Read Online Dead Seed by William Campbell Gault - Free Book Online
Authors: William Campbell Gault
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prowling around town looking for a van with Arizona plates.”
“Maybe it really is in the shop, as Kelly said. We could try a couple of garages. They might have her address.”
He nodded. “Good thinking.” He started the engine. “Maybe the Volkswagen dealer? If she’s new in town that could be her first choice.”
It was a lucky guess. The van was there. The service manager told Bernie that Mrs. Lacrosse had phoned them this morning and given them her new address.
“The way that heap looks to me,” Bernie said, “it could cost her plenty.”
“Not much,” the manager said. “Points and new plugs and a general tune-up. It runs better than it looks. We’re going to get our money out of her, aren’t we?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
The man smiled. “Lieutenant, when you have to come in here to get the address of a driver with Arizona plates, how else can I read it? For all I know, it could be a hot car.”
“Wise guy,” Bernie muttered as we walked out.
I didn’t comment. I thought the guy was pretty sharp.
The address he had given us was in a marginal section of town, a small frame house sadly in need of paint.
“I wonder where she got that kind of dough?” Bernie said as we pulled up in front.
“Dough? For that dump?”
“In this crazy town today? A tent goes for six hundred a month. My daughter is renting an eight-hundred-square-foot cement block house for eight hundred and fifty.”
There was some sag in the front-porch floor as we walked to the door. There was no bell button, only a crank in the middle of the door.
Bernie cranked it and the bell jangled inside. The door opened.
The man standing there was not tall, but very bulky. He was dressed in a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He was barefoot.
“Well?” he asked.
Bernie displayed his shield. “Is Mrs. Lacrosse home?”
The man shook his head.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
The same silent answer.
Bernie took out a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped a few pages. Then, “Are you Alvin Chitty, Mrs. Lacrosse’s cousin?”
“So what if I am?”
“If you are, I’d like to ask you about that fuss you had at the gate of The New Awareness Saturday night.”
“There was no fuss! My cousin asked if she could talk with her boy. Through the gate, you know—just talk? He’s her only kid! So the guard gives us a lot of static and we gave him some back and then the law arrived and we left.”
“You know why the law arrived, don’t you? Because Kelly is a kidnapper and the officer thought Kelly was driving the truck.”
“That’s your story,” Alvin said.
Vogel nodded. “That’s mine. And what’s yours?”
“The word I get is that Sarkissian is paying off half the cops in town. A kidnapper? You call a man that brings kids home to their parents a kidnapper? Jesus—cops—!”
They stared at each other for seconds. Then Vogel said curtly, “Have Mrs. Lacrosse phone the station when she gets back. Tell her to ask for Lieutenant Vogel.”
“If I remember,” Alvin said, and slammed the door.
There was no place to go from there. We went back to the station. The desk sergeant told Vogel he’d had a phone call and the man wanted him to call back. He handed him a slip.
Bernie called from his office, identified himself, and listened for about a minute. Then he said, “Thank you very much. I wish we had more citizens like you in this town.” He hung up and looked at me.
“A break?” I asked.
“It was the service manager we talked with. Mrs. Lacrosse stopped in to tell him not to work on the van.”
“Did she give a reason?”
“Mmm-hmm. She’s trading it in on a new one?”
“How can she? It’s registered in Carl’s name.”
“That can be worked out. Maybe he signed the title over to her and she never had it reregistered. But what I’m thinking—where in hell did she get the money?”
Where else ? I thought. I said nothing. We sat in silence.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he
“Maybe it really is in the shop, as Kelly said. We could try a couple of garages. They might have her address.”
He nodded. “Good thinking.” He started the engine. “Maybe the Volkswagen dealer? If she’s new in town that could be her first choice.”
It was a lucky guess. The van was there. The service manager told Bernie that Mrs. Lacrosse had phoned them this morning and given them her new address.
“The way that heap looks to me,” Bernie said, “it could cost her plenty.”
“Not much,” the manager said. “Points and new plugs and a general tune-up. It runs better than it looks. We’re going to get our money out of her, aren’t we?”
“Why shouldn’t you?”
The man smiled. “Lieutenant, when you have to come in here to get the address of a driver with Arizona plates, how else can I read it? For all I know, it could be a hot car.”
“Wise guy,” Bernie muttered as we walked out.
I didn’t comment. I thought the guy was pretty sharp.
The address he had given us was in a marginal section of town, a small frame house sadly in need of paint.
“I wonder where she got that kind of dough?” Bernie said as we pulled up in front.
“Dough? For that dump?”
“In this crazy town today? A tent goes for six hundred a month. My daughter is renting an eight-hundred-square-foot cement block house for eight hundred and fifty.”
There was some sag in the front-porch floor as we walked to the door. There was no bell button, only a crank in the middle of the door.
Bernie cranked it and the bell jangled inside. The door opened.
The man standing there was not tall, but very bulky. He was dressed in a T-shirt and dirty jeans. He was barefoot.
“Well?” he asked.
Bernie displayed his shield. “Is Mrs. Lacrosse home?”
The man shook his head.
“Do you know when she’ll be back?”
The same silent answer.
Bernie took out a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped a few pages. Then, “Are you Alvin Chitty, Mrs. Lacrosse’s cousin?”
“So what if I am?”
“If you are, I’d like to ask you about that fuss you had at the gate of The New Awareness Saturday night.”
“There was no fuss! My cousin asked if she could talk with her boy. Through the gate, you know—just talk? He’s her only kid! So the guard gives us a lot of static and we gave him some back and then the law arrived and we left.”
“You know why the law arrived, don’t you? Because Kelly is a kidnapper and the officer thought Kelly was driving the truck.”
“That’s your story,” Alvin said.
Vogel nodded. “That’s mine. And what’s yours?”
“The word I get is that Sarkissian is paying off half the cops in town. A kidnapper? You call a man that brings kids home to their parents a kidnapper? Jesus—cops—!”
They stared at each other for seconds. Then Vogel said curtly, “Have Mrs. Lacrosse phone the station when she gets back. Tell her to ask for Lieutenant Vogel.”
“If I remember,” Alvin said, and slammed the door.
There was no place to go from there. We went back to the station. The desk sergeant told Vogel he’d had a phone call and the man wanted him to call back. He handed him a slip.
Bernie called from his office, identified himself, and listened for about a minute. Then he said, “Thank you very much. I wish we had more citizens like you in this town.” He hung up and looked at me.
“A break?” I asked.
“It was the service manager we talked with. Mrs. Lacrosse stopped in to tell him not to work on the van.”
“Did she give a reason?”
“Mmm-hmm. She’s trading it in on a new one?”
“How can she? It’s registered in Carl’s name.”
“That can be worked out. Maybe he signed the title over to her and she never had it reregistered. But what I’m thinking—where in hell did she get the money?”
Where else ? I thought. I said nothing. We sat in silence.
“I know what you’re thinking,” he
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