But all that would change upon publication of the article. For twenty years no one had thought to follow up on this mysterious figure. Myers would not only capture the man’s anguish at being ostracized for a crime he didn’t commit—he was going to clear Travis Coble once and for all. After the dust settled, Myers just might have Bill Jackson’s job.
Smiling, he began.
* * *
Myers said, “I guess the first thing I should do is get your full name, age, and occupation.”
Coble stared down at the Dictaphone and spoke to it as though it were a television camera, “Travis Burton Coble. Thirty-nine years old. I work at Beatty’s.”
“And what sort of place is that?”
“Slaughterhouse.”
Myers fought to conceal his pleasure and tried to think of a polite way to frame the question. “Isn’t it...”
“Funny that I work in a slaughterhouse?”
Myers couldn’t tell whether it was amusement or asperity in Coble’s voice.
“Well, yes, I suppose.”
“Some of the guys down at Beatty’s ride me about it from time to time, but it’s all in good fun.”
“So what made you apply for work at such an establishment? Was it because of the irony of it?” When Coble continued to stare at him, he went on, “By irony, I just mean—”
“I know what you meant.”
“Oh.”
“Next question.”
Rattled, Dick pulled his steno pad from the satchel. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to go back to the night of your parents’ disappearance.”
Coble tilted his chin and studied the tree limbs veining the sky. “I applied at Beatty’s because I’ve always liked the smell of blood.”
Myers felt his heart thump harder. He scribbled a few words in his notebook so he wouldn’t have to meet Coble’s black-eyed stare.
“What’re you writing?”
“Oh, nothing.” He thought up a lie. “I just wrote, ‘Likes to change the subject.’”
“You’re the one changed the subject, Professor. I’m just answering your questions.”
“That’s a good point, Mr. Coble. Do you mind if I call you Travis?”
“Whatever makes you happy, Doc.”
Myers smiled and looked at his steno pad. Where before he had written CRAZY AS A SHITHOUSE RAT, he added SLIPPERY, TOO.
“Travis, I’d like to know if you and your brothers had any forewarning that your parents were about to leave you.”
Coble gave a little shrug. “Mama and Daddy had their own way of doin’ things.”
“Yes, that’s what the papers said. But what I’m curious about is whether or not you and B.J. and Ike had any inkling that they would actually walk out on the three of you. I mean, immaturity is one thing. Leaving one’s children deep in the mountain woods to fend for themselves is quite another.”
“Things are different up here.”
“How do you mean?”
Coble reached over and plucked a package of Red Man chewing tobacco from a barrel top. “They never provided for us boys in the first place. Oh, Daddy showed us how to shoot and trap, and Mama, she taught B.J. and me how to clean what we killed, but that was about the extent of their parenting. Most of the time, they were out hiking.” Reaching into the pouch, Coble fished out an enormous wad of black tobacco leaves and stuffed it into his cheek. Puffed out that way, the black stubble of his beard reminded Myers of a bloated tick. Coble worked the tobacco around his mouth as if testing its resilience, and an unsavory hint of rotten apples wafted over Myers.
He stifled an urge to wrinkle his nose against the smell and said, “That’s rather unfortunate.”
Coble stopped chewing and stared at him. “What’s so unfortunate about it?”
Myers palmed sweat from the back of his neck and leaned forward. “It’s just sad that boys as young as yourselves were forced to grow up so quickly, that’s all. You should have had time to be boys. And your father…” Myers shook his head ruefully. “A man should provide for his family, don’t you think?”
“What, he shoulda wiped my ass for me?”
“Well, going on. I’m going to assume that you knew nothing of their impending exodus.” And since you were caught unaware by their sudden departure, you must have had a difficult time making the adjustment.”
“Wrong again, Professor.”
Myers bristled at Coble’s tone but managed to keep it hidden. Gravid drops of sweat kept beading in his neck hair before soaking into his collar. Twitching a little at the unpleasant sensation, he said, “Well, you know the situation better than I do. But it’s hard to believe that three boys—the oldest fifteen and the youngest eight—could take their parents’ leaving so casually.” He drummed on the note pad. “It just seems unlikely.”
“No one said you had to believe it.”
“I’m not saying that I don’t believe you, I’m—”
“Then what are you saying?” Coble growled. Unconsciously, Myers drew back. Coble’s eyes flashed alarmingly, and his muscular neck writhed in corded rage. The state’s allegations raced through Dick’s mind. What if they were true? What if this man was a cold-blooded killer?
With an effort, he kept his poise. “I apologize, Travis. Whenever a psychologist is interviewing a subject, he brings with him his own set of prejudices, no matter how zealously he works to divest himself of them. I’m simply expecting out of you the same trauma that I would have felt had my parents abandoned me. But alas, the situations are completely dissimilar.”
“No shit, Doc,” Coble said. Livid blotches stained his cheekbones.
“Exactly. I apologize. So where were we? Oh yes, your parents left you three to fend for yourselves. You didn’t call any relatives for help?” Sweat trickled into one of Myers’s eyes. He rubbed it out with the heel of a sweaty hand. Christ, he was uncomfortable.
“Didn’t have many relatives,” Coble said. “The ones we did have already had mouths to feed.”
“Yes, but wasn’t there an uncle...” Myers riffled through his steno pad, although he knew the name well. “Yes, here it is. Carl Lee Coble. Your father’s brother. He played an important role in your trial, didn’t he?”
The merest hint of a sneer. “He tried to.”
“Yes. I don’t suppose you two are close friends these days.”
Coble peered out at the yard, a faraway look in his beady eyes. He mumbled something that Myers couldn’t quite make out.
Dick cleared his throat. “While we’re on the subject, do you know where I could get ahold of your Uncle Carl? He seems to have vanished from existence. The people at the County Recorder’s Office said he and his wife left town without telling a soul. Their car and most of their valuables were just gone one day, along with Carl and Janet Coble. Their children, too.”
Coble leaned forward and spat a thick stream of brown juice; it landed an inch from the Dictaphone.
Myers stared down with distaste. “I take it you don’t know where they are.”
Coble didn’t answer. Instead, he extracted a tobacco stem that had gotten wedged between his teeth. He contemplated the spit-covered stem for a moment before stuffing it back in his mouth.
Dick smiled pleasantly and wrote DISGUSTING WRETCH.
“What do you think happened to your brothers?” Myers asked.
Coble nodded. “My brothers’ll come back.”
“Travis…” Myers leaned forward. “I don’t mean to be cruel, but don’t you think they would have come back by now if indeed they were returning?” He hesitated and then plunged in, “Do you have any reason to believe B.J. and Ike are still alive?”
Coble tensed, his jaw flexing. Myers considered changing the subject but decided against it. If he was going to write an article about this man, it had better be a good one. His professional life might depend on it. If he could rattle Travis Coble, the piece would be better for it. Unless, of course, Coble murdered him in a rage.
Myers tried but could not sm
ile at the idea.
Coble turned and spat another stream of tobacco juice. It splattered on a nearby barrel and crawled down its wooden length. “Are you trying to be like that D.A., Professor? If you are, you can get the hell off my land.”
Myers smiled inwardly. He’d gotten the rise out of Travis he’d been after. Now be careful, he reminded himself. The trial transcript showed that when Coble got into these churlish moods he either revealed information or became completely evasive. It all depended on how he was handled.
“I’m sorry, Travis. I didn’t mean to imply that you were guilty of the crime of which you were accused. If a judge and jury found you innocent, I’ve no reason to believe otherwise.”
A sly grin stretched Coble’s tobacco-stained lips. “Watch yourself, Doc.”
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”
“I think you do, Doc.”
“I’m sure I don’t, Travis. But let’s not let this bog us down. Let’s go on, shall we?”
“I ain’t as stupid as you think, Professor. Don’t fuckin’ kid-talk me.”
Myers swallowed. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Travis. To the contrary, I believe you to be quite intelligent.”
“Intelligent enough to beat a double-murder rap?”
“I never said you were guilty.”
“You never had to.”
“Mr. Coble, when I contacted you about this interview, I told you I was studying the manner in which an individual is treated by his community after being found innocent. There’s a social and psychological precedent for this sort of thing. Lizzy Borden, for instance. She was acquitted, yet she lived out her life as a pariah. You’ve experienced the same treatment, and I simply want to examine how that affects a person.”
The black eyes studied him. “That’s what you said alright.”
“And it’s what I meant, Travis. You were found innocent of wrongdoing by a jury of your peers, and that’s enough for me.” Heartened by his own argument, Myers went on with greater authority. “But it wasn’t enough for the people around here, was it?”
Coble grunted noncommittally. “They’re all scared of me.”
“And that’s what this is all about, Travis. The jury found you innocent. I believe you’re innocent. But some still regard at you as the boy who got away with murder.” He watched closely to see if he’d penetrated Coble’s defenses. “Others, like your Uncle Carl, for instance, think you killed more than just your brothers, don’t they?”
“Carl can suck it.”
“Fine. Let’s cut to the chase, then.” He referred back to his notes to make sure he hadn’t forgotten anything. He noticed one question that needed to be asked before he went on.
“How long did you and your brothers live out here alone?”
“Three years.”
“So at the time they disappeared, B.J. and Ike were only...” Myers checked his notes. “...sixteen and eleven?”
“That’s about right.”
“Did they give you any indication that they too would be deserting you?”
About to spit again, Coble froze. “You pushing my buttons, Doc?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
Myers noticed with alarm that Coble was squeezing the arms of the lawn chair. The tendons of his hands rippled and writhed like snakes trapped under a sheet.
“I’m not pushing anything, Travis. I’m simply trying to establish a pattern.” He leaned forward and spoke in his most compelling lecture hall voice, “It might be hard for the townsfolk to accept, but it all makes perfect sense to me. Your parents had you when they were very young. Your mother would have just been starting high school—had she actually gone to school—and your father had a reputation for drunkenness. They were ill-suited for the job of rearing children. They wanted to escape and start a new life, and the only way to do that without financial and legal entanglements was to run away and never come back. Did it ever occur to you that the reason why they taught you to hunt and clean your own food was to help you survive after they left you?”
Coble whistled softly and squinted up at the trees.
“Did you consider it, Travis?”
A half-smile began to form on Coble’s upturned face.
“Have you—”
Coble’s voice rose in a mocking falsetto. “Your momma was an idiot and your daddy was a drunkard.”
Don’t take the bait, Myers cautioned himself. “This isn’t character assassination, Travis. I’m only going by what the papers said.”
“Course you would, bein’ just like them buzzards.”
“I already assured you I’m not a—”
“Daddy used to say that learnin’s just learnin’.”
Now that’s a brilliant worldview, Myers thought.
“He meant,” Coble said, leveling his merry squint at Myers, “that a body can have all the fancy degrees in the world, but he’s still a fool if he can’t take care of himself when he needs to.”
“An interesting theory,” Myers said. “Did he give any hint he and your mother were abandoning you?”
“They pay you at that college to ask stupid questions?”
Dick shifted uneasily on his bucket. Why didn’t Coble give him something more comfortable to sit on? The sharp circular edge was slicing his rump like a plastic scythe. His mouth felt as dry as a November cornhusk. Why the hell hadn’t he brought water? Fighting off the panic urge, he drew in breath and did his best to focus.
Time to stop fencing with this grinning hilljack, Myers told himself. Time to seize the reins.
“Look, I didn’t say this to you on the phone, Travis. I was afraid you’d refuse to talk to me. I thought you’d be hesitant to dredge up all the old talk about your brothers. But,” Myers took a breath, “my purpose for coming here is two-fold.”
“So you’re a liar,” Coble said, his good humor fading.
“No, Travis. I’m not a liar. I told you the truth about my purpose for coming. The study of ‘innocent guilt,’ or the guilt that many innocent people experience after being acquitted, sometimes because of the suspicion projected onto them from their neighbors, but even more often owing to some deep-seated desire that was fulfilled by the crime of which they were not guilty, and the self-loathing they subsequently experience stemming from that satisfaction, is of great interest to the psychiatric community. Not only do I want to clear your name in the court of public opinion. I want to know the truth.”
He leaned forward to drive home the point. “Travis, I want you to help me solve these murders.”
Coble’s slitted eyes told him he’d missed his mark.
“You’re full of shit, Professor.”
“Books,” Myers went on without acknowledging the insult, “have been written about the subject. Take the Borden case, for instance. She, like you, was accused of a double-murder. Like you, she was acquitted. But no one solved the murders of her parents.”
“I didn’t kill my parents,” Coble said.
“Nor did you kill your brothers.”
“I never used no axe.”
Myers felt the hair on his arms tingle. He’s bluffing, he told himself. He’s trying to frighten you off course.
“Of course you didn’t,” Myers went on, struggling to repress the chill. “Since there were no murders, at least by you—”
“What do you mean, ‘at least by me’?”
“I’ll get to that in a moment.”
Coble’s eyes grew wary.
“Since you were innocent of any crime, and since there were no bodies found—which, incidentally, is the crucial variation between your story and that of Lizzie Borden, and also, I might add, the reason why you are, to a certain degree, accepted by the townspeople, or at least those at Beatty’s Slaughterhouse—while Lizzie Borden, on the other hand, was completely shunned. But since there were no bodies found, there is every reason to assume that you had nothing whatever to do with the deaths of your brothers. And you’re right,” Myers wen
t on before Coble was able to speak, “there is no reason at all to favor the murder theory over the notion that the two boys simply skipped town. Unless,” he raised a finger to signal his point, “unless one factors in the rancor of your Uncle Carl.”
“I’ve already thought about all this,” Coble muttered.
“I’m sure you have, Travis. And I’m sure you’ve come to the same conclusion I have.” He scooted his bucket forward, taking care to avoid the puddles of spit. “You know as well as I do that your Uncle Carl left town with his family less than a year after you were acquitted. Why? He might have feared an altercation, but I doubt it. Putting it bluntly, Travis, your uncle was a horse of a man, more like your brothers. And you, well, you’re a well-built fellow, but Carl, being so large, had nothing to fear from you physically. And your brothers were already gone. So why would he leave town without a forwarding address?”
“You tell me, Doc. You’re the one with all the answers.” Coble folded his arms like a little boy made to sit in the corner.
“But you know the answers, Travis.” Myers smiled. “Carl knew that suspicion would eventually fall on him. What’s the old saying, ‘Beware the accuser, for he is usually accusing himself’?”
Myers sighed contentedly, his eyes tracking a hawk as it lit on a drooping sycamore bough. “I wondered, when I read the court transcripts, why it was that Carl argued so vociferously for your conviction. You were, after all, the only nephew he had left. He should have loved you. He should have been the one person to speak in your defense. Yet he didn’t. In fact, he repeatedly and vehemently claimed you were a murderer.”
Dick inched closer to Coble. “Perhaps the reason for the heat of his accusations. His...” Myers groped for the word, “...his vitriol was due to the fact that you were the only thing standing between the townspeople and the truth. You, Travis, were his shield.”
The Clearing of Travis Coble Page 2