Linwood Barclay - Lone Wolf

“Great,” I said. “We haven’t even got started, and you’re already making excuses for them.”

“I’m doing no such thing,” Orville objected.

“Zachary,” Dad warned, “I want you two to be nice.”

Nice?

“I think,” Dad said slowly, “that we’ve got some real problems here.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve got a few problems of my own,” said Orville. “I’m investigating a murder, you know.” He made it sound like bragging. Like “I got an A+ on my paper, you know.”

“And how’s that investigation coming?” I asked, struggling not to add “Sherlock.”

“Well, not great,” said Orville. “There’s no witnesses, of course. It happened after the co-op was closed. And the owners never felt there’s been enough of a crime problem up here to justify putting security cameras in, so we’ve got nothing to look at there. But we’re asking around, checking into Tiff’s friends, seeing if anyone of them might have had a grudge against him, you know?”

“You think it’s personal?” I asked.

“You have to be thorough,” said Orville authoritatively, like he had a clue what he was doing. “We’re looking into all the angles, even if we’re not convinced they’ll pan out. That’s just good police work.”

Hold the tongue. Hold the tongue.

“What about the missing fertilizer?” Dad asked.

“Yup, for sure, it’s missing, but then again, they can’t be sure it went missing last night. It might have gone missing earlier, who knows? So we can’t even say for sure it has anything to do with Tiff’s death.”

“But,” I said, “you’re considering that there might be a connection, right? I mean, that would just be good police work.”

Orville gave me a look. “Of course we are. And what’s it to you, anyway? You didn’t say you wanted to talk about Tiff Riley’s murder. What business have you got asking me about the progress of an investigation that has nothing to do with either one of you?”

“Now just hear me out here, Orville,” said Dad. “And I’d be the first to admit that we’ve not got a lot to go on here, not what you’d call proof, but have you ever been inside the Wickenses’ place up there?”

Orville eyed Dad suspiciously. “No.”

“So you haven’t seen whose picture they’ve got up on their wall?”

“No.”

“Timothy McVeigh.”

Orville waited, like this was supposed to be some great revelation, then looked at me. “You mentioned that name this morning.”

“It rings a bell, right?” I said. “Oklahoma City, big big bomb, the perp walk in the orange jumpsuit?”

“Okay,” Orville said evenly. “Now I know who you mean.”

Would he know the name Lee Harvey Oswald? Charles Manson? Son of Sam? Should I put a quiz together?

“Don’t you think it’s odd, that they’d have his picture on the wall, that they’d see him as some kind of hero?” Dad said.

“This is it,” Orville said. “You want me to go arrest Timmy Wickens and the rest of his family because of a picture on the wall.” He looked, in turn, at both of us.

“Well, it is kind of odd,” Dad said, a bit defensively.

“Yeah,” I said.

“I’d have to look that one up in the statutes,” Orville said. “Being odd. Maybe I should get together a posse, we’ll round up everyone in the county who’s odd. Hey!” He smiled. “We could call it The Odd Squad.”

This hurt. Orville was right. We had nothing. What an unexpected and unwelcome turn of events.

“Okay,” I said, wanting to move on. “But couldn’t you look around their place anyway? See if they have the fertilizer? Because if they do, well, they’d have a lot of explaining to do.”

“You want me to search their place. You’ve got no evidence, no witnesses, nothing. What sort of judge would give me a warrant based on what you’re telling me here?”

“Well, couldn’t you tell him we’ve got a feeling?” Dad said.

Don’t give Orville the easy ones, I thought.

“And besides,” Dad continued, “would you even need a warrant? I mean, I own the place. If I say it’s okay, can’t you go ahead and do it, even if they object?”

I could see Orville’s discomfort growing. I suspect the last thing he wanted was to confront the Wickenses. “I’m not sure,” he said hesitantly, which I took to mean that yes, he could search. “But what am I going to say? I’m just going to walk up there and start snooping around?”

“You’ve got another reason to go up there,” I said. “You could go up and talk to them about their dogs. Remind them that they have to be penned up, kept on a leash, kept on a chain for fuck’s sake, so that they don’t come down here and bother Dad’s guests again.”

“I suppose,” Orville said, looking at his hands.

“And here’s the other thing,” I said. “It’s about May Wickens and her son, Jeffrey.”

“What the hell have they done?” Orville asked.

“Nothing. But I had coffee with May this morning, and she kind of poured out her heart to me, at some considerable risk, I think. She wants to get away from her father, to get her son away from him. Timmy Wickens is feeding that boy’s mind a daily diet of poison.”

Orville Thorne shrugged. “So, she should leave. She’s free, white, and twenty-one, isn’t she?”

“Timmy Wickens has this kind of hold on her. She said if she tries to leave, he’ll hold on to the boy. He won’t let her take him.”

For the first time, Orville almost looked concerned. “He can’t do that.”

“I know. She says if she tries to leave, with Jeffrey, that Timmy and those two stepsons of his, Charlene’s boys, will track her down wherever she goes and bring her back.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Just go up and talk to them,” Dad said. “Just get a feel of what’s going on.”

“But you can’t let on that you know what May told me,” I said. “I think that could be bad for her.”

Orville collapsed into total frustration. “Just what the hell is it you want me to do? Hunt for stolen fertilizer when you don’t have a shred of evidence that Wickens had a thing to do with it? Try to get the daughter and her boy out when she’s made no official complaint whatsoever? Honest to God, what do you want from me?”

Dad and I looked at each other.

“Also,” I said, “he assaulted me.”

“What?”

“On Main Street. When he found me having coffee with May, Timmy Wickens grabbed my arm and squeezed it.”

Now it was Orville’s turn to try not to laugh. “Did he squeeze it really hard?” His voice dripped with concern. “Go ahead, grab my arm and show me how hard he squeezed. I can take it.”

“Fuck it, never mind,” I said. “Let’s just go up and talk to them about the dogs.”

“The dogs.”

“They have to keep them tied up. Plain and simple. Then, while we’re up there, we play the rest by ear.”

Orville said, “We?”

Dad begged off, saying his ankle was throbbing. I think he was glad for an excuse not to go.

So Orville and I walked up the road to the Wickenses’ gate. I knew enough now not to hop it. Orville shouted, “Mr. Wickens! Hello?”

Timmy appeared, followed by Wendell and Dougie, who, at that moment, really did remind me of the Darryl and Darryl characters from that long-ago sitcom. The three of them walked, casually, taking their time, down the drive to the gate.

“Yeah?” said Timmy. Not nearly as friendly as at dinner the night before.

“We wonder if we could come in and talk for a moment,” Orville said. “Provided your dogs is someplace safe.”

“They’re in the barn,” said Wendell, grinning.

“You’re sure?” I said.

“If the boy says they’re in the barn, they’re in the barn,” Timmy Wickens said, unlatching the gate and opening it wide enough to admit me and Orville. We started walking slowly, walking and talking at the same time, toward the house.