Where Truth Lies (19 page)

F
ollowing a hunch that had nagged Matt since his talk with the Badger brothers earlier this week, he drove to their home in Hunterdon County, hoping to come across a green pickup. There was no guarantee he’d find it. Cal and Lou might not be smart enough to think of hiding it, but chances were they worked for someone who had his wits about him. He had to, or he wouldn’t have gotten this far without being caught.

Cal and Lou Badger lived in a big rambling house that hadn’t been painted in several decades. A motorcycle and a beat-up van were parked on the cracked driveway, and half a dozen circulars no one had bothered to pick up littered the front steps.

The backyard was just as bad, with auto parts and other junk scattered throughout. A path led to a shed, and behind the shed, Matt could see a faded blue tarp over what looked like some sort of vehicle.

“Bingo,” he said under his breath.

He walked over to the protective cover and lifted it. Excitement turned into disappointment. The vehicle was nothing more than a John Deere tractor put away for the winter.

He looked around him. The property was small, half an acre at most. He walked over to the four-foot fence and looked into the neighbor’s yard. It was a little more orderly, but the only items in the small expanse of grass were a jungle gym and a sandbox.

Before Matt could retrace his steps, the back door opened and a man in his late sixties whom Matt recognized as Horace Badger stepped out. Although a little shorter than his sons, he was just as powerfully built, and just as mean looking.

“What the hell you’re doing in my backyard?” the man shouted.

“Mr. Badger?” Matt asked. “Mr. Horace Badger?”

“Who wants to know?”

“I came to look at the pickup truck you have for sale.”

Badger came down the steps, resting his hand on a baseball bat propped against the wall. “I ain’t got a pickup for sale.”

“Are you sure? A
green
pickup? I’d be willing to pay a good price for it.”

“Who the hell are you? Who sent you?”

“There was an ad in the paper—”

“Wait a minute.” Badger shook a crooked finger at him. “I know who you are. You’re that Baxter boy.” His voice rose. “Get the hell off my property before I break your knees.”

Matt remained calm. “Come on, now, Mr. Badger. You wouldn’t want to assault an FBI agent, would you?”

“You’re trespassing, boy. That means I can do anything I damn please.” He started hitting the tip of the bat against his palm as he advanced toward Matt.

“Matt!”

Matt glanced over his shoulder. Eddie O’Hara was getting out of his dark-blue BMW. “What the hell are you doing here?” Eddie asked, walking toward him.

“Maybe I should ask you the same question.” Matt looked around. There was nothing but farmland in these parts. “You’re a little far from home, aren’t you?”

“I was on my way to the produce market to pick up a few things when I saw your car.”

“Your friend was trespassing,” Horace said, his tone still belligerent. “And harassing me to boot.”

Eddie took Matt’s arm. “Come on. This looks like a scene from a bad western. Let’s get out of here before Horace calls the cops.”

Matt was beginning to find Eddie’s interference annoying. “What are you all of a sudden? My keeper?”

“Maybe I should be. What’s wrong with you, man? You know what a nasty old goat Horace is. You don’t even need to antagonize him. He sees a face he doesn’t like and he starts swinging.”

He wrapped an arm around Matt’s shoulders. “What did you want with him, anyway?”

“I’m looking for a green pickup truck. Maybe you’ve seen it around?”

“Ah, that elusive pickup. I’ve heard of it, but I can’t say that I’ve seen it.” He waited until they had reached Matt’s Jeep before he asked, “You think Horace pushed Bernie into the river?”

Matt turned around, casting one last glance over his shoulder. Horace was still there. He raised his bat and shook it, as if to discourage him from coming back. “Not him,” Matt replied. “His sons.”

A call to Buzz Brown found the farmer back from Kansas and happy to hear from him.

“Come on over any time, Matt,” Buzz told him on the phone. “You’re always welcome here.”

A few minutes after Matt left the Badgers’ property, he headed toward Suddenly Farm on Route 232. Buzz stood on the front porch when Matt pulled in. “It’s good to see you, son.” He pumped Matt’s hand. “What do you say we go in and have some coffee?” He was a small, almost frail-looking man who, by virtue of his size, should have been anything but a farmer. After fifty years in the business, he continued to amaze skeptics with his stamina, his strength and his genuine love for the land.

“Coffee sounds great,” Matt said. “Do you still make it hot and strong?”

“There ain’t no other way to serve it.”

“Then make it a mug—a big one.”

The farmer chuckled as he led him to a large, immaculate kitchen that had always been the heart of the house, especially in Alma’s days. “How was your trip to Kansas?”

“Interesting. I was all set to move out west, but then my brother said he wanted to come back to Pennsylvania, so here I am, making room for him until he finds his own place.”

“Something tells me you’re happy about his decision.”

“Yeah. Jerry and I always got along. And it ain’t fun to be alone.” He took two large mugs from a cupboard. “How’s your dad?”

“Making the best out of a bad situation. He says hi.”

“You tell him I’m rooting for him. Josh must have lost his marbles when he put Fred in jail.”

“That’s why I’m here, Buzz. There seems to be a new angle to Steven Hatfield’s murder and I was hoping you could help me.”

“Me?” He handed Matt a mug filled with strong, fragrant coffee. “I’ll be glad to help you, but how?”

They walked over to a big maple table where a lazy Susan held containers of sugar, salt, pepper and honey. Buzz took a noisy slurp of coffee. “What’s on your mind, Matt?”

“I was talking to Duke a few days ago and I got curious about that planning board application that was turned down.”

Buzz’s face had turned somber. “That’s a sore subject, Matt.”

“I know, and believe me, I wouldn’t be here, rehashing the past, if I didn’t think it was important.”

Buzz gave a spin to the lazy Susan and watched it whirl around. “Alma loved the farm, as you know. A day didn’t go by without this kitchen being filled with friends, or neighbors or kids, enjoying one of Alma’s famous pies.”

He stopped to take another sip of coffee. “But my Alma was a sick girl. She had bad lungs and every winter, she’d start with her bronchitis and finish off with a nasty case of pneumonia. I almost lost her twice. That second time, the doctor told me she wouldn’t last another winter unless we moved to a sunnier climate, like Arizona or New Mexico.

“Now, you know how much I love the land,” he continued. “And with God as my witness, I hated the thought of my daddy’s farm being turned into a development. Problem is, I never struck it rich. Oh, don’t get me wrong, we lived well, but all the money I made went right back into the business. After I had that talk with Alma’s doctor, I’d lay awake nights, wondering how in hell I was going to support us in Arizona, without the income from the farm. So, when Gordon Shapley, a developer from Delaware, approached me and told me how much he was willing to give me for the land, I couldn’t turn him down. I couldn’t let Alma die.”

“But the application didn’t go through.”

His mouth tightened. “No, and all because of Steven Hatfield. That son of a bitch started harping about how a subdivision of that size would destroy the integrity of the area. He started to talk about higher taxes, increased traffic, sewer problems. You should have heard him. Soon, he had the community so damned worked up, residents were campaigning against the project. He convinced most of the board, too, because only a couple of them voted yes.” His voice dropped. “That winter, Alma died.”

“I’m sorry, Buzz. And I’m sorry to make you relive those difficult times.”

“It’s all right. Although, I must admit, I don’t see the connection.”

“I’ll explain in a minute. Right now, tell me why Steven was so opposed to developing the farm.”

“I told you. He felt that this area of Bucks County—”

“Should remain pristine. Yes, I heard you, but unless my radar’s way off, Steven wasn’t exactly a tree hugger, was he?”

“He sure wasn’t. In fact, there were times when he voted for a project that had no chance of getting through—like that gas station so close to Glen-wood Estates.”

“Did he have a problem with you in particular?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Alma?”

“No.” He walked over to the counter, picked up the glass carafe and brought it back. “Refill?”

“Please.”

He sat down again. “What I can’t understand,” he said, “is what caused such a turnaround on Steven’s part.”

“What do you mean?”

“When that developer first came to town and the word got out that he was looking at my farm as a possible site, Steven came to see me. Seems that a couple of people in town weren’t happy about the farm being developed and Steven wanted to know if I knew why.”

“Who were the people?”

“He didn’t say. Actually, he was kind of vague about it. I couldn’t help it, though. I had no idea why anyone would have any objections. My farm is pretty much in the middle of nowhere. It has no historical value, nothing anyone would want to preserve. Hell, the only excitement those woods ever saw was when high school kids came here to neck and I had to chase them with my pitchfork.”

Matt slowly put his mug down.

Trying to keep his voice even, he said, “Correct me if I’m wrong—it’s been a long time—but didn’t a couple of kids show up the night Felicia was abducted?”

“Two of them—both boys. I started going after them, like I always did, but they got scared and ran. A moment later, I heard the sound of a car speeding away.”

“Did you tell the police?”

“Of course I did. I see where you’re going now, Matt, but it’s no good. Your dad and his team searched those woods from one end to the other. Not a single property in the entire county was spared. They found nothing.”

Duke’s words came back to Matt.
You’d have thought there was gold buried in those woods.

No, Duke, Matt thought. Not gold. A body.

Buzz was observing him. “What is it, Matt? What’s on your mind?”

An idea, a little wilder than most he’d had during his twenty-year career, began to take shape in his head. He looked at Buzz, who, at the present time, was his best bet. “Do you trust me, Buzz?” he asked.

A sly smile curved Buzz’s mouth. “Something tells me that I’m going to have to.”