“Like I said, I want to hear your side of it.”
“The Ecstasy was a stupid idea,” Betsy said as she got up and started a pot of coffee. “It seemed daring and fun, but that, combined with the beer was a pretty strong cocktail. Mike and I were flying high.” She was about to measure coffee when she paused. “Kenny turned into a nightmare. He got edgy and paranoid. When the bartender threatened to throw us out, Mike whispered that we should leave.” She finished measuring the coffee and flipped the brew switch.
“Tell me about the Round Lake house.”
“It’s not like we broke in. We used the key and we cleaned up before we left.”
“What time did Aaron show up?”
Betsy hesitated a fraction of a second, then shook her head. “He didn’t show up while we were there.”
“He did show up though. When?”
“I don’t know what you mean?” Betsy said without looking Floyd in the eye.
“He broke into the cabin on Passenger Lake and stole an ATV. He drove it to Round Lake. Then what happened?”
“We weren’t there.”
Floyd sat there quietly eating a second cookie. He stared at Betsy, waiting for her to add to her statement. The coffee pot gurgled and he poured coffee into two cups he took off a mug-tree standing on the counter.
“I don’t know!” she said, abruptly standing. “I don’t know what happened after we left.” She walked to the counter and ripped a paper towel off the roll. She held it to her face as tears wet her cheeks.
When the tears stopped she threw the wet paper towel into the wastebasket. “So, what did Mike tell you happened?” Betsy took her coffee to the table.
“I want your statement without guiding you one way or another,” Floyd said, returning to the table with his coffee. He sipped the fresh coffee and took another bite of cookie.
“Well, you’ve got it.”
“Tell me about Aaron.”
Betsy shook her head. “He’s missing.”
Floyd suppressed a smile. “Yes, but you know more about what happened than you’re telling me.”
“Whatever Mike told you is more than you need to know. I’d appreciate it if you’d leave now.”
“How bad was Aaron bleeding the last time you saw him?” Floyd asked as he stood.
Betsy froze. “Mike didn’t tell you anything, did he? You’re lying to me!”
“I have a picture taken of Aaron with cuts all over his chest. Kathy Tucker helped bandage him up and broke into a cabin on Passenger Lake so he’d have a place to warm up. The next day he stole an ATV and drove away before she got back.” Floyd reached in his pocket and took out the picture of Aaron tied to the tree. He held it out for Betsy.
“I don’t want to see it,” she said.
“He rode the ATV to Round Lake. What happened after that?”
“I don’t know. We left before he got there.”
“Ah, Floyd said. “So you were gone, but he did go there.”
Betsy stared at the coffee mug she was clutching in her hands.
“What time did you go back?” Floyd asked, walking down the hallway toward the front door.
Betsy rubbed fresh tears from her cheeks with the backs of her hands. “I didn’t go back.”
“You never went back to the cabin? That’s not what Mike said.”
“Just go away.” Betsy pulled the door open. The afternoon heat rushed in.
Floyd studied Betsy’s irrational reaction to his questions. She was far too overwrought to have only been chastised by Melissa about using the hidden key to spend a night with her boyfriend and she’s let it slip that Aaron had shown up at the house, just not when she was there. In her unspoken language Floyd saw extreme distress every time he mentioned Aaron and the Round Lake house.
“How long was Aaron dead before you found him?” Floyd asked, taking a wild guess that he might’ve struck the heart of Betsy’s distress.
Betsy shuddered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, pushing Floyd toward the door. “Now go away!”
CHAPTER 40
“Now what?” Floyd asked himself as he walked back to his car. “I suppose I have to talk to Melissa again.” The inside of the car was furnace-like and he turned the air conditioner to maximum. The first blast of air to reach him was hotter than the interior of the car, so he stepped outside and turned his cellphone on. It indicated he had two messages.
The first message was from the dispatcher, “Floyd, the sheriff asked me to track you down. He said Mark Roberts wants to talk.” Floyd deleted the message and listened to the second. “Floyd, where the hell are you?” The sheriff’s deep voice barked at him with annoyance. “Mark Roberts says he wants to talk and dispatch says you’re in the Cities tracking down that old Aaron Roberts case. Get your ass up here and work on something that’s happened this decade!”
Floyd rolled is eyes and deleted the second message. “The two cases are related,” he muttered to himself as he climbed inside the car. The steering wheel had barely cooled enough to touch it when he pulled away from the curb.
When he merged onto I-35W Floyd dialed dispatch. “Tell the sheriff I’m on my way. I’m pushing the speed limit and I should be there in about thirty-five minutes.” He wove through the late afternoon traffic, passing cars as he moved between the lanes. When the rush hour traffic came to a complete stop he turned on the flashers and sped down the shoulder. A highway patrolman glared at him as he passed a fender bender.
“You made it in twenty-five minutes,” the dispatcher noted as Floyd passed though the outer security door.
Floyd nodded and rushed to the sheriff’s office. “Where’s Mark Roberts?” he asked the startled sheriff, who was staring at a report while facing away from the door.
“He’s still in a cell,” Sheriff Sepanen said, getting up from his desk. “Where were you when everything broke loose?”
“What broke loose?” Floyd asked as he followed the sheriff toward the jail.
“Roberts is claiming abuse and screaming at his lawyer. He got fed up with her and told her to take a hike, in so many words. Next thing I know the head jailer is in here telling me that Mark Roberts wants to talk to you and the dispatcher says you’re down in the Cities talking to one of Aaron Roberts’ old friends.”
“What else broke loose?” Floyd asked as they went through the jail security door.
“Kathy Tucker took a turn for the worse.”
“Shit,” Floyd said, “that was the other thing I was going to do when I was down there. I got side-tracked when I got your threat.”
“My threat?”
“You made it sound like my butt was on the line unless I got back here quickly.”
“Well, it was. Roberts wants to talk, and you’re the man. What are we supposed to do, tell him you’re indisposed and hold the confession until we can find some free time in Floyd’s busy schedule?” The sheriff hailed the head jailer, “Kerry, put Mark Roberts in an interview room.”
Floyd set up the video recorder while the sheriff unwrapped a cigar and clamped it between his teeth. “You know,” Floyd said, “tobacco products aren’t allowed in the jail.”
“So arrest me.” The sheriff glared at Floyd, and then put the cigar back in his shirt pocket.
A key rattled in the door and Mark Roberts entered the room. Floyd pointed to the chair where Mark would sit and said, “I see they decided to put you in manacles this time instead of just handcuffs.”
Roberts held his hands up to waist level where the chain between his hands and feet grew taut. “This sucks.”
“Don’t try to assault any more officers and we might go back to handcuffs,” Floyd suggested.
“I don’t think you remember who got beaten up,” Roberts said, sticking out his bandaged chin where the ER doctor had taken half a dozen stitches after treating Pam and Floyd. A bruise darkened the right side of his face.