Start with Chapter 1
CHAPTER 21
January 13, 1979
Dean and Guthrie arrived at Zion First Baptist Church thirty minutes before Billy’s funeral was scheduled to begin. The orange brick building’s parking lot was sparsely filled, which was reflected inside the sanctuary. The closed, black glossy casket rested just below the pulpit and choir. A large, ornately framed photo of Billy sat on an easel beside the casket.
From the front pew, Archie stared at the casket, raising his hand to his cheek throughout to wipe away tears. Emily held a crumpled tissue in her hand, holding it up to her nose like a nosegay.
Behind them sat their family. Archie’s younger brother, and Emily’s two sisters. Pastor Rob Manson sat in a chair behind the pulpit, reading his copy of the Bible, bookmarked and dog-eared. He took off his large, gold-framed glasses to rub the bridge of his nose frequently. Charlie McCord and one of his employees sat on the opposite side of the aisle, toward the front. Charlie’s wife, Eleanor, sat beside him.
Behind the family and Charlie sat Corey, Josh, and Alex filling half a pew. Alex wore sunglasses in a failed attempt to hide a black eye. Sarah and her mother and father, Alice and Carlos, sat several pews behind Charlie. A few others sat in the pews, which Dean guessed were former classmates of Billy’s given their apparent age.
Pastor Rob looked at his watch, stepped up to the pulpit, and said, “Thank you for being here today.”
Dean slid out of the pew and through the main doors into the sanctuary, closing them gently, and then exited to the sidewalk. He would let Jeremy observe the grieving families and friends for any clues.
From the car, Dean grabbed the Beacon and lit a cigarette. He looked at the blackened snow. Unrecognizable from what had fallen out of the sky. The whiteness had been drained, leaving only clear frozen crystals coated with the grime of human activity. He shook his head, wondering how humanity always managed to mess up everything it touches. He shook off the thought, debated how much longer he could stand the cold, and crushed out his cigarette on his sole. He looked for a trash can, but, finding none, he stuffed the butt into his coat pocket as he walked back into the entryway. He sat on a chair and flipped through pamphlets, The Christian Science Monitor, and stacks of The Daily Verse. He wondered if Pastor Rob realized the Monitor was a Christian Science founded newspaper or had little to do with religion. Perhaps the “Christian” in the title was sufficient.
When Dean had read enough of those, he pulled out the Beacon. He had seen the top half earlier. “Murder in Zion.” Paige’s name was prominent just above the story, which led with Billy’s senior class photo in black and white and the line, “His body was found by dogs in the woods near along Route 23.” Dog, not dogs, he corrected her mentally. He read the story over the muffled voice of Pastor Rob. The article read very much like the articles about car crashes that took young lives too soon. Slipping into details about the victim’s life. Boring details, but they mattered. They revealed the differences between people. Billy was into baseball but this person was into football. Did they go to college or not? Had they escaped Zion or stayed or, worse, returned? He tossed the paper in the trash.
After three more cigarettes, the organ music came on and the double-doors leading to the foyer where Dean stood opened. Pastor Rob nodded at him and then turned to face the exiting attendees. Guthrie walked up quickly, casually saluted the minister, and said to Dean, “So what’re we doing?”
Dean leaned over and whispered in his ear, “Let’s talk to the Espositos. If you can, talk to Sarah separately, I’ll talk to her parents.”
Guthrie smiled and gave a thumbs up.
Several people Dean did not recognize walked past him. Alex was the first of those he had interviewed. Dean said, “Hey Alex,” as he walked past. Alex looked at him and then back to the doors and the street. He had severe bruises. Several on the face, including some scratches. Dean looked down at the young man’s hands and noticed they were cut up, swollen.
Josh and Corey were not far behind. Charlie walked up to the pastor and patted him on the back. “Good service. Good service.”
Rob nodded and frowned. “Sad day when we have to bury one so young.”
Charlie nodded in agreement. He walked farther into the foyer and noticed Dean and Guthrie. “Gentlemen.”
Dean extended his hand. “Charlie.”
Charlie reached out and shook Dean’s. When Dean gripped it, the body shop owner cringed, realized he had, and smiled. Dean let go of his hand and noticed it was red and swollen around the knuckles.
“What happened?” asked Dean.
“Oh, that.” He held up his hand and looked at it as if it were some tool. “Dropped a wrench on my hand yesterday. Hurt like hell.” He looked back at the pastor. “Sorry.” He used that to escape out into the street.
Dean rubbed his chin. Josh’s caginess and Zorn’s statements suggested Alex was up to something beyond his usual rowdiness. Charlie had been labeled as a good boss and a bad boss, and Alex had implied Charlie’s house was too nice for his salary, which—after seeing it—Dean was inclined to agree.
Sarah walked past Dean and brought him back to the moment. He extended his hand out to the dark-skinned man with a full head of dark hair and large sideburns. “Carlos Esposito?”
Carlos extended his hand. “Yes.”
Dean lowered his voice. “Detective Dean Wallace. I’d like to talk to you a bit. Not here of course, but now.”
Carlos nodded. Alice, a tall woman who stood several inches taller than Dean, and had long, brown hair wrapped into a ponytail, stepped from beside her husband to in front of him. “What’s this about?”
Guthrie touched her shoulder. “Not here. Let’s go to the tea room? After the cemetery service?”
Alice looked at him and nodded once. The Espositos walked out, and Dean and Guthrie followed. Too cold to walk the four blocks from the church to the Hardy Tea Room and Bookstore, the detectives got into their car and watched the Espositos get in theirs. A few minutes later, the parade of cars followed the hearse to the cemetery. When the last car had left, Dean turned on his car and drove to the tea room.
The Hardy Tea Room was founded a few years prior by Missy Hardy, a widow whose husband had made a fortune making fertilizer in the AgGroPro factory in Jasper, a town forty-five minutes southeast. When he collapsed at the grocery store one day, victim of a massive heart attack, he had left her that fortune, which she had used to open the tea room because she wanted to bring what she and him had loved about their travels to Europe to Zion. The place was deserted most of the time. She kept its doors open despite the financial losses. She refused to let go of the dream and memory of her husband. Dean wondered why she did not just move to Europe.
Guthrie liked the place because it was not a bar and because it was empty most of the time, making it a good place to have a conversation. He interviewed witnesses and suspects if he could there. His wife was some distant relation to Missy. They sat and waited beneath the high-ceilinged parlor with small tables covered by rose-motif tablecloths, and each decorated with a small crystal vase with a single flower, Missy looked up and smiled.
When the Espositos entered, Guthrie diverted Sarah to a table with him, while Dean led Carlos and Alice to a table along the windowless wall butting up next to the Ace Hardware Store where a long bench served for seating. Carlos and Alice sat in the bench and Dean in the chair across from them.
Missy walked over with a tea box and explained the specials of the day. She took their orders—coffee for all—and left to prepare them. Dean said, “Thanks for meeting with me. I just had a few questions for you that will help in our investigation into who killed Billy.”
“I’m not sure how we can help,” said Alice. “We barely knew the boy.”
“But you knew him?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Sometimes, those who knew the victim the least are the best windows on his life.” Dean scratched the back of his head as Missy set down three delicate looking tea cups. After she had stepped away, Dean continued. “Did you like Billy?”
“Like my wife said, we hardly knew him.” Carlos grabbed the carafe of coffee and poured some into Alice’s cup, then Dean’s, and then his own.
“But you certainly had an opinion. He was dating Sarah.”
Carlos grimaced. He pulled his cup of coffee toward him. “I didn’t approve. Not because he was a bad guy really. Well, not a bad, bad guy. Just a guy who wasn’t right for Sarah. Not at all. She could’ve done better.” He grabbed two sugars from the holder on the table.
“What do you mean by not a ‘bad, bad guy’?”
Alice leaned forward and her voice dropped to a whisper. “He stole from us. I don’t think he would ever be violent. But he stole.”
“Are you referring to your mother-in-law’s bracelet and necklace?”
Now it was Carlos’s turn to whisper. “How did you know that?”
Dean interlocked his fingers and bounced them against his lips. “Whenever we talked to Billy’s friends, they kept referring to something about jewelry and Sarah. So we asked her about it.”
“Those were heirlooms. My grandmother brought them from Spain, where they were made by one of my great-great uncles. They were priceless to me. And now they’re gone.”
Dean’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you so sure Billy took them?”
“He’s the only one who had access to them that would’ve known and could’ve taken them. They were taken out of the jewelry chest in my room.” Alice took a sip of her coffee. “Only those were taken. And we don’t have maids or anything.”
“When did this happen?”
“I noticed they were missing this summer. July.”
“I was furious,” said Carlos. “Furious. I told Sarah I never wanted him to step foot in our house again. Ever.”
“And did he?”
“Not that I know of.”
Dean looked at Alice, who shook her head. “So Billy took priceless heirlooms, but you didn’t report them stolen.”
“Sarah begged us not to, saying we’d never get them back anyways. Only the money, and it wasn’t the money we were upset about.”
“Okay. I understand you were ill last year,” said Dean, looking at Alice.
“I’m not sure what that—” said Carlos.
“Yes. Cancer. Breast cancer,” she said, the corner of her mouth quivering.
Carlos set his cup down. “What does that have to do with Billy?”
Dean ignored Carlos’s question. “Are you—are you better?”
“Look here—”
Alice patted Carlos’s shoulder. “I’m cancer free. Radiation, then surgery, then chemo. It knocked me out of commission for a while. The chemo did a real number on me.”
“Was money tight?”
“Have you had cancer or anyone in your family had it?”
Dean shook his head. “My grandfather, but I was young.”
“It’s expensive. And insurance doesn’t like paying for it. And I didn’t want to go to a VA hospital.”
“I understand that.” Dean raised a cup. “Knew a lot of brave Navy pilots back in Nam. Saved me a couple of times, I’m pretty sure.”
Carlos tapped the table top. “I don’t understand what any of this has to do with Billy.”
Dean looked at Alice and pursed his lips. Watched as she thought through the conversation and teased out the implications of his questions. Carlos looked at her with an intensity he hoped he had had with Cindy years ago and knew that Carlos probably did not kill Billy. Not that he was not capable, just that the man was more concerned with his wife and not why a detective was questioning them.
Alice’s eyelids flickered and her mouth opened when she understood. “Oh my God.” Her head dropped.
“What?” asked Carlos.
“It wasn’t Billy, was it?”
Dean shook his head.
Alice looked at Carlos. “Do you remember the money Sarah gave us last year? The money that helped us stay afloat.”
“Yeah.”
“Know that she did it for a good reason.”
Dean thanked them and stood up and walked over to Guthrie’s and Sarah’s table. He put his hands on the back of the chair beside Guthrie and asked, “Why haven’t you returned the heirlooms?”
Sarah looked down and then up. A tear welled up in each eye. He knew, knew how embarrassed she was and how as the time had passed it was easier and easier to avoid the topic. She had them, but she could not bring herself to tell her parents. He nodded and patted Guthrie on the shoulder.
Dean and Guthrie left the Espositos and drove back to the station. They agreed that Carlos was not a good suspect given the spacing between the disappearance of the jewelry and Billy’s death, but how long had the anger of that simmered before it boiled over—if it did. Regardless, he seemed the only suspect with a clear motive. However, Carlos’s alibi for the night of Billy’s disappearance was his wife. They were at home. More importantly to Dean’s thinking was Carlos’s reaction to the questioning of Alice and then to finding out his daughter had taken the jewelry. He had been angry about the jewelry. If he had killed Billy, he would have expected regret, anguish, some other emotion as it dawned on him he had killed an innocent. Anger was a legitimate reaction, but an unlikely one.
Too many other questions hung around Billy’s disappearance, and Carlos did not come near enough to answering all of those.
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