“Yes sir,” Ethan stammered.
“But the truth is the truth, and that’s all we’re looking for here.”
Olivia glared at Mahoney; her way of warning him not to start badgering the boy. “My grandson always tells the truth,” she said emphatically. “Don’t you, dear?”
Ethan swallowed hard on that one, but gifted with his mama’s way of dancing around a thing, he said, “I never once lied about Mister Cobb.”
“See!” Olivia grinned triumphantly.
“That’s a real honorable thing,” Mahoney commented, even though the boy was rumored to be a tale-teller. “Real honorable.” Jack pulled a pad and pencil from his pocket; “Okay, Ethan,” he said, “you tell me the complete truth of what happened here last night and I’m gonna write it down—word for word.”
Ethan looked up at Olivia and only after she’d given a nod of approval, did he start to speak. “I was doing what Grandma said, not stepping foot outside of the building, when it happened. Missus Parker, she lives down on the second floor, said she’d pay five cents for me to bring a casserole up to Mister Bailey—he lives right down the hall. I said sure; five cents is a fair amount for delivering. The dish was real hot, so I was watching where my foot was stepping and I didn’t see Policeman Cobb coming up on me. First thing I heard was him yelling how he wanted a word with me, that’s when I let go of the dish and took off running.”
“You dropped the dish because you were frightened?”
Ethan gave a wide-eyed blink and nodded.
“Then you started running?”
“Yes sir.”
“Did Officer Cobb grab hold of you?”
“No sir. I ran off too fast.”
“How far away was Officer Cobb?”
“He was down the far end of the hall.”
“And, when did he catch up with you?”
“He didn’t ever catch up to me, Grandma Olivia came out and batted him in the knee and I run in the house fast as I could.”
“Did you think Officer Cobb was trying to hurt you?”
Ethan Allen shrugged, “I suppose so,” he said.
“Did Officer Cobb threaten you? Did he say he was gonna hurt you; anything like that?”
“He was calling for me to wait up, that’s all.”
Mahoney turned to Olivia, “When you encountered Officer Cobb, where was he?”
“Three or four yards behind Ethan. I heard a huge commotion and when I opened the door, Ethan flew by like the devil was after him. I could tell he was in trouble, so I grabbed the baseball bat and went at the policeman.”
“Officer Cobb wasn’t trying to get into your apartment?”
“He didn’t have the chance.”
Mahoney thanked Olivia and the boy for their time and left. After that he went door to door asking the neighbors the same sort of questions. Tobias Wassermann, who’d been the first to open the door, said the policeman asked the boy to stop. “That policeman was calling out he just wanted a word with the boy,” Tobias said, “but by then all hell had broke loose, so I doubt Olivia could hear him.”
Mahoney collected nine statements in all; it would have been ten, but Matilda Grimes had her television turned up so loud that she didn’t hear any of the commotion. When he left the apartment building, Mahoney went down to the Wyattsville Police Station and asked to see Sam Cobb.
Sam was sitting in a cell, with a cast that went from ankle to thigh on his right leg and a pair of crutches leaning against the wall. “Can you get me outta here?” he said when he saw Mahoney.
Jack shook his head as if the sight of a fellow officer behind bars was more than he cared to see. “I’ll try,” he said, “but, you sure got yourself in one hell of a mess this time.”
“You think I don’t know that?”
“What on earth were you thinking? Going after some kid who’s probably gonna testify against your daddy? Looks like you’d know better.”
“I wasn’t gonna…”
“It doesn’t matter what you weren’t gonna do! You know what this looks like? Witness intimidation, that’s what!”
“I was just gonna ask…”
“You weren’t assigned to the case so you had no right to ask!” Mahoney growled, “Your daddy’s a suspect in a double murder and you go running down the one and only eye witness—you know what that is? Crazy, that’s what. Downright stupid!”
“If you’ve got nothing but criticism, why’d you come?”
“Because of your mama, that’s why!”
“Oh shit! She knows?”
“Yeah, she knows,” Jack replied, the hard set line of his mouth giving way a bit. “She’s probably the only person on earth who’d go out on a limb to help a bad-tempered pain-in-the-ass like you. She believes in you. She claims this whole affair is your daddy’s doing; says you’re not the type to harm a kid—”
“I’m not,” Sam cut in, “I was just trying to help Pop…”
“Don’t go there! With your daddy the primary suspect in that murder investigation, if you so much as look cross-eyed at Ethan Allen Doyle, there’ll be more trouble than you ever dreamed possible.”
“Somebody’s got to make him tell the truth! Pop wouldn’t—”
“Stay out of it!”
“But…”
“No buts!”
Before leaving the station house, Jack spoke with Pete Harmon, the arresting officer, and he had a long conversation with Sergeant Gomez. He told them of his interviews with the residents at the Wyattsville Arms and his conviction that Sam had no intention of harming the boy. “He’s a good man,” Jack said, “a good man who’s done a dumb thing. He was looking to find out the truth of what happened, that’s all. I know, you know, we all know, he shouldn’t have been there; but there’s not a man on earth who doesn’t do stupid things some time or another.”
Both Pete Harmon and Sergeant Gomez nodded reassuringly; then late in the afternoon Sam Cobb was released with a warning that he was expected to head straight back to the Eastern Shore and never again come within one hundred yards of Ethan Allen Doyle. “Next time,” Gomez said, “we won’t be so lenient.”
Scooter Cobb
I got problems—big problems! That fucking Mahoney is out to nail me; I know it. He started with that shit about needing shoes, next thing I know he’s claiming the kid told him me and Susanna was having a thing. I should’ve never gotten mixed up with her and her crazy ass husband. I can say that now; but eight months ago, the only thing I could think about was the itch I had morning, noon and night.
Mahoney says the kid told him I killed Benjamin, but it’s probably more of his made-up bullshit. Nobody was there. Nobody. Not the kid, not nobody. You think I’m stupid enough not to know if somebody’s standing there watching?
My boy Sam’s gonna find out what the kid has to say. If it’s a bunch of horseshit about me and Susanna getting it on, I ain’t worried. Shit like that goes on all the time, no big deal. Sam will make sure I know what’s happening; he’s a good boy. Real loyal. Not smart as his brother, but real loyal.
Course, if it turns out the kid really did see something—well then…
When the Time Comes
Because of the cast on Sam’s right leg, he had to leave his car parked in front of the Wyattsville Arms apartment building and hire a yellow taxicab to drive him the full way to the Norfolk Ferry Terminal. The trip was considerably more than he’d figured on and left him with barely enough to purchase a ferry ticket. Inside the terminal he hobbled to a telephone booth and placed a call to his father’s diner. “Pop,” he moaned, “I got a problem.” Sam explained how he’d had his knee broken and was going to require a ride home from the ferry terminal.
“What about the kid?” Scooter asked impatiently.
Misunderstanding the question, Sam answered, “Oh, he’s not hurt.”
“Hurt?” Scooter repeated. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about whether or not he’s hurt. I wanna know what he’s got on me, what he had to say.”
“Anything about seeing me beat up his old man?”
“No, but…”
“But what?” Scooter snapped. “Say what you’ve got to say!”
Dreading this moment, Sam mumbled, “I didn’t talk to the kid.”
“What the hell? You was there, right?”
“Yeah; but the grandma hit me with a baseball bat and busted my knee before I had a chance to talk to the kid.”
“So, go back and talk to him.”
“I can’t Pop.”
“Can’t?” Scooter stormed, “What kind of shit are you giving me? When I say do something, you do it! Now, get your ass back there and find out what the kid knows!”
“Look, Pop, I’m real sorry about your predicament, but there’s no way I’m going back. First off, I couldn’t get there even if I wanted to; I’ve got a cast on my leg and can’t drive. My car’s still over there in Wyattsville. Second off, I—”
“Your car’s still at the kid’s place?” Scooter asked, his voice suddenly sounding considerably more conciliatory. “So somebody’s gotta go pick it up?”
“Eventually,” Sam answered, “but right now I need a ride from the ferry terminal.”
“No problem,” Scooter said, “You gonna be on the five-thirty?”
“Yeah,” Sam answered, bewildered by this sudden change of attitude.
“Okay, I’ll be there. Now what’s the address for the car, I’ll have somebody get it.”
“You don’t need to bother about that right now Pop.”
“No bother! I owe you. Now, where exactly is this place?”
“Wyattsville. Take Route four-sixty north, till you pass through Richmond then swing over to Thirty-three and go west. It’s the third exit; Bolder Street. My car’s parked smack in front of the Wyattsville Arms, you can’t miss it.”
“Wyattsville Arms, huh? Okay.”
“Pop? You are gonna meet me at the ferry terminal, right?”
“Yeah, sure.”
Ten seconds after he’d hung up the phone, Scooter Cobb was behind the wheel of his car, headed south toward the ferry. He’d left the diner without a word to anyone, no indication of where he was going or when he’d be back.
He made it to the terminal in record time, whizzed right past the parking lot and edged into a lane of cars driving onto the Norfolk bound ferry.
When Jack Mahoney arrived back at the station house, he had two messages waiting for him. The first was from his wife who had indicated it was urgent he call home as soon as possible; the second from Detective Pratt at the laboratory. Seeing as how his wife had specified, soon as possible, he dialed her first.
“Jack,” she said tearfully, “Boomer died. He was perfectly fine one moment and then all of a sudden he just fell over dead.”
“Well, Christine,” Mahoney sighed sympathetically, “Boomer was well on in years. Most Saint Bernards don’t live twelve years, Boomer was—”
“You’ve got to do something,” she wailed.
“Do something? What can I do? When a dog’s dead, he’s—”
“Boomer’s in the middle of the living room floor! The kids are curled up alongside that big furry body and crying their poor little hearts out. Just listen!” Christine extended her arm and turned the telephone receiver in the direction of the living room. “You hear that?” she asked.
“I hear it,” Jack answered, “but what am I supposed to do?”
“Come home; come home and get this dog out of here!”
“I’m in the middle of a murder investigation!”
“I don’t care what you’re in the middle of—your children are contracting germs by the millions hanging onto that dog’s body! You know how much they loved Boomer! Right now they’re crying hysterically and working themselves into an emotional state. Now, is it too much to ask that you give them some consideration?”
“No,” Jack sighed, “it’s not too much to ask. I’ll be there shortly.” He hung up the receiver and sat looking at the second message for a few moments—it was five-thirty, chances were Pratt was already gone home. Lab people weren’t ones to hang around after hours unless they were in the middle of some red hot investigation and Jack could tell Pratt didn’t consider this one a priority. Nonetheless, he picked up the receiver and dialed.
“Pratt,” the detective answered.
“Glad I caught you,” Mahoney replied. “Anything new on the shirt?”
“We got a match. Most of the bloodstains came from the male, Benjamin Doyle; but on the left arm there were trace amounts from the female, Susanna Doyle. I sent an analysis report; you should have it by morning.”
“Thanks,” Mahoney said and hung up. Now, he no longer had a choice; like it or not, he had to arrest Scooter Cobb. “Poor Emma,” he sighed and pushed back from his desk.
Normally, Jack would have addressed the situation with Captain Rogers immediately; he would have requested another detective to accompany him and gone directly to the diner to arrest Scooter—but there was this situation with the dog. How long, he figured, could it take to haul the dog’s carcass from the living room to the back woods? He’d be back within the hour and then he could do what he had to do.
As it turned out, the children, and Christine as well, insisted upon a proper burial for Boomer. They insisted upon singing three rounds of Jesus loves Me and going through a eulogy which consisted of each child’s lengthy description of loving Boomer. After it ran on for twenty minutes, Jack complained, but when Christine glared across the mound of dirt with a look that could kill, he kept quiet for the remainder of the service. After Christine herded all three children into the car and drove off toward Tastee-Freeze, he returned to the station house. By that time it was quarter of nine.
When he got there, Paul Puglisi was the only detective still in the station house. “Are you available to go on a pick-up with me?” Mahoney asked.
“Yeah,” Puglisi answered, “who you got?”
“Scooter Cobb.”
Puglisi who was nearly the size of Scooter but in better shape, raised an eyebrow. “Whoa, boy,” he said, “we’re gonna have our hands full on this one. What are you bringing him in for?”
“Murder; we’ve got blood evidence that ties him to the Doyle killings.”
“Does Sam know?”
Mahoney shook his head sorrowfully and gave a shrug. “I sure as hell hope not,” he said, “because he’s already got a gigantic problem.”
When Mahoney and Puglisi arrived at the diner they were expecting trouble. Knowing Scooter Cobb, they expected him to heave stacks of dishes at them, slam his fist into a coffee urn and send it flying in their direction, whack a heavy boot at their shins, then punch and cuss for all he was worth. What they didn’t expect was for him not to be there. “You got any idea where he is?” Mahoney asked Bertha.
“Nope,” she answered. “He flew out of here like his pants was on fire and I ain’t seen or heard from him since.”
“What time was that?” Puglisi asked.
“About Five o’clock; it was before the dinner rush. He got a phone call and then out he went. He didn’t say one word about how I’m supposed to handle the cooking and serving when people are lined up waiting for dinner. I’m one person, how am I supposed to handle—”
“You know who was on the phone?” Mahoney asked.
“You think I got X-ray hearing?”
“Did he maybe mention a name? Or a place where he’d be going?”
“No. I got better things to do than eavesdrop on other people’s fighting.”
“So,” Puglisi said, “he was arguing with somebody?”
“Might’ve been; he don’t tell me his business.”
With thoughts of Emma jumping to his mind, Mahoney told Puglisi, “Let’s check his house,” and they turned to leave.
“Hey,” Bertha yelled, “what about me? I’m supposed to quit at ten, and there ain’t nobody here to take over. What am I supposed to do?”<
br />
“Soon as I find him, I’ll let you know,” Mahoney called back.
“Well make it fast ‘cause I been on my feet all day,” she grumbled; but by then they were gone.
When the two detectives arrived at the Cobb house, Emma answered the door with red-rimmed eyes and a pasted-on smile. “Would you like some coffee? Cookies, Maybe?” Her voice was hollow, thin as an eggshell.
“No thanks, Emma,” Jack said sympathetically, “we’re looking for Scooter.”
“He’s not here,” she answered, registering a look of surprise. “Have you checked the diner? He ought to be there, he usually works till after eleven.”
Jack nodded. “Bertha said he left early this evening.”
“Without telling her where he’d gone?”
“I’m afraid so,” Jack answered.
Puglisi, already eyeballing the room, asked, “Mind if we take a look around?”
Mahoney glanced over at his partner and gave a slight shake of his head, but Puglisi was a by-the-book man, and pursued the issue. “Of course, if you got something to hide…” he said, suspicion hanging all over his words.
“Look around if you want,” Emma answered; but by then Puglisi had already started trekking through the house. Once he was gone from earshot, she whispered to Jack, “He’s not here, I swear he’s not.”
“I believe you, Emma. Puglisi, he’s just following procedure.”
“I’d tell you if he was. I’d tell you for sure. You’re the only one I’ve got to look out for me and Sam. I swear, Jack, I’d tell you.”
He didn’t say anything right off, but simply took her hand in his and patted it reassuringly—soft and easy, the way he would have done for his own mother had she not been dead for some fifteen years. “Don’t worry about Sam,” he finally said, “things have a way of working out for the best. I spoke to Sergeant Gomez over in Wyattsville—Sam’s been released and should be home sometime this evening.”
Emma registered the slightest trace of a smile; “Thank you, Jack,” she whispered, “thank you.”
After Puglisi had thumbed through the house, and satisfied himself that Scooter was nowhere about, they left Emma and headed for Sam’s apartment. Jack figured with Sam being released that afternoon, he’d probably be home by now; a man with a full cast on his leg wasn’t all that mobile, he reasoned.
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