by BV Lawson
Rebbeck started coughing again. He took another sip of syrup and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Drayco stood up as a cue to Reece. “That’s it for now, Mr. Rebbeck. Sorry to have bothered you. And thanks for your patience.”
“It’s not like I have anything else to do except count the lines in the wood planks on the floor. One thousand thirty-three so far.”
Drayco and Reece headed to the car. From the driveway, you could see a piece of the ocean between the other houses and overgrown scrub. Tantalizingly close, but no direct access.
Reece leaned on the Starfire, his newest Lucy-approved Hawaiian shirt matching the blue of the car. “So Cole was an explosives expert. And Freaky was so miffed at Cole for the defective bomb doohickey, he blamed Cole for his burns.”
When Drayco didn’t reply, Reece squinted at him through the hot sun. “I’m not feeling a lot of love for that theory.”
“And take it out on Virginia twenty years later? That’s a long time to hold a grudge. Cole hadn’t yet married Lucy, and Virginia wasn’t born.”
“I suppose.”
“It means Freaky lied when he told me he didn’t know Cole.”
“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, etc., etc.”
Drayco climbed into the car. “I hope the AC hangs in there. It’s going to be over a hundred today.”
Reece joined him and positioned his face in front of the vent’s cold air. “And I hope Ray Rebbeck in there can survive this heat. Had no idea he was in such bad shape. I went through a phase like that after I lost a job when my meals consisted of ketchup packets glommed from fast-food joints.”
Reece leaned back to hold his hands in the air stream. “Gallivan’s Grocery is having a big summer sale. Lots of things that aren’t cat food.”
Drayco took several bills out of his wallet. “Here. Buy him some more of that cough syrup, too.”
47
Drayco drove back to the Crab for some additional online research and found Maida and Lucy having lunch. He stopped by to say hello, but his cellphone’s ringing startled him again—though the phone did work better here than most places on the shore. He listened to the voice on the other end, added an “I see,” then hung up.
No good way to say it, so he was blunt. “They’ve arrested Barry Farland for Beth’s murder and Virginia’s attempted murder.” He wasn’t surprised by the sheriff’s news, just disappointed.
Maida and Lucy sat very still at the table. Maida’s homemade soup and cornbread lay forgotten before them, as they fixed their eyes on Drayco. Maida tapped her foot. “Surely Sheriff Sailor’s got it wrong this time. What possible evidence is there?”
“For starters, there’s the tampering with both Arnold’s and Beth’s cars. Easy for a mechanic to do. Barry doesn’t have any alibis for Beth’s or Arnold’s murder or for the first attack on Virginia. And he was seen at the waterfront festival Wednesday.”
Maida gathered up the plates still half-filled with food. “There are dozens of people who could have tampered with those cars. What about fingerprints?”
“No fingerprints, likely gloves were used. You’re right about car experts, but there are other factors. The most troubling being Beth’s Will. With Beth out of the way, Barry stands to inherit a quarter of a million. If Virginia is taken out of the picture, then he’ll get over a half million.”
“How can the sheriff be sure Barry knew about that Will?”
“Beth might have told him, she might not. The possibility exists.”
“You said other factors, plural.”
“When the EMTs found Beth, she had the strong odor of gin on her clothing. The day of her murder, Barry purchased some alcohol from the Fiddler’s Green Tavern, including some beer and gin.”
Maida stopped scraping the food off the dishes. “Well ... a lot of people buy alcohol from the Tavern. Barry’s your typical twenty-two-year-old. He likes to drink.”
“The sheriff had his deputies re-fingerprint Beth’s house. They found some new prints from people who had a legitimate reason to be there, like Trenton Sterling. And then there were Barry’s fresh prints.”
“Perhaps he was looking for something he left there. There must be a simple explanation.”
“That’s one of the things I’ll ask when I see him. Another thing—he wasn’t at Beth’s funeral. He could have been the person who broke into Beth’s and Lucy’s houses during the service.”
Virginia barreled in from the hallway, her bright smile changing to alarm upon seeing her mother’s face. “What’s the matter?” She looked from Lucy to Maida to Drayco.
Lucy’s bottom lip quivered, as she said, “Barry’s been arrested, I’m afraid. For Beth’s murder.” Lucy paused. “And for the attacks on you.”
Virginia rolled up not to her mother, but to Drayco. “You don’t believe it’s true, do you?” Not so much a question as a command for him to agree. Her eyes focused on him like an accusing laser beam as if he was the one to slap on the handcuffs.
Drayco lowered his voice, to make it sound more reassuring. “I’m going to talk to Barry as soon as I can.”
Virginia’s shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Beth was like his mother. And I’m like his sister. People don’t go around killing their mothers and sisters for no good reason.”
Drayco glanced at Lucy, who shook her head. She hadn’t filled Virginia in on the contents of the Will. “I promise I’ll do what I can. If Barry is innocent, no one wants to see him freed more than I.”
“If Barry is guilty, that means Mom is off the hook, doesn’t it?” Her expression was one of abject misery.
Drayco said gently, “Virginia, I don’t think Barry or your mother is guilty of any crime, and I intend to prove it. So cheer up.”
Virginia started chewing on a lock of her hair so hard, Drayco was afraid she’d pull off a clump. She mused to no one in particular, “I hope they’ll let him enter his painting in the regional competition. It’s one of his best.”
Lucy said, “What’s the subject, dear?”
“It’s a painting of Beth. On a beach with driftwood and a sunset.”
Lucy glanced at Drayco, but he couldn’t force a smile he didn’t feel. Watching Virginia as she sat in her wheelchair with a sullen expression on her face, he tried to imagine what effect this added shock would have on the twelve-year-old’s battered psyche. Hammered by her disability, the deaths of her father and Beth, the attacks on her, and now the arrest of her closest friend who was like a brother to her. No need to mention Beth’s ledger and the stillborn twin she hadn’t learned about yet.
The gathering storm clouds inside the house were in stark contrast to the relentlessly bright sun out the window. The irony of the beautiful clear skies prolonging the drought and parched soil by yet another day wasn’t lost on him.
Nor was the irony of his initial purpose in Cape Unity, namely, finding a simple tie-in to the murdered brother of his D.C. client. Instead, it had morphed into a multi-headed hydra of innocence denied and families torn apart by their excesses. A good cleansing rain, the kind that soaked the deepest roots, would do them all some good.
PART FOUR
A child is sleeping:
An old man gone.
O, father forsaken,
Forgive your son!
—From the song “Ecce Puer,” poetry by James Joyce,
music by David Del Tredici
Monday 20 July
Freaky Farland had begged Drayco on the phone to come see him. Drayco considered checking on the man yesterday to see how he was holding up but instead had to drive up to D.C. for quick meetings with his client, Matthew Laessig, and Detective Zeke Skiles. Skiles was so ecstatic to have wrapped up the wheelchair murders case, he didn’t even mind working on a Sunday.
That meant Freaky had an intervening day to worry about his son. And now that Drayco was facing Freaky one-on-one early on this humid Monday morning, there were no signs of the facial tics or the man lost in shadows from Drayco’s
last visit. He looked as ready to pounce on Drayco as Shoggoth on a mouse. “I want to confess,” he said.
“Confess?”
“I’m the one who should be in jail, not my son. I killed Beth and Arnold Sterling, and I tried to kill Virginia.”
Shoggoth kept his distance this time as if accusing Drayco of Barry’s absence. Drayco said, “Okay, so you killed the Sterlings. Why?”
“I hated Arnold because I loved Beth. And Beth, well, she rejected me. And there was that money Beth was paying me. It was pity money for my accident. And I despised her for it.”
This was the third version Freaky had provided for the reason behind Beth’s payments and the least convincing yet. “So why target Virginia, Mr. Farland?”
“The money, the Will. Barry didn’t know, but I did. Beth told me years ago.”
“Did you know how much money was involved?”
“A bundle. She won the lottery.”
“How would you define a bundle?”
Freaky hesitated. “I don’t know the details. Five to ten million, give or take.”
For a man with a violent rap sheet, Freaky was a lousy liar. He quickly recovered from his hesitation and volunteered, “And I was the one who Barry bought the alcohol for that day. Barry doesn’t drink, but I do.”
“So where did you buy the beer?”
Freaky waved his hand in the air but didn’t correct Drayco about the beer being gin. “I don’t remember, some place up in Maryland.”
“You were at the celebration when Virginia was pushed into the bay. Is that why you went?”
“Why else? Everyone knows I don’t get out much.”
“So where did you get the cherry bombs?”
Freaky wrinkled his forehead. Then, as he realized what Drayco was asking, he replied, “I bought them. At one of those roadside fireworks stands.”
“Which one? I’m sure the sheriff would love to get his hands on the owner of that stand.”
Despite Freaky’s first-hand experience with a pipe bomb, it was obvious he was not an explosives expert. He didn’t know cherry bombs were illegal in the state, and no roadside stand would sell them. He also didn’t correct Drayco over the cherry bombs used at the waterfront being M80 firecrackers.
Freaky said, “That stand is gone. One of those temporary things for the Fourth.”
“Mr. Farland, you once told me you didn’t know Cole Harston. Until after you met Virginia. What about the pipe bomb he made for you, the one you used on Arnold Sterling?”
Freaky was at a loss for words. He looked to Shoggoth as if pleading for guidance. The cat merely closed its eyes. “Okay, I lied to you, I admit. It was to protect Lucy and Virginia. Wasn’t anything they had to know.”
The first glimmer of truth. “Why did Cole help you in the first place?”
“Told him I wanted to learn how to rig explosives like him. So I could get a job in construction. He showed me how to make a pipe bomb.”
“And the real reason you wanted the device?”
Farland chewed the inside of his cheek. He reached for a glass of water, but his hand shook. He snatched it back and folded both hands together. “I didn’t intend to kill Arnold. Guess I knew in the back of my mind it could happen. If the bomb went off at the right moment, it would just mess him up. And Beth wouldn’t love him anymore.”
“You mean, disfigure him?”
Freaky nodded. Drayco couldn’t begin to imagine what it was like for Freaky to look at himself in the mirror each day since, seeing the very face staring back at him he hoped Arnold would have. And now—no wife, no Beth, and not much of a life.
Best not to dwell on this truthful confession but work around to the false one. “So your knowledge of cars came in handy in rigging Arnold’s and Beth’s accidents?”
“Sure, I’m the one who taught Barry about cars.”
“Can you tell me exactly how you did it?”
Farland folded his arms across his chest. “The sheriff has the details. He could tell you.”
So Barry actually hadn’t told his father what he discovered about both cars. “Mr. Farland, I know you’re upset over Barry’s arrest. I am too. Offering yourself up as a sacrificial lamb isn’t going to help matters and could make things worse. Nothing is certain in life, but I’ll do my best to prove Barry didn’t commit those crimes.”
All the tension Freaky was storing in his body deflated like a punctured tire. “I don’t have a lot of money, Mr. Drayco. But I want to hire you. Officially. To prove Barry didn’t do it.”
“That might be tricky since I’m working for Lucy and Virginia Harston. If it turns out Barry is involved ...”
“He wasn’t.” Freaky pulled out his wallet and peeked into it. Only a few small bills. “I’ll write you a check,” Freaky said.
Drayco reached over and pulled out a one dollar bill. “Legal tender has now exchanged hands. You are officially a client, and I’ll do what I can to free Barry. When I leave here, I’ll go talk to him at the jail.” Right after a little trip to Haffey’s Auto Body shop.
As Drayco got up to leave, Shoggoth hopped off his perch and rubbed around Drayco’s ankles. That beast had an uncanny way of acting like he knew what was going on.
49
Nelia walked Drayco to a small room with a long window facing the hallway. “Two-way mirror?” he asked.
“Yep.”
This was a different interview room from the last time he was here. The interior was ultra police-chic spartan, with a table, four chairs, and four beige walls. No government-issued potted plants or generic landscape paintings. An opposite door in the back of the room opened, and another deputy ushered in Barry, attired in an orange jumpsuit and handcuffs.
Drayco looked at the cuffs, then Nelia. “Is that necessary?”
“It’s department policy.”
“When does he go before a judge?”
“Tomorrow.”
“What are the chances of pretrial release?”
“Fifty-fifty. Depends on whether Judge Wilson thinks Barry’s a flight risk. Bail could be steep for Freaky. Especially after hiring you.” Nelia smiled, her cheeks forming a dimple. “What did you charge him, lunch money?”
Drayco ignored her. “Freaky will put up the house as a property bond if he has to. So am I persona non grata with Sailor since I’m trying to prove he’s wrong about Barry?”
“I think secretly he’s rooting for you. He didn’t take any joy in arresting Barry, but the evidence is stiff. Speaking of the sheriff, he wants to talk to you before you leave.” She ushered Drayco into the room. “You have thirty minutes with Barry.”
Barry didn’t look at Drayco, setting his cuffed hands on the table with a loud “thunk.” He had dark circles and probably hadn’t slept much. They took away the wristband and skull earring when he was booked, and the only accessory he wore now was a frown. His demeanor was like Shoggoth’s when Drayco arrived earlier in the day.
Drayco started the conversation. “Your father hired me to prove your innocence.”
Barry’s eyes widened. “He doesn’t have that kind of cash.” His voice turned bitter. “Unless he’s borrowing off that Will money.”
“Did you know about the Will, Barry?”
Barry shook his head so hard he looked like a rag doll in a terrier’s jaws. “Beth never said a thing. To me or Dad.”
“Your father claims he knew, and he’s the one who killed Beth. And almost killed Virginia.”
“He’s saying that to protect me.” Barry scanned Drayco’s face. “You know that, don’t you?”
Drayco smiled. “I know he cares about you. And you, him. But I don’t know why you weren’t at Beth’s funeral. I asked your boss, and he said he would have let you have a few hours off if you’d asked. But you didn’t ask.”
“I hate funerals. That dead body up there like one of those wax museum dummies. And there’s a lot of people crying and saying things they don’t mean. And bad music.”
Drayco grinned. “
I agree with you there. Especially about the music. Okay, on to another sticking point, why did you buy gin the day Beth died?”
Barry bit his lip. “I bought it for someone else. I don’t want to say who because it may cause trouble. Big trouble. If you really have to know, I’ll check with ’em first, but if you don’t—”
“I can’t make those types of promises.”
“I’d like to wait as long as I can.”
“Right now you fit the suspect formula perfectly. You have potential motive with the Will, opportunity since you have no alibi and bought the gin, and your automotive skills.”
Barry rubbed a hand through his spiked hair. “Guess the whole Goth look brings out the prejudice, too, doesn’t it?”
Drayco hadn’t pressed the sheriff on that, but it crossed his mind. “You can’t convict someone for murder because they like to dress in black. Hell, I like to wear black.” Drayco indicated his black slacks and black short-sleeve shirt.
Barry smiled for the first time. “You could be an honorary member of the Goth culture.”
“Whatever that is. Seems like it means different things to different people. What does it mean for you?”
“I’m not into that dark shit. Vampires, Satanism, whatever. What I don’t get is the other things so-called normal kids get off on. Football, making sure you wear the right jeans. You know the type. Straight-laced and squeaky-clean in front of the adults, doing drugs and sex behind their backs. If you listen to Goth music, it’s all tolerance and pacifism. Not violence. And no murder.”
Drayco knew a thing or two about not fitting the traditional teenage mold. It hadn’t bothered him, so immersed in his own music there was no time to worry about anything else. Drayco’s Bach was different from Barry’s Bauhaus band, but both provided a welcome haven.
“I understand. More than you know. What I don’t understand is what possessed you to break into Beth’s house.”