Off the Beaten Path. John Schlarbaum
handed Dawn a bookmark that displayed all three covers of her books. “Take one of my functional business cards, as I like to call them. My website is listed on it.”
“Sweet,” Dawn said, placing the bookmark in her new book.
As our attention was on the local celebrity book signing process, none of us had taken into account the other patron. Dawn and I were about to move into the kitchen to select one of the freshly made sandwiches on display, when the fourth person in the room spoke up.
“Well if it isn’t one of the Tour of True Terror terrorists. Did you enjoy the show last night, Missy?”
To say we were startled by this would be an understatement.
“Excuse me?” Dawn asked, as the question was aimed squarely at her.
“Debra!” Dara broke in. “You can’t come in here and abuse my customers.”
“Why not?” Debra Stanfield countered. “She abused me last night when she stopped in front of Eric and Lucy’s house, gawking at the place like it was a freak show exhibit, all the while listening to Rodney spreading his vicious lies.”
I was baffled how Eric McDowell’s mother-in-law knew Dawn had taken the previous evening’s tour. I was sure neither of us had made any type of direct eye contact during her deranged ranting episode. Had she staked out the kiosk and taken pictures of each person exiting the bus for future reference? Before I could come to some logical answer, it was presented, as Ms. Stanfield pointed to the tour’s souvenir book sticking out of the side pocket of Dawn’s beach bag.
“Did you get to the part where Detective Dutton and Detective Ingles write that Eric was their one and only suspect? That’s because they didn’t investigate any other options or leads.”
Having dealt with her share of angry, belligerent bar and restaurant drunks over the years, Dawn knew exactly how to handle this situation. The look she gave me was I got this covered, big fella. No need to be my hero.
“As a matter of fact, Steve and I—my name is Dawn by the way—did read that section and we both wondered about your son-in-law’s case.” That we knew who she was made Debra stop in her tracks as she approached us. “As for being terrorists, well, that’s just not the case. Tourists, yes, terrorists, no,” Dawn continued undeterred. “There’s a daily guided tour of the city’s art gallery we could’ve signed up for, but decided the True Terror evening sounded more interesting. Obviously, as out-of-towners we have no axe to grind with you personally. We’re sorry about the death of your daughter, which is something a true terrorist wouldn’t feel.”
Our accuser was at a loss for words before saying, “I know. I’m sorry for my outburst. My anger is with Detective Dutton and I hate that he’s making any kind of money off Eric’s situation.”
Seeing that she appeared to be on the verge of crying, I asked, “Dara, do you serve coffee in the kitchen as well as sandwiches and soup? I think we could all use a change of scenery and tone, maybe to sit and talk more.” Dara said she’d put on a fresh pot and headed to the kitchen. “I used to be a police officer—”
“Who now works as a private investigator on different files, including cold cases,” Dawn interrupted proudly.
“Yes, I’ve worked a few cold case files,” I said. “With my background, I know how detectives think and would like to discuss the circumstances surrounding Eric’s case, if you have the time. Maybe I can give you some insight into why Eric was charged and prosecuted.”
“An outsider’s perspective,” Dawn suggested.
The anger was gone from Debra’s face, replaced with an expression combining weariness and resignation. “I would like that, if it’s not taking time away from you.”
“We came in here for a good book and lunch,” Dawn said. “I found the book, so now it’s time for lunch.”
Not quite friends, definitely no longer enemies, the three of us joined Dara in the kitchen where she served us lunch at a table, leaving every once in a while to attend to customers out front. We learned Debra had lived in Dannenberg her entire life, had gone to school with Retired Rodney years earlier, and had been his friend, until Lucy’s death.
“When she opened this place, Dara carried Rodney’s book on consignment, wanting to promote local authors and area history,” Debra mentioned between spoonfuls of French onion soup. “But when I told her how the investigation was carried out, she decided not to renew the contract once the initial ten copies were sold and she’s kept her promise.”
“Have you convinced anyone else of Eric’s innocence?” I asked, before devouring my chicken and bacon wrap. “What about the newspapers or TV stations? Any interested investigative reporters wanting to make a name for themselves?”
“Yes and no,” Debra replied wiping her mouth with a napkin. “A few people were interested but soon learned how powerful Rodney and Det. Ingles still are in the community. The stories never saw the light of day. I even hired two independent investigators to look into Eric’s case and their reports both came back with substandard results. I think they were approached by the current police brass not to make waves.”
“Can you prove that?” Dawn asked.
“Both investigators were former city officers. I thought that would be to my advantage, as they’d know all the players involved. I think it backfired though and they were threatened that the force wouldn’t be co-operative on any future files needing assistance.”
I thought back to my own early days in the P.I. game and getting the same kind of runaround. My police corruption trial and subsequent firing were quite scandalous. Police services around the country knew my name and face. I was toxic to any employee brave enough to give up a new lead or assist on some case, no matter if it was a minor car accident report request, or something more serious.
“That’s very possible,” I agreed with her. “The conversation would go something like, ‘Stop looking into this case and we’ll guarantee to help you out later.’ It’s almost like a plea bargain.”
“Can they do that, legally?” Dawn asked me.
“Like any government run organization, they have the power to slow down requests, lose requests or simply ignore them, if they believe their case was justified and they got a conviction fair and square,” I said.
“No one likes to admit they got it wrong,” Debra added, making eye contact with Dawn, then me.
“How do you know you’re not the one who’s wrong?” Dawn asked point blank.
The question temporarily stumped Debra. Either she was stunned by the very notion or still didn’t have a clear answer in her head. Thus far she hadn’t given us any hard facts to back her claim. I was expecting an explosion of emotions like she’d demonstrated earlier in the front room and during the tour, yet she remained calm.
“Because a mother knows,” she said softly. “Are either of you parents?” We shook our heads. “When you two have children, you’ll immediately feel a bond stronger than anything you’ve ever experienced. Kids are the ultimate game changer and not only in the way they take up your free time. They transform you as much as you try to shape them. You can’t have one without the other.” She paused. “Unlike Lucy, Eric wasn’t my flesh and bones but he might as well have been, even with all his faults.”
“Did you know they were having marital problems before Eric came home that night?” Dawn asked gently.
I almost didn’t hear her answer as I tried to wrap my head around the concept of having children with Dawn.
That’s never going to happen, right big fella?
“Lucy told me she had her suspicions about Eric. He was working late and being stand-offish around her. Little things she couldn’t prove.”
“Did she ever come right out and ask him?”