by A. E. Howe
“When you’re an addict, you act like an addict. It doesn’t matter whose son you are or how you were raised. But why would he steal a backhoe? And I’d bet even he knows how to use one. That’s where the backhoe is going to bite us in the butt. Everyone on the farm probably knows how to use a backhoe, and I bet they own at least two or three.”
“True,” she responded.
We pulled up to the house—a large, white, two-story clapboard structure with a wide front porch. Over one hundred years old, the house looked more utilitarian than ostentatious. Two cars and three trucks were parked in the driveway.
We let Dad take the lead. He was met by Joe, who came out on the porch to greet us.
“My sisters are pretty upset,” he said as he ushered us into the hallway that stretched the full length of the house. We could hear sobbing as soon as we entered. We followed Joe into a large living room on the right-hand side of the hallway.
Joe’s two sisters were sitting on a sofa, wiping their eyes as we came in. Three men stood in various poses around the room, looking uncomfortable.
“My sisters, Jane and Marge,” Joe said, beginning the introductions. Jane was in her mid-to-late thirties, attractive and professionally dressed. Her older sister Marge had too much jaw and her hair was in a messy bun. Marge’s clothes spoke more of the farm than the office.
“Marge’s husband, Clive,” Joe continued, pointing to a man wearing jeans and a dirty polo. “And Jane’s friend, Andrew Simmons.” Andrew looked like a lawyer, which I was soon to find out was his profession.
“And my brother, Hank,” Joe finished, pointing to a downcast man in his early thirties standing in a corner of the room. I was struck by how much Hank Junior looked like his father. And since he hadn’t always taken care of himself, he didn’t even look that much younger than his father. Hard drinking and rough living can do that to you.
“I hope I don’t have to tell you that we’re going to take this case seriously… and personally. Your father was a very good friend to me. I don’t think I would have been elected sheriff without his support. But we need something from all of you.” Dad paused for dramatic effect. “We’re going to have to spend some time asking you all some very personal questions about your family. I couldn’t feel worse about this, but there’s no other way for us to get this investigation off on the right start.”
He stopped a moment to assess the group. Watching from behind him, I could see that only Hank and Clive looked a little nervous. Everyone else met Dad’s eyes head-on with sad but determined expressions.
“My son is going to be heading up the investigation, which means that I’ll be kept informed throughout. Deputy Marks will be assisting him. But if any of you have concerns or questions, feel free to contact me directly,” Dad told them. Normally, he would never have suggested that someone go around one of his investigators and talk to him directly, but this was an election year and he couldn’t afford to ignore the politics where a family as prominent as the Parrishes was involved. “I’m going to leave the questioning to them right now. Please answer as completely as you can,” he told them all.
“When will they release our father’s body?” Joe asked.
“As soon as the coroner is satisfied that he’s gotten all the answers he can. My guess would be in two to four days,” Dad told him and Joe nodded thoughtfully.
“What… happened to him?” Marge asked. They clearly wanted answers from the top.
“All I can tell you right now is that it appears to be a deliberate act by an unknown person.”
Everyone looked surprised, though they had to have already known from the way we were acting that this wasn’t an accident.
“Murder,” Jane said like a character in a movie.
“We’ll know more in a couple of days, but we have to proceed with that assumption.” A crisis brought out Dad’s best media-speak.
Everyone seemed mollified for the moment. Dad said his goodbyes, then pulled me out into the hallway and whispered, “Got a call from Jamie on my way over here.” Jamie was the frequent babysitter for Dad’s spoiled, one-hundred-and-ninety-pound, black-and-white Great Dane. “Mauser doesn’t seem to be feeling very well, so I’ve got to run him over to the vet. But call me if you need anything.”
Back in the living room I took Darlene aside. “For this first interview, let’s split up.”
She seemed to consider this for a minute, then said, “I’ll take Clive, Hank Junior and Andrew.”
I squinted at her. I realized she’d seen the same things I had in Junior and Clive, but there was no way I was letting her question the two most interesting members of the family.
“I’ll take Hank, Joe and Marge,” I countered. I glanced over at the group, but they were busy talking amongst themselves and didn’t seem to notice us negotiating over the interviews.
“Leaving me with Clive, Andrew and Jane?” She thought for a moment. “Deal.”
I shook my head, wondering how I’d gotten myself into the position of bargaining with someone who’d joined our department less than two weeks earlier.
Joe offered to let us use the dining room and office for the interviews. I took the dining room. I decided to let Hank Junior stew a little bit and started with the oldest brother.
Joe said that he’d been with different employees all morning. I wrote down all the names, planning to check his alibi carefully as he seemed to be the one most likely to benefit from his father’s death.
He wasted a few minutes trying to get information out of me about what had actually happened to Hank Senior. I fended him off and asked, “Can you think of anyone that would have wanted to hurt your father?”
He sat back and appeared to think about it. “Not really.”
“You all do a lot of business in the county. Were there ever any financial disputes that got hot?”
“Dad didn’t make enemies. Now my grandfather was a different story. Grandpa would fight anyone over a penny. In fact, Dad said it was because of Grandpa that he didn’t have to be meaner with folks. Grandpa had scared everyone so bad that no one dared try to cheat us. Of course, there were people that Dad didn’t like and that he wouldn’t do business with. He was a good judge of folks, and there were people he didn’t want around the farm or the family.”
Joe stopped talking, but I could tell that he was thinking about something. I let the silence grow until he decided to fill me in.
“Now this was a long time ago, but the closest thing to a real enemy he ever made was a kid by the name of Joel something… Joel Patrick. I think he was from Panama City or somewhere down on the Gulf.”
“What’d your dad have against him? When was this?”
“Almost twenty years ago, maybe? This kid started hanging around Jane. It was her fault as much as his, probably. She… Anyway, she’d met him on a spring break trip to Panama City and he just followed her back up here.”
“Your dad didn’t like him hanging around Jane? Why?” Most fathers automatically don’t like guys tagging after their daughters, but I got the feeling there was more to this story.
“Dad was pretty protective of both my sisters. More so of Jane because she needed more protecting. But this kid was weird. We were already cutting hay that year and Dad thought that he could scare Joel away by giving him a job with me in the fields. Dad told me to work him till he dropped. But the guy was tough. Joel was thin, didn’t look like he’d have any strength, but it turned out he’d spent most his time on the water sailing and boarding and stuff, so the sun and hard work didn’t bother him.”
“So what was wrong with him?”
“He wasn’t very dependable. Showed up late half the time, and the other half of the time he’d get there before me and be trying to do something he couldn’t. But what was really odd was what he talked about. All kinds of strange stuff about philosophers and crap. I went to college, graduated with an MBA, I can talk about Nietzsche or Freud. But he would mix it all up, kind of come up with his own theories. Most
of them could be summed up as ‘Joel is better than anyone else.’”
“But the work didn’t scare him off?”
“No, but Dad’s plan still had the desired effect. With Joel working on the farm, Jane got bored with him. In two weeks she’d told him to move on.”
“How’d he take that?”
“Like any guy ever. Kicked stuff, cussed a little and lurked around for a couple of days until Dad went out and gave him a talking-to. That’s when things got a little rough. The kid hit Dad. I wasn’t there, so I can’t say how provoked Joel was, but at some point he slugged Dad in the face. Jane saw the fight. According to her, it was over four seconds after that punch landed.”
“He knocked your dad out?”
Joe almost smiled and shook his head. “Not a chance. Dad spent a couple tours in Vietnam. Before Joel could react, Dad had him face down on the ground and was on his back, holding his head up. Jane told me that Dad had already pulled his pocketknife out and was opening it with his teeth when she got to him and started tugging on his arm. She was sure Dad was having some sort of flashback and was going to slit Joel’s throat. But he came to his senses and let the boy up. Jane said Joel ran about twenty feet away and cussed Dad out, threatening him. But none of us ever saw him again.”
“How’d Jane feel about all that?”
“Actually, she seemed to calm down a little. Had a little more respect for Dad after that.” Joe shrugged.
I questioned him about their employees, but he said there hadn’t been any recent turnover and no one had been fired in years.
“Can you and Hank drive a tractor?” I asked.
He looked at me with a crooked smile. “Ha! Are you kidding? All four of us kids learned to drive a small tractor with a bush hog by the time we were twelve. Once we were in high school we were allowed to run the big one with a bailer. Not just me and Hank, but the girls too. Dad thought everyone should be able to work a field. Why?”
I debated whether I should mention the stolen equipment, but decided the potential benefits of bringing it up outweighed the risks. “We found a backhoe in the woods near where your father’s body was discovered. Would any of your people have a reason to be digging back there?” I asked.
“One of our backhoes?” Joe seemed genuinely puzzled.
“We don’t think so. Can you think of any reason why anyone would be digging in those woods?” I asked again.
For just the briefest of moments I saw something in his expression, but it faded quickly. “No. No idea,” he said and looked away.
“We’ll need to account for everyone’s movements this morning. Don’t give your staff a heads-up. Let us talk to them,” I said. “Oh, one more thing. Who inherits?”
Joe seemed momentarily taken aback, but quickly regained his composure. “I inherit the farm and the business capital. Marge, Jane and Hank will receive sizable amounts that have already been set aside,” he told me.
I asked him to send Marge in next. Her eyes were red from crying, and she continually reached up to touch the small silver crucifix she wore around her neck. Like her father, nothing about her suggested that she came from a wealthy family. She sat down across from me and looked at me through eyes that seemed lost.
“Why? Why would anyone hurt Daddy?” she asked me.
“That’s what I want to find out. I’m hoping that your family can help us.”
“No one disliked him. You and your dad know that. He was a good man. Ask anyone.” Her voice was begging me for answers. Unlike her brother Joe, who seemed able to compartmentalize his grief, Marge was reeling from the blow.
“I know. I liked and respected your father. And I really appreciated all the support he gave Dad when we lost my mother. We’ll find the person who did this. But you’re going to have to help me,” I said, trying to get her to focus. “Please try and think. Is there anyone, even if it was from years ago, that might have wanted to hurt your dad?”
She squeezed her eyes shut and her brow furrowed for a few minutes as she considered the question.
“No, I just can’t. He fired a few people over the years, and sometimes we had some vandalism, but no, I really can’t think of anyone that would be mad enough at him to hurt him.” Marge was the very definition of sincere.
“What about a guy named Joel?” I asked.
“Joel?” Her voice was puzzled.
“An old boyfriend of Jane’s,” I prodded.
“Maybe. Years ago. Jane has always had more boyfriends than you could shake a stick at. I used to be jealous of her when I was younger, but now I can see that those looks are a curse, not a blessing.”
“So you don’t remember a Joel? It would have been when your sister was about eighteen.”
“Oh, I was in Gainesville then. University of Florida, getting my teaching degree. Secondary science,” she said, reminding me that she was a teacher at Adams County High School.
“Were you at school this morning?”
“Yes, by seven every school morning. I like to have time to get my lessons ready,” Marge stated.
I didn’t press her on it. Assuming that someone couldn’t be the murderer is almost always a mistake, but you can’t give everyone equal weight as a suspect in a case like this where you’re having to cast a wide net. I’d check up on the alibi at some point, just to be sure, but that could be reserved for downtime.
“Daddy always carried too much cash on him,” Marge mentioned suddenly. “Maybe someone robbed him.” I didn’t tell her that his wallet was still in his back pocket with five hundred and twenty dollars in it.
“We’re going to look into every possibility,” I said, thanking her and asking her to send in Hank Junior.
He walked into the room and looked around like he expected to be jumped by invisible assailants. His eyes darted back and forth, and his hands never stopped moving. When he sat down, he just perched on the edge of the chair. I was still amazed at how much he looked like his father, though a much harder version. During my more than two years on patrol I got to where I could spot an addict, and Hank certainly had that lean and hungry look.
“You’re nervous,” I stated, trying to sound more sympathetic than adversarial.
“Let’s cut the BS. You know that I’ve been in trouble for drinking and fighting.” He paused, finding the next hard to admit. “And for possession.” I could have added check and prescription fraud.
“Yes, and you can give me a little credit for knowing that a man who has gotten into trouble for being an addict and a dumbass isn’t necessarily a killer, especially one that would kill his own father. As far as I’m concerned, you are no more a suspect than your brother or your sisters.” The last was a bit of a white lie.
He looked down at his hands. “What you don’t know is that I’ve been sober for fifty-three days. Not much, I know. But I was sober for four months before that. I’ve been trying. Dad and I were getting along better than we have in… hell, decades.”
“Good for you,” I said and meant it. “But you understand that I still have to ask you some questions.”
He nodded, still looking down at his hands. “I want you to punish the man that killed him. I really do. And to answer your first question, I was in the garage—well, my room above the garage—asleep this morning until about nine o’clock. Dad didn’t really understand, but my sponsor told me that if I could sleep, really sleep, it was a good sign and I should embrace it. Being able to sleep means I’m learning to live with who I was and what I’ve done in the past.”
“Can anyone vouch for you?”
Hank sighed. “Maybe Dad’s housekeeper. Maria something… her last name is unpronounceable. But the kitchen and laundry room are in the back, and she spends most of her time there before ten in the morning. Usually when I come down she shouts good morning to me.”
“Did Maria see you come down this morning?”
“Maybe… I think so…”
I made a note to ask her about it when we questioned the employees, but he
was right; if she wasn’t sitting there all morning staring at the garage he could have left and come back without her seeing him. Hank seemed like he was being honest, but addicts are great liars. Most of them start practicing as soon as they start drinking or taking drugs.
“Who inherits your father’s property?” I asked. I believed Joe, but I was curious what Hank would say.
“Joe gets the majority—the farm and the main house—and then Marge and Jane get a share. Dad also put money in a trust for me. Marge is in charge of that,” Hank said sheepishly. “You can ask all of them. Dad and I talked about it, and we both agreed that I shouldn’t have direct control of the money. Ten years ago, I would have been royally pissed about that. Sober, I have enough sense to know that my dark side can’t be trusted. I’m better off if temptation is kept at arm’s length.”
We finished up and, after making a few notes, I followed him out into the hall. I got started on the employees while Darlene finished up with Jane. Almost all of the employees could provide alibis for the others. The few that had only partial alibis seemed very unlikely suspects.
Darlene helped with the last of the employees, then we took a short break to compare notes on the family before we headed back to the crime scene. I filled her in on Hank’s problems, the inheritance and the fact that all of the family reportedly could drive a backhoe.
“What’d you come up with?” I asked her.
“Clive’s a nice guy, Andrew’s a jerk and Jane’s a piece of work,” Darlene said succinctly. “And they all agreed that no one in the world could have wanted to kill Mr. Hank Parrish Senior. Interestingly, Jane didn’t mention a rogue boyfriend.”
“The incident happened a long time ago and maybe she didn’t think her boyfriend was serious. She would have known the guy better than any of the others.”