The first light of dawn was creasing the sky when Ethan fell asleep and even then, the only reason he did was because he’d set his mind to ease with a new plan—a plan to take his errand money and go buy a box of cartridges for the Winchester. Tomorrow morning, he’d told himself as he drifted off—tomorrow morning. Of course, he hadn’t counted on the fact that he’d be so exhausted he’d sleep through until almost noon.
Emma Cobb
A lifetime of sorrow is what comes of marrying a man with a smile that draws women like flies to a spill of syrup. Such a man comes wrapped in the love of himself—here I am, he says, isn’t that enough?
You might look at my husband and see a man who’s old, fat and mean-spirited. Well, he wasn’t always. Thirty years ago, he was handsome and knew how to charm. He was a man with money to spend and a successful business. Why, there was not a girl in town who didn’t itch to wear my shoes. The minute Scooter Cobb crooked his finger in my direction I went running to him.Little did I dream that for most of our years together, he would lie beside me with the scent of other women still fastened to his skin.
What a fool I have been, to stand silently all these years and watch so selfish a man destroy my family. He has already driven one son from the house and now he is determined to corrupt the other. This I cannot bear, not now, when there is no love left and barely a shred of civility between us.
I swear to you, with God as my witness, I will never allow my Sam to follow in his daddy’s footsteps—never!
The Shirt
Mahoney left the house claiming he needed to clear his head. He bypassed the car standing in his driveway and started to walk; he told himself he was headed to nowhere in particular and walked for almost two hours, but in the end, he found himself standing at Emma Cobb’s front door. When he lifted his arm to knock, it felt heavy as a lead weight. His heart felt even heavier.
“Jack,” Emma said with her broad smile, “come on in.” She swung the door back and he followed her without a word. “I’ve some fresh-baked raspberry cake,” she went on, “it’s the end of the season, but right now the berries have the most delicious flavor. Or, if you’d rather I’ve got—”
“Emma,” Jack interrupted, “Let’s sit down. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.”
She stopped and turned; her face suddenly white. “Is it Sam?” she asked. “He’s not hurt, is he? Tell me he hasn’t been shot, please…”
“Sam hasn’t been injured,” Jack said, tenderly circling his arm around her shoulders. “He’s not hurt, but he is in jail.”
“Sam?” she gasped, “My Sam, in jail?”
Jack nodded.
“But it’s a mistake, isn’t it?” she asked, nervously tugging at a handkerchief she’d pulled from her pocket. “…Sam being in jail? He’s a police officer, what could he possibly…”
“It’s a long story,” Jack replied. He guided Emma over to the sofa and when she sat down, he positioned himself alongside of her. Emma,” he said, taking her hand into his, “I believe Sam has gotten himself in trouble, by trying to protect his daddy.”
“Scooter?”
Jack nodded, and went on, “It has to do with Ethan Allen Doyle, the boy I brought over here to spend the night; do you remember him?” She dipped her head ever so slightly and continued to listen. “Well,” Jack said, “a few days ago, the boy accused Scooter of being the one who murdered his daddy.”
“Scooter? Why would he murder a man he barely knew?”
“The boy said his mama was involved with Scooter; he claims they were planning to run off to New York together. Emma, I realize this is a real painful thing to hear, but try to remember, it’s just an allegation. We don’t even know for sure if the kid’s telling the truth or making the whole story up.” Jack stopped speaking for a moment and waited, thinking she might have questions about her husband being linked to another woman. But, Emma didn’t say a word; she just sat there looking as empty as a dried-up well.
Eventually, a pool of tears rose to her eyes and without any reference to Scooter, she moaned, “But, what’s that got to do with Sam? He’d never get involved in such a thing. He has a bit of his daddy’s temper, but he’d never…”
“Apparently, Sam took it on himself to go over to Wyattsville— where Ethan Allen lives with his grandma—and according to the local police, he attacked the boy.” In an effort to soften the sound of what happened Jack deliberately worked in hope-rendering phrases such as apparently and according to.
“My Sam?” she gasped, “My sweet Sam, tried to hurt that little boy?”
“We don’t actually know what Sam’s intention was; the grandmother stopped him before he got hold of the kid.”
“So, Sam didn’t really do anything?” After thirty years of being married to Scooter, Emma was able to focus her eye on the one rose in a bush full of thorns.
Jack slowly shook his head, “No,” he said, “but, it appears he tried.”
Over the years, Emma had learned to live with Scooter Cobb’s meanness, but to have her son grow into the same nature was more than she could bear. She covered her face with her hands and began to cry with great shuddering sobs. There was nothing Jack could do but sit silently beside her. He waited a long while and then asked, “Emma, do you know if Sam was aware of Scooter’s involvement?”
She sat there for what seemed a very long time, her shoulders hunched, the round of her back shuddering like ground that might give way, and a flow of tears streaming from her eyes. Finally she said, “I’m the one who ought to be in jail. Me. I suspected what Scooter had done but I turned my face the other way. The truth was right there, raring up in front of me, but I kept saying to myself, such a thing couldn’t possibly be. He’s got faults, I figured, but something bad as this—never. I know I’ve been lying to myself; but how could I possibly open my mind to the truth when I knew it would destroy my family?”
“Emma,” Mahoney stammered, “…what is it you know?”
Without answering his question, she continued on, “I thought my silence would save what was left of my family; instead, it’s pushed the situation from bad to worse. I sure never thought it would happen this way. I love my boys, Sam and Tommy both. Those boys have been the light of my life and God knows I’d sooner carve out my own heart than do intentional harm to either one of them. I’m their mother—a mother suffers something fierce to bring her children into this world and she’d do most anything to keep those children from misery; you understand that don’t you, Jack?”
He nodded.
“I know meaning well, don’t excuse what I did. If I’d of told right off, Sam wouldn’t have been dragged into it. The law would’ve thrown Scooter’s ass in jail and that would’ve been the end of that. It’s where he ought to be. A man like him don’t deserve one ounce of consideration. Not an ounce. He was given two fine sons; boys who trusted he’d show them right from wrong and what did he do? He pointed them down the road to damnation, that’s what…” Emma gave her nose a noisy blow then took the balled up handkerchief in her hand and swiped at a fresh stream of tears rolling down her face. “Sam’s a victim,” she said, “You understand that don’t you? He’s a victim, not a criminal.”
“Emma,” Jack said, circling back to his original question, “What you’re apparently saying is that Scooter did have a hand in this, but what exactly is it that you’re hiding?”
“If I tell, you’ve got to arrest Scooter and put him in jail. If he’s not locked up, he’ll come back here and kill me. I know that for sure.”
“Once we’ve got a reasonable amount of evidence that he’s committed a crime he’ll be arrested; that’s something you don’t have to worry about.”
“Well, I am worried. Scooter’s got a mean disposition, meaner than you might imagine, and he’s got a God-awful temper. If he figures I’ve turned against him…”
“He’s not going to know it was you.”
“He’ll know; he’ll know because I’m the only one who’s got proof of wha
t he’s done.”
“I’ll keep anything you say confidential.”
“I’m still not gonna tell unless you promise to lock Scooter away from me and Sam. He’s done enough harm to this family; it’s gotta stop here and now.”
“Emma, without knowing what you have to say, it’s almost impossible for me to promise you such a thing. But, if you tell me something that’s not enough to justify an arrest, I promise not to mention a word of what you’ve told me to anyone else. That way, your husband will never learn of our conversation.”
“I’m gonna trust you, Jack.”
“I respect that,” he said, giving her a nod of confidence.
Emma let go of a sigh weighted with all the heartaches she’d stored up—years and years of worry and regret, let loose in one sorrowful swoosh of air. “I know for certain Scooter killed that boy’s daddy,” she finally said. “Sam didn’t have a thing to do with it. It was just Scooter. Nobody else.” She nervously twisted the wet handkerchief in her hands.
“The night it happened, I was already in bed, fast asleep by time Scooter came home, so we didn’t catch sight of each other till morning. Even then, I didn’t see much of him ‘cause he had to get to the diner. It was Sunday, I know, ‘cause I always sort the laundry on Sunday and start my washing on Monday. Anyway, as he’s flying out the door, I tell him, ‘Be sure to leave your dirty shirt out.’ He calls back that his shirt don’t need washing, and keeps going. I remember it perfectly clear. I heard what he’d said, but I was thinking, that’ll be the day! Scooter’s a man who sweats buckets, if he wears a shirt for an hour, it needs washing.” Emma hesitated for a long moment, as if remembering something too private to share, then she continued on, “After he was gone, I went looking for that shirt and found it. He’d stuck it way back under the bed, so far back I had to get down on my hands and knees to reach. I got hold of the shirt and pulled it out, that’s when I saw it was covered with blood, not little speckles like he gets from cutting up meat, but enough blood to make me wonder if he’d butchered a cow.”
“And this shirt you found under the bed, you know it’s Scooter’s?”
“For a fact,” she said. “Week after week, I washed that shirt, then I’d stand there and iron the wrinkles from it…yes, I know it’s his shirt.” She gave a sigh of weariness then went on, “I saw all that blood and couldn’t imagine what he’d been up to, so I set the shirt aside thinking I’d ask him about it that night. All this happened before I’d heard about the murders.”
“The day you found this shirt with blood on it, was it the same Sunday I brought Ethan Allen Doyle over here to stay?”
“Yes, but earlier on. I pretty much knew Scooter was carrying on with Susanna Doyle, they’d been going at it for six or eight months, but when you told me her and her husband was both murdered; I couldn’t believe Scooter had a part in it.
“Later on that night, when I started asking about how he happened to come by all the blood on his shirt, he got bristly as a starved alley cat. Right then I knew. I knew sure as I was standing there, Benjamin Doyle’s blood was what was all over Scooter’s shirt. ‘I know what you been up to,’ I told him, and he gave me a look that felt like a razor slicing down my back. I believe he wanted to tear me apart right then and there, but I warned him I’d put the shirt away for safekeeping and if he laid one finger on me, it was gonna make its way to the sheriff’s office. Then he stomped off and that was the end of it.”
“You’ve still got the shirt?”
She gave a slight nod of her head, barely any movement at all, mostly her eyes, looking up then down. “I thought my holding on to it would force him to stop this sort of behavior,” she said, “I figured, maybe he’d start acting the way a man ought to act. I never dreamed he’d drag Sam into this mess, or cause harm to that little boy.”
“Where is the shirt?”
“Put away.”
“Washed?”
“No,” she answered, “but I’m not giving it up unless you promise to let Sam go free. I know my Sam; he hasn’t got his daddy’s meanness. He’d never harm that little boy; I’d stake my life on it. His daddy’s the one who’s got to be held accountable.”
“I wish I could promise you such a thing, Emma, but it’s not in my power. Sam’s being held over in Wyattsville. Whether or not he’s released is up to the District Court in that area. But, I’ll sure see what I can do. I’ll put in a word for him, let the arresting officer know the circumstances of his situation.”
“He’s all I’ve got, Jack.”
“I know,” Jack sighed, he then wrapped his arm around Emma, who burdened by the weight of her words had become smaller and quite pitiful.
After a long while of sitting in silence, Emma finally pushed herself to her feet and walked through to the back of the house. Jack remained where he was. He knew she’d be back and he knew when she returned she’d be carrying the shirt in her hand.
He was right.
The following morning Mahoney was standing at the crime lab when the door opened. “I think the blood on this shirt might match one of the victims in the Doyle murders,” he said and handed the detective an evidence pack.
“I’ll get back to you this afternoon,” the detective, known for his lack of patience answered. He tucked the package beneath his arm and disappeared through the swinging door.
Mahoney then went to the Eastern Shore station house. He sat at his desk, drank a cup of coffee, and then called Olivia Doyle. “I’m sorry for what happened with Officer Cobb,” he said, “that was not a department authorized visit; he came out there on his own.”
“Sorry?” Olivia shouted back. “Sorry? That’s what you say when a policeman shows up and frightens a child witless?”
“If I’d known what he was planning, I’d have taken measures—”
“You said he was no longer on this case!”
“He’s not; but I have reason to believe that Officer Cobb’s father may have asked him to speak with Ethan.”
“Oh? Now, our lives are in danger? Is that it? We have to go into hiding like—”
With Olivia being on a tear as she was, Mahoney had to interrupt to squeeze in an answer to even one question, let alone the barrage she was throwing at him. “That’s not it at all,” he said, “Officer Cobb’s locked up in the Wyattsville jail and there’s a good possibility we’ll be taking his daddy into custody sometime today. So, neither you nor Ethan Allen have anything to worry about.”
“That’s easy enough for you to say!”
“Actually, I don’t think Officer Cobb ever intended to harm the boy. Our understanding is that he came there to try to find out the truth of what happened; probably because his father has been identified as a suspect.”
“He scared Ethan Allen half-to-death, is that not harm? Do you have any idea what might have happened if I hadn’t had a baseball bat ready?” Once Olivia got wound up, there was little chance of stopping her; the words came in rapid fire succession. “I’ll tell you what probably would have happened…” she went on, “Ethan Allen and I would have been murdered stone cold dead! We’d have been lying here in a pool of blood on our own doorstep!”
“That’s not true,” Mahoney said, “If Officer Cobb intended to harm either of you, he would have been wearing his service revolver. Sergeant Gomez of the Wyattsville Police Department said he wasn’t carrying a gun or any other type of weapon. And that’s the truth; I checked Officer Cobb’s locker here at the precinct—both his gun and gun belt are in there.”
“He was probably was carry some less obvious type of weapon; a wire or a nylon stocking for strangling.”
“There was nothing. Officer Cobb was still lying in the hallway when he was arrested and he underwent a thorough search before the doctor even tended to his broken knee.”
“He has a broken knee?”
“Actually, they say it’s shattered. He’ll supposedly have a pretty pronounced limp, once he’s able to walk again.”
“I’m sorry about
that; my only intention was to stop him from coming after Ethan Allen. I had to protect the child; after all he is my grandson.”
“Missus Doyle,” Mahoney said hesitantly, “I’ve still got a few questions as to what happened. If you’ve no objection, I’d like to come by and have a word with Ethan.”
“Don’t you come over here upsetting the child,” she warned.
“I’ve no intention of upsetting him. But a report has to be filed, so I’ve got to ask about what happened.”
“Are you coming alone?”
“Absolutely alone,” he assured. Promising to be there in the afternoon, he hung up.
Before he left the office, Mahoney called the crime lab, “Any news yet?” he asked.
“It’s an hour since I saw you,” the detective growled, “I said this afternoon!”
It was just after two o’clock when Mahoney arrived at the Doyle apartment. “I apologize for the intrusion,” he said, making every possible effort to sound sincere.
Olivia, clinging to her wariness, invited Jack in and half-heartedly extended an offer for a cup of coffee. At times she imagined she could still see the light in his eyes, but a light which could pop in and out as this one did was surely cause for skepticism. “You do understand,” she said, “I won’t let you talk to Ethan Allen alone, right?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Mahoney answered.
She then called Ethan Allen into the room, and positioned herself between the boy and Jack Mahoney in such a way that to speak face-to-face, one of them had to lean forward. They sat on the sofa, Olivia in the middle, the boy on one end, Mahoney on the other.
“I’m sorry to bother you with these questions,” Mahoney said tipping himself forward, “but it can’t be helped. There’s certain information that’s required to file a report. It’s a real serious thing to charge an officer with trying to intimidate a witness,” his voice slid down a bit lower, “real serious. You understand that, right?”
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