"No, sir," Davison replied briskly. "I told you, he's a good boy. He doesn't do drugs. Maybe a beer now and then. That's the extent of it."
"My daughter certainly isn't a druggie," Dendy remarked.
Galloway remained centered on Davison. "Did you see anything unusual that should alert us to an unstable state of mind?"
"My eighteen-year-old son is talking about killing himself, Mr. Galloway. I think that sums up his state of mind."
While Galloway sympathized with the man-he had teenagers of his own-he pressured him for more information.
"You know him, Mr. Davison. Do you think Ronnie is bluffing? Does he sound sincere to you? Do you believe he would go through with it?"
The man wrestled with his answer. Then he lowered his head dejectedly. "No, I don't think so. Truly, I don't.
But-"
"But?" Galloway pounced on the qualifier. "But what?
Has Ronnie ever shown suicidal tendencies?"
"Never."
"A violent streak? Uncontrollable temper?"
"No," he replied shortly. However, he appeared uncomfortable with his preemptive answer. Nervously his eyes shifted from Galloway to the others, then back to the agent. "Well, only one time. It was an isolated incident.
And he was just a kid."
Inwardly Galloway groaned. He was very sure he didn't want to hear about the one time Ronnie Davison had lost it. "It may not be relevant-probably isn't-but maybe you'd better tell me about it."
After a long, uneasy silence, Davison began. "Ronnie was staying with me during his summer vacation. It hadn't been long since his mother and I had divorced. Ronnie was having trouble adjusting to the split. Anyway," he said, shifting his feet self-consciously, "he took a shine to this dog that lived a few blocks over. He told me her owner was mean to her, didn't always feed her, never bathed her.
Stuff like that.
"I knew the owner. He was a mean ol' bastard, drunk most of the time, so I knew Ronnie was telling the truth.
But it was none of our business. I told Ronnie to stay away from the dog. But, as I said, he'd formed a real attachment to the mangy thing. I guess he needed a companion.
Or maybe he liked the animal because it was as miserable as he was that summer. I don't know. I'm no child psychologist."
Dendy interrupted. "Is this sad story going anywhere?"
Galloway shot him a look and came close to telling him to shut up before turning back to the other man. "What happened, Cole?"
"One day Ronnie unchained the dog and brought her to our house. I told him to return her to the neighbor's backyard immediately. He started crying and refused to.
Said he'd rather see her dead than living like that. I scolded him and went to get my keys, meaning to drive the dog home in my pickup.
"But when I came back through the kitchen, Ronnie was gone and so was the dog. Long story short, I searched for them all night. Had neighbors and friends out looking for him, too. Early the next morning a rancher spotted him and the dog hiding behind his barn and called the sheriff.
"As we converged on the barn, I called out to Ronnie, telling him that it was time to take the dog back to her owner and go home. He shouted back that he wasn't going to give the dog up, that he wouldn't let her be mistreated the way she'd been."
He stopped speaking and stared at the brim of his hat as he slowly threaded it through his fingers. "When we came around to the back to the barn, he was crying his heart out. He was patting the dog where it was lying right there beside him. Dead. He'd hit it in the head with a rock and killed it."
The eyes he raised to Galloway were red with threatened tears. "Mr. Galloway, I asked my boy how he could have done such a horrible thing. He told me he'd done it because he loved the dog so much." His wide chest shuddered when he deeply inhaled. "Sorry I got so longwinded.
But you asked if I thought he could possibly do what he says he'll do. That's the best way I know to answer you."
Galloway curbed the unprofessional impulse to press the man's shoulder. Instead he said tersely, "Thank you for the insight."