by Claire Booth
She almost kissed his grizzled old cheek. She was stopped by a cautionary finger wagging.
‘Now, you keep that promise, young lady. And you tell your husband a thank you for getting you out here so quick. You’re both good people, and I’m lucky to know you.’
He hoisted himself out of the squad car and trundled back to his mail truck, still clutching the water bottle in his hand.
EIGHT
A big smoker dominated the front yard. Plastic chairs were scattered around what could – if you were being nice about it – be called a lawn. A portable fire pit sat too near the porch. The house needed a paint job and a lot of new siding. The windows were the old crank kind and most of them were open. Sam hoped that meant they heard things.
He walked past the one parked car and up the dirt driveway, swinging wide so he could maybe get a look into the backyard. It appeared to be all high weeds, which would explain why the barbecue was out front. He redirected toward the front door and gave it a strong knock. It was mid-afternoon, but based on the Chevy in the driveway, somebody might be home. He waited a minute and then knocked again. That got him a thump and a curse from inside the house. It took another minute for a face to appear in the nearest window. It was distorted by the screen, but Sam could still tell it was not happy. The door creaked open.
‘What the hell do you want?’
It was a man probably in his mid-thirties who was average height and a little on the skinny side, with brown hair, white skin that didn’t see much sun, and a beard that didn’t hide the belligerent scowl he was aiming at his visitor.
‘Hello, sir. I’m looking into a matter down the street.’ Sam pointed at the squad cars in front of Timmons’s house. ‘And I need to ask you a few questions, just about anything you might have seen going on here on the street. That’s all.’
The guy clearly didn’t trust him. Or like him. Or believe that Sam was only interested in other people’s business, and not his. He shifted his body to block more of the open doorway.
‘Did you know him?’ Sam pointed again. ‘Mr Timmons, who lived in that house?’
The dude rubbed the sleep out of his eyes and finally looked down the street.
‘Damn. What’d he do?’
‘He died, actually.’
Now Sam had his full attention.
‘We’re just trying to figure out when it happened, if anybody had visited him beforehand, that kind of thing,’ Sam said quickly. It still felt like the guy was two seconds from slamming the door in his face. ‘You seen anything over there in the past week or so?’
The guy rubbed at his beard and thought.
‘I don’t think so. I work nights, and then sleep all day.’ That last bit was said with a pointed glare. Sam just smiled. ‘I guess I’d see him poking around in his yard every once in a while, but not since it’s got colder.’
‘What was he like?’ Sam said.
The guy looked at him like he was an idiot. ‘Do I look like I’m friends with an old geezer down the street? How the hell would I know?’
Sam chided himself. That hadn’t been a good way to phrase it.
‘I just meant – did he throw parties? Did he decorate his house for the holidays? Did he get lots of visitors? Did he go peeling out down the road when he left? Stuff like that.’
‘Oh. I see.’ He shrugged. ‘There never really were other cars parked there. And he didn’t do no stupid blow-up snowmen or nothing like that.’
Sam subtly shifted his foot forward on to the threshold. It would stop the door slamming all the way shut. ‘Did he complain about your barbecues?’
The dude stiffened up instantly. ‘What the hell do my barbecues got to do with it? There’s nothing … wait, it’s that bitch, isn’t it? You talk to her?’
He stabbed a finger at Ms Lerman’s house. Sam pressed on.
‘That’s why I’m asking. Did Mr Timmons complain like she does?’
‘Oh. Nah. He never did. I never talked to him about anything, actually. Didn’t even know his name until you showed up.’
Sam scanned the street. ‘What do you know about your other neighbors? Anything?’
He shrugged. ‘Some of them bitch about me smoking.’ He gestured at his hulking smoker and then over at Ms Lerman’s house. ‘The old prune is the worst. She doesn’t like anything, including fun and good food.’
Hmmm. ‘Do you know how she gets along with everybody else?’
‘Oh, she’s a bitch to everybody. Those folks over there had a broken-down car on the street that they couldn’t move for a while and she was over there all the time. And that house with the bushes, she bitches at them for not trimming. I wish it’d been her you found dead.’
Well, that was honest. Sam stopped his tirade.
‘Did she get on Mr Timmons at all?’
The dude rubbed at his face again. ‘I don’t remember seeing her over there or nothing. But like I said, I sleep days.’
‘Where do you work that there’s a night shift?’ Sam wanted to know more about this neighbor, but he was also genuinely curious. Branson was not a twenty-four-hour town.
‘I’m a security guard. I do graveyard at the Gallagher Enterprises warehouse.’
Sam’s eyes widened. He was unaware that the biggest real estate developer in the county had a warehouse. ‘Oh. Is that a good gig?’
It was OK, said the guy, whose name turned out to be Frank Hord. Kind of boring, but the pay wasn’t bad. They talked about that for a minute and then about the smoker’s abilities with different types of meat. That topic softened him up for what Sam planned as his last question.
‘Oh, hey,’ he said as he turned to go. ‘You got any roommates or anything? Who are awake during the day and might have seen something?’
He had two. Sam walked away with names and phone numbers. And a venison barbecue tip he planned to try as soon as possible.
‘Dude, I do not feel like going out. This is perfection right here.’ Hank spread his arms to take in Jerry’s massive living room.
‘And it’ll be here in the morning,’ Jerry said. ‘But Wednesday night at the brewery only comes once a week. And they’ll have the Mizzou basketball game on in a little bit. So that’s where we’re going.’
‘That sounds like a bar with happy-hour specials and lots of people. I don’t want to do that.’
‘It’s adults, don’t worry. It’s not a college kid hangout.’
That was not a denial, Hank thought. He gave Jerry his best apathetic stare and was met with a grin.
‘Go put on a nicer shirt. We’ve got to make it in time for dollar pints.’
Hank snorted. ‘Why? You’re not exactly on a college budget anymore.’
‘It’s the principle of it. If cheap booze is possible, you have to take advantage. It’s one of the tenets of life.’
Hank refused to move off the couch. He hadn’t been in the mood to socialize since the teens’ car accident. They weren’t ever going to be able to again. Why should he? He settled deeper into the soft leather seat.
‘Plus,’ Jerry said, ‘I’m buying, and I refuse to spend more than ten bucks on your ass.’
That broke him. He chuckled in spite of himself and trudged off to his room to change clothes. A half hour later they walked into a brew pub with polished brass fixtures and soaring ceilings. Behind a glass wall, large, burnished copper tanks sat busy fermenting more of whatever Jerry was about to foist on him.
He started to insist on a soda, but Jerry had already managed to grab the bartender – despite the three-deep crowd at the bar.
‘You come here pretty often, don’t you?’
Jerry ignored him and snagged the two pints the bartender set on the polished bar. Hank took the stout and they moved away toward the tables. Hank headed for a booth in the corner, but Jerry stopped at a tall one right in the middle of things and refused to move any farther. Hank glared at him.
‘Dude. You’re going to have a good time, and you’re going to interact with the server,
and you’re going to stop looking like you’re eating a lemon while passing a kidney stone. I’m prepared to work hard all night to make it happen. And you know how much I hate workin’ hard. So start drinking and make it easier on me.’
He took a huge swig of his IPA and tried to flag down a waiter. Hank sighed and attempted to make himself more comfortable on the hard chair. He sipped at his stout and pulled out his phone. When Jerry turned around and saw, he snatched it before Hank could stop him.
‘Your reaction time’s gotten bad, old man,’ he said. ‘I’ll just keep this for the evening. No hiding behind a screen. Time to be a social human person.’
Hank scowled. Jerry responded with a smug smile and resumed trying to place an order for mozzarella cheese sticks. With nothing to do, Hank was forced to look around. It was a nice establishment, he had to admit.
There’d certainly been nothing like it when they were going to school here. He chuckled to himself. Even if there had been, they couldn’t have afforded its regular prices. Penny pitchers were more their speed, especially with the cost of living in the dorms and then the rent on their apartment once they moved out of the tiny room in Hudson Hall.
There were very few in tonight’s crowd who could be pegged as college kids. It seemed to be mostly young professionals coming in after work. Business casual clothes and ‘I’m available’ expressions. He and Jerry seemed to be on the older end of things. He hoped that meant they’d be left alone.
‘Hi.’
Great. She’d even snuck up on them, coming up from just beyond his left peripheral vision. Some trained observer he was.
There were two of them. Probably about thirty years old. He contemplated fleeing for the bathroom, but Jerry nixed that idea with a swift under-the-table kick that about kneecapped him, so he was in no condition to go anywhere for a while. Jerry immediately engaged in conversation. Hank stuck to nursing his beer and randomly nodding. When was the damn basketball game going to come on? Then he could act like he was here for that, and not for the pickup potential.
At least Jer was carrying the conversation. They were all chatting about some road construction project and the nightmare traffic.
‘What do you think?’ the brunette asked him.
‘Um, I’m in from out of town, actually. So, I just have this guy drive me around.’ He pointed his pint glass at Jerry, who flashed a smile that Hank knew wasn’t intended for him. The brunette shifted a little closer to Jerry and smiled back.
‘So are you here in Columbia on business?’ the one with blonde hair asked Hank while eyeing her friend.
He shrugged. ‘Not really. I just haven’t seen him in a while. Thought I’d come up and stay a few days.’
She nodded. ‘What about your wife?’
She’d noticed the wedding ring.
‘She had to work,’ he said.
‘My wife’s at work, too. Rachel,’ she pointed at the brunette, ‘made me come out tonight. Said she needed a wingman.’
Rachel was currently leaning closer to Jerry and laughing. Hank wanted to slap a sign on him that said ‘Just Survived Horrible Divorce – Approach With Caution’. Instead, he finished off his beer.
‘Yeah, I’m starting to think that’s my function tonight, too,’ he said. ‘What does your wife do?’
She worked at Jesse Hall, the university’s main administration building, and had to be there tonight to coordinate an event. So that left the blonde, whose name was Lisa, at the mercy of Rachel and her desire to go out. ‘She wouldn’t take no for an answer.’
‘I know how that goes,’ Hank said, pointing at Jerry while trying not to look directly at the high-wattage flirting.
Lisa laughed. ‘And what do you do?’
Jerry’s attention shifted so fast Hank almost jumped.
‘No, no,’ he interrupted, airily waving his hand at them both. ‘None of that. No work talk. He’s here on vacation, and isn’t allowed to even think about it.’
Hank was shocked he’d even noticed their conversation. He was a little irked. It wasn’t like talking about his job would send him into a funk right there in the middle of the bar. Probably. He started to say something, but Jerry kept the diversion going by ordering another round and then leaning forward conspiratorially.
‘Besides, it’s more fun to tell stories about ol’ Hank during college. Did you know he set fire to the dining hall our sophomore year?’
Well, that couldn’t stand. Hank corrected the story to include Jerry’s significant role and the two of them were off and running, trading anecdotes until the basketball game came on. After that, the whole bar turned into a raucous party. The season was young, and hopes were still high. Mizzou fans knew to seize the moment while they could.
NINE
It was dark and cold and quiet when Sheila let herself into her office. She needed to get several things done before she headed back out to the scene to meet Kurt at seven a.m. She fired up her computer and turned on the little space heater she kept under her desk. It was time to track down Lonnie Timmons.
She’d asked the morgue up in Springfield not to notify the next of kin. She wanted to gauge the estranged son’s reaction herself. And find out if he’d been anywhere near Branson in the past week. Until she had proof that he hadn’t been, he was at the top of her suspect list.
She settled in with her travel mug full of hot tea and started pulling up databases. Rodney had remembered a Cedar Rapids return address, so she started there. That Iowa city had nothing, so she widened her search and found him in Des Moines. Which was only a six-hour drive away. Not a quick jaunt, but certainly doable.
He had past addresses in Independence and Lee’s Summit, both municipalities near Kansas City. There was a gap of time in between, though. She poked around some more and still came up empty, so she switched over to the fun part and ran a criminal background check. Bingo. Lonnie Timmons had been a guest of Jackson County, Missouri, five years ago, and then again two years later. Both times the convictions had been for theft, but the mere months-long sentences had the feel of plea deals. She wondered what the original charges were. She dashed off email requests to the two police departments for their investigative reports, and then pulled out a new notepad. Ten minutes later, she had a loose chronology written down. It was at least enough to be able to ask some questions when she got the junior Timmons on the phone.
She left a message just before seven, identifying herself and saying only that she needed to speak with him. He called back immediately.
‘Why you calling me?’
‘Lonnie Timmons?’ she said.
‘Yeah. What do you want?’
‘I need to ask you what your father’s name is, sir.’
‘Why?’
‘Sir.’ This time her tone had steel in it. She did not have time for twenty questions.
‘OK, fine. His name’s Clyde Timmons. He lives in Branson County, which you obviously know, since you’re the damn county sheriff. What do you want me for? Did he get in trouble or somethin’?’
That was one way to put it.
‘We’re trying to sort some things out, and I need to ask when the last time was that you talked to him.’
Lonnie started to protest, but then seemed to think better of it. ‘I don’t remember exactly. A while back.’
‘I need you to narrow it down. Does that mean a week ago? A month ago? A year ago?’
He thought for a little bit too long. She made a note to get a warrant for his phone records.
‘I guess maybe it was about six months ago.’
‘And when did you last see him in person?’
More silence. The phone line was crackling with irritation in both directions.
‘I don’t see how this is any of your business.’
‘What kind of relationship do you and your dad have?’
Lonnie let out a derisive snort before he could stop himself. Sheila waited.
‘Why don’t you ask him?’ he finally said. ‘I’m sure he’d
be happy to share his opinions with you. I’m not going to talk about this anymore. If he’s in trouble, he can get himself out.’
Sheila heard rustling that sounded like him moving toward the hang-up button.
‘Sir, your father has died.’
The rustling stopped.
‘Huh. How about that. Well. Huh.’
He fell silent. Sheila waited, but he stayed quiet.
‘Where are you now, sir?’ she finally said. ‘Is there someone who can come be with you?’
He laughed a little. ‘I’m not that broken up, lady. I don’t need any hand-holding. I’ll be fine.’
She pressed him. She wanted him on the record. He told her he was at his apartment in Des Moines, but he could easily be lying. She’d check that when the warrant came through for his cell phone records.
‘What was it, a heart attack or something?’
‘It wasn’t. Your father was murdered. We found him yesterday.’
There was a long intake of breath. She waited. It took fifty-two seconds, according to the wall clock, for him to speak.
‘Are you sure?’
‘Oh, yes. We’re quite sure. We’ve started a homicide investigation.’
‘Oh. So, uh, you got any suspects?’
It was a perfectly reasonable question, but the way he said it pricked at her. Like he was really asking, ‘How worried should I be?’ She told him she couldn’t comment on any of that and asked if he would be coming down to Branson.
‘I don’t have to, do I? It’s not like I’ll be doing a funeral.’
But oh, did she want to meet this guy. She tapped her pen against the desk.
‘I certainly understand that. We’ll just settle up all of his assets, then? We have procedures with local charities to—’
‘Wait? What? No, no. I’ll be there. Don’t do anything. That’s mine.’
Greed. Such a useful tool. She smiled and assured him that her department – which had no authority to do that without going to court first – would be happy to wait for him. He told her he could be there by tomorrow.
