by Lia Farrell
“Let’s try to get something out of him before Mr. Slick gets here,” the sheriff said. “I’ll come in with you.”
“Mind if I listen, boss?” Dory asked.
“Okay, but outside the room.” Ben sounded distracted.
The detective and the sheriff helped themselves to coffee, went into the conference room, and sat down. Deputy Rob Fuller raised his eyebrows at them in question. Detective Nichols shook his head. This time he wanted it to be just himself and the sheriff questioning Covington. Deputy Fuller clicked the taping equipment on and departed quietly.
“Detective Wayne Nichols and Sheriff Ben Bradley interviewing suspect Henry Covington, August twelfth, 2013, regarding the murders of Ryan Gentry and Tom Ferris. We read you your rights, Covington. Tell the audio you were Mirandized.”
“I was read my rights,” Covington said, sullen as usual. “I want my lawyer. I don’t have anything to say until he gets here.”
“Dory’s calling him now,” the sheriff said. “We’re just having a friendly little chat here before he arrives. You’ve been charged with the felony murders of Ryan Gentry and Thomas Ferris. The District Attorney is coming by to speak with you and your lawyer later today.”
“You’re done for in the State of Tennessee, Henry,” the detective said, his voice deliberately flat. “We have opportunity, motive, and means for both killings. You did them both, but we know you were following Greg Townsend’s orders. Do yourself a favor, man. You can give us Greg as the ringleader and maybe see the light of day in twenty years instead of dying in Riverbend Maximum Security prison.”
“I don’t have anything to say,” Henry reiterated.
“Henry, you’ve got to know that covering for Greg Townsend is pretty damn stupid at this point. The DA will bring you before the Grand Jury. They’ll put you under oath and ask you about Greg’s involvement.”
Covington shook his head. “Wouldn’t matter,” he said.
“Why don’t you tell Covington here what we’ve already got on Greg Townsend,” Sheriff Bradley suggested, with a mean twist to his mouth.
The detective smiled and held up an additional finger with each point he enumerated. “First off, we have Charlie Armor from the football team, who’s willing to testify that you, Greg Townsend, and he were offered money to fix the point spread on a bowl game while you were in college. He can finger you two as having received the offer. We have the Sigma Chi computer and the evidence that two separate ten thousand dollar payments showed up in the frat house bank account the month before the big game. We know that Ryan Gentry was the treasurer of the frat house. He knew what you two were up to, didn’t he, Henry?”
“I’ve got nothing to say,” Henry snapped.
“Don’t be an idiot, Covington. In twenty years you’ll only be fifty-five. You can still have a life, a beer, go up to Pinhook and do some hunting in the fall. You can see your son’s children.”
When the detective mentioned Henry’s kid, he swallowed hard. At least he cares about his son. Wayne could use that to pry away the layers.
“We know the cash payment for the killing never made it up to Pinhook, Henry,” the sheriff said. “Once we get our hands on it, we’ll have Greg Townsend without your testimony and you’ll have lost your chance to cut your sentence.”
Henry just shook his head. Looking directly at Detective Nichols, he said, “You guys are barking up the wrong tree. Greg Townsend doesn’t give me orders. Never has.”
The detective looked at the sheriff, who gave a slight head shake.
“Excuse us just a moment,” Wayne Nichols said, and the two of them left the room.
Dory and Deputy Rob Fuller were standing just outside the door.
“On Covington’s cell records for the day of the murder was there a call to Townsend?” the sheriff asked Deputy Fuller.
“He called Townsend’s law offices several times that day, but he works for them. His defense attorney will get that thrown out. He didn’t call Townsend at his home or on his cell that evening or on the night of the Pinhook raid.”
The sheriff nodded, his brow furrowed. He scratched his head.
“What about Greg’s financials?” Wayne asked, looking at Dory.
“Clean as a whistle. He makes a bundle, but he doesn’t even get a cup of coffee that doesn’t go through the practice. All accounted for.”
“Damn it,” Wayne said. “What do you think Covington meant by saying Townsend doesn’t operate on his own?”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Possibly it’s just to send us on a wild goose chase, although I don’t think he’s that clever.”
Deputy Rob Fuller went back into the interrogation room, turned off the audio capture and led the hand-cuffed Henry Covington to the jail.
About an hour later, the sheriff appeared in the doorway of Wayne’s office.
“Can we talk?” Ben asked.
“You’re here, aren’t you?” the detective said, sounding distracted. He was rifling through his papers, searching for something.
“Listen Wayne, I started looking into getting that Leave of Absence for you and like everything else, there’s a form I have to fill out.”
Wayne nodded. “I figured there would be.”
“Because you work here and for John over at Mont Blanc, I have to get his signature on the form. He’d like to know why you want the time off. I need to be able to tell him something.”
Detective Nichols hesitated. It was wrenching, telling people his private business.
The sheriff waited.
Wayne rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel a flush that crept across his cheeks.
“It involves a woman,” he finally said, avoiding Ben’s eyes.
“Always does,” Ben said cheerfully. “Come on, man, you can tell me. It certainly can’t be worse than what happened to me last spring when I found out I had a four-year-old kid I didn’t know about.” The sheriff took a deep breath and shook his head. “Everyone in the whole county knew about my private business.”
Wayne looked up at Ben. “The woman is a fugitive from justice. She committed a murder. It was her husband—an abuser. She knifed him.”
“She’s in the wind?”
“For almost thirty years now.” Nichols fought the urge to flee the room. His thoughts were muddied, panicky. His heartbeat was rapid. He swallowed.
“What’s this woman to you?” Ben asked. “Were the two of you involved?”
Detective Nichols took a deep breath and let it go. “I was in foster care until I was seventeen. She was my foster mother.”
“Why didn’t she turn herself in at the time? In those cases the woman usually is exonerated or at least gets a token sentence.”
Wayne tucked his arms into his sides and gritted his teeth.
“And why do you need to look into this now? I don’t get it. Even if it’s important, how the hell are you ever going to find her?”
“I think you’ve got enough to fill out your form,” Wayne said. He beat a steady tattoo with his fingers on his old metal desk. He would never be ready to tell Ben Bradley about his role in covering up two murders and his guilt about leaving his little brother.
“Okay, okay. I get it,” Ben said, raising his hands. “I’ll put Pursuit of a Fugitive from Justice on the form.” Both men were quiet for a space of time.
Detective Nichols cleared his throat and said, “With regard to Greg Townsend, Ben, maybe it’s time to pat yourself on the back that we got Covington and move on. I’m leaving as soon as you get approval for my leave. I won’t be here to help.”
“It’s crossed my mind,” the sheriff admitted. “I’ll talk to the ADA today and they can offer Covington a plea if he’ll roll on Townsend, but my guess is that they won’t even raise it. The conspiracy to murder Ryan Gentry is beyond the statute of limitations, and they sure don’t want their fair-haired candidate for the assistant district attorney job investigated for the felony murder of Tom Ferris.”
�
�Why don’t you bump the Ferris conspiracy investigation upstairs?”
“What do you mean?” Ben asked.
“Turn the investigation into Townsend’s involvement in Tom Ferris’ murder over to Captain Paula. I called her, by the way. I’ve been updating her by email all along, per her instructions, but yesterday I spoke to her and asked for the leave.”
Ben smacked Wayne on the shoulder. “There’ve been days I’ve thought about tossing the case upstairs. You’re probably right, my friend.”
Wayne gave a little shake of his head at the word “friend.”
“C’mon, Wayne, you know I’m your friend,” the sheriff said.
“I know you’re a good man.” Wayne Nichols forced himself to smile. He was relieved they had stepped back from the edge of the cliff of his old memories.
“I’ve got an idea for you, Wayne. Why don’t you call Nashville and give any information you have on your foster mother to Mark Schneider, their computer wonder boy? Maybe he can give you a place to start looking—the woman’s last known address or something.”
“Thanks, I might do that.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Sheriff Ben Bradley
Before leaving the office, Sheriff Bradley made a final phone call: to Detective Pascoe.
“Detective, it’s Sheriff Bradley. How are you feeling?”
“Not so good, Bradley. Have you got the bastard?”
“He’s back in custody now. Despite the evidence, the DA’s office ordered his release a few days ago. We had him in the Booth Mansion at the time of Ferris murder. He was caught on camera and his prints were on the French doors. I was floundering around for something to link him to Ryan Gentry’s case, but we just got a report that it was his fingerprints on Ryan’s belt. This time it’s going to stick.”
“I had the belt looked at fifteen years ago, but they said it was just a smudge. Couldn’t get anything.”
“It was smudged, but this modern technology, man, it’s impressive. Anyway, we’ve got him. He’s still not rolling on Townsend, but it’s only a matter of time now. There’s a former girlfriend with a son. Seems to me he has some feelings for the kid. We’ll press on that and see what happens. When he goes to court for the indictment, I’ll let you know. And when this whole thing is tied up, I’ll take you out for a beer.”
Ben heard a long sigh. “Thank you, Ben. I’m not supposed to drink, but your news requires a celebration. I’m going to down a cold one here and now. It’s a good feeling to have my last case solved, even if I didn’t solve it.” The old man’s voice was full of regret.
“Actually, you put me on the right trail by giving me that list of the fraternity guys.”
“Thank you,” Pascoe’s gruff voice softened.
“It’s me that should thank you, Detective Pascoe. We could never have done it without your help.”
Ben left the office after six, looking forward to seeing Mae and having a drink and a shower. Swinging by his place, he grabbed a clean uniform and a nice bottle of Merlot from the wine rack, pulled two steaks and a six-pack out of his refrigerator. Then he drove to Little Chapel Road. Coming up the driveway, he noticed that his girlfriend’s car was not there. He took out the extra key he had to Mae’s place, unlocked the door and went inside. While he was unloading, he heard her car drive up and park behind his.
“Hey,” she called as she came in.
Her hair was windblown and her cheeks flushed. When he glanced briefly at her upper arm and saw the large bruise, he winced with guilt.
“Hey, yourself. Where’ve you been?”
“Just running some errands,” she answered with a smile. “How was your day?”
“Good. We arrested Covington today. It’ll stick this time, so I thought we’d celebrate.” He gestured toward the wine.
“Sounds good,” she said, reaching for him and giving him a kiss. “I’ll start the grill. Why don’t you hit the showers?”
“Need one, do I?” he asked, grinning. He nuzzled her neck.
“Maybe.” She nuzzled him back, flicking her tongue against his neck. “You taste salty.”
When he came out, clean with wet hair, he grabbed Mae and kissed her again. So much of his life was spent dealing with people who were liars, thieves, and violent offenders. Seeing Mae was like coming into a quiet meadow or standing beside a trickling river. She washed it all away.
Mae had cleared two drawers out for him to keep some clothes at her house. It was convenient on days like this. One of these days, he needed to talk with her about them moving in together. They had been a couple for months already and they were both in their thirties; it was time.
“Better?” he asked when he came into the kitchen.
“Much better.” She smiled.
They were having a second glass of wine on the couch when Mae said she had something to show him. He had his arm around her and she turned her face up to him. Her eyes looked almost black, and when she spoke her voice was strained.
“Must be something important.” Ben ruffled her hair.
“Oh it is,” she said. She stood up and went over to the hooks on the back porch, where she usually hung her jacket and her purse. She pulled out a couple of pieces of folded paper and something that caught the light. “I have a letter from Tommy Ferris to my sister.” She held the letter out to him and he unfolded the pages.
Ben read the letter carefully. Mae sat down beside him again.
“What do you think this says, right here?” He indicated a scrawl after the word “Greg’s.”
“I don’t know. July couldn’t read it either.” Mae shook her head.
“I need to ask your sister about this hiding place he mentions.” Mae was looking away, but a flush of red crept up the side of her neck. “You and July already went to look there, didn’t you?”
She gave a tiny nod. “And Miranda.”
“Would you please look at me, Mae?” She turned to face him once more. “Did you find anything?”
“Yes.” The red flush covered her cheeks now. “We did, but Miranda told us to keep quiet about it. July told her we would and I—”
“I’m always in second place to your family.” He realized he was shouting and shook his head in disbelief. “In your blind loyalty to your sister, did you forget that this is a murder case? There might have been evidence we could use in that house, and now it’s inadmissible.”
“But Ben, what we found has nothing to do with Tommy’s murder, and the letter should help with your case against Henry Covington, right?”
He took a deep breath, trying to control his anger. “It sure is the final nail in the coffin for Covington with the Gentry murder,” he said. “And we have him for the Ferris murder too. Left his fingerprints on the shutter dogs. Unfortunately, we have nothing much that ties Greg Townsend to Tom’s murder.” He frowned.
“You don’t, but I might,” Mae whispered. She looked like she was holding something back from him.
“Then for God’s sake, let me have it,” Ben said, frustrated. “I thought I saw something catch the light when you pulled the letter out of your purse.”
“Here it is,” Mae said, holding out her hand and opening it slowly. In her palm she had a large, gold ring. “It’s Ryan Gentry’s ring. Amberleigh Townsend brought it over to give to Olivia as a best friend’s present after her concussion. She said it was her father’s.”
“Well, it really doesn’t help me. It’s from the Gentry case, not the Ferris case. I can see about returning it to Ryan’s family, though.”
Mae’s face relaxed. “Actually, that’s a relief to me. All I wanted to do was help you nail Henry Covington, anyway. He was Tommy’s killer.”
“We have him now, honey,” Ben said. “When did July get this letter?”
“The letter was … in the mail, and the ring just showed up yesterday.”
“Did you talk to anyone else about the letter or the ring?” She looked down for an instant.
“To Greg, but I didn’t mean
to.”
“What the hell are you saying, you didn’t mean to?” He jumped to his feet. “How is that even possible?”
Mae got off the couch. “If you give me a chance, I’ll explain.” She paused and he waited, trying to slow his breathing. “I took Amberleigh—Sandi and Greg’s daughter—back to her house on my way home from July’s. Amberleigh had been to see Olivia because they’re best friends. I had the ring in my purse, but it fell out in the driveway and Greg saw it. He asked me where I got it. I didn’t really know what to say, so I just drove off.” She stopped talking and her shoulders slumped.
“How long after that did Henry threaten you, Mae?” He stared into her eyes and stepped closer.
“About half an hour. And after Henry twisted my arm, I didn’t remember to give you the ring or the letter.” Her eyes widened. “That’s why he threatened me, and I’m just now putting this together …. What an idiot.” She sat back down, rubbing her forehead.
“We think Townsend was the man behind Ryan’s murder, but as of now I have nothing on Greg Townsend. Turns out we can’t ever get Townsend for his involvement in the Ryan Gentry case. The statute of limitations on that one ran out five years ago. All we could get him on is for paying Covington to shoot Tom Ferris, but I have no proof.”
“Did any money show up in Covington’s bank account after Tommy died?”
“No luck. My guess is that Henry was paid in cash, probably after he killed Tom, since they wouldn’t have had any time before that to get enough money together.”
“If you didn’t find any money, maybe Henry killed Tommy on his own.”
Using a carefully controlled tone of voice and beating down his rising irritation, Ben said, “Henry was acting on someone’s orders.” He began to pace in front of the couch. “Covington would have been paid on the day the assistant district attorney made me release him, August eighth. His attorney, who’s from the Townsend practice by the way, took him over to the law offices when I released him. I had George follow him. Covington left their office just before six, and went to a bar where he met his old girlfriend for a drink. Then he drove to his apartment, changed cars, and headed up to Pinhook.”
