Shadow of Death (20 page)
I figured he'd be disappointed if I didn't wake him up.
So I cleared my throat and said, “Farley?”
He didn't stir. I wondered how deaf he was.
I said his name again, louder this time, and when he didn't respond, I gripped his shoulder and gave it a gentle shake.
“Hey, Farley,” I said. “Wake up.”
His arm was rigid in my hand. I touched his cheek. It felt as cool as the early-autumn air.
Farley Nelson wasn't going to wake up.
I
sat in the Adirondack chair beside Farley Nelson. I wondered if he'd just decided that this was as good a day as any to die, that the time had come to join his wife. I wondered if he'd known it was coming and brought his newspaper and coffee and cigar out here on this pretty September morning to wait for it to happen.
sat in the Adirondack chair beside Farley Nelson. I wondered if he'd just decided that this was as good a day as any to die, that the time had come to join his wife. I wondered if he'd known it was coming and brought his newspaper and coffee and cigar out here on this pretty September morning to wait for it to happen.
Heart attack, I guessed. Maybe a stroke.
I hoped it had been quick and painless and peaceful for him.
After a while, I got up and went to the back door of his house. It was unlocked, so I went in.
I found the telephone on the kitchen wall, dialed 911, and told the Southwick police dispatcher that I was at Farley Nelson's house and that Farley had died.
She asked if I was sure he was dead. I said I was pretty sure.
The dispatcher told me to wait right there and not touch anything.
I went outside and leaned against the side of my car, and
a few minutes later I heard sirens in the distance. The sirens grew louder, and then an emergency wagon pulled into the driveway, and right behind it was a police cruiser.
a few minutes later I heard sirens in the distance. The sirens grew louder, and then an emergency wagon pulled into the driveway, and right behind it was a police cruiser.
Two EMTs, both athletic-looking guys somewhere in their late twenties or early thirties, jumped out of the wagon.
I pointed behind the house. “He's back there,” I said.
They went around to where Farley Nelson was sitting in his Adirondack chair.
There were two uniformed cops in the cruiser, a burly fortyish man and a younger dark-haired woman. The woman followed the EMTs out back.
The burly cop came over to me. “Sergeant Somers,” he said. He held out his hand.
I shook it. “Brady Coyne.”
“You found him, huh?” he said.
I nodded.
“Friend of his?”
“Yes.”
“Nice old fella,” said the cop.
“Yes, he was.”
He took out a notebook. “I've got to ask you a couple questions, okay?”
“Sure.”
“It'll only take a minute.”
“That's all right.”
He found a pen in his pocket and turned some pages in his notebook. “I need you to spell your name for me and give me your address and phone number.”
I did.
“Your business?”
“I'm a lawyer.”
He nodded as if he already knew that. “So how come you came here to Mr. Nelson's house today?”
I shrugged. “He invited me up. He wanted to show me his bass pond.”
He smiled. “You're a fisherman?”
Before I could reply, Sergeant Somers's partner, the female officer, came out from behind the house and said, “Hey,” and jerked her head for him to join her.
“Excuse me,” he said, and went over to where his partner was standing.
They conferred for a minute, and then Somers came back to me. “I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you to wait here with us, sir.”
“What's going on?”
“A state police officer will be here. He'll want to talk with you.”
The dark-haired female officer had gone to the cruiser. She was sitting in the driver's seat with the door hanging open, and she was talking on the two-way radio.
I turned to Sergeant Somers. “Can you tell me why they want to talk with me?”
“No, sir. I can't.”
I could only think of one reason: There had to be a question about how Farley Nelson had died.
Somers remained with me but showed no indication that he was interested in more conversation. I guessed he was leaving the questions to the state police.
After a few minutes the female officer slid out of the cruiser. “They're on their way,” she said to Somers. Then she went back to the rear of the house.
Ten or fifteen minutes later a New Hampshire state police
cruiser pulled into the farmyard and stopped beside the Southwick cruiser. A uniformed trooper got out from behind the wheel and stood there beside his vehicle. A tall guy with bushy gray hair got out from the passenger side. He was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a pale blue necktie. He headed straight for the rear of Farley Nelson's house.
cruiser pulled into the farmyard and stopped beside the Southwick cruiser. A uniformed trooper got out from behind the wheel and stood there beside his vehicle. A tall guy with bushy gray hair got out from the passenger side. He was wearing a dark suit with a white shirt and a pale blue necktie. He headed straight for the rear of Farley Nelson's house.
After a few minutes, the gray-haired guy came back to where Somers and I were standing. “Sergeant,” he said, “come on over here.”
Somers followed him over to the state police cruiser where they conferred.
While they were talking, another car drove in. A sixtyish bald man got out of the passenger seat. The gray-haired state cop went over, said something to the bald man, and pointed toward the back of the house. I heard him say, “Doc.” I guessed the bald man was the coroner. A minute later Sergeant Somers and the coroner went around to the back of the house.
The state police officer in the suit came over to me. “Looks like a damn used-car lot, huh?”
I nodded. Seven vehicles were now parked in Farley Nelson's farmyard.
“You're Brady Coyne?” he said.
I nodded.
“Lawyer from Boston, huh?”
“Yes.”
“I'm Lieutenant Bagley,” he said. He did not offer his hand. “I'm with the Major Crimes Unit out of the A.G.'s office in Concord.”
“Major Crimes,” I repeated.
“I understand you found the body.”
“That's right.”
“You were here to go fishing?”
I nodded. “Farley invited me up to see his bass pond.”
“That's it?”
I smiled. “I like fishing. Farley seemed pretty proud of his pond.”
“He invited you by telephone?”
“Yes, that's right. He called sometime yesterday afternoon.”
“And you left him a message asking for directions.”
I nodded. They'd listened to Farley's answering machine.
“That was”âBagley glanced at the notepad he was holdingâ“at five-ten P.M.?”
“That sounds about right.”
“Did he call you back?”
“No.”
Bagley shrugged. “Let's start with where you've been and what you've been doing since then.”
I told him. When I mentioned Harris Goff, he asked if I could pin down the time I stopped there and how long I'd stayed, which I tried to do. When I told him about stopping at the general store in Southwick for directions, he asked me the name of the girl behind the counterâwhich I didn't knowâand what I'd bought there and what time I'd left.
He asked me how I knew Farley Nelson. I told him about my two previous visits to Southwick, about meeting him at the general store on Tuesday, and about how he and I had had a beer at the Southwick Inn on Thursday.
Bagley nodded as if he already knew that. “And were these occasions merely social?”
I shrugged. “The first time I bought water for my dog. He gave me a bowl. We talked about dogs.”
“And the second time? At the inn?”
I shrugged. “I was asking Mr. Nelson about some people he might have known thirty years ago.”
“I'm all ears, Mr. Coyne.”
“It was about a couple of men who died last spring.”
Bagley arched his eyebrows.
“Their names were Oliver Burlingame and Mark Lyman. I was asking about them in connection with a client of mine, and I can't say anything more about it.”
“Did Mr. Nelson give you any useful information?”
“No, not really.” I hesitated. “You think somebody murdered Mr. Nelson, don't you?”
“I'm quite certain of it,” said Bagley.
I shook my head. “I saw his body,” I said. “At first I thought he was having a nap. He was an old man. His hearing aid was on the table. I thought he just ⦔
Bagley touched his Adam's apple with his forefinger. “He was garroted, Mr. Coyne.”
I looked at him.
He nodded.
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“Looks like they used rope. The thin nylon kind.” He held up his hand and spaced his thumb and forefinger about the diameter of a pencil apart. “Clothesline, maybe.”
I blew out a breath.
“Doc Erb will pin it down for us,” he said, “but I'm guessing it happened sometime last evening.”
“The rigor,” I said. “The temperature of the skin.”
“You touched his body?”
I nodded.
“What else did you touch?”
I thought for a minute. “I went into the barn, called his name. Don't think I touched anything. I patted his dog. I sat
in the chair beside him for a few minutes. When I realized he was dead, not sleeping, I went into the kitchen and used the phone. Then I came back out here. That's all.”
in the chair beside him for a few minutes. When I realized he was dead, not sleeping, I went into the kitchen and used the phone. Then I came back out here. That's all.”
Bagley paused for a minute. “Naturally,” he said, “I'm curious to know if Mr. Nelson's apparent murder is in any way connected to you and those two men you were asking him about the other day.”
“I don't know.” I hesitated. “Lieutenant, I'm a lawyer. I have a client.”
“And you can't tell me who your client is or how he might be connected to any of this, I suppose.”
“That's right,” I said. “I can't.” I paused for a moment. “Look. You should talk to Roger Horowitz. He's a homicide detective with the Massachusetts state police.”
“Fill me in, Mr. Coyne.”
I told him about Gordon Cahill's death the previous Sunday night in a burning car in the Willard Brook State Forest just a few miles south of the New Hampshire border. I told him that I'd hired Cahill on behalf of my client and he might or might not have been working on that client's case when he died. I told him that Cahill might have been coming back from Southwick, New Hampshire, that night, that ten years ago he had done undercover work for the Massachusetts state police, that he had testified in court against some Boston mobsters, that Horowitz and Cahill were old friends from those days, and that Horowitz was investigating Cahill's murder.
Bagley watched me with narrowed eyes as I talked, and when I finished, he said, “So it all goes back to your client.”
“I don't know,” I said.
“First your private investigator,” he said, “and now Farley Nelson. You've been snooping around here asking innocent
people questions because you think your client had something to do with what happened to the PI. And now you've gotten this old man killed, too.”
people questions because you think your client had something to do with what happened to the PI. And now you've gotten this old man killed, too.”
“I hope to hell that's not it,” I said.
He arched an eyebrow. “You got a better explanation for what happened here today?”
“I don't have any explanation whatsoever for what happened here today,” I said. “I don't know who killed Farley.”
At that moment the two EMTs, along with Sergeant Somers and his dark-haired female partner, emerged from behind Farley Nelson's house. The EMTs were pushing a gurney on wheels. A dark blue plastic body bag lay on top of it. It was zipped up tight, and lying there on the gurney, it looked too small to contain a man's body.
Lieutenant Bagley and I watched them load Farley's body into the back of their wagon. Then they got in, backed around, and drove out the driveway.
The bald coroner appeared a minute later. Bagley went over and talked with him and then stood there in the driveway while the coroner got into his car, backed out, and drove away.
Then Bagley came back to where I was standing. “Doc Erb estimates it happened sometime between six and midnight last night. Figures old Farley died of a heart attack.”
“Brought on by having a rope pulled tight around his neck,” I said.
Bagley nodded.
“That would make it murder.”
“Yes,” he said.
“You already knew that,” I said.
He shrugged. “You never know for sure.”
Sergeant Somers came over and stood in front of Lieutenant Bagley. “Shall we secure the area, sir?”
Bagley nodded. “Forensics are on their way.” He looked up. “Now what?”
A blocky SUV was pulling into the driveway. I thought I recognized it, and when I saw the logo and the words “Limerick PD” stenciled on the side, I was sure of it.
Officer Paul Munson got out, looked around, then came over to where Bagley and Somers and I were standing. “I heard about it on the scanner,” he said. “Happened to be in the vicinity. Anything I can do?”
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