Walleye Junction (6 page)

Macy wandered downstairs where she found Gina staring into a Sub-Zero refrigerator.

“Anything edible in there?” asked Macy. “I'm getting hungry.”

“Nothing I would eat. There is a considerable quantity of Red Bull if you're interested.”

Macy peered over Gina's shoulder. Red Bull was lined up along one shelf in perfect rows.

“That looks like enough caffeine to keep you awake for a month.”

“You'll be delighted to know that Ron Forester alphabetized his condiments.”

“That's a career first,” said Macy.

“They're past their sell-by dates by months so I assume they've been here all along.” Gina poked at the half-empty takeaway containers. Noodles were spilling out the side and the refrigerator shelf was stained with sweet and sour sauce. “Carla and Lloyd Spencer were never going to win any Good Housekeeping awards.”

Macy walked past a sink full of dirty dishes and countertops covered in grease. What looked like spilled cornflakes was in fact the remnants of a bag of corn chips that had been strewn across the counter. Two triangles of burned toast sat alone on a plate.

The double-height windows that ran along the western side of the living room were coated with fine dust. According to initial findings, Carla Spencer and her husband, Lloyd, had slept on the downstairs sofas, but Carla's DNA and several fingerprints had been found in an upstairs bedroom as well. A dining chair was tipped on its side and an alabaster Buddha had been used to smash the glass coffee table. There was also an overturned lamp near the fireplace. The stained-glass lampshade had shattered in the fall. Gina walked around the back of the sofa for a better look.

“I don't understand why the crime techs made such a big deal about this lamp,” said Gina. “It looks like someone tripped over the cord.”

“Say there was a struggle. Why would someone throw a stone statue through a coffee table?”

“It looks like someone got pissed off and decided to trash the place.”

“Since we didn't find Philip Long's fingerprints anywhere in this room, I'd say that's a pretty likely scenario.”

Macy stared down at the unfinished solitaire game spread out on the dining table, impulsively checking the remaining playing cards in the stack.

“Only a few cards away from winning,” Macy said, flipping through them three at a time.

Gina held up the empty playing card box. Its plastic sleeve was still attached. “Brand new and available in thousands of retail outlets. Not a single fingerprint.”

Macy kept seeing moments of order amid the disorder. It was starting to make her think she was missing something or someone.

“Carla and Lloyd Spencer's prints are all over the house, so why not here?” Macy held up a crime scene photo. “This is what the playing cards looked like before they dusted them. Every one of them is perfectly aligned.” She gestured toward the open plan kitchen. “Meanwhile there are unwashed dishes in the kitchen sink, congealed food left on the stove, and wet towels on the bathroom floor.”

“Do you think there was someone else in the house?”

“I keep going back to that night on the road. I'm not sure an unemployed drug addict could have pulled off something like that. Whoever killed Philip Long was in complete control.”

“Could it have been Carla?” said Gina. “She was motivated. She wanted her kids back.”

Macy closed her eyes for a second. “All that motorcycle gear on, I really can't say for sure if it was a man or a woman.” She hesitated. “I'd say the killer was slim and of average height. For lack of a better word I'd say he or she moved with grace.”

“Both Carla and Lloyd Spencer were thin. How tall was the shooter? I think you said around five nine.”

“I was hanging upside down in the dark, so five nine was a guess at best, but I'd swear that they were a few inches shorter than Philip Long. We need to find out if Carla and Lloyd rode motorcycles. Philip was chased through the woods on a dirt bike. That takes some skill. Plus there's the placement of their bodies. I'm convinced someone moved them.” Macy tapped the envelope of crime scene photos against the edge of the table. “So, for argument's sake let's say that there's a third party. Why did he need help from a couple of drug addicts?”

“Maybe he's an outsider. They'd have local knowledge.”

“Then how did they meet him?”

“Buying drugs is a dangerous business. Every time you score you're putting yourself at risk.”

“So, a dealer who is at home on a bike.”

“It could be gang related.”

Macy made a face. “God, I hope not. The bike gangs running heroin through Montana originate out of state. We'd have to bring in pretty much every law enforcement agency known to mankind.” Macy turned her back on the solitaire game. “I think I've seen enough. We should get going.”

Gina held up the car keys. “Where to next?”

Macy checked the time.

“Let's grab some lunch before we head up to meet Lou at Carla and Lloyd's place. I'm starving.”

“Are you sure you don't want some leftover Chinese?” asked Gina.

“Not even if it's alphabetized.”

*   *   *

They found Lou Turner in the Spencer's garage looking over a dirt bike that appeared to have been recently driven off a showroom floor.

“Detective Greeley,” asked Lou. “Could this be the bike you saw that night?”

Macy shook her head. “I don't know. It was out of my sight line. We lifted some tire impressions though. Might be able to find a match that way.” She knelt down to take a closer look. “This looks like it's been cleaned recently. Who's the owner?”

“Carla's teenage son, Sean. Turns out he's quite good on a bike. Lots of trophies in his room.”

“I wonder how he is with a gun,” asked Macy. “How old did you say he was?”

“Old enough. He turned nineteen in March.”

“Have you brought him in?”

Lou gestured toward the empty driveway. “His truck is gone and it doesn't look like anyone has been home for a few days. I've put an APB out on him.”

“Do we have a phone number for him?” asked Gina.

“Yep, but he's not answering,” said Lou. “We found a few pay-as-you-go phones in the house so it's possible he's using one.”

“Did you get anything off them?” asked Macy.

“We'll see, but I wouldn't hold your breath. They appear to have been wiped clean.” Lou started walking toward the house. “They're bagging everything in the house worth taking—two computers so far, but they're ancient. We found a thick folder containing Lloyd Spencer's medical history. Until seven years ago he was fully employed. Then he rolled his quad bike up near Darby Lake and messed up his back. He could barely walk without a cane. No way he was riding that bike.”

“What about Carla?”

“We'll interview her friends and family. Someone should know.”

“Did you find the gear the shooter was wearing? I've been looking into different makes. I think a company called Alliance probably manufactured it. It's pretty high end and has a distinctive logo.”

“Plenty of gear inside the house, but so far I don't think they've found anything made by Alliance.”

“Sean could have dumped the gear,” suggested Gina.

“Then why not get rid of the bike too?” said Lou.

“The fact that it's so clean is suspicious,” said Macy. “How many teenagers do you know who take such good care of their stuff?”

Lou led Macy and Gina to the side entrance of the house. “Sean Spencer may be the world's only exception. Compared to the rest of the house, his room is rather well kept.”

Macy slipped on a pair of shoe coverings before entering the one-story ranch house through the kitchen door. The smell of spoiled food was so strong she covered her mouth. The queasiness that had hit her so hard on the drive up from Helena was back. She stepped around what looked like engine parts and nearly tripped over a pile of discarded pizza boxes. There wasn't a square inch of the kitchen and living room that wasn't covered with clutter.

“It sure looks like the family went downhill in a hurry,” said Macy.

Gina opened a cupboard and a box of cereal tumbled out.

“Carla may have been in rehab, but if this house is anything to go by I'd say she was losing that battle.”

“Macy,” said Lou. “I spoke to the head of the center where Carla attended counseling. She's expecting your call.”

“Did she have any insight?” asked Macy

“She said it wouldn't be the first time they've been fooled by an addict. Carla was also attending a twelve-step recovery group that meets in the church on Main. I'll get the name of her sponsor.”

“Might be worth attending a meeting to see who shows up,” said Gina.

“I'll see what I can do,” said Lou. “They have a tendency to scatter when law enforcement arrive.”

*   *   *

Macy could see nothing but sadness. She picked up a child's drawing. Five stick figures stood in front of a brightly painted house. The two smallest figures were almost identical except one was pink and one was blue. Carla Spencer had a crayon red mouth and long golden hair.

“Whoever is fostering the younger children needs to be informed,” said Macy. “Sean may try to make contact.”

Lou found a remote control and turned on the television. There was only static.

Ryan entered the living room, looking flustered. “It will take us ages to process this mess.” He handed Lou a stack of unopened bills. “Internet and cable have also been disconnected. We're lucky they still have power.”

“Anything aside from the discarded cell phones that strikes you as interesting?” asked Macy.

“I've been working in Sean's room.” Ryan led them down a dark hallway. “The boy was obsessed with three things—bikes, girls, and keeping a well-ordered world.”

“Two out of three are normal,” said Macy. “Anything else?”

“A couple drawers have been cleared out and there's no laptop. Our boy may have left in a hurry.”

“Are you sure there was a computer?” asked Lou.

“Cables are still there,” said Ryan.

Sean's room didn't fit in with the rest of the house. The first thing Macy noticed was that the door could be locked from both the inside and the outside. The bed was made with care and the remaining clothes in the dresser were folded neatly. Posters of everything from dirt bikes to heavy metal bands covered the walls. Trophies he'd won in competitions filled a low set of bookshelves.

Macy picked up a framed photo.

“Is this Sean?” she asked. “He looks about ten years old here.”

Lou nodded. “Yes, that's him.”

Sean was a dark-eyed boy with a shock of black hair and an easy smile. He stood with an older man who had his arm draped casually around the boy's shoulders. The background was filled with mountains and motorcycles. There was definitely a family resemblance. Macy turned over the frame and took the picture out. There was no writing on the back.

“I see a family resemblance. Could this be Sean's real father?”

“Not sure,” said Lou. “There's no father listed on his birth certificate and for the past ten years Sean has used Lloyd's surname.”

“And before that?”

“Carla's.”

Macy pointed to a collage of snapshots that was taped to the wall. Blue eyed and sparrow thin, a bleached-blond female with a quirky fashion sense pulled a selection of purposefully awkward faces in many of the photos.

“Do we have any idea who this girl is?”

Lou peeled off a photo that was above Macy's line of sight and handed it to her. “This one has Xtina xxx written across the bottom. Could be short for Kristina. Doesn't look like your typical local girl.”

“We should check his school anyway,” said Macy. “She might have been there at the same time as Sean.”

Ryan held up a framed high school diploma. “Sean graduated a year ago. He's due to start school at Montana State University in Bozeman this fall. Seems like he was trying to rise above all this. It would be a shame if he was involved.”

Lou Turner placed the photo of Kristina into an evidence bag. “He probably took a year off school to earn some money. He sure as hell wasn't going to get anything from Carla and Lloyd.”

Macy gazed at the carefully organized desk and couldn't help but think of the solitaire game. Future university student or not, Sean was starting to look interesting.

She glanced up at Lou. He seemed deep in thought. “We need to find Sean,” she said. “Have you started interviewing friends and family yet?”

Lou nodded. “It's a large and unruly clan. I'm afraid we've got a rather packed schedule this afternoon.”

*   *   *

Carla Spencer's older sister, Donna, lived with her husband in a mobile home that was parked within yards of Route 93. Macy left Gina in the car so she could start making some inquiries over the phone and went in to meet them on her own. They'd both been on disability for years. Donna sat in a reclining armchair elevating her swollen ankles. The bedroom door was ajar and through the opening Macy could see the flickering light of a television screen.

“Jay's tired,” Donna said. She straightened the gray sweatshirt that kept riding up her belly. “If you want to talk to him, you'll need to come back tomorrow.” She took a sip of the coffee Macy had prepared and grimaced. “Needs more sugar.”

Macy was perched on the narrow sofa. She'd had to lean forward to avoid the three cats that were lying on the top of the backrest catching the afternoon sun. The home was clean but cluttered. Stacks of everything from hubcaps to newspapers to overstuffed garbage bags were squeezed into every available crevice. Beyond the back fence eighteen-wheelers passed within twenty feet of the home, rattling the dishes stacked next to the sink.