. There wasn’t time for that.

Come on, Larrison, make up your mind. Do something!

“Do you know the old guy across the road?” I said.

“No,” Edna Mae said, “but I seen him snooping around a couple of times.”

“I’m going to ask him to let you stay at his place for a few hours. You’ll be okay there.”

Paula said, “Why? Where are you going?”

“There’s someone I’ve got to see.”

“Who? The cops?”

“No, not yet.”

“How ’bout you take us to the bus station.”

I almost laughed. “You can’t just walk away from this, Paula. Three people were shot to death tonight. We have to talk to the police. But not now.”

“We can stay down in the cave,” she said.

“That’s too dangerous. Those guys might come back. I wouldn’t be surprised if they burned this place down. You don’t want to be in the cave if they do.”

“Phil’s right,” Edna Mae said. “We can’t stay here. I don’t want to stay here. Not with Caroline and Walter’s bodies. Where is Walter anyway?”

“You don’t want to see him, Mom.”

“Come on, we’re wasting time.” I turned off the stove light and ushered them through the pantry. We stepped outside into the cool night air. The clouds were gone, and a thousand stars filled the sky. The scent of corn hung heavy in the air.

As we walked to the barn, I thought they had acquiesced too easily. They probably figured they’d have less trouble getting away from Glenn Neidig than from me—not that they’d ever had much trouble getting away from me. A car came down the road from the direction of Hampstead, and I worried that it might be Frank and Doug, but it never slowed down. Edna Mae pushed the barn door to the side, and Paula and I got in the car, a fairly new Ford Taurus. I wondered if it had belonged to Caroline. I pulled out of the barn and waited for Edna Mae to shut the door. Then she got in the back seat and we drove slowly past the pale-white house.

We crossed the county road, and Glenn’s dogs started howling. The living-room and porch lights came on as if the howls had activated them. When the three of us got out of the car, the cabin door opened and Glenn stuck his head out. “Howdy, folks,” he called. “You lost? What can I do fer ya?”

I said, “It’s Phil Larrison, Glenn. I need some help.”

“Whadaya need?” He stepped outside in jeans, a T-shirt, and socks.

I led Paula and Edna Mae to the foot of the steps and told him who they were. Then I asked if he had heard the shooting across the road a little while ago.

“What shootin’?” he said, taken aback. “No, I never heard a thing. I was fast asleep on the couch with the TV goin’.”

“Three people were shot and killed,” I said. “Two of them were the owners of the house, Walter Boofey and his wife, Caroline.”

Edna Mae interjected, “My brother and sister-in-law.”

The dogs howled even louder when they heard her voice.

“The other one was one of three men who came to kill them,” I explained. “My guess is they’re the same guys who killed the Garths. They took their partner’s body with them, but I’m afraid they’ll be back. Edna Mae and Paula need a safe place to stay for a few hours, just in case they show up again.”

“Well, if that don’t beat all. This used to be a nice quiet little valley. Now it’s like the wild frontier. Sure, they can stay here. I’ll look after ’em for ya.” He came down the steps and shook hands with the women. “The name’s Glenn,” he said. “Let’s git inside before they come back and see us standin’ out here gabbin’.” To me he said, “What about you? Where’re you goin’?”

“Thanks, Glenn,” I said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“He’s going after the murderers,” Paula said.

“I reckon you called the police?” Glenn asked me.

“I will,” I said.

“Yeah . . . okay.” He wagged a hand at Paula and Edna Mae and said, “You can go on inside, ladies.”

As they went in, I whispered to Glenn, “They might try to go back to the house, or ask you to take them somewhere. Try to keep them here. They’re key witnesses.”

He nodded. “I’ll let the dogs outta their pens. I’ll tell your lady friends they’re coydogs and they had better stay indoors if they don’t wanta git eaten alive.”

“I hope that works.”

I hurried to the car and backed onto the road. I saw Paula and Edna Mae watching me from the doorway. I stuck my arm out the window and waved at them over the roof as I took off toward Hampstead.

I passed the spot where I had seen the Brandons park when I was up on the hill. It was a patch of gravel in front of a rusty gate. I couldn’t tell if they had gone toward Brickton or Hampstead. The Taurus felt like a big car to me, loose and bouncy compared with my Civic, which Boofey had allegedly drowned in quicksand. Where the hell was the quicksand anyway? Glenn would know.

When I was about halfway through the gap in the knobs, my BlackBerry began chirping out a list of messages. I punched in Lieutenant Bakery’s number. There was no answer. I began to leave a message in his voice mail, but then he picked up.

“Yeah, Phil, what’s going on?” He sounded scraggly from sleep.

“Three people died tonight in a gunfight in the house where Wayne and Cheryl Garth were killed,” I said. “Two of the bodies are still there—Walter and Caroline Boofey’s. Three guys came after them, and one of them got killed. The other two took his body with them. They’re probably the same guys who killed the Garths. It’s all about blackmail. The Boofeys were trying to blackmail the owners of an old dump where toxic chemicals were improperly disposed of in a cave between—”

“Slow down, Larrison. Where are you?”

I caught my breath. “I’ll talk to you later, Lieutenant. I’m in the middle of something right now.”

“Wait! Don’t hang up!”

“You’re breaking up, Lieutenant.” I turned off the phone.

There, I had made a report to the officer in charge. It wasn’t a very complete report, but it was enough to keep him busy. I didn’t want to tell him where I was going. I didn’t want the cops to show up while I was talking to the Judge. They’d shut me down. And I didn’t want to spend the rest of the night giving a statement to the police. I wanted to write my story. I wanted to get it in today’s Gleaner.

I called my boss. His phone rang four times before he answered, groggily.

“Edward,” I said, “we’ve got to redo the front page.”

He was speechless for a second, stunned, then suddenly alert. “Where the hell have you been?” he blurted out.

“In a cave with toxic chemicals and a skeleton. Listen, Ralph Brandon’s dead. He was shot and killed tonight in a gun battle in the house where the Garths were murdered. The couple that owned the house, Walter and Caroline Boofey, were killed too—for trying to blackmail the Brandons over the chemicals, which are leaking out of their barrels into the ground. Ralph’s son, Doug, shot them both. Frank Brandon was shooting too.”

“Are you shitting me?”

I heard Ed’s wife say, “Who is it?” in a soft, sleepy voice.

“I’ve got the story, Ed. I’ll be in to write it up as soon as I can.”

“Do you know what time it is? The paper came off the press over an hour ago.”

“Don’t put it out, Ed. Take it out of the box out front. We’ve got to get a story in this issue, or everybody else will beat us. Right now, it’s all ours.”

“It’ll cost me thousands.”

“Send me the bill.”

“I’ll do that.” His breath fluttered in my ear. “Okay, I’ll get the press crew back in.”

“You won’t need them for at least a couple hours. There’s something I’ve still got to do. Then I have to write it up.” I paused to build the suspense. Then I said, “Ed, I’ve got it all. I spent the past two or three days—I don’t know how long it was—in a maze of caves under the hill behind the Garth house. I found hundreds of barrels of PCBs in there. And I found the skeleton of a little kid in the cave.”

“Jesus. You’re not gonna write something that’ll get us sued, are you?”

“I hope not, Ed. Hey, by the way, what day is it?”

“He wants to know what day it is,” Edward told his wife. To me he said, “It’s Friday. Get your ass in to the office.”

“Be happy, Ed,” I told him. “You’re gonna love me. You’re gonna want to give me a raise.”