Helen Starkey saw Beau get out of his vehicle and she hurried over, keeping her hands visible, the mane of gray hair waving, her house dress and sweater-jacket flapping in the stiffening breeze.
“Helen, what happened here?” Beau asked, never taking his eyes off the gathering of men.
“We came for a picnic. Some of my Jessie’s friends from Albuquerque drove up and we were just going to use up the leftover food people been bringing, get together for awhile and remember him.”
Beau saw a plastic tablecloth on one of the concrete tables, a few six-pack-sized foam coolers sitting around.
“And?” he prompted.
“And these men on motorcycles came roaring up. Starting shouting at us.”
Would he bet money that Joe and Bobby Starkey had returned the shouts, insult for insult? Probably.
“Someone said shots were fired.” He stared into Helen’s eyes.
She lowered hers. “Well, I suppose Bobby let off with some bird shot, just to warn ’em off.”
Beau bit back a retort. Apparently, taking Joe Starkey’s weapons after the hunting incident wasn’t the same as disarming the whole clan.
“Then what?”
“One of them bikers, he pulled a knife and then the rest of ’em got their knives and now it looks like a standoff.”
Beau raised his chin toward the motorcycle on the ground. “What about that?”
“Well, Joe, he’d gone home for another, um, cooler, and when he come back this lot was here and he musta come up to a stop too fast.”
Beau hated this sort of thing. No one was going to back down and no one would come out the winner.
“Sit over there, Helen, and don’t move a muscle,” he said, indicating a concrete bench beside the school building.
“But my grandk—”
“Let my men handle it, Helen. I’m serious. You stay here.”
He kept his eyes on the two clusters of glaring men while he reached into his SUV for the bullhorn. He caught Rico’s eye and the deputy moved toward him. Radioing Withers to have his weapon ready, he switched on the bullhorn and nearly jumped when his own voice came out louder than expected. He adjusted the volume.
“Okay, guys, we don’t want any trouble here,” he began. Neither side took an eye off the other. “I want the women and kids safe. None of you guys better make a move. Ladies, get your children, walk over to the edge of the park and get behind my deputy there.” He tilted his head toward Withers and the patrol car.
Three women moved, two about Helen Starkey’s age, the other barely out of her teens. They herded four kids. Two other women stared at Beau and stepped closer to the men. Somebody always had to make an issue out of everything, he thought. He keyed his mike and told Withers to get the little band over to the schoolhouse, beside Helen. While they moved, he addressed the crowd again.
“Bobby Starkey, let me see that gun.”
Bobby raised a .30-06 above his head, but he kept both hands on it.
“Bobby, I need you to put the rifle down. Just set it on the ground and step back.”
Bobby looked daggers toward the biker group but didn’t move. Joe Starkey started to mouth off but Beau couldn’t tell what he was saying.
“Rico,” Beau said quietly. “Get on the radio. Tell the state troopers that we need everyone on site. Now.”
The park had streets on only two sides; the south and west edges of it just drifted away into open meadowland. He indicated with a few hand signals that the additional cars should secure as much of that space as they could. Thirty seconds later three black-and-whites arrived.
A ripple of nervous glances went through the gathering, and Bobby Starkey laid the weapon on the ground.
“Thank you. Now I want—”
He never got the rest of it out. Two of the bikers charged Joe Starkey, and Beau saw a flash of bright steel. Warlike shouts punctuated the air. Beau gave the order and the officers converged, weapons drawn. Rico ran straight for Bobby Starkey, who was about to grab his rifle again, tackling the taller man and bringing him facedown on the grass. Beau abandoned the bullhorn and covered his deputy until he had handcuffs on Starkey.
When he looked up again, he saw that the state officers had the two knife-wielding bikers down. The rest of the group were backing away with their palms raised. Knives lay all over the ground.
“Man, that bastard beat my cousin—killed him! You can’t let him get away with it!” shouted the first of the bikers, shaking his fists even though they were bound together.
“We’ll talk to everyone, get this all sorted out, down at the station.”
Inwardly, he groaned. It could take forever to get everyone’s stories. And he had an awful feeling it would boil down to each side’s word against the other. Would they end up with any actual proof?
Chapter 27
Forever turned out to be most of the night. With all the Starkeys and the whole extended Rodarte family, Beau’s cramped offices couldn’t handle the crowd. They put one from each team into their own interrogation rooms, three of the Rodartes into the department’s single holding cell, and hauled the rest of them to the county jail a few blocks away.
As stories were taken and warnings issued about not starting fresh trouble, the list of suspects and witnesses dwindled until finally only Joe Starkey and Bono Rodarte, the cousin who’d yelled out about Starkey’s guilt, remained in the interrogation rooms. Helen dozed on a bench in the vestibule, waiting to take her husband home.
“What proof do you have?” Beau asked Bono Rodarte for at least the fourth time. The man had remained steadfast in his claim that Joe Starkey had beat Lee to death.
He stole a glance at his watch and saw that it was after two in the morning. His eyeballs felt raw, the lids lined with sandpaper. At some point Sam had called to see what time he would be home, but he’d had no answer for that. He told her to go home and lock things up tight. He still had no idea how far some of these guys would take their lust for revenge.
Bono pulled off his kerchief and wiped his shaved head with it. “I tell you, man. I just know.”
“ ‘I just know’ isn’t an answer, Bono. You know I can’t take that to court. How am I gonna convict him and make him pay for the crime? I need something for the DA.”
Bono twisted the kerchief, playing it into a knotted wad. “Okay, here’s the thing. You talked to the bartender—Toby? He told me. Said he heard a ruckus out back and saw Joe kicking a man down on the ground. He knows Joe and Bobby Starkey—they buy beer there all the time. Knows what a temper Joe has. He said he just backed away, didn’t want Joe turning on him.”
“And why wouldn’t he have told me that?” Aside from being intimidated by the Starkeys, himself.
“Hell, man, I don’t know! Bring him in, ask him again.”
Obstruction of justice—more charges. Beau wished it was like on television where the guy confesses and it’s all done in an hour. He blew out a breath.
“Okay, I will. I’ll get Toby’s statement, again. But until then, you’re not leaving here.”
“Man, what’d I do? I got rights!”
“You pulled a knife on Bobby Starkey. That’s a deadly weapon.”
Bono sputtered some more. Beau could only hold him forty-eight hours and nearly twelve of that was gone, but it might be enough time. He called Rico in and told him to put the man into the holding cell.
In interrogation room two, Joe Starkey sat back in his chair, one arm draped casually over the back of it, looking for all the world like a guy who thought he was going home in the next five minutes.
“Got it straightened out yet, Sheriff?” he asked when Beau walked in.
“Almost, I think. Just a phone call or two and a little more detective work. Meanwhile, we’re sending you over to County for the night. Judging by his attitude, I don’t think it would be a good idea to put you in the same cell here with Bono Rodarte.”
“What? You ain’t serious, Sheriff. You got no proof whatsoever to hold me!” He
started to rise and Beau kept a little distance between them.
“Maybe, maybe not.”
Starkey’s face went red, his fists clenching. Then he seemed to realize that his temper was showing and he dropped back down. “Whatever,” he muttered.
“I’ll tell your wife she can go on home. She’s been waiting. It’s late—maybe I better offer her a ride.”
Starkey’s eyes widened. Not much, but enough that Beau knew he was on the right track. He called Withers in to cuff Joe Starkey and drive him to his bed for the night. Jail would be Joe’s home for the next few thousand nights, if this truly was their killer.
Once he’d seen the prisoner safely out the back door and into Withers’s cruiser, Beau went back inside. He found Helen Starkey seated crookedly on a bench in the vestibule, snoring softly with her chin nearly touching her chest.
“Come on, Helen. Let me give you a ride home,” he said gently.
She rose compliantly, still half asleep. Too sleepy to remember that she’d driven down here in her own car. Beau didn’t remind her.
About five miles outside Sembramos, he woke her again and brought up the subject, the real reason for his offer of the ride.
“Helen, was Joe the one who beat Lee Rodarte? We have a witness.”
She had started to deny it but at the mention of the witness, her face crumpled. Tears ran down her cheeks as he brought the car to a stop in front of their still-charred home.
“Tell me about it,” he said.
Helen sniffed wetly and rubbed the sleeve of her sweater across her face. “He come home real late. Drunk. That’s nothin’ new. But when he walked into the bedroom and I smelt the blood, I sat up and turned on the light. His shirt had splatters, his Levis and boots were so messy. I like to have had a fit. He was cussin’ about some dog that ran out into the road. Said he stopped to pick it up and toss it aside when a police car came along. He was afraid they’d get him for drunk driving. That’d be his last—he’s had some already, and next time it’s jail. So he jumped into the truck and hightailed it, said he managed to outrun the cop car.”
Beau pictured the beat up truck and wondered at Helen’s naiveté.
“He told me we better wash the clothes, in case they’d got his plate number and came around. The dog blood would prove it was him behind the wheel. He said he’d talk to everybody the next day, the family, that is. Tell them to stand by his story that he was home. I don’t have to tell you that Bobby and some of the boys also have their problems with DWIs so Joe knew they’d all back him up.” She wiped at her face again. “I swear, Sheriff, I believed it. I threw all the clothes in the washer and a whole bunch of soap. But then there was his boots. He scrubbed at ’em with a brush but they didn’t look a whole lot better. We went to bed and the next morning when he picked out another pair to wear, I stuck the old boots out in the shed.”
Beau’s interest perked up. Clothing that had been through the wash cycle might not give up enough evidence for their needs—but the boots!
“Are they still there?” he asked, hardly daring to get his hopes up. Especially in light of the fire and the number of people who’d been around the place.
“Might be, unless Bobby’s been out there workin’ or somethin’.”
Beau’s heart sank. Joe and Helen had been staying at Bobby’s house since the fire. Helen had to be talking about the other Starkey’s house, their washer, their shed. That many people with access to the evidence. He started the cruiser and put it in gear.
“I want you to show me where you put them,” he said, making the U-turn that would take them to the other house.
Pulling up in front of the darkened house, he realized it was after three a.m. and they could rightfully be shot for prowling around the property.
“I want you to go in, tell JoNell it’s you, that you’ll be right back and not to worry.” At least Bobby was still safely in a cell.
He pulled out the heavy flashlight that was part of his standard gear and lit the way up the narrow sidewalk, watching Helen go in. This could be the moment she would betray him and half the clan could come out shooting. He keyed his shoulder mike and gave his dispatcher a quick ‘20’ call with the address.
But he heard Helen call out, saying just the words he’d told her. She came back a moment later and led the way around the side of the house. The battered metal storage building—the kind made from a kit, by the look of it at least twenty years ago—had a rusted hasp but no padlock. Helen opened it and the door screamed open in its track. Thank goodness he’d thought to warn the household. This thing was better than an alarm system.
“Get some light in here, Sheriff,” Helen said. “I’m afraid I’ll step on some old rusty rake or something.”
Sure enough, the place was cluttered with tools that hadn’t seen the best of care. Beau shined the light around, holding his breath about whether the boots would be there.
Helen walked right to the spot, reaching beneath the edge of a wooden shelf that had been added as a workbench. She pulled out a pair of steel-toed work boots. Even in the dimness of the shed, Beau recognized blood and tissue on them. He pulled out the plastic bag he’d jammed into his hip pocket and snapped it open with a shake.
“Set them in there,” he instructed.
She did, another sob wracking her shoulders as she let go of the boot tops.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he said. “Go on inside and get some sleep.”
Asking the impossible, he knew, but he watched Helen trudge toward the back door, a sad shell of the woman who’d hurried to get her grandchildren to safety only twelve hours ago.
* * *
Beau drove past the turnoff to his place, sorely tempted to stop and try to grab a couple hours’ sleep before dawn. But he could feel the adrenaline pumping and knew his eyes wouldn’t close, and if they did his mind wouldn’t slow down. He had to see this thing through.
Lisa, his technician, wouldn’t be in until eight but Beau located her test kit and swabbed a bit of the blood from Joe Starkey’s boot. He knew enough about the process to confirm that the faint, light purple band on the plastic test meter meant the blood was human. He picked up the plastic bag and told Rico to get Joe Starkey out of his cell, bring him back to the station and to make sure they were recording what was about to happen.
Looking through the small window into the interrogation room where Joe had been questioned half the night, Beau saw the weariness on Starkey’s lined, grizzled face. The nonchalant manner from early evening had given way and the suspect now dozed with his head resting on one arm that sprawled across the table. His eyes flickered open at the sound of the doorknob. When Beau set down the bag containing the boots, mere inches from Starkey’s nose, the man came fully awake.
“Recognize those?” Beau asked.
Starkey eyed him warily but didn’t say a word.
“It’s not dog blood.”
Joe couldn’t take his eyes off the bag. Clearly, he’d believed the boots were long gone.
Joe’s eyes flashed anger. “I told her—”
“Helen didn’t do this, Joe. She only tried to help you. You’re the one who did the crime.”
“Lee Rodarte killed my son!”
“He didn’t. We found no evidence of that, and he had an alibi for that Sunday morning.”
“But, he—”
“Lee got sent to prison on your son’s testimony. That was unfortunate. Neither of them deserved it. But they got out, and that should have been the end of it. Keeping these grudges alive won’t solve anything. Don’t you see that?” Beau pointed at the boots. “I’ve got samples on the way to the state crime lab.” Fudging the truth just a little. “I imagine that pretty soon now we’ll know that it’s Lee Rodarte’s blood. Won’t we?”
Starkey’s jaw went tense.
“I’ll have to charge Helen as an accessory,” Beau said. “Washing your clothes, hiding the boots.”
The man’s mouth went tight. “She didn’t want to. Sh
e got real mad at me. Will she go to jail? She loves those grandkids.”
“Depends. Joe, you need to tell me what happened.”
“After Jessie’s funeral, I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how Lee was walkin’ around, alive and free.” The rest of the story came out in a flood, the microphones and camera getting it all.
When Joe was finished talking, Beau handed him a pad of paper and pen and asked him to write out what had happened the night he waited behind the bar for Lee Rodarte to come out. He walked out of the interrogation room an hour after presenting the boots.
Bobby Starkey jumped up from one of the chairs in the waiting area. Beau had hoped County Jail would hold him until morning, delay this confrontation awhile.
Bobby stood less than a foot from Beau. “Helen tells me you’re in there forcing a confession from Joe, just like y’all did from Jessie!”
“Did she tell you that Joe killed Lee Rodarte?”
Bobby apparently thought he could bluff his way through with talk of getting a lawyer and swearing he would take his brother home, right this minute. Beau let him rant for a minute before he drew himself up to his full height and put on his no-nonsense face.
“Joe’s not leaving custody, not unless a judge says he can, and I just don’t see that happening. I’d suggest you calm down and accept the fact that your brother just confessed.” He waved the yellow pad. “Bobby, like it or not, Joe did the crime. This time we have evidence and witnesses.”
The younger Starkey brother folded. After a couple minutes of pleading, hoping the system would go easy on Joe, Bobby finally did as Beau suggested and left.
Chapter 28
Sam abruptly woke up at five o’clock, startled to discover that Beau wasn’t home yet and she’d slept so soundly she didn’t know it. A faint sound downstairs, and she heard his footsteps on the stairs. The bedroom door opened.
8 Sweet Payback Page 21
