Bone Dry bcm-2 Read online

  Inga grabbed the knife and vaulted off the bed, preparing to drive the knife deep into the man’s back.

  That’s when there was a loud pounding at the door.

  “You okay in there? I called the cops!” It sounded like Mel, the elderly man from room 1.

  Now the attacker moved quickly, shoving Tommy out of the way and yanking the door open. Inga saw Mel standing outside, eyes wide. The would-be rapist sprinted past him into the darkness.

  Tommy quickly grabbed the blanket off the bed and wrapped Inga in it. She blubbered a thank-you over and over, and Tommy whispered quietly in her ear and tried to console her.

  “It’s all right now…” Tommy said to Mel, who was standing in the doorway. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You sure?” Mel asked, looking suspicious.

  Inga nodded. “Thanks, Mel. I’ll be okay.”

  Mel shook his head and said, “Came to Texas, thought we’d be getting away from all the crime.” Then he shuffled back to his room.

  “Are you okay?” Tommy asked, surveying Inga at arm’s length.

  She nodded. “Scared the pee out of me.”

  “Any idea who it was?”

  “None whatsoever. But the things he said…he knew who I was. It wasn’t random.”

  Tommy cocked his head. “Sirens! I have to get out of here.”

  “Tommy, you’re kidding me. It’s time to call this off. Let’s get your problems cleared up and get out of town.”

  “After this? But then they’d win, Inga. That was obviously someone trying to dissuade us from protesting.”

  “And he did a damn good job of it! I’m ready to go home, Tommy.”

  The sirens were coming closer.

  Tommy leaned in and gave Inga a kiss. “Don’t stay here, Inga. Go with the police. They’ll take care of you. I’ll be in touch when our work is done.”

  “But, Tommy….”

  He was already out the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Marlin was up and out of the house by five Saturday morning. It was deer season, after all, and he was determined to get back to his regular routine. He would patrol for several hours, then call Austin to see if Richard Fanick, the lab technician, had anything for him.

  Marlin made a large loop around the county, stopping at hunting camps and deer leases along the way. He cruised north on Highway 281 to Round Mountain, west on 962, south through Sandy, and on down to Blanco. Then northeast through Henly and up to Pedernales Reservoir.

  He wanted to check in with Bobby Garza to see if there had been any progress made with Jack Corey, but he decided to swing by his house first and make a call. Almost eight o’clock. Maybe Fanick would be in his office by now.

  Back at home, Marlin poured himself a to-go mug of coffee and tried calling Fanick. He got routed into voice mail and left a message. It was the weekend-Fanick might not even go into his office today, despite Marlin’s pleadings for a quick turnaround. All he could do was hope.

  He stepped outside and saw Inga Mueller’s yellow Volvo bouncing up the driveway. She pulled in behind his truck and killed the engine. Marlin waited on the porch for her, but she simply sat in her car, staring at the windshield. Marlin trotted down the steps and walked over to her window. Before he could even say anything, he knew something was wrong. Her face was clenched, fighting back tears.

  “You all right?” Marlin asked.

  A small shake of the head.

  “What happened?” Marlin asked.

  She turned and looked him in the eye. “I almost got raped last night.”

  “Oh, Jesus. When? Where?”

  Inga stepped out of the car and told Marlin the horror story from early that morning. A masked intruder, a knife at her throat, Tommy Peabody coming along and saving the day, then taking off just as quickly.

  Marlin wanted to reach out and grip her arm, reassure her-but he didn’t know if she was ready for any male contact. “I’m so sorry. Did you report it?”

  She nodded.

  “Which deputy took the call?”

  “I think her name was Cowan.”

  Rachel Cowan was a young, fairly new addition to the department, but she was smart and hardworking. She had spent six years with the Austin Police Department, and had learned plenty in that time.

  “I just got through with her about an hour ago. Drove around for awhile, trying to decide what to do next… then I came over here.”

  “It’s probably best that you don’t stay in town anymore. Johnson City is so small, the guy could spot your Volvo in no time.” Marlin was going to suggest that she find a place to stay in Blanco, fifteen miles to the south.

  “That’s kind of what I was leading up to, John. I had an idea-and please tell me straight-out if you think it’s a bad one-but I was wondering whether I might be able to stay with you for a few days?”

  The request surprised Marlin, and it must have shown on his face. Inga waved her hand in the air as if she was erasing the idea off a chalkboard. “I’m sorry, that was a stupid thought. Forget I even asked.”

  “No, it was just a little unexpected, is all.” Marlin tried to sound enthusiastic, but he wasn’t sure how he felt about it himself. “I’ve got plenty of space, an extra bed, it’s no trouble at all.”

  “But I don’t want to put you out, or-”

  “Hey, I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it. Seriously.”

  She gave him a weak smile. “I sure would feel a lot safer. And I can’t leave town until Tommy-”

  “I understand. No problem.”

  She leaned in and gave him a hug. For a few seconds, he felt awkward, wondering whether he should hug back. But she pulled away before he could decide. “I’ll grab my things out of the trunk.”

  Marlin led her inside, gave her a quick tour, then found a spare key in a kitchen drawer. “This opens both doors, front and back.” He glanced around the kitchen. “Help yourself to anything in the pantry or the fridge. And you know where the bathroom is and everything…”

  She smiled, and Marlin found it difficult to hold her gaze. She already appeared less distressed by the attack, more like her usual, confident self. “You’re helping me out so much, John. I really appreciate it.”

  “It’s no trouble.”

  She held up three fingers, making an oath. “I’ll be a perfect roommate, I promise. Won’t even hang my panties on the shower rod.”

  Marlin felt his face getting warm, so he told her he had to go see the sheriff and would probably be gone for several hours. He walked out of the house and took a breath of fresh air.

  Marlin drove into Johnson City and made his way toward the sheriff’s office. It was just after nine o’clock, a bright, cloudless morning with remarkably little humidity.

  He parked behind the traffic barriers that circled the sheriff’s office. Most of the curious onlookers were gone now, and only one news van-from KHIL-sat hunkered nearby.

  Just inside the barriers, Deputy Ernie Turpin was sitting in a lawn chair reading a magazine, glancing up now and then to make sure no civilians ventured too close.

  Marlin asked him what the situation was, and the deputy said nothing had changed. “Damn guy’s stubborn as a mule,” the deputy said. “But hell, Garza’s sent food in a couple of times, ain’t put any pressure on him, so why should he come out, you know?”

  Marlin had known Turpin for fifteen years, and knew the deputy was a take-action kind of guy. If Turpin were calling the shots, the building would have been raided just hours after Corey had taken Wylie hostage. Several men could be dead. On the other hand, Wylie might be free.

  Marlin nodded at Bobby Garza’s cruiser in the distance. “Sheriff around?”

  “Yeah, he ain’t hardly left since this thing began. Took a break early this morning for a coupla hours, but that’s it. Guy needs some sleep, if you want my opinion.”

  Marlin didn’t, but he nodded thanks anyway, and walked over to Garza’s car. The sheriff was stretched out in the backseat, but Marlin c
ould see that his body was too tense for him to be sleeping.

  “Damn,” Marlin said through the window, “every time I drop by, you’re catching some z’s. Being sheriff looks awful damn easy.”

  Garza kept his eyes closed. “Aw, man, I’m having that same nightmare again. The one with that pain-in-the-ass game warden.”

  Marlin chuckled and climbed into the front seat, leaving his left foot on the pavement. Both men remained silent for several minutes, Marlin drinking from the traveler’s mug of coffee he had brought along. Garza’s police radio squawked on occasion.

  Finally, Garza groaned and sat up in the backseat. Marlin eyed the sheriff’s haggard face in the rearview mirror. “Don’t you have a brother named Bobby? Looks like you, but a lot younger?”

  Garza rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I’m too worn-out to whip your ass for that. Pass me that thermos beside you, will ya?”

  Marlin opened the thermos and poured Garza a cup of coffee. He let the sheriff drink in silence for a few moments, then said, “No change, I guess?”

  Garza ran a hand over a stubbled cheek. “No, he’s still in there, eating eggs and sausage courtesy of Blanco County. Had some pepperoni pizza for dinner last night. But I’m screwed, ’cause if I don’t send food in, Wylie goes hungry, too. Meanwhile, certain people are starting to get uptight.”

  Marlin raised his eyebrows.

  “The mayor, for one,” Garza said. “He was griping at me last night, saying this thing would ruin business for the weekend. Like it’s my fault we had to rope off some of the little shops along the sidewalk. Says we should shrink our perimeter a little, give people a little more access to the surrounding area.” Garza’s teeth were clenched now. “But if Corey decides to let a few bullets fly, maybe a tourist gets hit by a stray, guess who everybody would blame? Not the mayor, I can tell you that much.”

  Marlin nodded in agreement, hoping to cool Garza down a little. “You’re doing the right thing, Bobby. Forget what they’re saying. Just go with your gut.”

  “I know, I know. I just want to get Wylie out of there, but it keeps dragging on. Corey’s still thinking you’re gonna pin it on someone else. Speaking of which, have you heard anything from the lab?”

  “Not yet.” Marlin glanced at his wristwatch. “I need to head back to the house and give them a call.”

  “Use my cell phone.” Garza slid the phone off his belt and passed it to Marlin. “The lab’s phone number’s in there if you scroll through the memory.”

  Marlin stared at the phone as if it were a Rubik’s cube. “Uh…”

  “Oh yeah, I forgot. You haven’t joined the age of technology yet.” Garza found the number, dialed it, and passed the phone to Marlin. Ten seconds later, Marlin had Richard Fanick on the line.

  “Glad you called. I just tried you at home,” the technician said. “Got some early results for you. I pulled one set of prints off the plastic bag, then the same guy on the manila envelope, plus two other individuals. Got matches on all three. I would have had them for you late last night, but AFIS was tied up.”

  Marlin pulled a small spiral notebook and a pen from his breast pocket. “No, this is fantastic. I appreciate you getting on it so fast. Tell me what you got.”

  “First off, Bert Gammel. But then, you expected that. His prints were on both the plastic and the paper. I haven’t fooled around with the bills yet, but I imagine we’ll find his prints there, too. Plus probably a dozen others-people who’ve handled the bills while they were in circulation.”

  “Yeah, I imagine you’re right.”

  “But I’ll start on the bills shortly, mainly looking for the same prints as the three on the envelope. Anyway, sorry to get sidetracked, but print number two…” Marlin heard rustling papers at the other end of the line. “It’s…a guy named Salvatore Mameli.”

  Marlin sat up a little straighter and caught Garza’s eye in the rearview. “Salvatore Mameli?” Garza leaned over the back of the seat.

  Fanick continued: “Affirmative. He’s in the system from drunk driving last year. Pled it down to a public intoxication. Name ring a bell?”

  “You bet it does.” Marlin said. “A very loud bell.” Suddenly, Marlin’s bribery theory was making a lot more sense. “And number three?”

  “A guy who got nailed on a simple assault a couple of years ago. Looks like a bar fight.” Fanick said the name-and Marlin almost dropped the phone.

  Maynard Clements.

  Marlin and Garza agreed that it would be best to ride out to Salvatore Mameli’s house together in the sheriff’s car. Along the way, Marlin relayed his bribery theory and detailed his conversations with Maynard Clements.

  Garza was obviously excited about the possibilities. He said, “This guy Mameli, if I remember right, was in the concrete business a couple years back. Right after he moved to town.”

  “Yep, and now he’s into brush removal,” Marlin said. “I’ve seen his rigs on a couple of deer leases.”

  Garza gave Marlin a strange glance. “I didn’t know that. For how long?”

  “Six months, maybe a year. What are you thinking?”

  Garza tilted his head to the side, as if he were trying to look at the facts from a different angle. “Emmett Slaton owns the biggest brush-removal company in the county, right? Or he used to. And now one of his competitor’s names comes up in a murder investigation. Meanwhile, Slaton is nowhere to be found.”

  Marlin hadn’t even considered that fact. He had been too focused on the Gammel case. So, they threw some ideas around, trying to work Slaton into the bribery scenario. They agreed that-regardless of what Maynard Clements said-Mameli could have bribed Gammel in connection with a county project, maybe to ensure that Mameli had the lowest bid.

  But they couldn’t work Slaton into the mix. It just didn’t make sense. “Maybe Mameli paid Gammel off to get the contract on some brush removal for the county,” Marlin said. “Then Slaton somehow found out and threatened to expose it all. So Mameli says, ‘What the hell, I don’t need this grief,’ and takes ’em both out.”

  “But I thought Gammel handled structures, not roads. And if there was a lot of brush to be cleared, you’d think it would be for roadwork.”

  “No, you’re right,” Marlin replied. “But… Maynard Clements is in charge of roadwork contracts, and his fingerprints were on the envelope, too.”

  They were a mile from Mameli’s house now, so Garza stopped for a few moments on the shoulder. “Interesting, but I wouldn’t get too worked up about that yet. There could be a simple reason for Maynard handling that envelope, since he and Gammel worked in the same office. And you’d have to wonder… if Mameli bribed Clements instead of Gammel, why is Gammel the one who’s dead?”

  Marlin had to admit that it weakened the theory. Then he remembered something Clements had said. “You know, Gammel and Clements could have been working a project together. He said they did that sometimes, if the project was large enough.”

  “So maybe Mameli bribed both Clements and Gammel?”

  “Could be.”

  “Once again: Why is Clements still breathing?”

  They batted it around for a few more minutes, but couldn’t come up with any possible answers. They knew that Slaton would have needed rock solid, undeniable evidence of bribery-something that would have been very difficult to come by. And even then, they wondered, would it be enough to push a man to murder?

  “What kind of man is Mameli, anyway?” Garza asked.

  Marlin shrugged. “No idea. Never met him until that brawl last night at the gym.”

  Garza drummed on the steering wheel, thinking. “Hold on a sec.” Garza grabbed the radio mike and contacted Darrell Bridges. “Darrell, I need you to run a background check on a man for me. You’ll have to call the DPS office in Austin. Guy’s name is Salvatore Mameli. I need it ASAP.”

  Garza replaced the mike and said, “Worth a shot.”

  Bridges radioed back in ten minutes. Just as Richard Fanick had said, Mameli had a
conviction for public intoxication. But other than that, his record was clean.

  “All right, then,” Garza said, starting his cruiser. “Guess we’ll just have to go see what Mr. Mameli has to say.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  The Mamelis lived in a rambling ranch-style home, built from native limestone and cedar. It reminded Marlin of his own home, but on a much larger scale. Apparently, Sal Mameli’s businesses did quite well. They parked behind a Lincoln and climbed out. Walking to the front door, Marlin could see into a window a couple of rooms down. The younger Mameli-Vinnie-was working out with weights, doing French curls, bare-chested. Kid was pretty well sculpted. Marlin made eye contact and nodded. Vinnie set the weights on the floor and glared back at Marlin. Probably still pissed about that four-wheeling ticket Marlin had given him this summer.

  Garza knocked and the door was answered by a pretty Hispanic woman. She led them into a den, where Sal Mameli was stretched out on a sofa, his leg in a cast. Marlin noticed that Mameli’s eyes widened for just an instant when he saw the two officers.

  “Mr. Mameli, I’m Bobby Garza, sheriff of Blanco County. And I believe you know John Marlin.”

  Mameli nodded and offered a smile, which came out more as a wince. “Excuse me for not getting up. With this leg, you know…”

  “No problem, sir. We were wondering if we could chat with you for a few minutes.”

  “Sure, have a seat. Youse want somethin’ to drink? Coffee?”

  Both men declined.

  Mameli shook his head. “I guess you’re out here about Vinnie’s four-wheeling. I told dat kid to stay outta the parks, but-”

  “Actually, that’s not why we’re here,” Garza interrupted. “We wanted to ask you about a couple of other things.”

  Mameli gave a look of surprise, one that appeared exaggerated to Marlin. “All right,” he said tentatively. “What’s up?”

  “Well, sir, we were wondering what you can tell us about Bert Gammel. Specifically, what kind of relationship you had with him.”