Миранда Джеймс - Claws For Concern

“Sylvia’s son,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I hated when she had to go into the nursing home. She was the sweetest person, and we had a lot in common, both being widows with sons to raise. That was a terrible time for her with everybody pointing the finger at Bill.” She shook her head. “Sylvia stood up for him, though. Just the way I would if somebody was accusing my son of doing something terrible like that.”

“Did you know the Barbers?” I asked.

“Not to say really know them, no,” Mrs. Cooper said. “A lot of people sure knew who Hiram Barber was, let me tell you. People would duck out of the way if they saw him coming down the street. Mean as a rattlesnake, and crazy to boot. I never could figure out how he ever talked Betty into marrying him. I went to school with Betty’s younger sister. She was an Eaton. Do you know the Eatons?” She looked at Jack but didn’t wait for an answer. “Betty must have seen something in him nobody else ever did, but I bet she wished she’d never married him after he started getting crazier and crazier.”

Jack was busy scribbling in his notebook. He hadn’t had the chance to ask Mrs. Cooper if he could record the interview. I hoped he knew shorthand, otherwise he’d never keep up with the spate of words.

“I’d see her in town sometimes but she would never talk for more than a minute or two. Always afraid Hiram would come along and have something ugly to say to her. He was always running her down. I’d’ve scratched his eyes out if he tried that with me, but Betty wouldn’t stand up to him.”

The import of Mrs. Cooper’s description of Betty Barber finally sank in with me. Before she could launch into further speech, I asked, “Do you think Hiram Barber abused his wife and children?”

“I’m sure he did,” Mrs. Cooper said. “He was just the type of man who would. Like I said, he got crazier and meaner. Betty never would admit it, but I bet he slapped her around.”

Jack and I exchanged a quick glance. This could be a piece of the new information we’d been hoping for. I asked another question. “Do you think the sheriff’s department knew about this?”

“Nobody ever asked me,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Back then people didn’t talk about stuff like that much.”

“I don’t think they knew,” Jack said. “My source never mentioned it, and I’m sure he would have if he’d known about it.”

The situation Mrs. Cooper described left me in little doubt that Hiram Barber was abusive. The question was, had that played a role in the murders?

TWENTY-EIGHT

I was so lost in thought, considering the ramifications of Hiram Barber as an abuser that I nearly missed Jack’s next question.

“You mentioned Mrs. Barber’s sister, a Miss Eaton,” Jack said. “I don’t know her. Does she still live in Tullahoma?”

Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “No, she died a few years back. The way I heard it, she had breast cancer but wouldn’t go to the doctor. Waited too late, and by then they couldn’t do much for her.”

“That’s really sad,” I said. “Why wouldn’t she go to the doctor?”

“Her church.” Mrs. Cooper grimaced. “One of those groups that don’t believe in doctors. Some mess like that. Beats me what some people will believe.”

“Are there any other family around? The Eatons, that is, who would know more about Betty Barber before she married?” Jack asked.

“Most of them have either died or moved away that I know of,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Though I can’t say for sure.”

“We’ll have to see if we can track any of them down,” I said.

“I’d like to talk to you about the night of the murders,” Jack said. “Do you remember that night?”

“I do,” Mrs. Cooper said. “It was a quiet night here, like most every night. This has always been a nice neighborhood. Things get a little rowdy on the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve, people barbecuing and stuff. Setting off fireworks, even though it’s illegal.”

I was thankful that Mrs. Cooper was willing to talk but she was a bit too chatty about inessential details.

“Who was here in the house that night?” Jack asked.

Mrs. Cooper seemed to take a moment to think. “My heavens, who would be here. Me and my son. My husband died about a year before. Killed in a car accident out on the highway.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Mrs. Cooper nodded. “My son was only seven at the time. He misses his daddy still.”

“I can imagine,” Jack said. “According to Mrs. Delaney’s testimony her son came home drunk that evening, passed out, and never left the house. Did you hear him come home?”

“I sure did, him banging on the door for poor Sylvia to let him in.” Mrs. Cooper sniffed. “Too almighty drunk to even find his own house key.”

“Do you remember what time that was?” I asked.

Mrs. Cooper tilted her head to one side and gazed at the wall while she considered the question. “Near as I can remember it was around seven, maybe a little earlier.”

“Did you hear anyone leave the house after that?” Jack asked. “For example, did you hear their car leave?”

“No, I didn’t,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I went to bed at nine like I always did back then, because I had to be up to get ready for work and get my son off to school.” She paused a moment, as if another thought had struck her. “I wouldn’t have heard anything, I reckon, because my bedroom is on the side of the house away from them.”

“What about your son?” I asked. “Did he hear anything?”

“My goodness gracious, I don’t know.” Mrs. Cooper appeared surprised at the idea. “Nobody ever asked him. I know I sure didn’t. I didn’t want him knowing too much about the whole thing. Didn’t want him having nightmares. He had trouble sleeping after his daddy was killed, and I can’t tell you how many nights I had to go into his room because he was having a bad dream.”

I felt great sympathy for the boy. Losing a parent at any age is tough, but especially so when you’re a child.

“Could we talk to your son about that night?” Jack asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Cooper rose from her chair. “I’ll go call him. He’s working in his room.” She walked into the hallway and called out, “Ronnie, can you come here a minute? We need to talk to you.” She returned to her chair. “He’ll come if he doesn’t have those headphones on. Wears them a lot because it blocks out noise so he can concentrate.”

Jack and I exchanged glances. It sounded to me like Ronnie Cooper was in his room playing video games. I had expected Mrs. Cooper to tell us he was at his job.

Moments later a tall young man entered the room. He was so tall he had to duck his head to get in the door. I reckoned he must be about six foot six or seven. He was solidly built, dressed in athletic shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt that showed off a muscular physique. I had been expecting a couch potato, but Ronnie Cooper looked like a pro athlete.

“Good morning.” He had a deep voice. “What’s going on, Mom?”

“Sit down, honey,” Mrs. Cooper said. “We don’t want our visitors getting neck strain looking up at you. These gentlemen are Mr. Jack Pemberton and Mr. Charlie Harris, and that big kitty there is Diesel.”

Ronnie seated himself in a chair near his mother. He leaned forward and extended a hand to Diesel. The cat rose from his relaxed stretch by my feet and went over to the young man. Diesel sniffed his fingers for a moment, then Ronnie began to stroke Diesel’s back. The cat started purring, and I knew Ronnie Cooper had passed the Diesel test.

“He’s beautiful,” Ronnie said. “Maine Coon, right?”

“Yes, he is.” I was surprised because not that many people I had encountered had seen one before, let alone knew the breed.