Monday - Chapter 7

Investigating Curtis Markham’s murder, Mitch and Vick Hafferty search for evidence in Founder’s Field.

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If the rain came earlier, footprints might have led Mitch and Vick Hafferty to where Curtis Markham was killed. With a little work, they’d find a shell casing and the slug that passed through his eye, the evidence pointing to the gun and maybe even the finger that pulled the trigger. The entire investigation could have been over by suppertime tomorrow.

Instead, Mitch stood alone in the sea of yellow-flowered weeds called Founder’s Field. If he found anything, it’d be by tripping over it. Still, he imagined what happened in the middle of the dandelions—a killer forcing Curtis to his knees and putting a bullet in his skull.

At the edge of the field, Vick leaned against a tree trunk, his head buried in the crook of his arm. Mitch remembered the feeling but swore a greasy cheeseburger from the Road King could beat back a hangover far better than coffee or hair of the dog.

Vick’s free lunch lasted as long as their drive from the diner to Laura Chapman’s trailer. He managed a short conversation with Sheriff Arkin as they passed him, the coroner, and Curtis Markham’s remains on their way out of the woods. His eyes remained focused and back straight until he was a safe distance away. Then, he unloaded the better part of his lunch on the ground.

With careful, squelching steps, Mitch searched farther into the field. He squatted to brush his hand through the weeds, rain beating over his neck to drip beneath the useless plastic poncho. When the gagging stopped, he looked back at Vick, who now bent with his hands on his knees, spitting ropey bile to the ground between them.

Straightening, Vick tested his balance and dragged himself forward with laboring breaths, dark red rings of burst blood vessels in his eyes. When he stood beside Mitch, he whispered, “Find anything?”

“I don’t know if there’s anything to find.”

“Can we go back then?”

“Not yet.”

Rising, Mitch glanced past the trees to the guard tower and smiled.

Vick traced the path of his dad’s eyes. “What?”

“Follow me.”

At the farthest edge of the field, where the trees ahead led to more trees, Mitch stopped and turned. From there, he had a full view of the prison’s dark roof and another guard tower in the distance, the first tower still in his line of sight.

Mitch nodded straight ahead. “What do you see over there?”

Despite his hangover, Vick managed an exaggerated shrug. “Starks Prison.”

With a short nod, Mitch skirted the tree line to the opposite corner of the field, the tower still visible above the trees.

“What do you see now?”

“Still Starks Prison.”

Heading into the woods, Mitch feared his theory might derail there. Too many trees stood in the way, the thick summer foliage overlapping to block the sky. He stopped and turned, looking first to Vick’s baffled face before glancing up. With a clear view to the guard tower, his smile grew.

Vick followed his dad’s eyes and then snapped his attention back. “You think a CO did it?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but one saw who did.”

“Why wouldn’t they report it?”

“I don’t know, but it’s as hard for me to believe someone up there didn’t see anything. Even looking the other away, they’d have heard the shot.”

“Maybe the shooter used a suppressor. Maybe the guard is a friend. If so, they won’t say anything.”

“But they can’t deny being up there. If nothing else, it’s a start.”

“So we’re going to the prison?”

Mitch considered it as he adjusted the plastic around his shoulders. Part of the reason he’d brought Vick out there was to tell him Suzanne was back in town, but the moment never felt right. It didn’t now either. Maybe the idea of them getting back together was his fantasy alone. As Tara liked to say, if it happens, they’ll have to find their own way there.

Deciding to stop torturing his son, Mitch headed back to the trail. “We can call. Let’s go get dry.”

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