Dempster Road

Chapter 7

Timothy Spataro leaned on the porch rail and watched the car wend its way up the long drive from the highway. The earlier humidity had vanished leaving the air dry and hot. He could feel the dry dust in his mouth as the breeze carried it from where it billowed behind the vehicle, and he spit a dusty glob into the dirt below.

The creases around the eyes on his weathered face looked like they'd been stitched in, dark and ragged in appearance. The car pulled up to the front of the porch and stopped. Timothy watched and waited with interest while the driver did some busy work with a book of some kind and put his hat on before getting out.

"Mr. Spataro? I'm Sheriff Blackwell, from Dempster. You reported that car on the highway the other night?" Barney moved slowly up the steps and out of the sun.

"I did."

"I wonder if we could chat about that a bit?"

"Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Do you have any idea how long it might have been there before you saw it?"

"Let's sit." Timothy pointed to a peeling rocker and settled himself on an ancient lounge chair covered in bursting upholstery. "Couldn't say for sure. I know it wasn't there at eight 'cause that's when I went out. I was on my way back from a neighbour's when I first saw it."

The rocker creaked dangerously and Barney held both arms just in case. "So then you called it in at . . ." he took out his notebook, surrendering half his grip on safety, "at nine forty-five, and you're sayin' it wasn't there at eight?"

"Thereabouts. Guess I was the only one to stop and have a look."

"Was there any sign of the driver, or anythin' you thought unusual?"

"Only the fact that the engine was runnin'."

Barney looked up sharply. "Runnin'? Did you shut it off?"

"Sure. Don't waste gasoline like that out here, Sheriff."

"So you then locked it with the keys inside?"

"Didn't want to be carryin' them around myself. Owner could at least drive it if he got back."

"But he didn't . . . get back that is." Barney muttered, making more notes and praying the chair didn't collapse. "Was there anything in the car that looked odd? Anything that might suggest what happened to the driver?"

"Did somethin' happen?"

Barney closed his eyes. "That's precisely what I'm tryin' to find out, Mr. Spataro. He didn't come back, so where did he go . . . leavin' his car runnin?"

"Couldn't be far unless somebody picked him up. Other side of the highway behind those trees is nothin' but boggy wasteland and this side is just my farm and Cletis McCord's next to."

"That the neighbour you were visiting?" Timothy nodded as Barney made more notes.

"He's bin ailin'."

"About the car; was there anything inside that--?"

"Nope. Nuthin' I saw. A jacket in the back. A suit jacket like."

Barney nodded. "Yeah. Found that. Nothin' else unusual you can recall? Anything that might help?"

"Went down to the gate by the highway to set out my milk cans for pickup just after ten, there was another car went by like it was chased by the devil."

"Did you see it well enough to describe it? Maybe a licence number?" His question was automatic.

"No licence but it was one of them Japanese cars. Starts with a haich."