Witness

by Denise Gwen

  “Thank you, Randy.”

  A pause.

  “This is hard on her.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “And on you, too,” Fred added diplomatically.

  “Thank you, Fred,” Randy said, thinking, I’d better get off the phone before I say something dumb. I almost gave myself away with the ceramic dish.

  They spoke a few more words of vapid pleasantness, then hung up.

  One thing did stick out in his mind, as he tucked his cell phone away.

  Fred didn’t offer a single word of condolence.

  Ah, well, fuck him.

  A few minutes later.

  The next person he called was Josie.

  She gave him phone sex, which was almost as good as the real thing.

  Almost.

  He went to bed afterwards and slept like a dead man.

  39

  Monday, March 11, 8:05 p.m.

  Rob walked into the Sheriff’s office and closed the door behind him. Randy glanced up with a questioning look.

  “The scene’s controlled, Boss.”

  “Good to hear, Rob.” Dropped his gaze back to the computer screen.

  “McGlone showed up, ten minutes later than everybody.”

  Randy snorted.

  “And then she started screaming and saying all this crazy shit, about how everybody needed to wear protective suits and all this bullshit.”

  Well, this got Randy’s attention. He looked up. “Oh.”

  Rob had been wondering how Randy would take this information, and he studied his boss’s face, to see what reaction he was getting, but Randy quickly smoothed his features into one of bland neutrality. “Yeah, she insisted that everything needed to be handled like a crime scene, so we went along with it, Lauder and I.”

  Randy remained silent, but a bead of sweat broke out on his brow. Rob opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He wanted Randy to give him some guidance here, some help. Because Rob had a sneaking suspicion that Miranda’s death had been forced upon her, and he loved Sheriff, he loved him to the ground and back, but this . . . well, this whole thing, Miranda hanging herself like that, from a chandelier, a woman would’ve used pills or something ‘soft’ to end her life, and he knew Miranda pretty well, had gotten to know her, so the whole thing struck him as just a little bit off.

  And he just didn’t know how to handle it.

  “Did the Coroner show up?”

  “Ayuh, he did. He threw his own fit, saying the Rowan County Sheriff had no business being there, processing the scene.”

  “What’d he do?”

  “Well, he was real hostile at first, but McGlone . . . she kind of got him to calm down, and then he started doing his own investigation and I gotta hand it to him, boss, he processed that scene like a mother.”

  “Well, good,” Randy said grudgingly.

  “Lauder and I, he got us to help him bring down the body,” Rob added, then shuddered.

  The wetness of the body, the way her head lolled around drunkenly on her broken neck, first her nose bumping his shoulder, leaving a trail of green snot down the front of his shirt, that was the grossest thing, then her hand involuntarily touching his chest, as if she’d suddenly come to life and was flirting with him . . .

  “You’re talking about my wife, you know,” Randy said, an edge of steel in his voice.

  “Sorry, Boss,” Rob said.

  “Take a load off, why don’t you, you look like you’re ready to keel over.”

  Rob did as he was told, pulled out a chair and collapsed into it. Leaned forward, put his head in his hands.

  Into the silence, Randy spoke.

  “Bradley Chase, he’s good. He’s new, but he’s good. He ran one hell of a race against Charles Tekulve.”

  “Yeah,” Rob said, lifting his head and gazing at him.

  Did you kill your wife?

  Randy gazed back steadily at him, then sighed and look away. “He’ll do his due diligence, I’m sure, and then everything will be fine.”

  “Yeah,” Rob said.

  “I need to take care of some things right now,” Randy said, “but check back with me later on tonight, well, it’s getting late, it may have to wait till morning, but come see me. I’ll have something for you, then.”

  “Sure thing, Boss,” Rob said, standing up.

  “You heading out to do a transfer?” Randy asked.

  “I sure am,” Rob said, and walked out the door.

  Never in his life did he leave the Sheriff’s office with more relief.

  A few minutes later.

  The minute Rob closed the door behind him, Randy re-opened his PC and pulled up the website for the Shelbyville Times and looked up the name of the kid who delivered the paper to his street. He finally found him, a boy by the name of Harold ‘Hal’ Matthews. Hm.

  Hal Matthews is a fourth grader at Shelbyville Elementary School.

  Hm, how best to use this information? Get close to the kid, feel him out? Do his Officer Friendly shtick, take the kid to one side at the end of the convocation? Then again, maybe the kid didn’t really see it, didn’t process it.

  Then again, maybe the kid knew already to keep his trap shut.

  In short, was it better to leave things as they were, assume the kid wouldn’t talk, or would it make things worse for himself if he found the kid and scared him?

  That’s what bothered him; he didn’t know which course of action to take.

  To give himself time to think, he turned off the PC, stood up from his desk, left his office and walked into the central communications area and wandered over to the night clerk’s desk and stood over her shoulder as she finished answering a call.

  The clerk, her nameplate said Agatha Storm, glanced up, registered his presence, then her voice changed, “Oh hey, Mr. Martin. Here’s the Sheriff, now.”

  “Gil Martin?”

  Gil was the Chief of Police for the City of Shelbyville.

  She placed her hand over the receiver. “Yes, Sheriff. He called to offer his condolences and to ask what he can do to help.”

  “I’ll take the call in my office.”

  “Okay, Sheriff.” Agatha turned back to the phone. “Mr. Martin? I just caught the Sheriff, he was still here, so he’s going to talk to you, he’s heading to his office right this minute.”

  Full of purpose now, Randy hurried back down the hallway to his office, closed the door behind him, and picked up the phone. “Hey, Gil? Good to hear from you.”

  “Sorry about your wife, Randy.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  A silence, but Randy wisely did not make a sound to fill up the blankness. Knowing full well that he couldn’t fake a grief he did not feel, and besides, Gil would see through that instantly. From the way bereaved husbands behaved at crime scenes, it’d be perfectly all right for him to fake numbness.

  Men excelled at numbness.

  Gil cleared his throat. “Yeah, well, I’m just so sorry . . . well, anyway, Yep, um, thought I’d let you know I got your message and we’ll take over the investigation from here.”

  “That sounds good,” Randy said.

  They talked some more, discussed logistics, and as the conversation wound to a close, Gil started choking up over Miranda, and Randy’s secret cell phone vibrated.

  “She was just, a great, great lady,” Gil said.

  “Yeah, I know.” Randy rummaged around in the drawer till he found the cell and clicked it on before it went to voicemail.

  “If there’s anything I can do for you—”

  “Thanks so much, Gil,” he said, interrupting the Chief of Police of Shelbyville, Indiana, but I just got another call I gotta take.”

  “We’re happy to do the investigation—”

  Randy hung up on him and picked up the cell.

  At that second, his office door knocked and Agatha peeked in. “Sheriff?”

  “Not now,” he said, holding the cell phone to his ear.

  “Then why did you answer the phon
e?” Josie asked, on the secret cell.

  He held up a finger to Agatha, who stood in the doorway, her brow furrowed. “Excuse me, Agatha. I gotta take this call. Can you please tell them I’ll call back?”

  “It’s the attorney general,” Agatha whispered.

  What the fuck does he want?

  “Randy,” Josie said on the cell phone. “I’ll call you back.”

  “Okay,” he said into the cell phone, and clicked it off; with a look of displeasure, he looked up at Agatha. Too bad Margie wasn’t here; she would’ve known not to disturb him. “Where is he?”

  “Line two.”

  Agatha started to shut the door when he stopped her cold.

  “Agatha?”

  “Yes, Sheriff?” she gazed at him, her eyes wide with fear.

  “I know you’re kinda new here,” he said evenly, “but I want you to understand.”

  “Y-Y-Yes, Sheriff?” she stammered.

  “Even if it’s the Lord our Father Almighty, coming down from heaven to hand me my judgment day,” Randy said through gritted teeth, “do not interrupt me when I’m on my cell. Got it?”

  Agatha opened her mouth to say something, apparently thought better of it, and shut her mouth. “Yes, sir,” she said, and closed the door.

  Something in her eyes . . . troubled him.

  What did she suspect?

  He marshalled together his patience, took a deep breath, and punched the button to line two.

  This asshole had better not be wasting my time.

  40

  Monday, March 11, 5:45 p.m.

  In an agony of uncertainty, Ginny hung out in her bedroom, watching through the window, keeping an eye out for Grandpa, worried at any moment that the bad man might appear, running across the yard, brandishing a gun and chasing Grandpa and trying to kill him. At last, though, he finally walked home and at the sight of his stooped back, the scowl on his face, a flare of apprehension filled her heart.

  “Ginny,” Mom called out from downstairs. “As soon as your grandfather returns home, we’ll sit down for dinner.”

  “He’s home, Mom,” Ginny yelled down the stairs.

  “Okay,” Mom called back.

  As soon as she heard the front door open, she ran downstairs. Grandpa stood in the doorway, and when she saw the look on his face, the flare of apprehension flared and turned hot. Grandpa said nothing, but silently shook his head at her, and she understood instantly.

  Don’t breathe a word of this to Mom.

  She nodded and walked forward and hugged him and took comfort from his strong arms embracing her. He felt strong and powerful and she took enormous comfort from him. Daddy might be gone from her life, but Grandpa was still there for her, would always be there.

  Grandpa would never, ever, let her down.

  “We’ll talk later,” he whispered into her ear, and she blinked back her tears.

  “Glad to see you back, Dad,” Mom said from the doorway. “Dinner’s ready.”

  “Good,” Grandpa said, “cause I’m hungry as a bear.”

  “Wash your hands, Ginny,” Mom said. “Ginny, time for dinner.”

  Ginny reluctantly pulled out of Grandpa’s arms, but his comfort and care stayed with her, an invisible blanket of his love.

  “What’s for dinner?” Grandpa asked.

  “Eggplant parmesan, just like Grandma used to make it.”

  “Oh, honey, that’s great.”

  Everything looked to be returning to normal. But when a worried look flitted across Grandpa’s face, she realized it was anything but.

  A few hours later

  Grandpa did his usual practice of reading to Evie, tucking her in, and kissing her asleep, then went to Ginny’s bedroom. He usually read to her too, but tonight he sat by her bed and ran his hands down his face.

  “What’s wrong, Grandpa?”

  “I went over to that house today,” he said slowly, “and I saw your newspaper lying on the grass, and as I was looking at it, this fella from the Rowan County Sheriff’s Department walked over to talk to me and started asking me some pointed questions.”

  Ginny cowered under her blanket.

  Grandpa patted her leg.

  “This man seemed very keen on learning the name of the newspaper delivery ‘boy’ who delivered papers to that address. He said that rather pointedly to me. He asked me if I knew the boy who delivered the route.”

  Ginny sensed Grandpa was trying to convey something to her, but she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the information. What did Grandpa mean by it?

  “For the time being,” he said, “until this all blows over, I’m going to deliver your route.”

  “Mommy won’t like that.”

  “I’ll deal with your mother.” He looked away for a moment, and she wondered if something had happened to him when he fetched a heavy sigh and looked back at her.

  “There’s something bad going on over there, at Sheriff Randalls’s house.”

  “What happened, Grandpa?”

  “A woman died.”

  “Oh.”

  She fought back the image of the man standing on the dining room table and struggling with the woman in his arms, and the rope hanging from the chandelier. She shivered and Grandpa looked sharply at her.

  “You need to steer clear of anyone associated with the Rowan County Sheriff.”

  “What do you mean, Grandpa?”

  “Do you know what color uniform the Sheriff wears?”

  “Um, no?”

  “The Sheriff and his deputies, they all wear brown shirts, black pants, and a brown tie. And when the weather’s bad, they wear brown hats.”

  “Okay.”

  “Now, the Shelbyville Police Department officers wear blue shirts, black pants, and black hats.”

  “Oh. They all wear different uniforms?”

  “Yes. This may be hard for you to understand because it looks like the Sheriff and the police all serve the same town, but they have different responsibilities.”

  “Okay?”

  “We live in the city of Shelbyville, Indiana, and Shelbyville, Indiana, is in Rowan County. Rowan County is a big area and covers all the towns that are inside Rowan County. So, because Shelbyville is in Rowan County, the Sheriff also serves Shelbyville, but his entire jurisdiction is the county.”

  “Okay, but because the Shelbyville Police Department is in Shelbyville, they only cover Shelbyville?”

  “That’s right, honey, and I could get into some complicated fact patterns for you, but the basic gist is this: Shelbyville Police Officers have Shelbyville as their jurisdiction, and any other towns in Rowan County are covered by their own police departments, okay?”

  “Okay, Grandpa.”

  “I don’t ever want you to feel unsafe with a police officer or a deputy sheriff, or to feel you can’t trust a police officer . . . but until this all blows over . . . I just want you, for now, to steer clear of the people in the brown shirts, okay?”

  “Okay, Grandpa.” She smiled. “That’s fine.”

  Grandpa still looked uneasy, but he forced a smile. “That’s my girl.”

  41

  Monday, March 11, 5:35 p.m.

  As Rob Billings drove back to the Sheriff’s Office, with every mile he drew closer, the more uneasy he grew. That little piece-of-shit-woman, who’d just gotten out of the nuthouse, sure did think her shit didn’t stink, didn’t she? Who told her she was a law enforcement officer, anyway? And then she’d gone and really shown some balls today; even as he openly mocked her, at the back of his mind, he wondered . . . where did this sudden strength on her part come from? Fuck, maybe he oughta check into a mental hospital for six weeks, get himself all straightened out. For sure, she’d shown a strength he never knew she possessed.

  Still musing, he parked, got out of his cruiser, and walked into the Sheriff’s Office and down the hallway until he reached the sheriff’s private office. He hesitated a moment at the Sheriff’s closed door, then raised his hand and knocked.
<
br />   “Come in,” the Sheriff grumped, and Rob opened the door and walked in and saw the Sheriff hanging up the phone, and was it his imagination, or did the Chief look kind of guilty?

  He stood across the desk from his boss and shoved his hands into his pockets.

  “How’s it going down there?” Randy asked.

  Rob eased over to the door and bumped it shut with his hips. “We’ve got a problem.”

  “Tell me.”

  “It’s McGlone.”

  “She drove down to the scene?”

  “She sure did, and she’s sticking her nose into things.”

  “I told you to keep an eye on her.”

  “Yeah, I did. But she . . .” his voice trailed off.

  “What?”

  “She kind of took over.”

  “How the fuck did you let that happen?”

  Rob rocked back on his heels. “She wanted to know why the fuck I was there, and I basically asked her the same thing. Then the Coroner showed up and took over the scene.”

  Sheriff looked away for a moment, then said, “She may be a problem.”

  “She got all the techs to put on protective gear.”

  “God-dammit.”

  “Yeah. So, she got her way on that, and I couldn’t very well over-rule her.”

  “I suppose not,” the Sheriff conceded, but Rob knew he’d disappointed him.

  “And then, after the body got removed, Deputy Poling showed up, and told her to go see the kid, next door.”

  “The kid next door?”

  “Your step-daughter.”

  Rob looked closely at the Sheriff, and while he betrayed no emotion, Rob knew the Sheriff well enough to detect the ripple of rage surging across Randy’s face.

  Yes, this news angered him.

  Randy ran his hands across his face. “You know, I completely forgot about her.”

  “It’s okay.”

  A moment.

  Did he kill his wife?

  The thought bubbled into Rob’s head, a seemingly random thought, but he knew it lodged at the back of the Chief’s brain as well; he suspected the Sheriff was wondering how much of the truth to tell him, and then it hit him; he didn’t want to know if the Sheriff killed his wife or not. It’d be better to go on pretending that her death was a suicide, at least until Randy told him otherwise.