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“Dominique Fancelli?”
“Yeah?”
Walt did not need to introduce himself. “I have a few questions concerning your Ford F-one-fifty.”
Dio
“You mind if I come in?”
Fancelli pushed open the screen door, but he stepped outside instead of allowing Walt in. Walt thought the move shrewd and an important indicator of who he was dealing with.
“Shut the door,” Fancelli told his daughter.
The girl did so, but her expression, behind her stepfather’s back, was one of intense curiosity and no small degree of fear.
Walt elected to play his Brandon card. He clicked his handset three times, and Brandon rounded the far corner of the house and approached them. Brandon slowed at each window, looking inside. Even wearing the sling, Brandon’s size and demeanor were intimidating. He was a person you paid attention to, kept one eye on, in any given situation. The big dog, poised in the corner, his eyes taking in everyone in the room. He approached the front of the F-150 slowly and, when he had Walt’s attention, nodded slightly. That motion affirmed he’d seen evidence of the bird strike and filled Walt with additional confidence.
Fancelli was appropriately distracted. “What’s up, Sheriff?”
“Deputy Tommy Brandon,” Walt said, introducing the two.
Tommy nodded at the man, but kept six feet away. If a stare could burn, Walt thought.
“What’s going on?” Fancelli greeted Brandon.
Brandon said nothing in return.
“Mr. Fancelli-”
“Don.”
“We’re occasionally put in the position of seeking a statement from a civilian, a citizen, on a voluntary basis. We’re not asking that you get involved, but to be forthright, it’s not out of the question that at some future date you might be deposed or even asked to give testimony at a trial. If you were opposed to that, we would do everything in our power to protect you and prevent that from happening.”
The effect was as he’d hoped. First, he’d distracted the suspect into believing their arrival at his front door had nothing to do with his own actions; second, they’d instilled in him a sense of their dependence on him, lending him a false self-confidence.
“What’s this about?”
“We believe your Ford F-one-fifty may have swerved off the highway on the night of the twelfth, or early morning of the thirteenth.”
Fancelli managed a convincing deadpan, though his eyes darted nervously between Walt and Brandon. “Yeah, that’s right,” he said.
Walt concealed his calming exhale, having worried he might have to fight the man on this part of the story. “We had a witness,” he said, just to place one nail firmly in place.
“Is that so?”
“ID’d your truck,” Brandon said in his deep baritone.
“A fox was into some roadkill. Swerved to miss it and lost control.”
“It happens,” Walt said, secretly impressed the man could seem so nonchalant. He was learning more about Fancelli than Fancelli would have wanted him to know. This was the testing phase: the chance to probe the suspect in an effort to decode him. Find the right code and you could unlock all the walls erected in front of the truth.
“So you were driving,” Walt said, continuing. “You were behind the wheel?”
“It’s my truck.”
“You came to a stop and you left the vehicle,” Walt said, watching as that piece of information caught Fancelli off guard. “Now, most guys I know would move to the front of the vehicle to see if there was any damage done.”
“I didn’t hit anything,” Fancelli volunteered. “I said there was a fox in the road and that I swerved to avoid him.”
“Yes, you did,” Walt said. “My point was that most guys would get out of the vehicle to check for damage. I mean, why get out at all? Why not just drive back to the highway?”
“I still don’t get what this is about.”
“Did you leave the vehicle ru
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“Your headlights. It has to do with your headlights.”
“My headlights are fine. Both headlights are working.”
“That model, F-one-fifty, even if the engine’s turned off, the headlights remain illuminated for sixty seconds. It’s a safety feature to let you reach your door.”
“What’s with the headlights, Sheriff?”
“You got out of the vehicle and walked back behind it.”
“This,” said Brandon, “according to our witness.”
“Yeah? So what? Scared the shit out of me, ru
“Makes sense to me,” Walt said to Brandon, who nodded. “It’s of no never mind to us.”
“Could have fooled me,” Fancelli said.
“The point being you were behind the truck-”
“And the headlights were on,” Brandon said, chiming in.
“Yeah? So?”
“So,” Walt said, “you approach the truck from the rear as you return to the cab. Can you see that?”
“I suppose.”
“We’re interested in what you saw as you returned to your truck.”
“You lost me.”
“If you saw anything, anyone, in the general vicinity of your truck as you returned to the cab.”
“Such as?”
“Anything at all unusual?”
“Not that I recall.”
“We need you to think about this. Need you to tell us anything you might have seen that might have struck you as out of the ordinary.”
“I didn’t see anything. I took a leak, got back in the truck, and drove back to the road.”
Walt kept his shoulders from slumping with disappointment. He retained his impassive, slightly bored expression-a public servant doing his job.
“Are you a bow hunter, Mr. Fancelli?”
“What of it?”
“Would you have applied for bear tags for the past three years?”
“No law against that, is there?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Walt said.
“Okay then.”
“Did you take the Ford into Wood River Glass for a windshield replacement on the afternoon of the thirteenth?”
Fancelli’s veneer cracked. His brow tightened, his eyes narrowed, and he dismissed Brandon as if he wasn’t there. His full attention was now fixed on Walt. He’d identified the enemy and he tracked it with a hunter’s eye.
“What’s going on here?”
“Do you remember what you told the mechanic? The worker at Wood River Glass? What you told him had caused the damage to your windshield?”
“I ate a rock.”
“Are you aware that shops like Wood River Glass take pictures of damage for insurance purposes?”
“No.”
“Some do,” Walt said. “The ones that want to get paid.”
“So?”
“Have you ever heard the expression, ‘Why do it the hard way when there’s an easy way’?”
“What’s your point, Sheriff? I gotta get back inside.”
“You sure it was a fox, Mr. Fancelli?”
“Maybe I’m mixing it up with another time I was run off the road. I think that’s right. Did I say fox? It was a bird. A bird hit my windshield.”
“What kind of bird?”
“How would I know?”
“Maybe it landed somewhere behind your truck?”
“Maybe you saw it,” Brandon said, “when you were taking that piss.”
“There was a dead hawk there,” Fancelli said. “You think it was the same bird? What does any of this matter anyway?”
“We’d like to see your arrows, Don,” Walt said. “You hand-make them, don’t you?”
“How the-? What do you care about my arrows? Someone shoot someone or something? It wasn’t me.”
Walt withdrew the search warrant and handed it to Fancelli. “We have a warrant to search the premises.” He nodded to Brandon, who pushed past Fancelli and entered the home.
Walt caught a glimpse of Dio
“There was a body!” Fancelli blurted out.
Walt tensed. “Excuse me?”
“There was a body in the bushes. A guy. Big son of a bitch.”
Brandon stopped and turned, now inside the house.