Cold Rain

by Craig Smith

  ‘The sheriff’s department looked at the deaths of Walt and Barbara Beery?’

  Dalton frowned slightly. ‘We did. The case is closed.

  Why do you ask?’

  ‘You were involved in the investigation?’

  ‘I was lead investigator.’

  ‘As I understand it, Walt used a knife. Is that correct?’

  Dalton didn’t react overtly, but tipped his head so slightly I might have imagined it. Yes.

  ‘Did you have a problem with the blood splatter?’

  Splatter, I knew from various researches into murder over the years, resulted when blood initially exited a wound. Police used it to determine the position of the victim and killer. Crime scenes without splatter frequently indicated staging. If Walt Beery had stabbed Barbara in the back there ought to have been distinctive streaks and droplets of blood on his clothing from the initial wound. I was betting no such splatter existed.

  Kip Dalton said nothing. Even his eyes were inscrutable. ‘You want to tell me what you’re getting at, Dr Albo?’

  ‘Just a question. You don’t want to answer it, that’s fine.’

  ‘What kind of problem are you talking about?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know. Like it wasn’t there.’

  ‘You were a friend of Walt Beery’s, weren’t you?’ he said after a moment.

  ‘I got drunk with Walt more times than I care to think about. The man didn’t have a mean bone in his body, Detective. Suicide? Possible. But I’ll tell you something. He’d have gone off alone to take care of it. He wouldn’t have hurt Barbara for the world.’

  ‘We never want to believe the worst in the people we know, Dr Albo.’

  ‘Take another look at the blood splatter, Detective.

  That’s all I’m saying.’

  ‘Mrs Beery’s blood was all over Dr Beery’s shirt.’

  ‘I don’t doubt it for a minute, but splatter’s something else altogether, isn’t it? You can’t fake splatter.’

  Dalton was calculating my possible source, not even thinking about the splatter. ‘Where did you get your information, if you don’t mind my asking?’

  ‘About blood splatter?’

  Kip shook his head irritably. ‘About there not being any.’

  I smiled, my theory confirmed. ‘I started from the premise that Walt didn’t do it. From there, I just worked through it.’

  I was fairly sure Dalton assumed I was lying to protect my source, but he didn’t accuse me of it. What he said was this: ‘The kid and his wife had a solid alibi.’

  I gave the detective the look I used to deliver when it was time to sign a contract, followed by a glance toward my wayward stepdaughter. ‘Sure is a lot of that going around these days.’

  THAT EVENING LUCY HELPED me in the barn because I asked her to, but she wasn’t comfortable being alone with me.

  ‘Everything okay?’ I asked her.

  She answered without much enthusiasm. Everything was fine.

  ‘You sorry you made the decision you did?’

  Lucy slammed the lid of the feed barrel. ‘Drop it, will you?’

  ‘What’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Just drop it!’

  In the house I told Molly, ‘I’m not sure Lucy is happy with her decision.’

  Molly asked me what I was talking about. I tried to describe her daughter’s mood in the barn. Molly listened distractedly, not especially worried. ‘She’s seventeen, David. Anything could be bothering her.’

  ‘I expect Doc and Olga had just about this same conversation eighteen years ago.’

  ‘That was different.’

  ‘No argument there. For one thing Luke didn’t poison your dogs.’

  ‘Lucy was with Buddy that night.’

  ‘You’re sure about that?’

  ‘I asked her about it. They were at a party.’

  ‘Then it was Roger. It doesn’t really matter. First the dogs, then Johnna. Both times he had Lucy right beside him.’

  ‘What’s your point?’

  ‘I’m not sure what Buddy intends to do next.’

  ‘I thought that was obvious. He intends to watch you go to prison for a crime you didn’t commit.’

  ‘Buddy never quite does what I expect, Molly. What if there’s more to it than that? What if he isn’t finished with this thing until he hurts you and Lucy?’

  ‘I can take care of myself.’

  ‘And Lucy?’

  Molly wasn’t so quick to answer this.

  ‘Lucy isn’t with us on this, Molly. She’s not afraid of the guy. Given the way she’s acting tonight, I think it’s possible she’s having second thoughts.’

  ‘She’s not going to see Buddy again, David.’

  ‘You sound pretty sure of yourself.’

  ‘What does that mean?’

  ‘She’s seventeen. One phone call, one heartfelt apology and she goes to him and just maybe never comes back. Both times he’s struck at us he was with Lucy. I don’t think that’s an accident. I think he’s letting me know he can hurt my family anytime he likes.’

  I finally had Molly’s attention.

  ‘The best thing is for the two of you to disappear.

  Go some place he doesn’t know about.’

  ‘I’m not leaving you. That’s all the sheriff would need.’

  ‘Then get Lucy somewhere safe.’

  ‘She’s got less than two weeks to go until Christmas break—’

  ‘Forget school, Molly! This guy has decided to hurt us. So far he’s done a hell of a job! I’ve lost a tenured position. You filed for divorce. Two of our friends are dead! And a young woman has disappeared, with me as the only suspect. This isn’t a game you get to start over if things don’t work out. There aren’t any second chances if we’re wrong. If you want to stay we can handle this together, but Lucy is vulnerable. As long as she stays vulnerable, he can hurt us, and there’s nothing we can do to stop him.’

  To her credit Molly said nothing more. She went upstairs to talk to Lucy. Half-an-hour later she was making reservations for a flight out the following morning.

  MOLLY AND LUCY DROVE Molly’s rental car to the airport at first light. I followed in my pickup. After Molly dropped her car off the three of us drove over to the terminal.

  Lucy was quiet. Tense? Nervous? I couldn’t really tell. I had even less feel for Molly’s mood. It occurred to me that the two of them had probably enjoyed a long intimate discussion on the drive over. Things were settled now. No need to bring Dave into it. At the security gates Lucy gave her mother a perfunctory hug.

  When she looked at me I thought she was making an effort to remember my face. ‘Take care,’ she said and walked away.

  When we went out and stood on the observatory deck to watch her plane take off, Molly seemed jittery.

  ‘You think she’ll try to contact Buddy?’ I asked.

  Molly shook her head. ‘She understands that Buddy wants to hurt us.’

  I thought about telling her that seventeen-year-olds are only rational if it will inconvenience adults, but there wasn’t much point upsetting her.

  ‘Did she tell Buddy about Doc and Olga? Can he follow her?’

  Molly answered without a tremor of doubt. ‘No.’

  KIP DALTON left a message on our answering machine for me to call him. I knew it wasn’t going to be good but I dutifully dialled his number. As usual the detective apologized for disturbing me. He said he would like to talk to me about a few things, if I wouldn’t mind coming in.

  ‘What’s this about?’ I asked.

  ‘Some hunters found the body of a young woman this morning, Professor. We think it might be Johnna Masterson.’

  I got into town a little after two o’clock and went directly to the county building. At the front desk I asked for Kip Dalton. A uniformed officer led me to an interview room and opened the door. Detective Jacobs greeted me with an icy smile. ‘Thanks for coming in, Dave.’

  ‘Where’s Dalton?’

  ‘
He’ll be along in a minute. Why don’t you have a seat and we can get started.’

  Jacobs’s new partner stood up when I stepped into the room. He was a big man, six-and-a-half-feet tall, I thought, and almost certainly pushing three hundred pounds. He had a gut of marbled fat, a roll of pink flesh slopping over a crisp white collar, the same snarling smile Jacobs had offered. Jacobs introduced him as Tom Newsome with the State Police. We shook hands. Newsome tried to make me wince. I tried not to give him the satisfaction.

  In his late forties or early fifties, Newsome was still mostly animal. That was the point today. I had Jacobs the jackal nipping at my ankles, Newsome the bull threatening with a direct assault. Jacobs made a show of reading me my rights. It was a sterling piece of intimidation and left me under the impression I had been arrested. Following this Detective Jacobs pushed a sheet of paper and a pen across the conference table.

  I held the ink pen while I read a benign statement indicating that I had been given the Miranda and had waived my rights to an attorney. I pushed the paper back and pocketed the ink pen. Jacobs had trouble bullying me into a signature after the inconvenience of asking for his ink pen back. I made a slight, insincere attempt at apology and shot the pen back across the table.

  ‘I’m afraid we can’t proceed with our interview until you have signed that,’ Jacobs told me.

  I shrugged and stood up. ‘I guess I’ll take off then.’

  Tom Newsome told me to sit down. I didn’t care for his tone and simply looked at him.

  ‘Please.’

  It still sounded like a command, but I obliged him and took my seat. Jacobs asked me if I was familiar with a certain woods. I wasn’t, and said so. His eyes appraised me suspiciously. ‘You haven’t been in that area in the past few weeks?’

  ‘I have no idea. I don’t know the place.’

  Tom Newsome stood up and walked behind me.

  State Police officers had canvassed the area, he said.

  They had a witness who had identified me. Jacobs described the area by naming a couple of county roads.

  I still didn’t know what they were talking about. They ran through my former statements. They called everything into question again. Jacobs slumped down in his chair, his eyes locked on me. Newsome paced, sometimes in my view and sometimes behind me.

  How was it possible people had seen me in the area where they had found a body if I hadn’t been there?

  I knew that police officers are permitted by law to lie to a suspect. The easy answer, however, would let them see I wasn’t falling for their trick. I said I didn’t know.

  They asked about my license plate. They had the number, so I played dumb. You tell me. One of the neighbours, Newsome said, had seen a Ford truck parked close to the woods the night Johnna Masterson disappeared. She had caught only three numbers on the license plate. The others were covered with mud.

  As it happened, three of the numbers matched my plates. How did I explain that? Couldn’t. Did I drive a Ford truck? Sure, didn’t everyone? Did I think this was a joke? I said I wasn’t sure what to think.

  Jacobs asked me if I still understood my rights. I said I didn’t understand them the first time. Newsome informed me that a number of people at the university had heard me bragging about Masterson. ‘ All natural, wasn’t it, Dave? Isn’t that how you described Johnna Masterson’s tits?’

  Jacobs pulled three photographs from the pocket of his sports jacket. I saw leaves, nothing more, but I knew she was there. Finally I understood. For a moment I struggled to breathe. Newsome leaned close, his breath at my ear. ‘How’s that for all natural?’

  ‘Look at the next picture, Dave,’ Jacobs told me.

  ‘You like it all natural, don’t you?’

  When I didn’t react Tom Newsome pushed the top photograph away. The second photo featured a nude body ravaged by wildlife and decay. I looked away before I understood the full extent of damage. Newsome whispered. ‘Come on, Dave. You like it, don’t you?’

  He shuffled the second photograph away, and treated me to a close-up of a face half-eaten away. I tried to stand, but Newsome took my shoulder and pushed me down into my chair. ‘How many times did you rape her before you put her out of her misery, Dave?’

  Jacobs smiled. ‘The question is was he careful? Were you careful each time, Dave?’

  ‘You know what I think? I think he meant to be careful, but he got excited.’

  ‘Premature ejaculator?’

  ‘Happens more than you think with these kinds. Vic starts begging, the next thing you know we’ve got trace. We going to find trace, Dave?’

  I had had enough and stood up. Newsome’s big hand took my shoulder again, but this time it didn’t work.

  ‘Sit down,’ he snarled. ‘We’re not done with you yet.’

  I ignored his order and walked to the door. Jacobs blocked my way. He raised his voice. Was he going to have to ask a judge for blood and hair samples or would I cooperate and give them whatever they asked for? I reached for the door. He took my arm. For a moment, we stood like that. ‘Today,’ he said finally, ‘you walk. Next time, there’s no way out but the needle.’

  Outside the interview room, I thought someone would stop me or at least insist on escorting me out of the building, but I was on my own. Later I realized they had almost certainly monitored and recorded my every step.

  ‘WHAT DID THEY WANT?’ Molly asked.

  I shook my head. Nothing. When she didn’t buy that, I told her, ‘They wanted to scare the hell out of me. They wanted me to think they were about to arrest me.’

  She asked for details, but I didn’t care to go through it. Intimidation, I said.

  ‘I thought Dalton believed you.’

  ‘I think Dalton does. To an extent at least.’

  We watched the evening news while we ate dinner.

  The sheriff was still unwilling to make a formal identification, but he told a news conference the woman had been shot by a .38 calibre handgun. Suspects? The sheriff was a big old country boy somewhere in his late fifties or early sixties. He was pure politician: his face announced yes just by the way his smile flickered and died. His words told reporters something else:

  ‘Not until we get a formal identification.’

  ‘You think they’ll come for you tonight?’ Molly asked.

  I shook my head. ‘The difference between a viable suspect and an arrest is physical evidence. My guess is their next move is a search warrant.’

  Molly’s smile curdled. ‘One step at a time?’

  I stood up. ‘I need to go into town.’

  Molly was surprised. ‘You want some company?’

  I shook my head. ‘Not tonight.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘It’s about time I visit an old friend.’

  BUDDY WAS HOME when I drove by. I could see him in his living room watching television. I parked my truck on a side street a block away and headed toward the back of his house along an alley. It was the kind of neighbourhood where a couple of security lights shined all night and a few dogs barked, but no one bothered with motion activated lights, or seemed especially concerned about the occasional pedestrian in the alley. I moved quietly and quickly, but made no effort to conceal myself in the shadows.

  I had considered developing some kind of plan. A phone call to distract him, a sack of tin cans heaved up on his roof, even firecrackers. In the end I decided it wasn’t necessary. Buddy had won too many confrontations with me to worry. He wouldn’t be looking for a direct assault.

  At the back door I used my shoulder and burst through the door and into the kitchen without trouble.

  I took a narrow hallway to his living room and got to him before he had completely come off his couch.

  I hit him once in the nose, driving him back to a sitting position and turning his face bloody. Then I pummelled him with body blows. He got a couple of swings in before I broke him and he curled into a foetal position.

  ‘Are you having fun with
my ass yet, Buddy?’ Buddy was no more talkative than I had been outside The Slipper the night he pissed on me. I jammed my fist into his ribs. ‘I asked you a question!’

  ‘You’re a dead man!‘

  I hit him again in the same spot. ‘That’s funny. I don’t feel dead.’ I struck the same rib a third time.

  ‘The reason I came by,’ I said, ‘I wanted to borrow your .38. I think the sheriff would like to see it, especially if your fingerprints are on it.‘

  ‘I don’t have it anymore, Dave.’

  I pulled some baling twine from my hip pocket and tied off his wrists and feet so he couldn’t move. ‘You don’t care if I check around and make sure, do you?’

  ‘Take your time. Maybe the cops will show up.’

  ‘Like I give a damn!’

  After I had gagged him I started working through the room systematically checking his bookshelves and drawers. When I had finished with the house I took his car keys and searched the car. Back inside the house again, I cut the twine with my pocket-knife.

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘To tell you the truth—’

  I slammed my fist into his stomach. Buddy went down on his knees. ‘Try again!’

  Gasping, blood dripping from his nose again, Buddy still managed a smile. ‘Why don’t you try looking for it in your own house, Dave?’

  ‘Is that the game?’

  ‘It’s all the sheriff needs to put you away. He finds the gun you used to kill Johnna and you’re on death row.’

  ‘The thing you want to think about is Roger Beery,’

  I said. ‘How long do you think Roger can hold out once the cops take him in for questioning?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘I think you do. I think we both know Roger’s the weak link in your plan.’

  I stood up and looked around for something else to hit. First, I took out the television set, then his DVD player. After that there wasn’t much left of value, but I broke what I could and left in the same manner I arrived, walking calmly down the alley.

  I got home around midnight and began searching the house. Molly came downstairs and stared at me.