by B J Bourg
I shook my head. It was odd not to see kids jostling through the streets of town, riding bikes, walking and running, laughing and carrying on. Even tourism had slowed down a bit once the story had been featured on several national media outlets. As though I didn’t have enough self-imposed pressure to solve this case, our department was fielding daily inquiries from various members of the town council, wondering when we could deem the town safe again. Absent an arrest or proof that it was a targeted and isolated attack, it was anybody’s guess who was safe and who was not.
From what I could see of the driver in the approaching van, he appeared older than Crenshaw’s forty-one years. His graying hair was thick on the sides, but the top of his head looked like a forest that had been mowed down by a tornado, with just a few tufts of standing trees left. Maybe life had been cruel to Philip Crenshaw.
He slowed when he saw me and I smiled and waved. I had stripped off my pistol and badge and believed I looked more like an insurance salesman than a cop. The window on the passenger’s side was rolled down and I leaned forward when he stopped and put the van in park.
“Philip Crenshaw?” I asked cheerfully.
He nodded, stared around suspiciously. “Where’s the shed?”
“About that…” I allowed my voice to trail off and reached into my pocket with my left hand. I produced my badge, slipped it through the window, and was about to ask him to shut off the engine when he suddenly shoved the gearshift in drive and stomped the accelerator. The van shot forward and the window frame collided with my left shoulder. I spun violently from the force of the vehicle and nearly lost my footing. Although that specific move had caught me a little by surprise, I had been ready for him to try an escape, and I jerked my portable radio from my back pocket.
“Melvin,” I hollered, “he’s heading in your direction.”
“I’ve got him.” Melvin spoke coolly, but his actions were swift. I could hear rubber screaming on asphalt from somewhere east of us and Melvin’s truck suddenly burst into view. He drove from the alley where he’d been waiting and blocked off the entire street. In the shadows of buildings to my left, the van’s brake lights shone bright and the van lurched to a stop. I heard the gears grinding and saw the reverse lights illuminate.
“Amy, you’re up,” I called over the radio. Before the words fully left my mouth, Amy sped from her parking spot under the elevated police department building and promptly cut off his escape. I was running now—well, hobbling, thanks to Coco bending my left knee back the other day—crossing the street and heading straight for the driver door. He was boxed in and he knew it, and his only option was to surrender or give up the van and flee on foot. He chose the latter, which was a mistake.
I had just reached the back of the van when the door shot open. The first thing I saw of Crenshaw was his left leg. I didn’t even attempt to slow down as his upper torso came into view. I hit him hard, sandwiching him between my shoulder and his van door, which I nearly tore off the hinges. Before he could right himself, I jerked him to the ground and spun him onto his face. Snatching a pair of cuffs from the back of my waistband, I ratcheted them on and sat there for a second, catching my breath. When my breathing was normal, I pulled him to his feet.
“What in the hell did I do wrong?” he asked when I began reading him his rights. “This is false arrest!”
Melvin and Amy had walked up and Melvin began patting him down.
“We’ll start with aggravated battery on a police officer,” I said, “then move into speeding and reckless operation, and finish off with resisting arrest.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong. You can run from the police if you didn’t do anything wrong. I learned that in jail.”
“You didn’t simply run away from the police,” I explained calmly, flexing the soreness from my left shoulder and straightening my sore knee as I regarded him. “You decided to speed off down a busy street while I was leaning into your vehicle speaking with you. You endangered my life and the lives of everyone on this street.”
“But you lied to me!” He spat the words. “You told me this was about a shed. That was a trick. I don’t even know why you tricked me.”
“You’ll know soon enough.” I turned him over to Amy and asked her to place him in the first interview room at the police department. She nodded and sat him in the back of her patrol car.
“What about the van?” Melvin asked. “Want me to have it towed?”
I shook my head. “I’ll drive it back and secure it for him. If he’s not a murderer, I don’t want to cause him more problems than is absolutely necessary.”
He grunted. “If he’s not a murderer, then why’d he run? He could’ve killed you when he pulled away like a crazy man.”
I cocked my head to the side and studied my longtime friend. “You think I’m that easy to kill? Are you forgetting that I survived the crushing jaws of Godzator himself?”
Melvin smiled, thoughtful. “That sure does seem like a lifetime ago.”
“Yeah, it does.” I turned away and started for Crenshaw’s van. Melvin told me he was heading home and I waved a hand. As I drove the few hundred feet to the police department, my mind turned to the task at hand, to the interrogation of Philip Crenshaw. If he was the one who murdered Carl and his family, I’d need him to confess. And what if he did? How would I handle that? I shuddered, thinking back to that fateful night in my bedroom so many years ago. I couldn’t revert back to the person I’d become on that day, this I knew, but someone had to pay for what they’d done to those poor children.
I was certain there had been more than one person in the house, because it would’ve been nearly impossible for a single person to gain control of everyone in the house and force them into the living room. I would need to be nice to Crenshaw, extract every bit of information I could from the man. If he did commit these murders, I’d need him to tell me that he did, and I’d need him to name his accomplices. Unless…
Unless his accomplice was Carl. I shook my head, not liking that thought. While I had to keep that option open and I’d worked cases where fathers had killed their children, I didn’t want to believe Carl could hire someone to kill his family and himself.
CHAPTER 24
Philip Crenshaw was sitting slouched over in his chair when I stepped into the interview room. He looked up and immediately began talking.
“Look, I didn’t know you were a cop, I swear it! I thought I was being held up. I thought it was a robbery.”
“In front of the police department?” I asked with a smirk. “And why would I show you a badge if I intended to rob you?”
He stammered, then clamped his mouth shut when he saw that my jaw was set and I wasn’t buying what he was trying to sell. He folded his arms in front of his chest and began tapping his foot on the floor. The man wore a white T-shirt that was dirty and covered in sawdust. There were also chips of sawdust clinging to the thick hair on his arms and a stench of stale sweat floated on the still air inside the room.
I studiously placed my case file on the desk and removed a blank notebook from inside. The file was thick and I noticed Philip studying it with concern.
“Mr. Crenshaw, do you know why we’re here?” I finally asked, resting my forearms on the desk.
“No. I thought you wanted me to tear down a shed. Next thing I know, you’re attacking me and making a false arrest of my person.”
I was still trying to figure out how to best approach him with the allegations, so I focused on the arrest to buy some time. “Well, why did you speed off that way? From what were you running?”
“I…I wasn’t running from anything. Like I said, I thought you were going to rob me.”
I waved my hand dismissively. “Let’s change gears. Were you ever arrested before?”
“I’ve had a few run-ins with the law, but I’m sure you already know about those.” His eyes were suspicious. “I’m betting you know just about everything there is to know about me.”
“If I di
d, we wouldn’t be talking,” I said simply. “According to your rap sheet, you’ve cleaned up your act over the past ten years.”
He nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“It’s a shame that good run is coming to an end.”
“How do you figure?”
“You know how I figure.” I leaned forward, then winced inwardly when I caught another whiff of his sweaty shirt. “Speaking of sheds, how many have you torn down in town lately?”
“Um, none, really.”
“When’s the last time you tore down a shed in Mechant Loup?”
He was thoughtful, scrunching his face. “I don’t know. It’s been a while. Why? Did someone complain that I tore down the wrong one? If so, that’s on the homeowner. I don’t check land deeds when I take a job. I trust that the homeowner knows what belongs to him and what doesn’t.” He laughed nervously, but I kept a straight face. “I mean, why else would you be asking about a shed, unless I tore down the wrong one?”
“Do you know Carl Duval?” I asked the question suddenly, and it took him by surprise. His face turned three shades whiter.
“No.” He said it quickly…too quickly.
“Are you sure?” My eyes bored into his and he looked away. “Remember how you said I knew everything there was to know about you? Well, I might not know it all, but I know a lot, and I know that’s horse shit.”
His eyes flashed and I saw him stiffen, but he quickly got control of himself. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Why are you lying? I wondered, studying him closely. I looked deep into his eyes, trying to imagine if those eyes were capable of staring down at Carl’s two children while blasting the life right out of them. Could you be the killer?
“Don’t make me prove it, Philip,” I warned. “If you do, it’ll look a whole lot worse on you. If you didn’t do anything wrong, there’s no reason to lie about tearing down the shed.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong and I already know it, so I don’t have to prove nothing to you.”
“Can I safely deduce from your reaction that you know the name Carl Duval?”
“Hell, everybody around here knows that name.” He spat the words. “Those names are being blasted on the news every day and night.”
He was right, of course. In a small town like ours, you couldn’t murder an entire family and expect us to keep the lid on that kind of story. We’d had reporters from every major news organization come into town and report on the case, but I had kept things close to the vest. Heeding my advice, Mayor Pauline Cain had also provided few details when confronted by reporters outside of her office.
“Why’d it look like you saw a ghost when I said the name?” I challenged. “What are you hiding?”
“I’m not hiding anything, but I’m no fool. I know what you’re trying to do, and it won’t work with me.”
“What is it that you think I’m trying to do?”
“You’re trying to pin those murders on me because I’m from out of town. It wouldn’t look good if a local did this, so you’re trying to pin it on an outsider.” He shook his head. “I might not be smart and I might not be from here, but I’m not stupid. That kind of thing goes on in Alabama all the time. I’ve seen outsiders get framed for everything from church burnings to murder and I ain’t about to be one—”
Hearing enough, I lifted a hand to silence him. “Save it, Crenshaw. That argument won’t work here. You’re lying about knowing Carl Duval and I can prove it. As you should be able to imagine, that’s got me thinking—why on earth would an innocent man lie about knowing a guy who was murdered along with his entire family? The only reason I can figure is because he killed them.”
“I already told you, I don’t know Carl Duval. Never heard of him before in my life. And I would never kill anyone.” He was sweating now. “Look, I know I’ve got a record, but I’ve never hurt anyone. All of my crimes were petty. I’ve never done anything violent and I never would.”
“You call wife beating petty?” I scowled. “That might fly where you’re from, but down here in the swamps, we don’t like men who beat on women.”
“No, that was a misunderstanding.”
“Sure it was. What about this resisting arrest charge?” I held up his rap sheet so he could see what I was talking about. “Was this also a misunderstanding? And I guess speeding off down a busy street while a cop is leaning in your window isn’t violent at all.”
“I thought you were—”
“I know, I know…you thought I was going to rob you.” I set down the rap sheet and leaned back in my chair, studying him. “Why won’t you just admit to knowing Carl Duval?”
He was silent, and I knew we were getting somewhere. He had been firm in his denial when he said he didn’t know Carl, but I knew that to be a lie—unless someone else had dealt with him or he’d forgotten Carl’s name. I started to have doubts. What if Annie had dealt with Philip? What if he’d never even seen Carl? What if he hadn’t paid any attention to the name on the check?
The thoughts of doubt continued to swirl, but I suddenly dismissed them. He had to know Carl. The look on his face told me he knew Carl, and it wasn’t from some news article. That look would have been one of recognition, not one of shock. No, when I said Carl’s name, I could’ve sworn he saw the man’s ghost standing behind me.
“Look, Chuck, I know you’re a good man,” I said in a soft tone. I needed him to take a step in my direction. If I could just get him to start moving my way, I might be able to gain some momentum and have him rolling down the hill toward a confession. “I don’t believe you hurt those people—”
“I didn’t!” he blurted. “I already told you, I would never hurt anyone.”
“Right, but I know you did some work for them and I can prove it.” I paused to let the information sink in. He sat there quietly, not denying it. “Since you did some work for them, does that mean you automatically killed them?”
“Hell no!” His shoulders drooped when he realized I’d tricked him into admitting he’d done some work for them. He let out a long sigh. “Look, I’m sorry I lied, but I know how it goes. I wasn’t raised around here. I’m an outsider, and outsiders are the first ones to get picked up when something bad happens.”
“No, you weren’t picked up because you’re an outsider. I called you because you did some work for the Duvals, and I wanted to know if you noticed anything suspicious out at the house when you were working there.” I waved a hand in the air. “It’s when you started going all crazy and trying to drive us down that I became suspicious.”
“I’m sorry about that. I…I was just scared.”
I nodded, but I knew he was still lying. He’d tried to run for a reason, and I needed to figure out what that reason might be.
“So, what kind of work did you do for Carl Duval?”
“He hired me to tear down a shed. It was an old shed on the land north of his property.”
“Did the shed belong to him?”
“Oh yeah, it did. He said he bought the strip of land the sheds were on after he bought his house. I think he said something about wanting a place for his kids to ride four-wheelers and dirt bikes. I think that’s why he wanted to clear out the property.”
Well, that certainly explained the partially demolished shed, but why hadn’t he finished the job?
“When did he hire you to tear down the shed?”
“It was back in December sometime. I don’t remember exactly when, but it was before Christmas.”
“How much did he pay you for the job?”
“Three thousand dollars.”
I scowled. “That seems expensive just to tear down an old shed.”
“Well, I was supposed to tear down two sheds. Now, they were over a hundred years old, so they were well built. I tell you, they don’t make lumber like they used to. Three thousand almost seemed like too little once I got started.”
That sounded a bit more reasonable, but he hadn’t even finished tearing down
the first one, much less two. “I was out at the house,” I said. “You didn’t even finish the job. Why not?”
“He changed his mind.”
“About tearing down the shed?”
He nodded slowly, hesitantly, but didn’t offer an explanation.
“Well, why’d he change his mind?”
“We, um, we found something.” He hesitated some more and I was starting to grow impatient.
“You said we found something. Are you referring to you and your helper?” I snapped my fingers. “What’d you say his name was again—Nathan?”
“Nathan Baxter.” He shook his head. “No, Nathan wasn’t with me on that job. It was just me. Carl told me he would help, so I didn’t need the extra hand. It was me and Carl Duval that found it.”
“Continue,” I pressed. “What’d you find?”
“We had started tearing everything down, working from the front to the back, and we had just finished ripping out the inside walls on the right when we found it.” He paused again and I almost slapped the table.
“Found what?” I tried to keep the irritation from my voice. “What did y’all find?”
“It was I who saw it first. I had just pried loose a thick board on the inside wall and that’s when I saw a strange little box between the inner wall and outer wall. It was a wooden box. Well made, but old.”
“What was inside the box?” I asked, wondering if this strange little box had anything to do with the murders. I doubted it, but I was a little curious about what a box would be doing between the boards of an old shed.
He leaned across the desk and lowered his voice. When he told me what was inside, I blinked. Recognizing the look of bewilderment on my face, he nodded.
“You heard me right,” he said.
CHAPTER 25
I sat drumming my fingers on the desk. So, that’s where Carl got the money to pay off his house. “Who’d you tell about this discovery?” I asked.