Lia Farrell - Mae December 02 - Two Dogs Lie Sleeping (19 page)

A
fter having coffee with Ben, Mae made the short drive to her sister’s house. She still wished that Ben had not kept the information about Bethany Cooper from her. Sometimes it was hard being involved with a sheriff. She knew his duty was to the job and the citizens of Rose County, but it wasn’t easy when she felt cut off from part of his life. Ben asked her to keep quiet about Bethany, but it was especially problematic keeping information about this case from July, given her history with Tommy. And it was very hard to keep Ben in the dark about what July had shared.

On the drive, Mae thought about her role in the family as the loyal little sister. Since she was a toddler, July and her parents—especially her mother—had been in charge of her life, protecting her and gently telling her what to do. Getting engaged to Noah had helped her separate her life from theirs, but after he died, she was devastated. Her mother and sister quickly moved back to their places as older, wiser guardian angels. Keeping secrets from
her family went against everything Mae believed in.
I’m at a crossroads here
. She took in a deep, shaky breath.

Driving into July and Fred’s neighborhood, she crossed her fingers that Olivia was okay and that July and Fred had reconciled. Her sister’s Suburban was in the parking court in front of their large, Georgian style home. One of the three garage doors was open, and Fred’s navy blue Mercedes was parked at an odd angle inside. Everything was quiet.

Three newspapers lay at the end of the cobblestone driveway. Mae parked her car and walked back to the street to pick up the newspapers—two waterlogged and one dry. She checked the mailbox and added the substantial pile of mail to the top of the dry newspaper. Carrying the two wet papers in her other hand, she walked through the open garage door and set everything down on the counter.

She threw the soggy papers into the nearby trashcan and began to whittle down the stack of mail, throwing away flyers and obvious junk. Halfway through the pile, she came to an ivory envelope bearing July’s name, handwritten in blue ink. There was no return address, but the initials T.J.F. were written on the top-left corner of the envelope. It was postmarked in Rosedale. Mae laid the envelope aside to give to July.
After quickly sorting through the rest of the mail, she carried everything inside.

The kitchen was empty. “July
?” Mae called out. “Fred? Anybody home?”

Her brother-in-law walked around the corner and put his finger to his lips. “Ssshh. July’s asleep.”

Fred wore running shorts and an inside out white T-shirt. His white-blond hair stood on end. He yawned, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You can just set that mail over by the coffeemaker. Thanks for bringing it in. Are you here to check on Livy?”

“July texted me that Livy was being seen in the E.R. I talked to Mama early this morning. So it was a concussion?”

“Yes, it was. I was over at your parents’ for dinner and a
state trooper called my cellphone to tell me that he was escorting July and the kids to Good Shepherd Hospital.”

“Is she going to be all right?”

Fred walked over and gave her a quick hug. “She’ll be fine, but we can only let her sleep for twenty minutes an hour for twenty four hours after she bumped her head. July and I are taking turns sleeping ourselves.” He closed his eyes for a second, and then went on. “Olivia’s in the den if you want to see her.” Fred motioned to the state-of-the-art coffeemaker. “I’m going to fix myself a cappuccino. Can I make you one?”

“No, thanks. Ben and I got coffees right after Tommy’s funeral, so I don’t need any more caffeine.”

Fred shook his head. “I forgot all about that funeral. Did your parents make it?”

“I didn’t see them. It was packed, though. Half the town was there.”

“They took Nate and Parker home with them last night. I guess they couldn’t find a sitter today.” He busied himself at the coffee machine, filling the reservoir with bottled water and putting beans in the grinder. With his back to Mae, he said, “I know they were planning to attend.” Pausing to look over his shoulder, he added, “Was he really so great?”

“What do you mean?”

“Tom Ferris. Was he really this amazing guy, or is it just that people were fascinated by his disappearance and murder?”

Mae pulled one of the barstools out and sat down at the counter.
Poor Fred. How do I answer that?
She rubbed her temples.

“I was
very young when he disappeared, you know. He was nice to me, though. He never treated me like an annoying kid-sister. I had a little bit of a crush on him back then. But who knows what kind of man he would have been? As it is, he’s the guy who left my sister when she ….”

Fred turned around. “She told me, Mae. She told me everything last night
, about the pregnancy, the miscarriage—all of it. What I don’t understand is why she’s pined for him all these years.”

Mae started to protest, but Fred held up his hand. “She did. She kept the key to that damned house all this time. His class ring is in the drawer of her bedside table. Shouldn’t she be furious at him?”

She took a deep breath. “I was mainly confused when he disappeared, but I’ve been furious ever since I learned about the pregnancy. July’s an enigma to me in some ways. I have never quite understood what makes her tick.”

Fred nodded
. “She’s a puzzle to me too, a lot of the time. But since this happened, I’m determined to spend the time to understand my wife.”

“Good for you, Fred. Maybe, after things settle down around here, you can ask July about her feelings for Tom Ferris. It might help you both.”

Fred finished making his coffee and picked up the mug. “I need to go wake Livy again.

Do you want to come with me?”

“Yes, and I can sit with her awhile if you need to shower or anything.” She wrinkled her nose. “You know I love you, man, but you’ve smelled better.”

He laughed. “It’s been a rough one. I’m not sure when I had my last shower. And thanks, Mae. I love you, too.” Fred squeezed Mae’s hand.

O
n the morning of August 10th, the sheriff finished his report to the prosecutor and had Dory fax it over. Covington had been in the holding cell for forty hours. He rubbed his eyes. He stood up, sat back down, then he stood up again, this time walking out to Dory’s desk.

“Any luck
getting info on the three guys on the football kicker squad?”

Dory was wearing dark red
this morning. Ben wondered what that might say about her mood.

“I have all three of their names
,” Dory said, her voice clipped and efficient. “Rob’s talking to one of them on the phone now. I’ve placed calls to the other two. Hopefully we’ll hear back shortly. The prosecutor has to file the charges pretty soon.”

“I don’t need you to remind me of that,” Ben snapped.

“Sorreee.” Dory rolled her eyes. “No need to get your undies in a bunch.”

Rob
poked his head in to say he’d just finished talking to the field goal kicker. “Guy’s name is Charlie Armor. He lives in Nashville. I asked him to come in. He’ll be here at one o’clock.”

Ben turned on his heel and left the reception area. He called Detective Nichols again.

“Nichols.” Wayne sounded as if he’d just woken up.

“Sorry to keep bugging you, Wayne. We just got ahold of the kicker, name’s Charlie Armor; he’s coming in at one. Could we meet before that? I really need your help.” Ben hated how desperate he sounded.

“Okay, I’ll be in at noon.”

When Wayne came in, he was pale and limping
.

“Are you feeling okay?” Ben asked.

“I’m fine,” Wayne said in the gruff tone that Ben knew meant he wanted the subject dropped. He and Ben discussed their strategy for over an hour and decided to make the conversation with Armor a casual one. Ben would conduct the interview. Wayne would observe from the two-way mirror.

At one point Dory knocked on his office door and when Ben yelled, “Come in,” she brought in sandwiches and fresh coffee. Ben heaved a sigh of relief. He hadn’t eaten in what seemed like days. He felt renewed appreciation for Dory.

Dory buzzed the intercom a few minutes later saying Mr. Charlie Armor had arrived.

Both Sheriff Bradley and Detective Nichols walked out to the front office to meet the former player. Armor was muscle heavy, with thinning hair and dark eyes.

“Mr. Armor, thank you for coming in. I really appreciate your making yourself available,” the sheriff said. “If you haven’t eaten lunch, we have sandwiches and coffee.”

“I’ve eaten,” Armor said, looking
at them warily.

The sheriff showed him to the interview room. Once they were seated he
said, “We’re not taping this interview, and as you see, I’m alone here. If this were an official interrogation, we would be taping and two of us would be present. Anything you say will go no further; you have my word on that.”

Armor nodded, but still looked suspicious. “What’s this about?”

“The 1998 Bowl Game between Southeast Tennessee and Florida State.”

Armor inhaled sharply.

“Just after that game, one of the guys in the Sigma Chi fraternity died. At the time it was thought that he killed himself by jumping out the window of the frat house. His name was Ryan Gentry. Do you remember that?”

“Yes,” Armor responded, looking down at the table.

“It turns out that it was murder, not suicide.” Ben waited, but Armor didn’t say anything. “We think Gentry’s murder had to do with him discovering some golden handshake money that came to Henry Covington and possibly Greg Townsend to shave the point spread on the bowl game. Do you know anything about that?”

Armor didn’t respond right away. Ben waited. Finally, Armor sighed and said, “If I tell you what I know, are you going to prosecute?”

“Unlikely, but tell me what you know first,” Ben said, “Were you offered a bribe to miss that last field goal kick?”

“I was offered
ten thousand, but I turned it down,” Armor said. “Naturally, I got blamed for missing the field goal, but it wasn’t my fault. The guy who set the football did it wrong. I didn’t put it all together until later, but that’s what happened.”

“So you didn’t take the money?”

“No, never saw a dime of it then or later. I thought they might pay me after the game because of the missed goal, but that didn’t happen.”

“Then you didn’t commit a crime. Truth is, we don’t really care about the money or that game. If you know the other player involved in the kick, you can tell him we aren’t going after him either.” Armor was leaning back now and starting to look more relaxed. “The guy we want is the person who killed Ryan Gentry. We think it was Henry Covington.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised, but I don’t know it for a fact. There were lots of rumors after Ryan died—rumors that Covington and possibly Greg Townsend were involved.”

“Do you know anything that would implicate Townsend? We have a lot of evidence against Covington, mostly circumstantial, but we think it’s enough to nail him. Townsend is the guy who probably masterminded the whole thing and we haven’t got a thing on him.”

“About two weeks before the bowl game, a big time gambler from Las Vegas met with Townsend, Covington and me. I never got the guy’s name but he was the one who offered me the ten K. I was offended and walked out.”

“Would you testify to Covington and Townsend being at the meeting?”

“I sure would,” Armor said. “I always thought both those guys were bent.”

When Armor left, Ben called the ADA again. He put the phone on speaker so Wayne could hear the conversation.

“It’s Sheriff Bradley. I’m calling to let you know that we have some new evidence that links Covington to the Gentry killing.” He told him that Armor was prepared to testify that Covington and Townsend were at the meeting with the Las Vegas gambler.

“You still haven’t got anything but a circumstantial case,” Terry said. “You haven’t got any evidence. Covington could have turned down the golden handshake just the same as Armor did. Nor can you prove that somebody in that frat house killed Gentry to keep him from talking about the money. During your crazy trip up to Pinhook, you managed to lose the murder weapon. You’re going to have to let Covington loose.”

“What the hell? You’re the
prosecuting attorney, Terry. You’re supposed to be on my side here. We’ve got plenty of evidence to nail Covington for the Ferris murder at least. We’ve gone all over that. He was in the house at the time of the murder. We’ve got his fingerprints on the shutter dogs. I don’t get this. Is somebody higher up telling you to let this one go?”

The
prosecutor sighed. “Sorry man. All I’ve been told to tell you is that since you don’t have the murder weapon, you have to release Henry Covington.”

Ben stared down at his empty hands. He rubbed the heel of his palm against his sternum. His chest ached and he felt cold inside.

Wayne put a hand on his shoulder.