The Big Thaw - Donald Harstad [23]
We had known for years that Cletus tended toward the vocal right wing, but this stuff was quite a bit more antigovernment than I’d expected.
The only possibility of additional evidence was the discovery of bedclothes in the dryer. They appeared freshly laundered. The reason that was considered possible evidence of “something” was that a woman on the lab team named Mary thought it unlikely that the wife in such a clean and tidy house would leave on an extended vacation without folding and putting away the laundry. She was probably right, but just try explaining that to the males on a jury.
The lab crew said right away that the dark areas I’d uncovered on the carpet did contain traces of blood. They also said that whoever had cleaned them up had done an exceptional job. Same for the area on the wall that looked to have been wiped clean.
A preliminary test confirmed Dr. Peters’s judgment about the dried pool of blood on the top of the water heater.
This was a phase of the investigation that could easily lose the case. You not only had to locate and carefully examine all items of evidence, you had to preserve them in such a way that a defense team could conduct their own examinations. That took much, much time.
It looked like the lab team would be there for several hours. Lamar used the radio to order food brought to the farm. Great idea. About a minute later, Deputy Willis called from the end of the lane. The owner, Cletus Borglan, was here.
He was about medium height and build, in his middle fifties. He was fit, from working as opposed to working out. He also had a loud voice, which he was using. Not particularly angry. Just loud.
“Damn, Lamar! What’s goin’ on here? Why the little army at my farm?” He was standing in the kitchen doorway, and was using a voice that would enable him to be heard in the machine shed.
“Been a problem,” said Lamar.
“So I hear,” said Cletus, loudly. “What are cops doin’ on my property in the first place?”
“We’re investigating a murder,” said Lamar.
“What? How the hell can there be a murder here when there’s nobody home?” He headed toward the archway, louder as he went. “What the hell are they doin’ to my carpet?”
I was by the archway, and just stepped sideways into his path. “Sorry,” I said. “You can’t go in there just yet. They’re not…” I was going to say “done.”
“Who the hell are you to tell me that I can’t go in there?” Very loud, but he’d stopped.
“Calm down, Clete,” said Lamar. “Like I said, we’re here on a murder investigation.”
Cletus spun around to face Lamar. “And I said, ‘How the hell can there be a murder here if there’s NOBODY HOME?’!”
Lamar stood his ground, and I stepped one step closer behind Cletus.
“Like I been trying to tell you,” began Lamar, patiently, “one of my officers had a reason to come here, and look for somebody. He found who he was looking for, but not alive.”
Cletus cut him off. “What happened? One of you guys get killed trespassing on a farm again?”
Lamar went white, and I suspect I did, too. Cletus was referring to an incident about five miles from his house, where Lamar had gotten shot and Civil Deputy Bud had been killed, attempting to serve a notice on a farmer and his wife. Our people had not been, of course, trespassing.
The outrageousness of the statement had Lamar temporarily speechless. Cletus, too, for he knew he had gone too far. Before he could try to make amends, though, Lamar spoke up.
“You stupid son of