Salem's Daughters (12 page)

Chapter 15              Detective Darrowby

Bob didn’t move. He held Debbie close while looking back and forth at the broken Celtic cross and demolished family crest. Phil stayed on the roof of the gazebo with his boss. Jack ended his call. “Police and emergency are on their way now,” he said through a broken voice.

Bob gazed at the top of the three story peak where he was sure three cats sat, their tails wagging in unison. They stared at him for a several long seconds. Then they were gone—taking an auspicious exit just before anyone but he noticed their presence. He tried to make sense of what in the hell just happened.

Jerry Hansen’s yelling yanked Bob’s mind out of his mysterious musing. He was running back across the lawn with a clean towel from his truck.

“Let me see your hand, Mrs. Stevens. You’re bleeding something awful.”

Debbie pulled her hand out from Bob’s chest and held it up. Blood ran down her palm and past her wrist, soaking her sleeve in warm, dark, crimson goo. The front of Bob’s shirt had a large red spot where it soaked up her blood.

The older Hansen took Debbie's arm. “Here, let me wrap your hand. That cut looks pretty deep. It’ll hold back the blood loss until you can get inside and clean the wound, which you should do right away."

Bob had been a bit leery of the crew Hill brought to work with him. They were kind of scruffy. And he was sure they were sneaking beer in while on the job.

But the guys were great at what they did. And now he saw a side of them that was caring. They had acted faster than he had as he tried to recover from the shock of DeShawn Hill dead in his front yard.

“Debbie, honey that must hurt.”

Debbie snapped out of her own shock. “Well, yes. Now that you mention it, there’s a massive throbbing pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

The Hansen brothers tossed Phil Hampton a large drop cloth who respectfully laid it over Hill. Silence reverberated throughout the area for several minutes, mitigated only by the occasional whimpers and whispered prayers. A few minutes later, faint sirens grew louder, coming closer.

Two black and white Battle Creek Police SUVs sped up to the house and skidded to a halt in the gravel driveway. They killed their sirens but left the blue and red lights on. From the lead car two men with suits emerged. Two Battle Creek police officers from the second vehicle flanked them.

The lead man, Bob recognized by his suit and the way he led, was a detective. Tall. Six foot two. Lean. Early forties. Wore his suit well. Dark thick black hair and mustache. A gait telling the world he was not afraid of anyone or anything.

“Good afternoon,” the man said as shook Bob’s hand. His voice was soothing, almost like a counselor giving comfort. Bob started to feel at ease.

“My name is Captain Detective Thomas Darrowby. This is my partner, Sergeant Detective David Kowalski.”

The sergeant looked like a tank. He had a large flat head that looked like a turret, swivel-mounted directly on a pair of wide shoulders. Any semblance of a neck was missing. His long, pointy nose was the war machine’s gun. He only nodded, rotating his line of sight past Bob, Debbie, and the Hansen brothers toward the gazebo.

“I’m Robert Stevens. But people call me Bob. This is my wife Debbie. And these two are Jack and Jerry Hansen. Hampton, erm, Phil’s his first name, is the one on top of the gazebo. They’re carpenters working on the house.”

More sirens approached. An ambulance arrived along with two more patrol cars. Bob could see his neighbors starting to make their way toward his house. Some cruised by slow, gawking. Others were on foot and stood along the gravel between the two-lane Oak Hill Road and his property. Most were taking pictures and filming the event with their cell phones.

“The five of you look shook up,” Darrowby said. “I understand a man working on your house fell off his ladder and died. Is that right?”

“Yes. That’s right,” Bob said. “It all happened so fast.”

Darrowby placed his hand on Debbie’s shoulder. “Are you okay, ma’am? That towel around your hand is soaked with blood.”

“I’m fine. I saw it happen from the living room window. I had a pair of scissors in my hand. It was terrible.” She frowned, looking at her wrapped wound. “In my shock I somehow cut myself.”

Darrowby’s warm smile and pacifying bass voice calmed Debbie. Her sobbing slowed and her grip on Bob loosened. “Well, don’t you worry. The paramedics will stitch you up good as new. I promise you that.”

Darrowby turned to Bob. “Mr. Stevens, I know this can be traumatic. This looks to be a terrible accident. And right in front of your wife, no less.”

“I saw the sign in the front yard,” the lead detective continued. Bob detected something about the man that told him he could look much more menacing than his initial Mr. Nice Guy approach. Darrowby looked over at the Hansen brothers.

“DeShawn Hill Construction. I know the man well. He’s a great friend of mine. We played football together for Battle Creek Central High School. I take it it’s one of his crew who fell off the ladder?”

Darrowby looked around. “Is he here? DeShawn?”

Oh God, how terribly awkward, Bob thought, but pointed to the Gazebo roof. “Um, that’s Mr. Hill.”

Darrowby’s body locked up. He and Kowalski exchanged a long glance at each other. Without saying anything, they walked over to the extension ladder and picked it off the ground. It was twisted and mangled along its full forty foot length. Too awkward to use, they dropped it and scaled the gazebo posts.

Darrowby yanked the drop cloth off. It caught in a snag on the steeple spire, so he yanked it again, breaking it loose with a ripping tear and loud snap, and tossed it to the ground. After an ominous silence, Bob heard the detective wail.

Bob tried to climb up to the gazebo roof. He wasn’t nearly as athletic as the detectives. He stood on the hand rail and grabbed the edge of the roof. Struggling to pull himself up, Bob tried to swing his left leg over the edge but felt his grip loosen. A strong meaty hand grabbed him and he was pulled up with great force.

In an instant, he was safely lying belly down on the 5/12 pitched roof. He felt his weight pulling him down the incline, but before he could react, Kowalski pulled him to his feet.

Bob felt uneasy on the incline of the roof. He bent his knees deep to keep his balance, then mimicked the more experienced detectives and put one foot higher up the incline, and adjusted his weight to bear on the upper foot, belayed by the stop force of his lower foot.

Still feeling queasy and precarious, he turned his head to the roof peak. In front of him lay a broken and crushed body. It was as if Hill had no bones. His corpse simply wilted across the top of the gazebo, sprawled out, the iron point jutting out of chest, seeming to pin him tight against the shingles and refusing to let him go.

He had to turn his eyes. He looked at Darrowby, who tried to hold back his sobs, and held his right hand against his heart. Phil Hampton stood and placed his hand on Darrowby’s shoulder, sharing grief for a fallen friend.

The lead detective acknowledged the gesture with a look and a nod at Phil. “DeShawn Hill was a damn good man. A family man. And a great friend. God rest his soul.”

The men went quiet for a while. Bob didn’t know what to say. He waited for someone to break the silence.

Darrowby wiped his eyes with a handkerchief and composed himself. “Do you know what, or how, this happened?”

Bob watched as the detective traced his finger from where Hill lay in an arching motion to follow the trajectory of his fall back to the top of the three story pinnacle.

“I’m not sure. My wife and I, we were in the living room when we heard Hill scream. We watched through the open front door as the ladder fell backwards.”

Darrowby snapped his head back at Bob. “Fell backwards? What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, the ladder simply fell backward. Hill was clutching the top rungs when he fell and landed on the gazebo.” Bob shuddered at the thought and the grotesque sound of the impact echoing in his mind.

Darrowby stood, hands on hips, staring at Bob. “Uh huhn.”

The detective stroked his chin and looked in every direction except directly at Bob. Bob could read his face. And he was finally making the connection the detective was struggling with. Ladders leaning into the roof with a large man at the top do not fall backward without a force pushing against them.

Darrowby glanced at Bob. His tone now was not so caring. “That doesn’t make sense. I’ve known DeShawn Hill since high school. He’s a very competent and capable building contractor.”

He looked again at Hill, then at the top of the roof. “What do you think, Mr. Hampton? Does that make any sense, his ladder suddenly falling backward, to you?”

“No,” Hampton said with an emphatic shake of the head. “It sure doesn’t. I’ve known Mr. Hill and worked for him for more than twenty years. No way could he have fallen backwards. Not like this here. Not DeShawn. Ain’t no way, sir. He’s a professional. There’s been no high winds today at all. If they’d been, he would’ve secured the top of the ladder to something solid up there with bungee cords.”

Darrowby, still looking at the roof, peeked at Bob through the corner of his eyes. Bob noticed the change in the detective’s facial expressions. He looked angry. Threatening.

The man’s hand moved toward the side of his waist, opening up his blazer enough that Bob could see a holstered gun and a set of handcuffs. Then his arm relaxed. For a moment, Bob thought the detective was going to arrest him.

Chapter 16              No More Mr. Nice Guy

Bob’s attention was drawn to his throbbing ankles. He could hardly stand. And the glares from Darrowby, Kowalski, and Hampton told him he was now an outsider looking in.

“I’m going down. It’s hard to stand on this pitch.”

Bob thought of asking for a ladder, but Hill’s ladder lay twisted on the grass. It didn’t seem like the right question to ask of Jack and Jerry Hansen, if they could get one from their trucks, considering the circumstances. They were staring at him with suspicion, too.

Bob got on all fours, scooted himself down to the bottom, and gripped the roof’s eave. It was only ten feet to the ground, and only a two foot or so drop if he could hang off the edge. Before he could act, Darrowby, Kowalski, and Phil had performed the same maneuver with ease.

He started to swing his legs over the side and the next thing he knew he was on the ground seeing stars. Debbie helped him up.

“Bob, dear. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Thanks.” Bob noticed neighbors gathering from nearby farms numbered close to a hundred. “Where the heck did they all come from? For a rural community, news sure does travel fast around here.”

As Bob brushed grass and dirt off his shirt, Darrowby stepped between him and Debbie. “Mr. Stevens, tell me again, in precise detail; what exactly happened here?”

Bob didn’t appreciate the invasion and took a step back, giving himself personal space. “I was in the living room with my wife. Inside the house. We saw Mr. Hill fall backwards while clinging to the top of the ladder. That’s really about it.”

Darrowby turned to Debbie. “That so, Mrs. Stevens?”

Debbie took her place again at Bob’s side. “Yes. DeShawn Hill was finishing the day by placing a family heirloom at the pinnacle of the house. I was anxious to see how that project was coming along. So I stepped outside, and, pretending to be trimming the flowers, I asked him how it was going. He gave me a thumbs up. Bob pulled me back inside and it wasn’t more than a minute later when we saw the ladder falling away from the house, with Mr. Hill clinging and screaming to it.”

Debbie cringed and gulped air. Bob could see where this was heading. He wasn’t going to allow his wife to be grilled, and eased himself between her and Darrowby.

“Detective, it’s like we told you,” he said with more force. “We were inside the house when this happened.”

Darrowby stepped into Bob, again devouring his personal space. “And what again did you see—exactly?”

“Actually, I first heard Hill scream. Debbie heard it, too. I turned to see him as he fell on top of the gazebo.”

Darrowby pointed. “Over there?”

What a jerk, Bob thought. Obviously over there, he knows damn well by now where.

Bob kept his calm. “That’s right. I saw the ladder falling. It was all so surreal feeling. It seemed to take forever for him to fall. But he did. Then he hit the pavilion.”

“Anything else?” Darrowby apparently had forgotten how to blink.

“No. That’s about it.”

“Are you sure?”

“Well, there is one thing. But, nah, I mean it couldn’t hav—”

“Don’t hold back anything. I’ll decide what is of importance or not.”

Crap, Bob thought. Why did I even start to mention this? He cleared his throat, and said, “Well, when I came outside, after witnessing the fall onto the gazebo, I turned, looked back up at where Hill had been, and I saw three of our cats at the top of the house.”

“Cats?”

The straight-faced response was expected. Bob shuffled his feet. He knew whatever followed would sound stupid. “Yeah. We have thirteen cats.”

Darrowby and Kowalski gave Bob a strange look. Darrowby finally blinked. Once. Then said, deadpan, “Cats.”

“Yeah. Cats. They’re my wife’s. Anyway, three cats were sitting where Hill was fastening the Celtic cross.” Bob pointed. “At the peak of the house.”

Darrowby made a funny face. “Cats? Really? Are you suggesting cats had anything to do with this horrible event? I have to be the one to break the news to his wife and children. Am I supposed to say three cats are our prime suspects?”

“Well I—I mean, no. Of course not. Wait, did you just say prime suspects?”

Darrowby looked around. “And where are the cats now?”

“I’m not sure. Why?”

“Maybe we should question them,” Kowalski smirked.

Darrowby looked back at the gazebo, again tracing the trajectory of the fall with his forefinger. “The ladder went back, away from this house, like this. As if it was pushed. Hard. Hard enough to rise upward, reach the fulcrum point, and then topple over to the ground. DeShawn Hill was a big man. He looks to be a solid two hundred and fifty pounds. It would take a considerable amount of force to push the ladder, with him on it, into an upward arc.”

He looked down as his voice trailed off and shook his head, then looked back at Bob. “I’ll be sure to have forensics calculate the force needed to push that amount of mass backward. And I honestly don’t think
cats
could do that.”

Bob felt Debbie nudge past him. “Pushed? What exactly are you saying?”

“I’ll take care of this, honey.”

Darrowby bore down on Bob. Kowalski put away his pad and pencil and stood close to his side.

“What I’m saying is DeShawn Hill was a very competent man. He was smart. Strong. He didn’t just fall. If that were the case, he would have landed on the porch roof directly below. Instead, the ladder was forced away from the house. Either he shoved off in an effort to commit suicide, or the ladder was pushed by another source.”

“I don’t like what you’re insinuating,” Bob said as he held Debbie close.

“Where were you again?”

Bob sighed in frustration. “For the third time. In the living room. Inside our house.”

“Any witnesses?” Kowalski said, looking down and again taking notes.

“My wife. Debbie.”

Darrowby spread his arms wide in an exaggerated gesture. “Oh, right. Debbie. With a large cut on her hand and a towel wrapped around it. Oh, and there’s blood all over her sleeve and on your shirt. We’ll come back to your wife and her wound. Don’t go away.”

Darrowby turned to the three workers. “Did you witness where either Mr. or Mrs. Stevens were, or what they were doing at the time the ladder with your boss fell backwards?”

“No sir.” Phil said. “We was all upstairs, installin’ ceiling fans in the bedrooms.”

Darrowby bore back down on Bob. Bob stood his ground. “We were inside the house when he fell. Now I don’t know what happened. But I can assure you, my wife and I were in the living room at the time.

“For God’s sake, man, we liked Mr. Hill. We’d gotten close during the project. He even made a beautiful oak table for our guests and gave it to us as a gift. There’s no way my wife or I would think of causing the man any harm.”

“Mmhmm.” Darrowby chewed on his lower lip. “Right. Sure. And the cats. Maybe they pushed him.”

Now he’s flat out mocking me.
“That’s ridiculous, and we both know it.”

Darrowby cracked a wry smile and whispered, “So is this whole event. And I’m not buying it."

Bob noticed three news vans positioning themselves on the street. Although surprised, he was glad Darrowby’s attention was now toward the news crews.

Darrowby pulled out a comb and ran it through his thick dark wavy hair, then gave his mustache a once over. He straightened his tie as he looked back at Bob. “Saved by the bell. But I’ll be back. You can count on that. DeShawn Hill was a very good friend of mine. And this was no accident.”

“Great,” Bob said to Debbie as the detectives turned and walked away. “That’s all we need. Our general contractor is dead in our front yard and Darrowby thinks we had something to do with it. Now the news crews are here. And right before Memorial Day Weekend.”