“That’s a lie!” a voice cried from the doorway. They looked up at a skinny kid in scuffed-up corduroy pants and an open shirt, glaring defiantly from the doorway.
“Fred didn’t do that,” the boy insisted angrily. “Fred would’ve tried to save Weezie and that’s why the river took him under. That’s what Mr. Taggert said and that’s what happened.”
“Roger, you’re not supposed to be eavesdroppin’ on your elders,” Scoby scolded. “This is my son, Roger Scoby. Roger, this gentleman is from the White House in Washington, D.C.”
“I don’t care where he’s from, he’s a liar!” the boy said, pointing at Keegan.
“Roger!”
“I said supposing,” Keegan said. “I was just speculating … playing a little game .
“It’s a rotten game. Fred was my friend and you shouldn’t play games like that about dead people. You lie and you get out of our house!”
“Roger!” the boy’s father snapped.
“It’s all right,” Keegan said. “Loyalty is a rare enough thing, Mr. Scoby. I admire his spunk.”
“Go upstairs and do your homework, son,” Scoby ordered.
“Finished it already.”
“Then just plain go upstairs,” Scoby snapped.
“Yes sir.” Roger started to leave, then turned back to Keegan. “Isn’t right to talk about dead people like that,” he admonished Keegan again before leaving.
“Never has gotten over the accident,” Scoby said, closing the parlor door. “They were real, real close. You were saying . .
“Who’s Taggert?” Keegan asked.
“County coroner over at Lafayette. Why would Fred do something like that anyway? I mean, if he got out, why didn’t he tell us? Why would he’ve left without saying anything? Don’t make a lot of sense, Mr. . . . uh
“Keegan. And I agree, it really doesn’t make a lot of sense but you know how these bureaucrats are. They can’t stand loose ends.”
“Why would Fred do that?”
A Nazi spy, hiding in Drew City, Indiana, working in his bank, making love to his daughter? The man would think I’m totally nuts, thought Keegan.
“That’s why it’s far-fetched, Mr. Scoby. You’re right, it doesn’t make a lot of sense. It’s just that never finding the body and all, we’re trying to cover all the bases. Want to close the case up once and for all. Sorry I upset the boy.”
“Like I said, he’ll never get over it,” Scoby said sadly. “But then, neither will I. I’ll say one thing for Fred, he made the last few months of my daughter’s life very happy ones. She didn’t have a very pleasant life before he came along. Lost her mother when Roger was born, had to tend to him and me and the house. Fred put some sparkle back in her eyes. I’ll always be indebted to him for that.”
“Yes sir. Can you remember anything else about him specifically. You wouldn’t have a photograph, would you?”
“No sir. Fred wasn’t one for snapshots. Was a private man, Fred was, stuck close to his friends, didn’t go in much for show.”
“Did he have any quirks? Any funny habits?”
Scoby pursed his lips and scratched his temple with a forefinger.
“I just, uh. . . been a long time, Mr. Keegan. Five years this past May. M’mind strays a bit these days.”
“Sure.”
“Actually Fred was just an average man who treated me and my children with a lot of love and thoughtfulness. Liked the movies. Liked a glass of beer with his dinner but he wasn’t a big drinker. He rolled his own cigarettes. Didn’t like the storebought kind. Prince Albert pipe tobacco, as I recall. Had this gold cigarette lighter he was real proud of. Family heirloom, so he said.”
“What kind of lighter?”
“It was rectangular, ‘bout three inches long.” He measured a distance between his thumb and forefinger. “‘Bout like that. Had smooth sides and a wolf’s head carved on the top of it. It was solid gold, not plate. Very handsome thing. Looked expensive. He was right proud of that lighter.”
“Could you draw a picture of it for me?”
Keegan handed him a notebook and a pencil and Scoby drew a fair likeness of the lighter with a hand that had begun to shake with time.
“Mother lived in Chicago,” Scoby went on as he drew. “She was ailing. He used to go up there occasionally to visit with her.”
“Was her name Dempsey?”
“Well, I suppose so.”
“What I mean is, she could have been a widow or divorced and remarried.”
“Uh huh. Never did ask. He didn’t talk a lot about himself, sir.
“Do you remember where he was born, Mr. Scoby?”
Scoby looked up with surprise and then grinned. “Born?” he said.
“Yes sir. Where he was from.”
“Sorry to laugh, it just seemed like a strange question. Matter of fact I do remember that. He was born in Erie, Pennsylvania. I remember it from his job application. Looked it up on a map once, just out of curiosity.”
“Anything else. College? Previous jobs .
Scoby stared at him for several seconds, then shook his head no.
“Right,” Keegan said and rose to leave. “Mr. Scoby, you’ve been a lot of help. As I told you, we’re just trying to clean up some loose ends, put this to bed once and for all. Thanks again for your time.”
As they reached the front door, Scoby said, “There was one thing about Fred. I’ve never told anybody this, not even the board down at the bank. Fred had a letter of recommendation from the First Manhattan Bank in New York. I hired him because I liked him and because he had a good, strong letter. He seemed real smart and honest, told me he’d been looking for work for a long time. This was the heart of the Depression, remember.
I forgot about the letter until about a month later I came across it in my desk drawer and just kind of force of habit, I called the bank. They never heard of Fred Dempsey.”
“And you kept him on?”
“Well, times bein’ what they were, lots of people were desperate. By that time I had found him to be an honest man and a hard worker, easily living up to the recommendation. Besides, Roger and Weezie were in the picture by then. I decided to judge for myself rather than broach the subject with him. Never said anything more about it to anybody till now.”
“I appreciate your confidence. Thanks again. Good luck, Mr. Scoby.”
“Same to you, Mr. Keegan.”
On the way back to the plane, Conklin turned off the main road and drove across a bridge, parking on the opposite side of the river.
“Thought you might like to see this. Here’s where the car went off, right here,” Chief Conklin said. “Must’ve skidded. The car was he pointed fifty yards downstream, “. . . about there when we found it. Weezie was still in it. She had a hold of Fred’s jacket. He must’ve been swept away. The river was going crazy that night.”
Keegan looked around. It was a barren stretch. There were no houses nearby, only the railroad tracks that paralleled the river. Isolated. If Fred Dempsey had wanted to fake his death, this was the perfect place.
“I didn’t get much,” Dryman said as they crawled back in the plane. “Too long ago. People really don’t remember him all that well. Want to hear something funny? That same night, the night of the bank robbery? There was a big fight in a hobo camp down the road. Two people were killed.”
“A hobo camp? Where?”
“Lafayette.”
“No kidding. Do you think you can find Lafayette, H.P.? And a real airport? I’m getting tired of landing in people’s backyards.”
“What’re we going to Lafayette for?”
“I want to talk to the coroner.”
* * *
Elmo Taggert. who was both funeral director and coroner in Lafayette, picked them up at the airport in his hearse.
“After you called, I took the trouble of digging out a copy of the report I filed on Louise Scoby,” he said. He handed Keegan a brown envelope. Keegan took out the report and scanned it.