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Chapter 32: Such a Wimp Doesn't Deserve to Live
Bernie waved over the tool shed registrar, pointing at the mud-covered implements. "Whose tools are these?"
The keeper examined them carefully, running his fingers along the handles. "The pipe wrench belongs to Billy."
"Billy's?" Bernie's eyebrows shot up.
"The pipe wrench?" Sam echoed.
The registrar nodded and retrieved a worn logbook from a shelf inside the shed. He flipped through pages filled with cramped handwriting and showed them the entries.
"These are tools that got replaced," he explained, pointing to various items. "The pipe wrench used to be Billy's, this hammer was Fendi's..."
He went through each tool methodically, identifying their original owners, then closed the log with a definitive snap. "Roy paid for all these replacements out of his own pocket. When the oil company comes down to audit the replaced tools, Roy submits them for reimbursement."
Theodore nodded, understanding. The oil field company's replacement cycle was bureaucratically slow, so Roy had fronted the costs to keep his crew working efficiently.
Theodore requested the January logbook. The entry for January 13th showed a clean slate, no tools missing or damaged, all accounted for and returned.
He pressed the registrar about what had actually happened that day, but the man's answers became evasive, his eyes darting away.
Bernie recognized his cue. He guided the registrar back into the tool shed, and whatever conversation they had in private lasted only a few minutes. When they emerged, the registrar's demeanor had changed completely.
The truth, as it turned out, was that the tool registration system was essentially meaningless.
The registrar would arrive each morning and dutifully write down every worker's name, then check them off in the evening. But the workers treated their assigned tools as personal property, taking them home each night rather than storing them in the shed.
If someone's tool broke or went missing, they'd report it. Otherwise, they'd simply buy replacements themselves and continue working.
In other words, except for damaged equipment, the tool shed served no actual storage function.
After explaining this, the registrar begged them not to inform Roy of his admission.
Theodore didn't acknowledge the plea. Instead, he asked whether the man had properly guarded the tool shed on the night of the murder.
The registrar began stammering again. Bernie's withering glare from across the small space made him shiver and speak more directly.
Unfortunately, his current story directly contradicted what he'd told Sam earlier. Previously, he'd claimed to have remained at his post all night, never leaving, and seeing no one suspicious.
The truth was different. After dark that evening, he'd abandoned his post to join the night shift workers' gambling game, a regular occurrence, apparently. When Hank's body was discovered, fear of Roy's reaction had led him to secretly ask the other workers not to mention his absence.
Sam's jaw tightened with frustration. The usually taciturn man clearly felt he'd been played for a fool.
As they prepared to leave, the registrar continued pleading with them not to reveal his deception to Roy. Bernie responded with two dismissive snorts.
The three detectives bagged the tools and went to find the foreman.
They located Roy beneath the main derrick, berating two workers with aggressive finger-pointing. His targets showed no anger at the verbal assault, instead, they responded with obsequious pleas for another chance.
Spotting the approaching detectives, Roy dismissed the workers with a curt wave and asked about their investigation's progress.
Theodore, however, wasn't ready to discuss Billy yet. "Are you aware that tool shed registration is completely chaotic?"
Roy glanced toward the shed and sighed heavily. "Of course I know."
He pointed at a worker perched on the derrick's platform, a cigarette dangling from his lips. "Smoking is prohibited while working up there, but when you tell them, they simply don't listen."
"The tool shed situation is identical. They can't follow complicated instructions."
He threw his hands up in exasperation. "They're like a pack of gorillas, no, their comprehension is worse than newborn babies."
Bernie's frown deepened at this characterization.
"You think I'm wrong?" Roy's expression turned mocking. "The oil company purchased those tools, essentially giving them away. They'll regularly inspect and replace equipment during scheduled audits."
"Keeping tools in the shed allows for unified management and timely replacement."
"But these idiots don't understand that. They only know the tools 'belong' to them, and they'd rather sleep with them than leave them in storage, no matter what you tell them."
"They're all identical tools, what difference does it make which one you use?"
Bernie could no longer contain himself. "Timely replacement, you mean you have to pay for them first?"
Roy seemed surprised by Bernie's hostile reaction. He shrugged. "That's not their concern. According to company policy, they should have access to functional tools when needed, right?"
"Instead of the current system, where they buy their own replacements and then come to me for reimbursement."
Bernie opened his mouth to argue, but Theodore cut him off. "Where's Billy?"
Roy pointed up at the derrick. "He's conducting safety inspections up there. You'll need to wait."
After a moment's consideration, he added, "Why don't you continue your work elsewhere? I'll send him to find you when he's finished."
Theodore shook his head. "We'll wait here."
Roy scratched his head but didn't press the issue. He called over another worker and instructed him to fetch Billy immediately.
About ten minutes later, Billy came jogging over, slightly out of breath.
After Roy's introductions, Billy appeared nervous, shifting his weight from foot to foot.
Theodore asked about the fight between Old Tom and Hank. Billy's account matched Old Tom's story closely, though in Billy's version, Hank came across as even more despicable.
"He said if Old Tom couldn't come up with 400 dollars, he'd send Matia to Rose Street," Billy reported, his voice thick with disgust.
"He talked about Matia like she wasn't his wife at all, like she belonged to Old Tom instead."
Billy's indignation seemed genuine, his contempt for the dead man evident in every word.
The three left the oil field and drove to Old Tom's current residence, which had also been Hank's home.
During the ride, Bernie broke the silence. "Do we really need to keep investigating this case?"
When Theodore glanced at him, Bernie's voice turned bitter. "No matter who killed him, I think it was justified. A worthless piece of garbage like that doesn't deserve to live."
As expected, Matia intercepted them at the front door, her expression wary and hostile.
After examining the search warrant, the three detectives located Old Tom's complete tool set in his workbox. Unlike the communal tools they'd examined earlier, Old Tom's equipment was meticulously maintained, no oil stains or scratches, each piece wiped clean and gleaming like new.
"If it were me, I wouldn't want to mix my tools with the others either," Bernie muttered as he and Sam carefully bagged the items.
Theodore approached Mrs. Wilson for questioning.
Matia's face remained cold and unwelcoming. She clearly viewed these three officers as stereotypical cops, bullies who only picked on honest people like herself and Old Tom, but who'd cower like her ex-husband when facing real criminals.
"Mrs. Wilson, we need to, " Theodore began carefully.
"Call me Matia," she interrupted, gently bouncing the infant in her arms. Her correction was sharp and unyielding. "My name is Matia Wallace, not Mrs. Wilson."
Theodore blinked, realizing that Wallace was Old Tom's surname. She'd already taken his name.
He glanced at the child she held and asked softly, "Matia, is the baby Hank's or Old Tom's?"
Matia looked down at the infant, then fixed Theodore with an incredulous stare. "Are you blind? Hank Wilson, that pathetic excuse for a man, had a head full of red hair. Do you see red hair on this child? Do you?"
Theodore sensed that postpartum hormones might be affecting her rationality. The woman seemed unreasonably combative.
He decided to cut to the chase. "Please come back to the police station with us." He emphasized his next words carefully. "This is just to assist with our investigation, and you have the right to refuse."
"But I strongly suggest you don't refuse."
"Come with us now, and perhaps you and Old Tom can go home soon. Then no one will bother you anymore."
Matia walked toward the bedroom, cradling the child. "Do I really have a choice?"
She emerged minutes later, not only having changed into clean clothes but carrying multiple bags packed with clothing for Old Tom and baby supplies.
She was clearly prepared for an extended stay at the police station.
The group of four adults and one baby attracted stares throughout their journey back to the station. During Matia and the baby's booking process, personnel from various departments found excuses to observe the unusual proceedings.
Theodore had Sam escort Old Tom to interrogation room 1, then personally guided Matia and the child to interrogation room 2.
After posting an officer to monitor the woman next door, Theodore, Bernie, and Sam entered the first interrogation room.
Old Tom's anxiety was immediate and palpable.
"Why is Matia here?" His voice cracked with panic.
"What's wrong? What happened to her?"
"What are you planning to do with them?"
"This has nothing to do with her, you're making a mistake! They don't know anything!"
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From UmU Studios (Just Me)
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