Chapter Twenty-Eight
In the van, headed to her house, Clara said, “I wish we’d known about Alsup and his wife before the ladies left. I’ll message and ask what they know. Sure looks like this elephant resides in North Bend County.”
“With Rich indicating Damon took his shady business practices along with him when he traveled, he could have made enemies elsewhere, too.”
“Wouldn’t it make more sense for an out-of-town enemy to kill him there instead of here? No commute and they’d know the area.”
“Home-field advantage for murder?”
“Nice phrase, you writer, you. Are you going to tell Teague about all this?”
“You think I should?”
“No. I don’t ever think you should. But if you’re going to tell him something and he and the department happen to spend a lot of time chasing leads out of town, that wouldn’t be all bad.”
“You are so much more devious than people give you credit for.”
“Thank you.” She meant it.
“But I’d guess they’re already checking on the possibility of out-of-town enemies, including through Damon’s work.”
“So, you might as well tell Teague. It might keep him from wondering what you aren’t telling him. You know, the motives around here,” she said with additional cheerful deviousness.
“I can’t imagine him or the rest of the department being so absorbed with out-of-town angles that they ignore what was going on in his life in North Bend County.”
“Darn it. Because what we heard about William Alsup is sure suspicious. And his wife at the Tavern with him Thursday night, hanging around together like they rarely do. If one or the other of them hired someone . . .” She frowned.
“But like you said, that doesn’t give them an alibi for the whole night and since we don’t know the time of death .
. . Does that mean you’re writing off the Alsups as possible suspects? ”
“No way. Late dinner at the Tavern doesn’t give them an alibi, but, nobody else has one, either. We have to keep them in mind. Especially with William being an Alsup.”
“You mean a Dailey because of the car wash business.”
“That, too. But I meant Damon’s great-grandfather — I think it was great-grandfather — being a judge. We’ll have to confirm, but I’d guess William Alsup is related to Felix Alsup.”
“I don’t know Felix Alsup.”
“Good reason for that. He was hanged in 1936.”
“Oh. He’s part of what Urban told you about. But you seemed to think that was a tangent.”
“I did think it was a tangent.”
“Remember Pammy was irked at Zoley yesterday when she brought up the Swindell family name? Could this stuff about the judge ancestor explain why Pammy was touchy?”
“It could. It could also mean more. If Damon’s great-whatever-grandfather was a corrupt judge who let one man out on bail, allowing him to disappear, while Felix Alsup was hanged for the same crime, and that judge was suddenly richer, the Alsups might have a grudge against the Swindells.”
“They might, but they’d have to be awfully patient to wait until now to act on that grudge,” Clara said. “On the other hand. if it upsets someone who married into the family that much, maybe we were wrong to dismiss it as a factor for William Alsup.”
Good point.
“How about this?” I suggested. “It might add another level of animosity to Damon threatening the car wash business of William Alsup’s Dailey side, and to Damon messing around with Blanche Alsup.”
“I suppose.” She brightened. “You should go back to Urban for more details, then you can tell me what’s important.”
I was tempted to strangle her and Urban.
Later.
We were picking up the dogs for today’s trip to the dog park and I’d have to handle all three by myself if I killed Clara now.
* * * *
Perhaps drawn by the novelty of Clara and me in Tavern attire rather than our usual dog park rags, the humans hung around us, preventing thrashing out of motives and suspects.
We might have been more disappointed by that if the relative crowd didn’t also keep Berrie at bay.
My chatting was interrupted by an incoming phone call, when the screen displayed one word: Quincy.
I shot a look at Clara to see if she’d spotted it, but she was talking to a young woman about approaches to controlled leash-walking a mixed breed puppy with paws the size of hams.
I moved away before answering, feeling the chilly breeze more without the human windbreak.
After hellos, he said, “Decided not to wait for you to call back. In case I’m not on your list of favorite people with Teague gone to this conference.”
I smiled. “More like way up on the list for making him happy.”
“Same here, Sheila. Same here.”
Suddenly shy, I nattered on about Teague enjoying the conference.
Quincy let me wind down, then asked, “You know about him leaving the department here?”
Automatically, I responded to his bluntness. “Because of his eyesight, which helped him realize he didn’t want to keep working for the police chief.”
“Can’t think of anybody who did,” Quincy said cheerfully. “O’Donnell didn’t tell you that chief’s gone?”
“No.” Among other things he hadn’t told me.
“As of a couple months ago. The current chief knew Teague before. Would have him back in a heartbeat.”
Oh.
“But Teague’s made it clear he’s there now.”
Oh.
“Because you’re there. You know that, right?”
Oh.
After not voicing any of my variations on that syllable, I said, “Being able to teach, too, is important to him.”
“Sure it is,” he agreed equably and in a way that made me think he had opinions he wasn’t expressing.
“He told me some about not knowing where his sight would end up, adjusting to the damage,” I said, possibly to reorient the discussion.
“Glad he’s talking about it. Wouldn’t let anybody in his hermit cave when it was going on. We kept knocking on the door, but he kept it closed. Thought sometimes that was the reason he moved down there — to make it harder for people to knock.”
“But he got the credentials to teach up there, took courses . . .”
“Uh-huh. Classes with strangers. Can’t say the guy doesn’t know how to achieve what he wants.”
I was thinking of Teague’s doggedness in teaching, in carpentry, and in getting back into law enforcement in a context that suited him, when Quincy spoke again, with an edit of his own words.
“What he’s persuaded himself he wants.”
That opened a lot of potential directions to head.
I inched closer to one of my core questions. “He did say there was an incident.”
“Yeah.” Talk about a syllable packed with unknown meaning . . . Before I could respond, he said, “I have someone you should meet.”
I accepted his judgment on that without question. I wasn’t as sure about his geography.
We were five to six hours apart, depending on traffic, stops, and strict adherence to speed limits.
“Okay, but . . .”
“Let me check on this end and we can set up a day, since best would be to meet around lunch if you can. Lafayette, Indiana’s about halfway.”
Interesting he knew that off the top of his head. Was I going out on a limb to think he’d met Teague?
Teague never mentioned such a meeting — or meetings. On the other hand, he had no obligation to tell me, especially if there’d been a professional impetus and equally especially earlier in our relationship, much less before we crossed into acknowledging we had a relationship.
“That works.”
“Are you going to tell Teague?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Fair enough.”
“Even being away, he’s involved in a case right now.”
He chuckled. “Hear you are, too. Give me twenty minutes and I’ll call back with possible days.”
Fifteen passed before a second call came in.
Again, I distanced myself from the chatting humans, though a pair of dogs trotted along with me until I stopped moving, then peeled away.
Among the days Quincy offered, I picked the first one.
Tomorrow.