Murder at the Courthouse (12 page)

Michael pulled his cruiser out of sight behind some trees on Wilbur Binion's farm and settled down to wait. He hoped he wouldn't have to stake out the place for too many nights. In fact, he hoped the thieves would be accommodating and show up tonight. Clouds blotted out the stars and moon, and the air was like a black cloth wrapping around him. Away to the west, lightning flickered faintly with no sound of thunder, while closer around him spring peepers celebrated the night. Down the road, a lone dog barked and made Michael think of Jasper. The dog would be curled up on the porch, waiting patiently for him to get home.

Michael tried to wait as patiently as the minutes crept past. He stared out at the night and shuffled through the events of the last two days, searching for a glimmer of something, anything he might be missing, about the homicide. Why was Rayburn at the courthouse? Did Anthony know him? Could Rayburn be Anthony's father? Most important of all, who killed the man? The questions circled in Michael's head, but no answers rose up to meet them.

Michael sighed and checked his phone. 12:14. But no signal
this far out in the county. He'd wait a couple more hours, then give it up for the night. If the guilty parties were kids the way Michael suspected, they might not strike again until the weekend. Unless it was Anthony Blake. Then he might come any night in spite of his curfew on school nights.

But instead of Anthony's old car, a new Ford pickup popped over the hill and screeched to a halt at the farm gate. Noise and light spilled out of the truck when the passenger side door swung open. The radio was thumping, and the two kids' laughter sounded as if they'd found an elevator up to the penthouse floor of excitement. One of the kids climbed up on the metal gate and, with a loud yahoo, swung it open. The driver gunned the motor and threw up dirt and gravel as he sped through the gate.

Neither boy even glanced around for anything out of the ordinary. They didn't know enough to be worried about getting caught. After the truck bounced across the field toward the barn, Michael radioed Sally Jo, who manned the dispatch center at night, to round up Buck or the sheriff, even though he didn't expect to have any problems making this arrest. He knew the boys. Doug Peterson and Barry Woods. Both kids whose parents gave them everything they could want.

Michael eased his cruiser across the grass without lights. It was going to be a bad time at the jail when these two kids had to call their folks. He hated this kind of stuff. Stupid kids.

The scene at the courthouse was every bit as bad as Michael had expected, with plenty of tears, drawn faces, and stunned disbelief.

The Peterson boy's father pulled Michael aside and offered
to pay any amount for the stolen property. Michael pretended not to recognize the bribe as he explained the charges against the two boys and how they would have to appear before the circuit judge the following week.

“But they're just boys,” Darrell Peterson said. “Come on, Mike. Didn't you ever do anything crazy when you were a boy?”

“Nothing I could get arrested for.” Michael leveled his gaze on the man's face.

Peterson turned away in disgust, muttering something under his breath that Michael pretended not to hear.

After they let the boys leave in the custody of their fathers, Buck and Michael walked out to their cars together.

“You might as well have cut a deal with Daddy Peterson,” Buck said. “The sheriff will tomorrow anyway.”

“I know. Nobody wants those two kids to go to jail.”

“It might not hurt that Peterson kid. He's a real wiseacre.” Buck made a face. “One more word from him out there at the barn, I'd have had to sock him for resisting arrest.”

“His daddy would have had your badge and run you out of the state.” Michael grinned over at Buck.

“It might have been worth it,” Buck growled.

Michael laughed. “I know what you mean, and that's why I let them think there was no way out of this mess. At least they'll have to sweat it out till morning.”

“Don't bet on it, Mikey.” Buck spat on the sidewalk. “I'm guessing Daddy Peterson will ring up Al pronto, trying to have
your
badge for arresting his precious son. After all, the big shot does own a car dealership in Eagleton. He's probably asking Al if he's in the market for a new car as we speak.”

“Maybe so, but trust me, Buck. The sheriff will back me up on this at least till morning. He doesn't take kindly to
people waking him up in the middle of the night, which is why you're here instead of him.”

“I wasn't too happy about coming out myself.”

“Yeah, but Sally Jo doesn't pay any attention to you or me. She enjoys waking us up.” Michael clapped Buck on the shoulder. “Anyway, thanks for the assist.”

“Yeah, sure. You owe me one. Maybe two.” Buck unlocked his patrol car but didn't get in. Instead, he leaned against the door. “By the way, I didn't find out anything up in Eagleton about our stiff that we hadn't already guessed. He liked to bet. Small-time stuff mostly. Sometimes a little more, but one thing about him that didn't ever change was his luck. He was a loser. Big time. Some jerks never learn.”

“We can hope that's not true for these boys.”

“Time will tell.” Buck opened his door and slid in behind the wheel. He poked his head back out. “You need backup in the morning, call somebody else. Got it?”

“Got it.”

Buck waved and was gone.

When Michael finally got home, Jasper ran out to greet him, tail flapping the same as any night. That was the thing about dogs. They didn't hold grudges no matter how late you showed up.

Michael straightened up from ruffling Jasper's ears to stare out toward the lake. It was a different dark than the rest of the night as the water caught a few glimmers of light from somewhere in spite of the cloud cover. Morning was just on the other side of the horizon, but he might catch a few hours of sleep before heading to Eagleton to meet Rayburn's family.

Jasper poked him with his nose. “All right, boy.” Michael
gave the dog's head another pat. “A dog biscuit for you. Then time to turn in.”

After he swallowed the dog biscuit in one gulp, Jasper settled on his rug by the bed with a contented dog sigh. Michael wished he could do the same. The bed was comfortable, the night quiet, and he was tired. Sleep should have come easily, but he couldn't get those two kids out of his mind. It was fun, they'd said when their fathers demanded to know why. And easy. They hadn't thought about what might happen if they got caught.

Michael wondered if he had ever been like those boys, so spoiled and pampered he had to hunt ways to feel alive. He knew he wasn't like them when he was their age. The spring he was sixteen, he spent hours throwing a baseball at an old tire. Everybody told him he had a great fastball before the accident, but if so, he lost it to the blackness.

Still, that year, that first year back, Michael had been frantic to reclaim as much of his life as he could. Baseball was part of who he was. He hadn't gotten his speed back on the ball, but with the help of his coach, Michael had developed other ways of getting batters out. He had an uncanny knack for reading the stances of the players up to bat and fooling them with pitches they didn't expect. In the end, the coach said he was a better pitcher than he'd been before the accident, but he wasn't the same.

Everything had been like that. Before the accident he was one person, and after the accident, another. So at sixteen, instead of looking for trouble because he was bored with his life, he was trying to figure out not only who he was, but who he had been.

It was as though he'd gone to sleep one night and awakened
the next morning unable to move. Only instead of one night, it was weeks. Everybody in Hidden Springs gave up on him. Except Aunt Lindy. She brought him back with the same determination she used to solve complicated math problems. Every problem had a solution. You just had to find it.

Maybe she'd be able to solve the problem of helping Anthony. She might even get him to tell her what he knew about Rayburn's death. Michael had ruined his chances of Anthony telling him anything for a long time to come.

He would have to be smarter with his questions tomorrow for the daughter and ex-wife if she came along. Rather, today, he thought as gray light sneaked in the window. He would have plenty of time to think about what questions to ask on the drive to Eagleton, so he punched his pillow and finally went to sleep as the sky turned pink in the east.

Not enough hours later, Michael introduced himself to Jay Rayburn's daughter. She looked very young, with red, swollen eyes and an abundance of curly blonde hair. When he told her how sorry he was about her father, more tears gushed out.

The girl's mother was with her, and she, on the other hand, showed no sign of tears as she pushed a handful of tissues at the girl. “You'll have to forgive my daughter, Officer Keane. This has been a terrible shock for her.”

“Of course. I understand,” Michael said.

Everything about the mother was as controlled as the daughter was uncontrolled. Her well-maintained figure, her careful makeup, her color-coordinated shirt and creased cotton trousers—even her age, since she looked more like the girl's older sister than her mother. Her dark hair was short in that kind of wedge cut working women seemed to favor, and her face wore a practiced, polite receptionist mask.

Now she gave Michael an appraising look. “Do you?”

Michael met her eyes. “Yes.”

She must have believed him because the polite expression
became a bit more real. “I'll go with you to do whatever needs to be done. Amy can wait here.”

The mother ignored Michael then as she settled the daughter on one of the plastic chairs. She gave her extra tissues, handed her a magazine, and gently pushed the girl's hair back from her face before she followed Michael down the hallway.

Once they were out of earshot of the girl, the mother said, “My son-in-law wanted to come with her and let me stay with the baby, but I knew it would be better if I came. I've helped Amy cope every other time her father let her down.”

The woman's words surprised Michael. “I'm sure your ex-husband didn't intend to get shot.”

She looked over at him, and her polite look vanished. Disgust, anger, and bitterness mixed and made her suddenly look years older. Then as quickly, she had her face under control again. “You didn't know Jay.”

“No,” Michael said. “But it might help if I did know more about him.”

Again the assessing look. Again she decided to speak her mind. “If somebody shot Jay, he pushed them to it.”

“What do you mean?” Michael slowed his step to look over at her.

“I mean, I doubt Jay was an innocent bystander.” She turned her head to stare straight down the hallway. “He had a way of finding trouble. Trouble he brought home to me and the kids before I finally had the sense to leave.”

“What kind of trouble?” When the woman didn't answer immediately, Michael slipped in another question. “Was he abusive?”

“Oh no.” Her voice softened the barest bit. “Not in a physical way. Actually Jay was a very nice man. He loved
us, especially the kids. His trouble was, he liked gambling more. He'd bet on anything. Sometimes before we got up in the morning, he'd want to bet with me whether or not the sun was going to shine.”

She shook her head at the memory. “I begged him to go for help. I even tried betting with him a few times, and that if I won, he had to promise to change. He always backed out on those bets. He did that a lot. Didn't pay up on his bets and not just to me.”

Michael kept quiet. He made a wrong turn and had to backtrack to the elevators. The woman didn't seem to notice. She was too busy trying to explain to him what had made Jay Rayburn the way he was, or maybe she was still trying to explain it to herself.

“He always claimed he did it for us. So we'd have more.” Sadness pushed the other expressions off her face. “Jay was so sure he was going to hit the jackpot with one of his bets. He used to have me almost believing it myself. Then I realized that even if he did win big, he'd just lose bigger the next day.” Her eyes came back to Michael. “Do you know any compulsive gamblers?”

“I've come across a few in my line of work.” Michael finally found the elevator and punched the button.

She smiled wryly. “I suppose you have. Men like Jay will do anything to get enough money to try again tomorrow. I'm still paying on some of the debts he made while we were married.”

The elevator door slid open and they stepped inside. No one else was aboard.

“Do you know if he was in some kind of trouble at the present time?” The elevator doors closed and they began descending to the morgue.

“I wouldn't know. We didn't keep in touch. There was no reason to.” She stared at the numbers of the floors lighting up.

“Do you think his death could be connected to his gambling?” The elevator lurched to a stop. He followed her out into the hallway.

“I'd be surprised if it wasn't. Jay must have been in deep to somebody because he hit Amy up for a loan a few weeks ago.” The mother's eyes flashed with anger. “She didn't tell me until today.”

“Did she give him the money?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“Five hundred dollars.” Her eyes narrowed and her hands tightened into fists. If Jay Rayburn hadn't been dead already, he'd have been in for some trouble from his ex-wife.

Michael wanted to throw out a few more questions before she regained her composure, but the guy at the desk was ready for them. She looked at the dead man's driver's license and confirmed he really was Jay Rayburn. Then she filled out the paperwork.

The identification process was grim even without having to actually physically identify the corpse, and the woman's polite receptionist look was back, along with a pale tightness about her mouth and eyes that hadn't been there earlier.

The guy at the desk was young with long, lank hair pulled back in a ponytail. Dead bodies were just so many file folders to him, but he seemed to enjoy the woman's discomfort as he slid his eyes over her. He smiled a little and asked, “You want a peek at the guy?”

The ex-wife's face went a shade paler.

“That won't be necessary,” Michael said.

“If you're sure, that's good enough for us.” He scanned the paperwork, then yelled at a man in the hallway leading back to the morgue. “Looks like we've got a name for number 47. That's the second ID today. We're on a roll, huh, Charlie?” Without waiting for the man to answer, he turned his attention back to the woman. “Where do you want us to ship him out to?”

Alice Hawfield coldly informed the man that arrangements would be made to have the body picked up as soon as the police released it.

As they got on the elevator, she muttered, “Creep.”

“Creepy job, I guess.”

She flashed him a look but didn't say anything.

As the elevator made grinding noises and started up, Michael asked, “Would you mind answering a few more questions before we rejoin your daughter?”

“That's all I've been doing ever since we left her.” She didn't sound upset. Instead she smiled a little and her tone was almost friendly. “I don't usually talk so much.” Her smile disappeared as the assessing look came back.

“I realize this has to be hard for you.” Michael kept a few stock phrases ready to ease over awkward minutes, and somehow this had become one. “But anything you can tell me could prove helpful.”

“You mean in solving the case?” she asked.

“Yes. Someone shot your former husband, Mrs. Hawfield. Even if you haven't kept in contact with him, you still surely want to see the responsible party apprehended and punished.”

“Or rewarded.” She appeared to be sorry as soon as she
said it, but she didn't try to take the words back. Instead she lifted her chin and looked straight at Michael. “I guess that sounded terrible, maybe even incriminating, but there's no need in me saying I didn't mean it. I'm glad he's where he can't hurt Amy anymore.”

Michael kept quiet.

After a moment, she breathed out a sigh and went on. “But I didn't really hate Jay enough to wish him dead. So ask your questions, Deputy Keane. I've nothing to hide.”

The elevator stopped at their floor. They stepped out and moved over against the wall instead of heading back toward the lobby and the girl.

“You said Jay borrowed money from your daughter. Did he give her a reason for needing the money?” Michael was glad the corridor was deserted.

“He did, but of course, it was a lie. He told her he had to have some work done on his car and he was a little short on cash. He promised to have the money back to her within the month.” Again the anger flashed across her face.

“Why are you so sure it was a lie?”

“Jay always lied. Worst of all, he lied to himself. I'm sure he really believed he'd be able to give Amy the money back when he said he would. That was always his problem. He wouldn't face the truth.”

“What was the truth?” Michael considered pulling his phone out to record their conversation, but he worried that might stop her talking.

“That he'd always be a loser and one day his gambling would get him into trouble he couldn't get out of. I guess it finally did.”

“How do you mean?”

“That seems obvious.” She frowned. “Somebody shot him. He must have gotten in too deep with the wrong people.”

“What people?” Michael asked.

“Those people who loan you money when you can't get it anywhere else. Loan sharks.” She stared at the wall across from them. “He was already mixed up with people like that before we divorced. Some men followed him to the house once and pushed Jay around a little. Jay said it wasn't anything to worry about, that they'd wait for their money. He claimed to have some kind of deal going that would take care of everything.”

“What deal was that?”

“Who knows?” She pushed aside his question quickly and went back to the past again as if it were playing out on the wall in front of her eyes. “I went to the mall the next day with the kids. Jimmy was thirteen, old enough that I didn't think I had to watch him all the time. Certainly old enough to go to the men's room alone.” Her face became very still as the fear the memory brought back was still all too real to her. “They must have been following us, waiting. They painted red streaks on Jimmy's face and told him to tell his father next time it wouldn't be paint.”

When she stopped talking, Michael asked, “Did you file a report with the police?”

The woman laughed without humor. “The police don't worry much about protecting families of men who play around with that kind of people.”

Michael didn't argue the point, just let her keep talking.

“Jimmy had nightmares for months. He wouldn't go anywhere except to school. Was almost afraid to come out of his room.”

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do.” Her eyes, hard and cold, came back to Michael. “I begged the money from my parents and went with Jay to pay the men off. I didn't dare let him go alone because I knew he might stop and gamble away the money on the way. When we got home, I packed some clothes, and the kids and I moved back in with my parents.”

“I don't think anybody could blame you for that.” Michael pulled out another stock phrase.

“Amy cried, but Jimmy didn't. I should have left Jay long before I did.”