Janice had experienced a reeling culture shock and had never quite forgiven her parents for uprooting her during that all-important senior year and transplanting her in “Bubbaville.” She considered everyone in Tambour a hick, starting with, and in particular, Fred Hawkins and his twin, Doral. It amazed her that one had become an officer of the law, the other a city official. Even by Tambour’s standards, the twins had exceeded her expectations of them.
“Everybody in Tambour wants the head of Sam Marset’s killer on a pike, and they’re breathing down Fred’s collar to get it,” Tom told her. “The coroner estimates time of death for all seven victims at around midnight, so Fred is”—he glanced at the clock on the microwave oven—“almost twelve hours into the investigation, and he doesn’t have any substantial leads.”
Janice winced. “The scene was described as a bloodbath.”
“The photos my men sent back weren’t pretty.”
“What was the owner of the company doing
in the warehouse at that time of night?”
“That struck Fred as odd, too. Mrs. Marset was of no help because she was out of town. Fred’s thinking is that maybe this Coburn created some kind of problem, got into a fight with a coworker, something serious enough for the foreman to call Marset. They’ll check phone records, but a reason for Marset’s being there at that unusual hour hasn’t been established yet.”
“Is Lee Coburn a habitual troublemaker?”
“His employment record didn’t indicate that. But no one claims to know him well.”
“I gathered that by Fred’s press conference. Beyond a description and a police artist sketch, they don’t seem to have much.”
“He put false information on his job application.”
“They didn’t check it out before they hired him?”
“An oversight I’m sure the human resources staff is regretting.”
“Why did he lie on his application, I wonder. To hide a police record?”
“That was the general consensus. But so far his fingerprints haven’t turned up any prior arrests.”
Janice frowned. “He’s probably one of those wackos who slips through the cracks of society until he does something like this. Then everybody takes notice. What I don’t get is why these nutcases go after innocent people. If he bore a grudge against the company, why didn’t he just wreck one of the trucks? Why go on a killing spree?”
When Tom had first met Janice, she’d been a feeling, compassionate human being who often championed the underdog. Over the years her tolerance level had steeply declined.
“Apparently Coburn doesn’t have the outward markings of a wacko,” he said.
“Wackos rarely do.”
Tom conceded her point with a tip of his head. “Coburn had recently been placed in charge of shipping manifests. Maybe he cracked under the pressure of new responsibility.”
“That’s plausible.” Her expression indicated that she knew something about cracking under pressure.
Tom took a canned drink from the fridge. “I’d better be off. Fred’s waiting on me. If you need me, call. I’ve always got my cell phone.”
“We’ll be fine.”
“I turned Lanny when I cleaned him, so you don’t have to do that for a while.”
“Don’t worry about us, Tom. Go. Do your job. I’ll handle things till you get home, whenever it is.”
He hesitated, wishing he could think of something to say that would brighten her day, wishing there was something to say. But he knew there wasn’t, so he trudged from his house with the overgrown lawn, feeling the burden of their lives weighing heavily on his shoulders because he didn’t know how to make it better.
He felt no more confident about improving the situation in Tambour.
Chapter 7
Honor retrieved the sealed rubber box from under her bed.
Coburn replaced the mattress, then, without ceremony, dumped the contents of the storage box onto her snowy white comforter and began pawing through Eddie’s personal effects.