by JoAnna Carl
Because of these undercurrents, the connections Joe and I had with my uncle by marriage made us unpopular with the sheriff. He seemed to suspect us of plotting to undermine his authority and to make him look bad in front of the voters.
Maybe he was right. I thought Ramsey was a jerk, and if he made himself look bad, so be it. However, I tried not to do anything obviously mean to this poor excuse for a lawman. But he was always on the defensive around me or any other connection of Hogan’s.
As I drove up, Ramsey got out of his SUV and stood waiting, hands on hips. He looked as if he were ready to make a quick draw. His stance was not welcoming, but I reminded myself that he was at my house, on my turf, and a man’s home is still his castle. A woman’s, too.
As I got out of the van, I saw that Ramsey wasn’t alone. A second police car was parked on the other side of Ramsey’s SUV, and a uniformed officer came around to stand beside him. After a second I recognized him as Clancy Pike.
Pike had been one of Ramsey’s deputies—the best one, Hogan thought—until he recently retired. He had been the only trained investigator in the sheriff’s department. He didn’t have a lot of experience with administration, but Hogan had asked him to stand in as Warner Pier Police Chief while he and Aunt Nettie were gone.
I called out in what I tried to make a pleasant voice. “Hi, Sheriff Ramsey. Hello, Clancy. Sorry we weren’t here to greet y’all.”
Ramsey yelled his reply. “Where’s that husband of yours?”
“He’s right behind me. I think he stopped for the mail.”
“I’ve got a few things to say to him.”
“You’re welcome to come on in the house and say them.”
“Out here’s better.”
After that I couldn’t think of anything else to talk about. Well, maybe the weather, but that didn’t seem suitable. I did turn on the outdoor lights, which can be done with a remote control. That gave me a better look at the two lawmen.
Ramsey was a fair-skinned man with sandy hair, a couple of inches shorter than I am. Clancy, in contrast, was a hulk. Not a hunk. A hulk. He was at least six-four, with giant muscles and a completely bald head. And he was ugly, with a threatening look in his eye, though I’d never known him to be anything but polite. Chillingly polite.
Of course, I couldn’t see either Ramsey’s fair hair or Clancy’s bald head at the moment. The temperature was in the low twenties, and both of them were wearing warm winter hats. Ramsey’s was knitted, a sort of watch cap, and Clancy’s uniform cap had furry earflaps that snapped on top. I was wearing a knitted hat, too, and a ski jacket.
The three of us stood beside our cars and waited until Joe pulled in and parked.
Joe got out of his truck wearing his lawyer face, the totally deadpan one. He nodded to Clancy and spoke to Ramsey. “Hi, Burt. What can I do for you?”
“You can tell me why the hell you’ve taken this case of a bum killing a prominent citizen!”
“Everybody seems to be mad about that today.”
“What did you expect? Do you think the people of this county want to waste money on this crazy man who murdered an important businessman?”
“Well, Burt, if he is crazy—”
“He’s crazy like a fox! You know what I’m saying! He’s trying to get off on a technicality!”
“He’s not getting off at all, Burt. Not so far. He just gets a new lawyer because his old one got sick.”
“I’ve already had a dozen complaints about this!”
Joe gave a humorless chuckle. “People are funny about these things, aren’t they? They’re always yelling about constitutional rights, but when someone actually invokes them, they get all bent out of shape.”
Ramsey looked as if Joe had slapped him. His head snapped back, and his eyes popped. “Constitutional! Constitutional! I’m talking about money out of the public pocket! Useless expense!”
Through all this yelling from Burt Ramsey, Joe had never raised his voice. He hadn’t changed his deadpan expression. Now he spoke again, and once more his voice was very quiet.
“We need to follow the law, Burt.”
“He’ll be found guilty! He has no defense!”
“He has me, Burt. I’m his defense.”
“The evidence is all against him!”
“I haven’t had a chance to read the files yet.”
Ramsey looked so frustrated I thought he was going to jump up and down. I was afraid he was going to punch Joe. I felt pretty sure Joe could protect himself if the sheriff punched him, but Ramsey had a gun and an unreliable temper.
He leaned over, putting his face close to Joe’s, and for the first time he spoke quietly. “Me and my guys, Joe, we didn’t do anything wrong. That confession was right according to Hoyle. Clancy here took it, and he doesn’t cut corners. You’re not going to be able to prove a thing.”
“I’m sure Clancy did everything just right, Burt.” Joe didn’t mention Ramsey’s doing everything right. He simply went on. “It’s my job to make sure Hollis gets a fair shake.”
Ramsey and Joe stared at each other for at least thirty seconds. Then the sheriff clenched his fists and shook them in the air. “I’ll get you for this!” He yelled the words. “You’re not going to get away with this!”
He swung around, climbed into his patrol car, and started the motor. The car shot backward, nearly hitting a tree on the other side of the drive. Then he took off, throwing sand and snow. Luckily, it didn’t hit any of us.
Clancy hadn’t said a word. He, Joe, and I watched Ramsey leave.
Joe turned to Clancy. “I hate quarreling with Ramsey,” he said. “But I suppose he’d never believe that.”
Clancy shook his head. “You can see why he’s upset, Joe. He thought he had this case all set. He was already talking to the prosecutor about sending the guy up for life. Now you take over and make remarks about a completely new investigation.”
“I have total confidence in whatever you did, Clancy. But I’ve been handed this job, and I can’t do it right if I don’t look the evidence over. And Hollis definitely needs a mental exam. Come on in the house. We’ll have a beer.”
Clancy shook his head. “I’d better go hold Burt’s hand. He’ll need it. And, Joe, I have to back him up on this, you know.”
“Sure, Clancy. I understand that. It’s what the citizens expect.”
Clancy leaned toward Joe. “But I’ll be glad to talk the investigation over with you. Any time.”
“Thanks.”
Clancy got in his car—actually it was Hogan’s car—and drove away. At least he didn’t throw sand at us.
“Clancy always scares me,” I said.
“You’re just intimidated because he’s one of the few guys around who’s taller than you are.”
“You’re taller than I am, and I’m not scared of you.”
“Yeah, but Clancy’s taller than I am.” Joe laughed. “Let’s go on in the house. We may be in for a lot of hassles this evening.”
“Hassles? What do you mean?”
“If Ramsey stirs people up, we may get some phone calls.”
“Drat!”
“Do you want to go out for dinner?”
“No. It’ll be worse if we’re in a public place.”
I could remember the days when Joe was city attorney. If he made some recommendation one faction or another didn’t like, citizens didn’t hesitate to collar him at a restaurant to tell him about it.
Sure enough, when we came through the kitchen door the phone was ringing. Joe answered, but the caller wasn’t anyone we knew. After two more calls Joe pulled the plug. “They’ll call back,” he said. “But I don’t have to listen to them tonight.”
And true to his word, he didn’t plug the phone back in until the next morning. Then it rang almost immediately, and the person on the other end of the line was
his mother.
You can’t hang up on your mother. Plus, Mercy Woodyard Herrera needed to know the whole story. People were probably asking her about the situation, so she’d better understand what was going on.
Joe explained, and I was standing close enough to hear her voice as she replied. It wasn’t a happy voice. “Well, Joe, you have to follow your conscience.”
“That’s how you brought me up, Mom.”
“Don’t blame me for this!” Mercy laughed. “I don’t know what help I could be, but if you need anything give me a ring.”
Mercy owns Warner Pier’s only insurance agency, and she makes a profit every year. She long ago gave up on her dream of Joe becoming a wealthy corporate attorney.
Joe put on his jacket, and he was reaching for the door handle, ready to leave for work, when the phone rang again. He gave a deep sigh and stared at the instrument. I could see him debating whether to answer it.
I reached around him and stretched out a hand toward the phone. “I’ll tell them you’re gone,” I said. “Hello.”
The caller gave a little cough, then spoke in a gruff voice. “Is Woodyard there?”
“This is Mrs. Woodyard.”
“Your husband. Is he around?”
“He just went out the door. You’ll have to call his office.”
“Nah. Just give him a message.” He coughed again.
“Certainly.”
“I’m a friend of Royal Hollis.”
“Yes?”
“If he really wants to help Royal, check out the wife.”
“Who is this?”
“That don’t matter.”
The line went dead.
I repeated the conversation to Joe. He frowned.
“What did that mean?” I asked.
“Is there anything on caller ID?”
“Just a number.”
Joe took the phone from me and punched the proper buttons to call the number back. The phone seemed to ring repeatedly. I moved my head close to Joe’s, trying to hear who answered.
“Holland Help for All Shelter,” a recorded voice said. “Our office isn’t open now.”
Chapter 6
Joe’s reaction surprised me. He pulled off his necktie.
Next he picked up the telephone and called his office. It wasn’t open yet, of course, but he left a message saying he wouldn’t be in that morning.
“Please ask Teresa to talk to Mrs. Bailey about her child support. Cancel anything else. I’ll call in at noon.” He hung up.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’d better stay home this morning and read up on Royal Hollis. If everybody in the county wants to tell me all about this case, I guess I need to give it the once-over so I’ll know what they’re talking about.”
He went to the dining table, which doubles as a workstation at our house, opened his briefcase, and took out a thick file.
Joe obviously didn’t need me. “See you later,” I said. “I’ll come home for lunch.”
When I came back at quarter after twelve, he was still sitting at the table. It was now covered with papers, and Joe had added his laptop to the mix.
“I brought sandwiches,” I said, “but I don’t see anyplace to put them.”
“Pour some Cokes and I’ll clear a spot.”
“I can see you’ve been busy.”
“I may need to bounce some ideas around.”
Joe doesn’t talk about the legal side of his dual career all the time, but occasionally he wants a listener. Just a listener. I try not to say anything but uh-huh and uh-uh, though it’s hard for me to keep quiet.
I got out some carrot sticks, put the sandwiches on plates, sat down, and looked expectant. Joe would talk when he was ready.
We both bit, chewed, and swallowed before he spoke. “Do you know anything about the Davidson killing?”
“Very little. We were out of town when it happened, and the newspaper accounts were rather vague. Or maybe they didn’t match the gossip that I heard. When I mentioned Moe to Hogan, he said he hadn’t been involved in the investigation. In fact, he sort of snapped me off. By then Hollis had confessed. So what happened?”
“On January fifteenth, Moe Davidson and his wife, Emma, were at their home in Indiana for the winter.”
“Yeah—Moe used to stay here year-round, but after he and Emma got married, they began to split their time between her house and his.”
“That’s right. But on that day Moe got a call from a guy who lives near their place up here—his name is Harry Vandercool. Vandercool told Moe he’d seen a prowler over at their cottage. A group of homeless men were camping somewhere close by, and Vandercool was concerned because the house hadn’t been closed up for the winter.”
Joe looked up, frowning. “I’ll have to ask Vandercool, but I think maybe Moe had been careless about getting the cottage winterized the previous year as well. This may have been a bone of contention between him and Vandercool, since Moe was no longer there during the winter, and Vandercool was afraid of frozen pipes and so forth.”
“You mean, there goes the neighborhood? Did Vandercool think Moe was letting the place look shabby?”
“Something like that, maybe.”
“If Moe had a year-round house, I guess he didn’t need to put up shutters. But it’s hard to believe any cottage owner around here could simply forget to drain the pipes and turn off the electricity. For one thing, there are so many people advertising that they’re ready to do the job for them.”
“At several hundred dollars a pop.” Yes, opening and closing cottages is a popular job description in any resort community. Every painter, plumber, and handyman has clients who pay him to do this.
Joe went on. “I think Moe had winterized his own house the previous year, and Vandercool thought he was careless about the way he did it. Anyway, when Vandercool called Moe to report a prowler, Moe told Vandercool he’d come up and check on the situation. And sure enough, around noon the next day Vandercool heard a car driving in over at the Davidson house. Then he heard voices.”
“Raised voices?”
“The statement doesn’t indicate he heard a quarrel. I’ll have to check to see how close Moe’s house is to Vandercool. I don’t know if Vandercool could have heard ordinary speech.” Joe pulled a yellow legal pad over and made a note. “Vandercool decided to go over that afternoon and see Moe. I have an idea Vandercool wasn’t too eager to do this.”
“Moe was always off on some strange idea. He can’t have been a fun neighbor.”
“Probably not. So, about one thirty Vandercool looked out his window, and he saw someone coming toward his own house.”
“Aha! Was it Royal Hollis?”
“Yes, though Vandercool said he didn’t know his name at that time. But Hollis was barefoot.”
“Barefoot? In January? In Michigan?”
“That was how Vandercool reacted. He was horrified. He went out and spoke to him. Hollis said that Moe had taken his shoes.”
“That would be a really mean thing to do!”
“Vandercool gave Hollis some old shoes of his own. Then he went to Moe’s house. When Vandercool got there, he was surprised to see a strange car, a Chevy with a Michigan plate, in the drive. Vandercool walked on, and behind the Chevy he discovered Chuck Davidson. He was leaning over his dad, and Moe was lying on his side. He appeared to be dead.
“Apparently Vandercool had never met Chuck, and when Chuck saw Vandercool he jumped up and said, ‘Who are you?’ I guess there was some confusion—‘What’s wrong with Moe?’ ‘Have you called an ambulance?’ and so forth—and Chuck explained he was Moe’s son. He said he’d driven up with his dad and had gone out to buy gasoline. When he came back he discovered his dad lying there.”
“I’m surprised Vandercool didn’t know Chuck.”
&nb
sp; “I guess Chuck hadn’t been around much in recent years, even though he lives in Grand Rapids.”
“Yeah. Just sixty miles away. But I heard that neither Chuck nor Lorraine hung around with their dad much.”
“Anyway, Chuck pulled out his cell phone but—naturally, since this is the lakeshore, where things are spotty—he didn’t have any service. So he ran into the house and used the landline to call 9-1-1.
“Vandercool’s statement says he first thought Moe had had a heart attack or something, but when the EMTs arrived they discovered a head injury. Moe was declared dead at the scene.” Joe held up a packet of photographs.
“At least Ramsey got some pictures,” I said.
“Yeah, and at least the body was still there when the State Police lab guys arrived.”
“Did the autopsy find anything?”
“Not very much. They said Moe had died after being struck by a rounded object. Maybe a rock. And, yes, he could have fallen on something like that.”
“Actually, Joe, there aren’t too many rocks around here to fall on.”
“Correct. Except that the Davidsons are like lots of families. They collect stones from the beach and bring them to the house.”
“But nearly all the beach stones are small.”
Joe dug through the evidence photos until he found one that showed a small, white, one-story house. “The Davidsons collected all sizes.” He pointed to a cairn of rounded river rocks at the corner of the house.
“Those aren’t out in the driveway,” I said.
“True. I’ve made a note of that.” Joe tapped his notepad, then spoke again. “As soon as the deputies talked to Vandercool and heard about the homeless guy he’d seen around Moe’s house, they started out to find him. It wasn’t hard.”
“Hollis was still around?”
“Right. It looked as if several guys had been camping in a ramshackle cabin about a mile away, near the Interstate.”
“I guess the highway has replaced the railroads of earlier days. We’ve had similar people here in our neighborhood, and I’ve always assumed they got there from the Interstate.”
“I don’t know if anyone has studied that or not.” Joe made another note. “But it sure seems that way. They hitchhike, rather than hopping freights the way those guys did seventy-five or a hundred years ago. And one of the sheriff’s deputies was familiar with the cabin. I gather that he’d rousted homeless men from there in previous years.”
