Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (22 page)

M
ae opened her eyes and looked around her sunny bedroom. Ben was gone. She stretched, feeling the soreness in her arm and shoulder. Climbing out of her bed with great reluctance, she pulled on a T-shirt and jeans. She looked at her right arm and saw that it was bruised where Henry had grabbed her. Rotating her shoulders and cracking her neck, she went downstairs for some much-needed caffeine and puppy time.

After she took all four dogs outside, she fed and watered them. Then she poured herself a second cup of coffee. Her
cellphone, charging on the counter, started to ring. Mae pulled the charger cord out of her phone and sat down at her kitchen table.

It was her sister.
They were going to meet up this morning.

Mae told her about Henry Covington’s threat the day before.

“I’m so sorry, Mae,” July said. “Are you okay?”

There was a loud ruckus in the background. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you over there. Parker,” she hollered, “stop right there!”

Mae laughed. “Good-bye.”

Her phone rang again. Mae recognized her best friend’s number.

“Hi Tammy.”

“Good morning—did Ben tell you he asked Patrick and me to move in with you again, temporarily?”

“No. But that’s fine. One of the suspects in Tommy’s murder threatened me yesterday. Let me check which nights Ben is going to be here before you start packing.”

“Are you all right
by yourself until dinnertime? We can be out around six.”

“I think Ben’s coming back tonight. Anyway, I’ve got to get off the phone and get dressed
. I need to go do something this morning at the Booth Mansion. Can I call you after that? Or I’ll text you if I need you tonight.”

“Sure thing, Mae-Mae. Stay out of trouble.”

After
getting dressed, Mae had a little extra time before she needed to leave. She decided to put in a session training her new puppy. Mae whistled for Titan and carried little Tater back outside. Putting the puppy beside the older corgi, she started with the easiest command.

“Sit,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm. Titan obediently sat. She walked over to little Tater
, who was rolling in the grass, and put her in a sit position. Then she petted Titan and said he was a good boy. She gave Titan a treat and praised him extravagantly, making sure Tater saw it. After two more tries, Tater started watching Titan. Once more and she had it. Mae worked on “sit” several more minutes before she was confident the puppy knew the command.

“Let’s try another one
,” she said. “Titan down.” He lay down in the grass. “Tater, down.” The puppy ran over to her. “No.” She carried the pup back. “Tater down.” This one took a little longer, but eventually Tater would go into a very brief “down” position before she couldn’t stand it any longer and dashed over to Mae.

“Just one more, guys, and then we’ll call it a day,” she told them. Mae placed the two corgis side by side. “Stay,” she said
, making her voice strong and deep. Keeping her arm extended and her palm up, she turned and walked eight feet away. She looked back to see Titan where she had placed him. He was so still, he looked as if he was about to go to sleep.

She looked all around, “Tater?” she called.
Where is she
? Hearing a tiny yip, she looked down. Tater was practically on top of her foot. Her little face looked up expectantly, ears raised. Mae sighed.

“Okay, we’ll try again tomorrow. Titan,” she touched him with the toe of her shoe. “Wake up. We’re going back inside.”

Mae pulled into the wet parking lot behind the Booth Mansion at nine. It had rained on and off all morning, but the skies were clearing. For an August morning in Tennessee, the air was remarkably cool. She looked around with interest at the finished landscape and the beautiful old home. Having been here at the “before” segment of the project,
she noted a striking difference in the “after.” Miranda was waiting for her, framed by the open back door that led into July’s assigned space. July was standing beside her.

Mae walked toward them. “Hi
, Miranda, hi, July.”

Her sister was pale
and wan. Miranda’s elbows were pressed hard against her body, as if she wanted to appear as small as possible. This was clearly difficult for both of them. Miranda gave Mae a half-hearted smile, gesturing for her to come in. Mae went inside and Miranda closed the door behind her. The light from the transom window above the door hit the floor, making it gleam. Their footsteps echoed on the hard marble as they walked down the hall.

“July told me about the letter from Tommy
,” Miranda said. “Apparently he asked her to search for some papers of my dad’s. We’re going to look in the study.”

Mae and July followed her into the wood
-paneled, richly furnished room. Miranda indicated the ornate desk by the fireplace. “That’s my father’s desk. The designer for the study wanted to use the original furniture. But I went through it carefully years ago, before the house was ever rented. There aren’t any papers of his left in here.”

July unfolded the letter on the
top of the desk and tapped the second page. “Tommy said there’s a compartment in the base of the desk chair. Can you help me turn it over?”

Miranda grabbed the arms of the green leather club chair and leaned it back, while July and Mae each took hold of the bottom section, where the wheeled casters were. When the chair was upside down, July twisted the base counterclockwise. The bottom of the chair came off, and in the hollowed
-out space there was a metal box. Miranda snatched it up and placed it on the desk. She stood staring down at the dented tin of the lid. “How did Tommy know about that when I didn’t?” she murmured.

“Your dad showed it to him when he got that chair.” July spoke in a soft voice. “Miranda, are you going to open it?”

She gave a barely perceptible nod, took a deep breath and unhooked the latch. Mae and July looked at each other and leaned forward to peek inside. There was a folded sheet of paper that Miranda lifted and set aside. Underneath the paper were bundles of cash wrapped in paper. Lots of them. Miranda’s throat moved as she gulped. She cleared her throat.

Unfolding the paper, she scanned it quickly. Putting it back in the box, she closed the lid and latched it. She heaved a deep sigh. Looking up at Mae and July with unfocused eyes
, she said, “I guess you already know that Bethany Cooper believes she and I share the same father. I wouldn’t even consider it before, but there’s a Declaration of Paternity in the box. Bethany was right.” Miranda was quiet for a moment. She looked away and then continued, “Looks like I need to call Bethany and apologize.” She picked up the box and walked down the hall.

“What are you going to do with the money?”
July asked.

“I don’t know yet,” Miranda said
. “I trust the two of you will keep quiet about it until I decide.”

“We will,” July said, after a brief hesitation. Mae didn’t answer.

They followed Miranda out of the silent house.

D
etective Nichols was driving the patrol car. Deputy Rob Fuller was in the front passenger seat. Henry Covington sat handcuffed in the back seat. All three of them were quiet as they drove back to the office. The only sounds were the bulletins from the police radio.

“Put Covington in the interrogation room,” the detective told Deputy Rob when they walked inside. He walked over to the sheriff
, who was standing by Dory’s desk. “The perp’s going to want his lawyer.”

“Let’s try to get something out of him before Mr. Slick gets here,” the sheriff said. “I’ll come in with you.”

“Mind if I listen, boss?” Dory asked.

“Okay, but outside the room
.” Ben sounded distracted.

The detective and the sheriff
helped themselves to coffee, went into the conference room, and sat down. Deputy Rob Fuller raised his eyebrows at them in question. Detective Nichols shook his head. This time he wanted it to be just himself and the sheriff questioning Covington. Deputy Fuller clicked the taping equipment on and departed quietly.

“Detective Wayne Nichols and Sheriff Ben Bradley interviewing suspect Henry Covington, August twelfth,
2013, regarding the murders of Ryan Gentry and Tom Ferris. We read you your rights, Covington. Tell the audio you were Mirandized.”

“I was read my rights,” Covington
said, sullen as usual. “I want my lawyer. I don’t have anything to say until he gets here.”

“Dory’s calling him now,” the sheriff said. “We’re just having a friendly
little chat here before he arrives. You’ve been charged with the felony murders of Ryan Gentry and Thomas Ferris. The District Attorney is coming by to speak with you and your lawyer later today.”

“You’re done for in the State of Tennessee, Henry,” the
detective said, his voice deliberately flat. “We have opportunity, motive, and means for both killings. You did them both, but we know you were following Greg Townsend’s orders. Do yourself a favor, man. You can give us Greg as the ringleader and maybe see the light of day in twenty years instead of dying in Riverbend Maximum Security prison.”

“I don’t have anything to say,” Henry reiterated.

“Henry, you’ve got to know that covering for Greg Townsend is pretty damn stupid at this point. The DA will bring you before the Grand Jury. They’ll put you under oath and ask you about Greg’s involvement.”

Covington shook his head. “Wouldn’t matter,” he said.

“Why don’t you tell Covington here what we’ve already got on Greg Townsend,” Sheriff Bradley suggested, with a mean twist to his mouth.

The
detective smiled and held up an additional finger with each point he enumerated. “First off, we have Charlie Armor from the football team, who’s willing to testify that you, Greg Townsend, and he were offered money to fix the point spread on a bowl game while you were in college. He can finger you two as having received the offer. We have the Sigma Chi computer and the evidence that two separate ten thousand dollar payments showed up in the frat house bank account the month before the big game. We know that Ryan Gentry was the treasurer of the frat house. He knew what you two were up to, didn’t he, Henry?”

“I’ve got nothing to say,” Henry snapped.

“Don’t be an idiot, Covington. In twenty years you’ll only be fifty-five. You can still have a life, a beer, go up to Pinhook and do some hunting in the fall. You can see your son’s children.”

When the
detective mentioned Henry’s kid, he swallowed hard.
At least he cares about his son.
Wayne could use that to pry away the layers.

“We know the cash payment for the killing never made it up to Pinhook, Henry,” the sheriff said. “Once we get our hands on it, we’ll have Greg Townsend without your testimony and you’ll have lost your chance to cut your sentence.”

Henry just shook his head. Looking directly at Detective Nichols, he said, “You guys are barking up the wrong tree. Greg Townsend doesn’t give me orders. Never has.”

The detective looked at the sheriff, who gave a slight head shake.

“Excuse us just a moment,” Wayne Nichols said, and the two of them left the room.

Dory and Deputy Rob Fuller were standing just outside the door.

“On Covington’s cell records for the day of the murder was there a call to Townsend?” the sheriff asked Deputy Fuller.

“He called Townsend’s law offices several times that day, but he works for them. His defense attorney will get that thrown out. He didn’t call Townsend at his home or on his cell that evening or on the night of the Pinhook raid.”

The sheriff nodded, his brow furrowed. He scratched his head.

“What about Greg’s financials?” Wayne asked, looking at Dory.

“Clean as a whistle. He makes a bundle, but he doesn’t even get a cup of coffee that doesn’t go through the practice. All accounted for.”

“Damn it,” Wayne said. “What do you think Covington meant by saying Townsend doesn’t operate on his own?”

The sheriff’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t know. Possibly it’s just to send us on a wild goose chase, although I don’t think he’s that clever.”

Deputy Rob Fuller went back into the interrogation room, turned off the audio capture and led the hand-cuffed Henry Covington to the jail.

About an hour later, the sheriff appeared in the doorway of Wayne’s office.

“Can we talk?” Ben asked.

“You’re here, aren’t you?” the detective said, sounding distracted. He was
rifling through his papers, searching for something.

“Listen Wayne, I started looking into getting that Leave of Absence for you and like everything else, there’s a form I have to fill out.”

Wayne nodded. “I figured there would be.”

“Because you work here and for John over at Mont Blanc, I have to get his signature on the form. He
’d like to know why you want the time off. I need to be able to tell him something.”

Detective Nichols hesitated. It was wrenching, telling people his private business.

The sheriff waited.

Wayne rubbed the back of his neck. He could feel a flush that crept across his cheeks.

“It involves a woman,” he finally said, avoiding Ben’s eyes.

“Always does,” Ben said cheerfully. “Come on, man, you can tell me. It certainly can’t be worse than what happened to me last spring when I found out I had a
four-year-old kid I didn’t know about.” The sheriff took a deep breath and shook his head. “Everyone in the whole county knew about my private business.”

Wayne looked up at Ben.
“The woman is a fugitive from justice. She committed a murder. It was her husband—an abuser. She knifed him.”

“She’s in the wind?”

“For almost thirty years now.” Nichols fought the urge to flee the room. His thoughts were muddied, panicky. His heartbeat was rapid. He swallowed.

“What’s this woman to you?” Ben asked.
“Were the two of you involved?”

Detective Nichols took a deep breath and let it go. “I was in foster care until I was seventeen. She was my foster mother.”

“Why didn’t she turn herself in at the time? In those cases the woman usually is exonerated or at least gets a token sentence.”

Wayne tucked his arms into his sides
and gritted his teeth.

“And why do you need to look into this now? I don’t get it. Even if it’s important, how the hell are you ever going to find her?”

“I think you’ve got enough to fill out your form,” Wayne said. He beat a steady tattoo with his fingers on his old metal desk. He would never be ready to tell Ben Bradley about his role in covering up two murders and his guilt about leaving his little brother.

“Okay, okay. I get it,” Ben said, raising his hands. “I’ll put Pursuit of a Fugitive from Justice on the form.” Both men were quiet for a space of time.

Detective Nichols cleared his throat and said, “With regard to Greg Townsend, Ben, maybe it’s time to pat yourself on the back that we got Covington and move on. I’m leaving as soon as you get approval for my leave. I won’t be here to help.”

“It’s crossed my mind,” the sheriff admitted. “I’ll talk to the ADA today and they can offer Covington a plea if he’ll roll on Townsend, but my guess is that they won’t even raise it. The conspiracy to murder Ryan Gentry is beyond the statute of limitations
, and they sure don’t want their fair-haired candidate for the assistant district attorney job investigated for the felony murder of Tom Ferris.”

“Why don’t you bump the Ferris conspiracy investigation upstairs?”

“What do you mean?” Ben asked.

“Turn the investigation into Townsend’s involvement in Tom Ferris’ murder over to Captain Paula. I called her
, by the way. I’ve been updating her by email all along, per her instructions, but yesterday I spoke to her and asked for the leave.”

Ben smacked Wayne on the shoulder. “There’ve been days I’ve thought about tossing the case upstairs
. You’re probably right, my friend.”

Wayne gave a little shake of his head at the word “friend
.”

“C’mon, Wayne, you know I’m your friend,” the sheriff said.

“I know you’re a good man.” Wayne Nichols forced himself to smile. He was relieved they had stepped back from the edge of the cliff of his old memories.

“I’ve got an idea for you, Wayne
. Why don’t you call Nashville and give any information you have on your foster mother to Mark Schneider, their computer wonder boy? Maybe he can give you a place to start looking—the woman’s last known address or something.”

“Thanks, I might do that.”