Scarlet Fever

CHAPTER 30

March 30, 2019 Saturday

A refreshing breeze swept over Roughneck Farm. Daffodils opened although the temperature remained cool. Longer sunlight gave the yellow plants hope and up they popped. Sister, Gray, Betty, Weevil, and Tootie marveled at how quickly a landscape can transform. No, it wasn’t spring announced by trumpets, but perhaps a few woodwinds.

Hounds, full, flopped on their raised beds. Others walked out to their huge runs to crawl into the condos or even sprawl a bit on the decks surrounding the condos.

Inky, gregarious once hounds were in the kennels, walked to the girls’ outdoor run.

Diana, head hanging over the deck, which she found comfortable even though it looked the reverse, opened one eye.

“Good day?” the black fox asked.

“Okay. You heard some of it,” Diana replied.

“You all left here and rushed over the wildflower field. What I heard was a bit of shouting and then everyone was over the hog’s back jump. Aunt Netty?”

“No, a visiting fox. I thought perhaps he’d come for you.” Diana sat upright.

“Not me.”

“Season’s over.” Diana sighed. “I hate that. Then again, I think I’d hate running in August.”

“I never seem to shed enough. I’d be willing to be the first bald fox.” Inky laughed.

Diana laughed, too. “Humans shave house dogs. I’ve seen it. Well, the best thing to do is dig a nice dirt bed under a tree and lay down in it. The earth is cool. Keeps the bugs off.”

“Ever find out about the dead human you all smelled?”

“Well…” Diana leapt off her deck, walked to the fence so she and Inky could talk face-to-face. “Listening to talk in the kennels we knew they found him. Sister, Betty, Tootie, and Weevil took the sheriff to the big pile. They couldn’t smell a thing. Terrible, terrible noses. It’s a wonder they can live. Oh, I’m babbling on here and you know a hound isn’t supposed to babble.” She laughed at herself.

Inky smiled. “Diana, you never babble. You are imparting news.”

“When we first flanked the brush pile we knew, of course, a dead animal was in there, most likely human. Distinctive, alive or dead.” Inky nodded in agreement, so Diana continued. “Anyway, the fox scent, pretty hot, kept us on track but then we went back. He used it, of course, but Weevil called us to him and that was the way. I mean, staff saw us rummaging around.”

“How long do you think? Dead, I mean?”

“Cold nights, cool days. No flies yet. I’d say two days, maybe three. Nothing could get to the corpse. We could pick up the sweet smell but not humans. Now, they can smell a dead body in a day in high heat. So I figure two days, maybe three. I couldn’t smell blood. I smelled human hair though. Mostly I smelled the woods, the faded fox scent. Whoever put the body in that brush pile had to work hard at it.”

“Hmm. People kill one another. It’s natural but they declare it isn’t. We rarely kill one another, if you think about it. They make a habit of it.”

“Inky, I think that depends on the human and the circumstances. But they do kill more than we do. I mean, if we kill it’s to eat. They kill for strange reasons. Things we can’t imagine.”

“True.”

The crunch of tires on the crusher-run road diverted Diana. “Ben Sidel. He wasn’t out today.”

“He rides Nonni?” Inky liked Ben’s mare.

“Poor fellow. If a human does wrong he has to find them. Can you imagine tracking down other foxes?”

Inky considered this. “No, but if a fox stole one of my toys or some food, say when I was out of my den, I’d try to find out who it was and then take it back.”

“Bite their sorry butt,” Diana teased as she watched Ben walking into the tack room, close the door.

Bridles hanging from tack hooks filled the space, everyone cleaning their own bridle today. Part of the lingering was a way to make the hunt last longer. They looked up as Ben, in uniform, came through the door.

“Ben, sit down. Can I get you anything?” Sister asked.

He dropped into a chair. “No thank you. Bainbridge was finally able to talk. That will be on the news tonight, I expect, or tomorrow. The short version is he killed his father. Drew was an accessory. Both dragged the body down into that tight ravine.”

“Good Lord.” Betty stopped wiping down reins.

“Was he too much trouble?” Weevil wondered.

“That’s an extreme way to end it,” Betty replied.

“Sit down, you all. Those bridles are about done. You found him although you didn’t know what was under there. I’ll start from the beginning, as Bainbridge was willing to confess first time around.”

“Concussion?”

“Concussion, broken pelvis, smashed ribs. Enough to hurt for a long time.” Ben settled into the chair. “He started with stealing the silver, which he now admits he took.”

“The silver was his, was it not?” Gray remembered.

“Half. He was loaded, on drugs. We’ve all seen worse in the department, but let’s say when he was picked up with the bag in the car he was not an impressive sight. But he deliberately took it.”

“Which means Drew had become an obstacle of sorts,” Sister posited.

“The silver is what brought uncle and nephew to an agreement, oddly enough. Drew offering to pay any of Bainbridge’s bills, to put him in rehab, set off no warning lights for me. I didn’t know the Taylors as you did, but a family member, even one fighting with the addicted member, sometimes does step forward.” Ben put his feet up on the coffee table when Sister motioned for him to do so. Ben had been wiggling in his chair, a little uncomfortable.

“Drew and Bainbridge never fought as much as Morris and Bainbridge. Which makes sense,” Betty added. “Fathers and sons.”

“Bainbridge watched his uncle buy new cars, a new three-horse trailer, take trips to Paris, to Belize, to Hong Kong, to Patagonia, all over. He’d been watching this for two years. Finally he realized Taylor Insurance wasn’t paying for all this. He had a good idea of Drew’s abilities plus his laziness. He realized his father was paying for it. He wanted his share.”

“What do you mean?” Tootie asked.

“Drew received all of Morris’s pension checks, as he was now in charge of his brother, had power of attorney. Well, he was blowing every penny. Granted, he didn’t mistreat Morris, didn’t starve him or lock him up, although I suspect the latter would have happened soon. So Bainbridge made a deal with his uncle.”

“And that’s why he moved into the cottage?” Betty was figuring all this out.

“Yes. Bainbridge totted up how much his uncle had spent of his father’s pension funds. He demanded the receipts. Well, Drew really had no choice but to show him. So Bainbridge said he would look after his father along with the now part-time male nurse. In exchange, Drew would, over time, pay back half of the money he stole.”

“Why half?” Sister asked.

“To keep Drew on the team. Half per month would come to about five thousand dollars. Remember, Morris was a nuclear physicist, worked for big projects. He’d made money. So Bainbridge forgave half so long as Drew recognized that he was his father’s sole heir. Which is in Morris’s will.”

“Ah. And Bainbridge won’t say if he sweetened the pot. After all, if they killed Morris, how did he know his uncle wouldn’t kill him?” Sister folded her hands together.

“So they killed him for the money?” Tootie was horrified.

“Ultimately, yes,” Ben said. “But Morris was going down fast. Even if Drew and Bainbridge had locked him in his room, that couldn’t have lasted too long. He was tearing things to hell. Eventually he would need to go into assisted living. Then the pension funds would be under their control. That’s usually how they work those things. If there isn’t enough money to pay the monthly bills, they sell the dementia patient’s property. Given Drew’s funds, there was no need.”

“Money.” Betty pressed her lips together.

“Love or money. Usually what murder is about. Morris had become violent. In their minds he was better off. People can justify anything, as you know.” Ben spoke without rancor. “Drew could justify using Morris’s money for all his trips, the trailer, the vehicles, because in his mind he earned it by keeping Morris at Pitchfork Farm.”

“How did they do it? Would he tell you?” Sister asked.

“He’ll tell us anything to get his sentence reduced. He’ll sing for us, for the judge, for the jury. He’s scared. They took him outside for a walk and shot him in the head with a .38 pistol. The gun is in the house. We picked it up right where Bainbridge said it would be.”

“I thought I saw Morris. When Sister and I drove over to check the fixture.” Betty wondered.

“No. That must have been Bainbridge,” Ben responded. “Morris was dead by then. They thought they could keep the fiction of Morris being still alive going, maybe for a year or two. We’d all seen the deterioration. So it would be no surprise if Morris were locked up.”

Sister hung up her bridle, as it was swinging near her face, then turned around. “They resembled each other from a distance. Who would know?”

“That was their plan, so no one would know Morris was dead. From time to time someone would see Bainbridge from a distance, thinking it was Morris.”

Weevil leaned forward. “Drew and Bainbridge needed people to think Morris was alive. Otherwise the milk train wouldn’t stop there anymore.”

“You’re right about that.” Sister frowned. “Those monthly checks had to be wonderful. Free money, although I’m sure, as you said, Ben, Drew deluded himself into thinking he’d earned it.”

“What about Wanda? She was there five days a week.” Betty liked the stable girl.

“Don’t think they thought that far ahead but they could tell her Morris was violent and in his bedroom. Let her go if she questioned too much. We questioned her, of course. She had no idea. She’s worried about Binny and Ugh. Doesn’t want anything to happen to the horses.”

“Tell her not to worry. We’ll take them. There are people in the hunt club who could use two good, made hunters,” Sister offered.

Gray nodded. “We can pick them up tomorrow.”

“Now what?” Betty asked.

“Nothing to do except listen to everyone respond, give their ideas. The usual swirl of gossip and bullshit.” Ben put his hand to his mouth. “Sorry.”

Gray smiled. “Human nature.”

“Does Bainbridge know Drew shot himself?” Sister asked.

“He does. He doesn’t seem the least bit concerned. Even if he gets, say, twenty years, when he gets out he’ll be in his early fifties and he’ll have a lot of money. We can’t touch the money. Morris’s investment accounts, Pitchfork Farm, all go to Bainbridge.”

“For murder?” Tootie was incredulous.

Ben smiled at the earnest young woman. “His father did attack him. Others had seen Morris violent. In the supermarket, for one. It’s his first big felony. You’d think he’d have more of a drug record but Drew paid off everyone handsomely and I suspect when Morris was competent he did, too, even though he loathed Bainbridge. Keep the family name clean, that sort of thing. It’s easier to do than we’d like to know. Yes, the crime is a big one but it still shows up as a first offense. His uncle was the thief. Bainbridge didn’t catch on until late in the game. He perhaps got the benefit of one month’s pension funds. A good lawyer, and Bainbridge has the money for the best, will argue convincingly that no one is in danger from Bainbridge. Why keep a young man in jail for the bulk of his life? Morris’s murder happened under extenuating circumstances. Tootie, I see this, as does every other law enforcement officer, all the time. We bring them in, a lawyer gets them off.”

“Come on up and have some supper,” Sister offered the sheriff. “We’ll talk about more pleasant things.”

“Thanks. I should get back but I wanted you to know the real story before the media has a field day with it. Nothing more to say except I was sorry to miss the last hunt of this rainy season.”

After he left the five sat there not saying much.

Betty put her hands on the chair arms. “Well, we were all fooled. Drew rode well, helpful in the hunt field, easy to be with. Who would have thought him capable of this?”

“As you know, I deal with senators, cabinet officials, you name it,” Gray said. “Our firm was the one you called if you suspected trouble. What I learned is that the successful crooks are likable. Bernie Madoff. Or at a more dramatic level, say a Baby Face Nelson. Stealing usually takes more cunning than shooting someone. So the thief pleases people. You never suspect them until something trips them up or they get cocky. They steal from you and over time you figure it out. A Ponzi scheme.”

“Alcibiades.” Sister named the gorgeous, dazzling man from fifth century BC Athens, who betrayed his city-state and still people couldn’t help but be swept away by his presence.

“I often wonder about us. A dog will steal another dog’s bone. If that dog is bigger, older, the younger dog submits. Among primitive peoples I expect it’s the same dynamics. Maybe under a dictatorship as well,” Weevil, a thoughtful young man, posited. “But theft by stealth, you know, Cary Grant in To Catch a Thief, we glorify it. Something like this, stealing from the incompetent, we don’t much notice. And I fear we don’t much care.”

“Aren’t these the kinds of crimes usually committed within families?” Tootie wondered.

“Families or friends. A house, assisted living, for such people, even a halfway house, comes under scrutiny. If the patients aren’t being properly fed, their money taken, cheaper food substituted, sooner or later it will be found out.”

“Not if they pay off the inspector,” Gray said.

“There is that, but a state employee who drives a new Mercedes will attract attention, or one who goes on a long cruise, one of those Alaska cruises,” Betty noted.

“Will any of us ever look the same way at someone with Alzheimer’s or senile dementia?” Sister sighed.

“We surely will never look the same way at the home they are in or their family,” Tootie replied.

“Let’s hope we never have to deal with this again.” Weevil meant that.

“Oh, I think one such case is enough for Jefferson Hunt but I expect others will face this in their private lives. We do the best we can, and if you think about it, what kind of life would we lead if we suspected the worst from everyone? Maybe it’s better to be fooled some of the time than be suspicious.” Gray stood up.

“Better to mistake a sinner for a saint than a saint for a sinner.” Sister rose also.

“And where does that leave you?” Betty tweaked her master’s elbow.

“You’re asking?”