Claws For Concern

TWENTY-EIGHT

I was so lost in thought, considering the ramifications of Hiram Barber as an abuser that I nearly missed Jack’s next question.

“You mentioned Mrs. Barber’s sister, a Miss Eaton,” Jack said. “I don’t know her. Does she still live in Tullahoma?”

Mrs. Cooper shook her head. “No, she died a few years back. The way I heard it, she had breast cancer but wouldn’t go to the doctor. Waited too late, and by then they couldn’t do much for her.”

“That’s really sad,” I said. “Why wouldn’t she go to the doctor?”

“Her church.” Mrs. Cooper grimaced. “One of those groups that don’t believe in doctors. Some mess like that. Beats me what some people will believe.”

“Are there any other family around? The Eatons, that is, who would know more about Betty Barber before she married?” Jack asked.

“Most of them have either died or moved away that I know of,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Though I can’t say for sure.”

“We’ll have to see if we can track any of them down,” I said.

“I’d like to talk to you about the night of the murders,” Jack said. “Do you remember that night?”

“I do,” Mrs. Cooper said. “It was a quiet night here, like most every night. This has always been a nice neighborhood. Things get a little rowdy on the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve, people barbecuing and stuff. Setting off fireworks, even though it’s illegal.”

I was thankful that Mrs. Cooper was willing to talk but she was a bit too chatty about inessential details.

“Who was here in the house that night?” Jack asked.

Mrs. Cooper seemed to take a moment to think. “My heavens, who would be here. Me and my son. My husband died about a year before. Killed in a car accident out on the highway.”

“I’m so sorry,” I said.

Mrs. Cooper nodded. “My son was only seven at the time. He misses his daddy still.”

“I can imagine,” Jack said. “According to Mrs. Delaney’s testimony her son came home drunk that evening, passed out, and never left the house. Did you hear him come home?”

“I sure did, him banging on the door for poor Sylvia to let him in.” Mrs. Cooper sniffed. “Too almighty drunk to even find his own house key.”

“Do you remember what time that was?” I asked.

Mrs. Cooper tilted her head to one side and gazed at the wall while she considered the question. “Near as I can remember it was around seven, maybe a little earlier.”

“Did you hear anyone leave the house after that?” Jack asked. “For example, did you hear their car leave?”

“No, I didn’t,” Mrs. Cooper said. “I went to bed at nine like I always did back then, because I had to be up to get ready for work and get my son off to school.” She paused a moment, as if another thought had struck her. “I wouldn’t have heard anything, I reckon, because my bedroom is on the side of the house away from them.”

“What about your son?” I asked. “Did he hear anything?”

“My goodness gracious, I don’t know.” Mrs. Cooper appeared surprised at the idea. “Nobody ever asked him. I know I sure didn’t. I didn’t want him knowing too much about the whole thing. Didn’t want him having nightmares. He had trouble sleeping after his daddy was killed, and I can’t tell you how many nights I had to go into his room because he was having a bad dream.”

I felt great sympathy for the boy. Losing a parent at any age is tough, but especially so when you’re a child.

“Could we talk to your son about that night?” Jack asked.

“I don’t see why not.” Mrs. Cooper rose from her chair. “I’ll go call him. He’s working in his room.” She walked into the hallway and called out, “Ronnie, can you come here a minute? We need to talk to you.” She returned to her chair. “He’ll come if he doesn’t have those headphones on. Wears them a lot because it blocks out noise so he can concentrate.”

Jack and I exchanged glances. It sounded to me like Ronnie Cooper was in his room playing video games. I had expected Mrs. Cooper to tell us he was at his job.

Moments later a tall young man entered the room. He was so tall he had to duck his head to get in the door. I reckoned he must be about six foot six or seven. He was solidly built, dressed in athletic shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt that showed off a muscular physique. I had been expecting a couch potato, but Ronnie Cooper looked like a pro athlete.

“Good morning.” He had a deep voice. “What’s going on, Mom?”

“Sit down, honey,” Mrs. Cooper said. “We don’t want our visitors getting neck strain looking up at you. These gentlemen are Mr. Jack Pemberton and Mr. Charlie Harris, and that big kitty there is Diesel.”

Ronnie seated himself in a chair near his mother. He leaned forward and extended a hand to Diesel. The cat rose from his relaxed stretch by my feet and went over to the young man. Diesel sniffed his fingers for a moment, then Ronnie began to stroke Diesel’s back. The cat started purring, and I knew Ronnie Cooper had passed the Diesel test.

“He’s beautiful,” Ronnie said. “Maine Coon, right?”

“Yes, he is.” I was surprised because not that many people I had encountered had seen one before, let alone knew the breed.

“Ronnie’s real smart,” Mrs. Cooper said, beaming. “He’s a computer programmer, and he works from here for a company in Memphis. He telly-somethings. What is it?”

“Telecommute,” Ronnie said. “I go into the office about three times a month for meetings, but most of the time I work from home. What can I do for you, gentlemen?”

Jack took the cue and launched into an explanation before Mrs. Cooper could get going on one. He gave Ronnie a quick summary of our interest in the Barber case, and when he finished, Ronnie nodded.

“I remember it now,” he said. “Haven’t thought about it in years, though.”

“All Ronnie’s ever been interested in is computers and cars,” Mrs. Cooper said. “You should see what’s parked in my garage right now. He won’t tell me what he paid for it, but I know it must be expensive. I’d be afraid to drive it.”

“I told you I didn’t pay full price for it, Mom,” Ronnie said, a note of exasperation creeping into his voice. “I took over the payments from a guy at work who got overextended.” He looked at Jack and me. “Lamborghini. I wouldn’t have bought it, but the deal was irresistible.”

Jack whistled, and I almost did. Lamborghinis were some of the most expensive cars made. Ronnie must be doing well to be driving one, even if he had taken over the payments from someone else.

“I hate to hurry you guys along,” Ronnie said, “but I’ve got to get back to work soon. What is it you want to ask me?”

“It’s about the night of the Barber murders,” Jack said. “Do you remember when it happened?”

Ronnie shrugged. “Sure, kids at school were talking about it.”

“They want to know if you heard anything from next door that night,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Ronnie’s bedroom is on that side, next to their driveway.”

I watched as Ronnie ceased petting Diesel and leaned back in the chair, eyes closed. After a moment his eyes popped open. “I remember,” he said. “They had an old banger of a car. The engine made a whistling noise.” He turned to his mother. “Remember, Puck used to bark when she heard it.”

“Puck was our rat terrier,” Mrs. Cooper said. “Lord, I loved that dog. Smartest thing on four legs I ever saw.”

“She was a great dog,” Ronnie said. “She slept with me back then. I used to have a lot of trouble sleeping, but I grew out of it eventually. Anyway, like I said, Puck would bark if she heard that car going in or out of the driveway next to my room.” He frowned. “I think that was the night she woke me up twice because of the car.”

“Can you be sure?” I asked, excited that this could really shake things up if he had heard the Delaneys’ car leaving during the night. “That was twenty years ago.”

“I’ve got a good memory,” Ronnie said. “But if you want proof, I can probably show you.”

“How?” Jack said.

“Notebooks.” Ronnie got up from his chair and headed from the room, once again ducking to clear the doorway.

Jack and I looked to Mrs. Cooper for an explanation.

“He’s been writing in his notebooks since his daddy died,” Mrs. Cooper said. “The counselor at school said it might help him, and I guess it must’ve done because he still does it. Except now he does it on his computer, I think.”

Jack and I nodded. One of Laura’s friends in elementary school had done the same thing, I remembered, after her mother died.

“It might take him a minute or two,” Mrs. Cooper continued. “He probably knows exactly where that old notebook is. You should see his room. Everything neat, always, never anything out of place. I guess he learned it from me.” She glanced around the room with what I took to be a complacent air. The room was indeed neat. She obviously took great pride in her housework.

Mrs. Cooper again offered us a drink, but we both declined. Before she could get started on another anecdote or long-winded observation, Ronnie returned, papers in hand. He resumed his seat and brandished the pages.

“I scanned all the old notebooks and converted them into searchable PDFs,” he said. “Makes it easier to find things, like what you’re looking for. I checked the date of the murders online, and then I found the corresponding date in my notebook. It’s all here, in case anybody needs proof.” He leaned forward to hand me the pages.

I accepted them, and he said, “The part you’re interested in starts near the bottom of the page.”

I leaned toward Jack so we could read together. I found the section Ronnie indicated and began to read the precise but childish scrawl.

9:53 pm Puck barked and woke me up. Heard the car next door go by. Engine whistles. Wish old man Delaney would let me look at it. Could probably fix it for him but he won’t listen. Wonder where he’s going? Out to buy beer, maybe. Mom says he gets as drunk as Cooter Brown all the time. I asked her who Cooter Brown was and she didn’t know.

There was another entry on the second page that occurred about two hours later.

12:18 am Puck barking again. This time I heard old man Delaney coming back in the car. Hope he stays home now so Puck stops waking me up.

That was the extent of it. Proof that either Bill or Sylvia Delaney left the house that night.

Bill Delaney’s alibi just went up in flames.