Beyond Confusion, page 17
“What did you call me?”
“Sweet.” Rob finally cracked up. He chuckled the rest of the way home. Until he saw Beth’s car at the curb.
The sheriff of Latouche County was standing in Meg’s driveway in conversation with Henry Perkins, who waited by the Accord with the keys in his hand but not the garage door opener.
Rob groaned.
“You forgot to call her.”
“For forty-some hours.”
Meg scrabbled in her handbag, found the opener, and dropped down from the pickup. She hadn’t realized it was Beth she wanted, but it was. She gave Henry a smile and handed him the opener. Beth embraced her, somewhat impeded by the casserole she was carrying, and they all went into the house. Meg cried.
~
Beth was too focused on Meg’s grief and on the bizarre snowball fight to ream Rob out over their casserole lunch, and too kind to do it in front of Henry, but she did give Rob a cogent piece of advice. “Call the stepmother.”
So he did. Unfortunately Mrs. Jackman wasn’t home. He left a message.
Comforted by the thought that he was leaving Meg in good hands, he drove Henry back to the courthouse and found Todd waiting in his office with Harley Hoover.
Rob shook hands with both of them and thanked Harley for his timely intervention in the snowball fight. Harley grinned but didn’t say anything. “And please thank the kids, too,” Rob added. “I understand it was your grandmother’s idea. She must know that town inside out.”
Harley’s grin widened. “She doesn’t miss much.”
Todd laughed. “I used to think she knew everything, and I was sure she knew everything I’d done wrong.”
Harley sobered. “That Christian bozo, he threatened to sue me.”
“Tell him to go right ahead. I have the feeling he may be facing a lawsuit himself. Meg took photos of the whole shooting match—so to speak.”
“No kidding. With her cell phone?”
“Yes. She’s ready to swear you just stumbled into Brother Allday when you, er, intervened. I left Meg and the sheriff gloating over Meg’s computer and printing up the best shots.”
“I’ve got to get me one of those phones. Mine takes text messages and plays FreeCell, but that’s about it.”
Rob’s cell phone was a telephone pure and simple, at least he thought it was. Todd took his phone out to show off the latest pictures of his six-month-old daughter. It was all a little too friendly.
Better friendly than hostile. It did not escape Rob’s attention that Harley had undergone a major personality adjustment. He was in high spirits, relaxed and cheerful. There was no shouting.
Todd said that one of Harley’s nephews would drive his Corolla to Trout Farm later on, a minor problem solved.
Harley had already called Jack Redfern again. “He said you wanted to talk to me about Aidan.”
“Jack told me you felt sorry for him.”
Harley nodded, eyes lowered. “Yeah. There was this incident in Iraq.”
Rob held his breath.
“It involved friends of his and an officer. Don’t get me wrong. It was a bad thing. Aidan should have reported it right off, but he was scared. They, the army, booted him out for not reporting, but, Jesus, they were friends, guys he trained with. It really tore him apart.” Harley was almost shouting but not quite. He stopped, as if he’d heard himself, and bit his lip.
Rob wanted to press him for details of the “incident,” though there had to be other ways of getting the information. I’m a lousy detective, he thought, but what if I get what I want and push Harley back into the pit of despair he just climbed out of?
He met Harley’s eyes, which were dark and anxious, sighed, and backed off. “Aidan wanted to stay in the army?”
“Yeah. He’s weird. He thought he was going to be career military. Me, I was relieved to get out. I mean, I feel guilty because of my friends. They’ve still got months to go on that tour in Afghanistan. I got off easy.”
Not so easy. Rob’s throat felt tight.
Harley shivered. “The thing is, I’m glad to be home. Aidan’s not. He can’t figure out what to do with himself.” He flushed, as if he were embarrassed by what he’d just said. “I mean, I’ve been a little confused, too, but Jack and Maddie are helping me, and there’s a lot I can do, isn’t there?”
“I think so.”
“Fishing with Jack. He’s teaching me the river. And I’ve got education benefits. I was thinking maybe law enforcement.” He blinked at Rob. “I mean, Todd likes it.”
“But that’s Todd.”
Todd said, “Hey!”
Harley grinned and rubbed the back of his neck. “You think I could do it?”
Rob cleared his throat and hoped he was not giving false encouragement. “Well, we’re not hiring right now because of the economy, but sooner or later somebody will retire or quit. Take classes at the community college, Harley, see if you like it. Maybe there’s something else, something you’ll like better, who knows? Meanwhile, Todd can keep you up to date about openings in the department. We do have a veterans’ preference.”
“No lie?” Harley looked pleased.
“We do. Now, about Aidan. He came out to the farm to see you, right?”
Harley’s face went blank.
“Before the firebombing incident.” Incident. That word again.
Harley scowled. “That really stinks. He could have hurt Maddie and Jack. Did hurt Jack. Maybe I felt sorry for Aidan, but if he did that...”
“They were there. Both of them. They were seen. And we have a tire print from the motorcycle.”
“Well, it stinks. He should tell that little slut to get lost.” His voice rose toward a shout. Again, he seemed to hear himself. After a pause, he added, quieter, “She’s poison.”
“Do you mean Carla Jackman?” Rob asked, to make sure.
“Yeah, the Jackman woman that was killed, her daughter. You asked me about the biker at the farm. Aidan didn’t come out to see me. Carla did. I told her to fuck off. She’d already done enough damage.”
“At the farm? She admitted the vandalism?”
“No.” Harley frowned. “But I don’t see who else it could’ve been. Her and Aidan moved the furniture out, so they knew where Maddie told Mrs. Jackman to leave the key. After they’d turned the rental van in, they must’ve come back and wrecked the place.”
“Aidan and Carla.”
“Yeah, but you can bet it wasn’t Aidan’s idea. Aidan doesn’t have ideas. He’s just a dumb shit who does what he’s told.”
That fit with what Beth had said to Rob.
Harley went on, “Carla thinks she owns the farm, or her mom does.”
“Did,” Rob corrected. His mind was racing. “Okay, thanks, Harley. That’s very helpful. Let’s go through it again. Try to remember what she said to you at the farm.”
Harley tried. Rob would have to ask Meg and Madeline if either of them had seen anything that might indicate the biker was Carla. Harley was sure of that but vague on details. Unfortunately, Carla’s hair was short and would have been hidden under the helmet, and Meg and Madeline had been upstairs looking down.
Harley did give a lively and detailed account of the snowball fight. When he left with Todd, he was in good humor. Rob was sweating.
He went for a walk—a short one, given the state of the sidewalks—and thought about Harley. He also thought about Carla. When he got back, he called Phyllis Jackman, the stepmother. This time she answered. With her permission, Rob recorded the conversation.
She sounded nervous at first but soon calmed down. She tried but could not remember whether Carla had taken a solo ride on the motorcycle the day Harley said she had visited the farm. Mrs. Jackman might never have known. Carla didn’t live with her father.
On the other hand, Mrs. Jackman verified that Carla could and did drive the motorcycle, because Edwin had been horrified at the idea of his child riding it around the countryside. Carla had apparently been doing so since she got her driver’s license, driver’s ed being one high school class she did well in.
Phyllis Jackman continued to hold to her view of Aidan Pascoe as the source of all evil where Carla was concerned, except for the girl’s underlying hostility to her father’s second family, which Mrs. Jackman laid at Marybeth’s door.
“But Carla didn’t act out until she met that boy.”
“Hmmm,” Rob said.
“I never could figure out her relationship with her mother. Sometimes it seemed as if she hated Marybeth. Other times it was almost as if Carla felt protective.”
“Protective?”
“As if people were persecuting her mother, and it was up to Carla to save her. Nonsense, of course. The whole business about the Trout farmstead had Carla up and down for months. I was relieved when Marybeth decided to drop the lawsuit, and so was Edwin, but it made Carla mad. She said the farm belonged to the Trout family, not to those Indians, and she accused her mother of wimping out. Marybeth was...formidable. Carla always claimed to be defying her, but I’m not sure she did, face to face. Maybe it was just talk. Fern Trout left Marybeth a lot of money, you know.”
Rob waited. He wanted more.
She cleared her throat. “Look, there was never any sign that Marybeth so much as laid a hand on that girl. If she had, Edwin would have sued for custody, but not without proof. Marybeth had a tongue like a laser, and a trick of putting you in the wrong if you disagreed with her. It would have been hard to live with, was hard to live with, Ed said.”
“So any abuse would have been verbal?”
“That’s right.” Phyllis sounded relieved that he understood her. She changed the subject. “Is it true you’re going to charge Carla with arson?” Her voice trembled.
“Yes. Tomorrow.”
“Oh God, her birthday.”
“That’s right. She’ll be eighteen.”
“Ed was going to take her out to buy a used car. But of course now she has her mother’s Camry.” A long silence. “I wish I could help.”
Help whom? Carla? Her husband? The Latouche County Sheriff’s Department? That was unlikely.
“Tell me about Thanksgiving,” Rob said in what he hoped was a cozy, chatty voice.
“I don’t know what you mean. We had turkey.”
Everybody had turkey. “Did Carla come to you the night before? How did she get to Camas?”
“Oh, er, well, Ed drove over to pick her up on Thanksgiving morning. He left here around ten, and they were late getting back, so I had to set everything up for dinner and keep the boys under control by myself. I remember that. The gravy boiled over and the potatoes scorched. They—Ed and Carla—were almost an hour late. I was mad, though I tried to keep it pleasant. Carla didn’t talk to me, but she never does. Just sat there like a lump. She was all dressed up. I remember that because it was so unusual. No tattoos in sight. She’d washed the dye out of her hair, you know, the streaks of purple.”
“Did she seem upset?”
“No. Just sort of bored. Ed bustled around. We ate and watched some TV, and then the police...you called and Ed had to tell her her mother was dead. That was awful. She, Carla, laughed and cried, and screamed at me to leave her alone when I tried to comfort her. It scared the boys. I finally gave her a tranquilizer and put her to bed. What else could I do? I took one myself when I finally got the boys down for the night. Ed didn’t sleep.”
Rob turned that over in his mind. “You mean he got up and went out?”
“Oh, no. He was in bed all night. I woke up a couple of times, and there he was, staring at the ceiling. I asked if he was okay, and he told me to go back to sleep, said he was just thinking.”
Rob let the conversation dwindle to a natural close. Phyllis Jackman had given him a lot to think about.
Chapter 17
Annie’s fall had fractured her skull. It was a hairline crack, not a depressed fracture, but it was a serious injury, and she had not yet regained full consciousness.
It was a lesson for Meg to hear Beth pry that information out of the hospital. The sheriff also reached Bob Baldwin on his cell phone while Annie was undergoing an MRI. Beth listened to him, all sympathy, and handed him over to Meg, who was able to assure him that no, Annie would not be fired, and yes, she had enough sick leave for a long convalescence, and if she didn’t have enough, everyone at the library would contribute sick days to her. He should just concentrate on comforting his wife. Meg would take care of everything else, unless Bob wanted to help her buy a new bookmobile.
That was a last-minute improvisation but not a bad idea. Who would know better what was needed? Bob was too distracted to do more than express vague interest, so she left him to think about it.
Meg thought about it. Maybe what was needed was a stretch Humvee. No, not a good idea. The library might be besieged, but she was not about to succumb to siege mentality. The free and open circulation of ideas was protected by the First Amendment to the Constitution. Wasn’t it?
She wished she could control her errant thoughts. The real issue was Annie and Annie’s suffering family. Then there was her own suffering family. Her mind slid sideways to her mother and her daughter and her brother Duncan.
Beth listened to her incoherent ramblings as another pot of coffee brewed. Meg’s kitchen windows steamed over. It was snowing again.
Beth poured refills. “Annie is Jake Sorenson’s sister. Has anyone called him?”
“Oh my God.” Meg speed-dialed Rob, who had indeed called his deputy. Jake was at the hospital with Bob—and Pepper. There was still no word of Jake’s sick daughter. Meg’s stomach roiled. Families. Family problems. When she assured Rob she was all right and had disconnected, she turned back to Beth.
“I’m not handling this very well.”
“You have a lot on your mind.”
“Tell me what to do!”
“I won’t do any such thing. I’m glad you took a day off. Use it to think. I can call Ellen Koop for an opinion on the legal situation, if you like. Your photos will help a lot. It looks as if Bob should sue Brother Whatsisname for reckless endangerment—he saw Annie fall and didn’t help her. But it’s up to Bob to press charges.”
“Annie’s my employee.”
“And you did your best to protect her.”
Meg snorted.
“Hold a rally.”
“What?”
“Your real job is to protect bookmobile service. In order to do that, you need public support. You have contacts. Send out a press release. Hold a rally in the parking lot tomorrow evening after people get off work.”
“But what should I say?” It didn’t escape Meg’s attention that Beth was telling her what to do. It was a great relief.
“Do not attack religion. Brother Boom has a right to bad-mouth the bookmobile and bully his congregation. He can dance with rattlesnakes if he wants to. He does not have a right to prevent other people, people who disagree with him, from using the full services of the public library. What other people read is not his business, and his supporters should not be encouraged to express their brotherly love by slandering and assaulting Annie Baldwin.”
“A rally? I’m not a damned cheerleader.”
Beth laughed. “Sis-boom-bah.” She left for the courthouse, taking a sheaf of freshly printed photographs and the empty casserole dish with her.
Meg called Pat Kohler. They talked a long time. Then Meg sat down to create a press release.
~
Rob had a good and blessedly short talk with Madeline Thomas, who was ready to mount a parade for Harley through the streets of Flume. Or better yet, Klalo.
Rob discouraged that, but gently. He thought Harley wouldn’t like it.
“He’s modest to a fault,” Maddie admitted with real regret. “What’s Meg going to do about the bookmobile?”
“Replace it, I guess.” It was still drivable, but that was about all, according to the tow-truck people. They’d taped plastic on the broken windows so the books wouldn’t be ruined.
“What’s she going to do about the attack on the bookmobile?”
“Why don’t you call her, Maddie? She’s at home.” He felt guilty for making the suggestion, but Meg had a lot of respect for the chief’s political savvy. So did Rob. Between them, Beth and Maddie ought to be able to keep Meg’s counterattack within the bounds of reason. Nothing would have compelled him to say that out loud.
By the time Madeline hung up, Rob had made up his mind what to do while he waited for test results, and word from the army, and all the other things that were pending. He set up a review session with the investigations team for four-thirty. Then he called Jeff, who was at the library puzzling over Marybeth’s coded journals and was beginning to doubt their relevance. Rob suggested another look at the Jackman deck, the scene of the real crime, the murder.
As far as he knew, the deck was taped off. He called Edwin Jackman at Marybeth’s house to warn him they were bringing the county’s evidence team. Rob didn’t think he could justify the cost of calling the state lab in again, especially since he wanted to know what was not at the scene, not what was.
Jackman didn’t object. He sounded despondent. Carla had locked herself in her room with her CD player, earbuds in, and wasn’t responding to paternal queries. He thought she might be texting friends.
At least she wasn’t texting Pascoe, Rob reflected. Aidan’s cell phone had been confiscated. Rob spared a moment to consider the cloud of digital buzz that was probably floating over Klalo like a thunderhead. OMG.
~
Jeff was waiting in front of the house when Rob got there, but the evidence van hadn’t yet arrived. Edwin Jackman welcomed them at the door and shook hands with both men. He’d apparently met Jeff earlier. “Are you going to want to question Carla again?”
“Not now,” Rob said. “I’d like to talk to you, though, while the evidence team works on the deck.”
“Me?” Jackman blinked at him. “Will I need a lawyer?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Jackman. If you mean, do I consider you a murder suspect, the answer is no.”
“Well then, I’ll make a pot of coffee, and we can talk.” He bustled off to the kitchen. Carla was nowhere to be seen. In her room, Rob supposed.
