A Short Time to Die Read online

  “The coroner said he figured they’d been dead four or five years, maybe as little as three,” Vanessa said for Detective Wong’s benefit. She turned her attention to the pieces of paper she’d snatched from Nick.

  Bones are so impersonal. Hardly human. It was easy to forget they had once all been tied together into a package called a person. Now that she could see Louise and Troy glowering back at her from their old mug shots, they had become very personal indeed.

  She checked the dates. These pictures dated back twelve and a half years.

  Louise’s profile listed her as white, female, five foot eleven and two hundred and fifteen pounds, hair red, eyes green. Louise favored the mullet look. Something that looked like a dead, frizzy animal framed her head. Her hooded pale eyes smoldered with smug aggression.

  Troy was a carbon copy of his mother in most regards, right down to her chin stubble, except he was larger at six foot four inches and 297 pounds. At least he hadn’t indulged in a perm for his mullet. A vague cast in his eyes caught Vanessa’s attention. Despite his belligerent glare, Troy looked confused. Drugs? Brain damage?

  Jack Wong crowded in to look over her shoulder. “Hmmm. Nice folks,” he said, apparently not noticing that Vanessa’s back had stiffened. “Louise—eight to ten for dual counts of aggravated assault and manslaughter, served four. Troy—four to six for more or less the same, served three. Last known residence, Charon Springs, New York.”

  “Presumably Mommy made him do it,” Nick said. He waved them off. “Okay, go track down the details. Nessa, give Jackson that desk next to yours. I assume you brought your laptop, Jackson. I’ve already called IT for a monitor and all the access stuff you’ll need.”

  After they’d situated themselves at Vanessa’s desk, Jack tried to commandeer Vanessa’s laptop, but she kept a firm grasp on the mouse and forced him to watch on the big monitor. Every good-looking cop she’d ever worked with had been lazy, crazy, or arrogant, and sometimes all three. Jack oozed enthusiasm, so perhaps she could cross off lazy in his case.

  “Charon Springs, New York. Where the hell is that?” Jack asked. They leaned in and peered at the Google map. “Not very close to New York City.”

  “Not very close to anything, I’d say,” Vanessa said. “It looks like Syracuse might be the nearest major city, but I wouldn’t call that close. We’re not talking about suburbia here.”

  Nick came to check on their progress just before lunch.

  “We’ve located Charon Springs,” Jack said. He pointed to the Google map. “Upstate New York.”

  Nick leaned in. “Nah. That’s Central New York. You should know the difference if you’re going to talk to the natives.”

  “Do you know this area, Sergeant?” Vanessa asked.

  “Sure. Didn’t I tell you that I grew up in Utica?” Nick pointed to a location to the northeast of their little dot. “I’ve never heard of Charon Springs, but Avalon and DeRuyter I recognize.”

  “Louise and Troy dropped off the map about three and a half years ago,” Vanessa said, consulting her notes. “Their New York driver’s licenses expired and weren’t renewed, and there were no new arrests, which was downright out of character. There are no missing persons reports.”

  Jack picked up the thread. “Lots of minor stuff on their records, but about twelve years ago they were both convicted of aggravated assault of a girl named Elaine Fardig, a local high school student at the time. It’s not clear what the motivation was, aside from some sort of inter-family issues. Other relatives were convicted for shorter sentences. Bad stuff.”

  He continued. “A bit more disturbing are the assault and involuntary manslaughter charges. The victim in that case was Laura Rasmussen. She was Louise’s daughter, and Troy’s sister. From what I can tell so far, Laura was also in high school at the time. The two incidents seem to be connected, but I’ll have to dig further to figure out how.”

  Nick scratched the back of his neck. “A place that tiny probably won’t have their own police department. I’d check with the PD in Avalon and the Madison County Sheriff’s Department. They’ll tell you who covers this place. Even if Charon Springs isn’t in their direct jurisdiction, they’re likely to know charmers like Louise and Troy.”

  After Nick retreated back to his office, Jack and Vanessa walked to a Thai place along Saratoga Sunnyvale Road, dodging raindrops, passing anonymous office buildings and cookie-cutter restaurants. Vanessa ordered her favorite, Thai larb salad, and Jack ordered pad Thai.

  When their food arrived and they started to eat, Vanessa realized with a start that Jack had sprouted a wedding ring. Where the hell did that come from? She had been working with the man all morning, sharing a keyboard, writing on the same tablet. She had seen his hands. Not a ring in sight! Now he had a wedding ring.

  This confirmed her diagnosis: Jack is crazy. Did he really think she had been flirting with him when she snatched the mouse away? Was this a defensive move? Effective police work relied on trust, and at this point, she wasn’t certain that Jack would be a reliable partner.

  * * *

  Back in the office, Vanessa placed a call to the Avalon, New York, police department. After a very brief explanation, she was connected to the police chief’s office.

  “Chief Chip Davis here,” a man said, in a loud voice. “How can I help you?”

  Vanessa wondered if Chip was capable of expressing himself in something like a normal tone of voice.

  “Chief Davis, I’m Detective Vanessa Alba calling from the Santa Clara County Sheriff’s Department in California. I’d like to have my colleague, Detective Jack Wong, join the call.” She pushed the speaker button on the phone.

  “Okay, okay. Hi there, Detective Wong. Call me Chip.”

  Introductions over, Vanessa continued. “Chip, about two months ago a local man found human bones up in the Santa Cruz Mountains here, just a bit southwest of San Francisco Bay. The bottom line is that we assembled the better part of two skeletons, one female and one male. We were able to match their DNA information to the FBI CODIS database, and we now believe that these bodies are Louise Rasmussen and Troy Rasmussen.”

  There was a slow hiss from the other end of the phone.

  “Ah. Louise and Troy. Well, well. It sounds like they didn’t meet with good ends.”

  “That’s one of the things we’re trying to work out,” Vanessa said. “We can find no trace of clothes or jewelry at the base of the cliff or at the edge above or at any point along the way. Unfortunately, the bones were so dispersed and torn apart that we can’t determine a cause of death. They might have been dead when they went over or died when they landed.”

  To their surprise, Chip Davis laughed. “Hoo hoo. Oops. Sorry. Louise and Troy Harris. Couldn’t have happened to two nicer people.” It was clear Chip was having a hard time controlling his glee.

  “You don’t seem very surprised or sad, Chief,” Vanessa said.

  “Did you refer to them as Louise and Troy Harris?” Jack asked.

  “Ah. Yeah. Okay. Let’s step back a bit,” Chip answered. Vanessa noticed that his voice, although still warm and welcoming, no longer boomed.

  “I was appointed chief about two years ago. Some years back, I had an early midlife crisis around giving back to my community and decided to make a career in law enforcement, mostly over in Vermont. I jumped at the opportunity to come back here and make a difference. I was born and raised here, and I can tell you that the Harrises have been a malicious disease in this area for as long as my grandparents can remember.”

  Vanessa and Jack swapped grins.

  Chip continued. “Avalon is a gorgeous little town that is often called the gem of Central New York. Of course it’s not perfect and we have crime like any place, but pretty much along the lines of what you’d expect. However, we also have a couple of smaller towns and villages that are part of the school system and also police coverage. To put it bluntly, Charon Springs is a carbuncle on our butt and that’s where Louise and Troy come from.”


  “And Harris?” Vanessa asked.

  Chip made a series of hums and clicking noises before he answered. “Well, I guess Rasmussen must have been the name of Louise’s husband. It’s a fairly common name around here. Lord knows where he went or came from, for that matter. Louise always used her maiden name, Harris, and Troy used that too. For them, being a Harris is—was—a badge of honor. For generations the Harris clan has been a sort of rural mafia around this whole area operating out of that pit.”

  “Were you aware they were missing? Did anyone file a report?”

  Chip laughed. “No. Out of sight, out of mind, I guess. On our side, I have to admit that my predecessors practiced a containment policy. These Harris folks are so ingrained and inbred and insular, the primary goal was just to keep them penned up within their own boundaries. Not always a very successful policy, I might add. It is very unlikely that any of the Harris clan would have registered an official complaint or filed a missing persons report with us.”

  “Can you help us with next of kin? Who else should we talk to?” Jack asked.

  “Wow. Next of kin. Well, of course Louise killed her own daughter, Troy’s sister. I guess you might know that. Louise’s mother, Rosie, died about four years ago and her father died about eight or nine years before that. Her parents, Rosie and Zeke Harris, ran the Harris clan for years. I guess Carl Harris, Zeke’s brother, runs it now. But he’s a different sort.”

  “Different?” Vanessa asked.

  “Not as vicious. Sort of more like running a family business, tough but fair, although I’m sure there’s stuff I’m not aware of. I know that sounds weird, but it’s a big improvement over the brutal and personalized reign of Zeke and Rosie.”

  “Sounds like we should start with Carl.”

  “Yes, I’d start with Carl.”

  Vanessa exchanged looks with Jack. “If we came out your way to check on things, would you be able to help?”

  “Ooh. Brave folks. Winter in Central New York. It is January, you know. There aren’t many cheap places to stay around here, but it’s the off-season. I suggest that you stay at Avalon House. They’re located right across the street from the station, and the guy who runs it is a good friend. It’s a bit more expensive normally, but we have a special discount. It’s got a good restaurant and a nice beer cellar with pub food, plus they have a wing for extended stays. I’ll get you the prices and you let us know. There’s the Woodside Motel on the edge of town, but I wouldn’t recommend that at this time of year.”

  * * *

  True to his word, Chip emailed them the hotel rates an hour later. Vanessa printed the email and took it into their status meeting with Nick.

  Nick must have been in a good mood. He listened to Vanessa’s pitch for the trip to Avalon and the nicer hotel.

  “Okay. It’s January in Central New York after all. That motel would be close to unlivable. Just be sure you stay within the per diem for meals. If you want a drink, it’s on you.”

  Shortly after, they each packed up to head home.

  “Speaking about a drink, how about a beer down the road?” Jack asked.

  Vanessa was in no mood to socialize. She would be seeing more than enough of him over the next few weeks. For now, she wanted to see more of how he handled himself at work. “Sorry, I have a commitment,” she said.

  Jack waved a farewell salute and headed toward his car. “Sure. Another time.” He didn’t seem to be put out. Vanessa watched him from behind. Nice view.

  Vanessa had a nice view on the drive home as well, but as a cop she knew nice views could be deceiving.

  Lovely mountains crowded around the San Francisco Bay at this far end. The Santa Cruz Mountains to the west were thick with the green of redwoods interspersed with Silicon Valley–fueled mansions. The mists rising from the hills in winter reminded her of slowly burning money. The Diablos on the eastern side of the bay had fewer trees and were now cloaked in the green fuzz of winter grasses with a thin dusting of white snow along the highest tops. The rains from earlier in the day had subsided, revealing a beautiful set of triple rainbows over Milpitas.

  The drive to Mountain View was a smooth reverse commute, but she needed to keep focused on the road and not on the rainbows.

  She hadn’t explained that her commitment was to her parents.

  4

  Marly: Treasure Hunt

  October 29, 2000

  The anxiety in her stomach rose to Marly’s chest and filled her dreams.

  In the morning, she dragged herself to the bathroom and discovered that her discomforts had blossomed into a genuine malady. She had a cold. Her throat was sore and a quick check showed she had a low fever.

  Thank you, thank you, she thought.

  She went downstairs to announce to her mother and sister that she had to stay home—in bed.

  “Rosie won’t like that,” her mother said in protest. “You’ve got to come along.”

  Marly forced up a cough, which turned into the authentic item. Her mother and sister took a step back.

  Her mother reached forward and touched Marly’s forehead. “Okay. Yes. You’ve got a fever.”

  Marly crawled back into bed and drowsed, soothed by the sounds of the others preparing for church. Under protest, she went on most Sundays but had no deep fervor for organized religion. Del had always refused to go, but Denise attended every Sunday.

  Marly had pleasant memories of sitting on her father’s lap in church when she was small, but that place had held no comforts for her since he had disappeared when she was seven. Beanie. She’d always called him Beanie and he had gotten such a kick out of that. She knew she looked like him.

  There was only one church in the Springs, the United Church—a classic brick structure with a white steeple at the far end of the village—which offered a combination of Presbyterian and Baptist services. Catholics had to drive ten to twenty miles roundtrip if they wanted to attend church. There were no practicing Jews in town, let alone Muslims. A few Pentecostal places had been set up closer to Avalon.

  Marly jolted awake to find Rosie standing in her bedroom. Only in her mid-fifties, Rosie’s skin was as wrinkled as an old apple, stretched over a lean, hard body. Denise stood nervously in the hall while Louise, Rosie’s daughter, frowned from the doorway.

  “Open,” Rosie said.

  Marly complied. Rosie studied the back of Marly’s throat using a flashlight.

  “Put this under your tongue.” Rosie handed Marly a thermometer. Marly studied the ceiling and prayed that she really did have a fever.

  “One hundred point two. And your throat’s red. Denise, you’d better take her to Dr. Duckworth tomorrow. She might have strep throat.”

  “Sure, sure,” Denise said.

  Rosie turned back to Marly.

  “Well, since you can’t come and contaminate us all, you can tell me now. Did you see Del on Friday night?”

  Marly sat up on the edge of the bed. “No,” she said, and coughed. In just a few hours her voice had roughened into laryngitis.

  “No,” she said, and started again. “I saw him at dinner. He went out and I went to the Halloween dance. Claire dropped me at the Rock at about eleven. Harry told me to leave and said Del and Zeke had gone and I couldn’t stay inside. So I hung around for about fifteen or twenty minutes and I walked home.”

  “Which way’d you walk?” Louise asked, her eyes narrow. Louise tended to act like that with everyone, so Marly wasn’t sure if Louise suspected something, but her fierce scowl made Marly’s heart pound nevertheless.

  Marly had given that inevitable question some thought. “Back toward Rippleton on Barrett and onto Dugway. I figured that Del would drive that way and he might see me,” she said, tracing the route in the air with her fingers.

  “You didn’t cut through the woods?”

  “Only for that last bit from Dugway. I was almost home.”

  Louise and Rosie stared at Marly. Denise shifted her weight back and forth, rocking herself. Marly he
ld her breath.

  “Okay,” Rosie said. “Denise, you can bring the kids. Let’s go.”

  Marly listened from the top of the stairs. Once she was sure everyone else had left the house, she dressed in jeans and her sweatshirt. She rushed to the bathroom and took the maximum dose of cold medicine and three aspirin. She ran downstairs, pulled on a Windbreaker, and grabbed a backpack plus a medium-sized duffel bag.

  In the barn, she found a pair of rubber boots that must have belonged to her father. She put them into the duffel, which she strapped onto the back of her bike.

  Choosing her route with caution, she was able to take off-road paths through the woods to the closed and vacant library. She let herself in and retrieved Zeke’s keys from the women’s bathroom. Back outside, she crossed the main road and headed out on hunting trails to the spot she had in mind.

  Keys, keys. Magical keys.

  Word was that Zeke slept with them on. Marly knew that Rosie coveted those keys. They opened doors of hidden Harris treasure.

  Marly had some ideas where to find those doors. Her father, Beanie, had been an avid hunter and loved the woods. He would take Marly on long walks, and he had shown her many of his favorite places and secret haunts.

  Her memories of her father were both distant and clear, and this one was vivid.

  She was headed to the place Beanie had called the Vault. It hadn’t looked like much to Marly—just a more run-down version of a small, two-story farmhouse much like their own, tucked far off the road.

  It was an easy place to miss—overgrown with vines and sumac in the summer and shrouded with snow in the winter. Only for brief spells in the spring and the fall did it emerge a bit to those who might be curious.

  She had been curious a couple of years before, when she was fourteen. She had managed to sneak away keys that Del carried. She had checked out the little house but could not gain access to the fortified closet doors on that day.