Chapter 4
Wednesday, the next day, Joe awoke at seven a.m. Seven a.m. counted as early for Joe. He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his thighs, and ran his hands through his short blond hair. Sleep had not come easy last night. Bulka had reminded him of Afghanistan and the dangers he'd faced there. House to house searches, gunfights, checkpoint inspections, and IEDs (improvised explosive devices) just to name a few. Not the best memories for a good night's sleep.
Then there was Wayne Banyan. He'd told Joe he had wanted to kill his stepfather. That was a scary thought in and of itself. However, Wayne claimed he hadn't done it. Someone had beat him to it. Joe had to wonder, was that true? Had someone else really killed Wayne's stepfather? Or was it a story designed to throw the blame elsewhere.
Another thing rankled Joe. Wayne hadn't told him about Bulka. Why had Wayne left out such important information? He and Wayne had served two tours together in Afghanistan. Surely Wayne knew that Bulka was as near and dear to Joe's heart as to Wayne's. Even if Wayne hadn't realized how much Joe cared, shouldn't he have mentioned Bulka at dinner last night? Said something like, "Hey, good news, I got Bulka. I did all the paperwork and adopted her."
Getting Bulka made Wayne a hero in Joe's book. Not telling Joe about it, well, that made him less heroic. Less honest? Joe hated the very thought. If you couldn't trust your partner, your client, who could you trust?
Okay, enough wallowing in this minutiae. Joe pushed to his feet. He stood a respectable six feet tall and weighed 215 pounds, most of it muscle, honed in real combat and weekly training. He viewed the world through sky blue eyes. There was brightness there, in his eyes, but a closer look revealed a hidden darkness and bitter sadness. Joe's past had not been easy or kind. He'd learned to accept that. It made him tougher and stronger. At least, that's what he told himself.
If he'd been at home he would go on a two mile run. Not that he liked running because he didn't. In the army they'd had to run everywhere. To chow, to PT (physical training), to formations, etc, etc. Running had become second nature. He'd found there were benefits to running and so kept it a part of his weekly training. Running built endurance and best of all, it required little thought. He could run and think about other things. It was also a good way to clear his mind.
If he'd been at home, he'd go to the gym after his run. Do a few rounds with the punching bag. Nothing relieved frustration like throwing punches. Good, hard, solid punches. His brother, Frank, preferred the martial arts. Frank taught a martial arts class two days a week at the gym. Joe attended the class on occasion, mainly when he wanted to work on his kicks. Kicks were a great addition to any fighter's arsenal. After class, Joe would go a few rounds on the bag, delivering bone shattering kicks. It was all about building stamina and speed.
Yes, punching bags were a good way to work off aggression and frustration. Sometimes, Joe needed that release. Like now. Now, however, the gym would have to wait. It was time to shower, shave, and get some breakfast. Then head over to the police department and hopefully meet with Detective Ziegler, the detective in charge of the Dan Sagget case.
Forty minutes later Joe was in the hotel lobby enjoying a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bagels, and coffee. While he waited for his coffee to cool and the cheese on his eggs to melt, he called the Healy Police Department and asked for Detective Ziegler. Good news, Ziegler was in. More good news, Ziegler agreed to meet with Joe in an hour. The day was starting off on the right foot. Hopefully, it would continue that way.
# # # #
Joe got to the Police Department right on time. It was a small building in a small town. Not much manpower here. In any big crisis they'd have to call in help from neighboring towns. Joe wondered how many murder investigations this police department had handled. He pushed through the glass door and walked up to a long narrow counter. A pretty female police officer sat behind the counter. She rose as Joe approached. She was pretty and short. Couldn't be more than five-foot-three.
Joe smiled at her and laid his hands on the narrow counter. "I'm here to see Detective Ziegler. He's expecting me. Name's Joseph Hardy."
The pretty officer returned his smile. "I'll let him know you're here." She picked up a desk phone and punched in some numbers. Told whoever answered that their appointment was here and hung up. Her smile reappeared as she looked at Joe again. "I'll take you back to his office. Follow me."
Joe followed. The officer led him down a hall, around a corner, and stopped.
"First door on the left," she said. "I have to get back to the desk."
Joe watched her disappear around the corner and then walked up to the first door on the left. It was open. A man in his mid-thirties sat behind a desk, flipping through a file. He was a big bear of a man. Thick neck, broad shoulders, and big hands.
He looked up and saw Joe standing in the doorway. "Joseph Hardy?"
"That's me." Joe stepped into the tiny office.
The man behind the desk rose and extended a hand. "Detective Ziegler."
Joe shook Ziegler's big paw. Ziegler had short, brown hair and dark, cunning eyes. His big frame was going to fat, getting thick around the waist. Certainly wouldn't get top scores on the army physical training test.
Ziegler sat back down and said, "How's it going?"
Joe remained standing. "Can't complain."
"How can I help you, Mr. Hardy?" There was a little impatience in Ziegler's voice. To him, Joe was a nuisance, a minor interruption in his busy day.
"I'm looking into the Dan Sagget murder. His step-son, Wayne Banyan, hired me to investigate."
"Did he?" Ziegler looked up at Joe, a spark of interest shone in his dark eyes. "Have a seat." Ziegler nodded his chin at a chair in front of his desk.
Joe plopped into the chair. He had Ziegler's attention now which was good.
"How did Wayne Banyan happen upon you?" Ziegler was frowning and squinting, wanting to know Wayne and Joe's connection.
"We knew each other in the army," Joe said. "We were MPs. Served together in Afghanistan. I'm a private investigator now. I have an office in River Heights."
Ziegler looked at Joe as if to say, and that qualifies you to be an investigator in the civilian world, in a murder case? Joe would have to admit there was some truth to that sentiment. The situations Ziegler faced were woefully different than what Joe had faced during his military time.
"I'm not here to step on your toes," Joe said, playing peacemaker. "I'm just trying to piece together the facts and come to a conclusion."
Ziegler's mouth scrunched up a bit – like he'd tasted something sour – then relaxed. He leaned back in his chair and folded his big hands on his lap. "How well do you know Wayne Banyan? I mean really know him?"
Tough question, Joe thought. If Ziegler had asked him that yesterday afternoon his answer would be entirely different.
Joe grimaced and said, "Wayne was kind of a 'keep to himself' type of guy. Didn't say much. Kept his gear neat and orderly. Made sure the rest of us did, too. He had your back in a combat situation. You could count on him one hundred percent when the bullets started flying." Joe's face hardened as he stared directly into Ziegler's eyes. "He was an outstanding soldier."
"Great." Ziegler smirked and stared hard back at Joe. He sensed Joe was tip-toeing around the issue. Joe had talked about Wayne as a soldier, not as a friend. "So, he was a good soldier. That doesn't mean he wouldn't whack his stepfather in a fit of rage."
Joe heaved in a breath and let it out. "You might be right, but Wayne swears he didn't do it and I believe him." That might actually be a lie and Joe felt bad for saying it to a police detective.
Ziegler put his folded hands on the desk and leaned forward. "You and Wayne were good buddies in the army?"
Joe shifted in his chair. "Well, not exactly buddies. Like I said, Wayne was a private person. Real quiet. Kept to himself, didn't hang out with the guys at night."
Ziegler smiled briefly. "Pardon me for saying this, but it seems to me you don't really know Wayne as well as you think you do. You didn't know him when he was young, did you? You haven't talked to his family yet, have you?"
Joe felt the heat behind Ziegler's glare. "No, haven't talked to anyone yet, other than Wayne."
"Other than Wayne," Ziegler mocked. "Yeah, well, he might not be the best source of information." Ziegler shoved the file he'd been thumbing through when Joe arrived across his desk. "Take a look. Lots of people to talk to. Lots of people who know Wayne Banyan a whole lot better than you or me. People who've known him his whole life. They have some interesting things to say about him."
Joe scooted closer to the desk and peered down at the open file. Ziegler had done his due diligence. A list of names with phone numbers and addresses filled the page. Each name was annotated with a date, place, and time of an interview. Joe was impressed. Ziegler was working the case hard.
Joe lifted his head. "You've done your homework. Can I have a copy of this page?" He tapped the sheet of paper with his knuckles.
"Nope." Ziegler smiled as Joe frowned. "But, hey, I need a cup of coffee. How 'bout you? You want a cup of coffee?"
"No, thanks." Joe's frown deepened as Ziegler rose and headed to the door.
"I'm going to get a cup of coffee. While I'm gone you might want to copy down some of those names and numbers. I'm not saying you're going to do that, you know. I'm not even suggesting it."
Joe nodded. He understood what Ziegler was saying. Ziegler didn't want to overtly give away police evidence and that's what his notes were. He'd put in the time and effort to find people and interview them. Fortunately for Joe, Ziegler was willing to let Joe use the names and phone numbers. That information alone would save Joe valuable time.
Ziegler closed the office door and Joe took out his phone. A picture was worth a thousand words. Why copy down the names and numbers when he could take a picture?
An hour and a half later Joe was headed into one of the poorer neighborhoods in Healy. Single and doublewide trailers lined the rutted, gravel lane. Joe couldn't in good conscious call it a street. That would be an insult to streets everywhere and would imply some sort of city maintenance. A grader hadn't touched these roads in years. Snow, ice, and hard rain had all taken their toll. Joe cursed softly as he maneuvered his truck over and around the worst ruts.
Finally, he came to a weathered, faded trailer. It looked like the elements had beaten it into submission. It still stood merely out of habit. A rotting, wooden porch jutted out and offered a covered path to the front door.
Joe parked in front of the trailer, got out of his truck, and shut the door. He'd arrived at the home of Dolores Gage. Once upon a time she'd been Dolores Sagget. Before that Dolores Banyan. And if Joe's quick research was correct, she'd started life as Dolores Mueller. Bottom line, she was Wayne's mother.
The front door of the trailer opened and a woman in her mid-to-late fifties poked her head out. Her eyes narrowed when she saw Joe standing beside his truck. "You that detective that called a little while ago?"
Joe held up a hand in greeting. "That would be me. Joseph Hardy. And you would be Dolores Gage?"
"That's me," the woman said grudgingly as though it pained her to admit it.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to ask you a few questions," Joe said.
The woman stepped onto the rotting porch and let the screen door bang shut behind her. She planted her feet, crossed her arms over her chest, and struck a defiant pose. Joe got the impression she didn't much care for the police. He thought her life had probably been spent avoiding the police. Now, however, her ex-husband had been murdered and she was forced to answer questions from the police.
The woman's voice was sharp and bitter, "Police and detectives already been out here asking all kinds of questions."
"I know." Joe walked casually toward the porch steps. "I promise not to take up too much of your time, Mrs. Gage. I just have a few questions about your ex-husband, Dan Sagget." And a few about your son, too. But we'll get to those later.
The woman stood her ground. "Like I said, police already been here and asked a bunch of questions. How many times am I gonna have to answer the same damn questions?"
Joe laid a hand on the stair railing and looked up at the woman. "Probably until we find out who killed Dan Sagget."
The woman rolled her eyes in a dramatic gesture as if to say she highly doubted that was ever going to happen.
Joe climbed the stairs and motioned to two plastic chairs on the porch. "Can we sit?"
The woman shrugged her shoulders – another dramatic gesture – ran a hand over her coarse, gray hair and sighed. "Sure. Why not?"
Yeah, why not, Joe thought. He withdrew a notebook and pen from his jacket and sat on one of the chairs. He cleared his throat and said, "Ahem, I want to be perfectly honest with you, Mrs. Gage. Your son, Wayne, hired me to investigate Dan Sagget's murder."
Dolores Gage's eyebrows rose high on her forehead. She was shocked to put it mildly and intrigued. "Why in the hell would Wayne do that? He hated Dan. Why does Wayne care who killed Dan?"
"Maybe because the police consider Wayne a suspect. A very good suspect for Dan Sagget's murder."
Dolores Gage considered this information for a moment and seemed to come to a decision. "Well, I can't say as I blame them. Wayne is the most logical suspect."
Joe was taken aback. "Is he? Why do you say that?"
Dolores looked at Joe as though he was thick-headed. "Like I said, Wayne hated Dan." Tension laced her voice and a trickle of concern knotted her brow. "Who exactly are you and how do you know my son?"
Joe rested his notepad on his thigh. "I knew your son in the army. We worked together. He found out I'm currently a private investigator and asked me to help. I'm here to help your son clear his name."
Dolores settled back in her plastic chair, looking less concerned. "Well, I'm glad Wayne's got somebody in his corner." She rubbed the side of her nose and thought, maybe she shouldn't be talking to this young PI, but dammit, there were things she wanted to get off her chest. "Listen, Dan wasn't exactly nice to Wayne. Wayne had plenty of reasons to kill Dan."
Joe peered deep into Dolores Gage's bloodshot eyes, the wrinkles hard at the corners. "I'd like to hear some of those reasons."
Dolores Gage seemed to get antsy. She squirmed in her chair. Joe hoped she wasn't about to change her mind about talking to him. He laid a hand gently on the woman's forearm.
"Mrs. Gage, whatever you tell me, stays with me. Your information will not be shared with anyone. I'm not working with the police or the detectives assigned to the case. I'm working alone."
Dolores cocked her head and gave Joe a skeptical look. "For real?"
"For real." Joe's hand remained on her arm and he wore his most sincere expression.
Dolores visibly relaxed. Joe figured it was not unusual for her to flit between extreme highs and lows. Might be bi-polar was his guess.
"Hey, you want a beer .. or .. or water," she said. A drink, that's what she needed, a drink to mellow her out. Get rid of all this tension she was feeling.
"No, ma'am. I'm fine."
"I could use a beer. Mind if I get one?"
"No, go right ahead. I'll sit here and wait." Joe knew the signs. Mrs. Gage probably wasn't taking any prescribed medication for whatever ailed her, be it bi-polar disorder or something else. Instead, she self-medicated and beer appeared to be her drug of choice.
"I'll be right back," she said and practically skipped into the trailer. She was as good as her word and returned in less than a minute, beer can in hand. She held it up for Joe to see like it was a prize, then took a long swallow and plopped in her chair. "God, I needed that."
Joe smiled kindly. "You were going to tell me why Wayne hated his stepfather."
"Yeah." Mrs. Gage suddenly became sad. Remorse and maybe even grief flickered across her lined face. "It's nothing I'm proud of, mind you. Truth is, the honest to god's truth is, I was a bad mother." She cast Joe an inquiring glance. "Did Wayne ever tell you that? That I was a bad mother."
Joe shook his head. "No, ma'am. Never." Wayne never mentioned her at all or the rest of his family. Joe figured Dolores Gage didn't need to hear that.
"What I mean is," Dolores said, "is that I wasn't an involved parent. I didn't try to run my kids' lives, ya know. I kinda left them to their own devices. It's better that way. Makes them independent." She looked at Joe to make sure he wasn't judging her. Apparently, she liked what she saw and smiled a little and said, "I have two kids. Did you know that?"
"Yes, I did. You have a daughter, Connie. She's older than Wayne and still lives in town."
Dolores looked at Joe as if to say, you know all that?
Joe added, by way of explanation, "I'm an investigator. I investigate. It's how I help my client and Wayne's my client. I need to know why he'd want to kill Dan Sagget."
Dolores sipped some of her beer and rested the can on the arm of her chair. Her heavily veined hand held the can tightly so it wouldn't tip. "Okay, well, here's the thing." She wiped an imaginary drop from her lip. "Dan was hard on Wayne. Wayne was just a kid back then. Bout eight or nine years old when I hooked up with Dan. Dan moved in and we got married not long after that. Dan was good to me. He made enough money to pay the bills and keep us in food."
And beer, Joe thought. Dolores stared off into the distance, seeing her past, a past Joe could tell she didn't like revisiting.
"The thing was, Dan found fault in others. Men and boys. Especially little boys." Dolores looked uncomfortable. "Wayne didn't quite live up to Dan's idea of a son. They never took to one another if you know what I mean. Looking back, I'd say Dan was too hard on the boy. He .. he hit him sometimes."
Joe sensed there was more to the story. "What exactly do you mean by, hit him?"
Dolores squirmed in her chair and took a long sip of her beer. Finally, she said, "Dan beat him." She nodded sadly, regretfully. "Beat him pretty bad sometimes. But you see, Wayne was a stubborn kid and defiant. Dan would want something done and Wayne would ignore him. There were times I thought Wayne intentionally provoked Dan. Like maybe Wayne wanted a beating. Well, he'd get one and Dan never went easy, I can tell you that." She shook her head violently like she was slinging away a distasteful thought. "Good God, I hate talking about this. It turns my stomach every time I think about it."
"Did you ever report Dan to the police? What you described could be considered child abuse." Joe's chest was tight. He felt for Wayne. Really felt for him. What kind of childhood had he endured? How bad had the beatings been? And had no one done anything to stop them?
"Police?" Dolores looked at Joe as if he were crazy. "Why would I call them? Dan was just disciplining Wayne. All dads do that. My own dad did it with me and my brother. Nothing wrong in a little discipline." Now she was self-righteous or trying to be. "I mean, yeah, I thought Dan was a little harsh at times, may have hit Wayne too hard and for too long, but-but I didn't see nothing to call the police about."
Joe shook his head, partly in disbelief and partly in thinking how sad and awful one person's life could be. If Joe needed a reason for Wayne killing his stepfather, he had it. Abuse triggered all kinds of responses. Murder being one of the many. Was this what Detective Ziegler had discovered? The childhood abuse. Probably so and it was a very good motive for murder.
A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. Those do inspire me to continue. And thank you for your comments regarding Bulka. She will continue to play a role in this story. :)
