Detective Dalton's First Case
The woman was in her late-twenties, but she looked much older. She had the look of someone who had been abusing drugs for a while, most likely methamphetamines. Now she was dead, sprawled out on her filthy couch, dressed only in stretch pants and a bra. There was no jewelry on her body. No doubt, if she had once owned good jewelry, she had sold it to fuel her habit.
Josh Dalton, six feet tall and handsome, was a newly appointed homicide detective for Williamson County, Tennessee. He stood over the body, his gloved hands checking her carefully. He wore a mask, trying vainly, to mitigate the stench. Even without a medical examiner’s report, it was obvious Keighley Pinson had been dead for a few days. He checked his watch. It was 2:30 in the afternoon.
Her aunt Stephanie, who said her last name was Scarborough, had stopped by to check on her. “I knew something was up when she didn’t call me to ask for money,” she told Detective Dalton. “That’s what she called it, rent money, but she didn’t fool me none.
“When was the last time you saw her?” Dalton asked.
“A week ago. I stopped by with a bag of groceries and gave her a twenty-dollar bill.”
“How did she seem to you?”
“Actually, not too bad for a meth addict, detective. I want you to know she was a very good girl. She didn’t turn tricks for money, not ever.” The very thin women took a cigarette out of her pack and started to light up.
Dalton stopped her. “Wait until you’re out of the house, please.” The detective asked her a few more questions, but soon realized the woman didn’t seem to know much about her niece’s life. He turned his attention to the tiny, two-bedroom house Ms. Pinson had been living in. The house stood on a half-acre lot, surrounded by open fields. Across the street, about a quarter of a mile south, was a convenience store named Ott’s. It was obvious the home hadn’t been vacuumed or dusted in months. In fact, here it was the middle of October and last year’s Christmas decorations were still up.
Dalton had managed to get a crime scene investigator to come to the house. They were unusually short staffed due to a resignation and two CSI specialists out with bronchitis. He drew Jasmine, one of the most respected CSI. She motioned for him to step outside.
“I can’t take another minute of that God-awful smell and the filth. I dusted for prints where I could, but I suspect this woman didn’t get many visitors.” She handed him a business card. It said “Special D,” on it with the name Truman Phillips. There was a phone number and a Web site address. “I found a small stack of these attached to bags of food that had been delivered and thrown away. There were eleven separate bags, all from Sonic, the food still in them.”
“You going to check all that out?” Dalton asked.
“What I live for.” She grinned. “I found traces of what I’m sure will turn out to be meth in the bathroom, and a few small rocks on the bedroom rug.” She showed him a clear plastic container filled with what almost certainly was methamphetamines. “Also, you saw the rope and ligature marks on her neck. Obviously, this poor girl was strangled with that rope. Whoever did this didn’t have sense enough to take the rope with them when they left.”
When he got into his unmarked, black Chevrolet, Dalton called the technical support staff and gave them Keighley Pinson’s cell number. “Get a record of her calls for the last six months, please,” he asked. Then he called Truman Phillips.
“Special D, what do you want and where am I taking it?”
“Mr. Phillips?”
“You got him, brother.”
“This is Detective Josh Dalton, Williamson County. I need to meet with you. Where are you and what are you doing right now?”
“Whoa! What’s this about?”
“I’m working a homicide. Several of your business cards were found in the home of the deceased.”
“Who died?”
I’m at four corners in Triune. There’s a gas station there. You know where that is?”
“Sure do. Buy my gas and coffee there.”
“How long will it take you to get here?”
“About ten minutes, maybe less. So, who died, man?”
From the day he entered the police academy, Josh Dalton had one goal. He wanted to be a homicide detective. He worked hard to achieve his goal, taking every course he could, studying for and passing tests and getting promotions, until he made the grade. The Keighley Pinson case was his first murder investigation. He hoped he could solve the case quickly. He was eager to get off on the right foot. Married with one child and one on the way, Dalton took his job very seriously.
At 34, he was a bit young to make detective, but he had demonstrated a very solid work ethic and showed a maturity beyond his years. He stood near the double doors to the convenience store that stood behind the gas pumps, waiting for Truman Phillips. He already had a feeling that this guy might be a character. He wasn’t disappointed. Phillips rolled up in a purple Chrysler PT Cruiser with the words Special D on the front doors.
He waved to Phillips, who acknowledged him immediately. The young man, about 25 years old, jumped out of his car and said, “You gonna tell me who croaked?”
Dalton smiled. “Keighley Pinson. How well did you know her?”
“She lives out on Chadwick Road, or she did, I guess. Hamburger, fries and two extra-large cherry sodas. I wondered why I didn’t hear from her.”
“What do you know about her?”
“I just told you man. That’s all I know.”
The two men went into the convenience store, bought coffee and sat at a high table. “You dropped off a lot of food at her home. You must have talked to her.”
“Not a lot really. I said hello, told her what she owed me and took her money. She didn’t seem to like to talk a lot, you know?” He put creamer in his coffee.
“Did you ever see anyone else in her house?”
“Well, I never actually went inside. So, no, I never saw nobody else.”
“Could you see inside the house from the door?”
“Yeah, a real mess, man.”
Dalton took a closer look at Truman Phillips. The guy was thin, wiry even and he had earrings over one eyebrow. He had longish hair with a small shock of blue tint around the bottom. There were no obvious signs of drug use, but Dalton knew that signs weren’t always present. He took down Phillips’ contact information and took a photo of the guy’s driver’s license. Phillips was happy to comply.
Dalton took a ride back to Chadwick Road and pulled in front of Ms. Pinson’s house. He walked up to the front door where the crime scene tape was draped across it. He opened the door and looked in. He thought he remembered that for such a small house, it had a rather elaborate entry way. Standing just outside the front door, it was impossible to see enough of the home’s interior to determine whether the house was messy. How did Truman Phillips know the house was messy if he’d never stepped into the home? From the front door all you could see would be a wall. He measured the distance to the wall. It was eight feet. To the left of the wall was an opening that led into the living room. From that vantage point anyone would see how messy the home was.
When he got home from work, Dalton’s wife Jennifer, greeted him at the door, crying. “Tyler has a fever, maybe 104, or even higher. He’s fussing and I don’t know what to do. His nose is running constantly.”
“He’s had that damn runny nose for almost a week now. Did you call the doctor?” he asked.
“No, I wanted to wait until you got home.” She leaned her head on his chest. A short petite woman, seven months pregnant, her belly was protruding.
Dalton picked up his cell and called the pediatrician. He explained what was going on and was instructed to take the baby to the doctor’s office. Tyler had not had any prior signs of illness, but for the last few days he seemed listless, certainly not as active as he usually was.
The pediatrician grew concerned right away. “I need to run a few tests, he said. I don’t want to worry you, but we might be dealing with bacterial meningitis. Take him to the ER and I’ll call in some orders for him.”
“What kind of tests?” Jennifer asked.
“I think we need to do a lumbar puncture, something you might know as a spinal tap. It will allow us to rule out meningitis.”
“What if he has it?” Dalton asked.
“Well, one step at a time, but if he has it, we’ll treat him with antibiotics and give him plenty of fluids,” the doctor said.
By seven o’clock, the doctor confirmed that Tyler did indeed have bacterial meningitis and he was started on a course of intravenous antibiotics. The Dalton’s were frightened and exhausted. They made arrangements for Jennifer to spend the night in the hospital. While she was getting settled in, Josh took a walk back to the emergency room to pick up Tyler’s stuffed animal, a teddy bear that he would no doubt miss.
As he was walking past the exam rooms, out of the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of what a appeared to be a young man sitting on a stretcher in one of the rooms. It was Truman Phillips, the Special D guy he had met earlier. He stepped into the room and said, “You all right?”
Phillips recognized him right away. The shocked look on his face was almost comical. “What are doing here, Detective?”
“My little boy is sick. What’s going on with you?”
“Ahh, my blood pressure is acting up, I guess.” The nurse who was standing on the other side of the stretcher, behind her patient, rolled her eyes. Dalton wished Phillips good luck and stepped outside. He moved down the corridor and stood against the wall. He was holding Tyler’s teddy bear.
A few minutes later, the nurse walked out of the exam room and headed in his direction. “Excuse me, nurse, but I noticed you seemed doubtful about Mr. Phillips’ explanation for why he is here today.”
The nurse, a middle-aged woman with graying hair, nodded. “You’re the cop who came in with the baby, right?”
“I am.”
“Right, I hope everything works out. It usually does. Your pediatrician is well respected.”
“What’s going on with Truman Phillips?”
Again, she rolled her eyes. “Well, you know I’m not supposed to talk about it, what with HIPAA and all, but between you and me, his BP is up and so is his heart rate. But to answer your question, he’s a druggie.” She looked around to make sure no one was listening. “We see a lot of them here. I’d say, probably meth, still somewhat early stage addiction.”
Dalton thanked her for the information and headed up to the pediatric floor.
It was a long night. He got very little sleep. He managed to email a report to his boss, but he and Jennifer spent most of the night on the phone. It seemed like every breath Tyler took was momentous. When it was time to go to work, he called his captain and told her about Tyler. She insisted he take the day off, but Dalton said he needed to keep busy. “I can’t do anything but wait. Anyway, I want to talk to the guy Phillips again.”
“Okay, do that and then get your ass to the hospital. Jennifer needs you.”
Dalton checked to make sure that Truman Phillips hadn’t been admitted to the hospital. Then he drove over to the guy’s apartment and knocked on his door. It was around 10:00 a.m. “You again? What can I do for you my friend?” Phillips was wearing a Tee shirt and shorts. His eyes were bloodshot.
“Can I come in?” Dalton asked.
“No.” Phillips crossed his arms.
Dalton looked at his notes as if he was refreshing his memory. He had already checked out Phillips for priors. There were none. “Yesterday, I think you said you were never in Keighley Pinson’s home. Did I get that right?”
“Yeah, why?”
“I’m wondering how you knew her place was a mess if you were never in her house.”
“Easy. I looked in her window. And before you say something shitty, I rang her bell and knocked on her door and she didn’t answer. So, I went to the window on the right side of her house and tapped it. That’s how I know her place was a mess. I could see it through the window.”
“Have you ever used methamphetamines, Truman?”
“Oh, we’re on a first name basis now?”
“Would you prefer Mr. Phillips?”’
“What I’d prefer is if you got out of my face. I don’t know nothing about that woman’s unfortunate passing.”
“It was a simple question, Mr. Phillips. Why not just answer it?”
“I’m not a dummy. I might look like one, but I’m not. That lady had mega drug issues. All I ever did was deliver food to her. You’re looking for someone to pin her murder on.” The local news media had already run the story of Pinson’s death.
“I’m looking for who did it. You sound like a guy who’s afraid of something.”
“Damn right. I’m afraid you’re gonna try to pin something on me that I didn’t have nothing to do with.”
Detective Dalton took a quick look at his notes and nodded. “I’ll be in touch,” he said. He realized he could have handled the interview better. Rather than subtly suggesting to Phillips that he was lying, he should have been more circumspect. He realized it would have been wiser this early in the investigation to simply confirm that Phillips had not been in the house. It was too soon to sweat the guy. He called one of his contacts in drug enforcement office and asked him if he knew anything about Truman Phillips.
He heard the officer’s computer keyboard clicking and waited. “Oh, yeah. We are watching this guy. Nothing firm yet, but we think he might be cooking and distributing meth. Small time operator, so he’s not high on our list.”
“Can you bump him up on the list? I think he may have been involved in a murder.”
“Will do. I’ll be in touch.”
He decided to follow the captain’s advice and spend the rest of the day with Jennifer and Tyler. The baby was slightly improved by evening. The doctor was pleased with the way things were going. On his way home, he stopped at the department to pick up Pinson’s phone records. He’d been informed they were ready. He went through them and was struck by the fact that there were very few calls. Over the last three months, though, most of them were to and from the Special D number. In some cases, there were multiple calls, minutes apart. Dalton thought about that. Considering that the woman hardly ate the food Phillips delivered, it wasn’t likely she was calling to ask why her food wasn’t there yet.
He also noticed there were several incoming calls from the same number, a local exchange. The first call occurred on October 3rd. at 6:45 p.m. The next one came on October 4th at 7:13 p.m. and the last one on October 5th at 9:47 a.m. The very last call was from Pinson late that afternoon to a different number. The first three calls were short, less than one minute each. The shortest was the third call at 41 seconds. The call Pinson made was longer, just over two and a half minutes. Pinson’s body was discovered on the 8th, about three days after she died. He checked his notes and confirmed the call went to Pinson’s aunt.
He dialed the number. A man answered. “Rick Scarborough, here, what can I do for ya?”
“This is Detective Josh Dalton. I’m investigating the murder of Keighley Pinson.”
“Oh, yeah, Keighley was my cousin. It’s a shame what happened to her. She got hung up on drugs.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Well, let’s see. I think it was about a week ago, maybe a bit more recent than that.”
“Can you tell me what you talked about?”
“Yep, I can. She kept hitting my mother up for money. I asked her to stop, because my mother can barely afford to take care of herself.”
“What did she say?”
“Not much, just ok, she’d stop. There wasn’t much to it.”
Dalton was taking notes. “I’m looking at her phone records. It appears that you called her several times in the days prior to her death.”
“My mother asked me to check in on her, so I called. Keighley was kind of out of it, if you know what I mean.”
“What did you talk about?”
“I asked how she was. She let out a string of four-letter words, if you know what I mean. I’m not even sure she knew who I was.”
“Mr. Scarborough, let me get the rest of your contact information. I’d like to meet with you tomorrow. My little boy is in the hospital, so I’m not sure what time, yet, but are you available?”
Scarborough gave Dalton his background information and said, “How about 4:30 tomorrow afternoon? You want me to come to you?”
“That would be really helpful. You know where the county prosecutor’s office is?”
“I’ll find it.”
“Good, we can meet at 4:30. If it’s not going to work, I’ll call you.”
His cell rang early the next morning. It was Jennifer. “The baby’s not doing so well this morning, Josh. Can you come to the hospital?”
“What is the doctor saying?”
“He’s starting to think it could be an acute case. He ordered a CT scan and he’s decided to add a steroid to his treatment.” She was standing over Tyler’s crib staring at her baby, trying not to cry.
Tyler got to the hospital quickly. He called his captain to let her know what was going on with the baby. She was fully supportive. He and Jennifer met with the doctor, who was reassuring. “Tyler’s not out of the woods yet, but I think what we are doing will take care of this. Let’s see how things look over the next 24 hours.” He turned to Jennifer. “Mrs. Dalton, please try to get some rest. When we send Tyler home, you’re going to be busy, I promise.”
Dalton insisted that Jennifer go home and rest. “I’ll stay here until you get back, ok?”
She agreed, reluctantly. Dalton spent the day either sitting near his son’s crib, or pacing. He did more praying than he’d ever done. By two o’clock, Tyler’s fever, which had gone up again in the middle of the night, was beginning to come down. The nurse on duty assured him that was good news. Just before 4:00, Jennifer returned, looked better. She had managed to sleep a little. The pediatrician stopped by, examined the baby and liked what he saw. “The CT scan was good too,” he added.
Dalton told Jennifer a bit about his first murder case. “I’m going to meet with the victim’s cousin at 4:30. As soon as I’m done with that, I’ll come back to the hospital.”
He got back to the prosecutor’s office just moments before Rick Scarborough arrived. He’d had plenty of time sitting in the hospital room to consider how he wanted to handle the interview. The captain informed him that one of the other detectives, Margo Nash, would sit in.
“Never been in an interrogation room before,” Scarborough said after the introductions. He was short, prematurely balding and thin, like his mother.
“This isn’t an interrogation, Mr. Scarborough,” Nash said. “We’d just like to ask you a few questions. Maybe you can help us find whoever did this to your cousin.”
“Shoot,” Scarborough said.
I’m going to ask a few background questions. I need them for the file. They’re pretty standard. Are you married?”
“Hell no.”
“What kind of work do you do?”
“I work for a warehouse, picking orders that get delivered to people’s homes.”
“Does it pay well?”
“It’s okay I guess, when I get overtime.”
“What’s your address?”
“I live with my mother. You have that address right?”
“I do. How old are you?”
“I’ll be 28 next month.”
“Do you know when your cousin started using drugs?” Dalton asked.
“Not really. We both smoked a little marijuana when we were kids, but it wasn’t any big thing. She was married for about five years. The guy left her and she went into a tailspin. I didn’t see her much after that.” He took a sip from his water bottle. “Anyway, I found out she had a problem when my mother mentioned it.”
“Right, you mentioned yesterday that the last time you spoke with Keighley you told her to stop asking your mother for money, right?”
“Right.”
“And she agreed to stop?”
“Yeah, she said she wouldn’t ask my mother for money anymore.”
Dalton looked at his notes. “Your last call was on October 5th. At 9:47 in the morning. Can you tell me where you were when you made the call?”
“What difference does that make?”
“It’s a standard question, Mr. Scarborough,” Detective Nash said. “Nothing to worry about.”
Scarborough folded his arms and unfolded them. “I didn’t say I was worried. I just don’t see how it’s relevant.”
Neither Dalton nor Nash spoke. They just looked at the man sitting on the opposite side of the table and waited.
“I think I was home when I called her. My mother didn’t want me to do it, but I insisted.”
“Okay, we’re almost done,” Dalton said. “Do you think your cousin got the message?”
“I guess we’ll never know. She died that same day, right?”
“It looks that way.” Dalton leafed through his notes. “What were the calls you made to your cousin on the 3rd and 4th about?”
Scarborough drank more water. “What were they about? I don’t remember. I think the first call was just me calling to say hello. The second call was the same as the last call. I asked her to stop asking for money.”
“I see. I’m just wondering why a third call was necessary if you told her to stop asking the day before.”
Scarborough was drumming his fingers on the table. “You ever deal with someone who was high before? She sounded like she was out of it, so I called her again the next morning to be sure she understood. I figured she wouldn’t be high yet.”
Dalton looked at Nash, who nodded. “Okay, Mr. Scarborough. If we need anything else, we’ll let you know. Right now, we’re good.”
By late evening, things were even better. Tyler was beginning to come around. The couple agreed that Josh would go back to the house to spend the night. Jennifer assured him she’d be able to sleep on the recliner the hospital supplied.
The next morning, after checking with his wife, Dalton drove back to the hospital. Tyler was much better and it was possible he could be discharged later that day, or the following morning. He went to the office and immediately placed a call to Stephanie. She was at work. “What time do you have lunch?” he asked.
“At noon, why?”
“I have a few follow-up questions for you. Is there a room at your office where we can talk?”
“I work in retail, so no. Could we meet after work?”
“We can.” He gave her the county prosecutor’s office address and they agreed to meet at 5:30.
Later that morning he got a call from the drug enforcement officer he’d spoken to about Phillips. “We’re going to raid his house this afternoon. What you sent over about his deliveries and phone calls with the Pinson woman are enough for probable cause. You want to be there?”
“Sure, what time?”
“Two o’clock.”
The raid was a success. The team gathered plenty of drug paraphernalia and there was clear evidence of a small meth lab in Phillips’ apartment. But there was no evidence that would connect Phillips to the killing of Keighley Pinson. Dalton was disappointed, but not surprised. If Phillips had anything in his home that might connect him to Pinson, it was likely that he got rid of it after Dalton, spoke to him.
Stephanie Scarborough arrived on time with her son, Rick, in tow. They drove up in an old, white two-door Toyota. Detective Nash stepped in and escorted him to a waiting area outside the interview room. “My mother asked me to come with her.”
“No problem, Mr. Scarborough. You can wait for her in the waiting area. If we need you, we’ll give you a shout,” Nash said.
Stephanie seemed nervous. “Is it ok if I smoke?” she asked.
“Sorry, no, but I don’t think we’ll take much of your time. If you need a smoke break, we’ll arrange for one.”
“Thank you. Have you made any progress in finding out who killed Keighley?” she asked.
Dalton ignored her question. “When was the last time you spoke to Keighley?” he asked.
“I’m not sure. Maybe the morning of the 4th or 5th.”
“Could it have been on the 5th in the afternoon?”
Stephanie thought about that for a moment. She appeared to be driving her right thumbnail into her left palm. “Yes, that does sound right.”
“What did you talk about?”
“Oh, she just called to tell me how sorry she was about asking for money all the time. She promised not to ask again.”
“Really? Do you have any idea why she might have said that?”
“Earlier that day, my son Rick told her not to ask for more money. He explained that we couldn’t afford it anymore.”
“Rick gave money to Keighley too?”
“Well, not exactly. When I said ‘we” it was a figure of speech.”
“Do you give your son money too?”
“Sometimes, but hardly ever, really.”
Dalton stood up and walked over to the other side of the table to sit next to Stephanie. “Do you recall our conversation at your niece’s home the day you discovered her body?”
“Not really, no.”
“When I asked when was the last time you spoke with her, according to my notes, you told me you stopped by to check on her because you knew something was up when she didn’t call you to ask for money,’” He paused to let it sink in. “You told me just a minute ago, the last time you spoke with her she called to promise she wouldn’t ask for money again.”
There was now blood trickling from Stephanie’s right palm. “I got confused, I guess. I’m not sure what you’re driving at. You don’t think I killed Stephanie, do you?”
“No.” He put his pen down on his notebook. “How much money had you given your niece in the last year?”
“I didn’t keep track.”
“Give me an estimate. Was it $5,000, $10,000?
“Oh no! Not that much. Maybe close to $5,000.”
“About a hundred dollars a week?”
“I don’t know. Not quite that much.”
“How did Rick feel about that?”
“Well, he didn’t like it if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Whose idea was it to cut Keighley off, yours or his?”
“He suggested it and I agreed.”
“Mrs. Scarborough, I’m going to ask you a question. I want you to think hard before you answer it. If you lie, you are committing a crime, understood?” She nodded. “The last time you spoke to your niece, on October 5th in the afternoon, she called you. Did she ask you for more money?” He handed the woman a tissue to wipe the blood from her hand.
Tears welled up in Stephanie’s eyes now. “Yes, she did, after she promised Rick she wouldn’t ask again.”
“Did you refuse to give her more money?”
“Not exactly. I told her I’d see what I could do.”
“Did you tell Rick about the call?”
Her eyes narrowed now. “No, I did not tell him.”
Detective Nash spoke up. “Stephanie, your niece has been murdered. We are going to find out who did it. If you, or your son, had anything to do with it, we’re going to find out. When the forensic reports come in, we’ll know a great deal more than we do now. Trust me, please. This will be a lot easier if you tell the truth.”
“I didn’t lie. I didn’t have to tell him. He was home and he knew she called and what she wanted.”
“How did he react?” Dalton asked.
“He was angry. He said he was going to get a lawyer. Sue me if he had to and have power of attorney over my money. What little I have left, mind you.”
Dalton looked at Nash. They sat quietly for a long moment.
Then, she surprised them. “I killed her. Is that what you want to hear? Lock me up. I did it,” Stephanie said, crying hard now.
Dalton and Nash left her in the room alone so they could talk. “You think she did it?” Dalton asked.
“The niece was strangled. Do you think this frail, chain-smoking woman has the strength to strangle someone who’s at least trying to fight back?” Nash asked. “I’ll bet you she either thinks, or knows, her son did it and is ready to take the rap for him.”
“I think he might let her do it, too.”
The detectives decided to take her statement which they were certain would be full of holes. They returned to the interview room. “Tell us how you killed her,” Dalton asked.
“I used a rope.”
“Where did you get the rope?”
“In the garage. We have a lot of rope in there. Rick gets it from work.”
“How long did it take you to strangle her?” Dalton asked.
“About two minutes, maybe less.”
Dalton had to stifle a laugh. He knew it can take up to ten minutes to strangle someone. He was, however, interested in the rope and where it came from. He recalled that the victim had rope tied around her neck.
They decided it was time to talk to Rick again. “Rick, we’d like to talk to you now. Maybe you can help us confirm a few things so we can get this wrapped up,” Dalton said.
“Let’s do it,” Rick said. “I’m getting hungry. I’ll bet my mom is too.”
When the four of them were seated in the interview room, Dalton cleared his throat and said. “Rick, your mother has just confessed to killing your cousin Keighley. Did she tell you about it?”
“Wait!” He looked at his mother. “Mom, what are you talking about?” He turned back to Dalton and Nash. “There’s no way she did this.”
“Mrs. Scarborough, would you tell your son what you told us?” Rick Scarborough was squirming in his seat now. His eyes were wider than Moon Pies.
“I strangled her with some of that rope you keep in the garage. You were right, son, she wasn’t ever going to stop hitting me up for money. I told these detectives we couldn’t afford it anymore.”
“Rope?” Rick barely whispered the word.
“Rick, is there anything you’d like to tell us?” Dalton asked.
He shook his head. “Keighley wasn’t going to stop until my mother had nothing left.” He looked at his mother. “You stupid…damn you ma!”
“So, you took care of it for your mother’s sake and yours?”
“I tried to reason with her, but she just laughed. She said, ‘Maybe you’ll get a real job now instead of competing with me for money’”
“What happened?” Dalton asked.
“I lost it, I guess. I went out to my car and got some rope. Put gloves on. She was watching TV. When she saw me, she said something like, ‘Go ahead, you’ll be doing me a favor.’”
“Go on.”
“I strangled her with the rope. She didn’t put up much of a fight.”
Rick Scarborough’s confession was being recorded. Within thirty minutes he was signing a statement. His mother sat there stoically, not uttering a single word. Both Dalton and Nash agreed later that the woman looked relieved. She was told to sit in the waiting area, where she was watched by a uniformed officer.
“Do you think his mother’s confession was a setup? That she mentioned the rope because she knew it would cast suspicion on her son?” Dalton asked.
“That’s very possible,” Nash said. “You have to ask yourself how did she know her niece was strangled with a rope?”
“He told her about it, or maybe she planted the seed in his head.”
“Possibly. I doubt he’s going to say anything that might implicate her. It won’t do him a bit of good.”
Josh Dalton’s first murder investigation was complete. He would solve other memorable cases during his career. His captain congratulated him warmly. That night, as soon as he got to the hospital, Jennifer had more good news. Tyler would be coming home the next morning.