Moonbog (31 page)

“Now Mr. Logan,” Shaw said, turning his gaze to the old man. He narrowed his eyes and studied Marshall for a brief moment, then continued. “Are you
absolutely certain
that you saw Mr. Rankin carry the boy’s body down along the path, that he moved it quite a distance along the path?”

Marshall returned Shaw’s stare and replied evenly, “I told you what I saw.”

Les cast a worried glance at the old man and felt the tension beginning to coil along his spine again.

“At least that’s what you
think
you saw, Mr. Logan,” Shaw said softly. He suddenly shifted back in his chair. “Well, I don’t know exactly what to think about all this. It still bothers me that we can’t agree on such a minor point, but—”

“But it’s exactly such minor points that can turn a case around and provide a solution,” Porter broke in. “I’m sure you realize how important it is that every single shred of evidence match up. Otherwise well. . . .” He let his voice drift away suggestively.

“One further point I want to settle this morning,” Shaw said. “Mr. Logan, Jack told me that you expressed some concern that members of the search party were trespassing on your property.”

Marshall kept his face stonily still.

“In a unique police situation such as this, I would assume that the police force would have the complete cooperation of the townspeople. Isn’t that so?”

Marshall nodded.

“If you have any objection to our being on your land, I wish you would express it now. This morning, I’ll have to send a team of investigators out to where the boy was found. Granted, with the rain, I don’t expect to find much in the way of footprints, but there might be something more substantial, such as a bit of clothing from the murderer.” He paused and adjusted his glasses. “I would like permission to be on your property, if you don’t mind.”

Marshall was silent for a long moment, then he nodded. “Yeah. Fine,” he said, looking down at the floor. “Just make sure your fellas don’t go ruinin’ the land or botherin’ me!”

“I’ll be sure,” Shaw said reassuringly.

“‘S that it?” Les said, trying to keep his voice from sounding too anxious. He shifted and started to stand.

“For now, yes,” Shaw said. “I’ll be around later today to talk with both of you again. If we find a suspect and get it to court, of course, both of you will be expected to testify. I’d like to know if either one of you would be opposed to taking a polygraph test.”

“A what?” Marshall snapped peevishly.

“A lie detector test,” Shaw said.

“No problem,” Les said brightly. He looked over at Marshall and again the thought ran through his head:
How much does that fucking old man know?

Marshall returned Les’ stare, then looked at Shaw. “I ain’t about to let you go strapping me into any lie detectin’ machine,” he said gruffly.

“It would help us sort out a lot of what both of you have said in your statements. I don’t have any legal power to force you to do it, Mr. Logan, but any cooperation you could give us would—”

“Why in hell should I cooperate when you don’t even believe me when I tell yah what I saw?” Marshall asked.

Shaw smiled. “The tests would help us determine at least how much you believe what you’re saying is the truth.”

“If I tell the truth of what I saw, the machine will show it?” Marshall asked, sounding suddenly excited.

“Well,” Shaw hedged, “to a degree. It would at least give us something to go on.”

“
Anything
I said, if it’s true, that machine will show it?” Marshall asked. There was an edge of excitement in his voice and he was leaning forward eagerly in his chair.

“You ain’t suggestin’ that one of us is lyin’, are you?” Les asked pointedly. “That one of us ain’t tellin’ the truth.”

Shaw looked from Marshall to Les. He frowned as he adjusted his glasses and tried to read each man’s reaction. A quick glance at Porter, whose face remained blank, revealed nothing.

“I’m not saying that . . . no sir,” Shaw said quietly. “It’s just that I want to clear up this confusion on what happened out there. Someone murdered that little boy and probably the same person killed the Wilson boy. It’s important that we get
everything
straight.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Les said. He hooked his thumbs in his belt loops again and leaned back nonchalantly in his chair. “It’ll give me a chance to prove that this old man don’t know what the fuck he saw out there.”

“That may be,” Shaw said. His voice was steady and icy.

“I’m willin’ too,” Marshall said with an earnestness in his voice that unnerved Les. He tried not to show his discomfort as a wave of chills raced along his spine.

“Fine,” Shaw said. “I’ll contact the polygraph department and see when we can schedule the tests. I’ll let you both know by tomorrow.”

Marshall nodded his head solemnly. Les smirked, although his pulse-rate had increased.

How much does that fucking old man know?
he wondered, the thought repeating in his mind with increasing urgency.
How much does that fucking old man know, and what the Christ is he gonna’ say?

“That’ll do it for now,” Shaw said, sounding business-like. He rose from his seat and walked over to the open office door. “You fellas just head on home for now and . . . and try not to think too much about what you found.”

Marshall rose slowly and pulled his heavy coat on. He took his cloth cap from the pocket and put it on, pulling the flaps down to cover his ears. Limping slightly, he walked to the door and left without another word. Shaw watched him as he made his way along the sidewalk, sloshing through the puddles.

Les zipped up his jacket and started to leave, but he hesitated, as if he wanted to say something. Shaw stopped him at the door by clapping him firmly on the shoulder. Les looked at the police chief and felt tension again building inside him.

“I just wanna’ say, Les, that I think you did one hell of a job.”

Les grunted and looked down at his feet. He cast a quick glance at the receding figure of Marshall, making his way down Main Street.

“We went over that ground a dozen or more times and missed that kid. It took some sharp looking to find him.”

“I just wish I hadn’t fucked up by moving the body,” he said weakly.

“You did a good job,” Shaw repeated. “Thanks for cooperating.”

“Sure.” Les took Shaw’s proffered hand and shook it. He glanced over at Porter, who was watching silently.

Fucking perfect ball-busting cop
, he thought bitterly.

He smiled and left, hurrying out to his car. As he slammed the door shut and started up the motor, his mind was already working on what he had to do. Somehow or other, he had to make sure that, if Marshall
had
seen anything out there, if he had seen him uncover the body before moving it, he would never get a chance to say so—especially if he was hooked up to a lie detector. No matter what, he couldn’t change it. The old man had to have
some
kind of accident . . . soon!

II

“H
e’s a strange old coot, isn’t he,” Porter said over his shoulder as he drew himself another cup of coffee.

“Huh?” Shaw said, looking up from his desk where he was sitting with his head in his hands.

“That old man Logan. If the phrase ‘strange coot’ fits anyone, it sure fits him.” He took a quick sip of coffee and looked at Shaw with the same blankness as he had watched Marshall and Les.

“He’s a bit odd,” Shaw offered distantly.

“He’s lived here all his life, right?”

Shaw nodded.

“The guy never married?” Porter asked. The way he asked the question made Shaw snap to attention. “No. He never did.”

Porter stood still, leaning against the coffee table silently rubbing his hands together. “I’ve seen a lot of people in the course of my work,” he said after a moment. “I’ve had to deal with plenty of situations where I wasn’t exactly sure who was innocent and who was guilty, but I just can’t get a fix on that old man.”

“Marshall?” Shaw asked. He sounded surprised, maybe confused. “I’ve known him all my life and—” he paused and scratched his neck—“I can’t really say I can get a fix on him either.” He stood up and walked over to the window, his breath fogging the pane. “All my life. His family’s been here longer than mine.”

“Do you feel as though he’s a pretty level guy?” Porter asked. “Or that he might be the person responsible?”

“Marshall?” Again, Shaw sounded surprised.

Porter nodded, unsmiling.

Shaw looked at the police lieutenant then back out the window at the falling rain. “You’ve been listening to the talk around town, haven’t you?”

Porter nodded. Shaw watched the ghostly reflection in the window.

“I’ve spoken with several townspeople. And, yes, a few suggested that Mr. Logan might, shall we say, be more involved than you suspect.”

“Don’t believe it for a minute,” Shaw snapped, turning to face Porter. His glasses slid down his nose, and he adjusted them quickly. “Marshall’s an old man who values his privacy, that’s all. What a few narrow minds around town say about him should be ignored.”

“Like I said, though,” Porter said coolly, “I’ve seen a lot of people in my line of work, but I’ve never seen anyone sit so quietly, so emotionlessly through an interrogation like we just had . . . until the mention of the polygraph.”

“I wasn’t aware we were interrogating anyone,” Shaw said.

Porter ignored the remark and scratched his head in thought. “He doesn’t act
guilty
,” Porter continued, “but he surely didn’t seem totally innocent, either.”

“Marshall? Guilty? . . . Of this?” Shaw riveted Porter with a wide-eyed expression.

Porter shook his head. “Well, maybe not guilty, but I can tell you for damn sure that Mr. Logan was definitely withholding information.”

“Come on,” Shaw said. “Marshall’s always been like that. Ever since I can remember he’s been the town hermit . . . the old boogeyman living out there by the Bog. But he’s a decent, honest fella’.”

“That may be,” Porter said, turning a cool gaze at Shaw, “but somebody’s responsible, and I’ll wager money that Mr. Logan knows something he didn’t tell us.”

III

“W
ell it was a goddamn stupid shithead of an idea, if you ask me!” David shouted. He faced Allison across their unmade bed in the motel. “I wouldn’t say that was a very brilliant practical joke!” He looked away from her and began buttoning his shirt.

Allison’s eyes softened with hurt pride, but she maintained a steel-like expression. Her jaw muscles worked furiously as she formed words in her mouth. Finally, at a loss for anything else, she simply muttered, “Fuck you.”

“Fuck me!” David hollered, turning. “Fuck
Me!
” He slammed his balled fist into the mattress, making a dull thump. “Fuck
ME!
You’re the one who acted like a goddamn whore, for Christ’s sake!” He glared at her and shook his fists with frustration. “I just can’t believe you’d pull something like that!”

“I was just playing a little joke on him, that’s all,” Allison said, her voice all innocence. She had shifted to her little-girl-hurt voice; she was good at trying different voices until she found the one that worked.

“Well I’d say you picked the wrong fucking guy to pull a practical joke like that on.” David shook his head and waved his hands violently in the air. “Les is a goddamned married man! You don’t do shit like that in a small town like Holland. Christ! He’s got about as much savvy as I’ve got in my little finger, and you come on to him like some Forty-Second Street whore!”

Allison’s anger suddenly flared; the little-girl-hurt exploded. “Shut your fucking mouth!” she screamed, pointing her finger inches from David’s face. “I wasn’t the only one playing that game. He was playing me for all I was worth, too. I just decided that I’d put him in his place, thinking he can come on to me.”

“Sure . . . sure,” David said, smirking, “and I suppose you didn’t strut right in there, and wiggle your ass all over the place.”

“He was looking for it!” Allison shouted, her voice cracking.

“I don’t give a shit! I really don’t give a sweet shit if Les fucks every school girl in town. I just don’t want my woman acting like a slut.”

“Slut! Is that what you think of me?”

“I just don’t want you thinking you’re the best set of knockers to hit this town. And I sure as hell don’t want any rumors spreading that you were shagging him—Les or
anyone!
”

“I can do whatever I goddamn please.” Allison said, her anger instantly replaced by an imperial haughtiness. She folded her arms across her chest and tilted her face toward the ceiling.

“The Christ you can! I don’t want it looking like you came up here with me just to start fucking every horny guy in town.”

“What the Christ do you care?” Allison said with disdain. “I thought you told me you didn’t give two shits about this town. On the drive up, if I remember correctly, you said you couldn’t care less if Holland Maine just dried up and blew away. Didn’t you
Didn’t you?
”