A Day for Bones, page 14
Not to mention that Chuck Ferring knew where his grandfather had surfaced.
Detective Holly Ross threw herself into her assignment. First order of business was a review of the case file on the shooting of Art Ferring’s horse on December eighth, 1992. She got a mug of coffee, pulled the file up on her computer, and read it in detail, twice. There wasn’t much. Ferring owned a large home and a modest stable of four horses west of Glenelg off Triadelphia Road where he lived with his wife Cassie, their son Doug, who was a senior in high school, and when she wasn’t away at college, their daughter Carol. Ferring’s favorite horse, a bay named Benjamin, had been a gift from his father on his twenty-fifth birthday. Ferring had been at work and the kids at their respective schools when Cassie heard gunshots and called the police. She gave a minimalist statement and left her husband to do most of the talking even though he hadn’t been there at the time of the incident. That seemed curious. Ross jotted it down on a legal pad.
Peller had passed along a new tidbit from Jack Collins: the horse had been killed on Ferring’s forty-fifth birthday. The file contained no mention of that detail. Probably Ferring hadn’t volunteered it, which Ross thought odd. Surely the man would have found it significant and said something? She made a note of that, too.
Benjamin had been out to pasture on the north side of the property near a stand of woods where a hunter might have been prowling, but Ross didn’t like it. Consulting a map, she found those woods long and narrow with a cluster of homes on the far side. Nobody should have been hunting there. It was part of Ferring’s property and posted no hunting. Another note on the legal pad.
The manner of the killing also bothered Ross. Benjamin had been shot by a thirty-caliber rifle, a popular weapon for deer hunting. He had been struck three times, not with incredible precision but enough to do him in. A hunter would have tried to kill with one shot and dispatched the animal with a second if the first wasn’t clean. Ross wrote it down.
Then-detective Terrence Vickeridge had recorded the facts but didn’t go out on a limb. It was easy to conclude the shooting had been an accident, and anyway the victim was only a horse. The only possible crimes were trespassing and property damage, and Ferring hadn’t pressed for any other conclusion. He suggested neither suspects nor motives. A search of the woods turned up nothing by way of footprints, torn clothing, or spent casings. At the end of the day, Vickeridge probably had no choice but to call it accidental. So, one final note on the legal pad.
The anomalies suggested somebody wasn’t being entirely truthful, but who? Art Ferring? Terrence Vickeridge? Ross couldn’t go to Vickeridge; Sergeant Montufar had warned her off that route. Collins had recently visited Art Ferring, so she didn’t think it prudent to approach him immediately. Given the circumstances, the best person to interview was the all but forgotten woman, Cassie Ferring.
Ross dug up her address and phone number, then placed a call to a detective on the Frederick City police force, Sam Kohler. Ross and Kohler had dated briefly in high school. Although they hadn’t quite clicked, they remained friends ever since. Living in different counties now, they maintained occasional, semi-professional contact.
“I need a favor,” she told him.
“So long as it doesn’t cost me anything,”
“We’re investigating a family situation, and part of the family lives in your jurisdiction.”
“Making an arrest?”
“Just talking.”
“About what?”
“It’s an old case,” Ross said. “Fourteen years old. A horse belonging to the family was shot and killed. It was probably an accident, but something doesn’t add up. I want to double-check a few details.”
She could almost see the sparkle in Kohler’s eyes when he said, “This must be an excuse to visit me, right?”
“If I needed an excuse, I’d think up a better one than that, Sam.”
Kohler laughed. “I hope so. Which I guess means the horse thing is real.”
“Very real.”
“Okay, no problem. I’ll clear it for you. You want an escort, for old times’ sake?”
“That would be great. If it’s not too soon, I can be there in an hour.”
“Perfect. And after, I’ll buy you lunch.”
“That’ll cost you,” she reminded him
“Damn,” Kohler quipped. “Stuck with the bill again.”
Art and Cassie Ferring owned a three-quarters of a million-dollar home northeast of Frederick, where civilization abutted the Blue Ridge of the Appalachians and the surrounding forest absorbed the noise. Sam Kohler called ahead to let Mrs. Ferring know they were coming and verified that her husband would be at work.
“He’s the last person I want to talk to,” Holly Ross explained as they drove north on U.S. 15. “A reporter of our acquaintance already visited him. It didn’t go well.”
“A reporter.” Kohler kept his eyes on the road but couldn’t disguise his disbelief.
“Not my fault. He came to us. Plus, he’s dating my Sergeant’s sister.”
Kohler shook his head. “If you want a transfer, one of our guys is retiring in six months. I can put in a good word for you.” Clear of the city, he exited the highway and took a country road westward.
Ross watched the green and golden pastures and fields passing by. Probably Kohler was joking, but it didn’t sound like it. He only had two voices, one all business and one lighthearted. This time, he straddled the line. “I’ll let you know once the case is put to bed. These people are practically living legends in our department. I suppose they know what they’re doing.”
“They say it’s a fine line between genius and madness. So what’s the story on the horse?”
Ross gave him the twenty-thousand-foot overview of the Ferrings and what she’d picked out of the investigation report on the shooting. “The timing is the weirdest thing,” she said. “Ferring’s reticence is second. And it’s not just him, it’s the whole family. A skeleton washes out of a basement, and they shrug their shoulders. Their gun shop is vandalized over and over, and they act like it’s no big deal. How can anyone have that big a target painted on them and not know it?”
“I gather denial isn’t the going theory.”
“They’re hiding something for sure.”
They passed horse and crop farms, produce stands and woods, all dotted by clusters of houses. The line of the Blue Ridge lurked behind everything.
“You think Cassie Ferring knows?” Kohler asked.
“I think she knows something. Maybe not everything, but something.”
“Why?”
“Because her husband didn’t let her talk.”
Kohler flashed a lopsided grin. “According to most wives, most husbands don’t.”
“Is that what Mary says about you?” Kohler and his wife Mary had celebrated their first anniversary three months before. Ross had met the lady only once and found her pleasant enough, although she had to admit to a surprising twinge of jealousy.
He smiled at the road. “Not yet, but guys more experienced than I say it’s only a matter of time.”
They arrived at the Ferring home and drove up a long, sloping driveway that led to a four-car garage to the left, at the south end of the house. White with black faux shutters flanking every window, it had a strangely unpretentious look, its size notwithstanding. The mountains loomed behind, no more than half a mile distant. Parking, they approached the door to find Cassie Ferring waiting for them in black jeans and a dark green blouse, her thin, gray hair hanging loose just above her shoulders. She might have been a country grandmother but for the incongruity of the almost-mansion.
After introductions, she led them inside to a sitting room where wingback chairs and a floral sofa huddled around a cherry coffee table. A vase of white and yellow roses sat on the table, and family pictures hung on the walls.
“Coffee, tea, anything?” she asked.
“No thank you,” Ross replied. Kohler put up a hand to signal he was good.
Cassie settled herself in her chair and cocked her head. She might have been waiting for a child to explain a broken china plate.
“Detective Kohler mentioned I’m from Howard County?” Ross asked.
“He did. Which means it must be about Benjamin, although I can’t understand why you’d want to talk about that all these years later. In fact, I don’t remember you at all.”
“I wasn’t involved in the investigation. It was a little before my time.”
Cassie arched her eyebrows.
“We junior detectives get to clean up old files,” Ross said.
“What’s to clean up? It was an accident.”
“A few questions never got answered, or even asked. Mostly routine stuff.”
“Then you should talk to my husband. It was his horse.”
Ross leaned forward, her face expressionless. “You reported the incident.”
After a moment of silence, Cassie nodded. “I did, but I only heard the gunshots and saw Benjamin on the ground. I don’t know anything else.”
“You didn’t go out?”
“I know a gunshot when I hear it. I didn’t see anybody, but they could have been back in the woods, waiting. I wasn’t about to go out there.”
“Benjamin was a birthday present, wasn’t he?”
“That’s right. Art’s father gave him the horse on his twenty-fifth birthday.” Cassie smiled to herself. “He was so surprised. We were dating at the time. We went straight out and spent the rest of the day riding.”
Ross waited, but Cassie didn’t volunteer the rest of it. “Strange, wasn’t it, that Benjamin was killed on your husband’s birthday?”
Cassie clasped her hands in her lap and frowned but didn’t answer.
“Stranger still that nobody, not even your husband, mentioned the fact.”
“He was in shock. He was very fond of Benjamin. It was like losing a family member.”
“But you might have mentioned it. Why didn’t Mr. Ferring want you talking to the police?”
Cassie looked out the window. “What does that mean?”
“The investigator spoke with you once, according to the report. After that, he only spoke with your husband, even when reviewing your statement.”
“Art knew everything I told the police. There was no need to talk to me again.”
Which was deflection, but Ross let it go. “What do you think happened, Mrs. Ferring?”
“It was ruled an accident.”
“I didn’t ask what it was ruled. I asked what you think.”
“I don’t like what you’re insinuating.”
Ross raised her eyebrows. “I don’t care whether you like it or not. I want your answer.”
“I have nothing to say,” Cassie snapped. “So you can leave now.”
Kohler put up a hand. “Let’s take a breath here. Ma’am, Detective Ross is only trying to tie up a few loose ends. She’s not accusing you or your husband of anything. You have to admit, it’s one crazy coincidence, a horse given to your husband as a birthday present also being killed on his birthday. Wouldn’t you say?”
Cassie flexed her fingers and refolded her hands in her lap. “I suppose. But so what?”
“If the original investigator had known about it, he might not have been so quick to call the shooting an accident. He might have dug a little further. But as it is, it could look like somebody didn’t want him digging. You see?”
She didn’t answer, so Ross retook control “Why didn’t Mr. Ferring want it mentioned?”
“It’s nothing,” Cassie all but whispered. “Family business, nothing to do with the law. I probably shouldn’t even have called, but I heard the gunshots and saw Benjamin on the ground, and I was afraid …” She put a hand to her forehead and closed her eyes.
“Afraid of what?” Kohler asked gently. “That someone meant to hurt you or your husband?”
“Of course not.” Recomposing herself, Cassie met Ross’ eyes. “Whatever you’re fishing for, it doesn’t exist. Benjamin was shot by a stupid hunter who couldn’t tell the difference between a deer and a horse.” She rose. “I’m sorry you wasted your time coming all the way out here, but I have nothing else to say. And I have things that need doing.”
Ross wanted to press further, but Kohler stood and with a subtle waggle of his fingers motioned her to follow suit. “All right,” she said. “Thank you for your time, Mrs. Ferring.” She handed the other woman a business card. “If you happen to change your mind about telling the truth, here’s my card.”
Seething, Cassie escorted them to the front door and slammed it behind them. Once they were back in his car, Kohler laughed. “That wasn’t your smartest parting shot, Holly.”
“Maybe not, but she’s on notice now. Something might come of it.”
“Like a complaint to your superiors?” He started the car and backed down the drive.
“This is my first real chance to prove myself,” Ross said. “I’m going for the win.”
“It could be your last, if you’re not careful.”
She grinned at him. “Nah. I know a guy who’ll put in a good word for me with another department.”
Forty-five minutes after the cops left, Cassie hadn’t calmed down. She retreated to the kitchen for a splash of red wine and tapped a contact on her cell phone. When the other party answered, she said, “I screwed up.”
“You sound horrible,” Denise Ferring told her. “What happened?”
“The Howard County cops sent some young lady detective out here to ask about Benjamin.”
“What? Why?”
“I don’t know. But I got rattled and…” She leaned on the counter and choked back a sob. “Art’s going to kill me.”
“Does he know they were there?”
“No.”
“So don’t tell him.”
“Why did they come here, Denise? After all this time!”
Denise didn’t answer at once. Cassie gulped down another swallow and tried to think, but her mind only had room for fear.
“It’s nothing to do with you. We had a little trouble here after the flood, and now the cops are grasping at straws, trying to make something of it.”
“What kind of trouble?”
“Nothing important, and certainly nothing you need to worry about. You and Art have a good thing going out there. A great business, a beautiful home, peace and quiet. Focus on that. Forget everything else. It was never your problem, anyway.”
Cassie took a few deep breaths. “You’re sure it’s okay?”
“Absolutely. Nothing’s going to come of it, and if something does, Jim will take care of it. You and Art will be fine.”
They would be fine. She set down her glass and told herself that three times. “Thank you, Denise.”
“No problem. We should get together sometime soon. It’s been too long.”
“Maybe you and Jim could come out for a weekend sometime.”
They agreed that would be wonderful and promised each other it would happen without setting a date, and after they hung up, Cassie‘s calm gradually returned and she put detectives from her mind.
Chapter 13
Theresa Swan called Peller’s cell phone just after noon. “Bad news and good news,” she said.
He was just out the door in search of lunch and didn’t break stride. “No DNA sample,” he guessed. “What’s the good news?”
“Andrew Hunt knows he’s family. He about jumped out of his skin when I mentioned Chuck’s grandfather. Better yet, Chuck guessed the bones washed out from under the bakery before I said so.”
That brought Peller up short. “Really.”
“Yep.”
“Did he say how he knew?”
“No. He claims his father told him granddad ran off to the Rockies. He suggested we ask his father or Ruth Vickeridge for the DNA sample.”
“Ruth’s out of bounds for now.” Peller mentally reviewed the family tree. “Chuck’s father is Andrew Ferring.”
“Another Andrew,” Swan said.
“Yeah. I think he’s in his sixties. See if you can find him.”
“I’ll get on it. Anything else?”
“No, just fill in Corina when you get back.” He pondered for a moment. Ferring wouldn’t admit to anything, but Andrew Hunt might be another story, if pressed. Peller already knew he was a Ferring and they had him on video opening the door. “I’ll pay The Lodge one last visit and make myself even more unpopular,” he decided.
Swan said nothing, not even to wish him luck.
“Something else?” Peller prompted.
“So…no, nothing. I’ll let you know about Andrew Ferring.”
Something, clearly. Peller didn’t push, but he could guess. Swan and Ross both had a lot invested in this case. It was their first real chance to show the powers that be what they could do. “Don’t worry about the DNA test,” he said. “We can do without Chuck. There are other options.”
Swan replied with a muted, “Yes, sir.”
Peller drove to a nearby deli and got a foot-long roast beef sub, fully loaded. He ate in his car with the radio tuned to the local classical station, which was playing some baroque piece he didn’t recognize. That was fine. He wasn’t listening anyway. He pondered how Chuck Ferring knew about his grandfather’s remains. Not from the news. Information on the source of the bones had been withheld. Ergo, Ferring had prior knowledge, or at least suspicions. Were the attacks on his business reminders to keep his mouth shut? Punishments for failing to do so?
Peller recalled the note left by the thieves: Your life will be destroyed. Your means will be taken from you. Your weapons will turn against you. Those you wronged will be avenged. The end has begun.
