The Mournful Teddy (15 page)

I pretended to join in the gaiety and shot a beseeching look at Ash that silently asked:
Are you
absolutely
sure
that when these women finish this story they aren’t going
to kill us and cook us on a rotisserie for supper?
Her return glance said that everything was all right.

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121

Abigail caught her breath and wiped a tear from her right eye. “So, then I questioned them and found out that Ewell sent them over here. You know what we did then?”

“I’m almost frightened to ask.”

“Momma made them—”

“Claire!”

“Sorry.”

“I made them take their boots off and strip buck naked and walk back to the Ewell place. Of course, I didn’t let Claire watch.”

Confident her mother couldn’t see her, Claire gave Ash a sly smile that said otherwise and said, “It was twenty-nine degrees and real windy. Can you imagine the things that might have gotten frostbitten?”

A sudden and unpleasant thought—other than what might have been frostbitten—occurred to me. Perhaps I’d been too quick to dismiss the women as suspects in Thayer’s murder. Trying to sound casual, I asked, “Was one of the men a small guy in his thirties with a shaved head and a moustache and goatee?”

“You mean Bobby Thayer? Of course not.”

“You know him?” I relaxed slightly.

“Sure. In fact, he’s the only one from that family we’re friends with.”

“He’s a regular customer,” added Claire.

“Why are you interested in Bobby?”

“Because we’re investigating his murder.”

“What?” The shock in Abigail’s voice sounded genuine.

Claire’s face went blank for a moment as she tried to process the news. “Bobby’s dead? When?”

“We found his body yesterday morning in the river in front of our house.”

“Sheriff Holcombe says he drowned, but he was actually strangled,” Ash said disgustedly.

“But I saw Bobby’s truck two nights ago,” said Claire.

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John J. Lamb

“When?”

“I don’t know . . . around 1 a.m., I guess.”

“You were here at the barn? Why so late?”

“Virginia Tech football,” Abigail explained. “We go through our stock pretty quickly this time of year. We started a batch late that day and she volunteered to keep an eye on the still.”

“And you saw his truck?”

“He drove down the road to the river.”

“Are you sure it was him driving?”

“Well, no. I mean, I saw the truck from the barn and assumed he was driving. I couldn’t actually see who all was in the truck.”

“Could there have been more than one person in the cab?”

“I don’t know.”

“Didn’t you think it was odd that he came here at that hour?”

“No,” said Abigail. “He used to go down to the river sometimes with friends.”

“Lady friends?”

“I don’t know about them being ladies.”

“They were skanks.” Claire tried to sound scandalized; however, I could hear a faint but unmistakable trace of jealousy in her voice.

“So, why isn’t Hokie investigating this?”

“Oh, Mrs. Henshaw, I think you’ve already figured that out. Bobby Thayer was involved in things that would make Sheriff Holcombe and some other important people around here look bad—maybe even send them to state prison.”

Abigail nodded. She knew exactly what I was talking about. Then her face grew pensive. “So, why are
you
digging into it?”

I shrugged. “Somebody has to do it. A man’s been murdered.”

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“And if we don’t do anything we’re just as bad as the people trying to cover up the killing,” Ash somberly observed.

“Does Hokie know what you’re up to?”

“Not so far, I hope. But it’s only a matter of time until somebody tells him.”

“He won’t hear it from us,” said Abigail, and Claire nodded in vigorous assent.

“Thanks, Mrs. Henshaw.”

“So, what brought you here?”

I jerked my head in the direction of the river. “The truck is still down there. We’re pretty sure the killer drove it there and threw Thayer’s body into the river. Which reminds me of another question.” I looked up at Claire.

“Was another vehicle following Thayer’s truck?”

“No, that was the only one I saw.”

“Then whoever it was walked out—probably right past the barn. Did you see or hear anything out of the ordinary?”

“No.”

“Can I ask you guys one more question?”

“Sure.”

“Did you hear any gunfire near here that night? On your property or anywhere in the vicinity?”

Abigail shook her head but Claire said, “I think I may have heard a couple shots fired sometime around ten.”

“Really? Could you tell whether it sounded like a rifle or a shotgun or—”

“It was a pistol, a nine-millimeter. I know because I’ve got one—a Ruger. The nine’s got a real distinctive sound.

You know,
pop
.”

I nodded. “And what direction did it come from?”

Claire pointed south. “Over toward the Island Ford Bridge.”

“Well, I guess we’d better head up there and take a look just to make sure there isn’t any evidence.” I pushed 124

John J. Lamb

myself to my feet and tried to pretend I didn’t need the cane. I don’t think I convinced anybody. “Can you do me a couple of big favors?”

“What’s that?” said Abigail.

“Deputy Barron is helping us and I’ve already called to tell her about the truck. She’s going to be here soon to process it for fingerprints. Would you mind stopping production for awhile and stow the armaments while she’s here?”

“I think we can accommodate you on that. What’s the other favor?”

“Set aside a quart of that corn-based jet fuel for me. I have a feeling that by the time we’re finished, I’m going to need a serious drink.”

Chapter 11

We walked back along the dirt road toward the river.

Somewhere in the distance a dog barked and far overhead I heard the rumble of a jetliner heading south. It was appreciably warmer and muggy now and my shirt began to stick to my back. Plump black flies the size of blueberries zigzagged lazily through the air while a cloud of gnats danced and hovered around my eyes. The dying cornfield no longer seemed spooky—just forsaken and sad.

I reached out to take Ash’s hand. “Hey, you handled yourself like a pro back there. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks for saying that, but I was scared to death.”

“Me too.”

“You could have fooled me.”

“Believe it. I’ve just had a little more experience camouflaging my terror.”

“My mind was just racing and, afterwards, my hands were trembling like I had a bad chill,” Ash said musingly.

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“Adrenaline palsy. Welcome to the wonderful word of police work.” I squeezed her hand and then released it.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I can’t hold hands with you and use this damn cane. It’s just too awkward.”

“No need to apologize, I know.”

“I never thought in advance how much it would change everything.” I dug my sunglasses out of my shirt pocket and put them on. “When you’re young and stupid, you think it’s going to be like Tom Selleck in
Magnum P.I.
—

you get a ‘flesh wound,’ wear a white sling for the final minute of the show, and next week you’re ready to duke it out with the bad guys again. Sometimes it’s hard to believe this is forever and I can’t even take a walk and hold hands with my wife without it hurting.”

“But I don’t know of any other man—handicapped or otherwise—that could have handled that situation so well, and I’m not just saying that.”

“Thanks, my love.”

“How are we doing for time?” Ash asked, swiping at a fly.

“Fine, I think. It’s just a little after ten-thirty now.”

“And why are we going up to Island Ford?”

“Maybe it’s a fool’s errand, but I’d feel better if we took a look. We’ve got evidence that two pistol rounds were fired at the truck, but it didn’t happen here, and then Claire tells us she heard a couple of gunshots from the Island Ford Bridge. It’s a long shot but it may be connected.”

“And the Island Ford Bridge is where Sheriff Holcombe said that an anonymous witness saw Thayer jump into the river.”

“Yeah and I’m beginning to wonder if Holcombe mentioned the bridge because he’s concerned about a real witness that saw Thayer’s truck on the bridge,” I said.

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“How do you mean?”

“What if the sequence of events began on the bridge?

We know it didn’t start here. Thayer was already dead or incapacitated because he arrived here in the back of the truck.”

We emerged from the cornfield and I stopped talking to negotiate the descent to the riverbank. From the cautious way I moved, you’d have thought I was descending the narrow trail that leads to the bottom of the Grand Canyon instead of a fifteen-foot-tall and mildly sloped muddy embankment. I got down without falling and limped toward the Chevy. The crime scene was as we’d left it.

Ash said, “So, you think Thayer may have met the killer on the bridge and that some genuine witness may have seen his truck there.”

“From what I’ve seen, Island Ford Road is pretty well traveled, so someone may have driven by. Maybe the driver of the car didn’t notice anything—most people don’t.”

“But Holcombe couldn’t depend on that, could he?”

“No, he’s too careful.” While looking over the truck to see if we’d missed anything during the first inspection, I continued, “He would’ve wanted an iron-clad excuse for why Thayer’s truck was there, just in case someone remembered. So, he invented the convenient anonymous witness that can never be identified or called upon to testify in court.”

Ash took a moment to digest the information. “So, are we back to the sheriff and Trent being the probable suspects?”

“Possibly. Or try this one on: Poole, Trent, and Hokie—that nickname is so appropriate and I can’t believe I didn’t think of it—are in it together.”

Ash sighed. “I guess that’s possible too.”

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John J. Lamb

I took the backpack off and opened it. “You know, before we head upriver, I think we should take some crime-scene photographs of the truck and shoe impressions.”

“Whatever you think best, baby doll.”

“Let’s give Tina a call first.” I took the phone out and pressed her number.

Tina picked up after two rings and said, “Sorry, Brad, I’m still here at the crash.”

“That’s okay. Do you have time to talk?”

“Maybe a minute.”

“I want to bring you up to speed on what we’ve learned. We
are
on the Henshaw farm and we’ve made contact with Abigail and Claire. I take it you know them?”

“Slightly. I thought they were friends of Sheriff Holcombe, so I never had much to do with them,” Tina said stiffly.

“They aren’t friends, just clandestine business partners.

The Henshaws make moonshine and Holcombe collects three hundred dollars a month from them in protection money. Sweet, huh?”

“Jesus, you’re—hang on.” The voice grew more remote as she talked to someone at the crash scene. “Yes, he’s going to Rockingham Memorial Hospital and she’s going to UVA Medical Center by chopper.” Then she spoke to me again, “How did you find all this out?”

“It’s way too complicated to explain right now but don’t worry, the Henshaws have promised that the still and the guns will all be put away by the time you get here.”

“And I’m supposed to be reassured by that?”

“Don’t worry. They know the score and they’re on our side.”

“If you say so.”

“Item of interest number two: Claire told us that she The Mournful Teddy

129

saw the truck around zero-one-hundred hours on Saturday morning. It drove past the barn and she assumed that Thayer was entertaining a woman by the river.”

“Classy.”

“What? Like you’ve never made out in a car?”

“If I have, it’s none of your business!”

Ash sputtered, “Brad!”

“Sorry, Tina. As my wife can tell you, sometimes I’m a smart-ass.”

Both women said simultaneously, “Sometimes?”

“Yeah, but I’m only that way with people I like. Now, getting back to business, did I tell you that the truck has a couple of bullet marks in the windshield?”

“No. I guess with you being so focused on my personal life, you kind of forgot to mention that.”

“Well, it does. The rounds didn’t penetrate and from the position of the truck we’re certain the rounds weren’t fired down here. Anyway, Claire told us that she heard a couple of gunshots on Friday night, sometime around twenty-two-hundred hours. And, she’s almost certain it was a nine-mil being fired.”

“And a nine wouldn’t go through a windshield.”

“Exactly. And just to satisfy my curiosity, does the sheriff ’s department issue a standard handgun to deputies?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Because I think there’s a good possibility the shots were fired by either Holcombe or Trent.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. Yes, we all carry Smith and Wesson nine-millimeters.”

“And was Trent working Friday night?”

“His shift started at four.”

“Getting back to the guns, do you guys have standardized ammo too?”

“Uh-huh. Winchester one-hundred-and-fifteen grain 130

John J. Lamb

semijacketed hollow-points. Could Claire tell where the shots came from?”

“Yeah, and I know you’ll be shocked to hear this, but she’s certain they came from the direction of the Island Ford Bridge. So, after we get done taking some photos here we’re going up there and scout around.”

“Want me to meet you there?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be seen together yet. When you clear the crash, head over to the Henshaw farm and hang loose until we get back. We’ll process the truck for prints together.”

“Sounds good. I’ll see you in a little bit,” she replied and we disconnected from the call.

“I can’t believe you actually said that to her.” Ash did her best to sound stern but there was amusement in her voice.

“Of course, you can. I’ve always been a smart-ass and it’s too late in the game to change now. Besides, it’s one of the things you love most about me.”