He leaned forward on the greasy countertop where he had placed the lamp, bowed his head, and moaned softly as I stepped back, holding the jug with both hands like a football Coop Lugmor wasn't going to take away until I'd found out what I wanted to know. There was almost a minute of silence. When he finally spoke, his voice was whiskey-hoarse, climbing up and down a ragged scale.
"I don't sleep too good," he whispered. "Hardly at all. It must've been two or three in the morning. It was clear, full moon like tonight; I could hear neighbors' dogs barking from three, four farms away. Then I heard the shots. Two shotgun blasts, real loud. I got my own gun, went out. I… I… I found them down by the creek."
"How far away is that?"
"I dunno, maybe a half, three-quarters of a mile straight out back of the barn. They were under a big willow. They… they… I found them…"
"Come on, Coop. Tell me exactly what you saw. I need to know everything in detail; I know it's hard, but I have to know. Pretend you're a camera looking back there; tell me what you see."
"They… they…"
"Goddamn it, Coop, tell me!"
"Tommy… his chest and stomach and guts… Rodney… all of his head from his jawbone up was gone. Brains and bone were splashed… gagh! Gagh!"
Overcoming my revulsion, I stepped forward, gripped his elbow and turned him around, shoved the jug into his hands. I counted three heavy gulps before I managed to pull the jug away again.
"They're dead, Coop," I said quietly.
"You're a pretty cold fish, Robby," he said in a strained, accusing voice. "You oughtta' be ashamed of yourself."
I was ashamed of myself, but not for forcing him to tell me what he had seen. I was ashamed of the stranger inside me, and ashamed of the things he'd said and done. There were enough rotten people in Peru County, I thought, and I saw no reason to add myself to the number. The stranger was just going to have to go back to whatever dark place in my heart he had come from.
But Coop Lugmor was still going to have to tell me what had happened.
"From the way you describe it, the boys died instantly, without any physical suffering. Think about that, not what they looked like afterward; you'll feel better. Now, I want you to draw me a diagram on paper showing everything- "
"I can't, Robby." Lugmor held up his hands; they were vibrating like bass tuning forks.
"Then you have to tell me what you saw, in detail. You said there was a willow tree. How were the bodies positioned?"
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looked hungrily at the jug. I retreated into my end zone. "It looked like your nephew had been blown down next to the stream; he was half in, half out of the water. There were.. crawfish at him."
"Where was your brother?"
"Leaning against the tree."
"The gun? You said it was a shotgun?"
He swallowed, nodded. "Remington 1100. Belonged to our pop."
"How long is that gun from the trigger to the end of the barrels?"
He showed me with his flapping hands.
"Where was it?"
Lugmor screwed his eyes shut. "They didn't suffer?"
"I don't think so, Coop. No."
"Rod was holding it."
"How, Coop?" I looked around, saw a broken broom lying on the floor in a corner. I grabbed it, handed it to him. "Get down on the floor and show me exactly how Rod was holding it. Pretend the bristles are the butt end."
My stomach tightened as I watched Lugmor slump down on the floor and angle into position against the broken door of a cabinet. I sighed as I saw him put his finger on the "trigger" and, with eyes popping from his head like great red moons, slide the other end into his mouth. The "gun" was short enough. I shoved the broom out of his mouth and hands, helped him to his feet.
"Coop," I said gently, "so far you haven't told me anything that wouldn't jibe with the newspaper accounts and what I've heard."
"What they say isn't true." "We come back to the letters Bolesh is supposed to have found in Tommy's pocket."
"Not signed!"
"Written on Rodney's typewriter."
"Bolesh says! Nobody around here would know one typewriter from another!"
"The police certainly would, Coop. It's a simple thing to check; it's as if typewriters have fingerprints."
He clenched his fists and shook his head.
"Just for the sake of argument, let's assume that the letters were written on that typewriter. Could anyone else have gotten to that typewriter without someone in the family knowing it?"
"That week they could've. Rod was staying there by himself, and he was probably out of the house a lot. Our folks were away at a Grange convention."
"I want to talk to them tomorrow, Coop, and they may not be too happy to see one of Tommy's relatives coming up the driveway. I want you to come over with me."
"Can't, Robby. They both went away Saturday morning, right after Rod's funeral. Took it real hard, said they couldn't stand knowing that the whole county's talking about us."
"When will they be back?"
"Dunno. They're paying a couple of neighbors to look after the place."
"Coop, I asked you this before and I'm going to ask you again; this time I want you to think very hard before you answer. Who might want to kill your brother and my nephew?"
"I don't know!" he wailed. "That's what you're supposed to find out!"
"The only thing you're really certain about is that your brother wasn't homosexual, right?"
"Yes! Barney Mason, a friend of mine who works in the drugstore in Peru City, told me he saw Rod in there one day sneaking peeks in some of those dirty magazines. Those magazines have pictures of naked women in them, Robby!"
"Great." I handed him the jug. As I watched him suck at its contents, I took the paper he had given me out of my pocket, tore it up, dropped the pieces on the floor. "My regular fee is two hundred a day, Coop. That's what you'll pay, along with expenses. And you will pay it. The first expense is the biggest. I'm flying in a hacker from New York."
"What's a hacker?"
"Never mind. You can't even take care of your own business, so don't start worrying about mine. I sure as hell don't want this farm, or any money out of it, which means that you're going to have to haul your ass out and go to work someplace so you can pay me. Maybe I'll talk to some of my relatives, see if one of them will take you on as a hired hand-which means that the nasty dwarf you 'heard tell' about will personally break your ass into little pieces if you drink on the job or otherwise fuck up."
"Robby, I- "
"I've been known to carry client accounts for a time, so I may not bill you until you've got a job and saved some money. The first thing you do in the morning is take a bath, shave, find some clean clothes, and hitch a ride into Peru City. Go to the welfare agency. Don't tell them about me, do tell them you need help. Drag somebody out here; once they see this place, they'll fall all over themselves giving you emergency assistance."
He drew himself up straight, stumbled, braced himself on the cabinet shelf. "I'm not taking any charity."
"You'll do exactly as I say, Coop!" I snapped, picking my way through the garbage and heading for the door. "Otherwise, you can start thinking about mortgaging your farm. And you can be damn sure I'll check to make sure you go there."
5
Cockadoodledoo.
My father had retired five years ago, sold the animals, and leased out most of his acreage. Nevertheless, he and my mother still rose at dawn; consequently, I found my parents, along with a big breakfast of ham, eggs, and potatoes, waiting for me when I went downstairs early the next morning. We made small talk in an atmosphere that was at once warm but oddly strained. I couldn't tell whether their discomfort arose from the fact that they weren't accustomed to the idea of their son the private detective tilling home soil, or anxiety in the face of all the emotions I was bound to keep stirred up. I finished quickly, went into the living room, and checked the telephone directory.