preliminary results in a few hours.”
“And what about what was cut off him?” asked Driscoll uncomfortably.
The coroner pursed her lips. “More likely chopped off. There was a small indentation in the tub where whatever was used, maybe a hatchet, struck the tub’s surface. Now I’m not a psychiatrist, but that one definitely smacks of symbolism.”
After she left, the others looked at each other.
Taggert said, “Okay, the killer slips him the poison some way.”
“Which suggests he knew the person,” said Driscoll. As soon as he said this the young man looked both pleased and surprised that he had thought of it.
Reel gave a small smile and said, “Excellent point. Except he was in his pajamas and his bed had been slept in.”
“So it was more likely he was asleep when the person came in and somehow got the poison into him,” added Taggert.
“Right,” said Driscoll, looking crestfallen.
Taggert continued, “The poison kills him. Then the person takes off his pajamas and puts him in the bathtub. It would have to be a pretty strong person. Barksdale is a big guy.”
“It could have been two people,” pointed out Driscoll.
Reel said, “That’s true. But someone should have seen this person or persons come or go. The guy next door noticed that Barksdale’s car hadn’t moved.”
“Then I better go talk to him,” said Driscoll hurriedly.
“I’ll go with you,” said Taggert.
After the two left Robie and Reel sat in chairs and stared at the floor.
Reel said, “But for the penis being cut off, I’d think he was killed because he was a loose end.”
“Right. But why kill him at all? Because of his connection to this Jane Smith? Who is she? Laura Barksdale? And if so, why is that important enough to kill all these people? If they are connected?”
“It has to tie in to what happened all those years ago. The kids in the shack. Henry Barksdale. Clancy.”
“And maybe this Jane Smith,” said Robie.
“It would be great if we could either positively ID her as Laura or eliminate her as being Laura.”
“And find out why Emmitt was her guardian and living under an alias.”
“Do you think Henry Barksdale is still alive?”
“He certainly could be. He’s my dad’s age.”
“Unless someone killed him, too.”
“Or he’s the one who’s been killing people.”
“What would be his motive?”
“He had a deal with Clancy that if it came out could mean the ruin of maybe the only thing he had left: his good name. So he killed Clancy. He found out Clancy might have told the Chisum girls. Or they found out about him and approached him to blackmail him. Remember Emma said Jane knew a big secret. And that she was going to meet someone about important people in town. She might have been referring to the Barksdales, though they didn’t live in Cantrell anymore. She could have told Sara. So he killed them.”
“And his son, Emmitt?”
“He knew what his father had done and had to die.”
Reel said, “I guess it’s possible but there are a lot of holes in that theory, including the cutoff penis. And it’s not like we’re trained detectives, Robie. We’re about as amateur as Driscoll when it comes down to it.”
“But we’re trained to obsess about the details and see what others don’t.”
“Well, all I see right now is a whole lot of fog.”
“And we have a killer out there who has nothing but a clear sight line.”
Reel looked at him and said, “So I wonder, who’s going to die next?”
Chapter
71
ROBIE AND REEL returned to the Willows, where they found Little Bill Faulconer waiting for them on the porch.
Robie said, “Everything okay?”
Little Bill shook his head and Robie could see his reddened eyes and puffy face.
“Is it your dad?”
Little Bill nodded and wiped his eyes. “He passed on this mornin’. Momma found him out in the Airstream.”
“I’m really sorry, Little Bill,” said Robie.
Reel put a hand on the young man’s shoulder. “It’s hard, I know.”
Little Bill said, “He was only forty-one years old. Damn young to die.”
“Too young,” agreed Robie.
“Funeral’s goin’ to be on Thursday if y’all want’a come.”
“We’ll be there,” said Robie. “Do you and your mom need anything?”
Little Bill shook his head. “We doin’ okay. I mean, we knew it was comin’, but still.”
“Yeah,” said Robie quietly.
Little Bill got in his old, battered car and drove off.
Robie watched him, the anger building.
Reel looked at him. “You okay?”
“I got somewhere to go.”
“You want me to come?”
“No, I’ve got this one.”
* * *
Thirty minutes later Robie pulled in front of Dr. Holloway’s office.
He marched right past the nurse/receptionist, who scrambled after him, protesting his intrusion.
Holloway was in his office going over some paperwork when Robie barged in.
He looked up at Robie and his nurse behind him.
She said, “He doesn’t have an appointment, Doctor. I tried to stop him from comin’ in here.”
Holloway said, “It’s all right, Gladys, I’ll see him.”
Robie closed the door behind him and stood in front of the doctor.
Holloway eyed the sling. “How’s the arm?”
“You heard?” asked Robie.
“About what?”
“About Billy Faulconer! He’s dead.”
“Yes, I did hear. Angie Faulconer phoned me.”
Robie looked a bit taken aback by this. “Angie called you?”
“Yes, she did. I was his doctor after all. Would you like to have a seat?”
“No, I’ll stand,” Robie said angrily.
“All right. Now, you seem to have an issue with my treatment of Mr. Faulconer. Is that right?”
“Yes, I do.”
Holloway nodded. “That’s why I asked for Mrs. Faulconer’s permission to share with you details of her husband’s diagnosis and treatment. HIPPA regulations do not allow me, without that permission, to discuss these types of things with outside parties.”
“I know that,” said Robie curtly. “But she said it was okay to talk to me about Billy’s condition and treatment?”
“Yes, she did. Please sit down, Mr. Robie. This might take a few minutes.”
Robie drew up a chair and sat.
Holloway said, “I know you’re from Cantrell and thus you understand well the history of our state, which has certainly had more than its share of, shall we say, misfortune.”
Robie said nothing.