The Widow's Husband

by William Coleman

  The deputy stared at the Philip with a mixture of spite and unease. He knew the sheriff was the type to call in outside help in cases requiring manpower and support the department couldn’t afford. He also knew calling wouldn’t change the sheriff’s mind. He reached into a small box sitting on the ground next to him and pulled out a sealed plastic bag, holding it out to the two detectives.

  “Got his wallet,” Gravis said. “No cash. No driver’s license. Just a few credit cards.”

  Dave took the bag and looked at the worn brown leather. In the compartment where most people kept their license was a debit card almost as worn as the wallet. The name, Allan Tuttle, was barely visible on the card.

  “No license?” Philip pondered. “You think this might be identity theft?”

  “They would have spent more time making sure the body wasn’t found,” Dave said. “And if they didn’t want the body identified, they wouldn’t have left the credit cards.”

  “Robbery then?” Philip asked. They had seen it a half dozen times in the past year alone. A man in a suit bludgeoned and robbed, left for dead. A smart thief would never take credit cards. They could be tracked and eventually the thief gets caught.

  “The missing shoes and cash suggest robbery,” Dave agreed. “Why take the license? And why take the time to hide the body?”

  “The victim knew his killer?” Philip suggested.

  “That’s what I think,” Dave said. “This was a murder. The money and shoes were taken to make it look like a robbery. The license was taken to hinder the investigation that will ultimately lead to the killer. Not very affective since they left the credit cards.”

  “I’ll get statements from the men who found the body,” Philip said. “Then get a report from the uniforms. Hope they took some evidence photos and casts before they trampled everything. You can just do what you do.”

  Dave nodded absently and Philip knew his partner had already gone wherever it was he went inside his head. Philip turned away to look for the witnesses. Dave walked down the short road to the highway, his head down studying the imprints he could make out. Unfortunately, Deputy Gravis and those who followed him to the scene were careless about taping off the area until they believed the man was murdered. There were an undeterminable number of tire tracks in and out of the area. Footprints were too numerous to count. He stepped into the center of the highway, blocked off by emergency vehicles on both sides, and looked north into the distance. A few minutes passed as he stared unmoving at what others assumed was nothing. Without a sound, he turned south and stared at nothing again. This is what Philip meant by Dave doing his thing.

  He drew in a deep breath and turned to the road leading up to the gate, the body and all the people doing their jobs trying to find clues. He walked back up the road to the gate, careful not to disturb the tire tracks closest to the body. Philip already had the small section marked off to keep others from erasing them with their feet. Philip had talents, always knew what was needed to preserve and gather the evidence. They made a good team. And Dave was glad to have the other as his partner.

  Kneeling down, Dave looked hard at the tracks and studied the surrounding grass. It did not take long for him to determine the path taken by the killer to drag the body to its final resting spot. He was killed somewhere else and transported in the killer’s trunk. He looked up at the gate and noted the new padlock on the chain. It was possible the killer planned all along to bring the body here and was surprised to find the gate freshly locked. Dave began wondering about premeditation. Kill a man, dump the body in an abandoned location. It might have been years before the body was found.

  “The killer knows this place,” Dave said to Phillip as the younger detective joined him again. “Get anything from the witnesses?”

  “No,” Phillip said. “They just saw the body and called 9-1-1.”

  Dave followed the faint drag marks leading to the corpse, seeing where the killer set his heels for better traction. The dead man was not small. The killer would need some strength to pull the body out of the trunk and drag it. He stopped at the coroner’s side looking down at the body while the man carefully packed away his tools of the trade.

  “Who did you run into?” Dave said under his breath.

  “What?” the coroner looked up. When Dave did not respond, he finished packing his equipment and strolled away. Dave never saw him leave.

  Chapter 9

  (The Cabin)

  From the moment Larry dropped him at the cabin, Allan began to pace. He discovered the main room of the cabin, where he spent most of his time, was exactly ten paces, front to back; twelve, side to side. Although there was no doubt in his mind as to the accuracy, he continued to count each step aloud. It consumed his mind and kept him from wondering what would happen next. Discovering his wife the night before and experiencing the brothers that morning, he wasn’t sure he could handle any more excitement. It just felt inevitable; everything came in threes after all.

  A creak on the porch outside caused him to jump. He composed himself and listened for the sound to repeat. Expecting someone or something to come crashing in, Allan cowered from the door. It was possible Sarah’s lover had awakened angry and that she told the man where the cabin was. He could be out there at this moment wanting revenge. Allan waited a long moment, hearing nothing more.

  He began questioning whether he heard anything at all. He approached the door with caution, pulling it open slowly and peeked through the opening. A small red fox leapt into the air, scrambled to regain its feet, and raced into the woods at lightning speed. The flash of fur seized Allan’s chest causing him to jump and slam the door. He took some time to assure himself nothing was coming through the door, sighed with relief and returned to pacing. A short time later he was sitting in his favorite chair rubbing the soles of his feet contemplating the path that had led him to this moment in time.

  Despite Allan fighting to keep them at bay, the memories of what Sarah had done pushed their way to the front of his thoughts. Even though he had caught her, seen her with his own eyes, he could not believe it. From the day Sarah took Mrs. Login's place, Allan considered himself a lucky man. Mrs. Login was a great typist. In contrast, Sarah was smart and attractive and seemed honestly interested in his work and eventually in him. The day they married was the greatest day of his life. Now, all he could do was wonder if any of it had been real, had Sarah ever cared for him.

  He didn’t know if he should try to save his marriage or see a lawyer. Should he return to the house to confront Sarah or phone her from the pay phone at the general store? A phone call seemed an unacceptable way to discuss the future of a marriage, even though there was an advantage to not having to look her in the face.

  He knew he would need a change of clothes which meant going to the house or buying a new outfit. He was too cheap to go shopping, so the house. As soon as he made the decision he started to hyperventilate. His heart raced. He made another decision quickly. He would give it one more day and go to the house in the morning.

  That night he tossed and turned throughout the night. Visions of his wife and a strange man in his bed invaded his dreams every time he closed his eyes. In another dream, an old man chased him through a department store with a shotgun. All blended with the curious vision of a dog sitting on a park bench reading the newspaper. He woke in the morning, only remembering the dog on the park bench. He shook the image from his mind and went to the task of making his breakfast using supplies he purchased at the general store. Eggs. Bacon. Toast. His standard fare for the mornings he stayed at the cabin. Sitting at the writing table that doubled as his dining table, he ate small bites that he chewed methodically ten times before swallowing.

  After breakfast he washed, dried and put away the dishes. He began pacing almost immediately. When he needed to rest, he sat on the chair, his leg bouncing uncontrollably. The images that had disturbed his sleep did not dissipate with the day. He wanted desperately to think about anything but the one thing that c
onsumed him; Sarah.

  After a couple hours, he was stopped dead in his tracks by a single thought. That of what he had done when he was convinced the man was assaulting his poor defenseless wife. Walking right up to the attacker, hitting him in the head with the bookend and knocking him out cold was, without question, his most heroic moment. It was the only time in his life he had taken charge of a situation. If things had turned out differently, it would have been a proud moment indeed.

  He began pacing again, looking out the windows every time he passed one. It was nice outside and he knew he should be out there making his way back to the general store where he could call a cab. Instead he collapsed into his favorite chair, looking down at his feet. He still wore the dress shoes he had put on two days ago. If he was going to continue to walk as much as he was, he needed a pair of sneakers. A pair of jeans and t-shirt would be helpful too. There were only so many days you can wear the same clothes before they developed a personality of their own. The shirt he could wash out in the sink, hang it to dry, hope for the best. The slacks were another story; dry clean only, on the verge of ruin after his first walk to the general store.

  He wondered what Sarah was doing. She might be trying to think of ways to apologize to him, hoping to save their marriage. She might be thinking about coming out to see him. Or she could be with that man. Allan left him there naked and unconscious. She probably bandaged him and kissed his head to make him feel better. Allan closed his eyes and tried to push the image from his mind. It had been two days. The possibility of the man still being there with Sarah was unlikely. Of course, if asked three days ago, Allan would have never believed it possible he would find any man in their bed.

  He stood and walked out onto the porch to check the weather. It was nice for the time being. Allan knew the temperature would rise as the sun crossed the clear sky. He would need to leave soon to avoid being on the road at the hottest time of the day. A quick lunch and he would be on his way. At the general store, he would call a cab and look for a more practical pair of shoes.

  He pulled the door open and walked, determined, across the room to the kitchen. The door, assisted by a spring attached at the top, slammed shut behind him. For the third time in two days he jumped, ducking behind the fridge. His heart pounded in his chest. Maybe, he would wait a few more days to be sure Sarah would be alone.

  He made his lunch and ate in silence. By the time he finished cleaning up, he had decided to do something he had never done in all the times he had spent at the cabin. He would go for a walk along the edge of the lake. Always absorbed in his work he hardly noticed the water. Today he was going to enjoy the soothing force of nature. With any luck, he would live through the experience. Taking a bottle of water, he started walking north into the trees.

  Before he realized it, he had walked for a half-hour along a narrow path worn away over the years by hikers. The path was smooth and easy to navigate and Allan was glad to be out of the cabin. He followed the trail as it wound in and out of the trees, never quite leaving the view of the lake. Images of Sarah flooded his mind as he walked. He thought of all the times they had spent together and wondered why she never came to the cabin with him. Now, he knew.

  Thirty minutes more and his feet ached inside the hard-sole shoes. He pushed ahead just the same trying to outrun his thoughts. He began to feel as though he should be trying to get away from someone and started walking even faster. He had the distinct impression if he looked over his shoulder a man would be chasing him with a bust of Edgar Allan Poe raised above his head.

  Allan stole a quick glance over his shoulder. The quick glance revealed little so Allan twisted his neck to scan the trail and the trees for signs of human life. There was no one there. He grinned and turned back to the trail, walking head first into the thick bark of a very tall tree. He staggered back, his head spinning. His hand raised instinctively to his forehead and came away warm and wet. He tried to focus on the crimson liquid. The liquid flowed down his fingers. He looked up at the tree and smiled. He swore he could see, in the texture of the bark, the face of Poe. A second later everything went black.

  Chapter 10

  (The Identification)

  The doorbell rang and Sarah stepped into the entry hall and stared at the door wondering who was on the other side. She wasn’t expecting anyone and no one ever just stopped by the Tuttle household. There was the possibility that it was Allan. It would surprise her if he returned so soon. Although he had surprised her by hitting Mike in the head with that bookend.

  She wasn’t sure she was ready to see Allan, if it was him. She would just wait him out. He would give up and go away. The bell rang. He would know she was there. Her car was in the driveway. The bell rang. Why didn’t he just use his key? Afraid of what or who he might find? She grinned. The bell rang. She would have to answer and explain she wasn’t ready to talk to him just yet.

  She smoothed the wrinkles from her clothes. No point in not looking her best. She ran her fingers through her hair and worked up an expression she hoped conveyed sadness and remorse, with a hint of uncertainty. Glancing in a mirror she was satisfied. She pulled the door open.

  “Yes?” she said with a heavy sigh.

  “Ms. Tuttle?”

  The two men on her porch looked important and very serious in their dark suits. She looked from one to the other with sincere concern. Cops, FBI, door-to-door salesmen? The two men seemed to be measuring her up as well because neither spoke. For a long moment, they all seemed to be frozen in time.

  “Ms. Tuttle?” the man repeated.

  “Oh,” Sarah tried to regain her composure. “Yes. I'm Sarah Tuttle. Can I help you? I really don’t want to buy anything.”

  “We’re not selling anything, Ma'am,” the other man said. “We’re here about your husband.”

  “My husband?” Sarah’s eyes grew wide. Her mind race with possibilities of what he may have done to bring these men to her door. She forced a grin. “What about my husband?”

  “May we come in?” the first man said. He pulled a wallet out of his jacket and flipped it open. “My name’s Detective Dave Parker. This is my partner Detective Philip Smalls. We need to talk to you, ask you some questions. It would be best if we sat down.”

  Sarah tilted her head and examined the badge in its leather casing. Allan had called the police and turned her in. But for what? Infidelity? That was absurd. Half the country would be behind bars. Murder? As far as Allan knew, Mike was alive and well. If Allan thought Mike was dead, he would also have to think he was the one who killed him with a blow to the head. He wouldn’t call the police on her if he thought he had killed the man.

  “Ms. Tuttle?” Dave said. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh,” she looked at the detective. “Oh, I’m sorry. I'm not used to having the police at my door.”

  “I understand,” he said, waiting. She said nothing and did not move. He glanced at Philip. “Ms. Tuttle?”

  “Yes?” she said. She was sure she could feel beads of sweat forming on her forehead.

  “It really would be best if we sat down.”

  “Oh. Yes. I’m so sorry. Please. Come in.”

  She led them to the living room where they sat in the chairs, allowing her the sofa. She sat in the center of the throw pillows and pulled one closer to hug, as if to shield herself from anything bad, while she faced off with the two men. They were in her space and made her nervous. She wanted them to say what they had to say and leave. If they weren’t going to arrest her, she wanted them gone. Her mind was made up now. Allan was not going to forgive her and she would need to start making tracks. As soon as they left she would grab her bag and leave town.

  “You said you were here about my husband,” she said. She prepared herself for the worst-case scenario. The one that would end with her in handcuffs; and not in a good way. She let her mind wander to plans of escape, disappearing. She could be on the road before nightfall. She could be far from this place before they even knew she was gone. She woul
d need to pack the car. She would need to pick up a cooler and some food. She would need to get to the bank before it closed.

  “Yes, ma’am,” Dave said. His eyes fell to the coffee table in the center of the room. His ex-wife had one similar and he never liked it. He was always bumping his knees on the sharp wooden corners. He was very glad that when she moved out for good, she took the table with her. The drawback was she took the rest of the furniture with it.

  “Dave?” It was Philip’s turn to draw someone back to the present.

  Dave looked up at Sarah and gave her a serious yet sympathetic look. At that moment, she knew he was going to arrest her. Somewhere in his soul he was sorry he was going to do it, but most certainly he was going to drag her to jail.

  “Ms. Tuttle,” Dave said. “I hate to have to do this. But, we’re here . . .”

  Sarah stiffened to brace herself for the words that would change her life forever.

  “. . . to inform you, your husband is dead.”

  Sarah’s jaw dropped. Confusion and surprise covered her face. She brought her hand up to cover her gaping mouth. It was an appropriate expression for the news she was just given, although the detectives would never guess why she was so surprised. More for the realization she was not going to jail than for the news of Allan’s demise.

  “You okay, Ms. Tuttle?” Philip asked. “Need a glass of water or something?”

  She looked at the younger detective in disbelief. She nodded her head silently and the man walked into the kitchen opening cabinets until he found a glass. Dave sat looking at her with concern. She was stunned. Allan was dead. She had officially lost three lovers in three days, if you could call Allan a lover.