Drawn Into Darkness(43)
What was most likely to happen was nothing. This woman had no kin in Maypop to pressure for an investigation. It was no crime for adults to go missing.
Still swearing in his favorite language for that purpose, Bernie decided to fix one thing at least. He opened the front door, took what the mail carrier had left, and put it inside, so that it would not advertise the emptiness of the house. Then, not yet satisfied, Bernie headed back into the bedroom, where he had seen a laptop computer.
He booted it up, knees jiggling with guilty impatience as he sat on a chair that was too small for him. The laptop hummed into beaming compliance, requiring no password. Bernie invoked the Internet symbol, then the e-mail envelope. Again, no need for a password; it seemed Liana Clymer stayed logged on. Bernie searched her contacts list for people with the names Clymer or Leppo. There were several. He addressed a single e-mail to all of them, scowling as he struggled to compose a suitable message:
Hello family of Liana Clymer, aka Liana Leppo. This is Deputy Bernardo Morales of the Maypop County (Florida) Sheriff’s Office contacting you. I have been alerted by a mail carrier that Liana seems to be missing from her residence. She seems to have been gone for several days as there is a dachshund dead of bullet wounds and decaying in her living room, her car is parked out of sight in the backyard, and her purse and car keys
Bernie stopped to think, then saved the draft, headed out into the backyard, and tried the Toyota’s driver’s side door. It was locked. Shading his face from the sun with his hands, he peered in through the window, then went around to the passenger side and tried again. He saw no keys in the ignition or anywhere else. Satisfied, he walked back into the pink house and resumed his e-mail.
purse and car keys are unaccounted for. I will file a Missing Under Suspicious Circumstances report but beyond that I have no duty or authority. It is not in my job description to write this e-mail but where I come from it would be considered the honorable thing to do. How you respond is of course your business and not mine.
Sincerely,
Deputy Bernardo Morales
He added the Sheriff’s Office’s phone number, complete with area code, paused to think again whether he might get in trouble about this, then shrugged and clicked Send. Tammy Lou, still after twenty years the love of his life, told him often that he had a bigger heart than any other man she had ever met. Bernie considered this meant he was a true Chileno. By sending the e-mail, he had maybe broken a rule, but before being a deputy of the sheriff he was first a caballero, a gentleman.
THIRTEEN
“Make sure you hide all of our tracks,” I told Justin, heading toward the pitiful hut we had found.
“Make sure you watch out for snakes,” Justin retorted.
“Like this one?” Pausing, gently I unwound one end of the oak snake from around my waist and coaxed the other end out of my shorts pocket. As I held her up, she hung between my hands in a catenary curve like an overly thick, gray and white telephone wire.
Justin’s jaw sagged. I realized I was showing off and tried to retract.
“You’re not afraid of snakes,” I stated, matter-of-fact, lowering my own specimen. “Not the way you took care of that cottonmouth that was looking up my nose.”
He succeeded in moving his mouth, forming speech. “What are you going to do with that?”
“With her.” Actually, no way could I tell the snake’s gender, so I chose one. “Her name is Hypatia the Wise. If you don’t mind, I’ll take her inside to chase the mice away.” The oak snake flicked its tongue, then oozed up my arm and into my T-shirt sleeve.
“Where is she going right now?” Justin inquired innocently.
“Ha-ha.” Turning my back to preserve some dignity, I carried Hypatia to the shanty. Or hut. Whatever. Rudimentary and rotting. No problem opening the door; the knob and lock had long since fallen out of it. But I couldn’t see a thing inside, it was so dark. I pulled out the flashlight I had toted all the way from the blue pickup truck, clicked it on, and used its rather dim beam to reconnoiter. I saw mouse turds, mostly, and scuttling toward the shadows were some of those huge insects euphemistically called palmetto roaches, a cockroach by another name, still icky all the same. I saw no snakes but did not doubt there might be some underneath the few furnishings. These consisted of a picnic table in the middle of the splintery plank floor and a bunk bed standing against the rickety wall, the mattresses wrapped in thick plastic so the mice wouldn’t get into them, I surmised. Hefty Rubbermaid containers stacked in one corner probably served the same purpose, to protect the contents from varmints.