In the kitchen, nursing a beer, Arlene Crowhurst explained that her brother’s murder charge had been just one of those things. People were always provoking him. A shy, shambling outcast. I held up a kitchen knife and asked if her brother had a fondness for blades.
“This used to be our farm,” she said. “This and the two properties nearby. When our daddy died we parceled it out to pay off the mortgage and his debts. Well, I parceled it out. Henry was in jail by then.”
“When you owned the farm,” I said, “he did the butchering?”
“We all did. But yeah, he would’ve done more since he wasn’t at school.”
“Any violent behavior prior to his murder charge?”
“Nothing unusual. Once he got in a fight over me, sticking up for me against a bully named Tommy Riordan. He lived a few miles east, closer to the school. He used to pinch and grope me. I told Henry and Henry made him stop.”
“He beat him up?”
“Badly,” she said, smiling a little at the memory. “Knocked out two of his teeth. He gave them to me and said, ‘Arlene, he ever does that again, I’ll bring you the full set.’”
“Where’s your brother at now?” Farraday asked. “Any idea what his schedule’s like, when he’ll be home?”
“He works on the receiving dock, Goldschmitt & Goldschmitt Logistics.” Holding up her cell phone she said, “I made him give me the number in case of emergency.” Sonia wrote it down.
“There was a killing ’cross the border up in Vancouver,” Farraday said. He nodded in our direction. “These folks are looking into it. Young girl embezzled some money, found with her throat slit. A third party has implicated your brother.”
Sonia had ducked out the back door to try the number. Arlene Crowhurst left her half-finished beer on the edge of the sink. Her hands covered her mouth.
“Henry’s not capable of that,” she said. “Not against a woman, especially.”
Farraday spread his hands. “Respectfully, ma’am, this is the house of a fellow who’s capable of just about anything.”
We walked out across the muddy drive. Sonia was waiting by the cars. Arlene Crowhurst unlocked her minivan and quieted the dogs. The upholstery inside was scratched to tatters, but the outside gleamed, a realty company placard fixed to the sliding door. LOWEST COMMISSION IN KING, PIERCE, OR WHATCOM COUNTY.
“He came back from prison so much quieter,” she said. “Not that he was ever talkative. I just remember how glad he was to get home, even if it was run down and smaller than he left it.”
“Home is precious,” Sonia said, trying to sound sympathetic.
Arlene Crowhurst looked at the mud on her shoes. “I feel I should defend him. He’s my brother. But part of me feels I know how this will turn out. Be careful with him.”
“It’s our top concern,” Farraday said.
Once she’d left, I leaned on my car and asked Sonia what she’d found out.
“I talked to the floor manager at the warehouse,” she said. “Crowhurst is due at work in two hours. The manager told me he’s been acting strange lately. The other day he pulled a knife on a co-worker.”
“Jesus Murphy,” Farraday said.
“The co-worker’s undocumented, so no charges, but there’s a meeting planned to discuss Crowhurst’s behavior. It was going to be today, only they had three containers dropped off this afternoon, one of them a fifty-foot Maersk. They all have to be cleared by early tomorrow morning. Crowhurst will be working through the night.”
“Gives us enough time to check out that restaurant address,” I said.
Farraday rubbed the heels of his boots on the grass, scraping off mud. “Long trek back to Tacoma, just to come back here.”
“Without Dana Essex there’s nothing to hold over Crowhurst. And if he’s working there all night, we’ll be back before his shift ends.”
“Someone should watch the warehouse,” Farraday said, “case he shows up early. I can text you if and when he does.”
We agreed to meet at the warehouse later. Drinks would be on me if it all worked out. We said good-bye, then followed his truck back to the highway, before Sonia and I headed south.