Chapter 24
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
I took the Escalade. I had a vague idea of what I was doing and my car, my popsicle blue car, which I adored, would be too noticeable against the snow.
Not that black was subtle, but still. I drove to the Campbell complex and parked a few houses down.
I could just barely see the main house and the RV.
What was I doing there? Buford. Had he killed Bobbie?
Why did I think that? Well, first, he said he saw Melanie drop Bobbie off.
That was probably true. He said he heard a couple of gun shots.
That was probably not true. Bobbie was strangled.
So why tell a lie like that? To deflect and distract, which you’d probably do if you were guilty.
What else? Bobbie was suing him, so he had a motive.
Something he hadn’t mentioned either time I spoke to him. But then, why would he?
Seeing Melanie there was an opportunity. All he had to do was walk thirty feet across his own yard and strangle Bobbie. Could he have overcome his own fears to do that?
His fingerprints. They were inside the RV. Yeah he owned it, but still, he probably wouldn’t go inside. He’d have other people take care of any problems. Which means his fingerprints shouldn’t be in there.
I stared at the house. In the middle of the night, could Buford have slipped out, run over to the RV, killed his cousin, and run back? It was possible. But how to prove it.
It was starting to get cold, so I turned the engine back on. I imagined Buford strangling Bobbie. I tried to imagine every single detail. Then, finally, I said out loud, “Scratches.”
I remembered seeing one single scratch on Bobbie’s neck.
A scratch that she wouldn’t have put there herself as she struggled.
.. There would be scratches on his hands.
Unless he wore gloves. But would he have?
If he did it, if it was him, it was spontaneous.
A snap decision he barely thought about.
He saw an opportunity and… Yeah, he wouldn’t have worn gloves or a coat or boats.
If he’d taken the time to put them on, he wouldn’t have done it.
I had to see his hands. But how would I do that?
He wouldn’t let me in, so I had to get him to reach his hands out.
I had to give him something. But what? I looked around the interior of the Escalade.
There wasn’t much. Nana Cole made me clean it out right before Christmas.
There was a paper soda cup in the cup holder.
Empty. The glove compartment held a travel sized pack of tissues, some gum, a pacifier, and the four-inch-thick manual for the Escalade.
There was a blanket in the backseat. I was considering going and buying him some dinner somewhere, when I noticed the bag from Fudge You!
tucked into the map holder in the passenger door.
The fudge I’d bought for Nana Cole had never gotten into the house.
That would have to do. I leaned over the seat and grabbed it. Then I shut the car off and jumped out.
I knocked for a long time. Maybe he wouldn’t come to the door at all. Would that mean something? Did he think my coming back meant I’d figured it out? Was there anything to figure out? Was I crazy to think he’d actually come out of his house?
I was tempted to walk away. But then I noticed the plaid blanket next to the stoop, under the snow.
He’d put it over his head when he ran from the house to the RV.
It would have been like bringing the indoors with him.
I know that doesn’t sound rational, but then it’s not rational to spend your entire life indoors.
And it didn’t need to work. It just needed to work enough.
Finally, he opened the door a crack. “Yeah?”
“Hi Buford. How are you?”
“What do you want?”
“I brought you some fudge.”
“Fudge? You brought me fudge?”
“Yeah, you know, you really helped us out. When I was working for Melanie Frasier. The things you said, they helped. So I thought I should say thank-you and bring you a little something.”
“I helped?”
“Yeah, you did. A lot actually. Of course, Patty Gauthier confessing helped too. And then Brian Belcher also confessed. So it’s gotta be one of them, right?”
“Yeah. It would seem so.”
I stood there holding the bag of fudge, hoping he’d reach out for it. And then he did. He did! I grabbed his hand and turned it over so I could see the back of it… Scratches! A dozen or so. Bobbie had fought much harder than I’d realized.
Buford snatched his hand back and slammed the door. Well, that was that. He did it. Now I had to go and tell Detective Lehmann, and the whole mess—
The door flew open; Buford grabbed me by the puffer jacket and dragged me into the house.
He slammed the door shut and then pushed me up against it.
His hands were quickly around my neck. And then my hands were on his, trying to pull them off me, just as Bobbie would have.
I wouldn’t be able to; I was making the same mistake she made.
I was panicking, of course. A logical response to someone shutting off your airway. I had to be calm though, that was the only way…
Jamming my knee into him, I tried to get him in the crotch. I hit him in the hip though, which earned me a “Umph,” and not much else. Pulling my hands away from his, I moved them to his face, upward toward his eyes, then into—
God that was gross, squishy. I could feel an eyeball slide—
He let go so he could push my hands away. I took another shot at kneeing him in the balls. This time my aim was better and I connected.
Pulling the door open as he whimpered, I was outside in a flash. Ten feet away from the house I turned and saw him standing in the door. He screamed in frustration.
I ran down the crusty driveway.
Detective Lehmann was not happy to see me. I caught him in the parking lot just about to get into that garish Subaru. When he saw me, he said, “What?”
“Buford Campbell killed Bobbie,” my voice was hoarse. I hadn’t expected that.
“You’re fucking kidding me. This morning you said it was Brian Belcher, who, you’ll remember, confessed.”
“Yeah, but it’s Buford.”
“The guy who won’t leave his house?”
“I think he put a blanket over his head and ran over to the trailer.” Okay, yes that sounds insane.
“And then he drove the body to the winery?”
“He must have had help… One of his cousins maybe…”
Lehmann frowned at me.
“Look… he has scratches on the backs of his hands. And he tried to strangle me.” I tried clearing my throat. Seriously, I sounded like Harvey Fierstein—which was fine for him, but not something I was aiming for. I was still young and pretty.
Lehmann reached over to move my jacket away from my neck and I jumped. Well, wouldn’t you? More slowly he pulled the jacket back. I had no idea what he was seeing. I hadn’t wanted to look while I was in the car, but I imagine my neck was red, scratched, possibly already bruising.
I asked, “Did they scrape Bobbie’s nails when they did the autopsy?” Thank you, CSI.
“Yes, but… it hasn’t been sent out for analysis. It’s expensive. We’ve been considering it. I guess you just made up our minds.”
He frowned. I imagined their budget was miniscule since most of the county thought there was no such thing as crime in such a charming area—which certainly hasn’t been my experience.
“You should go to the emergency room.”
“I’m fine.”
“We’re going to need photos of your neck. That was attempted murder, you know.”
“Oh yeah. Um…There’s a phone on my camera. I mean, a camera on my phone. I’ll do it when I get home.”
“That’s probably not good enough.” He reached into his desk and brought out one of those old-timey instamatic cameras that spit out pictures. “Bring it back. I’ll need a statement. In fact, I need two. One for the Denny Hazzard thing and one for this mess.”
“Okay. Yeah. I’ll come in tomorrow. Or the next day.”
And that was that. It took me most of the week to come in and make my statements.
By that point, I had pictures of my neck from three different days, and my bruises went from brown to purple to yellow.
My voice actually got worse for a few days and I sounded like something out of a horror movie.
My sister thought this was hysterical though, I would read her the labels on her food, and she would laugh and laugh, until Nana Cole would say, “Stop it. She’s going to choke. ”
It took some doing apparently, but eventually three of the four other cousins living on the property confessed to dumping Bobbie’s body in front of Three Friends. There was one innocent cousin, though I couldn’t tell you which one that was.
And then, Denny’s preliminary autopsy became available.
Well, sort of available. Technically, only his family had a right to see it.
They seemed not to have a problem believing he’d died of an overdose.
They’d likely been expecting that for a long time.
They gave their permission for Carl and Opal (and me, unfortunately) to look at it.
Detective Lehmann was kind enough to bring the three of us into his office and close the door.
He handed out copies to Opal and Carl. Then said, “I’ve highlighted the important details.
Your friend had significant damage to his arteries, which would have constricted due to methamphetamine use.
They examined his heart tissue on a cellular level and found necrosis.
During a heart attack the heart muscle quickly begins to die. ”
“So, it wasn’t an overdose?” I asked.
“The toxicology report will take another month or so. But the coroner is tentatively calling it a drug-induced heart attack, which basically is an overdose.”
I watched Carl’s face. I could tell he didn’t really want to believe the yellow-highlighted paper in front of him. He asked, “What if the toxicology report shows there were no drugs in his system?”
“Given the circumstances, that’s very unlikely. But if there aren’t drugs in his system, he still died of a heart attack. Which at his age would likely be due to his previous drug use, even if it wasn’t the direct cause.”
Opal seemed to be having an easier time with this, possibly because nearly a week had passed. She put her hand on Carl’s. “None of this means he wasn’t trying, Carl. He didn’t leave you on purpose.”
I thought he might burst into tears again, but he didn’t. Solemnly, we left Lehmann’s office. In the lobby, before we went out into the snow, Opal said, “Thank you. It was nice of you to help.”
“I didn’t really do much of anything.”
“No, you did,” Carl said. Then he threw his arms around me. I froze, instantly. The suddenness, his heat, the emotion. I had to remind myself I was fine. Nothing bad was happening. This was grief, not violence.
Carl sniffed a couple of times then finally let me go.
I started breathing again. It was probably recently having been strangled, and other things that have happened in the—I mean, Buford had been that close to me, his hands on my neck.
I managed to stay relatively calm when it was happening, while I was being strangled, and then, well, it kind of showed up now and then. And Carl, being that close, it just—
Opal, who must have seen how uncomfortable I was, patted me on the shoulder and said good-bye.
They walked out of the building, while I stayed there a moment.
I felt a little panicky. I had a date with Edward the next day.
What if he got close to me and I freaked out?
That was definitely not sexy. I tried to convince myself not to worry.
Sex was sex. I was freaked out by Carl hugging me.
Carl, who I wasn’t attracted to. It was awkward.
That was all. I was making too much of it.
I spent the rest of the afternoon at thrift shops in Bellflower looking for a turtleneck shirt to cover my bruises.