“What’s it?”
“Come on, you know what I mean. Richie had zero killer instinct. He’d have spent his life sitting around smoking dope and counting butterflies if he had the chance.”
Tommy chews on what Powell’s told him. “You say Buck’s son, Dale, wasn’t there that night, but he often did attend? What’s Dale Forney like?”
“Well . . . he wasn’t quite the stoner Richie was, but had about as much drive. If his old man didn’t own that dealership, Dale probably would’ve ended up serving mocha lattes at Starbucks.”
“Dale works at the dealership?”
“Since high school. That’s how he came to know Darlene.”
Tommy sits up. “Wait. What do you mean, he knew her?”
“They dated. He didn’t tell the old man, of course. He’d have gotten no end of shit about screwing around with another employee. Not that Buck Forney didn’t do the same thing himself every chance he got.”
Twenty minutes later, Tommy parks his truck outside the showroom at Forney Chrysler/Dodge. The dealership is a good-size operation, twenty or more acres packed with vehicles grouped by model: Chrysler 200s, Jeep Wranglers, Dodge Darts, and lots and lots of Dodge Ram pickup trucks. The showroom building is a glass-and-steel structure that looks brand-new. Tommy walks inside, hurries to the service desk before any of the salesmen can approach him. He asks to see Buck Forney, which causes the pretty receptionist to tilt her head. Being the big boss, Buck must not get called to the sales floor very often.
“Can I ask what this is in reference to?” she asks.
“Darlene Dowd.”
Too young to know the name, she gets a puzzled look on her face.
“He’ll know,” he says.
She tells him to take a seat, and he watches her speak into the phone, her hand over the receiver so he can’t hear what she’s saying.
A few minutes later, a tall man with broad shoulders shows up. He has thick hair, dyed red-turning-to-orange, and a mouth blazing with brilliant-white caps. Like Elwood Stumpf, he appears to be in his seventies, and he walks with the confidence of a self-made man.
“Impressive dealership,” Tommy says.
“Let’s go upstairs, to my office,” Buck Forney says. He leads Tommy down a hallway to an elevator, which takes them to the second floor. Buck’s office is spacious and well appointed. The walls are paneled with built-in bookshelves holding silver-and-crystal dealership awards. The ceiling is drywall with recessed lighting. Buck’s leather-topped desk is large and ornate. Overly so, to Tommy’s eye.
Buck walks behind the desk and motions for Tommy to take one of the visitor chairs.
“Darlene Dowd,” Buck says. “Sweet girl. Tragic case.”
Tommy waits for Forney to offer more. When he doesn’t, Tommy explains the law firm’s involvement with Darlene and his own role as investigator looking for leads that might help prove Darlene’s innocence.
“But she wasn’t innocent,” Buck says. “That’s why she was convicted. Why she lost her appeals.”
“New evidence has come to light,” Tommy says, studying Forney’s face for a reaction. Something does pass across the older man’s eyes, but it moves too fast for Tommy to read it. “There was a witness who saw Darlene walking toward her house that morning, no blood on her, after the time when her father was shown to have been murdered.”
“I sat in on some of the trial, and I don’t remember any such witness.”
“Because she was scared away from testifying.”
Tommy pauses and waits for Buck Forney to ask the obvious questions: Who was the witness, and who scared them off? But he doesn’t ask. So either the older man knows or he doesn’t care.
“Did you know Lois Beal?” Tommy asks.
Buck sneers. “Peacenik. Her and her husband both. Renters who showed up out of nowhere and tried to fit in. Never quite made it.”
“What’s your take on Sonny Foster?”
“Good man. Damn good man.”
Meaning: My good friend. My damn good friend. Like Elwood Stumpf?
“How well did you know Elwood Stumpf, at the time?”
Forney’s eyes darken. “What’s he have to do with Darlene Dowd?”
“He ran the poker game that Lester Dowd was at the night he was murdered. Lester; the chief’s brother, Richie; and if I’m not mistaken, Dave Hillman, who’s now mayor, were there. And you.”
Buck Forney clenches his jaw. “Lots of guys went to those card games.”
“Yes, but it was only a few of them who called Lester on cheating. As far as you know, was he cheating that night?”
“He was. And we were right to call him on it.”
“Did it come to blows?”
“Not even close.”
“Got bad enough that Elwood himself had to come to your table, calm things down, though.”
“Woody overreacted.”
“He doesn’t seem to me like the type of man to overreact.”
“You talked to him?” Forney asks.
“Right before I came here.”
Tommy sits back, watches the wheels turn in Buck Forney’s head as he tries to figure out whether it was Elwood who ratted him out as one of the guys who got in Lester Dowd’s face that night.
“So, where was Dale that night?” Tommy asks. “I’m told he was one for the card games, but he didn’t show that time.”
This rattles Buck Forney—no mistaking the look on his face. Tommy sees it and gives him no time to gather himself before pressing forward.
“Maybe he was with Darlene. They were dating, least that’s what I hear.”
Buck leans forward, his face red, temples throbbing. “I don’t know where you’re getting your information, but you’ve been fed a line of—”
“Dale wasn’t seeing Darlene?”
“That was just a rumor that went around after Lester Dowd was killed. I asked Dale myself if it was true, and he said it wasn’t.”
“I’d like to ask him myself,” Tommy says.
“Well, he’s not here. He’s on vacation this week.”
“You have his cell number? I can give him a—”
“Look, I don’t know what you’re up to, trying to get that murderer out of jail. But you’re not dragging me or my family into it. We run a business here, and we depend on the goodwill of our community. You do anything to damage our reputation, and I’ll have my own lawyers, my New York lawyers, hit you so hard you’ll wish you’d have stayed in Philadelphia.”
As soon as he pulls out of the dealership, Tommy is on the phone to Angie back at the office. He explains the situation, then tells her to call Forney Chrysler/Dodge and ask for Dale Forney.
“If they say he’s on vacation, say you decided to buy both cars you looked at, but you need to talk to him right away. Ask for his cell number.”
He hangs up and waits. Angie is back on the line in five minutes with the number. He thanks her, hangs up, and dials. Dale Forney answers on the third ring.
“Dale. My name is—”
“I know who you are. I saw the 215 area code for Philadelphia, and I just met with my dad.”
“Ah. So you’re at the dealership, after all. Not on vacation.”
“I’m not going to talk to you, so don’t waste your time coming back.”
“I wasn’t planning on going back to the dealership. I was thinking more along the lines of going to your house. Talking to your wife about your relationship with Darlene Dowd.”
Nothing on the other end. Then Tommy hears a sigh—the sound of resignation.
“I don’t want to stir up trouble for you,” Tommy says. “But we need to meet. If you can think of a place we can get together in the next half hour or so, I’ll be there.”
Dale Forney suggests the East Penn Diner in Emmaus, but says he doesn’t want to meet until after work. “If I leave now, my old man will get suspicious.”
“He watches you that close?”
“He watches everyone that close.”
They arrange to meet at the diner at 5:30, an hour later. Tommy makes his way there and pulls into the parking lot. He leaves the truck and walks into the diner, taking a booth at the back. He’s hungry and decides to have something to eat. The waitress tells him the chicken potpie is good, so he puts in an order. He catches the waitress taking in his size, glancing at the prison tats on his neck, trying to figure out whether he’s trouble. Maybe hoping he is. She’s good-looking, tall, and shapely, with thick brown hair that’s pinned up. He decides to have some fun with her.
“What time you get off work?” he says.
“About ten minutes before my husband picks me up.”
He smiles. “I don’t see a ring.”
“He’s cheap,” she says, and they both laugh.
“If I was married to a good-looking woman like you, you’d have at least two carats on your hand.”
“Says the man who pulls up in an old F-150.”
He nods with a smile, conceding the point.
She turns and walks away with his order, but glances over her shoulder and smiles, wiggles her tush a little more prominently than when she first came to his table.
Dale Forney shows up at 5:30, sharp. Tommy knows it’s him because he Googled the man while waiting for his food. Dale’s a little shorter than his father but has the old man’s broad shoulders. Unlike Buck, his hair is still red, though it’s starting to fade to gray. The biggest difference between father and son is that Dale doesn’t carry himself with the same confidence. That fits the son’s reputation, as told by Powell.
Tommy waves to Dale, who walks to the booth and slides in across the table.
“Thanks for meeting me.”
“As if I had a choice, with you threatening to go to my wife about me and Darlene.”
“Sorry about that. I don’t like to be a hard-ass, but sometimes my job requires it.”
“And what exactly is your job? To barge into people’s lives, open doors that were closed a long time ago and should stay that way?”
He nods. “In some cases, yeah. That’s exactly what I do.”
“Well, it’s not fair.”
Tommy studies Dale for a moment, decides not to beat around the bush.
“Were you with her that night?”
His eyes widen. “Is that what she told you?”
Tommy opens his hands.
“Well, she’s a liar if that’s what she said.”
“You were dating her.”
“We went out exactly two times. It went nowhere.”
“Did she tell you about her father? What he was doing to her?”
“No. But . . .”
Tommy leans in. “But what?”
“The girl had problems.”
“Care to explain?”
Dale sits back. “Why are you asking me this? My dad said your law firm represents her. So you should already know.”
Dale has figured out that Tommy’s asking his questions because Darlene hasn’t told her lawyers about anything that happened between them. Tommy decides to switch directions. “Tell me about Elwood’s poker games. I spoke to Tim Powell, and I already know about the girls.”
“Boy, you sure get around, talking to them all.”
“Tell me about the card games.”
Dale closes his eyes, rubs his mouth with his hand. “I hated poker nights. The old-timers chewing tobacco, getting drunk. Taking the girls out back to have their dicks sucked. And that smelly old barn. Nothing like that nice dairy barn Elwood has now.”
“Seems Mr. Stumpf has come up in the world.”
“Way up. His farm was a dump when his father left it to him. Literally. Elwood’s old man couldn’t farm for shit. Finally faced up to it and decided to let people pay him to dump their old cars and farm equipment—hell, anything—on his land. When he died, the county forced Elwood to clean it up, said he had to either farm it or sell it. He found a way to pay the mortgage doing neither.”
“The poker games?”
“It was small potatoes the first few years. That’s what my dad told me. But Elwood started bringing in the girls and the booze, and more players started showing up.”
“Including guys like your dad and the current mayor. Men with money.”
Dale laughs. “Men with money, sure. But not my dad, or that shithead Dave Hillman. Neither one of them had anything back then. But they were hungry, like Elwood. Them and some others. They all started working together to help each other out. My family’s been here for a hundred years, and my dad used his connections to drum up business for Elwood. He returned the favor by lending my dad seed money to buy an old gas station, which he turned into a used-car lot.”
Tommy sits back and takes it all in. Dale Forney, it turns out, is holding a lot of stuff inside, probably has been for years. And now he’s like a balloon with a hole poked in it.
“My dad got bigger. Elwood got bigger, too. About five years after Darlene’s father was killed, Elwood brought in dealers and roulette wheels, and a lot of the people who showed up weren’t playing against each other anymore—they were betting against the house. And the house always wins.”
“Where’d he get the money to expand like that?”
“No idea. I asked my dad once, but all he said was that Elwood had an outside investor.”
“So old Woody was pretty much running a casino.”
“That’s exactly what he was doing, right up until he had enough money to buy cows and build that big new barn to put them in. And . . .”
Dale catches himself and stops cold.
“And?”
“And nothing. I’ve said too much already.”
“Getting back to Darlene Dowd, I—”
“No! Not getting back to Darlene. There’s nothing to get back to.” Dale slides out of the booth and stands to leave. The anger gone from his voice, he says, “I’ve given you all I have. Please tell me you’re not going to come to my house.”
Tommy shakes his head. “I won’t. Just tell me one thing more. Do you think Darlene did it?”
Dale pauses for a long moment and seems to look inward. “Would you blame her?”
Tommy watches Dale walk away, seeing him as a puppy still on his old man’s leash—and chafing under the collar.
He doesn’t notice the waitress walk up from behind him.
“That didn’t look like it went very well,” she says.
“Didn’t expect it to.”
She smiles. “Well, maybe your evening will take a turn for the better. Seven o’clock.”
He furrows his brow.
“When I get off,” she says.
“Ah. And what about your husband?”
“He’s a guest of the state right now,” she says.
He feels his face change and sees that she’s noticing.
“I say something wrong?” she says.
“I knew some guys when I was inside. Spent their time chewing their hearts, worried their old lady was stepping out while they were locked up. I felt bad for them.”
“Wow. A con with a conscience.”
“I guess you don’t get turned down very often,” he says, noting the surprise on her face.
“I’m usually not the one doing the asking.” She slides in the booth across from him. “So tell me how you ended up in prison. You get blamed for something you didn’t do?”
“No. I deserved it.”
And a whole lot more. For some things, a man can’t pay enough.
He watches her study him, trying to peer behind his mask.
“Well, if you change your mind, you know where I work.”
He grabs the check, and they stand at the same time.
“Just get me a hall pass from your husband,” he says.
“Not likely.”
“No, I suppose not.”
They linger for a moment, until he turns away.
A mile down the road, he calls Mel Ott, shares what Dale Forney told him about how big Elwood Stumpf’s gambling adventure became.
“I knew there were card games at his barn. But I was never let in on the details,” Ott says. “I certainly was never invited to attend. I’d just moved to the area the year before the Dowd murder, so I was the farthest thing from homegrown around here. Even after I’d been here for years, people still saw me as an outsider. They weren’t mean about it, or even standoffish. I was just different from them.”
Tommy glances in his rearview mirror and sees two pickups moving up behind him, fast.
“Sorry, I have to hang up,” he tells Ott.
“Call coming in?”
“No. But I’ve a feeling someone’s about to send me a message.”
The two trucks, both Ram 1500s, one blue and one red, close in fast. He presses hard on the gas, creates some distance, but not for long. In a few moments, the blue truck is on his ass, and the red one pulls up next to him, on his driver’s side. He glances over. He’s not surprised to see the kid he took for Elwood Stumpf’s grandson.
The kid lowers his passenger-side window, shouts for Tommy to pull over. Tommy responds by slamming his brakes, which causes the driver of the blue Ram to veer hard to avoid rear-ending him. In his rearview, Tommy sees the driver struggling to maintain control of his truck. He runs off the road and crashes into a ditch.
He glances at the grandkid, who has slowed and fallen back beside him. The boy’s face is beet red, his eyes on fire. Again, he signals Tommy to pull over.
Tommy shakes his head, turns the wheel, and slows again, thinking, You don’t want this, kid.
When both trucks are stopped on the berm, Tommy waits for the kid to open his door, then leaves his own truck at the same time.
“Let me guess,” he says. “You and your friend are supposed to send me a message. Mind my own business.”
“Something like that.” The kid’s smile tells Tommy he’s probably the type who enjoys kicking dogs.
“Okay. Well, I hear you loud and clear,” Tommy says in a bored voice. “So, you can be on your way, report back to old Elwood that you did your job.”
The kid holds out his hands, knuckles up. “See these? Not a mark on ’em. Thing is, I go back with my fists looking like this, my granddaddy’s gonna know I didn’t send no message at all.”
A Killer's Alibi (Philadelphia Legal) Page 13
