The Librarian Her Daughter and the Man Who Lost His Head Read online

  “When was that?”

  “Month ago or so.”

  “Mooney was involved?”

  “Of course. Lucy Mooney is a bartender out there. One of the bikers was talking to her, and even though they had been separated for a while, Dick picked a fight. In fact, Billy was one of the patrolmen that answered that call.”

  “These local bikers?”

  He laughed. “Hell no. These guys are harmless. They weren’t Hell’s Angels or anything like that. Mostly accountants and dentists and middle management types from Phoenix. On weekends they take their Harleys out of their three-car garages, and put on their leathers, and group up and ride around thinking they are Marlon Brando.”

  “Think they could have had something to do with Mooney’s death?”

  “No.”

  “When can I see Billy?” Eddie asked.

  “You can see Mr. Taggart about that. He can set it up. His office is on Main Street just north of the 89A intersection. A little blue building. Shares it with a barber shop.” He stood. “If there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”

  We stood. Eddie offered his hand, and the chief took it.

  “Thanks for your time.”

  “Anytime.”

  I followed Eddie out. When I glanced back, the chief was still standing, watching us.

  We stepped out of the building into the bright sunshine. Eddie looked at me. He was smiling.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Dentists and accountants on Harleys. What the hell is the world coming to?”

  7

  The library was just across the street. I decided to walk over and see if I could get a word with Dahlia Martin. Eddie sat to wait on a stone bench in front of the municipal building. I crossed the street and held the door for two teenaged girls with arms loaded with books. Inside it was every library in every city in the world. None of the women behind the counter were Dahlia. I waited in line. When it was my turn I used my most winsome smile. It usually makes women’s knees weak but somehow didn’t seem to affect the five foot by five foot woman behind the counter. She looked at my empty hands with disapproval.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I’m looking for Dahlia Martin,” I said winsomely.

  “She took the day off,” she said. “Do you have anything to check out?”

  “No, ma’am,” I said.

  “Next,” she said, looking past me.

  I walked back over and collected Eddie. He looked at me and I shook my head.

  We got into the Mustang and I started the engine. “Where to?”

  “Let’s go look at the crime scene, then look up Lawyer Taggart.”

  “Which way?” I asked.

  He pointed, “Just go south on 6th, all these numbered streets kinda go north-south.”

  I pulled out of the lot, and drove south. After a few minutes we came to a stop sign. The street sign read Inca. Travel wise, this was a small town. It only took a few minutes to get anywhere. There was hardly any traffic. We sat and looked up and down Inca. The area wasn’t populated much. The nearest residences were over a hundred yards away and there was plenty of space between them. A quarter-block down, the fluttering, bright yellow crime scene tape caught my eye. I turned left, went to the tape and pulled to the curb.

  The lot was an empty, weedy space surrounded by a fence that was old, droopy and ineffective. A small chained gate protected the place. The fence beside the gate was on the ground so the gate wasn’t protecting much. Wasn’t much to protect. Waist-high weeds and scrub sage and tumbleweeds. The trespassing signs lay discarded and face down in the dirt and weeds. Signs of police activity were apparent in the scuffed dirt and trampled weeds. In the center of the lot, hidden by the weeds, we found a concrete slab with a rusty capped water line rising from its center. The concrete had chalk marks. This is where the body had been.

  Recently I had joined the twenty-first century and had obtained a cell phone. One of those smart ones. I pulled out the wonder, and started taking pictures with it. One of the features on the thing I really liked.

  Eddie slowly walked around, taking everything in. He walked along the fence line studying the adjacent land. There was a lot of open space. It was a good place to stick a body. Except for the beagle.

  Eddie crossed the street and stared back at the lot. I bent low, studying the impressions in the dirt. I could see the dog prints. Most of the dry ground was scuffed up by too many policemen. I could see the wheel tracks of the gurney that had been used to take the body away. I looked around, trying to understand why the body had been dumped here.

  “Anything?”

  “Most prints are alike. Cop shoes.”

  “Except for the civilian and his dog.”

  “Right.” I pointed, “Also, tennis shoes over there. Smaller feet.”

  He looked to where I pointed.

  “So what do you think? Kids?”

  “Most likely. Saw the cops. Came over to see what was going on.”

  Eddie looked all around then turned to me, “Let’s go visit Lawyer Taggart.”

  “Lead on,” I said.

  We climbed in the car and I did a U-turn and drove back down past the police station. A minute later we hit Highway 89A and turned toward Main. At Main we turned left, and a moment later we saw the blue building and the barber pole. Eddie had explained that as you travel down Main Street it curves from north to west. This meant that, depending where you were in Cottonwood, you could intersect with it by traveling east/west or north/south. Confusing to a stranger. I pulled into the small parking area. There was a small sign proclaiming Egbert P. Taggart, Attorney at Law.

  The tires of the Mustang crunched on the rock parking lot, and I had my choice of all the empty slots. When I opened the office door a small bell tinkled above my head. Eddie followed me in. It was a small office. Two rooms, one behind the other. The first room was set up as a reception area with a desk and chair facing the door. There were two chairs against the wall. An empty water dispenser was in the corner. The cup holder on the dispenser was empty. Dusty plastic plants were on each side of the door. The desk didn’t look like it was being used and had a fine film of dust on it. I ran my finger across a corner and it left a streak. There was a rustling in the back room, and Taggart appeared in the doorway.

  He was still sweating. His jacket was off and his tie loosened. He was popping breath mints. He put on his best hail-fellow, Rotary Club smile.

  “Come in, gentlemen, come in,” he said extending his hand.

  I took it. That was a mistake; it was wet with sweat. I wiped my hand on my jeans.

  “This is convenient; my meeting just got moved back,” he said. He turned and led us into the back room. Eddie wiped his hand on his gray work pants.

  “Have a seat,” Taggart continued. He moved his big frame around his desk, and sat heavily in a swivel chair. It groaned under his weight.

  We chose a chair and sat down.

  “Now, just how can I assist you gentlemen?”

  Eddie looked at me, so I took the ball. “Billy Bragg.”

  His eyes narrowed slightly in disappointment. The hail-fellow smile left.

  “Most unfortunate circumstance. If I may ask, just what is the basis of your interest?”

  “I’m Billy’s uncle,” Eddie said. “Only relative he has west of the Mississippi.”

  “I see.” He looked at me. “And you, sir?”

  “A friend,” I said, taking a dislike to the guy. “We’d like to know what you know about the circumstances.”

  He studied me a moment. He drew himself up.

  “Undoubtedly, you know I was appointed by the court to represent Mr. Bragg, and therefore, you must understand, everything between myself and Mr. Bragg is confidential.” He spoke with an officious, self-important tone. “Now if you will forgive me, I have a scheduled appointment.”

  I looked at him until he shifted his eyes.

  I looked at Eddie. “The hard way,” I said.

&nb
sp; He shrugged.

  “Do you have a dollar?” I asked, turning back to Taggart.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “A dollar, a buck. Do you have one?”

  Now he was wary. “I don’t carry cash,” he said.

  I looked at Eddie. “Do you have a dollar, Eddie?”

  He reached into the gray work pants, and fished out a crumpled wad of bills. He extracted a five dollar bill. “Smallest I got,” he said.

  “Loan it to him,” I said.

  Eddie tossed the bill on the desk.

  “Now you have five dollars,” I said. I picked it up. “And you just used it to hire us. And now that we are part of your investigative team you can tell us anything we need to know.”

  “This is preposterous,” he said.

  I stood, and closed his office door. I moved back and sat on his desk. I smiled down on him. He tried to back away but the wall stopped him.

  “Billy is Eddie’s nephew. His sister’s only kid,” I explained softly, taking the tone you would with a child. “Eddie is an ex Chicago cop with a fearsome temper, and he wants to help Billy. I want to help Billy, and I believe you want to help Billy. Now, if Eddie thinks you aren’t helping Billy,” I raised my hands and shrugged, “I can’t guarantee what might happen.”

  He had moved as far from me as he could. He was flat against the wall. He looked from me to Eddie and back.

  “Discretion is the better part of valor,” Eddie said.

  8

  “Since he is family, I guess it will be okay to share information,” Taggart said.

  He pulled a handkerchief from his hip pocket and mopped his face. It was easier for him to look at Eddie, so he did. “A few days before Mr. Mooney’s body was found, your nephew got into an altercation with him at the Sunset Corral,” he said. “Your nephew was off duty, and they both had been drinking. Mr. Mooney’s wife, Lucy, was behind the bar, and they had some words about her.”

  I was too close. I could smell him. An undercurrent of sour booze and body odor covered by the sickly-smelling mints. I slid off the desk and took the chair.

  “Witnesses?”

  “Several, including another off-duty patrolman.”

  “Name?”

  “Joe Whitney.

  “Tell us.”

  He looked at me. He wasn’t happy.

  “Patrolman Whitney says that it was pretty common knowledge that after Lucy Mooney and her husband broke up, Bill started seeing her. Whitney said Mooney was a bad drunk and was pulled in a lot for fighting. Whitney said Mooney was drunk, and was using abusive language to Lucy and Bill objected, so they fought.”

  “Anyone else involved?”

  “No, Whitney and the cook broke it up. Mooney left, but before he did they were shouting back and forth and Bill told him that if he ever talked to Lucy like that again, and I quote Whitney’s deposition, he’d take his head off.”

  He popped another mint.

  “Then, Whitney says Mooney came back in. This scared Whitney because he thought Mooney had gone out to get a gun. Whitney says he was about to dive behind the bar, but instead Mooney just pointed a finger at Bill and shouted, “You’ll get yours. You’ll pay like the rest of them. There’ll be a reckoning for all you cops.”

  “A reckoning? What does that mean?” Eddie asked.

  “Hell, I don’t know what he meant,” Taggart said.

  “What was Billy’s politics?” I asked Eddie.

  “Didn’t have any, I know of,” Eddie said. “He was just a small town cop.”

  “You ever hear of any militia around here?” I asked Taggart.

  Taggart shook his head. “Whitney says Mooney was a part of one but I never heard of it. ‘Course my circles run more to the chamber of commerce and the country club.”

  “Where can we find Whitney?”

  “He’s probably on patrol.”

  “Who else witnessed this fight?”

  “Besides Lucy?”

  “Yes, besides Lucy.”

  He opened a drawer and pulled a manila folder out. It wasn’t very full. He opened it and thumbed through the papers in it. He read a moment.

  “The cook, Alfred Medina. A couple of construction guys, Dwyer and Ramirez, and a salesman, name of Howard Sieble. Buddy Dwyer works for King Construction. I think Ramirez is a drywaller but nobody knows much about him. He lived in a boarding house on Mingus. Not sure he’s still there. Sieble comes through once a month and calls on our hospital. We have a really nice hospital. Best one around. Whitney says when Sieble’s in town he goes to that bar to drink his supper allowance.”

  “You have contact information on them?”

  “It’s all right here,” he said indicating the folder.

  “Give me a copy.”

  He looked at me, and now he really wasn’t happy. But he finally leaned over to the small, desktop copier against the wall and copied the documents.

  “Give me a business card, and put a note on it that you would appreciate any cooperation for me. My name is Jackson. Sign it.”

  This time he didn’t hesitate. He pulled a card from a drawer and wrote it down. He handed it to me. I took it.

  “What happened next?”

  “Lucy Mooney said after her husband left she chased them all out of there, including Bill and Joe, and closed the bar.”

  “The chief said I should talk to you about when I can see Billy,” Eddie said.

  “The arraignment was today,” Taggart said.

  “We were there,” I said.

  “Didn’t notice.”

  “Does he have visitation?” Eddie asked.

  “Not yet, but he is one of Bub Berry’s favorites.”

  He opened a large official-looking appointment book.

  “I can meet you there this afternoon. I’ll be free around two.” Upside down, I could see the page was empty.

  He looked at Eddie. “It won’t be official, but I’m pretty sure Bub will let us see him. It’s a small town and Bill is one of his.”

  Eddie looked at me and I nodded. I stood. Eddie followed suit.

  “We’ll be in touch,” I said.

  We turned, and I opened the door, and followed Eddie out.

  “You didn’t have to strongarm me,” he said to my back, some of the bluster coming back.

  I turned and looked back at him long enough for his color to change. “I didn’t,” I said. I took the five and put it in his pocket.

  9

  Eddie and I drove to the Sunset Corral. He knew where it was, which didn’t surprise me. It was a stone-faced building with a large parking lot, located on the west edge of town on the way to Clarkdale. Clarkdale is butted up to Cottonwood. There was only one vehicle in the parking lot. It was an old Ford F150. We parked next to it.

  The sign in the window read Closed. The door was unlocked. We walked in. All the chairs were upside-down on the tables, and a push broom was resting against the wall next to a small pile of sweepings. The place smelled of stale beer and fried food. In other words, it smelled like what it was.

  The kitchen was visible through an open, rectangular window in the wall behind the bar. Next to the window was a batwing door. We could see a man working there. He appeared to be slicing something on a cutting board. His movements were quick and precise. As I got closer, I could see he was slicing limes. He was engrossed, and didn’t know we were there.

  “Hello,” I said by way of warning.

  He jumped and spun around.

  “Holy shit! You scared the crap out of me!”

  “Sorry about that,” I smiled. “Are you Alfred Medina?”

  He wiped his hands on his apron. “We’re closed right now. We open at eleven for lunch.”

  I took out Lawyer Taggart’s card and handed it to him.

  “We want to ask you some questions about Billy Bragg. Are you Alfred Medina?”

  He read the card, then turned it over looking to see if there was more. Finally, he looked at me, and handed it back.

&nb
sp; “Yeah, I’m Al Medina.”

  I indicated Eddie. “This is Billy’s uncle. We’re trying to figure out what happened with Billy and Dick Mooney.”

  Eddie stuck his hand out. Alfred wiped his hand on his apron again and took it.

  “What would you like to know?” Alfred said.

  Eddie looked at me.

  “I guess, first of all, what happened the night they got in a fight,” I said. “Did you see how it started?”

  “No, I was in the kitchen, but as you can see it has this window here. When I heard the shouting I came over to see what was up. When I saw it was Mooney, I just figured it was the same old shit.”

  “Was his wife bartending?”

  “Yeah, Lucy was on that night. I think that was what they were fighting about. Lucy and Mooney split up a while back, and Lucy got a job here and unfortunately Mooney started coming in two, three times a week. Nothing Lucy could do about it.”

  “Does Billy come in here a lot?”

  “Since Lucy came to work, he does. Him and another cop, Joe Whitney, were in here together that night.”

  “Were they in uniform?”

  “Hell no,” he laughed. “Bub Berry would have their ass if they were drinking in uniform.”

  “Did you see how the fight started?”

  “No, they were already at it before I came to the window. But it was probably because Mooney was running his mouth. Mooney was always running his mouth, even if Lucy wasn’t here.”

  “Did you hear what they said?”

  He looked at me a moment before he answered.

  “I know what you are getting at. I already told the police. Mooney was calling Lucy names and Billy told him to shut up and Mooney just kept on and finally Bill shoved him and told him if he kept running his mouth he would take his head off.”

  “Billy would take Mooney’s head off?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. But you hear that kinda crap a lot. One guy threatening to take another guy’s head off. It’s just a figure of speech.”

  “So you don’t think he meant it literally.”