Free Presumption of Guilt by Archer Mayor Page A

Joe wrote GREG on the board.
    â€œIf you’re going to list the wife,” Sam said, “fair play demands you write down the girlfriend—for the same reasons, more or less.”
    Joe marked down GF.
    â€œDoes the same logic apply to the daughter?” Lester asked before checking the report to add, “Julie? Her mom called her a wild child—with the same adult assistance?”
    Willy protested. “A seven-year-old? I thought I was the cynical one. There are limits, even for me. Besides, she got wild afterwards.”
    â€œI agree,” Joe said. “I think we can leave her off. Let’s be practical and hopeful, for once.”
    â€œI got a practical wrinkle,” Willy offered. “If BB Barrett was sniffing after Sharon, what better way to improve his odds than by introducing Hank to Tootsie, whoever she is? He might’ve even paid for her dedication.”
    â€œEww,” Sam said, but Joe nodded slightly, drew a connecting line between GF and Barrett, and balanced a red question mark on top of it.
    He raised a questioning eyebrow at Willy, who responded with a thumbs-up and added, “It would explain why BB made his move so fast after Hank’s disappearing act.”
    â€œDon’t forget William Neathawk,” Lester contributed. “And while we’re at it, you should list … I don’t know … Call him the ‘Missing Man.’ The guy who might’ve set Neathawk’s van on fire to draw attention away from the warehouse site. I’m thinking Neathawk was a convenience anyhow—just the patsy whose vehicle was chosen.”
    â€œThis might’ve been all one person,” Willy mused. “A wireless detonator or a timer, planted under the van at any time, including in the middle of the night. Chances are Neathawk was living locally, to cut down on the commute, assuming he was from out of state.”
    Lester was shaking his head. “KISS, as they say—Keep It Simple, Stupid. My instinct tells me there were two of them—just makes it easier, and more realistic.”
    Willy, surprising Lester, didn’t argue. “Maybe.”
    â€œMoving on,” Joe said, turning to the board to list TOM, JIMMY, CARLO. He circled them as a group, explaining, “First names of the three drinking buddies Sharon could remember. When she got ticked off at us for suggesting her family members as possible suspects, she implied it was more likely that Hank had been killed by one of his pals.”
    â€œBut she did say her old drunk dad pegged Hank as a loser from the get-go,” Willy recalled. “Was that to make sure he wouldn’t make our list, even though he’s dead and buried?”
    Joe shrugged. “He’s already in the report. My vote is to leave him there, to be considered if and when everybody else drops out of contention.”
    Willy had no complaint.
    â€œSame for Sharon’s brother and sister?” Lester asked, for the sake of argument.
    â€œI think so,” Joe agreed. “Anyone disagree?”
    There was no response. Joe therefore faced the board again, looking at the list. “That’s ten. It’s a start. We may get lucky—it’s been known to happen, but before we’re done, I wouldn’t be surprised if we end up with twice that many.”
    â€œCheery thought,” Sam reacted.
    Joe turned to face her. “I hope I’m wrong. Maybe it’s because Hank’s been dead so long, but I have a feeling we’ll be digging deeper than usual with this one.”
    â€œThe mere fact you just said so’ll make it happen, oh fearless leader,” Willy said resignedly. “That is the way it works.”

 
    CHAPTER SEVEN
    Summit Circle, as befitted its name, was a hilltop road ending in a circular dead end, alternatively cloaked by trees and offering sweeping glimpses north, across Brattleboro township and the Connecticut Valley beyond. For