by Claire Booth
Mrs Johnson said she ran into him a few times in the years afterward and was surprised at how angry he’d get when she asked about Lonnie. Did she, Sam asked, know anyone who would want to harm him?
‘Oh, dear. I didn’t realize when you said he had passed away that it wasn’t natural. Oh, dear. I see now why you were asking about the boy. If you’d asked me when Nell was alive if Lonnie could hurt his father, I’d have said no. But I don’t know what happened in all those years since. If they kept drifting away, if Lonnie kept up those little digs, who knows?’
‘You need to see this.’
Hank put his phone down on the coffee table. He couldn’t read the look on her face at all. He quickly followed her out the front door and around the house to the back corner. A flowerbed extended about two feet out from the brick and ran the whole length of the wall. She pointed to one spot, where a fallen tree branch had flattened some kind of ornamental shrub and dirt had been scooped out and tossed aside. She nudged him closer.
Planted there was a leather purse. It was brown and strappy, and certainly not going to bloom in the spring.
‘It’s not mine,’ Fin said.
He hadn’t figured it was. He knelt down before he saw that she’d pulled out the wallet. He looked up at her and saw she was wearing gardening gloves. Small favors. She shouldn’t have touched it at all. Her expression said she knew it and didn’t give a shit. She reached down and flipped the bifold part open. Tina Hardy stared back at him. Hank looked at her shoulder-length dark blonde hair and brown eyes that squinted just the slightest bit, like those of anybody who wears glasses and is forced to stare and smile without them.
He slowly rose to his feet. Fin let out a trembling breath. He almost couldn’t bear to look at her. Whatever suspicions she’d had, whatever dread she’d harbored, whatever thoughts she’d tried not to think in the dead of the night – they’d all just come true. Why else would Lew’s secretary’s purse be buried here? He wanted to tell her that it was possible someone else could have buried it here after taking Tina, but he didn’t want her clinging to that slender shred of hope when their first instinct was most likely the right one.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said.
‘I know.’ She let her arm drop limply to her side. ‘I saw the branch and came over to get it off my boxwood. The dirt was all bunched up and I tried to smooth it back out. The purse was just underneath. Not deep at all.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I hope this will help the detective find her.’
Hank wasn’t so optimistic. It would certainly help prove Tina hadn’t disappeared of her own volition, but by itself it wasn’t pointing the way toward its owner. That kind of guidance would have to start with Lew.
‘Let’s get you inside. We’ll get you a nice cup of tea and I’ll call the detective.’ He led her into the kitchen, started the tea kettle, and called Ghassan. After an impressive string of swear words, the detective said he’d send someone right over.
‘You better not have fucked this up for me, Worth. If a judge tosses this—’
‘She was wearing gloves. Working in her own garden. And I was nowhere around.’
Ghassan didn’t sound very mollified, but he did stop yelling. Then he said he wanted to get a warrant anyway, just to be on the safe side. And Hank and Fin had better be there when his people showed up. Hank assured him that they would. He hung up and saw that Sheila had tried him again. Then the tea kettle started to whistle. He looked at his cell and then at Fin, pacing the length of the kitchen. He laid the phone on the coffee table and walked away. Maybe they could play a few more hands of gin rummy while they waited for the search team to arrive.
TWENTY-FOUR
Local Man Killed in Home
Branson County Resident Found by Authorities after Mail Carrier Alert
by Jadhur Banerjee
Branson Daily Herald Staff Writer
Branson – A 67-year-old Branson resident was found beaten to death in his Nighthawk Lane home on Wednesday. Sheriff’s deputies discovered Clyde Timmons, a retired sawmill worker, during a routine welfare check. He was found in a bedroom with massive wounds to the head after a concerned letter carrier reported that the mail hadn’t been retrieved in several days.
The victim’s son was arrested Thursday night; however authorities declined to comment on whether he is a suspect in his father’s death. Lonnie Timmons, 35, is currently being held without bail on suspicion of auto theft, resisting arrest, disturbing the peace, and property damage. He was taken into custody just before midnight at the Po-dunk Motel after causing substantial damage to one of the rooms.
‘That bastard just went nuts,’ said motel manager Nicki Kirk. ‘The cops come for him all normal-like, just knocking. No SWAT or nothing. And he started throwing things out the window. Busted all the glass and ruined the whole room.’
The younger Timmons has an extensive criminal history, including convictions for theft, property damage and burglary in both the Kansas City area and Des Moines, where he currently lives.
‘He’s just bad news,’ said ex-girlfriend Gayle Petkovich. ‘He’s got a temper he can’t control.’
Petkovich reported her car stolen Thursday evening, which she believes is what led investigators to Lonnie Timmons’s location in Branson. The 2005 Chevrolet Cavalier was impounded by the sheriff’s department early Friday morning.
Branson County deputies and crime scene personnel remained at the house, which is in an unincorporated section of the county, on Friday morning. Residents of the quiet neighborhood remain shaken by the killing.
‘This is crazy,’ said Eric Hampton. ‘We never had anything more than a couple houses getting egged when there were teenagers on the street. That’s it. And now we got a murder. Just crazy.’
Madge Lerman lives across the street and said she hasn’t slept since learning of Timmons’s death.
‘This is just awful,’ she said. ‘We get no protection out here. It’s pretty much lawless.’
Sheriff’s department logs show that the area is routinely patrolled. Chief Deputy Sheila Turley said the crime doesn’t appear to be random.
‘There is no danger to the public,’ she said.
The department is devoting extensive resources to the investigation, she said. It is the third murder in the county’s jurisdiction this year. In February, 18-year-old Mandy Bryson was killed on board the Branson Beauty paddlewheel showboat. And in May, another homicide occurred on wooded property near the northern county line. In addition, a man was found stabbed to death in an apartment within the Branson city limits last month.
Timmons spent 40 years working at Bull Creek Lumber Mill. He retired nine years ago.
‘He was kind of a shy guy,’ said company vice president Tim Fosmire. ‘He came in every day and did a good, conscientious job, and just kept to himself.’
He was known for sharing the bounty of his home garden, Fosmire said, bringing in baskets of tomatoes and other produce.
‘Some guys come back to visit after they retire. Clyde never did. I always pictured him sitting quietly in a lawn chair watching over his garden.’
Neighbors agreed that in Timmons’s low-key way, gardening was his passion. He also enjoyed taking care of neighbor Paula Garber’s cats when she was out of town, she said, and was famous for putting out huge bowls of candy every Halloween. He was also well-known for retrieving his mail without fail from the white metal mailbox at the end of his driveway.
The letter carrier who grew concerned about Timmons’s overflowing mailbox declined to give his name.
‘I did what anyone would do,’ he said as he worked his route Friday. ‘Mr Timmons was real regular getting his mail, so when he wasn’t, I just got worried. I thought maybe he’d had a heart attack. I never imagined he was murdered.’
The article looked out at her from the phone screen as she sat in the dark kitchen. It was five a.m. on Saturday, and Sheila was in full uniform. She put the cell down on the tablecloth and took a contemplative sip of coffee. T
he word was now out about the murder. That meant the department would be flooded with calls from panicked old ladies afraid for their lives and from nosy conspiracy theorists certain they knew who the killer was. That was what always happened.
She read the Daily Herald story again. The one small corner of her brain that still thought like a normal human took time to be proud of Rodney. He’d given a good little comment. Hadn’t even sounded wordy, which was amazing. She’d have to get Tyrone to read it, maybe grab an actual newsprint copy to hang up in the post office.
She poured herself another cup of coffee and wondered how the reporter kid knew about the car and Lonnie’s ex-girlfriend. That brought to mind her new Iowa friend. She checked her email. There were two new ones.
Having next shift check on Timmons alibi. They should contact you. – Daniel Atkinson
The next one was sent just a few hours ago.
Watch commander Atkinson requested an expedited response to your query. Complete report to follow later. Club security footage shows Lonnie Timmons arriving Saturday 11:23 p.m. He left at closing at 2 a.m. There is no footage of him coming or going on Sunday night.
Hy-Vee Grocery has no credit card receipts for that Monday under his name. Their surveillance cameras were offline. Handed off contact info for on-duty cashiers to next shift. – Det. Kate Ventimiglia
Lonnie certainly was distinctive enough, with that mullet and those tacky half-assed tattoos that somebody might remember if he came through their checkout line. And the lack of credit card records didn’t mean a damn thing – he could’ve easily paid cash. Sheila sighed. Sunday night looked good for a disproved alibi, but Monday was still an open question. She hated open questions.
She opened her only other new email, from Derek Orvan. The man really seemed to be enjoying the investigation. He’d volunteered to break into Clyde’s cell phone – which sadly contained only bocce group phone numbers – and had actually written a full report, quite possibly for the first time ever. Maybe she should re-evaluate his potential for something more than patrol. He had done a good job talking to multiple co-workers of Clyde and taken a page from Sam’s procedure, with actual quotes included in his report narrative. All the old men he’d talked to said the same thing. Clyde was quiet and usually kept to himself.
‘He weren’t stand-offish, just shy. Happy to be alone with his work. He didn’t need the talking, like some of the guys do.’ That was from Eric Hampton, who worked with Clyde for thirty of his forty years at the mill. He was happy just to do his job and go home. He would bring in vegetables from his garden, and his wife would send him with treats occasionally. ‘He would bring ’em in so proud. They were damn good cakes. You could tell he loved her,’ some guy named Ralph Anders said.
On the other hand, no one knew whether he was close to his son or not, because as the years went on, he talked about the boy less and less. There was no mention of him when Clyde started asking for a lot of time off. He had to ask people to cover his shifts, and word got out that his wife had cancer.
‘It got to be too much for him real quick,’ said Andrew Yasuda. ‘I saw him go in to the office one day and he came out with a bunch of papers full of numbers. I asked him what was going on, and he said that he was going to have to retire early. That it wasn’t going to be good, money-wise, but he had to take care of Nell. He was almost crying. It was the most words he ever said to me in a row, and I worked with him twelve years.’
It didn’t seem appropriate to throw him a retirement party, so instead they took up a collection and bought him a bunch of garden supplies and a large balance gas card, so he could fill up plenty to get Nell to her chemo appointments. Within a year, they were going to her funeral, where they saw Lonnie for the first time. ‘We’d all kinda forgotten he had a son,’ Yasuda said. ‘They both looked pretty devastated.’
After that, the lumber mill workers gradually lost touch. Clyde wasn’t a big one for reaching out, and everyone else’s lives moved on. Sheila could only imagine his lonely breakfasts at the diner. And the serendipitous Tuesday mornings when they started to meet one another. Even for a man who didn’t mind being alone, meaningful contact with his contemporaries must have given him some happiness. Otherwise he wouldn’t have kept going back. And he certainly wouldn’t have leapt headlong into the bocce shenanigans if he wasn’t enjoying himself. Clyde was finally starting to live again after Nell’s death. And then …
Her phone rang in the quiet dark. It startled her so badly she knocked her mug over. She answered it and said hello to Sam as the last dregs of coffee soaked into her granny’s handmade Thanksgiving tablecloth.
‘Oh, good. I figured you’d be up.’
‘Yes, I am,’ she said. ‘The question is, why are you up?’
‘Getting started on things. Because I got to be done by five tonight. So what do you want me working on today?’
Sheila thought about where her day was headed and made a snap decision.
‘Nothing. You take the day off. You weren’t scheduled originally anyway, so just stick with that. I’ll see you Monday.’
‘Wait – what? What are you talking about? We’ve got an active homicide investigation.’
Yes, my sweet boy, but I also have a pending sick-out that you don’t know about and that I don’t want you pulled into. I just want to keep you out of it altogether, because I don’t want you to have to choose sides … because I’m afraid that you might choose the side against me. But instead of that she said, ‘Sammy, you’ve been working really hard. And you’ve done a great job. If I need you today, I’ll call you in, I promise. I’m mostly just waiting on Des Moines and Lonnie’s alibi.’
He grumbled some more and then hung up, but not before telling her to have a nice day. Yes, he surely was her sweet boy, she thought as she pressed her hand into the warm coffee stain. She needed to keep him that way and not have him sullied by the mud that was about to start slinging. Or by seeing how dirty she could fight.
TWENTY-FIVE
Fin was asleep in one of Jerry’s myriad guest bedrooms. Hank had made her leave her house last night for two reasons. First, it was always brutal to watch investigators go through your personal items, which started happening after a judge signed a search warrant for the whole Lancaster residence. And second, who knew if Lew would come back in the middle of the night? He sure as hell didn’t trust the man, and he didn’t trust Fin’s safety in a place that Lew had ready access to.
He settled into Jerry’s cushy leather sofa and started browsing the Mizzou football game day coverage as he finished his coffee. He was halfway through an analysis of the defensive line when Maggie called.
‘Hi, babe. I figured you’d be up. Are you coordinating things?’ she said.
He thought for a second. ‘I wouldn’t say that, exactly. It’s more like I’m being a buffer between Fin and the local police.’
Wait, how did Maggie know what was going on? Then he heard a dish clatter on the other end of the line.
‘What?’ she said. Loudly. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’
He rubbed at his stubbled jaw and looked out at the still dark morning. He took a deep breath and gave his wife the shortest synopsis he could.
‘This has been going on for four days, and you’re just now telling me?’
‘Honey, it’s not like that. It’s just—’
She cut him off as everything clicked together in her mind. ‘Wait – you knew before. Before you left. You knew something was going on. You and Fin. You were going to go up there and investigate, not relax. So that’s why you were so OK with “taking a break”.’
Her tone sent the air quotes zinging at him like spears. He winced.
‘Has it helped Fin to have you there?’ she asked.
‘Oh, God, yes. We wouldn’t have gotten this quick a police response or had good information to give them. And the …’ he trailed off. He’d been about to say that Fin would be exposed to a possibly dangerous Lew if he hadn’t moved her. Better to
keep that bit to himself.
‘Well, you’re a sneaky bastard.’ Now he could hear her fighting to keep from smiling. ‘Do you think Fin is going to need to come down and stay with us again?’
They talked about the possibility. If it did happen, it would at least eliminate the problem of how car-less Hank would get home. If Fin stayed put, though, Hank would need a ride. Maggie, who was about to leave for a shift, said she would be working every day until Tuesday. She could drive up and get him then.
‘That sounds good.’ A childless, father-in-law-less, uninterrupted block of time with just his wife? It sounded like heaven. They never got that anymore. He smiled, and then paused. ‘Wait a sec. What were you talking about? When you asked if I was coordinating things?’
‘Oh, yeah. I was talking about the murder. Since you hadn’t come back, I figured you were directing things from up there.’
Hank slowly straightened out of his sofa slouch. ‘What murder?’
On the other end, the bustling background sounds of Maggie getting ready for work stopped.
‘The body found out on Nighthawk. On Wednesday. You don’t know?’
His nerve ends felt like they were sizzling.
‘I just saw it in the Daily Herald this morning. I was surprised you hadn’t mentioned it when we talked on Thursday – although now I’m understanding why.’
Hank still didn’t say anything.
‘Honey?’ Maggie said softly. ‘You OK?’
‘I need to go now.’
‘Hank? Hank. Everything’s fine. It sounds like it’s well in hand. I’m sure Sheila had a good reason to—’
Hank said goodbye and hung up before she could finish. Then he had to think for a minute to come up with the actual name of the newspaper, which he always thought of as the Daily What’s-It. The article led the paper’s web page. He scanned it quickly and rose to his feet. He could see it all in his mind like a flow chart. The anonymous mailman had talked to his co-worker Tyrone Turley, who passed on the info about a welfare check to his wife. Sheila had then had somebody go out to make sure this Timmons guy was all right. Hank wondered who she sent. He hoped not Sammy. Either that, or he hoped the scene hadn’t been too bad.
