Read Online Critical Mass by Sara Paretsky - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sara Paretsky
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a search for Martin’s bank account. After that, I turned to my real business.
Among all the client calls and complaints was a message from Doug Kossel, the Palfry County sheriff. I waited until I’d responded to my most urgent client demands before returning his call. Kossel was out in his cruiser, the Palfry dispatcher said, but I could reach him on his cell phone.
“Hey, PI V.I. Wondered if you’d make the time to talk to us downstate hicks. We got an ID on the body you found in the field. Ricky Schlafly. Name mean anything to you? No? He’s a local boy, but he lived in Chicago for about fifteen years.”
“Sorry, Sheriff, I lose track of a few of our locals every now and then.”
“Don’t get sarcastic on me. You’re in law enforcement, even if you’re private. That means you see your share of scumbags, so it’s always possible Schlafly crossed your radar. He left here before he graduated high school, figuring if he wanted big money he should go where people had money. Anyway, it was his mom’s family that owned the house, and when her mother passed two years ago, Ricky came back and took possession. Turned it into the health resort and spa it is today.”
“Was Judy Binder with him when he moved back?” I asked.
“From what people are saying, she showed up about a year ago. At least, that’s when folks in Palfry started noticing a gal around town who sounds like her. She’d be at the local coffee shop, or sometimes panhandling in front of the Buy-Smart out west of town. Even came in for a hairdo when she had extra cash. No one’s seen her since the house got shot up, so she may have landed on her feet somewhere else.”
A year ago, that was a bit after Len Binder had died. Len might have kept slipping his daughter money over Kitty’s objections, or without Kitty knowing. When he was gone, Judy would have been desperate for a place to live.
How Judy hooked up with Ricky Schlafly wasn’t important: druggies find each other by some system of smell or twitches, although for meth users the rotting gums are a giveaway. Judy and Ricky could have shared some dump in Chicago before Ricky returned to his roots.
I didn’t agree with Kitty Binder’s vehement assertion that Martin stayed away from Judy—children want to find some proof that their mothers care about them, especially mothers who abandon them when they’re babies. I could imagine Martin slipping silently out of the house, going to visit Judy without Kitty’s knowledge. He might have met Ricky Schlafly when he was still living in Chicago.
An arithmetic error, Martin had said to Kitty, something that kept him brooding in his basement for more than a week. If his mother had hacked into his bank account, he could have bicycled down to Palfry to confront her—although why wouldn’t he have driven?
“You still with me, Ms. PI?” Kossel demanded. “I got a traffic accident I’d better get to.”
“Judy Binder’s son disappeared over a week ago,” I said. I explained Martin’s situation. “Can you ask if anyone noticed him? He might have come down by bus, or hitched down. He’s a skinny kid, dark curly hair, narrow face, a bit James Dean–looking. I could probably find a photo and e-mail it to you. The basement to Schlafly’s house—it had a dirt floor.”
There was a pause at the other end. “Crap, PI. You thinking I should dig up that floor?”
“I’m thinking someone with a hazmat suit could tell if it had been dug up recently. They could also climb into the pit in the backyard. I didn’t have the gear with me yesterday to poke around in it.”
After another pause, the sheriff grunted. “The boy comes down a week ago to see if his ma has been stealing from him, Ricky shoots him, buries him, but she’s still around until two days ago? Hard to picture. Still, who knows what a woman full of meth might do. Hell, maybe she shot her own kid her own self.”
I used to represent women who sold their ten-year-old daughters
Among all the client calls and complaints was a message from Doug Kossel, the Palfry County sheriff. I waited until I’d responded to my most urgent client demands before returning his call. Kossel was out in his cruiser, the Palfry dispatcher said, but I could reach him on his cell phone.
“Hey, PI V.I. Wondered if you’d make the time to talk to us downstate hicks. We got an ID on the body you found in the field. Ricky Schlafly. Name mean anything to you? No? He’s a local boy, but he lived in Chicago for about fifteen years.”
“Sorry, Sheriff, I lose track of a few of our locals every now and then.”
“Don’t get sarcastic on me. You’re in law enforcement, even if you’re private. That means you see your share of scumbags, so it’s always possible Schlafly crossed your radar. He left here before he graduated high school, figuring if he wanted big money he should go where people had money. Anyway, it was his mom’s family that owned the house, and when her mother passed two years ago, Ricky came back and took possession. Turned it into the health resort and spa it is today.”
“Was Judy Binder with him when he moved back?” I asked.
“From what people are saying, she showed up about a year ago. At least, that’s when folks in Palfry started noticing a gal around town who sounds like her. She’d be at the local coffee shop, or sometimes panhandling in front of the Buy-Smart out west of town. Even came in for a hairdo when she had extra cash. No one’s seen her since the house got shot up, so she may have landed on her feet somewhere else.”
A year ago, that was a bit after Len Binder had died. Len might have kept slipping his daughter money over Kitty’s objections, or without Kitty knowing. When he was gone, Judy would have been desperate for a place to live.
How Judy hooked up with Ricky Schlafly wasn’t important: druggies find each other by some system of smell or twitches, although for meth users the rotting gums are a giveaway. Judy and Ricky could have shared some dump in Chicago before Ricky returned to his roots.
I didn’t agree with Kitty Binder’s vehement assertion that Martin stayed away from Judy—children want to find some proof that their mothers care about them, especially mothers who abandon them when they’re babies. I could imagine Martin slipping silently out of the house, going to visit Judy without Kitty’s knowledge. He might have met Ricky Schlafly when he was still living in Chicago.
An arithmetic error, Martin had said to Kitty, something that kept him brooding in his basement for more than a week. If his mother had hacked into his bank account, he could have bicycled down to Palfry to confront her—although why wouldn’t he have driven?
“You still with me, Ms. PI?” Kossel demanded. “I got a traffic accident I’d better get to.”
“Judy Binder’s son disappeared over a week ago,” I said. I explained Martin’s situation. “Can you ask if anyone noticed him? He might have come down by bus, or hitched down. He’s a skinny kid, dark curly hair, narrow face, a bit James Dean–looking. I could probably find a photo and e-mail it to you. The basement to Schlafly’s house—it had a dirt floor.”
There was a pause at the other end. “Crap, PI. You thinking I should dig up that floor?”
“I’m thinking someone with a hazmat suit could tell if it had been dug up recently. They could also climb into the pit in the backyard. I didn’t have the gear with me yesterday to poke around in it.”
After another pause, the sheriff grunted. “The boy comes down a week ago to see if his ma has been stealing from him, Ricky shoots him, buries him, but she’s still around until two days ago? Hard to picture. Still, who knows what a woman full of meth might do. Hell, maybe she shot her own kid her own self.”
I used to represent women who sold their ten-year-old daughters
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