The Treacherous Teddy

by John J. Lamb

  I glanced at Ash. “That’s your cue, Deputy Lyon.”

  Ash pulled her handcuffs from her gun belt. “You can call your attorney from the station. You’re under arrest for the murder of Jesse Hauck.”

  “Wait a minute. I can’t go dressed like this.” Sherri gestured toward the flimsy kimono. “At least let me put on some real clothes.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so,” Ash replied as she pulled the other woman to her feet. “If you were comfortable being dressed like that while talking to my husband yesterday and again today, then you can’t be that modest.”

  “But it’s cold.”

  “So is shoving your boyfriend from a balcony.” Ash handcuffed Sherri. “Let’s go.”

  Twenty-eight

  Linny held the door open and Ash guided the still-protesting Sherri from the suite. I knew the security director craved being seen escorting my wife and her handcuffed prisoner through the hotel lobby. It would be as close as Linny would ever come to conducting a perp walk, and I didn’t want to deny him that harmless pleasure. However, I had to talk with him for a moment and called to him to wait.

  “What do you need, Brad?” Linny glanced nervously toward the receding sound of Sherri’s voice.

  I replied, “I’m going to go downstairs and get the camera, so I can photograph that tassel and collect it as evidence. But that’s all we can legally do tonight. Any other searching of paperwork and possessions is going to require a search warrant. So, once I finish, could you please change the digital locking codes on this room?”

  “Sure. Just give me a call when you want it done. Here’s the passkey to get back into the room.” Linny handed me a plastic key card.

  “Thanks. And nobody comes in or out of the room—including housekeeping and security—until we come back with the warrant. That will probably be tomorrow. Any problem with that?”

  “None. You can count on me.”

  “I know, Linny. Thanks for the backup.” I patted him on the bicep. “Now go and catch up.”

  Linny bolted from the room and jogged down the hall. I hoped he’d overtake Ash before she and Sherri got to the elevator. Grabbing my cane from the table, I shut the suite’s door and headed for the elevators at a far more sedate pace. I rode the elevator to the lobby and then hitched a lift down the hill to the château on one of the hotel’s electric golf carts.

  As we pulled up in front of the large wooden building, the bluegrass band began playing “Orange Blossom Special.” The crowd inside the building began to applaud and shout their approval. Apparently, the bridal couple wasn’t going to let a murder interfere with their wedding celebration.

  Tina was on the lawn beside the château, standing just inside the crime scene tape perimeter. Jesse’s body was concealed beneath a blue plastic tarp and lying on the grass, behind the sheriff. Joining her, I briefed Tina on what Sherri had told me and concluded my update by telling her that Ash had arrested the executive for the murder of her assistant.

  When I finished, Tina said, “Let me get this straight. Sherri Driggs has been lying to you continuously and we can prove that she murdered her lover, yet you believe her when she says she didn’t kill Everett Rawlins?”

  I replied, “Look, I’m not ruling her out as the killer. And for that matter, Wade Tice, Chet Lincoln, and Roger Prufrock are still in the mix, too. None of them has an ironclad alibi.”

  “And isn’t it interesting that our favorite grieving son Kurt Rawlins flat-out lied about knowing anything about the real estate deal when I talked to him on Friday night? That’s mighty peculiar, because if Roger Prufrock was telling the truth about Mr. Hauck’s phone call to him on Friday afternoon, the deal had already been finalized. Or is it possible Mr. Rawlins signed before he died?”

  “More likely that Jesse decided to forge the old guy’s name on the documents and figured that Kurt wouldn’t complain.”

  “We’ve got to find that escrow paperwork.”

  “I’m assuming there are copies up in the suite,” I said, stifling a yawn. “But we won’t be able to go through her possessions until we get a search warrant.”

  Tina rubbed the back of her neck and grumbled, “Which means tomorrow at the earliest.”

  “In the meantime, I think I should go talk to Kurt.”

  “Right now?”

  “Why not? You’ve got everything under control here and I’ll bet he won’t be expecting someone from the sheriff’s office to show up unannounced at his hotel . . . ?”

  “The Madison Inn. It’s near the university.”

  “Maybe I can parlay the surprise into some honest answers.”

  “I guess it’s worth a shot.” Tina tossed me her car keys. “Take my unit back to the office to pick up your car. I’ll catch a ride back when I’m done, which I’m afraid isn’t going to be anytime soon.”

  “Thanks. Hey, before I go, let me try to brighten your night with a riddle.” Hooking a thumb toward the body, I asked, “How are Jesse Hauck and Hills Bros. Coffee alike?”

  Tina shook her head and sighed. “I know I’m going to regret this, but how?”

  “They’re both good to the last drop.”

  She chuckled wearily. “That’s sick, so why do I think it’s funny?”

  “Because the best homicide investigators I ever knew were the ones who learned to laugh at tragedy. Welcome to the club, Tina.”

  I drove Tina’s patrol car back to the station and went inside to drop off the keys with the dispatcher. As I left the communications center, Ash emerged from the report-writing room with a booking sheet in her hand. We met in the hall and, not caring about on-duty decorum, gave each other an encompassing hug.

  After a while, I heaved a huge sigh and whispered, “Hey, I feel as if I’ve hardly seen you over the past couple of days.”

  “God, I know,” she quietly groaned. “What are you doing back here already?”

  “I’m going to take a run over to Harrisonburg and interview Kurt Rawlins,” I replied.

  Ash gave me a suspicious look. “Are you going to talk to him alone?”

  “No way. The burger bully has a temper, and I’m too tired to put up with his crap. I’m going to have the Harrisonburg cops meet me at the hotel where he’s staying.”

  “Good.”

  “Deputy Lyon,” came the tinny sound of a man’s voice from the station’s public address system. “Please come back to the jail. Your prisoner says that she wants to talk to you.”

  “I wonder what she wants now,” Ash grumbled. Then she gave me a kiss and said, “Be careful, and I’ll see you a little later tonight. Love you, Brad.”

  “Love you, too, my darling,” I said, reluctantly releasing her.

  As I drove toward Harrisonburg, I mentally role-played the interview, trying to decide which interrogation tactics would work best against the aggressive and often argumentative Kurt.

  I’d traveled perhaps a mile when something occurred to me. So far as I knew, Tina hadn’t gotten any calls or messages from Kurt Rawlins for hours. That was damn odd in light of how frequently he’d called her on Thursday and Friday. Maybe there was a good reason why he hadn’t called tonight, but the thought struck me that Kurt had repeatedly made it clear that he wanted inside the house as soon as possible to begin going through his father’s papers. Although Tina still hadn’t released the evidence hold on Rawlins’s farmhouse, the impatient and assertive Kurt didn’t impress me as the sort of guy who took no for an answer. So I wondered if the reason why he’d suddenly stopped pestering Tina was that he was otherwise engaged in an activity that required his full attention . . . such as disobeying the sheriff’s orders and searching his dad’s house.

  It seemed to me that there was no point in driving all the way into Harrisonburg when Kurt might be just a couple of miles away. I turned the truck around and headed back toward the dark bulk of the Blue Ridge Mountains. As I passed the ruins of Liz Ewell’s old childhood home, the moonlight revealed faint, thin, and misty tendrils of smoke still curlin
g upward from the low mounds of wreckage. I arrived on Kobler Hollow Road about five minutes later and tried to imagine the narrow forest lane converted into the entrance to an amusement park. The idea was obscene.

  One of my personality faults is that I often believe the worst about other people. I’m not proud of that trait, but it does have an upside. I’m never really astonished when folks do stupid things; it’s what I expect from them. Therefore, it didn’t come as a shock when I saw a light on inside the farmhouse and Kurt’s Lexus parked by the front porch. I pulled out my cell phone, speed-dialed sheriff’s dispatch, and told her that instead of Harrisonburg, I was out at the Rawlins farm and making contact with Kurt.

  I parked behind the sports car and climbed from the truck. As I did, the house suddenly went dark and Kurt’s large silhouette emerged onto the porch. Pushing the front door shut, he tucked his hands inside his coat pockets. He stood on the porch for a second, obviously watching me, and then abruptly walked down the steps toward the Lexus.

  With a dry chuckle, I said, “Oh, now don’t run off on my account, Mr. Rawlins. In fact, let’s talk.”

  “About what?” Kurt replied while reaching for the car’s door handle. “I have every right to be here. This was my home.”

  “You mind if I ask what you were looking for?”

  Kurt slowly turned to face me, but the dim moonlight made it difficult for me to read the expression on his face. He said, “Nothing in particular. I just wanted to walk through the house and say good-bye.”

  “You sound awfully sentimental for someone who was trying to sell his family’s farm to a corporation that specializes in building cheesy theme parks.”

  His posture stiffened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Please, Mr. Rawlins. I’m tired, it’s cold, and for a businessman, you aren’t a very effective liar.” I took a step closer to him. “And who knows? Maybe if you had told me the whole truth, we might be that much closer to figuring out who killed your dad. Besides, Sherri Driggs just finished telling me most of the story.”

  “I’ll bet she didn’t tell you that she killed my dad.”

  “You’re right, she didn’t. As a matter of fact, she claims she doesn’t know who did it.”

  “Well, I know she did it. She told her assistant that it was an accident . . . an accident, my ass,” Kurt snarled. Then in a more somber voice, he continued, “She said she’d gone over and tried to talk to Dad while he was having his supper and that he threatened her with the arrow. Sherri tried to take it away from him, they wrestled, and he got stabbed.”

  I was so weary that it took a couple of seconds for me to appreciate the full import of what Kurt had just said. It was ironic. During our investigation, we’d diligently photographed and processed several crime scenes; collected all sorts of potential physical evidence, including four motor vehicles and an ATV; submitted evidence to the crime lab for analysis; interviewed more than a dozen possible witnesses and suspects; and in general burned the candle at both ends for three days, laboring without success to positively identify Rawlins’s killer. All that work, and as it turned out, none of our whiz-bang CSI procedures were as pivotal to cracking the puzzle as Kurt’s verbal slip. Only four people knew or even suspected that Everett Rawlins had been actually stabbed with the arrow: Tina, Ash, the medical examiner, and me. We hadn’t shared this information with anyone, so there was only one way Kurt could have known what actually happened.

  Finally, I said, “And you don’t believe that?”

  “No.” Kurt shook his head vigorously.

  “Neither do I. You know why?”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are the only person in the world besides me and the three other cops who processed the murder scene who knew that your dad was stabbed with the arrow. Everyone else thinks the arrow was shot from a bow,” I said, fumbling to open my jacket and get to my gun. “I’ll be a son of a bitch. You drove down here from northern Virginia on Thursday evening and killed your dad.”

  Maybe it was because I was so tired, but Kurt was faster on the draw. He yanked a small stainless-steel revolver from his coat and pointed the weapon at me. His right hand looked dark against the silvery metal of the gun, and I realized he was wearing the same brown leather driving gloves he’d had on when we’d first met yesterday morning. I suddenly knew the origin of the trace evidence on the arrow’s shaft. Kurt had been wearing the gloves when he’d plunged the arrow into his father’s chest.

  “Get your hands up or you’re a dead man!” Kurt was suddenly so panicky that his voice squeaked.

  I let go of my cane and raised my arms. Then, as if there weren’t enough to occupy my attention, my cell phone began to ring. I was terrified, but also knew that my only chance for survival rested on my ability to make Kurt understand that there was no chance of escape and also no profit in killing me.

  Trying to keep my voice calm, I said, “You hear that phone?”

  “Don’t answer it!”

  “I don’t need to. That’s the sheriff’s office, and they already know that you and I are here. I called and told them that just before I got out of my truck.”

  “That’s a lie.” He took some shuffling steps closer to me and paused. It was obvious that he was a novice at taking hostages and was trying to figure out how to grab the gun from my shoulder holster without getting too close to me.

  “When you start hearing sirens in a little bit, you’ll realize I’m telling the truth.” My bad leg buckled and I nearly lost my balance, but I quickly regained my footing.

  He retreated a couple of steps but kept the revolver shakily pointed at my chest. “Stand still and keep your hands up!”

  “Dude, with only one good pin, this is the best I can do,” I said, hoping the fact that I hadn’t gotten a bullet for the sudden move meant he wasn’t eager to kill me. My cell phone stopped ringing and I added, “They’ll be coming soon.”

  “You are so full of crap your eyes are brown.” Kurt did his best to sound scoffing. Then, in the distance, a siren began to yelp and he shot a nervous and fleeting look in that direction.

  I heaved a weary sigh. “So, what’s the plan? Sherri Driggs is already in jail and charged with murder, so you can’t blame her for my death.”

  “In jail? But you said that—”

  “Oh, she’s not under arrest for your dad’s murder. Sherri killed Jesse Hauck earlier this evening by pushing him over the hotel balcony.” I briefly glanced to the west, where two more sirens had begun wailing. “Her incentive to kill was pretty clear-cut. She murdered her assistant because he was blackmailing her. But I don’t understand your motive.”

  “Just shut up!” His hand trembled as he brandished the gun.

  “I’ve got to know. What in the name of God did your dad do to deserve to be skewered like a butterfly on a display board?”

  “It was an accident. He changed his mind about selling the farm and we argued, but I didn’t mean to kill him.”

  “That’s kind of hard to believe, considering our present situation.” I nodded toward the jiggling gun. “For instance, how’d you even end up with the arrow in your hand?”

  “It was stuck in the side of the house when I got here. Dad never even saw it, until I yanked it from the wall.”

  “And that happened while you were fighting?”

  “I swear to God, we weren’t fighting! It was just an argument.”

  “And you lost your temper because his decision not to sell the farm meant that all your big career plans with Amerriment were ruined.” My arms were beginning to become sore and quivery from the effort of keeping them elevated. “That’s disappointing, but not much of a reason to off your old man.”

  “It didn’t happen like that,” Kurt said through clenched teeth. “Dad was standing there in the yard, spouting some crazy crap about how it just wouldn’t be right for him to hurt his friends and neighbors by selling his land. I had my back turned to him . . .”

  “And?”<
br />
  “Then he said that there was something almost sinful about the idea of putting an amusement park where my mother died.” There was a pause and when Kurt resumed speaking, his tone became both soft and more frightening. “Imagine that. My mother died because that old bastard kept her out here in the middle of nowhere, and then he has the freaking gall to use his crime as an excuse not to sell the farm.”

  “I can see how that would have made you angry. What happened?”

  “I spun around to scream at him, but he’d moved. He was a lot closer to me than I thought . . . right behind me. I was holding the arrow by the shaft . . . and it just went into his chest.” Kurt now sounded slightly nauseated.

  “So it was a tragic accident.” I allowed my arms to drop a millimeter or so.

  “You don’t believe me.” He glanced toward the driveway.

  The first siren was very close now—perhaps a half mile away—and I suspected Ash was driving the patrol car. Situated as we were in the darkness between the house and vehicles, she wouldn’t be able to see Kurt and me when she pulled into the yard. That meant she was driving into a potential ambush, and I couldn’t let that happen.

  I needed to come up with some magical combination of words to defuse the situation; otherwise I’d be forced to launch a suicidal attack on Kurt. However, that wasn’t much of an option. The odds were that he’d shoot me, and the very best outcome I could hope for was that Ash would kill Kurt and that I might stay alive long enough for the paramedics to arrive.

  Trying to keep my tone casual, I said, “It doesn’t matter what I believe, and the fact is, I can’t disprove your story. All you have to do is sell your version of the tale to one member of the jury and you’ll be a free man. But the only way you can make that happen is if you do the smart thing right now.”

  “And surrender? So that I can be sent to prison? I don’t think so,” Kurt snarled. “Shut up and give me your gun. I’ll take my chances—”

  Kurt stopped midsentence, interrupted by the sound of something crashing through the brushwood that hemmed the driveway. We both turned to look, and I saw a dark and large figure on all fours burst from the undergrowth and quickly lumber across the yard. It was the biggest black bear I’d ever seen. Obviously frightened by the earsplitting howl of the approaching siren, the animal was running for the safety of the abandoned quarry.