Shadow of Doubt (10 page)

S
id rubbed his raw eyes as he read the last page of the trial transcript Jill had given him. Man, he thought, leaning back hard in his chair. If he'd had any hope before that Celia was not the killer, the transcript dashed it. In the first trial, she'd had a motive, she'd had the arsenic in her possession in the form of rat poison, she'd confessed in her computer journal…What else did anybody need?

But if they charged her with this crime, they needed probable cause. What motive would she have for killing Stan? Being looney didn't seem to be a good enough motive. But he was sure if he looked hard enough, he'd find something. The motive always surfaced eventually.

He set his elbows on his desk and rubbed his eyes, wishing it was two strangers whose lives he was investigating, instead of his best friend and his friend's wife.

He thought of all the time he'd spent with Celia at church, all the Sunday school classes and Bible studies they'd shared, all the insights she'd offered into the mind and heart of God. He'd never had any inkling that she wasn't as she seemed, or that lurking beneath that sweet exterior was an unstable woman.

But no one had suspected Judas, either, before he'd betrayed Christ. Even when Jesus told them that one of them would betray him, no one said, “It's gotta be Judas.” Instead, they pointed to themselves, and asked, “Is it me, Lord?”

He had to remember that Celia
wasn't
as she seemed. She had a past, and she had secrets, and those secrets were stacked one inside another like those little dolls that got smaller and smaller. Except her secrets got bigger instead of smaller.

“Hey, Sid,” LaTonya Mason called from across the room. “I verified that info on Lee Barnett.” He looked up to see the rookie cop he'd put on the case. “It's true. He got out twelve days ago. Served his full term. I tracked down his mama in Jackson, but didn't get a answer. I'll try again later.”

“Okay,” Sid said. “Let me know what you find out. Did you do a rap sheet on him?”

“Yep. Had a coupla DWIs, and then the manslaughter charge.”

Lost in thought, Sid hardly noticed when R.J. burst through the glass door. He was out of uniform since he'd finally gone off duty, and as he bounced to Sid's desk and pulled a chair up, Sid smelled the alcohol on his breath. “Man, somethin' just happened at Joe's Place, and I don't know if it means nothin', but I thought I'd tell you.”

“What?”

“There was this guy in there spoutin' off about his relationship with Celia Shepherd. Claims they used to be an item. Had a little too much to drink, and told us he'd just got to town, got him an apartment, and kept askin' us where Celia was, if we had her phone number, that kind of thing.”

Sid sat up straighter and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. And I tried to get at why he's in town, and he said he was here for the huntin'. Then he said somethin' about bein' a computer consultant. Just kept wantin' to know where Celia was, like he had to see her.”

Sid stared at him, the first bud of hope beginning to blossom in his heart. Could this stranger, rather than Celia, have poisoned Stan? “Did he know about the poisonin'?”

“It was right there in the paper in front of him. Seemed genuinely surprised, but it coulda been a act. I couldn't say for sure.”

“Did you get his name?”

“Sure did,” R.J. said. “And I was gonna run a check on him. Name's Lee Barnett.”

Sid's jaw fell open. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah, why?”

He scraped his chair back and stood up. “Only because Lee Barnett just got out of prison a coupla weeks ago, and he was questioned in the murder of Celia's first husband. You don't happen to know where he's stayin', do you?”

“Sure. He said he has an apartment over at Bonaparte Court.”

Sid grabbed his keys and almost knocked his chair over.

“Where ya goin', man?”

“To pick up Mr. Barnett,” Sid said. “I got a few questions to ask him.”

 

S
id knocked on Marabeth Simmons's door at the Bonaparte Court apartments, for he knew no one would be in the office at this hour. He knew she would tell him where Lee Barnett's apartment was. There was very little that Marabeth could keep to herself, especially if she thought it was part of a police investigation.

She answered the door wearing a velveteen robe with fake fur around the collar. “Hey, there, Sid,” she said.

“Hey, Marabeth. I'm here on police business. I need to know which apartment Lee Barnett is in. Do you know him?”

“Well, sure I know him,” she said. “Cute as the dickens, if you don't mind my sayin' so. He ain't done nothin' wrong now, has he?”

“I don't know,” Sid said. “Which apartment, Marabeth?”

“Well, he's in apartment B-5. Right up yonder.” She pointed toward the man's door. Sid headed for the stairs.

“Are you gonna arrest him?” Marabeth asked. “I thought somethin' was funny about him. I was tellin' Sue Ellen over to the post office that it struck me odd that a man wouldn't know if his own apartment was furnished or not, but it takes all kinds. Don't reckon that's against any laws, though.”

“No, ma'am.”

“So…did he break some other law? Is that what you want with him?”

Sid started up the steps, and Vern Hargis—another officer who'd just pulled up in his squad car—followed him. “Thanks for your help, Marabeth.”

She looked deflated that she hadn't gotten anything for the grapevine. But he didn't kid himself that she'd gone back into her apartment. He would have bet money that she was eavesdropping under the stairwell.

They went to the man's front door. There was a light on, so he hoped Barnett was home. He knocked hard.

After a moment, he heard him yelling, “I'm comin'!”

He answered so quickly that Sid thought he must have been expecting someone else. His expression crashed when he opened the door and saw the two cops. Sid wondered who he was waiting for.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Are you Lee Barnett?”

He hesitated. “Why?”

“I'm Lieutenant Sid Ford,” Sid told him. “And this is Sergeant Vern Hargis. We need to ask you a few questions.”

The man looked aggravated and crossed his arms with disgust. “Look, I served my time. I got out, fair and square. I ain't done anything wrong. I haven't had
time
to do anything wrong. What in the world would you have to ask me about?”

“We need to ask you about the murder attempt on Stan Shepherd's life.”

His mouth fell open, and he rubbed the back of his neck as his face reddened. “Wait a minute.” He took a moment to calm himself, then tried to speak again. “Look, I've never met the man. I've only heard his name. I didn't even know about the poisoning until I read it in the paper tonight.”

He stepped back from the door, as if inviting them in. They went in, looked around. From the small living room, Sid could see into the bedroom. The bed was bare—no sheets or anything—and a suitcase lay open on the floor.

“I just got here today. Haven't had time to unpack or…buy sheets…” His voice seemed to trail off the further he got into the sentence. “Look, I got nothin' to hide.”

“Then you won't mind coming down to the station with us so we can ask you a few questions,” Sid suggested.

He breathed a nervous laugh. “Why can't you ask me here?”

“We'd rather take you to the station. It could take a while.”

“Look, I don't
know
anything about the poisoning. Am I under arrest?”

“No, not at all. We'd appreciate your cooperation.” As he spoke, Sid stepped over to the kitchen, glanced in. It didn't look like Barnett had even crossed the threshold.

“Is this your offhanded way of searching my apartment for somethin'?”

Sid turned back to him. “Searchin'? No, we ain't searchin”. You invited us in, remember? And now we're invitin' you down to the station.”

He started to object, then stopped himself and seemed to think better of it. “All right,” he said finally. “Let's go.”

On the way to the police station, Sid glanced at the man in the backseat of his squad car and prayed silently that he held answers they needed. If he was the one who'd poisoned Stan, then Celia was off the hook. There was nothing Sid would like better. He would gladly eat crow and make his sincere apologies.

They reached the station, and he walked the man in. He was being amazingly cooperative, as if he feared what they might do to him. Sometimes, guilty people were too friendly, too cooperative, as if they thought their congenial manner would convince police there was no way such an upstanding citizen would break the law.

It didn't fly with Sid.

He led Lee Barnett into the interrogation room and offered him a chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Barnett. Can I get you anything? Coke? Coffee?”

“Coffee would be nice,” he said. “I'm sure you know I ain't been out of prison long. Five years without alcohol, so the three beers I had tonight went straight to my head. I used to hold it better…” His voice trailed off, as if he knew he was rambling.

Vern headed out to get the coffee for him. Sid took a seat across from him, surveying the man who looked clean-cut, not at all like an ex-con. He must have gotten his hair cut first thing, he thought. A new set of clothes, new shoes.

“So what do you want to ask me?” Barnett asked when Vern brought him his coffee. He busied himself mixing in the sugar and cream that Vern had brought in little packets, but his hands trembled as he did. “You said it was about the murder attempt. I'll say again, I don't know Stan Shepherd. I never laid eyes on him.”

“But you do know Celia.”

“Sure. But I ain't seen her in years.”

“Then what brings you to Newpointe twelve days after your release?”

He could see the struggle on the man's face. There was something to that, but Sid wasn't sure they'd get at the truth.

“I'd heard it was a nice place. I wanted to do some huntin' outside of town.”

“Did you know Celia lived here?”

“Yeah. I'd heard somethin' about it. But I knew she was married.”

Sid shifted in his seat. “Mr. Barnett, what were you doing yesterday?”

Barnett frowned, as if trying to figure out where they were going with this. “I was at my mama's house. That's where I been stayin'. I been veggin' out watchin' videos and enjoyin' not havin' a schedule. We didn't have TVs in there, 'cause the governor took 'em outa the jails. I had a lot of catchin' up to do.”

“Was anyone there besides your mother and you?”

“Yeah, my sister took the day off work and came by, and my little niece…and a neighbor of my mama's came by for lunch.” He looked from Sid to Vern. “Why? You need them to verify my alibi? 'Cause they will. Only I don't like gettin' my mama all crazy worryin' that her son's broke the law again. She didn't deserve it the first time. It like to killed her.”

Sid made a notation on his legal pad but didn't respond to Barnett's question. “Did you leave her house at any time yesterday?”

“I went to Wal-mart and bought a couple of shirts and a new pair of jeans.”

“Anybody with you?”

“No. I went alone.”

“Did you, at any time yesterday, see or talk to Stan Shepherd?”

He sat back hard in his chair and stared at them as the wheels seemed to turn in his head. “I just told you. I've never seen him before. I've also never spoken to him. I wouldn't know him if he spit in my face. Besides, I was in Jackson. I can prove it. I couldn't possibly have made it to Newpointe to poison some guy and then back to Jackson in the time I spent at Wal-mart.”

Sid told himself that the man could be playing innocent, pretending he didn't know that Stan had been to Jackson yesterday. “Did you talk to anyone in particular at Wal-mart who might remember seeing you there?”

The stunned look on Barnett's face told Sid that he was getting the picture. He had to realize that they were pursuing this line of questioning because they considered him a suspect. Barnett shifted in his seat, cleared his throat, rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw. “You people think I did it, don't you?” He leaned forward on the table, his eyes riveted into Sid's. “Why would I do that? After waitin' five years to get back into the world, why would I jeopardize everything and risk gettin' thrown back in?”

“You tell us.”

“I don't believe this.” He rubbed his face, thinking, and Sid watched as he seemed to search his mind for something. “I think I get it.” He was breathing harder, and his face was reddening. “Yeah, I'm gettin' it now.”

“What do you mean?” Sid asked.

“I think I've been had.” His lips compressed, and he shifted in his seat. “Yeah, I'm sure of it.”

The man was trembling as he leaned up on the table and slapped his hand on it. “Monday, the day before I'm released, I'm sittin' there mindin' my own business, when I'm told the chaplain wants to see me. So I go down to the chapel, and she tells me that some priest dropped a letter by for her to give me. And guess who it's from?”

Now they were getting somewhere, Sid thought, bracing himself. “Who?”

“Celia Shepherd.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. “I've got it right here. You'll see.” He reached into the billfold and retrieved the folded letter. His hands continued to tremble as he unfolded it. “Oh, man. It was all too good to be true. There I was thinkin' that maybe she was unhappily married and had been thinkin' about me. I had this fantasy of my comin' here and her wantin' to resume things after all these years…Rich little Celia Bradford…”