“You don’t really think the murderer is still here, do you?”
No, he didn’t. Not anymore. But it had been a close thing. The person had probably still been inside when he first entered.
“Not likely, but let’s go. You shouldn’t have turned on the lights with all this water running,” he told her. Her hair lay plastered to her face, and her heavy robe was dragging on the ground.
“I didn’t think. And what about you? You shouldn’t even be in here. Your face is starting to swell again.”
Damn it, he could feel that. Another sneeze tickled the back of his throat. His eyes were scratchy and beginning to water.
Marly headed toward the wall and the main light switch. Sam stopped her before she could touch it. “Let the fire department turn it off.”
“Oh. What about Officer Porterfield? Is he—?”
“Yeah. He’s dead.”
Sam took a moment to study the inside of the barn, scratching absently at his arm. Bill hadn’t been killed inside the stall. He’d been killed right here, near the door, probably pinned up against it by the thrust of the pitchfork. The scuff marks were still visible where he’d been dragged. That explained why his glasses were outside the stall.
“Sam?”
“Let’s go.”
Carter approached as they exited. His shirt hung unbuttoned against his well-muscled bare chest. His hair was mussed, but otherwise he was dressed much the way Sam was.
“I thought you said she went to call for help,” Carter accused.
“I did,” Marly told him. “I used the phone in the tack room.”
“What about the guy inside?”
“Dead,” Sam said succinctly.
“Sam implied the murderer might still be inside,” Carter said suspiciously.
“I didn’t know that then,” Marly responded. Her eyes traveled to the roof. “It’s still burning.”
“Smoldering,” Sam corrected, and sneezed again. He fumbled in his pocket for the antihistamine tablets. Carter hadn’t seemed surprised that the victim was dead. He told himself it was a natural assumption to make, given the position of the pitchfork.
Lightning sizzled across the sky. Thunder rumbled in its wake. The breeze picked up, driving rain clouds before it. On the porch, Sam spotted five small forms huddled around Emma.
“You ought to go see to the kids,” he told Marly.
She followed the direction of his nod and tipped her head to regard him. “Remember me? I’m the owner—you’re the employee.”
For just a second, he felt suitably chastised. He had forgotten. He was so used to being the one to give the orders.
“You ought to take something,” Marly continued, more softly. “Your face is starting to swell again.”
Sam wiggled the antihistamine tablets in front of her and swallowed two dry. “I’ll wait here for the police.”
“You won’t have long to wait,” Carter told him with a nod.
Sam followed his look to see a patrol car racing up the driveway, lights flashing, the siren on full. Fast service, even for a city. Unless the driver of the car had been nearby—maybe waiting for the call?
His stomach clenched so tight, Sam thought he might lose his dinner. The pills felt lodged in the back of his throat. It was possible that he could bluff his way through an initial police interview, but his avenues of escape were closing off fast.
A vivid burst of lightning forked the night sky. Thunder shattered the silence. Officer Duncan stepped from his car as the first drops of rain whipped toward them.
Chapter Seven
“What’s going on here?” Duncan demanded.
Sam waited, but no one else spoke up. Resigned, he took two steps forward as thunder crashed overhead. “We’ve got a dead man in one of the stalls and a fire in the loft. You’d better call for backup.” He punctuated his words with a sneeze.
Duncan’s beady eyes narrowed. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but a sudden gust of smokefilled wind seemed to make him decide against it. He ducked down into the car and lifted the radio.
“Come on,” Marly said, taking Sam by the arm. “Let’s get up on the porch. There’s nothing we can do here now.”
She was right. It was a sorry, wet group that trudged to the front porch and waited for the fire truck and the backup Duncan had radioed for
“Why don’t you go inside and change?” Sam suggested to Marly. She shook her head and shivered, watching as Duncan strode out of the brightly lit barn.
Sam felt a small hand reach for his. Jerome stood next to him, his chocolate eyes wide with anxiety. “It’ll be okay, kid. You guys should go back inside before you get wet.”
“Are you sick?” the boy asked.
Yeah. Of the entire situation. But Sam rubbed the child’s head affectionately. “Just an allergy.”
No one else moved except Emma. “Coffee,” she stated, and disappeared in a swirl of housecoat.
“Okay. Who killed him?” Duncan asked, striding forward as though oblivious of the rain. No one spoke a word. Duncan’s eyes immediately focused on Sam.
Belatedly Sam realized he hadn’t taken time to put on his hat. He wondered if the scar on his head was covered by his wet hair. He didn’t dare check. Fortunately, the rain and the sprinklers had plastered his hair to his face. He stood under Duncan’s penetrating stare while lightning turned the porch to flashing moments of daylight.
“Who found the body?” Duncan asked.
“I did,” Sam admitted.
“How did that come to happen? In the middle of the night, no less?”
For the first time, Sam realized Duncan wasn’t in uniform. Like the other men on the porch, Duncan wore jeans. He also had on a casual plaid shirt, stretched tight across his broad shoulders. So he wasn’t on duty. Sam couldn’t see any bloodstains on his shirt, but he itched to ask the man how he’d come to be here so quickly. Prudence made him swallow the impulse.
“I spotted the fire from the window and went to investigate.”
“I thought your room was in the front of the house, on the other side.”
He and Marly spoke simultaneously.
“I was in the den.”
“He was in my room.”
Sam gave her a withering look. “Marly, don’t—”
“Why was he in your room?”
Marly placed her hands on her hips and glared right back at Duncan. “Why do you think?”
“Marly.”
She wouldn’t look at Sam. Carter did, though. His expression was one of vitriolic hatred.
“I saw them come out of her room,” Hector added.
Sam closed his eyes.
“They were whisperin’ real loud, and Sam ran down the stairs,” Zeke added helpfully.
Sam could see how it might have looked that way to the boys. The light spill had been coming from Marly’s room, not his. It would be reasonable for the boys to assume they’d just come from her lit room, rather than his dark one.
A hook and ladder pulled into the narrow driveway, followed by not one, but three, county squad cars. Sam debated his options. “I’m going upstairs to put on a dry shirt,” he announced.
“You’ll stay right there,” Duncan told him.
“You gonna make Marly and the others stand around soaking-wet, too?”
“This is stupid,” Marly agreed. “The wind is tossing the rain on the porch. At least we can go inside.”
She didn’t wait for Duncan to respond. She opened the door and held it that way. “Come on, guys, inside.” She didn’t look at Sam.
While he’d never worked homicide, Sam knew the procedure. Separate the parties and take preliminary statements. They would focus on him, since he’d found the body. Should he stay with the alibi Marly had created, or go with the truth?
Why had she lied?
“OKAY, Mr. Moore, let’s go over this one more time.”
Sam waited patiently. He knew how the game was played, and at the moment, he was relieved the de
tective asking questions hadn’t recognized him.
Maybe it wasn’t so surprising, after all, given the way his face was swollen in reaction to the hay allergy. His damp hair effectively covered his scar, and what policeman would expect to see Officer Joe Walker on a horse farm in upper Montgomery County? Still, his luck couldn’t hold much longer. With Porterfield identified, chances were good someone he knew would show up sooner or later—probably the captain himself. He had to get out of here.
What was Marly telling them? Had she heard Bill call him by name? What was she thinking?
Why had she lied?
“You were in Ms. Kramer’s room, talking, when you spotted the fire from her window,” the lanky detective continued.
“I spotted light in the loft of the barn,” he corrected patiently. “I didn’t realize it was a fire until I smelled the smoke, once I was outside.”
“Ms. Kramer’s a very attractive woman.”
Sam sat silent in one of the red leather chairs in Marly’s den, refusing to be provoked. The cop squinted at him, and Sam had to work to stay relaxed. The antihistamines were working. It wouldn’t be long before his swollen, blotchy face returned to normal—or someone showed up who would recognize him anyway.
“You didn’t see anyone? Hear anyone?”
“No, sir.”
Never volunteer information. Stay as close to the truth as possible.
“You came here from Utah, you say?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You sound like a Texas boy to me. Ever been there?”
On the money. Joseph Samuel Walker was born and raised there. How long before this guy made the connection?
“Yes, sir. Five years ago.” He’d been home for his daddy’s funeral.
“Okay, Sam,” the detective said patiently, “you’re the new guy around here. What’s your take on these people?”
Sam shook his head. “I haven’t had a chance to get to know anybody yet.”
“Except Ms. Kramer.”
He faced the challenge without blinking. It was an effort to keep a rein on his temper when this man mentioned Marly like that. He understood the maneuver, would have done the same thing in the officer’s position. He kept his expression neutral. “That’s right. Except Marly and the boys.”
“Fast worker, huh? At least where Ms. Kramer’s concerned.”
Sam didn’t respond.
The detective leaned forward, putting his face close enough so Sam could smell coffee on the man’s breath. “You’re telling me Ms. Kramer had no time or opportunity to go out to the barn and run a pitchfork through Officer Porterfield?”
Sam let his amusement show. “Do you really think she’d be strong enough?”
“You would.”
Sam simply looked at him.
There was a sharp rap on the den door. A black officer arrived, and after a short conference he strode forward, a paper sack in his hand. He walked over to the desk and spilled the contents onto the blotter.
“Ever see this before?”
Sam tensed, staring at the wristwatch. He leaned forward, making a pretense of studying it without touching the item. “No, sir.”
But he could make a damn good guess. He’d never actually seenJerome’s watch, but he’d have staked money that the object on the desk belonged to the kid. So what did that signify? Jerome sure as hell hadn’t run a pitchfork through Porterfield.
“You’re sure?”
Sam nodded. “I’ve never seen it before,” he stated with complete assurance. The detective wasn’t satisfied. He squinted at Sam, tipping his head as if puzzled by something. Sam felt his stomach clench tighter.
“You wear a watch, Mr. Moore?”
“No, sir.”
“Never?”
“No, sir. Jewelry is dangerous when you work outside.”
The cop replaced the watch in the evidence bag. Sam assumed it had already been dusted and photographed where it was found. After all, crews had been busy in the barn all night long. The rain had stopped some time ago, leaving daylight to filter across the sky.
“All right, Moore,” he said, dropping the Mr.deliberately, Sam knew. “If you know anything, anything at all that might help us, now’s the time to speak up.”
“Nothing beyond what I’ve told everyone for the past two hours.”
The two men leaned back and exchanged glances. The lanky one rubbed at his eyes and frowned. “Okay. That’s all for now. We’re going to ask that you keep yourself available for questioning until we get to the bottom of this.”
Sam stood, tired to the core, every muscle in his body screaming in protest. “Yes, sir.” He felt their eyes as he left the room.
The house was surprisingly silent, considering all the people who seemed to be ranging in and out. Sam wandered out to the kitchen. Emma looked up from the stove, gave him one of her precious smiles and reached for a coffee mug. Without a word, she poured him a cup and handed it to him.
“Emma, I may have to marry you,” he told her.
Her smile lit her plump face, and she gestured toward a chair at the table. Sam sank down, too tired to go anywhere else. “Have you seen Marly?”
The smile disappeared under a wreath of concern. Emma shook her head, her chins quivering, and turned back to the stove, breaking eggs into a pan. Sam sighed as he sipped at the hot brew, letting the caffeine soak into his bloodstream. Maybe it would help keep him awake. He needed a clear head and some time to think. Right now, he didn’t have either one. The only thought that hung unclouded was the knowledge that he needed to leave. Today. The sooner the better. Once they named him, they wouldn’t look any farther—except at Marly, who had alibied him.
Emma slid a plate of bacon and eggs in front of him. Sam looked up and gave her a weak smile. “Thanks, Emma, but I don’t think I can do it.”
“You need to eat.”
It was the longest sentence he had ever heard her speak. He was touched by her concern. Unable to hurt her feelings, Sam lifted his fork. Emma smiled in satisfaction and went to refill his coffee cup. By the time he’d finished the food, Sam was surprised at how much better he felt. He stood and carried his dishes to the sink, rinsing off his plate under her watchful eyes.
“You’re a treasure, Emma.” He placed a gentle kiss on her forehead. “Take care of Marly for me.”
“Leaving?”
“Not because I want to.” He realized that was the truth. He didn’t want to go, particularly now, when Marly would really need him. But he’d do her no good in jail.
Emma’s eyes were sharp and crystal blue as she studied him. “You’ll be back,” she stated.
He patted her shoulder. “I hope so.”
As he passed, he saw that the den was empty now. Sam stopped and considered. There was only one person in a position to help him at this point. He entered the room, shut the door and lifted the receiver.
George Brent’s telephone rang unanswered. Surprised, he stared at the instrument. Even if George was working on a big case, his wife should be home at this hour. Unless they were out of town.
Sam hung up and dialed a different number.
“Yeah?” the voice snarled in greeting after the third ring.
“We’re really going to have to do something about your telephone habits, Lee. If I was a beautiful woman, I’d hang up and never call again.”
“God damn it, Joe, if you were a beautiful woman, you’d have more sense than to call me at weird hours. Where the hell are you, anyhow?”
“It doesn’t matter, I won’t be here two minutes from now. Listen up, I’ve got problems.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
Sam could almost see his partner shoving his hands through his dark hair. “Porterfield was murdered last night.”
There was a beat of silence. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“I’m pretty sure he was the one on the take. If we can prove that, it will go a long way to proving my innocence. I’m betting he’s the one who kille
d Rayback and framed me.”
Lee hesitated for several more seconds. “Then who killed him?”
Sam closed his eyes in frustration, then opened them to stare out the window. The yellow streamer cordoning off the barn fluttered as a breeze batted at it. “That could get complicated, and it may have nothing to do with my situation—except that I was Joey-on-the-spot again.”
Lee cut loose a string of profanity. “I don’t effing believe this. You were there? When Porterfield got iced? Don’t you know any better?”
“Apparently not. You’re on the inside, partner. I’m working blind here.”
“God. I could wring your neck myself.”
“You’re going to have to stand in line.”
Lee sighed. “No doubt. What do you need?”
“See what you can dig up on a Montgomery County cop by the name of Johnny Duncan. Also, check a man by the name of Carter Delancy and one known as Jake Smith. They both work on a horse farm in upper Montgomery County.”
Again there was silence on the other end. Finally he heard Lee release a hard breath of air on yet another expletive. “You want to fill in some of the blanks for me, Joe?”
“Later. I could be interrupted at any moment. I’ll call you around six tonight. Will you be home?”
“Make it after eight. This is going to take time. I may have to explain what I’m doing to the captain.”
Sam frowned. “Where is George, anyhow? I just tried to call him.”
“Well, thank God for that. He asked me if I’d heard from you.”
Sam wasn’t sure how to respond to that, but Lee continued without waiting.
“I told him no, but I don’t think he believed me. He said if you called to tell you to check in.”
“He actually said that?”
“I think we could use his help, Joe.”
“Like I said, I tried, but there wasn’t any answer.”
“Maybe he’s on his way to the scene where Porterfield got taken out.”
“What about Cassandra?”
“Beats me. No one’s seen her in weeks. She’s probably visiting with her dad.”
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