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The man studied him. “Why do you need to know?”
“It has to do with an investigation.” Hawke wasn’t going to throw the D.A. under the bus. He liked his job and didn’t want to do anything that could get him tossed out of the State Troopers. “Did you happen to see him come home? And the time?”
The man rubbed a hand over his chin and patted the dog’s head with his other hand as he thought. “Monday night. Let’s see that would have been three nights ago.” He thought some more. “They pick up garbage on Wednesday. I would have been putting the bin out on Tuesday night... The night before that...” He shook his head. “I don’t think I remember seeing anything.” He nodded to the house on the other side. “You might check with Rupert. He likes to take his dog for a walk in the evenings. You know, to wear the young pup out.”
“Is he home right now?” Hawke asked.
“He’s always home this time of day. From one o’clock on. He likes to do any shopping or appointments first thing in the morning. It’s when his wife is at her best.” The man did an about face, and started walking.
“Excuse me. I didn’t catch your name,” Hawke said, pulling out his phone to make note of the man’s name for his records.
“Stewart Crossley.”
“Thank you, Mr. Crossley.”
Hawke walked out to the road and over to the cobblestone walkway up to the two-story log house. The door was four feet wide with carved wildlife images. He rang the bell.
Barking echoed inside the house.
“Quiet!” a male voice bellowed.
The whirring of rolling wheels grew louder. The door opened. A woman, most likely closer to seventy than sixty, looked up at him from a motorized wheelchair. Her body appeared shriveled up and boney.
“Hello,” she said. “Rupert! Rupert! We have company!” she hollered over her shoulder.
“Marilyn, what have I told you about opening the door when I’m busy?” A tall, broad shouldered man with snow white hair walked into the entry. He caught sight of Hawke and hurried faster.
“We don’t buy or donate to anyone who goes door to door.” The man grabbed the door as if to shut it in Hawke’s face.
He pulled out his badge. “I’m State Trooper Hawke. I’d like to ask you some questions about Monday night.”
The man peered at the badge. “You aren’t in uniform.”
“Mr....”
“Donaghey. Rupert Donaghey. This is my wife, Marilyn.” He motioned for his wife to move her wheelchair.
She headed it out of the entry and called over her shoulder. “Take him into the dining room, Rupert. I’ll bring coffee.”
Mr. Donaghey shut the door as Hawke stepped into the house. “It looks like my wife feels up to a coffee klatch.”
Hawke followed the man through a living room and into a large dining area with a thick timber table.
“Have a seat.” Mr. Donaghey pointed to the chair to the right of the one he took at the end of the table.
Mrs. Donaghey entered from another door. She had a tray across the arms of her chair. Her husband took the three cups of coffee from the tray, setting them in front of Hawke, himself, and his wife as she moved up to the table.
“What do you want to know about Monday night?” the woman asked.
“Did you happen to notice when your neighbor, Mr. Lange, came home?” Hawke pulled out his phone and quickly added the couple’s names.
“You want to know when Benjamin came home Monday night?” Rupert asked.
“Yes. And if he happened to leave any time later?”
The two glanced at one another.
“I was out walking Rasputin, our Airedale. I’m sure you heard him barking. I was kenneling him when my wife opened the door.” He glanced at Mrs. Donaghey and gave her that look only people married for a long time shared. “I’m pretty sure it was after six, probably closer to seven when he pulled into his driveway. He sat in his car for a while talking on the phone. It looked like whatever the call was about he didn’t like it.” Mr. Donaghey reached over and grasped his wife’s hand.
“I shouldn’t have stood in the shadows watching him, but he’s been even more distant since his wife left.”
Mrs. Donaghey jumped into the conversation. “When Lorraine was still here, the two of them would come to dinner a few times a year. But every time I invite Benjamin, he turns me down. And not in a polite way.”
“That’s why I thought maybe I should keep an eye on him when it was obvious he was having a bad conversation. We heard through someone else in this neighborhood that there are times Benjamin picks up his mail and has what our friend calls a temper tantrum after looking through it.”
Hawke studied the two. They were both nodding slightly. What was so upsetting to the D.A. when he picked up his mail?
“What did he do after his phone call?” Hawke asked.
“He got out of the car and went in the house after kicking the garbage bin.” Mr. Donaghey flinched at the memory.
“Do you know if he went back out that night?” Hawke had to make sure the man was in his house during the hours the forensic pathologists nailed down the time of death.
“I didn’t hear any cars leave and when I walked Rasputin the next morning before Benjamin left, his car was in the same place he’d parked it the night before. He didn’t even go back out and put it in the garage.”
Hawke’s cynical mind wondered if the man left the car out so people would think he was home.
“Thank you. You’ve been helpful. Is there anyone else on this road who might have visited with Mr. Lange that night?” Hawke finished off his coffee.
“You could talk to Stewart next door. He sees more of Benjamin than we do, being right next door.” Mr. Donaghey tipped his head the direction of the man who’d suggested he come here.
“I visited with him already. Thank you.”
Mr. Donaghey walked him to the door. “Is Benjamin in some kind of trouble?”
“I don’t know. Did he and his wife have a good marriage?”
The man glanced over his shoulder and whispered. “They weren’t as compatible as my Marilyn thinks. I didn’t tell her about all the arguments I witnessed on my walks. I think if Benjamin could get over the fact he couldn’t keep her, he’d be happier alone or with someone new. Lorraine was a sweet girl, but she didn’t like taking second place to his career.”
“Do you think she could be the one he was speaking to on the phone Monday night?” Hawke wanted to make sure Donner got a warrant for Lange’s phone records. While he was inching toward the feeling the man was set-up, he still wasn’t sure the man couldn’t have staged it to look like he was being set up.
“He could have been. But whoever it was, I’ve never seen him that angry.”
Hawke walked out of the house. The door closed, and he hurried down the road to his pickup. Dog whimpered in his ear as he slid behind the steering wheel.
“Yeah, I better hurry if we’re going to pick up dinner and get to Justine’s on time.”
«»«»«»
Hawke pulled into Justine’s driveway at 7:05. Dog stood up whimpering and wagging his tail. He knew he’d be able to play with other dogs while he was here. Hawke had adopted Dog from Justine five years ago. She not only bred bird dogs, she took in rescue dogs.
The minute he opened the door, the chorus of barking from the kennels filled the air.
Justine stepped out onto her porch. “Quiet!” She called out, not as an order but as a command. The barking calmed and slowly stopped.
“You’re late,” she said as he walked up to the porch with their dinner in bags.
“I couldn’t make up my mind on what kind of wine you’d like.”
Her eyes widened. “I prefer beer.”
“Good. Because I gave up and bought a six pack.”
Justine laughed.
He followed her into the kitchen. Hawke placed the bags on the kitchen table, set for two.
“Do you want it plated?” she asked, opening a cupboard.
“No. Just plates for us, we can grab it out of the boxes. Less dishes.” He pulled the Styrofoam to-go boxes from the bag.
Once they were both seated, a beer each, and the food between them, Justine stared at him. “What is this about?”
His heart started pounding against his rib cage. His feet wanted to start running. He’d never been good at saying what he meant when it came to women.
“I want things back the way they were.”
Her eyes widened before she lowered her lashes and picked up her fork, poking it into a chicken leg. “Seems we had a tough conversation over chicken before,” she said.
They’d sat on the tailgate of her pickup having a picnic at Williamson Campground up the Lostine River as he’d told her that her sister might have killed someone.
He stabbed his fork into the chicken and scooped french fries out of the container. “I guess so. Then this shouldn’t be so tough.” He glanced up.
Justine watched him, her fork poised halfway between her plate and the Styrofoam container.
“Remember that dinner your sister made you invite me to?” He hated to bring up her sister when he was the person who’d arrested her.
Her expression turned hard. Her eyes narrowed. “Yes.”
“We both said we only wanted to be friends.”
“And?” She put her fork down and picked up her beer, avoiding eye contact.
She wasn’t going to make this any easier for him. He saw that. Damn! Why did women always make the man feel like he was wrong when it went both ways?
“I’ve been avoiding you because the last time we spent some time together you were looking at me like you thought I would take our relationship beyond friends.” He said it. His heart stopped hammering his ribs. He peered across the table at her. “And then there was your outburst in front of the Rusty Nail about Ms. Singer as if you were jealous.”
Her cheeks reddened and her eyelids lowered, hiding her emotions. “You have been a good friend. Before and after my family turned out to be murderers.” Her head came up. “I may have started fantasizing about what it would be like to have you in my life more.”
He shook his head. “I’m not the marrying, or the boyfriend kind. I’m married to my job. I appreciate you for not kicking my butt when I brought you the news about your sister and father. I would like to remain friends. But if you’re going to get angry when I don’t come by or call, or you hear I’ve been seen with another woman, I don’t think it would be a healthy friendship for either of us.”
She nodded and forked fries onto her plate.
He waited, but she didn’t say anything. Just started eating. Was she stalling, hoping he’d change his mind?
His stomach was in a knot. He didn’t love Justine, didn’t really feel anything more than he did for his sister. But she’d been a good friend since meeting her when he adopted Dog.
“I’m willing to go for just friends. I haven’t seemed to be able to tolerate the people I grew up with since moving back to the valley.” She picked up her beer bottle and held it out to him.
He picked up his beer and they clinked bottles. “To friendship.”
His guts unknotted and he dug into the lukewarm food. He’d finished off a leg and a breast and a heap of fries when Justine cleared her throat.
“So... when do I get to meet the pilot that took over Charlie’s Hunting Lodge?”
Hawke choked on the chicken he’d just swallowed. He coughed and grabbed for his beer.
“I didn’t mean for you to choke,” Justine said, standing beside him, pounding on his back.
He waved her away. “I’m fine,” he croaked and swallowed another gulp of beer. “Why do you want to know about Ms. Singer?”
Justine laughed as she sat back down. “Ms. Singer. So formal. From what I’ve heard, you two have had dinner at the Firelight several times, and you spent time at the lodge when you were recuperating from getting shot in the shoulder.”
He studied her to see if it was jealousy that had her asking. All he saw was merriment at his discomfort. That was the friendship he’d missed the last few months. The one where they could laugh at one another.
“Okay. Dani. She’s an ex-Air Force officer. She knows how to work on and fly air planes and helicopters. She’s pretty handy with most everything.” He realized how that came out and his ears burned.
Justine burst out laughing. “Oh, you have it bad for this woman. Does she know?”
Mortification struck as sure as a lightning bolt. “No. And if you are my friend, you won’t spread rumors or say anything to her if you happen to meet.”
Her merriment died. “You know how I feel about rumors. I don’t spread them.”
Rumors had ended her marriage. He nodded and opened the other bag. “How about dessert?” They finished the meal and cleaned up.
“Want a cup of coffee before you drive home?” Justine asked as they finished up the dishes.
“No. I need to get going. Still some things I want to check on the computer tonight.”
“This have anything to do with Duane Sigler’s death?”
He studied her. “Yes. You know something?”
“Not that I heard, but Ralph Bremmer has been saying a lot of things.” She opened the front door.
“Like what?” Hawke stepped out, and Dog arrived by his side.
“You know I don’t listen or repeat rumors. All I know is someone said Duane’s name and Ralph set off on a whole long tirade.”
“Thanks. I may just stop in at the restaurant tomorrow. Ralph gets there about eight, right?”
“Like clockwork.”
“See you then.”
Hawke and Dog climbed into his pickup and headed home. Ralph Bremmer. The man gave loans that ended up with people losing their vehicles and homes. Did Duane owe him money?