Claws For Concern

I wondered what we might be able to elicit from the people we planned to interview. I knew, based on my recent experiences, that sometimes small details slipped by the attention of otherwise vigilant investigators, and those small details could lead to significant information. One or more of the people Jack had on the list to interview might have seen or heard something that could put a new twist on the case. I hoped fervently that Jack and I might uncover one or more of those details.

Stewart wrapped up his anecdote, and I came out of my reverie when he suggested fresh apple pie with ice cream for dessert. I badly wanted to say yes, but after the meal I had finished, I knew I’d regret it before the night was over. I declined politely, and Stewart didn’t push me to change my mind.

“If you leave the dishes,” I said, “I’ll clean up the kitchen once you’ve finished with dessert. In the meantime, I’m going to the den to watch a little television.”

“Thanks,” Stewart said. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“Come on, Diesel.” I pushed back from the table. “I’m going to wash my hands, and then we’re going to the den.”

The cat meowed twice, and I wondered whether he was complaining about having to leave people eating or whether he was saying he was ready to join me. He did not need any bites of apple pie nor any ice cream, no matter what he might think.

In the den Diesel and I got comfortable on the sofa. He stretched out, his head against my leg. I turned the television to a channel that showed old comedies from the fifties and sixties, the ones I grew up with. They were comfort whenever I was upset or preoccupied with a problem. I could watch and listen to the familiar antics but still mull over whatever was troubling me.

Tonight, while Lucy and Ethel got themselves into yet another scrape, I thought about the Barber case. There had to be details the original investigators either missed completely or did not recognize as significant. I wondered if Jack knew who had worked the case twenty years ago. If one of them was retired by now, might he be willing to talk about it? Or maybe even an officer still in the department? Since Jack wanted to write about the case, maybe one of them would want to be in the book badly enough that he would cooperate.

I was certain Jack had already considered that, although he hadn’t mentioned it to me. If he didn’t bring it up in the morning, I would mention it to him and see what he thought. We needed to know more about the original investigation, that was all there was to it. Even if we had to ask the current sheriff himself.

The house phone rang and interrupted my thoughts. I reached for the handset on the end table beside me. “Good evening, this is Charlie Harris.”

“Mr. Harris, sorry to bother you this evening,” a female voice responded. She identified herself as a nurse at the hospital. “Mr. Delaney is asking for you. He’s pretty agitated, and he threatened to leave the hospital and come to your house if we didn’t call. Can you come?”

“Certainly,” I said. “Tell Mr. Delaney that I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Thank you,” the nurse replied. “I’ll tell him right away.”

I hung up the phone and patted Diesel’s side. “Sorry, buddy, but I’ve got to go somewhere, and you can’t come with me. You’ll have to stay here.”

Diesel meowed but followed me from the den without further complaint. Stewart and Haskell, along with Dante, were finishing their desserts. I explained that I had to go to the hospital and why.

“Don’t worry about Diesel,” Stewart said. “You go and see what’s got the poor man so upset.”

“Thanks,” I said on my way to the back door.

As I backed the car out of the garage, I could feel my heart rate pick up. Was Bill Delaney finally ready to talk to me about the Barber case?

TWENTY-SIX

The Barber case might be solved tonight. Bill Delaney must be willing to tell me what he’s been keeping back, I thought. Otherwise why would he be so agitated and insist that he would leave the hospital if he had to in order to talk to me?

When I left the car in the hospital parking lot, I felt the heat close in on me. The humidity, even this late in the day, felt suffocating. I had to stop at a water fountain in the hospital and gulp down several mouthfuls of water before I began to cool down. I loved my life in Athena, but in the summer months I preferred to live as much of it as possible inside in the air-conditioning.

Thankful that the hospital was cool, I took the elevator up and soon I reached Bill Delaney’s room. The door stood wide open, and when I stepped into the room I was shocked to find several people in scrubs and white coats around the bed. One of the nurses turned and noticed me. She walked over to me and motioned for me to move out of the room.

“Are you Mr. Harris?” she asked when we were out in the hallway. “He had us list you as his emergency contact.”

“Yes,” I said. “What’s going on? Is he going to be okay?”