Hangman's Oak

Chapter Seven

As I left our condo the next morning, my head was racing with possibility. I needed to find out some things to see if I was on the right trail. My phone rang. Caller ID said, "Boatwright Construction."

"This is Rachel."

"John Boatwright. I heard the people who killed my grandfather were caught in Colorado."

"You heard wrong. Two sixteen-year-olds were caught with his truck. They found it about a hundred yards from Hangman's Oak. I seriously doubt they had anything to do with your grandfather's death."

"Are you sure?"

"Ninety-nine percent. Are you familiar with your grandfather's truck?"

"Why?"

"Is it an automatic and have a rear window slider?"

"Yes. What does that have to do with who killed him?"

"Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. I need to check a few things. Did you know your grandfather had stage four cancer? Was he taking chemo or anything?"

"We all knew his condition and that he refused further treatment. His doctor prescribed morphine for pain, but other than that, he was toughing it out like the stubborn man he was. I don't understand how this helps find his killers."

"You'll just have to believe me it does. Have you found that missing picture frame, yet?"

"I haven't really looked. You really think it's important?"

"It may be key. Any chance you could do a thorough search?"

"Some of us are going over later to help sort things. I can look then. I think Grandmother's meeting with lawyers tomorrow."

"Would that be Marston & Marston?"

"How'd you guess?"

"You mentioned them earlier. Thought they might be your family's attorneys. We'll talk later."

I called Marston & Marston to verify my suspicion that Cutter had visited them recently. The answer was yes, but they wouldn't—and I didn't expect them to—divulge why. I then drove to a store to buy a 50-foot pack of clothesline. I cut off 15 feet, put that in my pocket, and headed for Westfield Motors to test drive a late-model pick-up with crew cab and rear window slider.

Leaving the lot, the salesman kept up a steady stream of the great deal he could give me. After several blocks, I pulled into an empty parking lot at a defunct strip mall.

"Well, what do you think, Missy? This a great truck or what?"

"Quite impressive, Dave, but I need to check just one thing."

I got into the back and opened the rear window slider, took out the piece of clothesline, tied a loop in one end, then put the other end out the rear window.

"Would you mind moving to the driver's seat, Dave?"

"What are you up to, Missy?"

"Just an experiment. Please, this'll just take a minute."

Dave moved. I put the looped end of the line over the gearshift.

"Dave, I'm going to get in the bed. I'd like you to start the truck and put the gearshift in neutral. Don't touch the wheel or step on the brake. If my experiment works, you can stop us after 20 or 30 feet. Thanks."

Dave looked dubious but went with the old adage "the customer is always right." He did want to sell the truck, after all. I climbed in the truck bed and, while the truck was still and idling, pulled on the clothesline. The gear shifted easily to drive and the truck started slowly moving forward.

My experiment a success, we drove back to the car lot. I thanked Dave, but told him I'd have to ask my wife before buying the truck.

"You know how it is. Can't get a new toy without the spouse's blessing."

As I left, my phone rang.

"Rachel? Andy. Got an update. The Colorado cops found empty prescription bottles for morphine in the bed of Cutter's truck. Those'll probably match the drugs in his system."

"I'm not surprised. Did they find a suicide note?"

"Suicide? What makes you ask that?"

"I think Cutter rigged his own hanging. He took the morphine, waited for it to start working, and then put his truck in gear with a pull on a cord. I just proved that could work. I'd be surprised if there's no confession other than the photo. Then again, I might know where to find one."

"Where?"

"Sorry. Didn't realize I said that out loud. I'll tell you if I find it. Have you IDed the other two men?"

"Yes. Our photo editor found a fifties photo showing Cutter, Brock and the other two at a golf tournament. They're Marshall Wharton and Broderick Standish."

"Standish? Any relation to my least favorite detective?"

"Great uncle. Wharton and Standish died in a boating accident off Florida in '89."

"Thanks, Andy. I'll get back to you."