Claws for Concern

by Miranda James

  Mrs. Cooper seemed to take a moment to think. “My heavens, who would be here. Me and my son. My husband died about a year before. Killed in a car accident out on the highway.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said.

  Mrs. Cooper nodded. “My son was only seven at the time. He misses his daddy still.”

  “I can imagine,” Jack said. “According to Mrs. Delaney’s testimony her son came home drunk that evening, passed out, and never left the house. Did you hear him come home?”

  “I sure did, him banging on the door for poor Sylvia to let him in.” Mrs. Cooper sniffed. “Too almighty drunk to even find his own house key.”

  “Do you remember what time that was?” I asked.

  Mrs. Cooper tilted her head to one side and gazed at the wall while she considered the question. “Near as I can remember it was around seven, maybe a little earlier.”

  “Did you hear anyone leave the house after that?” Jack asked. “For example, did you hear their car leave?”

  “No, I didn’t,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I went to bed at nine like I always did back then, because I had to be up to get ready for work and get my son off to school.” She paused a moment, as if another thought had struck her. “I wouldn’t have heard anything, I reckon, because my bedroom is on the side of the house away from them.”

  “What about your son?” I asked. “Did he hear anything?”

  “My goodness gracious, I don’t know.” Mrs. Cooper appeared surprised at the idea. “Nobody ever asked him. I know I sure didn’t. I didn’t want him knowing too much about the whole thing. Didn’t want him having nightmares. He had trouble sleeping after his daddy was killed, and I can’t tell you how many nights I had to go into his room because he was having a bad dream.”

  I felt great sympathy for the boy. Losing a parent at any age is tough, but especially so when you’re a child.

  “Could we talk to your son about that night?” Jack asked.

  “I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Cooper rose from her chair. “I’ll go call him. He’s working in his room.” She walked into the hallway and called out, “Ronnie, can you come here a minute? We need to talk to you.” She returned to her chair. “He’ll come if he doesn’t have those headphones on. Wears them a lot because it blocks out noise so he can concentrate.”

  Jack and I exchanged glances. It sounded to me like Ronnie Cooper was in his room playing video games. I had expected Mrs. Cooper to tell us he was at his job.

  Moments later a tall young man entered the room. He was so tall he had to duck his head to get in the door. I reckoned he must be about six foot six or seven. He was solidly built, dressed in athletic shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt that showed off a muscular physique. I had been expecting a couch potato, but Ronnie Cooper looked like a pro athlete.

  “Good morning.” He had a deep voice. “What’s going on, Mom?”

  “Sit down, honey,” Mrs. Cooper said. “We don’t want our visitors getting neck strain looking up at you. These gentlemen are Mr. Jack Pemberton and Mr. Charlie Harris, and that big kitty there is Diesel.”

  Ronnie seated himself in a chair near his mother. He leaned forward and extended a hand to Diesel. The cat rose from his relaxed stretch by my feet and went over to the young man. Diesel sniffed his fingers for a moment, then Ronnie began to stroke Diesel’s back. The cat started purring, and I knew Ronnie Cooper had passed the Diesel test.

  “He’s beautiful,” Ronnie said. “Maine Coon, right?”

  “Yes, he is.” I was surprised because not that many people I had encountered had seen one before, let alone knew the breed.

  “Ronnie’s real smart,” Mrs. Cooper said, beaming. “He’s a computer programmer, and he works from here for a company in Memphis. He telly-somethings. What is it?”

  “Telecommute,” Ronnie said. “I go into the office about three times a month for meetings, but most of the time I work from home. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

  Jack took the cue and launched into an explanation before Mrs. Cooper could get going on one. He gave Ronnie a quick summary of our interest in the Barber case, and when he finished, Ronnie nodded.

  “I remember it now,” he said. “Haven’t thought about it in years, though.”

  “All Ronnie’s ever been interested in is computers and cars,” Mrs. Cooper said. “You should see what’s parked in my garage right now. He won’t tell me what he paid for it, but I know it must be expensive. I’d be afraid to drive it.”

  “I told you I didn’t pay full price for it, Mom,” Ronnie said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice. “I took over the payments from a guy at work who got overextended.” He looked at Jack and me. “Lamborghini. I wouldn’t have bought it, but the deal was irresistible.”

  Jack whistled, and I almost did. Lamborghinis were some of the most expensive cars made. Ronnie must be doing well to be driving one, even if he had taken over the payments from someone else.

  “I hate to hurry you guys along,” Ronnie said, “but I’ve got to get back to work soon. What is it you want to ask me?”

  “It’s about the night of the Barber murders,” Jack said. “Do you remember when it happened?”

  Ronnie shrugged. “Sure, kids at school were talking about it.”

  “They want to know if you heard anything from next door that night,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Ronnie’s bedroom is on that side, next to their driveway.”

  I watched as Ronnie ceased petting Diesel and leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. After a moment his eyes popped open. “I remember,” he said. “They had an old banger of a car. The engine made a whistling noise.” He turned to his mother. “Remember, Puck used to bark when she heard it.”

  “Puck was our rat terrier,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Lord, I loved that dog. Smartest thing on four legs I ever saw.”

  “She was a great dog,” Ronnie said. “She slept with me back then. I used to have a lot of trouble sleeping, but I grew out of it eventually. Anyway, like I said, Puck would bark if she heard that car going in or out of the driveway next to my room.” He frowned. “I think that was the night she woke me up twice because of the car.”

  “Can you be sure?” I asked, excited that this could really shake things up if he had heard the Delaneys’ car leaving during the night. “That was twenty years ago.”

  “I’ve got a good memory,” Ronnie said. “But if you want proof, I can probably show you.”

  “How?” Jack said.

  “Notebooks.” Ronnie got up from his chair and headed from the room, once again ducking to clear the doorway.

  Jack and I looked to Mrs. Cooper for an explanation.

  “He’s been writing in his notebooks since his daddy died,” Mrs. Cooper said. “The counselor at school said it might help him, and I guess it must’ve done because he still does it. Except now he does it on his computer, I think.”

  Jack and I nodded. One of Laura’s friends in elementary school had done the same thing, I remembered, after her mother died.

  “It might take him a minute or two,” Mrs. Cooper continued. “He probably knows exactly where that old notebook is. You should see his room. Everything neat, always, never anything out of place. I guess he learned it from me.” She glanced around the room with what I took to be a complacent air. The room was indeed neat. She obviously took great pride in her housework.

  Mrs. Cooper again offered us a drink, but we both declined. Before she could get started on another anecdote or long-winded observation, Ronnie returned, papers in hand. He resumed his seat and brandished the pages.

  “I scanned all the old notebooks and converted them into searchable PDFs,” he said. “Makes it easier to find things, like what you’re looking for. I checked the date of the murders online, and then I found the corresponding date in my notebook. It’s all here, in case anybody needs proof.” He leaned forward to hand me the pages.


  I accepted them, and he said, “The part you’re interested in starts near the bottom of the page.”

  I leaned toward Jack so we could read together. I found the section Ronnie indicated and began to read the precise but childish scrawl.

  9:53 pm Puck barked and woke me up. Heard the car next door go by. Engine whistles. Wish old man Delaney would let me look at it. Could probably fix it for him but he won’t listen. Wonder where he’s going? Out to buy beer, maybe. Mom says he gets as drunk as Cooter Brown all the time. I asked her who Cooter Brown was and she didn’t know.

  There was another entry on the second page that occurred about two hours later.

  12:18 am Puck barking again. This time I heard old man Delaney coming back in the car. Hope he stays home now so Puck stops waking me up.

  That was the extent of it. Proof that either Bill or Sylvia Delaney left the house that night.

  Bill Delaney’s alibi just went up in flames.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Either way you looked at it, I decided, Bill Delaney had no alibi. That is, of course, if the murders occurred between ten and midnight. I realized that we were ignorant of one of the most important facts in the case. What time were the Barbers killed?

  “Can we keep these?” Jack brandished the two pages.

  Ronnie Cooper shrugged. “Sure, I don’t think there’s anything I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “You might be questioned about them again by official investigators,” Jack said. “At some point Charlie and I will have to share what we’ve found out with them.”

  “No problem,” Ronnie said. “Now, if that’s all, I’d like to get back to work.” He looked at me and Jack.

  “I can’t think of anything else at the moment,” I said.

  “Neither can I. Thanks for your help. This is an amazing find,” Jack said. “I can’t believe no one knew about this before.”

  “Nobody ever asked,” Ronnie said. “I never thought about it myself.” He rubbed Diesel’s head. I marveled that my cat had remained near Ronnie the entire time. Ronnie rose from his chair.

  “Hang on a sec,” Jack said. “Sorry, I just thought of something. You wrote these things in your notebook as if it was Bill Delaney driving the car that night. Did you actually see him in the car?”

  “It had to be,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Sylvia couldn’t see well enough at night to drive. She was scared to death to even try.”

  Ronnie shot an exasperated glance at his mother. “I can answer for myself, Mom. Yes, it was Bill Delaney. My bed was right under the window back then, and I looked out right after Puck woke me up. Both times. There’s a streetlight nearby, and there was enough light for me to see him at the wheel of the car.”

  “Thanks for clarifying that,” Jack said.

  “And thank you, Mrs. Cooper, for telling us about Sylvia Delaney’s problem with driving at night,” I added. “All this information is a great help.”

  “I’m going back to work,” Ronnie said. “You know where to find me if you have any more questions.” He left the room, and his mother gazed fondly after him.

  “He’s such a hard worker,” she said. “Puts in I don’t know how many hours every day. Between going to the gym and work, he doesn’t have time for much else.” She sighed. “I don’t reckon I’ll ever be a grandmother unless that computer of his can have a baby.”

  I smothered a laugh at the thought. Mrs. Cooper seemed genuinely serious, but there was nothing I could offer to comfort her, other than a platitude. Jack seemed at a loss for words, too. Really, I thought, how could you follow up a statement like that?

  “Can you think of anyone that Betty Barber might have been close enough to that she would have confided in them about what was going on at home?” Jack asked.

  Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “Not that I can think of, other than maybe one of her neighbors. I’d say you might try their church, but I think Hiram got angry with the preacher, and they stopped going.”

  “Do you have any idea why he was angry with the preacher?” I asked. Could there be a clue in that? I wondered.

  “Probably because Hiram wasn’t tithing the way he should, and the preacher probably complained.” Mrs. Cooper rolled her eyes. “Hiram always put on like he was so poor he couldn’t even pay attention. He sure didn’t spend money on his wife and kids. He wouldn’t hardly pay his hands much, either. I don’t know how he kept anybody working on the farm. Anyway, he had enough money to pay his share to the church. He was too cheap to do it.”

  This was consistent with what we’d already heard about Hiram Barber. I wondered if he had always been so obsessed with money or had something happened to trigger this behavior?

  Jack rose from the sofa and tucked his notebook in his jacket pocket. “Mrs. Cooper, thank you so much for talking with us this morning. You’ve been a great help.”

  “Yes, you certainly have.” I rose, too, and Diesel returned to my side. I picked up the end of the leash, and he rubbed against my leg.

  “Well, I guess I’m happy I could help,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Seems like Ronnie was more help than I was, but either way, I’m glad. You’re welcome to come back anytime.” She stood and walked toward the door. “I was able to retire thanks to Ronnie, so I’m at home most of the time nowadays.”

  After a few more comments about how happy she was to help and how welcome we were to come back, we were able to get away from Mrs. Cooper and head to the car.

  “Good grief, that woman can talk,” Jack said when we were seated inside with the air conditioner blasting. “And thank goodness she did. Ronnie, too.”

  “Yes, thanks to Ronnie we know that Bill Delaney was out of the house for two hours that night,” I said. “What we don’t know, of course, is when the murders took place. We really need to find that out.”

  Jack frowned. “According to the information released to the press, Elizabeth Barber came home from her friend’s house—Leann Finch’s house—around seven the next morning. That’s when she found the bodies. They could have been dead twelve hours or more by then, of course.”

  “Unless they were killed between ten and midnight,” I said. “That would narrow down the time frame to between nine and seven hours, roughly. About how long would it take to get from here to where the Barber farm used to be?”

  Jack thought about it for a moment. “At that time of night, with almost no traffic, and if he was driving fast, less than twenty minutes. Maybe even fifteen. As the crow flies, it’s only about ten miles, but it’s off the highway on country roads that are full of curves.”

  “So that could put the time of death to between half past ten and half past eleven,” I said. “Give or take a few minutes. Is there any way you could get hold of the autopsy results?”

  Jack shrugged. “All I can do is ask. But there might be an easier way.”

  “And that would be?” I asked.

  “Go straight to Elmer Lee Johnson and tell him what we’ve found out, maybe bargain a little with him to find out about the time of death,” Jack replied. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know the man,” I said. “You do. How do you think he’d respond to a proposition like that?”

  “On a good day he might go for it,” Jack said. “I’m sure he’d like to be able to close the case. It would put him one up on his predecessor, his old boss.”

  “And on a bad day?” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the response.

  “He’d cuss us out and threaten to throw us in jail for interfering in the official business of the law.” Jack grinned. “He’s not too fond of me, you see. I told Wanda Nell he’s jealous, because he’s had a thing for her for years, going back to when she was married to his best friend, Bobby Ray Culpepper.”

  Even though it was none of my business, I was about to ask Jack what had happened to Wanda Nell’s first husband, but he saved me the trouble.
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  “Bobby Ray got himself murdered a few years ago. He and Wanda Nell were already divorced, and Elmer Lee had a big mad on over her dumping his best friend. He treated her like the chief suspect, but frankly I think the whole time he wanted her for himself. He was just too stubborn and too loyal to his dead best friend to do anything about it. He thought the world of Bobby Ray, who was, basically, a no-good good ol’ boy. He ran around on Wanda Nell most of the time they were married.”

  Jack obviously didn’t think much of the late, unlamented Mr. Culpepper. Couldn’t say I blamed him, given what he’d told me. This was more than I really needed to know about his wife’s life, but I supposed it did help explain the sheriff’s potential attitude toward Jack and anyone associated with him.

  “I have never understood men like that,” I said. “I know there are a lot of them out there, though. Look, about talking to the sheriff, it’s up to you. I’ll go along with what you think is best.”

  Diesel, from his vantage point in the backseat, added his opinion. He meowed loudly. Jack laughed.

  “Okay, I get the hint. Decision time. Let’s go talk to Elmer Lee,” Jack said. “The sheriff’s department is off the square in beautiful old downtown Tullahoma.”

  “Off we go, then,” I said. “Just tell me how to get there.”

  Jack gave me the directions, and in about ten minutes we pulled up in front of the sheriff’s department. We got out, and I took Diesel’s leash in hand.

  “If he’s out of the office,” Jack said, “I’ll see if we can make an appointment with him for sometime today. I think it’s best to get this over with as soon as we can.”

  “I agree.” Diesel and I followed Jack into the building. We hung back while Jack approached the desk and asked to talk to the sheriff. The woman at the desk picked up a phone and talked to someone. After about thirty seconds, she put down the receiver and nodded.

  Jack turned and motioned for Diesel and me to join him. “We’re in luck,” Jack said, “he’s here and can see us now. Thanks, Thelma.” He smiled at the receptionist, and she grinned back at him.