by Doc Macomber
“Sir, where are your son and daughter-in-law now?”
“My boy’s out of control again. I got him locked up until he sobers up. No telling what kind of trouble he’d get into in his condition. Better I lock him up before the law does. Don’t you think, Deputy?”
“How did you find him when nobody else could?” Colefield asked.
“He drove straight here with Penny.”
Costa broke in. “And you didn’t think to tell me this when we were at the ME’s last night?”
“It was an overwhelming day.”
“We’ve expended hundreds of man hours and thousands of dollars chasing shadows, while the entire family was with you the whole time.”
“My apologies. As I said, I’ve had a lot on my mind these past couple of days.”
“Where is Dave now?”
“Behind you in that red barn over there.”
“There’s a warrant out for his arrest.”
“On what charges?”
“Assault.”
“All that’s been taken care of.”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“I straightened it all out.”
“Where is Anita?” Costa asked. “I’ll need to confirm that she is not pressing charges.”
Scarbough turned and pointed back at the house to an upstairs window on the east-facing side. “My daughter-in-law is inside the house. She’s just been examined by a doctor who lives on the island. Apparently, the poor child is suffering panic attacks and is very dehydrated and depressed. She needs bed rest for a few days. She’s been given a sedative to allow her to sleep.”
“What about your granddaughter, Penny?” Colefield asked.
“Afraid I was not as successful with her. She’s run off again. I don’t know where she is.”
“Did your son hurt her?”
“No, sir. Not to my knowledge. She looked fine last time I saw her.”
“When was that?”
Scarbough thought it over. “Late yesterday.”
Colefield looked at the boy. “What do you know about Penny?”
“She ran off while grandfather was helping Agent Costa.”
“Do you know where your sister is, Jeb?”
“No, sir.”
Colefield turned and looked back at Scarbough.
“You told Jeb about his stepbrother?”
Scarbough nodded.
“So you were at the house with Timmy on Wednesday?” Colefield asked the boy.
“His grandparents dumped him off that night on their way to Reno. We hung out. We got our hunting gear together because on Thursday we thought dad was supposed to take us hunting. But he never showed. And I didn’t see him again until he turned up yesterday with Penny.”
Colefield looked at Scarbough and then at the boy, thinking. The story sounded rehearsed.
“How do you think your stepbrother ended up dead?” Costa asked.
Scarbough interrupted. “The boy’s answered your questions, Agent Costa. Go easy on him now. As I understand it, you’ve been asking some pretty tough questions of my granddaughter, too. You managed to turn her against her father and that’s not proper. She’s just a child. She doesn’t need to be hauled down to a tavern to identify her drunken daddy or be escorted to a police station to identify a corpse. It’s a very confusing time in her life. She needs looking out for, just as her older brother here does.”
Colefield began fuming under the collar. “Sir, where is the girl? I need to be assured she is safe.”
“As I said, Penny ran off. I have several people on the island looking for her. They’re quite capable of locating Penny if she’s still in the area. And, as I also said, her stepmother is safe. Just as soon as my son is well enough, the family will be reunited and this whole matter can be cleared up.”
Colefield looked at Costa. “Does your son Dave own a fiberglass boat with an outboard?”
“No. That boat was a gift to my grandson here.”
“Do you think the girl took off in it?”
“Why? Is my boat gone?” Jeb asked.
“It is.”
He frowned at Colefield.
Scarbough glanced down toward the dock. “Then you should be looking for her on the river, shouldn’t you?”
“You are interfering with our investigation, sir,” Bart interjected.
“Why young man, that almost sounds like a threat.”
Colefield held up his thumb and index finger making a small gap. “I’m this close to arresting you for obstruction.” Colefield looked him straight in the eye. “Open the barn!”
“You have a warrant?”
“I can get one in less than an hour. We can stand around out here waiting or you can cooperate and we’ll be on our way.”
Scarbough stared him down, his expression stern and unflinching. After a moment his eyes lit up with recognition. “We’ve met before haven’t we, Deputy? You’ve grown into a man, but that insolent timbre in your voice hasn’t changed a bit. You’re that brat who lived on the other side of the island, aren’t you? That kid who kept trespassing on my property and destroying my crops with his motorbike? Good thing your parents had the good sense to move….”
Colefield swallowed and willed his voice to stay neutral. “The barn, sir. We need to look inside it. Now!” He nodded to the deputies, who stepped back and kept an eye on the old farmer. “Agent Costa, will you go check on the daughter-in-law inside the house. Take Bart and Jeb with you.”
“Hey, now!” Scarbough huffed. “Nobody gave you the right to enter my house.”
“Your grandson will escort us. Won’t you, son?”
Jeb looked at his granddaddy for approval.
Scarbough gave in. “All right! All right! Go check for yourself,” he said and then paused. “Jeb, take the dogs and chain them up in the side yard. Deputy Colefield, I’d like you to follow me. Deputy Weaver, you’re free to join us. You won’t need your damned guns, my boy’s not capable of causing any trouble.”
Colefield wondered what that meant.
Chapter 15
As Scarbough unlocked and slid the heavy barn door open, the strong stench of manure wafted out. Colefield’s eyes teared. He wiped them dry and peered inside. Jagged slivers of sunlight wormed in through the rafters and windows, partially blocked by farm machinery. The pole beams were filled with cobwebs. Dried straw strewn about the dirt floor looked like it’d ignite at the faintest spark. As they followed Scarbough inside the ground crunched underfoot.
On one side of the barn three horse stalls stood open. The horses had been released into the pasture for the day but the stalls smelled rank and needed cleaning – fresh piles of manure, empty food and water troughs. On the other side was a large corral that, according to Scarbough, in its day had held a dozen or more prized pigs. A small door in back was boarded over with two-by-fours. Against a far wall, gunny sacks of seed and bales of hay were stacked floor to ceiling. More bales of hay were stacked in the overhead loft.
A groaning sound came from inside the former pig pen. There was a wooden gate that was closed and locked. He’d missed it at first, but as they moved in closer, through the narrow slots he could see that someone was inside. Curled up on a Pendleton blanket on the floor was the same man he’d seen the day before. Same firm jaw, same unshaven face. His coveralls were rolled under his head. He lay in a fetal position shivering and looked to be having a nightmare.
In the corner sat a metal bucket with bright urine in the bottom. A gallon-size coffee can with what looked like drinking water with a metal cup rested on a ledge on the opposite wall.
A heavy chain had been fastened around the man’s right ankle. The chain trailed through the hay on the floor to where it was secured to a heavy metal ring bolted to the wall. There was about six feet of loose chain. The man could move around to a point.
The deputies stepped up to the gate for a closer look.
“He’s still sleeping it off,” Scarbough said.
“You have h
im shackled like an animal. I’m not certain that is even legal.” Deputy Weaver sounded incredulous.
“It is if I have his consent. And I do. This is not the first time we’ve been through this together.”
“I’ll need to speak with him. Wake him up,” Colefield said.
Scarbough didn’t appreciate the Deputy’s harsh tone. He appeared to think about it for a long moment and then took a bucket resting on the floor by a water barrel, dunked it down, pulled it out and carried it over to the gate. He opened the door and went inside, sloshing water along the floor. After he topped off the coffee can – the man’s water supply – he picked up the bucket of urine and carried it back through the gate.
“You ever dumped another man’s urine, Deputy?”
“Are you going to wake him or am I?”
Scarbough walked off.
Colefield had run out of patience. He looked at Weaver and then entered the corral. He stared down at the drunk on the floor and nudged his leg a few times. The man didn’t budge. It took several more kicks but the physical contact seemed to be working. The man stirred awake, flailing his arm out like he was swatting away imaginary bats. He looked angry and dangerous.
“What the hell asshole,” he grumbled, and rolled upright, glaring at his attacker. “Who the hell are you?”
“Where’s the girl?”
“What girl?”
“Penny. The tavern yesterday – you took off with your daughter – is it coming back now?”
The man rubbed his greasy hair.
“I’m waiting, Dave!”
“I don’t know where she is. Where’s my daddy?”
“Dumping your piss. Good job for him. Did you kill your stepson?”
“What are you talking about?”
“He’s dead. Why’d you shoot him?”
“I didn’t shoot him.”
“That’s not what your wife said.”
“My wife is a pain in the ass.”
“You’re a fine pair. Why’d you kill the kid?”
“I didn’t kill him.”
“You went hunting with him on Thursday.”
“I haven’t hunted in weeks.”
“That’s not what your daughter said.”
“She’s a liar. She’s getting back at me.”
“For what?”
“Stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Parent stuff.”
“You’re a model parent all right. Look, we know someone went hunting because we found two dead ducks in your kitchen sink. They didn’t just fly in on their own. Someone had to put them there. Your wife said you shot them. She refused to pluck ‘em and you popped her.”
“She’s a drunk. She makes stuff up.”
“Like the bruises on her face?”
Scarbough returned with the empty bucket in hand. “That’s enough for now, Deputy. My son will cooperate fully when he has his faculties back. Right now, he needs rest. If you don’t allow this, I will have to assume it’s what a lawyer would consider harassment.”
“I’m not through here,” Colefield said. “Where do you keep your shotguns, Dave?”
Dave Scarbough rubbed his eyes and looked confused. “I didn’t kill no kid.”
“You wouldn’t remember if you did.”
“Deputy! That’s enough!” Scarbough snapped.
“Mr. Scarbough, unless your son has an alibi for the day the boy was shot, I’m going to arrest him on suspicion of murder. I’m also going to book him for assault.”
“My son was driving a semi-tractor trailer to Eastern Oregon all week. There’s no way he shot the boy. He’s been making deliveries for the farm.”
The news deflated Deputy Weaver but not Colefield. Someone was lying.
“That right, Dave?”
Dave Scarbough nodded. “I got back home Friday afternoon. Got into it with Anita, who was raving and blind drunk. Then Penny started giving me lip too, so I took off, and ended up at Bert’s Tavern.”
“I’ll need proof you were out of town at the time of the murder.”
Scarbough interrupted. “I’ve got bills of lading, DOT documents, fuel receipts and more. I’ll even supply you with the names of the clients he delivered the farm equipment to if necessary.”
“Oh, at the very least, sir.”
Deputy Weaver questioned the man. “You asked Mr. Scarbough to chain you up?”
The man nodded. “I got an alcohol problem.”
“There are facilities that deal with alcohol dependency issues.”
Mr. Scarbough was losing patience with the deputies. “We’ve tried everything from Witch Hazel to Acupuncture. It runs in the family. I myself had to seek help back in the day. A doctor friend of mine suggested we try this approach. It may seem barbaric to a city boy but it’s a common practice in some countries. After he’s dried out I’ll put him to work again.”
“That what you’re doing for the wife, too? Helping her?”
“Her situation is just as complicated.”
“This mess has ties to you and you’re trying to keep a lid on it. But I assure you, the truth will come out. I need to see those documents now.”
The men entered the kitchen just as the other officers were about to leave. They all stopped and looked at each other. Bart looked bored. The boy looked as if he’d been through this sort of thing a hundred times. Costa put her notebook away.
“You’re wasting your time if you go upstairs. The wife is on heavy sedatives. She’s out. Will be for hours, I presume.”
“No girl?”
“No girl. We checked every room.”
Jeb looked over at his grandfather. “I’m going to take Dad some food.”
“Don’t bother, son. I’ve seen that look before. Give him another hour or so.”
“You finished with the husband?” she asked.
“Just finishing up.”
“Deputy,” he said to Colefield, “Follow me. I have those documents in my office.”
“What documents?” Costa asked.
“He says the father has an alibi.”
“Jeb, take the dogs the leftover bones from last night’s dinner,” Scarbough directed.
Colefield said, “Bart, keep an eye on him.”
As Scarbough led them through the center of the house to get to the office in back, Colefield was surprised by the opulent furnishings. His furniture had buttery leather upholstery and appeared to be made from imported Brazilian hardwoods. He had art on the walls that looked to be authentic Nineteenth Century paintings. Before now the impression he had of Scarbough had not included a house filled with tasteful treasures. Perhaps his wife had been the influence. Colefield couldn’t remember a thing about her.
Standing in his home Colefield had to admit his childhood impressions of the man may have been inaccurate. Could his present impression also be distorted? The line between memory and truth morphed again.
Scarbough seemed to enjoy the look on Colefield’s face as he led them down the hall to an office at the back of the house. The room was set up with a big oak desk in the center. Behind it were large double windows that looked out toward the river. Oak shelving, floor to ceiling, lined the walls. A small library of books, 4H and Scout Master Trophies and Awards lined two shelves. Colefield stopped by the book shelves which housed row upon row of first-edition hardcover books.
Scarbough said. “I just need a moment to pull out the documents from my desk.”
The old man dug through the bottom drawers of his desk until he found what he was looking for. He pulled out a file folder and held it up. “There it is,” he said to Colefield. Costa did not wait for permission. She moved in, took the folder and opened it. Colefield came up from behind and together they studied the documents.
Inside were shipping and trucking documents that corresponded to what Scarbough had told him.
Colefield looked Scarbough in the eye. “OK. So where do you want to go from here?”
“I don’t know if I understand
exactly, Deputy.”
“Your son assaulted his wife and daughter. We can’t overlook this.”
“Have you proof?”
“We saw the bruises on Anita’s face. I witnessed his rough treatment of his daughter.”
“It’s just the drunken talk of a woman who suffers from a bipolar condition and an adolescent who needs discipline in her life. As I understand it she was out of control. Her father did what was necessary at the time.”
“Just like you did with me? You remember that too, don’t you?”
“One has nothing to do with the other. You were trespassing and had been warned several times. I needed to get your attention. And I did.”
“Maybe you needed to get Timmy’s attention the same way.”
“I didn’t shoot Timmy.” Scarbough sighed.
“Colefield,” Costa cut in. “These documents confirm that Dave Scarbough was not in the vicinity on the day of the boy’s death.”
“It’s a little too neat for me.”
Scarbough looked to Agent Costa for rational thinking. “Would Deputy Weaver care to see the documents?”
Weaver stepped up and glanced at the documents, then to Colefield with doubt in his eyes.
“That settles it,” Scarbough announced. “Continue on with your investigation elsewhere. Do you understand, Deputy?”
Before he could answer, Costa grabbed his arm. “Mr. Scarbough. We follow the evidence. I will not be arresting your son today based on your documentation. However, I am taking your grandson, Jeb, downtown for a proper interview. He will be under my personal protection and I have already contacted a representative from Child Welfare Services to meet us. It is our hope that he can shed some light on who might have wanted to harm Timmy. Brothers talk and share things. Based on our discussions with Jeb, we will be in touch. You can count on it. We still need to interview your son and daughter-in-law. I am sure you would want them to help in any way possible. If you attempt to impede this investigation, I will have you arrested on obstruction. Are we clear?”
“Crystal clear, Agent Costa.” Scarbough’s face was stone, his tone deadly.