Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (12 page)

L
ate that afternoon the Sheriff walked out to Dory’s desk. “I have something I want you to do,” he told her.

Dory looked at him askance. “What do you want now,
boss?”

“I want you to go to dinner with Evangeline
Bontemps.”

“Well, that’s a pleasant change,” she smiled. “If this is business, I should be reimbursed.”

“Dory, Dory, Dory, this is your first time out as a snoop and already you’re asking me for money,” he said, shaking his head.

“So, what do you want me to pry out of Miss Evangeline?”

“Tom Ferris met with her to draft his Last Will and Testament. If we wait until it goes to probate, it’ll be weeks. I want to know what’s in that will and whether anyone else in her office might have read it. Better check to see if she has a legal secretary and if she types up the wills. Think you can get Evangeline to talk?”

“You already know the answer to that,” she said and grinned. “Hand over the credit card, Sheriff.”

Ben did so and went back to his office. Through his open door he could hear Dory making dinner plans with Ms. Bontemps. He wondered how much money Tommy Ferris had in his estate and whether he had left the Booth Mansion to Miranda or possibly to Bethany Cooper. He wondered if either of those women had a connection to Evangeline Bontemps or someone who worked for her.

He picked up his phone and called his Chief Detective’s cell.

“What’s up?” Wayne sounded distracted.

“I’ve been thinking about the mileage on Ferris’ rental car. He drove about forty miles on the evening before he died. He could have gone to see Bethany, Miranda
, or July that evening.”

“We checked the women’s alibis. Miranda Stackhouse and her husband were with friends. They didn’t get back until past eleven o’clock. If Ferris drove to her house, they wouldn’t have been home. July Powell would have been home with her kids all evening, and her husband was out of town. If Tommy showed up there, she would have been surprised
, but she would have let him in. However, I doubt seeing Tom Ferris the night before he died would have turned July Powell into a killer. The materials from the Powell house are still in the lab, but it looks like both the Powells are in the clear.”

“Did you
call the lab and ask Hadley what he found?”

“Yes.
No blood on any of July or Fred’s clothes, except for that one spot on the blouse July was wearing when she found Ferris dying.”

“Okay. What about Bethany?
She admitted seeing Tom Ferris at the Booth Showhouse around five p.m. August first. I wonder if Ferris drove back to see her later that night. Did we ever check that?”

“I don’t think we did
,” Wayne said. “I’ll find out. Anything else?”

“Just boring old police work. I’ve got the
deputies calling the list of the frat boys. Dory is arranging to go to dinner with Evangeline Bontemps. I’ve asked her to pry the contents of the will out of the lawyer.”

“You do good work,” Wayne said and rang off. Ben allowed himself a brief flare of satisfaction.

Later, Deputy Rob Fuller knocked on Ben’s half
-open office door.

“Come on in, Rob.”

“I found somebody,” He sounded excited. “Allan Curtiss was in Sigma Chi in college. After he graduated he started a landscaping business. It’s called Curtiss and Daughters. Al Curtiss and his daughter, Janie, did one of the outdoor areas on the Booth Showhouse project.”

“Good job
.” Ben stood up and clapped the young deputy on the shoulder.

“Can I go talk to him,
boss? I’m dying to get out of this office and do some real investigating.”

I know just how he feels
.

“Go ahead and pay a visit to Mr. Curtiss. See what he remembers about the suicide or murder of Ryan Gentry. See if he was in Rosedale or at the Booth Showhouse when Tom Ferris died.”

Rob’s face split in big grin. “Thanks, Sheriff.”

Two hours later, Deputy George Phelps and Dory both appeared at Ben’s door.

“I think we got our guy,” George said. The excitement was palpable in the demeanor of Ben’s normally phlegmatic deputy. “His name is Henry Covington. He was in the Sigma Chi fraternity and he’s an investigator for Osbourne, Townsend, Phillips and Coniglio—the law firm located in the same building where Ms.
Bontemps has her office.” George’s eyes were practically dancing.

“I checked his record,” Dory went on. “The man’s got quite the sheet. He’s been in for simple assault, aggravated assault, attempted murder and carrying without a permit. Here’s the most interesting part
: all the charges were dropped. The man’s like butter. Nothing sticks.”

“Terrific work, you two.” Ben stood up, shook Deputy George’s hand and patted Dory on her shoulder. “I wish there was a way to
get more info on Covington without alerting him to our interest.”

“I have an idea,” Dory
jumped in, even more animated than usual. “I know a little about Henry Covington. He used to date a woman I know. Her name’s Randee Scofield. She’s a biker chick, and before Henry got respectable, he rode with the bikers. She turned him in for a beating that put her in the hospital.”

“Woman, you’re amazing,” Ben told her. “I’d like to interview Randee with you,” he added wistfully, “but I know Captain Paula wouldn’t approve.” He had just emailed Captain Paula his report, telling her about going through the list of fraternity men. She had reminded him that until they had a suspect under arrest, he wasn’t to interview anyone. Her prohibition was foremost on his mind.

“You just leave this to me, Sheriff. I have an idea of how to get the down and dirty on Mr. Henry Covington,” Dory said.

Ben walked to the conference room and surveyed the murder board. The top of the left hand column was labeled “Suspects,” the wide middle column, “Time Line,” and the column to the right, “Alibied Out”.

Dory had originally put the names of July Powell, Fred Powell, Miranda Stackhouse, Bethany Cooper and Dan Cooper in the Suspects column. Since then, Dory had moved Miranda, July and Fred’s names to the inactive column. Ben moved Bethany Cooper and her husband out of active consideration.

Then he picked up the grease marker and wrote Allan Curtiss and Henry Covington’s names in the “Suspects” column. He felt a distinct sense of satisfaction. He looked at the time. It was 5:40.

Deputy George Phelps was busy hunting down the rest of the frat boys. Dory was downloading pictures and background on their new suspects. Detective Nichols would find out if Tom Ferris went to see Bethany Cooper the night before he died and if so
, what transpired. Deputy Rob Fuller was checking on Al Curtiss, the head of the landscaping firm. Perhaps taking Mae and Matthew out for ice cream might just help get him back into Mae’s good graces, he thought.

As he was leaving the office, he felt a little guilty about poor George Phelps still slaving away. He turned the knob of the door very quietly.

“Sheriff?” his deputy called.

“What?”

“You aren’t leaving, are you?”

“I have an errand to do. I’ll be back in an hour or so, unless something comes up.”
Like Mae forgiving me and inviting me to stay over.
“Call me if you come up with anything. And when Rob gets back, have him start looking for Covington and Curtiss on the CCTV tapes. Dory left pictures of both those guys on her desk.”

Deputy Phelps gave him the look of a martyred bloodhound.

W
ayne Nichols had just opened his refrigerator door to pull out a cold beer when his cellphone rang. Dory’s picture showed on the screen.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“What’s up is that you need to pick me up on your Harley in two hours. I’m meeting Evangeline for dinner and then you’re taking me to a biker bar.”

Wayne hesitated, wondering if this was work related. “Are you asking me out on a date, Miss Dory?”

“Nitwit.” She sounded exasperated. “Not sure if Ben reached you earlier, but we found a man on the list named Henry Covington. He was in Sigma Chi fifteen years ago and he has a sheet. He was at the frat house when Ryan Gentry fell to his death and in town when Tom Ferris was killed. He’s been arrested for assault, aggravated assault, attempted murder, and other sordid matters.”

“Excellent. I know that guy. His nickname is the Hench. But what evidence, other than being in the right place at the right time, do we have?” Wayne sat down and took a long pull on his cold beer.

“None. That’s what we’re going to get tonight. I happen to know Henry Covington’s old girlfriend, a biker chick named Randee. He beat her up until she’d had enough. She may know whether he was involved in the Ferris murder. So, come get me in about an hour. Wear leather.”

Wayne sat back on his couch and finished his beer. He stripped off his work clothes and stepped into the shower. Once clean and dressed in faded jeans and a sleeveless T-shirt with a Harley emblem, he went out to his garage and took a look at his hog. He hadn’t had time to ride her at all recently. Although dusty, she was a beauty
—a newer model Road King Classic with twin cams. He’d named her Francine and had her customized with flames all along the gas tanks on both sides. He pulled into Dory’s driveway an hour later, having given the beauteous Francine a thorough wash.

It was too hot for the full leather jacket, so he wore a tack button vest over his blue cotton T-shirt.
Leather chaps with brass trim covered his blue jeans and black riding boots protected his feet. He’d grabbed his helmet and one for Dory.

Dory lived in a part of town with small, brightly colored houses. Hers was lavender with dark gray trim. The window flower boxes overflowed with purple petunias and lime
-green foliage that cascaded down the siding. It was a trim one story cottage with a separate garage. Wayne was standing on the threshold, fist poised to knock, when Dory opened the door.

She gave him an up and down look and he returned the favor, grinning. She wore the traditional ladies Drifter leather jacket, tight black leather pants and black gloves. Her boots came up above her knees. A brilliant shade of orangey red lipstick and earrings that fell practically to her shoulders completed the ensemble.

“Looking good, woman,” Wayne said with a chuckle. “What bar are we going to?”

“It’s called the Gilkey Lake Tavern, out of town about thirty miles east.”

Wayne nodded and walked back toward his bike. He swung on. Dory followed suit and he turned to say, “Ready?”

After s
he fastened her helmet and nodded, they spun out of her driveway.

It was nearly dark when they arrived. The bar was a ramshackle wooden affair with a low porch that ran along the entire front of the building. The porch had a biker’s railing and Wayne saw almost a dozen hogs. Music poured out as a couple came outside. The detective and Dory stepped on to the porch, nodded to the couple
, and opened the door to the establishment. A live band was playing “Highway to Hell.”

Taking
a seat at the bar, they ordered two draft beers and clinked their glasses together. Dory laid her hand on Wayne’s thigh and smiled seductively. He ignored her with some difficulty. She leaned forward and he put his head close to hear what she said over the music.

“See the chick with the long blonde hair sitting at the end of the bar?”

He nodded. The woman was too thin; the planes of her face angled sharply. She had a scar on her neck that looked like an old cigarette burn, and smaller scars around her left eye. Her hair was long and had been bleached so many times it looked like straw. She wore full leathers and was drinking shots with a big guy with a shaved head.

“That’s Randee. Signal me when she gets up to go to the
ladies’.”

Wayne nodded. The band took a break and a young girl walked up to the lead singer. She must have requested “Born to be Wild” because they started the next set with that number. The girl went out on the floor and began to dance alone to the music. Whoever was running the lights switched to a red spotlight. Her hair was long and spun out in a
wide spiral as she danced.

Dory hit Wayne in the thigh, almost crotch high. He winced, frowned at her and directed his gaze quickly back at the blonde. A guy sitting next to them at the bar had been observing the interchange and laughed.

One more song and Randee Scofield got up, walking in the direction of the ladies’. After Wayne signaled Dory with his eyes, she rose and followed.

While Dory was gone, Wayne struck up a conversation with the guy on the next barstool. He was a slim black man, wearing a baseball cap and jeans. The letters on the cap read Tennessee Smokies, a good minor league team. There were a couple of other men in chinos and polo shirts. Clearly this was not exclusively
a biker bar or everyone would have worn biker apparel.

“Is Henry around tonight?” Wayne asked.

“Covington? No, he cleared when Randee and Spike came in.”

“Yeah,
” Wayne said, “I heard they were history. Supposedly, she turned him in to the cops.”

“Against the code for a biker’s woman to turn him in
,” the man said. “Surprised she’s still around to talk about it. The only reason is that she’s the mother of his son.”

Wayne frowned
. “It’s that hard core around here?”

“Sometimes,” the man said, drumming his fingers on the bar
and bopping in time to the music.

Dory walked up behind
Wayne and hooked her arm around his neck. “We’re leaving,” she said.

“I’m having another beer,” Wayne responded, roughly throwing off Dory’s arm. His nostrils flared.

Dory’s eyes narrowed. Her pupils contracted. “You’ll be having that beer in my bed,” she said loudly, “or not at all.”

The guy in the baseball cap laughed and said, “Baby, if your old man’s not up for it, I’d be happy to ditch this place with you.”

Wayne’s chin jutted out and he reached for the man’s upper arm. He was breathing heavily. Dory put her hand on Wayne’s wrist. She turned to the other man.

“Dial the testosterone down, gentlemen.” Turning to the slim black man she said, “This one’s enough trouble. You don’t even look potty trained yet.” Dory lifted an eloquent eyebrow.

“Let’s go,” Wayne said in a guttural voice.

They walked from the bar into the hot summer night, the sound of the band trailing behind them.

“Very convincing,” Dory said.

Wayne nodded and mounted up. Dory put on her helmet and swung onto the bike behind him. They screamed out of the parking lot and down country roads. The moon came out from behind some streaky clouds. Dory tightened her arms around his waist. Wayne leaned into the corners and Dory
gripped him with her thighs. The woman knew how to ride.

When they got to Dory’s house, she said, “Come on in.”

Once they were inside, Wayne looked around. Dory’s house was decorated with vintage furniture. Even her kitchen cupboards seemed to have come from an older house. She opened the fridge and pulled out two beers.

“So, which way to the bedroom?” Wayne asked, amused. “I thought I wasn’t having any more beer unless it was in your bed.” He looked down at her with a little quirk to his mouth.

“I do think you’re fine, Wayne, but we both like our jobs too much to risk it. Besides,” she said, putting one hand on her hip, “you couldn’t handle a real woman like me. Do you want to hear what Miss Randee had to say?”

“Sure.”

“She said Henry works for the Osbourne, Townsend, Phillips and Coniglio law practice, specifically for Greg Townsend.”

“What the hell? Greg Townsend, the attorney? He’s the guy who’s up for Assistant Attorney General of the Criminal Division. Did Randee say what Henry does for Greg?”

“She says
he does Greg’s dirty work for him.” Dory shrugged, pursing her lips in distaste. “That’s why they call him Hench. He’s Townsend’s henchman. Plus, Townsend’s office is in the building where Evangeline Bontemps has her office. She told the sheriff that Tom kept looking out into the parking lot like he was scared when he was meeting with her.”

“You said Randee and Henry were an item once, right?”

“For almost ten years. She has a kid by him.”

“Then, against the code, she turns him in for abuse. Was he found guilty for assault?”

“No. Randee says Henry never pays the price—not for any of his crimes.”

“I’m sorry
, Dory,” Wayne frowned, “but I just don’t see it. Greg Townsend’s in law enforcement. He’s a straight arrow. He’s in line for the Attorney General’s job. Sounds to me like Randee Scofield’s still trying to make Henry pay for what he did to her.”

Dory shook her head. “He should pay for what he did to Randee. But I have a feeling he’s got a lot of things to answer for, and Greg Townsend does too.”