Stiffs and Swine (13 page)

Assessing Bennett with calculating eyes, Sheriff Jones addressed the hulking form of the deputy taking notes. “Harding, I’d like this group to be transported to the station immediately. I’d like separate statements from each of them—and I mean down to the tiniest detail—about what they know as fact, have heard as hearsay, or have witnessed with their own eyes in regards to Jimmy Lang.” She pointed at Lindy and Lucy. “I’ll take the ladies with me. You can ask the two gentlemen to join you in your car.”

“Are we going to be able to speak to Gillian?” Lindy demanded, hands perched on her round hips.

Sheriff Jones considered the question and then nodded at Lucy. “I’ll allow you to be present for her questioning, Deputy Hanover. You’re an officer of the law as well as Ms. O’Malley’s friend. The combination may prove to be fortuitous.”

Bennett watched the diminutive woman march toward the parking lot. Every deputy she passed stood a fraction taller as she strode by and several of the men straightened their hats or sucked in stomachs as well. If the sheriff noticed these demonstrations of respect, she gave no indication. “Now,
that’s
a woman,” Bennett panted. “Holy smokes.”

“Get a hold of yourself, Casanova.” Lucy gave Bennett an angry pinch. “Gillian needs us. Instead of daydreaming about Jade Jones, use your time in the car to think of precise statements that can get the sheriff’s interest away from Gillian. We need to turn a spotlight on other possible suspects until we can start our own investigation.” She smiled at James. “You know, that was really clever of you to throw doubt on the theory that Gillian is most likely the killer by mentioning Eleanor and Hailey. I brought up Felicity earlier—that’s the dog trainer’s name—but I was only able to speak to the sheriff alone for a few minutes.”

“What are you going to say to Gillian when you see her?” Lindy asked Lucy and then made a feeble attempt to gather the thick and knotted hair that kept falling into her eyes into a rubber band. When she had completed her adjustments, her hairstyle bore a close resemblance to that of Pebbles from
The Flintstones
. James reflected that Lindy’s desire to look like a celebrity had probably not included mimicking a Stone Age cartoon character.

“I don’t know, but if I can’t scare her into piping up and defending herself, it’s going to look really bad for her.” Lucy glanced at the sheriff’s back as she issued further orders to the deputies working around Jimmy’s RV. “Silence won’t win her any points. It makes her look guilty.”

As Deputy Harding gestured for James and Bennett to accompany him to his cruiser, James paused in order to grab Lucy’s hand. “You can do it, Lucy. You can help Gillian. I know you’ll find a way.” He gave her fingers a quick squeeze and then released them, relieved to see a look of firm resolve enter Lucy’s eyes.

Inside the patrol car, James and Bennett took Lucy’s advice to heart. They both quietly concentrated on all of their encounters with Jimmy Lang, each man trying to recreate every moment in which they had been in his presence and remembering each and every reference in which only Jimmy’s name had been mentioned. James thought about R. C. Richter’s passion over seeing both Hog Fest and the town of Hudsonville meet with success. He decided that R. C.’s displeasure over Jimmy’s offensive behavior was worth relaying to Deputy Harding.

Harding was polite but formal. As they arrived at the small brick building that housed the sheriff’s department, he directed James and Bennett to a small conference room and stiffly offered them coffee. Both men readily accepted and then frowned when they tasted the bitter brew.

“You need more sugar?” Harding inquired, wordlessly suggesting that they weren’t macho enough to drink the overwhelmingly strong coffee that he himself gulped down as though he were enjoying a glass of chocolate milk.

“Heck yeah, I need more sugar! How about a dump truck full of it and a gallon of cream, too?” Bennett replied, unfazed by Harding’s judgmental stare. “Shoot, man! When the oil in your car runs low, do you use this stuff instead of Quaker State?”

“We use Pennzoil,” Harding answered flatly and then gestured at another deputy who had entered the room during Bennett’s tirade. “This is Deputy Neely. He’ll be taking your statement, Mr. Marshall. Mr. Henry, you’ll be staying here with me.”

Bennett shot James a thumbs-up and then trudged off behind Deputy Neely, who was so tall and thin that it wouldn’t have surprised James to learn that his law enforcement colleagues fondly referred to Neely as Deputy Needle.

“Let’s start at the beginning,” Harding said, uncapping a pen and settling back in his chair. “When was the first time you became aware of Jimmy Lang’s existence?”

“Within a few minutes of arriving in Hudsonville,” James answered readily, remembering back to their delicious lunch on the back porch of the inn and how Jimmy had sat down at their table. “I’d say it was a little after one o’clock that Thursday afternoon.”

Harding scribbled something on his notebook. “What was your first impression of Mr. Lang?”

James automatically took a sip of his coffee and grimaced. It was still early in the morning and though shock had startled him into wakefulness, he could feel his body crying out for its daily dose of caffeine. Still, he’d have to track down coffee later as the contents of his cup were simply undrinkable. Pushing the foul liquid away, James locked eyes with Harding. “I thought Jimmy Lang was a loud-mouthed pig. He was the kind of guy you might find amusing at first, but within seconds, all you want to do is get away from him.” James picked up the plastic stirrer from the table and began to twist it in his hands. “The man was large and crude and, I don’t know, I guess I found him repulsive.” He pointed at his cup. “Kind of like this coffee.”

An hour passed as Harding asked question after question and took careful notes on his pad. Finally, when they had reviewed James’s statement several times, Harding recapped his pen and laid it down on the table. Just as his did so, James’s stomach gurgled loudly.

“You hungry?” Harding asked James, who nodded honestly in response. “Be right back,” the deputy said, and he left the room.

Harding returned a few minutes later carrying a ceramic American flag mug and a paper plate containing three biscuits. James accepted a biscuit gratefully and, even though it was cold and hard, ate it down as though it had just come out of the oven and was oozing rivulets of melting butter.

“This is the coffee we drink on a regular basis.” Harding grinned slightly, pointing at the mug. “We only give folks that other stuff before we interrogate them.” He grinned. “It kind of sets a tone.”

James doctored his coffee with cream and a sprinkle of sugar, not completely trusting Harding, but the hot brew was good. It was smooth and rich, and it brought him some comfort after what already seemed like an endless morning.

“I ran into the sheriff in the kitchen.” Harding picked apart a biscuit, took a small bite, and frowned. “These were much better two hours ago. Still, middle-aged bachelors like me will eat just about anything.” He brushed crumbs from his hands. “Your friend the deputy isn’t having much luck getting Ms. O’Malley to talk.”

The last bite of James’s biscuit stuck in his mouth. When he tried to swallow, his throat closed up and he inhaled most of the biscuit into his windpipe. Coughing mightily, James gasped for air and finally guzzled his hot coffee in an attempt to move the glutinous mass of biscuit down his throat.

“That’s not good,” James gasped. When he finally got his breathing under control, he asked, “Do you think the sheriff would let me talk to Gillian?”

Harding rubbed his dimpled chin in thought. “You think you could do better than a trained officer of the law?”

Sensing that Harding wasn’t threatened by the possibility that a civilian might be able to provide assistance with their investigation, James nodded. “I do, actually. I think I know exactly what to say to get Gillian to talk.”

Harding pushed back his chair and stood. “Then come with me.”

James was brought into a stark room containing a table and two metal chairs. A recorder sat on the middle of the table along with a plastic pitcher of water and a stack of paper cups.

“Have a seat,” Harding directed and then turned on the recorder and murmured into the speaker. When he was done, he leaned toward James and said, “I’m going to stand off to the side and try to be unobtrusive.” At the sound of footsteps outside the door, Harding jumped forward to open it. He ushered Gillian inside and James gave an involuntary cry at his friend’s appearance.

He rushed to her and put his arms around her. “Gillian! Are you okay?” He held her while casting an angry glare at Harding over her shoulder. “Why is she wearing this orange jumpsuit?”

Harding, looking slightly abashed, replied, “Her clothes were wet and dirty and she was shivering with cold when we picked her up. We thought she might be more comfortable in this.”

James released Gillian and forced a smile for her benefit. “Well, at least it matches your hair.”

Gillian kept her green eyes locked on the floor and James remained silent for a moment, simply standing close to her and keeping a loose hold of her hand. “I know you didn’t hurt anyone, Gillian,” he whispered softly, observing the circles around her eyes. The skin around her nose was bright red, probably a result of catching cold combined with hours of crying. Her chilled fingers trembled within the embrace of his hand.

“That man got to you. I can see that.” James gently rubbed Gillian’s back. “You thought you were done being sad over something that happened in the past, but you’re not. He brought all the memories back to you, didn’t he?”

Tears rolled down Gillian’s freckled cheeks and she began sniffing. It was the first sound she had made since being brought into the room. James lifted her chin and forced her to look at him. “Don’t give in to grief, Gillian. Your friends need you to be strong. Others need you to be able to come home with us. Your employees need you to show up at work on Monday. And Gillian,” he felt a prick of guilt about dragging her beloved cat into the conversation, but it couldn’t be helped, “what about the Dalai Lama? He couldn’t live without you. Who would play bird DVDs for him or fix him plates of organic tuna fish?”

The tears came faster and though Harding held out a pocket-sized packet of tissues, James ignored him. He sensed that he had struck a nerve by mentioning Gillian’s tabby, so he pushed on. “You’re his mother, Gillian. You can’t just give up and rot in jail for a crime you didn’t commit. Think of Dalai and tell me where you’ve been.”

Gillian slipped her hand from James’s and used the sleeve of her jumpsuit to wipe her face.

“I spent the night with a woman named Felicity,” she mumbled, her unused voice coming out in a croak. “She was hired to put on several dog acts at Hog Fest.” She sniffled again and this time, James accepted the tissues from Harding and handed them to Gillian. Harding covertly produced his pen and paper, though the recorder was already turned on. “After I saw … ,” Gillian trailed off, unable to utter the name of the man she despised, so James said it for her.

“Jimmy?”

“Yes.
Him
.” She rubbed her eyes with a tissue and continued in a pained voice. “I just had to get away. I ran to the very end of the campground area and then I got tired. My body is weak. I haven’t been doing my yoga lately and I’ve been sitting around too much after work, meditating and trying to reach a place of Zen.” She sank down into one of the two chairs, never once looking in Harding’s direction. She fastened her eyes on James as though he were her lifeline. “Anyway, I just ran out of breath by the river where it runs parallel to the campsites.”

“Is that where you met up with Felicity?” James prodded carefully.

Gillian touched her bushy hair absently. “She had brought the dogs down to the river as a treat for performing so well. They were running and jumping and barking, and Felicity was sitting on a big boulder, watching them. She looked so content. She recognized me from the dog show and called to me to sit with her.” Gillian balled the tissue in her hands. “I heard her, but it was like someone was shouting my name from a long way away. I just stared at the dogs. I … I wanted to jump in the water with them. Get lost with them.” She lowered her voice to the faintest whisper. “So I did.”

“You jumped into the water?” James watched as Gillian nodded. “And then Felicity took care of you?”

“Yes. What a
giving
soul,” Gillian answered. “I felt arms pulling me to the bank and then I was wrapped in a blanket. I remember her voice humming to me and then I slept for a long time. When I woke up, I told her everything. Felicity and I talked long into the night. I … we … drank, too.”