CHAPTER
60
PULLER CLEARED THE STEPS up to the Dougetts’ front door two at a time with Cole in his wake. He knocked. Four seconds later the door opened and George Dougett stood before them. He was barely five-five and his bloated figure, pale features, wobbly knees, and bent spine bespoke numerous health problems and lots of pain. He looked like he could drop dead at any moment, and probably on occasion wanted to.
“Sergeant Cole,” he said. “Back for more questions?”
He sounded almost gleeful. Puller figured the man’s life was otherwise pretty dull. Even a murder investigation was probably preferable to doing nothing except sitting in your car smoking and waiting for your life to be over.
“I’m John Puller, Army CID, Mr. Dougett. You mind if I ask you a few questions?” Puller flipped out his cred pack for the man, who seemed even more thrilled by this.
“Hell yes, you can.” His voice was sound run over gravel until it got all clogged. He gave an enormous cough that nearly lifted him off his feet.
“Damn allergies, excuse me.” He blew his nose into a fat wad of tissues held in one puffy red hand and ushered them into his house.
They followed him down a short hall to a small den paneled with sheets of plywood wood stained dark. The furnishings were forty years old and looked every bit of it. The shag carpet had permanently lost its shag and the shine on the furniture had disappeared probably twenty years ago. They settled into chairs and Dougett said, “I was in the Army. Oh, that was many moons ago, of course. Korea. Wonderful country. But very cold. I was glad to get back here.”
“I’m sure,” said Puller.
“You taking care of yourself, Mr. Dougett?” asked Cole.
He smiled resignedly. “I’m old and fat and I smoke. Other than that I’m fine. Thanks for asking.” He peered over at Puller. “Damn, you’re a fine specimen of a man, son. See you coming at me on the battlefield, I might just surrender then and there.”
“Yes, sir,” said Puller, who was thinking of how he wanted to play this out. “I noticed you smoke on the rear deck.”
“Yeah, the missus doesn’t like the smell in the house.”
“Where is your wife?” asked Cole.
“Still in bed. Arthritis gets her something fierce in the morning. Rolls out around noon, just in time for lunch. Don’t ever grow old, that’s my message to you two.”
“Well, the alternative isn’t too appealing,” said Puller. He counted back in his head. “Sunday night. Did you see anything unusual? Hear anything? Like a gunshot?”
“Hearing’s not great, son. And Sunday night I was hugging the porcelain. Something the wife made for dinner didn’t agree with me. Happens more often than not these days. I didn’t go outside. Told the lady here that when she come and asked on Monday. And the missus was asleep in bed. Guess my throwing up all night and having the runs from hell didn’t affect her peaceful rest at all.”
“Okay. How about late Monday night? Were you out on the deck?”
“Yes. I go to bed late, get up earlier and earlier. I figure I’m gonna be lying for eternity in a box soon enough, so why waste what time I got left sleeping? I like it in the early morning. Got a little cool breeze, see the dew on the trees and grass. It’s nice.”
“Do you remember seeing anything unusual Monday night?”
He stuffed the tissues in his pocket and rubbed his chin so hard it was like he was trying to polish it. He grinned and pointed first at Puller. “Saw you.” He next indicated Cole. “And I saw her. Out on patrol or something in the woods. Well, I guess that was technically Tuesday morning.”
“We were looking for somebody. I saw someone run through the woods a few minutes before that. Did you see them too?”
Dougett was already nodding. “I did. Running fast. Knew their way. There’s a path back there.”
“Mr. Dougett, why didn’t you tell me that when I was here before?” asked an exasperated Cole.
“Well, nobody asked me. And I didn’t know it was important. And it happened after you came by and asked me questions. I sure didn’t know it was connected to what happened over at the Halversons’.” His voice dropped. “Was it connected?”
Puller said, “Can you describe the person?”
“It was a man for sure. Tall, but not so tall as you, son. Big shoulders. Looked bald. Way he was moving I’d say he was young. It was dark, but there was some moonlight. Fellow had scars on his arm, or else was burned or something. It was all blackened.”
“So he had on a short-sleeved shirt?”
“Like a tank top, yes, sir.”
“Good eyes,” said Cole. “Night, at a distance, even with moonlight.”
“Lasik,” said George, pointing to his eyes. “I’m old and fat but I got me twenty-twenty at distance, and it wasn’t that far away.”
“You think he was from around here?” asked Cole.
“Can’t say. Like I said, he seemed to know his way through those woods okay. I could maybe pick him out in a lineup.”
“Tell ’em the rest, George.”
They all turned to see an old woman shoot into the room on a three-wheeled scooter designed for disabled persons. She had on a pink robe and her swollen feet were stuffed into too-small slippers. Puller noted that she wore a pearl gray wig that was cut short. She easily weighed two hundred pounds and looked as unhealthy as her husband. But despite her arthritis she steered the scooter with a practiced hand and rode it right up next to Puller.
“I’m Rhonda, his far better half,” she said by way of introduction.
Puller said, “John Puller, Army CID. What ‘rest’ are you talking about?”
George Dougett cleared his throat, looked warily at his wife and said, “Some other things I saw.”
“We saw,” corrected his wife. She looked at Puller and smiled triumphantly. “I was watching from the window.”
“Why?” asked Cole.
“Because my husband sometimes falls asleep outside while he’s smoking his cancer sticks. So I watch him to make sure he doesn’t ignite himself.”
“I have never ignited myself,” said George indignantly.
“That’s because you have a loving wife of fifty-six years who looks after you,” said Rhonda in the tone of a parent to a child.
“And what did you see?” Puller asked.
“It was nothing,” said George nervously.
Rhonda snorted. “It sure as hell was something.” She pointed at Cole. “Saw that deputy of yours that got killed.”
“Larry Wellman? You saw him do what?”
“He was walking around the house, looking at things.”
“He was patrolling,” said Cole. “That was his job.”
Puller asked, “Did you see him go in the house?”
“No.”
“Was he alone?” asked Puller.
Rhonda nodded.
“What time was this?” asked Cole.
“I’d say between twelve-thirty and one in the morning. George had smoked four cancer sticks, and he milks them for all he can.”
“Will you please stop calling them cancer sticks!” he snapped.
“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. Touchy. George had smoked four of his coffin nails, and that usually takes him until close to 1 a.m.”
George groused, “Fifty-six years I’ve put up with this woman. It’s a miracle I haven’t killed her.”
“Keep going, ma’am,” Puller said to Rhonda.
“Well, then I went to the bathroom. George will have to pick up the story from there.”
Cole said, “Wait a minute, didn’t Officer Wellman notice you sitting on the back deck smoking?”
George shook his head. “I was lying on our little glider couch. The back part faces the Halversons’.”
“How could you see anything, then?” asked Puller.
“I was looking around the corner of the couch. I could see everything, but it would’ve been real hard to see me. And I’d put out my smokes by then.”
“So Wellman was patrolling. Then what?”
“And then I must’ve fallen asleep,” he said sheepishly.
“See,” said Rhonda in a gloating tone. “I went to the can and you could’ve ignited yourself into oblivion. Cremation on the cheap.”
His husband scowled. “I just said I’d already put the smoke out. And you’d like it if I cremated myself, wouldn’t you? Then you could spend my burial money over at that casino you like so much.”
“Mr. Dougett, if you could focus on what you saw?” prompted Cole.
“Oh, right. Anyway, I woke up and the next thing I seen was the big bald fellow coming out of the house.”
“Wait a minute. The bald fellow was in the house?” said Cole. “You never said that.”
“I didn’t? Well, I’m saying it now. He came out moving fast. He ran into the woods. Then I heard a car pull up. That was four thirty or so. I remember because I checked my watch.”
“That was me,” said Puller. “I drove up, called Sergeant Cole, and then went in the house. I looked around, found Wellman dead, and then heard Cole drive up.” He looked at Cole. “I saw a guy running in the woods, came back out, and that’s when I hooked up with you and we went after the guy.”
“So the bald guy who came out of the woods must’ve hung around while you were in the house,” said Cole.
“Must have,” agreed George. “I saw him take off, and just a few moments later I heard the back door open and you came out. I didn’t see where you went after that.”
Puller said, “Hid behind the car parked in the driveway.”
Cole said, “But Larry’s car was taken. How did that happen? Who did it?” She turned to the Dougetts. “Did either of you see anything about that?”
They both shook their heads.
George said, “That might’ve happened when I was asleep.”
“And I was in the bathroom a long time,” said Rhonda. “When you’re old,” she added, “everything just takes longer.”
Puller said, “Just to get the timeline straight, you last saw Wellman patrolling between half past twelve and one. He didn’t go into the house. The next you saw was baldy leaving the house shortly before I arrived. I found Wellman dead around five. And he was killed about three hours or so before that, or two A.M. That would be about an hour after you saw Wellman patrolling, and then you fell asleep. But baldy could have already been in the house or come there when you were asleep.”
Cole interjected, “That means baldy could have killed Larry and then fled.”
Puller shook his head. “But what happened to the car? This guy apparently didn’t drive off in it. And if this guy did kill him, why hang around in the woods at all? Why not just get the hell away? It was only because he hung around that I spotted him.”
“It’s a real head-knocker,” added George.
Puller said, “Did you notice if the patrol car was missing when you woke up? Or did you hear a car start up?”
“Neither,” said Dougett. “I must’ve really been out.”
“Would you two like some coffee and cupcakes?” asked Rhonda.
Her husband barked, “It’s the morning, for Chrissakes, Rhonda. Who the hell eats cupcakes in the morning?”
“I do,” she said primly.
“We already ate,” said Puller.
“Well, we hope we were helpful to you,” said George.
“Do you think we’re in any danger?” asked Rhonda in a way that demonstrated she was thrilled at the prospect.
“I’ve got a gun,” said George grimly.
“You’ve got no bullets for it,” said his wife. “And even if you did you haven’t fired it in years. Probably shoot yourself before you’d hit anything else.”
Cole and Puller left the couple bickering over this point and walked back to the police cruiser.
She said, “So where does that leave us?”
“We’ve got to find baldy.”
“Any thoughts on that?”
“Yeah.”