“Toward Rawlins’s house. But like I done said before, I didn’t know that Wade was gunning for Rawlins. I thought he’d spotted a deer or something.”
“How many arrows did he fire?”
“Just one . . . that I saw. After that, he started creeping toward the house again.”
“What did you think that meant?”
“That he’d hit whatever he was shooting at and was going to collect the carcass.” There was a pause and then Chet added meditatively. “Though, if ’twas a deer he shot, I don’t know why he didn’t drive the quad-runner over. That’d have been easier than lugging it back.”
“
Did
he lug it back?” I asked.
“Don’t know. It was raining and cold and I had stuff of my own to do. I headed toward the quarry.”
“So that’s the last time you saw Mr. Tice?”
“Yep, he kind of disappeared through the trees.”
“Did you hear him leave on the ATV?”
“Now that you mention it, I did hear the ATV again, call it ten minutes or so after I last saw him. I was up in a notch, so I couldn’t see the quad, but it sounded like it was flying back to Wade Tice’s farm.”
Ten minutes would have been more than enough time for Wade Tice to walk the short distance to the farmhouse, yank the arrow from the wall, and stab Rawlins. Furthermore, I could now prove that both he and his wife had lied to me about him never having left their home on Thursday evening. Add the preexisting feud with Rawlins, the history of violence, and Tice’s skill with a hunting bow to the mix, and the surly farmer had once more emerged as the prime suspect.
I asked, “Did you hear any other vehicles that night?”
“There could have been a car or something on the road. Can’t say for sure, but I did hear the game warden’s truck a while later,” Chet replied.
“But before the game warden arrived, you went to the quarry. What happened there?”
“Nothing. If there’d been any game there, Tice’s quad scared it all off. I waited awhile, but then the batteries started to go south on my goggles.”
“No animals to hunt, no commando night vision, and then the law arrives. All in all, Thursday night was a big bust for you. How could you tell it was the game warden’s truck?”
“Out in the woods, you learn to live by your eyes, ears, and nose. I know the sound of that damn Kent’s truck.”
I almost blurted,
Yeah, and it’s a damn shame the bears out there don’t recognize the sound of yours
. Instead, I said, “So you took off.”
“Yeah. I stopped and got some batteries and headed over to Reddish Knob.”
“You must have been luckier there. That’s why you were at the lodge yesterday.”
The poacher folded his arms across his chest. “Hey, mister, I’ve told you everything I know about Thursday night. Why I was at the lodge has got nothing to do with any of that.”
“I understand, and we can stop talking whenever you want.” I reached over and my finger hovered above the stop button on the cassette recorder. “I just wanted to give you the opportunity to tell me your side of the story.”
Chet’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”
The comedian George Burns once observed that the secret to success in acting was the ability to fake sincerity. It’s also the secret to success in cop work. Sometimes you have to lie, and when you do, you’d better be good at it.
I said in a mildly regretful voice, “I had a long chat with Thalia Grady yesterday and you know what? She threw you under the bus, Chet.”
“I’m not saying I know her, but what did she say?”
“She certainly knows you,” I said, while slowly withdrawing my hand from the cassette recorder. “Thalia told me that you supply the venison and bear meat for the restaurant. But she had absolutely no idea that you were selling her poached game and was so shocked I thought she was going to faint.”
Chet slapped the table. “Shocked, my ass! Why that backstabbing broad-assed bitch! She’s lying! She knew
exactly
how and where I was getting that meat!”
“No doubt. But unless you have some sort of proof that she was involved, it’s your word against hers.”
“Hell, she even called earlier this week and left a message on my answering machine telling me where I could pick up some deer that was hit by a car!”
“No! They serve
roadkill
at the Rathskeller?”
“Mister, you would lose your appetite for all time if you knew some of the things they was dishing up at that place.”
“Wait a minute. You said she called earlier this week. Did you delete the message?”
“Nope. I got a real old answering machine and I can’t remember the last time I erased the tape.” An evil smile began to spread across Chet’s face. “And now that I think on it, there are other messages on that machine from her.”
“Such as?”
“Well, back in September, Kent nearly caught me. I told her about it and said I had to lay low for a while. She called the next day and left a message, saying she wasn’t paying me to hide from the game warden. She was all squawking, ‘Go out and get some venison. I got customers to feed.’ ”
“I think you’ve found your proof, Chet. If you still have those recordings, Thalia is dead meat.” I said. The poacher chuckled at the bad pun as I continued, “By the way, does Thalia also buy the bear gall bladders from you?”
Chet’s vengeful smile vanished in a flicker. “I don’t know nothing about that.”
I understood why he’d instantly reverted to lying-and-denying mode. As Game Warden Randy Kent had told us on Thursday night, the U.S. park rangers had found dead and mutilated black bears inside Shenandoah National Park. So Chet Lincoln couldn’t admit to having harvested bear gall bladders without otherwise opening himself up to federal prosecution and the draconian punishments that usually resulted from that process.
I said, “You don’t know anything about bears being killed for no other reason than to yank out an organ so that it can be used as a snake-oil cure for impotency?”
“Nope.”
“What’s the matter, Chet? You’re suddenly all tongue-tied. Aren’t you going to lecture me about how hunting is a family tradition from the pioneer days? Gee, would Davy Crockett
kill him a bar, just to steal a gland
?” I sang the final few words to the tune of the theme song from the 1950s Disney television program.
“I want my lawyer.”
“And I need some fresh air. Everything about you stinks, including your soul. And my fondest hope is that someday a big black bear harvests
your
gall bladder.”
Twenty-one
Grabbing the cassette recorder, I left the interview room and went to tell the jail deputy that Chet Lincoln could be booked into custody. After that, I headed down the corridor to Tina’s office. I found her seated at her desk. She was so focused on the computer monitor and typing up the affidavit for a search warrant that she didn’t hear me come in.
I cleared my throat. “If that’s the paperwork for Mr. Lincoln’s truck or mobile home, it can go to the bottom of our ‘to do’ list.”
Tina swiveled in her chair to face me. “He actually told you something worthwhile?”
“Yeah, and it’s a good thing you didn’t let the prosecutor stampede you into arresting Chet. I’m convinced he isn’t the killer, though he might just turn out to be our star witness.” I went on to briefly recount Chet’s statement.
“So he saw Wade Tice shoot an arrow and then head toward Everett Rawlins’s house?” Tina asked. “With the other information we have on Mr. Tice, that’s pretty damning. Will Mr. Lincoln testify to that in court?”
“He says he will, but even if he changes his mind, we have his statement on tape.” I held up the recorder. “But the more important thing is that we now have enough information to get a search warrant for Wade’s house and his ATV. It’s time to put this case on Tice.”
Tina looked heavenward but elected not to acknowledge the dreadful pun. Instead, she said, “Okay, so I’ll start writing an affidavit for the Tices’ place. Can you have dispatch radio Randy and tell him that he can clear from Chet’s mobile home?”
“Absolutely, but first, let me bring you up to speed on something else that I forgot to tell you before I interviewed Chet. Linny has video proof that Sherri and Jesse lied to us about never leaving the hotel on Thursday night.” I then told her about how the couple had departed an hour apart from each other and then returned together shortly before 10 P.M.
Tina said, “Huh. It seems to me that if Mr. Hauck didn’t leave the hotel until seven-thirty and stopped at Delbert’s shortly before it closed, he couldn’t have killed Mr. Rawlins.”
“That’s how I read it, too. Ash had already found the body by then.” I went over to the coffeemaker and poured myself a cup. Holding up the carafe, I asked, “Want some?”
Tina shook her head. “Mr. Hauck may be out of the suspect mix, but it still leaves Ms. Driggs as a possible killer.”
“More so now than before, I think. Our original theory was that the murderer had to be a skilled archer, and there was no evidence that Sherri had ever handled a bow and arrow in her life.” I took a sip of coffee.
“But if you’re right about how the arrow shaft got bent, she was as capable of stabbing Mr. Rawlins as anyone else.”
“It might also explain the sudden shift in the power dynamic the first time I interviewed them,” I said meditatively.
“How do you mean?”
“When I arrived in the suite, she was clearly the boss and he was the pampered and reasonably well-trained pet. However, once I broke the news that Ev had been murdered, Sherri folded up faster than a paper dinner napkin and Jesse started acting like Conan the Toy Boy-barian.”
“It almost sounds as if he had her over a barrel.”
“Maybe he did. I’m wondering if Sherri didn’t tell him the truth about how she ended up in Thermopylae on Thursday night. Maybe I just don’t recognize true love when I see it, but I doubt Jesse kept his mouth shut out of loyalty to her.” I finished the coffee. “The question is: Which liar do we talk to first? Wade, Sherri, or Jesse?”
“I think we have to follow up on Wade Tice.”
“Agreed. We could speculate all day about what Sherri might have done at the murder scene, but we have strong evidence that Wade fired an arrow and was last seen heading toward the victim’s home.”
“And that could have been because he’d missed and wanted to finish the job.”
“It fits both the evidence and timeline. We have to consider him our primary suspect, which means it’s time to . . . roll the Tice.”
Tina shook her head in disbelief and then turned back to the computer. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that and get started on the new search warrant affidavit.”
“Fortunately, you can use the same preliminary information for the new warrant.”
“I know, but I need a description of the premises.”
“It’s a two-story cabin-style house made out of brown wood, composite shingle roof, with a red brick chimney on the . . .” I closed my eyes to recall the Tice farm and continued, “. . . north side of the residence.”
“Thanks.”
“
De nada.
Hey, do you mind if I go over to the teddy bear show for a couple of minutes? I imagine Ash is chomping at the bit for some news.”
Tina waved, but didn’t look up from the computer screen. “Tell her I said hi, and take your time. This is going to take a little while.”
As I approached the church community center, I was happy to see that vehicles still filled the parking lot. Even better, it looked as if there were some fresh attendees arriving. It’s been my experience that you can measure the success of a teddy bear show by how dramatically the collector crowd drops off when lunchtime comes. Once inside the hall, I decided to take a few minutes and resume my search for a Christmas gift for Ash.
Most guys view Christmas shopping for their spouse as an experience akin to a tooth extraction—it’s a task to be completed as quickly as possible. I’m different. I actually enjoy the process of shopping, especially when I’m hunting for the perfect treasure for Ash at a teddy bear show.
Crossing over to the side of the hall opposite of where Ash sat at our display table, I headed up the aisle, carefully surveying the bear bonanza. I wasn’t certain what I was looking for, but would recognize it instantly when I saw it. Often, it’s the bear’s costume that generates a collector’s initial interest in a teddy, but that’s a secondary consideration for Ash and me. Costumes are nice, but we’re primarily on the lookout for a teddy with a sweet face. And I’d just found one on artist Donna Griffin’s table.
It was a panda bear, fashioned from black-and-cocoa-colored mohair. Somehow, Donna had crafted the teddy’s expression to express thoughtfulness, serenity, and kindness. It was the face of a loving companion, and I knew Ash would adore it, particularly because our friend Donna had created the bear.
I paid for the bear and asked Donna to give it to Pastor Terry to hold until I could come and collect it. Then I headed back over to meet with Ash. I found my wife standing beside our exhibitor table, which appeared curiously bare of bears.
Ash was holding Edie Éclair, one of her teddies dressed in a delectable-looking chocolate éclair costume, while a woman I recognized as a photographer from the Harrisonburg newspaper interviewed her. Remmelkemp Mill usually didn’t generate much news, but between the murder, the fire, and the teddy jubilee, it looked as if the town was going to make the paper three times in a week. I didn’t approach the table until the reporter finished with Ash and wandered off to take more photographs of the teddy jubilee.
Ash smiled when she saw me. “Here’s something I’ve never said before: I was beginning to get worried about you.”
I kissed her on the cheek. “Sorry, love, but I just couldn’t get away.”
“And from that uncomfortable look in your eyes, I can tell that you can’t stay.”
“I don’t have to go right this minute. But once Tina finishes typing up the search warrant paperwork and gets the judge to issue it, we’ll be heading over to Wade Tice’s place.”
“Then you have time for lunch.” Ash put the teddy bear on the table and led me to a chair. “And while you eat, you can bring me up to date on everything that’s happened.”