HIGHWAY HOMICIDE

by Bill WENHAM

  All he wanted was to be part of the group and the truth of the matter was Bobo had never bothered to take any interest in Maria at all, beautiful though she was. She resented the fact he wasn’t attracted by her and didn’t plan to let him ever forget it either. On the other hand, Bobo had his own resentment towards her to deal with for slighting him. He would get even with her in some other way, he told himself.

  The boys in the group were all well aware of what had happened, but not the reasons behind it. However, none of them wanted to be the one to upset the group’s harmony. Consequently none of them did or said anything in support of him.

  His smoldering resentment towards Maria spun off to include everyone in the group, males and females, for not wanting him.

  But at the time, he’d done nothing about it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  David Gates quickly slipped his still damp jeans, socks and boots on, then as quietly as he could, he climbed down the hayloft ladder. He crept over to the barn wall and peered out through one of the spaces between the boards at the activity outside.

  A man was using a tractor with a snow blade on it to clear all the open areas of snow. It looked to David as though the snow was being pushed up against the sides and doors of the disused barn he was in.

  For a moment, he panicked again, thinking he could be trapped inside by the piled up snow. Then he remembered the small access door had opened inwards not outwards.

  The man’s tractor was of the type David had wished the old Ford had been as it had the Plexiglas cabin to protect the driver. This was obviously going to be a long job so David climbed up the loft ladder again. He would use some of the time to open another can of meat and drink some of the melted snow. His mouth felt parched, but very little of the snow had actually melted. Once again he took a little of the snow into his mouth at a time until he was no longer thirsty.

  It was probably a half an hour later when he heard the tractor stop. He put on the parka and hastily packed the pockets of it with his supplies but left the oil lamp. If it became necessary, he would have to make do with the candles.

  As he climbed back down the ladder, he heard the sound of another engine starting up. He hurried back to his spy hole and peered out.

  A black car, a Buick, from the looks of it, was being driven forward out of the detached garage. It stopped just outside the garage and a man got out of it, leaving it idling as he went back into the house.

  David only took a split second to make his decision. He quickly shrugged out of the parka, dropping it and all his supplies on the floor. And then he ran over to the access door.

  The car was about two hundred feet away, but the area was now clear of deep snow. David pulled the small door open, clambered over the drifted snow outside and raced over to the car.

  He’d just reached it and had climbed inside, when the owner came back out of the house. The man shouted as David slammed the car into drive, floored the gas pedal and slithered from side to side out to the road.

  In the rear view mirror, he could see the man rush back inside the house.

  When David reached the road, he found driving there was a completely different matter altogether. Unlike the highways, the side road hadn’t been plowed at all. Although coming in, it had been reasonably easy going for the old tractor; the lower slung Buick was having a tough time of it going back out.

  He’d already traveled this stretch of road once, so David knew he had at least four or five miles to go before he’d reach the main roads.

  He checked the mirror again. The car’s owner had undoubtedly called the police, but did he have another vehicle available to him, a pickup maybe? Most, if not all, farms had one of those, and if he did, he’d catch up to David easily over the snow.

  David continued to slip and slide along the side road, constantly checking for any signs of pursuit. The Buick appeared to be a 2000 or so model, one of the bigger sedans. If he could just reach the main highway, it would be very difficult to catch him.

  From what he’d seen of the local countryside so far, it looked pretty rural and he didn’t think there’d be too much of a police presence here locally. But it would be a different matter on the highways when he reached them. State troopers would be patrolling there and he’d have to be extremely cautious.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Donna Willis called by at Errol Cook’s place to take him out to Lisa’s diner for breakfast. When he knew she was coming he’d try to be as sober and tidy as he could and would always open the door promptly to her knock. Although he was never ready, she was used to that and accepted it as part of the process of getting him fed.

  For a few weeks now though, Errol had been acting very oddly, staggering more than usual and talking angrily to himself. Maybe it was the onset of the D.T.’s, the ladies wondered. Even on the rare occasions he was reasonably sober, he was still nothing like his old self. He acted as though he had all the demons of Hell torturing him. He rarely smiled, never made jokes or even carried on a reasonable conversation any more.

  It would be completely different if the man was sick, Pam Tomaso had said, but this misery of his was all self-inflicted. Pam was still cashing his cheques and doing his shopping for him, but on occasion he’d been quite abusive to her. He’d even accused her once of stealing from him. She was naturally very offended, but when she’d thought more about it, she realized it was just the drink talking.

  Donna too, had noticed the changes in him. Errol’s place was no longer just untidy. It was downright dirty these days. She was also getting a bit irritated by it as well and thought Errol could do a little more to help himself.

  When she’d knocked on his door, it had been her plan to tell him that if he was going to keep making his place such a mess, then he should get in a home helper. He needed someone to come in regularly, daily even, to clean up for him and be paid for it. Lord knows, according to the grapevine, he was supposed to have enough money, she thought.

  Errol had been going steadily downhill for some time now. And although she felt very sorry for him, five years was a long time to baby sit a man who did nothing at all to help himself any more.

  She rapped several times on his door and received no answer. Perhaps Pam had taken him out for some reason, but she’d never done it before, so why would she do it today?

  Errol had given both women a key to his front door a long time ago. She opened up the door and told herself she’d tidy up for him this last time. Then she’d insist, the next time she saw him, he should get himself a cleaning lady to do it in future. She’d had enough!

  Donna pushed open the door, took off her boots and hung up her coat in the hallway closet. She frowned as she noticed Errol’s winter coat still hanging inside. It was a shame Errol had gone the way he had. He’d been such a nice man in the beginning, before Dolly had gone away. At first, even when he was drunk, he was still quite pleasant, but not any more.

  She went on into the kitchen, noting the usual mess of dirty dishes. There really was no excuse for it, she thought angrily. What the hell did the man think a dishwasher was for? He only had to put the dishes in and press a button, for God’s sake. Men, she thought, who needs them?

  I’ll have a cup of coffee, if I can find a clean cup, she complained to herself, as she put the kettle on. It’d have to be instant naturally, she thought, because to make perked, Errol would need to push another button, wouldn’t he? Well he’s pushed my buttons long enough, she said to herself as she went on into Errol’s living room to see what kind of a mess he’d left in there.

  She stood in the living room doorway and gasped with shock. Beyond the living room’s opened glass French doors were the stairs to the upper level of the house. Errol Cook was lying in a crumpled heap at the bottom of them.

  Donna rushed over to him and carefully felt his neck for a pulse. Thank God, she breathed, he was unconscious but he’s still alive!

  Not wanting to complicate any injuries he may have sustained in the fall, she decided
not to try to move him at all. Leaving him exactly where he was, she rushed back into the kitchen. Don’t panic, Donna, she told herself, stay calm, but her heart was beating like crazy.

  Reaching for Errol’s kitchen wall phone, she called Judy at the Sheriff’s Office. Judy would know what to do and who to call.

  “Sheriff’s office, Cooper’s Corners,” Judy said.

  “Judy, its Donna. Donna Willis,” she gasped into the phone. “I’m over at Errol Cook’s place and he’s had an accident. It looks like he’s fallen down the stairs. Can you send someone over to help me, please? I don’t know what to do.” The words just tumbled out of Donna’s mouth in a torrent.

  “Slow down, Donna,” Judy said in a calm voice. “Is he conscious? And is there any blood?”

  “He’s not conscious, Judy, and, no, there isn’t any blood, none I can see anyway. He is breathing okay, but apart from checking for a pulse, I haven’t touched him at all.”

  “That’s good, Donna, don’t move him in any way at all, okay? And don’t you worry either. Just stay there and someone will be there in just a few minutes. Call me again if anything changes.”

  Donna thanked her and hung up the phone. The kettle had boiled and had switched itself off but she no longer wanted coffee. She went back into the living room and sat down in a chair where she could see Errol quite plainly. He was still lying in a crumpled and unmoving heap. The time seemed to drag by interminably until she finally heard a sharp rap on the front door. Quickly glancing back for a moment at Errol, she got up and went to answer it.

  Almost and old Doc Wayland stood the on the front doorstep. Donna stood aside and just pointed into the living room behind her.

  “What happened, Donna?” Almost asked, taking out a notebook from his tunic pocket.

  “I don’t know,” she said, relief putting her on the verge of tears now someone else was taking charge. “I came by to take him out for breakfast, like I usually do, and I found him there at the bottom of the stairs, just like that.”

  Judy had radioed Almost, who, to save time, had picked up Doc Wayland on the way in his cruiser.

  Doc had gone straight in to see to Errol. He straightened up as Almost and Donna approached.

  “Well, superficially, he doesn’t appear to have broken anything I can see. But it is what I can’t see that concerns me. I can’t tell what he might have damaged inside. I think we should get him straight into hospital for X-Rays and some tests, Almost. At the very least, he should have a thorough check over after a fall like that at his age.”

  “Okay, Doc,” Almost said, “I’ll get right on to it.” He called Judy back and said. “Doc Wayland wants to get Errol into hospital for some tests and X-Rays, Jude, but not in my cruiser, he is telling me. Better get an ambulance over here because old Errol hasn’t woken up even yet.”

  “Emergency, Almost?” Judy asked.

  “Hang on a sec, I’ll ask.”

  A moment later he was back.

  “Doc says no, Jude. Apparently Errol woke up while we were talking and he’s sitting up now. Just a routine trip to hospital, Doc says, but he wants him taken out of here on a stretcher. He doesn’t want to take any chances until he knows what’s happened.”

  “Okay, Almost, it’ll be on its way soon. Call me again when it gets there will you please?”

  “Sure, Jude, will do, and out.” Almost replied.

  Almost turned around to see Errol sitting on the bottom stair, holding his head.

  “Well,” Doc inquired, “Is an ambulance coming?”

  “On its way, Doc,” Almost told him. “How is he?”

  Instead of answering, Doc jerked his head towards the kitchen. Almost nodded and followed him.

  “What is it, Doc? Something wrong?” Almost asked him as they stood by the stove in the kitchen.

  “When he came to just now, I thought I saw something else. Something not caused by him falling down the stairs. It could possibly be the reason he fell though.”

  Almost frowned. “What do you mean, Doc?”

  “I believe our Mr. Cook out there is sick, Almost. Very, very sick, in fact, and it would be my guess he’s been that way for some time now. Offhand, and without detailed tests, my guess would be cancer. Possibly close to being terminal too. Of course, I haven’t seen anything of him professionally in years, so this is more of a hunch than a professional opinion.”

  “And you can tell all that just by looking at him?” Almost said respectfully.

  “After over half a century of medicating and doctoring folks, Almost, a person, even an old fart like me, does get to learn a thing or two occasionally. Or at least enough to makes some fairly intelligent guesses sometimes.”

  “So what now?” Almost asked him.

  “If you have no objection and I know how much you love driving me around, I think I’ll ride with him in the ambulance. It will be easier for me to tell them what I suspect if I’m right there, won’t it?”

  “It sounds like you really care about the old guy, Doc.” Almost said, smiling.

  “I care about all my patients, Almost. And although you may not know it, Errol and I go back a long, long way. We even dated, or as we used to say, courted, the same girl at one time, but he ended up marrying her. Dolly Fisher, the lucky devil. She was an extremely beautiful woman in those days, Almost.”

  “He ended up by losing her too, though, didn’t he, Doc?”

  Doc nodded his head sadly. “We both did, Almost, we both did. But I sure hated Errol Cook for taking her away from me.”

  “Come on now, Doc, I can’t imagine you ever hating anyone. You haven’t got a vengeful bone in your body. But you never did get married either, did you?”

  “No, Almost, I only ever had, or needed, one love in my life, and that one was Dolly Fisher.”

  Doc stooped talking abruptly and they both went back into the living room to await the arrival of the ambulance as Errol continued to sit on the stairs holding his head.

  Donna had busied herself making coffee for them until the ambulance; arrived; now all the other decisions had been taken out of her hands.

  “Just for us, Donna dear, thanks. Better not give Errol anything until after he’s had his tests. I’m sure he’s still pretty well pickled as it is.” Doc warned her.

  They were on their second cups by the time the ambulance pulled into Errol’s driveway.

  Donna opened the door to the paramedics and backed out of the way to let them get on with dealing with the patient. Doc walked over and asked if it was permissible for him to accompany them to the hospital in the ambulance. They knew him, of course, and readily agreed.

  Once they had Errol on their stretcher and properly secured, Doc and the paramedics left for the hospital. Almost had told Doc to call him when he was ready to come back.

  As soon as the door had closed, Donna immediately asked Almost what it was Doc had told him in the kitchen.

  “Can’t tell you that, Donna,” he said airily. “Doctor, patient privilege, you know.”

  “That’s a bunch of crap, Almost, and you know it. Errol is Doc’s patient, not you!”

  “Okay, Doctor, cop privilege then. Either way, I’m not going to tell you.”

  “I’m his friend for God’s sake, Almost. I care about him.”

  “Then go to the hospital and let them tell you. Doc said it was only a hunch of his anyway.”

  “What was only a hunch?” Donna asked craftily.

  “Nice try, Donna. Go to the hospital. I’ll tell you what, though, why don’t you bring old Doc back with you. It will save me a trip. Gotta go now, see ya, Donna,” he called back at her as he went out of the door and started making his promised call to Judy.

  “You are such an asshole, Almost,” she said as she gave his departing back a most unladylike gesture.

  Maybe not such a bad idea at that, though, she thought. She could pump old Doc for information about Errol all the way back to Cooper’s Corners.

  A very good idea, in fact!


  Chapter Eighteen

  Iona Cackett called Judy the first thing the following morning. She told Judy she’d found something in her Bingo bag that didn’t belong to her.

  “It’s a man’s watch, Judy, silver colored. I was just checking my bag to make sure Patti had picked up all my lucky charms. I don’t give a damn about the dabbers, I can always replace them. But my charms are priceless. I even won the Jackpot with them last night.”

  You sure did hit the Jackpot last night, Iona, Judy thought. Not too many people come home to find a dead body on their doorstep, but as Iona paused to take a breath, Judy said, “Did you touch it, Iona? The watch, I mean.”

  “Of course I touched it! How the hell do you think I got it out of the bag?” Iona snapped. “Anyway, why shouldn’t I touch it?”

  “Fingerprints, Iona,” Judy said patiently. “The watch may have belonged to the man who killed Forrest Appleyard.”

  “Oh, yes, I see,” Iona said. “Well, I guess Patti must have touched it too, then, when she picked it up. Do you think it could an important clue then, Judy?” Iona said, with a note of excitement creeping into her voice.

  “Probably. So don’t touch it any more, okay? I’ll ask Almost to swing by and pick it up. He’ll probably want to take fingerprints from both you and Patti as well.”

  Although they’d never felt the need for a fingerprint kit in their kind of policing, with two fresh murders in the community, the Burlington crime scene team had insisted on leaving one with them.

  “Anyway, Iona, how are you feeling this morning after your ordeal of last night?” Judy heavily emphasized the word ‘ordeal’, knowing Iona would want to milk this episode for as much gossip mileage as she possibly could.

  “How the hell do you think I feel?” the old lady snapped. “That man could have killed me as well just as easily, you know.” Actually Iona had no idea how close to the truth that statement of hers was.