“It’s Steve, my buddy in Tullahoma,” Haskell said when he looked at the caller ID. He answered the call and greeted his friend.
“Yeah, that’s right,” Haskell said. “Guy named Bill Delaney.” He turned to me. “How old is he?”
“Sixty-six,” I replied.
Haskell relayed the information and then fell silent while his friend talked. His expression changed from intent to grim after a couple of minutes. Finally he thanked his friend and ended the call. He laid the phone aside.
“Something tells me the news isn’t good.” I felt suddenly tense because Haskell’s grim expression hadn’t changed. Diesel, sensing my unease, laid a large paw on my thigh and warbled. I patted his head to calm him while I waited for Haskell’s reply.
“No, it isn’t good,” Haskell said. “Steve says Bill Delaney got away with murder. Multiple murders, in fact.”
TWELVE
For a moment I couldn’t take in what Haskell had said. Then, as the import of his words finally sank in, I collected myself and was able to respond.
“Multiple murders?” I asked. “If he committed multiple murders, why is he not in prison?”
“Exactly,” Stewart said. “Something about that doesn’t add up.”
Haskell nodded. “I know. Thing is, according to Steve, Delaney was never convicted. Never even brought to trial, but Steve reckons Delaney was guilty all right. They just couldn’t prove it.”
“He seems like such a quiet, unassuming man,” I said, still shocked by the revelation.
“That’s no proof against someone being a killer, Charlie,” Haskell said. “You ought to know that by now.”
I nodded. “I do. But, I don’t know, somehow it just doesn’t seem right to think of my uncle’s son as a multiple murderer.”
“They were sure he was the killer,” Stewart said, “but they didn’t have the evidence to bring him to trial, you said.”
“Yes,” Haskell replied. “That happens. Police can be certain who did it, but for whatever reason, there’s no evidence that will stand up in court.”
“Are you at all familiar with the case?” I asked.
“Yes,” Haskell replied. “I remembered it when Steve told me the basic facts.”
“What are they?” Stewart asked.
“Four members of a family were shot to death,” Haskell said. “Parents and two young children. One child, an older girl, survived because she wasn’t home at the time. I think she was spending the night at a friend’s house.”
“How horrible,” I said, my imagination only too easily conjuring up a mental version of the crime scene. “What connection did Bill Delaney have with the family?”
“Father was a farmer. Delaney worked for him,” Haskell said. “They lived out in the county about fifteen miles from Tullahoma.” He frowned. “I think their name was Barber.”
“What motive did he have for killing the family?” Stewart asked.
“He’d had a big blowout with Mr. Barber over something, can’t recall what it was now,” Haskell said. “All this was according to a neighbor. Barber fired Delaney, but he kept coming around. Don’t know why. Maybe he thought Barber owed him money. Then about a week after Delaney got fired, he allegedly went to the house one night and killed four people.”
“They couldn’t prove any of this?” I asked.
“No, Delaney had some sort of alibi. Even though the cops thought it was fishy, they couldn’t break it,” Haskell said. “Trouble was, they couldn’t find anyone else with a strong enough motive.”
“Couldn’t it have been a murder-suicide thing?” Stewart asked. “Surely that’s the obvious answer.”
Haskell frowned. “Of course they thought of that. With any murder you always look at the domestic angle first. Thing was the evidence of the wounds didn’t bear that out. None of them was self-inflicted. So that ruled out murder-suicide.”
“What about the possibility of a stranger?” I asked.
“Delaney kept saying that it was probably a stranger. Claimed to have seen a guy lurking around one of the outbuildings on the farm,” Haskell said. “Apparently Barber was in the habit of keeping a pretty good bit of cash on hand. That was missing. I don’t think it ever turned up.”
“So the case has never been solved,” Stewart said. “I’d hate to have that kind of thing hanging over me.”
Dante yipped twice suddenly, and Stewart picked the dog up and put him in his lap. “What was all that about, you silly dog?”
“Attention,” Haskell said in a tone of irritation. “You’ve been ignoring him, and he hates that.”
Stewart did not respond to that remark. Instead, he said, “Charlie, I think you should get the writer interested in this case. Maybe the two of you together might be able to solve it. You might find out things the police never did.”
I shook my head. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I wouldn’t get involved in it if I were you,” Haskell said. “They might reopen the case, now that they know Delaney is back. He disappeared about a year after the murders, and they hadn’t known where he was until now.”
“What are you going to do about him?” Stewart asked me. “Are you still thinking about letting him live here? Supposing he wants to, that is.”
“I don’t know,” I said. “This really complicates everything. I’m going to have to find out more about the case and the fact that he was, or perhaps still is, a murder suspect. In the meantime, I’m going to see if I can find Delaney at the library today and put off the dinner until tomorrow evening. I was planning to do that anyway so that I’d have time to talk it over with Helen Louise, but now I think it’s even more important to postpone having him here.”
“I agree,” Haskell said. Stewart nodded.
“I also want to see what more I can find out about him, from a source other than the law,” I said, with a quick look at Haskell. He didn’t appear insulted by my statement, so I continued, “I’ll see what my two new contacts from Tullahoma know and go from there.”
“Sounds like a reasonable plan to me,” Stewart said.
Diesel evidently agreed because he meowed twice. Either that, or he—like Dante—was tired of being ignored. I scratched his head until he purred. That done, I said, “If you’ll excuse me now, I’m going to e-mail Jack Pemberton and Miss An’gel.” Seeing both men frown, I added, “For Ernie Carpenter’s phone number, or her e-mail address, whichever Miss An’gel feels comfortable sharing with me. I forgot to ask Ernie herself last weekend.”
“Go right ahead,” Stewart said. “We’re going out in a little while, unless you need us to hang around here for any reason.”
I knew what he meant—for protection, in case Bill Delaney should show up here uninvited. I hadn’t told them that I had seen him walking down the sidewalk in front of the house last week.
“No, I’ll be fine. Once I’ve finished with e-mails, I’m going to shower and get ready to run by the library. Thank you, though.”
Diesel and I left them in the kitchen. The cat followed me to the den and stretched out on the sofa while I turned on the laptop and waited for it to boot up. Once that was accomplished, I opened my e-mail program to compose my messages. First, to Miss An’gel, asking for contact information for Ernie. I didn’t tell her anything about Bill Delaney. They would find out eventually. Then I sent a message to Jack. I did give him some basic information about Bill Delaney and why I was interested. I didn’t mention the murders, however. I wanted to see what Jack might have to tell me about the man first.
Those tasks complete, I set the laptop aside. Time now to head upstairs to shower and get dressed for the day.
“I’m going upstairs now,” I told Diesel. He eyed me sleepily for about three seconds, yawned, and closed his eyes again. Evidently the sofa was too comfortable because Diesel remained there when I left the room.
&nbs
p; By the time I finished getting ready to leave the house, however, Diesel had joined me in my bedroom. I came out of the bathroom after a last quick combing of my hair to find him sitting in the middle of the bed. I picked up my watch from my bedside table, buckled it on my wrist, and looked down at the cat.
“I’m ready to go. Are you?” I asked.
Diesel chirped to let me know that he was indeed ready.
“Come on then,” I said, and he followed me downstairs. I gave him time to visit the utility room before we left. Finally, at about a quarter past nine, we were ready to walk out the door to the garage and be on our way. Until, that is, my cell phone rang.
I pulled it out of my pocket. I didn’t recognize the number, but the exchange looked familiar. I thought it was a Tullahoma number, and so it proved to be.
“Hi, Charlie,” Jack Pemberton said. “Got your e-mail, started to reply, but then I figured it would be a lot easier just to call you and tell you what I know. This a good time to talk?”
“Yes, it is. What can you tell me about Bill Delaney?” I walked over to the table and took my usual seat. Might as well sit down, I thought, because this could be a long conversation.
“All right, here goes,” Jack replied. “First off, I recognized the name right away. I didn’t know Delaney myself, but he was known around town. I hate to tell you this, since he might be related to you, sort of, but he was a suspect in a multiple murders case about twenty years ago.”
“I’ve heard about that,” I said. “What do you know about the murders.”
“Quite a lot, actually,” Jack replied. “I’ve been interested in it for years. I was out of college and back here in Tullahoma teaching eighth-grade English when the murders happened. They were all anybody talked about for months. The girl I was dating at the time taught one of the Barber children. She was horribly upset, like everyone else. The children were popular, unlike their father.”
“Why didn’t people like the father?” I asked.
“I never dealt with him myself, you understand,” Jack replied, “but my girlfriend at the time did. So did a couple other people I knew. They all said he was rude and always convinced someone was trying to cheat him. Had a hard time getting along with anyone.”
“What about his wife?” I asked.
“Everyone felt sorry for her is what I heard,” Jack said. “She was supposed to be a really nice woman, and one person I knew said she was a saint for putting up with her husband all those years.” He paused. “In fact, some people thought she might have finally snapped and killed him.”
“Would she have murdered two of her children?”
“No, I don’t think so. Everyone said she lived for her kids,” Jack said. “I was more inclined to think that Barber suddenly snapped for some reason and did it himself.”
“But the police must have thought otherwise,” I said.
“The evidence didn’t support a suicide. Someone murdered all four of them.” Jack paused. “The only real suspect was Bill Delaney.”
“What was his motive?” I asked, curious to hear Jack’s take on the subject. He had revealed a couple of interesting bits that Haskell had not shared, if he knew them, that is.
“Allegedly because he was angry at old man Barber for firing him and not paying him the money he was owed for all the work he’d done,” Jack said. “Delaney was a hard drinker back then. Maybe he still is. He also was known to have a quick temper. Folks figured he got lit and went out and confronted Barber. Barber pulled a gun on Delaney, Delaney got it away from him and killed him. Then Delaney killed Mrs. Barber and the two kids because they saw it happen.”
“Nasty.” I could picture it all too easily.
“Yes, it was,” Jack said. “Problem was, well, there were two problems. First, they never found the weapon. Second, Delaney had an alibi they couldn’t shake.”
“What was the alibi?” I asked.
“Delaney swore up and down he was dead drunk that day. He’d been on a bender, stumbled home, and his mother locked him in his room until he sobered up.”
“And all this took place at the same time the murders occurred?”
“His mother said it did. The cops tried to break her down, but she was apparently a tough old lady. Regular pillar of her church, known to be a good woman, all that kind of thing. People respected her, and when she stood by her son, that had a lot of weight.”
“I heard a version of the story a little while ago from one of my boarders, who’s a deputy in the sheriff’s department here,” I said. “The cops were convinced Delaney was the killer, weren’t they?”
“Yes, they were,” Jack said. “Now, you remember I said people thought Barber might have threatened Delaney with a gun?”
“Yes, I remember,” I replied.
“Even though they never found the weapon, as I also told you, they were sure the killer used Barber’s shotgun,” Jack said. “A friend of his swore one was missing.”
THIRTEEN
“The killer used Barber’s shotgun,” I said. “But the shotgun disappeared. Sounds to me like the killer was someone who knew about Barber’s habit of keeping a lot of cash on hand and seized the opportunity to make off with the cash and the gun.”
“That’s what I think,” Jack said. “The Barber farm was about five hundred acres, if I remember correctly. There aren’t any other houses close to the Barber house by a couple of miles.”
“So no one who lived in the area observed anything out of the ordinary the day of the murder?” I asked.
“Not that I recall,” Jack replied. “I’m not sure how much effort the sheriff’s department put into searching the area around the house and the farm. There’s a wooded area behind the house running between a couple of pastures. The woods extend about half a mile to an old logging road that isn’t much traveled. The killer could have approached the house through those woods.”
“That sounds like a strong possibility to me,” I said. “Besides Bill Delaney, though, wasn’t there anyone else who might have had a grudge against Barber? If he was always sure he was being cheated, he could have made quite a few enemies.”
“True,” Jack said. “I’m sure the sheriff’s department investigated a number of possible suspects. Barber had a reputation as a hothead. He had three or four field hands who worked the farm, and they were all known to have complaints about how he treated them. Also I think he had a long-running dispute with the man who owned a neighboring property.”
“With all that you’ve told me, I have to wonder why the authorities were so sure Bill Delaney was the killer,” I said.
“Because he already had a record and had served time in jail for assault,” Jack said. “He beat up one guy pretty bad, but that happened ten years or more before the Barber murders. He kept clean once he was out of jail, or so I understand.”
I felt overwhelmed by all the information about the Barber murders and Bill Delaney’s connection with the case. And now his conviction for assault. Was this a man I really wanted living in my house?
I expressed as much to Jack.
“That’s a tough call,” he replied. “All of that happened a long time ago, and for all we know, Delaney has turned his life around.”
“I suppose,” I said. “At the library he’s always quiet, almost self-effacing. His demeanor is always respectful, and I haven’t noticed any signs of him being hungover.”
“I don’t know how much experience you have with hard-core alcoholics,” Jack said. “I’ve dealt with a couple, and I have to tell you that they can cover up their drinking to the point you’d swear they were teetotalers.”
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” I said. “I never had any close dealings with an alcoholic that I can recall. A few times over the years in Houston I had to call the cops to remove someone for being drunk and disorderly in the library, but that was it.”
> “For your sake, if you decide to take him in, I hope he’s quit drinking,” Jack said. “I promise you that you don’t want to have to deal with a drunk in the house.”
“No, I certainly don’t,” I said. “Thanks for all the information, Jack, I really appreciate it. You’ve given me a lot to consider. Right now I need to get over to the library and see if Delaney is there. I need to reschedule the invitation to dinner until I’ve had time to talk to my family about this crazy idea of mine.”
“Good luck,” Jack said. “I don’t envy you. But I have to say you’ve gotten me interested in the Barber case again. I’m going to see what I have in my files about it.”
“If you find anything else that pertains to Bill Delaney, I wish you’d let me know,” I said.
“I will,” Jack said. “Talk to you later.”
“Thanks.” I ended the call and briefly stared at the phone in my hands. I wondered whether Miss An’gel had responded to my e-mail yet. If she had I thought I would go ahead and get in touch with Ernie Carpenter. After hearing what Jack had to say about Delaney and the Barber murders, I wondered what Ernie’s take on it all would be.
I tapped the mail icon on my phone and waited for the inbox to update. The last time I remembered looking at mail on the phone was about three days ago, so I had to wait a minute or so before I could see any new messages.
Nothing from Miss An’gel, although I had a couple of spam messages. I deleted those quickly and put my phone away.
“Come on, Diesel, this time we’re going to the library.”
The cat meowed loudly at me as if to say It’s about time. I knew I had confused him by getting ready to leave the house and then stopping to have a conversation.
Less than ten minutes later we arrived in the library parking lot. All the spots on the one side that claimed any shade from the trees already had cars in them, so I had to park in the full sun. Today was going to be a scorcher, too, with temps in the high nineties. With the humidity, the feels-like temperature would be over a hundred degrees. At least I could accomplish what I needed to do and get home again before the worst heat of the day. I intended to stay home the rest of the day once I had spoken with Bill Delaney.
Claws for Concern Page 8