Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

“He’s sixty-six,” I said. “I assume he has it. That takes a load off my mind, I can tell you.”

“Why? Were you thinking you’d have to look after him?” Frank asked.

I nodded. “I couldn’t in all conscience let them send him back to that apartment on his own.”

Laura patted my arm. “No, you wouldn’t, Dad, but most people wouldn’t go that far out of their way for a stranger.”

I smiled my thanks for her sweet words. “There’s something else I have to tell you about him, I’m afraid.”

“This doesn’t sound good, judging by your tone,” Frank said.

“It’s not.” I told them about the Barber murders, and while I talked, I caught an odd expression on my son-in-law’s face. I supposed he must recall the case since he grew up in the delta not far from Tullahoma.

“How horrible,” Laura said. “People really thought he did it?”

I nodded. “His mother was his alibi. According to her he came home drunk that afternoon, and he stayed in his room all night and never left the house. The police tried to shake her, but she never wavered. That’s what I was told, anyway.” I glanced at Frank. “You obviously know something about this case.”

“Yes, I do,” Frank said. “I was twelve years old when the murders occurred. I’ve never brought this up before, not even to Laura, because it’s not exactly the kind of thing you casually introduce into a conversation.”

“What are you talking about, honey?” Laura asked, obviously puzzled.

“Elizabeth Barber is a cousin of mine,” Frank said. “My second cousin, actually. We share a great-grandmother through my father and her mother. We never had much to do with the family, though, because my dad couldn’t stand Hiram Barber. I wouldn’t have recognized him if I’d met him on the street.”

“Talk about a weird coincidence,” Laura said. “Your cousin is the only survivor of a multiple homicide.” She shook her head. “Creepy and weird.”

This turn of events fascinated me, and I wanted to talk to Frank more about the Barber family and his family’s take on the case. Before we got into that, however, I wanted to bring the subject back to Bill Delaney and his accident.

“I want to talk to you more about it, if you don’t mind,” I said. Frank nodded. “At the moment, though, I want you to tell me about the hit-and-run. How much did you see?”

Frank and Laura looked at each other. Then Frank nodded again, and Laura turned to me and began, “We had barely walked out of the bistro’s door and onto the sidewalk when I glanced to my right and noticed this elderly man kind of tottering along. I told Frank to look at him because I was afraid the man was going to fall any second.”

Frank took up the account. “Laura’s right. He was stumbling badly, and I moved around her so I could get to him quickly if he started to fall.”

“How far away from him were you?” I asked.

“Maybe twenty feet,” Frank said.

“About,” Laura said. “Maybe a little farther away.”

“What happened next?” I asked.

“He suddenly stumbled sideways,” Frank replied. “Two seconds, and he was in the street. Well, in the parking spots, actually. I started after him, and he kept moving, still mostly sideways. He cleared the parking spots and was almost two feet, I’d say, into the street. I lunged after him, but before I could get to him a car sideswiped him and knocked him to the ground. The car kept going. I tried to see the license but the sun was in my eyes. I recognized the make and model though.”

“You saw all this, too,” I said to Laura.

“Yes, and more than Frank because I was looking at the street.” She paused, frowning. “I know this might sound crazy, but I think that car swerved deliberately to hit the man.”

EIGHTEEN

Laura’s statement disturbed me. If she was interpreting what she saw correctly, that meant someone had deliberately tried to kill or injure Bill Delaney. Why on earth would someone want him dead?

“Think about it carefully,” I said. “Close your eyes and replay the scene in your mind. Tell us what you see.”

“All right, Dad.” Laura closed her eyes.

Frank and I watched her. She didn’t speak right away. She leaned back in her seat. I could see her relaxing her body, bit by bit. “Okay,” she said. “Frank and I are coming out of the bistro. He’s holding the door like he always does. Such a Southern gentleman.” She smiled briefly, then resumed her narrative. “I step out first and glance to my right because I don’t want to walk into anyone. I see an elderly man weaving his way toward us. He’s about thirty feet away, maybe.” She paused.

“That’s excellent,” I said in a low tone. “Go on.”

Laura nodded. “I’m worried the poor man might fall and hurt himself, so I tell Frank to look at him. Frank does and then he moves around me to walk toward the man to help him in case he does start to fall. Then the man kind of shambles sideways a few steps, and he’s off the curb now into an empty parking space.”

Laura paused for a deep, steadying breath. “I see that Frank is moving toward him quickly to try to catch him before he falls into the street. I’m afraid a car might hit him, so I glance toward the street. A car is coming kind of fast, a big, dark SUV of some kind. I want to shout and wave at the car, but I can’t. I’m too horrified. I watch as the car gets near the poor man who is now a little bit into the street. Frank is almost there.”

She frowned. “The car seems to jerk, hard to the right, as it nears the man. It hits him, and Frank reaches for him but he falls to the pavement. The car accelerated and disappeared down a side street.” She opened her eyes.

“Have you told this to the policeman?” I asked.

“I wasn’t sure I really saw it,” Laura said. “Now, though, I know I did.”

I believed her. She had an excellent visual memory.

“You know, I saw it, too.” Frank frowned. “I was visualizing it while Laura talked, and now I remember seeing the car come close and hitting the man. There was a kind of jerky motion to it. So I think Laura’s right. Whoever did it meant to do it.”

“Did either of you get a look at the driver?” I asked.

“Sort of,” Laura said. “The windows were lightly tinted, but I could see someone in profile. Whoever it was had longish hair, but I didn’t see them long enough to get an impression of gender.”

“I didn’t see that much,” Frank said. “I was focused on the victim.”

“Anything else about the car, other than that it was a large, dark SUV?” I asked.

“Yes.” Frank told me the make and model. “An expensive vehicle, probably less than two years old.”

“It’s not much to go on,” I said, “but there could be other witnesses. That’s up to the police, though.”

Laura nudged me. “Here’s the cop now,” she said in an undertone.

I stood to greet the officer. “Bizarre coincidence, as it turns out. This young couple who saw the accident are my daughter and son-in-law. My daughter has more information for you.”

“What would that be, ma’am?” the policeman asked.

“Excuse me.” I saw the woman from the front desk in the doorway to the waiting room waving at me. “I think I’m needed.”

I approached the woman. “What can I do for you, ma’am?”

“We’re hoping you can help us with more information about the patient,” she said. “Would you mind coming back to the desk with me?”

“Of course,” I said as I followed her. “I have to tell you, though, I may not be much help. I barely know Mr. Delaney despite the fact that we are somewhat related.”

“Anything you can tell us is helpful,” she said. “The person with the questions is at the end of the desk there.” She pointed toward a young black man with a clipboard.