She paused the digging in her purse—probably searching for car keys—and stopped by the door of the minivan. “Can I help you, officer?”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m Chief Greer. Does Ralph Slocombe live here?”
Her hands clutched at the purse. “That’s my husband. Is something wrong?”
“I just need to ask him a few questions. Is he home?”
“He’s right inside.” With a nervous flutter of her hands, she gestured toward the house. “I’ll just take you to him.”
Ethan offered her a smile and followed her into the house, through the garage door. It led into the kitchen, by way of a laundry/mud room combination. Breakfast dishes were piled in the sink, but the room was otherwise spotless. That wasn’t the case for the living room Mrs. Slocombe led him to. The sagging furniture matched the man sprawled out in a recliner in front of the TV—threadbare.
“Did you forget somethin’, Birdie?”
“The police are here.”
Ralph’s head whipped toward his wife, then to Ethan. “What’s this about?”
“I needed to ask you a few questions, Mr. Slocombe. I’m Chief Greer.”
Suspicion clouded the thin man’s face, and he asked again, “What’s this about?”
“Where were you last night, say between eight o’clock and eleven PM?”
“Right here at home. We had dinner at six-thirty and watched some reruns until bedtime.”
“What time did you go to bed?”
Ralph’s thin lips pursed as he seemed to consider. “I don’t know. Nine-thirty. Ten?”
Ethan glanced at his wife. “Do you happen to remember, Mrs. Slocombe?”
“I went to bed at nine. I don’t know what time he went to sleep. He didn’t come to bed.”
Ethan looked back to Ralph, brows raised in question.
“I been sleepin’ in the recliner on account of my back. I got a lot of pain from an old injury, and I don’t want to toss and turn and keep Birdie awake.”
Birdie nodded. “I can still work, and he doesn’t want to wear me out.”
“Thoughtful.” And convenient. It meant she couldn’t truly verify his alibi for the time in question.
“What is it you’re pussy footin’ around to see if I done?”
“Someone was out at Hope Springs last night, vandalizing a vehicle at the bonfire.”
The man looked truly baffled. “And you think I’m the one who done it?”
“It was Miranda Campbell’s SUV. I understand you had a bit of an altercation with her last week over your prescription.”
Ralph pushed the footrest down and struggled to sit up. Ethan didn’t miss the way his cheeks flashed white beneath the hot flush of anger. Pain. The man was definitely in pain. Because he’d overdone it with the vandalism last night? Or had he been in bad enough shape he couldn’t have carried it out?
“Did she send you out here after me? I ain’t done nothin’ to her. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“I understand from some of her staff that you were pretty upset last week.”
“I’m in pain. I’m always in pain and the drugs don’t last long enough so I can work. I gotta depend on my wife, when it’s my job to take care of her. I ran out and she wouldn’t give me more. Yeah, I was upset. I apologized for it, and I didn’t do nothin’ against her. She’s just doing her job. Ain’t her fault the rules are what they are.”
Ethan tried a different tack. “May I ask what kind of injury you had?”
“It’s my back. Was an on the job injury from a few years ago.”
“Where did you work?”
“Heirloom Home Furnishings. They closed well before you got here. Greedy corporate fuckers moved the factory to Mexico. I ain’t been able to keep steady work since. Had to go on disability.”
Ethan filed that away. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mr. Slocombe.” He wasn’t gonna get any more out of this interview. “That’s all the questions I have. I appreciate your time this morning. Mrs. Slocombe, I hope I haven’t made you late for work.” He nodded and let himself out. On his way back to the cruiser, he glanced at the Chevy, checking the tires and undercarriage. Dried mud caked them both, but it was red clay, not the dense grayish brown mud he’d heard locals refer to as gray gumbo. As the latter still coated the soles of his own boots from meeting the tow truck out at Hope Springs first thing this morning, he thought it unlikely Ralph Slocombe was their guy.
When he got back to the station, Ethan studied the photos of Miranda’s tires as he sucked down a Hot and Sassy from The Daily Grind. He could only hope the double shot of espresso in the drink would make up for the sleep he didn’t get last night.
Her tires hadn’t just been punctured. They’d been slashed. There was a violence and anger here that niggled at him. This kind of thing tended to be personal rather than random. And that meant someone was very, very pissed off. Was it the same someone who’d keyed her car? Or had that truly been Clarice Morris and this was someone else? Was this the end of it? One destructive burst and done? Or was this just the beginning of something bigger? Something that would target Miranda herself instead of her belongings. Or was it a case of mistaken identity? Hers was hardly the only dark SUV to have been parked at Hope Springs last night.
It had been the only one left when he got the wrecker out there this morning to pick it up after he’d taken crime scene photos in the daylight. Lou Jenkins had had plenty to say about the issue, none of it actually helpful. But he’d promised to send his nephew to Lawley after four new tires if he didn’t have the right size already in stock. Miranda would have her car back today.
Wandering out into the bullpen, he clipped the pictures to the top of the bulletin board. “We had some vandalism last night out at the bonfire. Y’all have been here longer than I have. Do either of y’all remember somebody doing something like this in the past?”
From the desk where she was working on reports, Rowan shook her head. “I don’t remember anything.” Not surprising. As the newest member of the force and another out-of-towner, she wouldn’t be in a position to have heard much.
Inez considered. “Oh, well now, there was that incident with that Newell woman a couple years back.”
“Tell me.”
The dispatcher eased back in her chair, tapping her chin. “Let’s see...she was brought up on stalking charges. Best I can remember, she found out her man was cheating on her. Then he dumped her. Nobody would’ve blamed her for pulling a Carrie Underwood and carving up his truck—which she did. But she went beyond that and started harassing the new girl. A little bit might have been understandable. But there were phone calls, a fire, and yeah, some vandalism. The girl was scorned right and proper.”
“Did she do time?”
Inez shook her head. “No. She ended up getting sentenced to a court-mandated psych eval and inpatient treatment. Must’ve worked. Haven’t heard a word about her since other than gossip rehashing the original story.”
“Do me a favor and pull the file.”
While he waited, Ethan studied his newest recruit. “How you holding up?”