J. Jance - Trial By Fury

"Bambi had nothin' to do with that man's death," he declared, speaking slowly, attempting to keep his voice carefully modulated, making a visible effort to maintain control. Despite his efforts, the words virtually exploded into the room as they left his lips.

"Did you see Darwin Ridley last Friday?" I asked. "Did you talk to him after you saw the picture that came in the mail that morning?"

He glared at me. "I did not!"

I knew he was lying. I can't say for sure how I knew. I just did. Maybe it was the momentary flicker in his eyes. "Where were you Friday night, Mr. Barker?"

"Home."

I shook my head. "No. Not all night. Someone came to the Coliseum and spoke to Darwin Ridley just at the end of halftime. Were you that person?"

Tex Barker's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "And what if I was?" he demanded. "What if I stopped by long enough to tell that son of a bitch that if I ever caught him near my daughter again I'd cut his black balls off?"

"Did you?" I asked.

He slammed his fist on the desk, sending a coffee cup skittering dangerously close to the edge. "No, sir, God damn it! I didn't. Never got a chance. Some SOB beat me to it. It ain't often somebody catches Wheeler-Dealer flat-footed, but someone sure as hell outdrew me on this one."

"So you're saying you'd have killed him yourself if you'd had the chance?"

"Damn right."

Peters had been observing this exchange from the sidelines. "What did you say to him when you saw him?"

"That he was a dead mother if I ever caught him within fifty miles of Bambi."

"I'd be willing to bet that wasn't news to him"

A self-satisfied grimace touched the corners of Barker's mouth. "No it wasn't. He'd gotten my message."

"What message? From his wife?"

Barker nodded. "That's right."

"And when did you tell him that?"

"Just at the end of halftime. I caught up with him after the team went on the floor."

"Let me get this straight," I said. "You came to the Coliseum, tracked him down during halftime, and told him that if he ever came near your daughter again, you'd kill him. Where'd you go after that?"

"Home."

"Straight home?"

Barker shrugged noncommittally.

"What time did you get there?"

"Ten. Eleven. I don't know, don't remember. I didn't look at the clock."

"I'd suggest you try to remember, Mr. Barker," I warned him. "We're dealing with homicide here. You have motive and you have opportunity. Within hours of the time of the victim's death you threatened to kill him. If I were you, I'd go looking for an alibi. Someone besides your wife," I added.

Barker glared back at me. "I don't need no fuckin' alibi. If I'd killed the son of a bitch, I'd be down at police headquarters braggin' about it."

That could have been the truth. Wheeler-Dealer didn't strike me as a man who would hide his light under a bushel, even if that light happened to be murder.

We were there a while longer. When we left and were making our way back to the car, Peters asked, "What do you think?"

"I don't think it was him."

Peters sounded shocked. "You don't? Why not?"

"His ego's all bound up in this. He's pissed because someone beat him out of getting even. Believe me, had he done it, he'd be yelling it to high heaven."

"Beau, he's suckering you. That's exactly what he wants us to believe."

"We'll see," I said. "What say we drive over to the school and check out the names in the locker?"

"Sure? Why not?"

It was early afternoon when we got to Mercer Island High School. The clerk told us that the principal, Ned Browning, was busy. We asked for Candace Wynn instead. She was sitting at a desk in the counseling office, poring over a yellow sheet covered with writing. She stood up as we entered.

"Are you here about the memorial service?" she asked.

"Memorial service?"

"For Darwin. Tomorrow evening, after the funeral. Mr. Browning asked me to be in charge of planning it. The funeral is going to be small and private. We thought there should be something here at school for the kids. Something official."

"I'm sure that's a good idea, Mrs. Wynn, but that's not why we're here."

"What, then?"

"Do you have keys to the lockers in the girls' locker room?"

"Pardon me?"

"I had a long talk with Bambi Barker in Portland last night," I said. "There's something on one of the locker ceilings we need to see."

Andi Wynn frowned. "I could probably get a master key," she said doubtfully, "but I'm not sure I should. Did you talk to Mr. Browning about this? Shouldn't you have a search warrant or something?"

Peters sighed. "We probably should, but we're not searching for evidence per se. It's a matter of our simply corroborating something Bambi told us. I can assure you, we won't be looking for anything but that one thing."

Andi Wynn sat quietly, considering what Peters had said. Finally, she shrugged. "I don't suppose it would matter that much."

The three of us waited in her office chatting about inconsequentials until the final bell rang and school was dismissed. Then Andi left us to go to the office for the key. When she returned, she led us to the girls' locker room. While Andi stood to one side and waited, Peters and I spent twenty minutes opening lockers, glancing up at the top to see if anything was written there, and then closing them again, being careful to disturb nothing else in the process. We were almost finished when we opened locker number 211.

Peters was the one who saw the names written there. "Bingo! Holy shit! Look at this."

Peters isn't the excitable type. He stepped aside, and I moved quickly to the locker, craning my neck to see what was written there, scratched with a sharp object into the gray paint on the locker's metal top.

Just as Bambi had said, Darwin Ridley's name was the last one on the list, printed in awkwardly scrawled letters.

The name that caught my eye, though, was that of Ned Browning. The principal.

His name was on the list, too.

Twice.

When I stepped away from the locker, Andi Wynn was looking uncertainly from Peters to me. "What is it?" she asked. "What did you find?"

"Look for yourself," I said.

She did. I watched her expression when she turned back to face us. "I don't understand."

"It's a trophy case," I told her. "The cheerleaders' trophy case."

"What does it mean?"

"It doesn't matter. Let's get out of here, Peters."

I welcomed the fresh air when we stepped back outside. I felt sick. Ned Browning, too. The one who had been so protective of his "young people." He, too, had fallen victim to the cheerleaders' hit list. More than once.

We were nearing the office when I rounded a corner and ran full tilt into Ned Browning himself. Ned Browning and Joanna Ridley.

Joanna looked surprised to see me. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

"Working. What about you?"

She nodded toward Ned Browning, who was carrying a large cardboard box. "Mr. Browning asked me to come get Darwin 's things. They're hiring a replacement and he needs to use the desk."

Ned nodded. "It was most awkward, having to call, even before the funeral, but the board has moved forward and hired a replacement. He'll be here at school tomorrow. I felt Mrs. Ridley was the only one who should handle her husband's things."

"Did you find out anything?" Joanna asked.

More than we expected, I wanted to say, but I didn't. Instead, I reached for the box Ned had in his hands. "Would you like me to carry this to your car?"

She nodded, and Ned handed it over. It was fairly heavy. "I'll be getting back to my office," he said. He turned to Joanna and took her hand. "Thank you so much for stopping by. Will you be attending the memorial service tomorrow night?" he asked. "Mrs. Wynn here is in charge of planning it."