The Treacherous Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  The cop slammed his foot down on the gas pedal, and his car laid down a smoky trail of acceleration skid. Then, as the officer approached my location, he stood on his brakes. That was my cue. Once the car skidded to a stop, I smashed my cane against the side of the trash can, to replicate the sound of a traffic collision. Then I pointed to the cop. He hit the gas again and roared around the corner.

  Not wanting Roger to recognize my voice, I tried to disguise it. Hoping I sounded like someone from the urban Northeast, I shouted, “Hey! Get dat freakin’ guy’s license plate! He just hit dis freakin’ Beemer!”

  There were a couple of tense seconds as we waited to see if Roger would take the bait. Then the door to Room 115 swung open, and Roger came reeling outside. I think we all winced at the sight. The agent had a mixture of first-and second-degree burns on his face and scalp, and his pink and blistered skin reminded me unpleasantly of a fat Louisiana hot-link sausage that had spent too much time on the barbecue grill.

  Still oblivious to Tina and Ash, who were following in his wake, Roger lurched toward the rear of the BMW. That’s when I stepped out from behind the SUV and said, “Hi, Roger. Man, you got one hell of a sunburn while you were golfing down in South Carolina earlier today. Is that why you came back so soon?”

  Roger looked from the back of his undamaged Beemer to the dented trash can and realized he’d been duped. Then he gave me a nervous grin and said, “What are you talking about, Brad, old buddy? I wasn’t in South Carolina.”

  “I know, and those burns weren’t caused by the sun. You were too close to the house when the gasoline ignited. And don’t bother to lie. We found your gas can, a road flare that is going to have your fingerprints on it, and your burned clothes.”

  Roger nodded glumly. “I guess you’ve got me.”

  “What are you doing here? You need to be in a hospital.” Then I smelled the strong odor of hard liquor on Roger’s breath. “Or a detox facility.”

  “I’m fine. Just fine,” Roger replied in a slightly slurred voice. He dismissively waved his right hand. The gesture revealed that his hand was also burned.

  Even though Roger had declined medical attention, I was pretty certain he was too intoxicated to know just how badly he was injured. Therefore, we had a moral duty to call for the EMTs, even if that meant an abbreviated interview. I glanced at Ash, who nodded and went over to ask the New Market cop to contact his dispatcher and have paramedics sent to the motel. Meanwhile, the state trooper gave us a wave and returned to his cruiser.

  Tina said, “Mr. Prufrock, we have a few minutes, so we’d like to ask you some questions.”

  The real estate agent slowly wheeled to face Tina. “Sheriff! How good to see you. Perhaps we could . . . uh . . . set up a time to chat on Monday?”

  “I think now would be best.”

  “Especially for you,” I added. “Look Roger, you’re a wheeler-dealer, so let me put this in terms you’ll understand. Now’s the time to cooperate and buy yourself some goodwill that can be redeemed later at your trial.”

  “Where you might be charged with arson and murder, if you don’t tell us the truth,” said Tina, playing some verbal hardball.

  Roger gave Tina a bleary-eyed look of amazement and fear. “Murder? Oh my God, was someone in that house? You’ve got to believe me, ol’ Roger didn’t know that there was anybody inside.”

  “There was nobody in the house that we know of,” said Tina. “We’re talking about the murder of Everett Rawlins.”

  “Ev? I didn’t kill Ev. Everybody says that Wade Tice did it.”

  Roger was far too drunk to skillfully dissemble, so I was inclined to believe he was telling the truth, as he knew it. I said, “Everybody might be wrong. So let me get this straight, you weren’t at Ev Rawlins’s house on Thursday night?”

  “No! No. I was at my office and then I was home.” The agent began to lose his balance but steadied himself at the last moment.

  Ash came back and murmured, “The rescue squad has been notified, but there’s going to be a slight delay. They’re just clearing from a car crash.”

  “Okay, then we have a few minutes before the medics get here and transport Roger to the hospital. We’ll see what we can get from him before they arrive,” I muttered to my wife and Tina. “Let’s move him back inside the room and sit him down. There’ll be fewer distractions.”

  “And he won’t be as likely to fall over,” Tina added.

  We led Roger back inside the motel room, where I discovered what he’d been using as an anesthetic. On the nightstand was an amber-colored plastic prescription bottle of oxycodone pills and beside it a large bottle of rum. Roger had been watching a college football game before we’d interrupted him with our bogus car crash. The real estate agent sat down in the chair while I found the TV remote and shut off the set.

  “Hey, I was watching that!” Roger complained.

  I sat down on the bed opposite the chair and said, “I think it’s more important that you focus on us for a few minutes.”

  Roger eyed the liquor bottle on the nightstand. “Could I have some more rum while we talk?”

  “That’s probably not a good idea. Now, we already know about Ev Rawlins selling his farm to Amerriment so they can turn the farm into a theme park. We also know that you were the agent handling the transaction. So, what happened on Thursday?”

  “Thursday . . .” Momentarily forgetting that his brow was scorched, Roger reached up to rub his forehead and then jerked his hand away in pain. “Thursday . . . we were supposed to sign the final paperwork on Thursday right around suppertime.”

  “You mean the sale hadn’t been finalized?” Tina asked.

  “No. We’d been dickering since Tuesday, but Ev was dragging his heels. It was making Friggin’ Driggs crazy . . . that’s my little nickname for that foul-mouthed Amerriment lady, by the way.”

  Tina wrinkled her nose. “That’s sweet.”

  “She certainly isn’t sweet,” said Roger, oblivious to Tina’s barb. “That woman belongs in a kennel.”

  Tina shook her head with frustration. It was obvious she didn’t have any patience with drunks. I, however, had learned to deal with other people’s booze-impaired brain functions while I was still a child, as both my mother and father had been alcoholics.

  I said, “Where were you going to meet to sign the papers?”

  “Rawlins’s house,” he replied. “But I got a call from Driggs that afternoon. She was all upset and said the paperwork was ruined.”

  “Because someone had poured coffee all over it,” I said.

  Roger gave me a wary look of surprise. “How’d you know that?”

  “Don’t worry about how we found out. Just keep in mind that if we know something that insignificant, we’ll also know if you start lying. Now, what else did she say?”

  “She said she needed a fresh batch of sales documents as soon as possible. I told her that was going to take some time, and she jumped down my throat and said that I’d better get my hillbilly ass in gear.” The agent sounded angry and with good reason. Despite its wide usage in American culture, the word hillbilly is extraordinarily offensive to folks who live around here and throughout the rest of Appalachia.

  “What happened after that?” Ash asked.

  “Her Majesty had spoken, so I started putting together a new bunch of escrow paperwork. I had the documents saved on my computer, but it was a lot of work.”

  “I can imagine,” I said.

  “Brad, old buddy, are you sure I can’t have something to wet my whistle?” Roger made a big production out of smacking his lips. “All this talking has flat dried me out.”

  “Sure. How about some water?”

  “How about just a tiny sip of that rum?”

  “If you don’t want water, you can’t be that thirsty.”

  “But I’m hurting.”

  “No doubt, but whose fault is that? You set the fire.”

  “I know, but I want a drink.”

  “Not
on top of God knows how many of those oxycodone pills you’ve taken. Firewater with opiates is a lethal combo. And no offense, but I don’t think any of us feel like giving you CPR.”

  Roger’s tone became petulant. “Look here, that’s my bottle. I bought it with my own money and I want a drink. Otherwise, I’m going to stop talking.”

  We didn’t have time to waste arguing over booze, so I leaned back and gave him a cold smile. “If that’s supposed to be a threat, you’re a lot drunker than I thought. Here’s a reality check, Roger: You have no leverage. We don’t need your help to find out who killed Ev Rawlins, so don’t try to haggle with us.”

  The agent gave me a shrewd look. “Oh yeah . . . ? What if I told you it was Sherri Driggs and maybe her assistant, too, at Ev’s house on Thursday night?”

  “We already know that,” I lied. “We’d be mildly interested in hearing your version of the story, of course. But whether you talk or not, you aren’t getting any more rum. That’s the deal, take it or leave it.”

  Twenty-five

  Roger sagged against one of the chair’s armrests. “I’ll take it.”

  “Wise choice. And just to make sure that old demon rum doesn’t tempt you any more, I’m going to ask my wife to pour the rest of it down the sink.”

  “My pleasure.” Ash gave the real estate agent a disgusted look as she grabbed the bottle and headed for the bathroom.

  “A few minutes ago, you told us that you weren’t at Mr. Rawlins’s place Thursday night, so how could you possibly know who was?” Tina did a fine job of sounding as if she already knew the answer and couldn’t care less what Roger had to say.

  “Oh now, Sheriff, everybody in town knows that Miss Ashleigh chased a Saab from Ev’s place on Thursday night. Now, that’s the same kind of car that Ms. Driggs drives.”

  “We’ve known that for days,” said Ash as she came back into the room.

  “But you don’t know why Driggs was there,” Roger said in an almost childish smug tone.

  I leaned over and fixed him with a hard stare. “Roger, would you please get to the point before I regret not allowing you to overdose?”

  The agent looked a little miffed. “Okay, remember I said that I had to print out all that new paperwork? Well, I thought I should call up Ev and tell him that we’d be a little later at his house than we’d planned.”

  “And what did he say?”

  “He said he was sorry and told me that he’d been reconsidering and had changed his mind. He didn’t want to sell his farm.”

  “What did you say?”

  “I asked him why. Asked him if it was a problem of not enough money.”

  “Was it?”

  “No. He said that it had been his family’s land for over two hundred years and that it just felt wrong to turn it into an amusement park.”

  Tina said, “There went your big commission right down the drain. That must have been upsetting for you.”

  “I was disappointed. Very disappointed.”

  “And scared about having to break the bad news to Ms. Driggs, I’ll bet,” I said.

  Roger nodded. “I called Her Majesty and she about had a meltdown. She cursed so hard and so long I thought she was having a crazy fit.”

  “What did you do?”

  “When she finally stopped calling everyone and everything a motherf—” He glanced up at Ash and caught himself in time. “Sorry. Well, I was still trying to salvage the deal, so I asked Ms. Gutter Mouth if she’d consider upping the offer price.”

  “Even though Everett made it clear that it wasn’t a matter of how much money was being offered?” Ash asked.

  “Lots of people tell me things like that, Miss Ashleigh. But it always boils down to folks wanting more money.” Roger looked away from my wife.

  I said, “So you didn’t really honor his decision. You just figured there was no point in talking any further until you could put more money on the table.”

  “That’s about the size of it,” said Roger. “Anyway, Driggs told me to up the offer to seven million dollars even for the land, but that was as high as she would go.”

  “Did you call Mr. Rawlins back with the new offer?” I asked. Off in the distance I heard a siren begin to wail and knew it was the rescue squad on their way to the motel. We were running out of time.

  “No. I just printed out a fresh stack of paperwork with the new sales figure and decided to go over and see Ev in person.”

  “And what time was that?”

  “I got there around three-thirty, but it was a waste of time. Ev told me that his mind was made up. He wasn’t going to sell, no matter what the price.” Roger shook his head in disbelief. “Seven million dollars and he turned it down.”

  “Where is that paperwork now?” Ash asked.

  Roger said, “I left it on his kitchen counter. I thought maybe he might look at all those zeroes after that seven and change his mind . . . and I was right.”

  The siren was growing very close now, and I could hear the rumble of the diesel engine as the ambulance came up the low hill. A moment later, the siren stopped and the ambulance turned into the motel parking lot. We had perhaps a minute left to get all the answers we so desperately needed.

  “How do you know that?” Tina demanded. “Did you go back out there that night?”

  Roger shook his head vigorously. “No. I didn’t hear anything from anyone that night, so I assumed the deal was dead. I went home.”

  I said, “But clearly, at some point, you learned the deal wasn’t dead.”

  “That’s true. Just before I met with you two at the house yesterday, I got a call from Driggs’s assistant, Jason . . . Jesse . . . Jason, whatever.” Roger waved his hand listlessly. “He started crowing about how he’d gone out to Ev’s place on Thursday afternoon and convinced him to sell his farm.”

  “Why would Mr. Hauck be calling you? Had you ever spoken with him before?”

  “No, so I asked to talk to Driggs. But he told me that from now on I’d be dealing with him. And you know what?”

  “What?” I asked.

  “He was just as big a jerk as she was!”

  “Forgive me if I don’t react with shock. But something puzzles me, Roger. Everyone around here—including Jesse Hauck and Sherri Driggs, for that matter—knew that Ev Rawlins had been killed early on Thursday evening.”

  “So?”

  “So . . . didn’t you wonder about Mr. Hauck admitting to having been at the house so close to the time of the murder?”

  Roger shrugged. “Hey, I’m not a detective.”

  Before I could respond, Ash jumped in. “Oh, now, Brad, I can understand why good ol’ Roger didn’t give it any thought. He was too busy getting ready to burn down a hundred-year-old Victorian mansion.”

  The real estate agent tried to look both remorseful and dignified. “I’m not proud of what I did. But you can’t stop progress, Miss Ashleigh. That theme park was coming, no matter who handled the transaction. So somebody was going to get that money. Why not me?” Roger said defensively.

  “You call traffic, litter, and urban sprawl progress? And God only knows how many real bears would be killed to make room for your trashy Bear Fair.” Ash’s hands balled up into fists, and I thought she might take a swing at the agent. “Roger Prufrock, you are a mealymouthed, nickel-plated scumbag, and I hope those burns you have are just a preview of the place you’re going someday.”

  The ambulance stopped outside the room, the truck doors slammed, and the EMTs came in, carrying their medical gear. We went outside as the medics worked. It was twilight now, and a chilly breeze blew down from the Allegheny Mountains. I zipped up my jacket and leaned on the hood of the Beemer.

  Stifling a yawn, I said, “So Jesse is apparently running the show now. What does that tell us?”

  “That he knows Driggs killed Rawlins,” said Tina.

  I nodded. “And he’s blackmailing his boss. She keeps her freedom by boosting her former boy toy up the corporate ladder.”


  “But I don’t understand. If Everett signed the documents, why kill him?” Ash asked.

  “We only have Jesse’s word, via Roger, that Ev actually did sign the documents. Has anybody seen those escrow papers?” I asked. “When a house is sold, there are multiple copies of the transaction documents. One bunch for the buyer, one bunch for the real estate agent—”

  Ash cut in excitedly, “And one for the seller. But we didn’t find any escrow paperwork in Ev’s house.”

  “We didn’t really look. So we’re going to have to go through that mountain of paperwork we recovered from his office to make sure they aren’t there before we talk to Sherri,” I said.

  The EMTs led Roger from the room and out to the ambulance. It seemed the alcohol and opiates he’d been taking for the pain were wearing off. Roger moaned as he climbed into the back of the ambulance.

  Tina said, “I guess I should go over and tell him he’s under arrest for arson.”

  “I’d get his car keys before they go.” I rapped my knuckles on the hood of the BMW. “But I can’t see any point in arresting him right this minute.”

  “Maybe I’m missing something. Didn’t he confess to the arson?”

  “Yeah, but Roger isn’t going anywhere, and if you take him into custody now, you’ll just saddle the county with his medical bills. So why not wait until he’s out of the hospital and then file charges on him? There’s just something obscene about the idea of our tax dollars being spent on his medical treatment.” I nodded toward the ambulance, where Roger was now being strapped to a gurney.

  Tina gave me a weary smile and went to get Roger’s car keys before the EMTs took off. She called a tow truck for the Beemer and made sure the tow operator knew how to get to the state crime lab in Roanoke, and then we were free to head back to Remmelkemp Mill.