Switchback Ch17

Carter followed the map and arrived at the lodge at five-fifteen. He checked the parking lot, a blue Honda Civic parked just right of the entrance door, an RV, probably big enough to sleep eight, parked just right of the Civic, its roof packed with fishing baskets and cylindrical cases, and in the far left corner were two black Cherokees with the Putnam sheriff’s badge on the doors. It seems staying at the same place as Spooner and his boys was another thing the judge had somehow forgotten to inform him of, if indeed the judge was aware of it to begin with. Then again, what better place is there to hide than right there in plain sight?

          Carter reversed his Taurus into the small space on the right of the RV and climbed out. He left his suitcase in the trunk but took the envelope that held the press card and photographs Ryland had printed off, along with the Ledger he had trapped under his arm.

          Inside, a young blonde in a light-blue summer dress was seated to his left watching television, looked like a news channel. On his right were four burly guys eating a meal that smelled as good as any he’d eaten himself. It reminded him of just how hungry he was, and that slab of fruitcake and cookies at the judge’s house seemed like ancient history. He walked to the bar and looked around some more but saw no one in uniform. A slender elderly woman of around five-six was pouring a number of drinks and putting them on a tray.

          ‘Good evening,’ he said.

          ‘Be with you in a couple of ticks, sir.’ She lifted the tray and took it over to the four guys.

          A disc-shaped black pen holder had been stuck to the bar next to the guest register, he spun it and opened it. At the top of the page rooms one and five were booked out in the names Spooner A. and Spooner J. a double and a twin. He guessed Josh was sharing with the yet unknown officer. Rooms five and six, both twins had been booked out in the name of Jackson T. The next was room seven, and was booked out in the name of Lord A. another twin room. The rest of the page was clear except for the very bottom slot which had been written in pencil. Carter A. pending, was all it said, none of the other boxes had been filled in. He turned the register back, closed it.

          ‘Sorry about the wait, sir. Now, how may I help?’

          ‘Are you still serving food?’

          ‘I’m afraid not, but you would need to be resident here if we were.’

          ‘For food that smells as good as yours, ma’am, I’d book a whole floor of rooms just for me.’

          She smiled, blushed a little. ‘Well I could get you some cold food if you like, a sandwich, perhaps? We have ham, cheese, or chicken, and all with salad of course.’

          ‘Ham and cheese sounds good, and can I get that with a single malt, no ice?’

          She motioned the dining area. ‘Certainly, if you take a seat I’ll fetch your drink and organise the sandwich.’

          ‘Thank you, but I’d rather sit at the bar if that’s okay, ma'am?’

          ‘Of course, where ever you feel comfortable. And please, it's Agnes.’

          Carter smiled and nodded and sat on a barstool with a wood-slatted backrest and red cushioned leatherette seat and armrests, it was firm but comfortable. At least the judge had been right about one thing, the lodge was a nice place with nice people.

          He pushed the envelope of photographs to his left and read over the story of Elizabeth Ferris again. He wondered if Spooner felt just as suspicious about her death’s connection with that of her parents as he did. Or would he do basically nothing in the hope the evidence so far was enough to put the blame on Cunningham like the good judge said he would?

          Agnes placed his drink on a paper coaster and said she’d be back in a couple of minutes with his sandwich.

          Carter was becoming more convinced that there had to be a fifth person involved, and that person was the one who fired all the shots and struck Cunningham hard enough to kill him, or at least thought they had. The fire across the street didn’t feel like a coincidence, either. The old lady could have seen something and reported it? The map shows her house to be the only one near enough for anyone to have seen or heard anything, so it’s reasonable to assume she was the one who had notified Cunningham.

          He took out his cell to see two of its five reception bars finally illuminated, the best he’d had since he arrived in Leyton Falls. He pulled the folded A4 map from his pocket, punched-in the number written at the bottom and made the call.

          ‘Judge, last night how would Cunningham have found out about the Ferris place?’

          Agnes placed his sandwich in front of him; she gave him a smile and then made herself look busy at the other end of the bar.

          ‘And do you know her hours?’

          The sandwich was like a meal in itself, an eight-inch roll of crusty bread as thick as his forearm and crammed with cheese, ham and salad.

          ‘Yes I know she won’t talk to me, I wouldn’t expect her to.’

          He lifted the top half of the roll to catch the aroma of sliced horseradish and onions. And on the plate beside the sandwich he found two plastic sachets, one of mayonnaise, one of mustard.

          ‘Okay, Judge, speak soon.’

 

On her way back from the washroom, Alex went through the three stages of recognition. First she slowed, then she frowned and tilted her head, and then she turned to look back at the man at the bar.

          ‘You know him,’ asked Sammi.

          ‘Who?’

          ‘The guy at the bar you just did a double-take on.’

          ‘No, thought I did, but…’ she looked at her watch. ‘It’s almost five-thirty, don’t−’

          ‘I know.’

          ‘Do you have them with you?’

          ‘No, they’re in the top drawer under the window.’

          ‘You should always keep them with you, what if we were out and the car had broken down?’

          Sammi rolled her eyes. ‘I know.’

          Alex picked up her bag. ‘I want you to go upstairs, Sammi, take your meds when they’re due and wait in the room for me to get back.’

          ‘Where are you going?’

          ‘I told you I need to speak to some residents, re-interview them for my boss. If I take you with me they may not want to open up.’

          ‘Well how long will you be?’

          ‘An hour, tops.’

          She sighed. ‘Okay, fine.’

          ‘Get a drink and some chips to take up and put them on the bill, and lock the door after you.’ She bent to move hair from Sammi’s face, kissed her forehead. ‘I’ll be as quick as I can, promise.’

 

After Alex had left the lodge, Sammi went to the bar and stood beside to the man her sister thought she knew. There was a dish before him laden with breadcrumbs and two flattened plastic sachets, and between her and the man lay a newspaper with a photograph of a burning house at the top of the front page, its bright orange flames made all the brighter by the black night sky. She’d read a couple of lines when Agnes Peabody came over.

          ‘Yes, dear, what can I get you?’

          ‘Oh, hi, can I have a bottle of orange juice, please, and some salted potato chips.’ She looked back at the newspaper, started to read from where she left-off.

          ‘Hell of a picture,’ said the man.

          Sammi was a little surprised, and a little embarrassed, ‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to−’

          ‘It’s okay, and don’t worry about it; I didn’t pay for it either.’

          ‘Are you staying here, at the lodge?’

          He leaned in, whispered. ‘I don’t know, is it any good?’

          She shrugged. ‘It’s okay, but it’s not the Hilton.’

          ‘There you go, dear. Will you be paying now or shall I put them on the bill for you?’

          ‘On the bill, Please.’

          ‘Very good,’ she said, and took the man’s empty dish. ‘Can I get you anything else, sir?’

          ‘It’s Harris, Adam Harris, and yes, I’d like another of your fine malts and one of your rooms for a week.’

          She smiled, opened and turned round the guest register. ‘Will that be a single room, Mr Harris?’

          ‘Yes.’

          ‘Then I have to inform you that all our single rooms are on the upper floor and I’m afraid we don’t have an elevator.’

          ‘That won’t be a problem.’

          ‘Very well, if you could fill in the necessary, I’ll get your drink.’

          ‘I gotta go,’ Sammi said. ‘It was nice talking to you, Mr Harris.’

          ‘You too, miss?’

          ‘Sammi.’

          ‘Okay, Sammi, probably see you around.’

          ‘Yeah, sure.’

          He held out the newspaper. ‘You may as well have it, I’ve read it anyway.’

          She took it, said thanks.

 

‘Here’s your key, Mr Harris, room nine, up two flights of stairs and then back on yourself to the end. The bathroom is the door just across the landing from your room.  And I do hope you enjoy your stay with us.’

          ‘Thank you, I’m sure I will.’

          Carter emptied his glass in one and picked up his key and the envelope and fetched his suitcase from the car. He climbed the first flight of stairs and turned along the landing to the second. Room one was to his right, he put his ear to the door but only managed to get muffled voices. He climbed the next set of stairs and turned back on himself to find room nine, which, if his geography of the lodge was correct, was right above Spooner’s room.

          The room was reasonable in size, big enough for two but with only a single bed pushed against the wall that faced the window to his left. A stand-alone closet was to the right of the window and a table with a cup and kettle and sundries was against the wall that faced the door. The air conditioning seemed to be working as the room was chill but not uncomfortably so.

          Carter dropped his suitcase beside the bed and shut the door. He walked to the window to look out over the parking lot and heard a truck somewhere distant. It was a truck he’d heard the sound of not too long ago as it left the parking lot of Dougie’s bar. He carried on looking from the window and listened as the noise of gears changed from dropping before a bend, to rising after it. A minute later the Trans-am turned into the lodge’s lot and pull up at the side of the two Cherokees. Only one man climbed from the car, it was the one in the check shirt, the heaviest of the three, the one who had the sense to know when he was beaten.

          Carter expected him to enter the lodge but he only stood by his car and made a phone call. Five seconds later Carter heard the trill of a cell phone coming up through the air-con vent, its monotone notes playing the “Star Wars” theme.

          He got on his knees, listened.

          “Hey, Stu … what? Shit. Well you better get your ass up here cause I ain’t tellin’ him that.’

          The door to room one opened and closed.

          “Who was that?’

          “Stu, he’s on his way up.’

Carter went back to the window to see Stu kick the wheel of his Trans-am in a temper tantrum and head toward the lodge.