front door, the wood-panel walls lined with framed family photos. Cobi followed the homeowner into the first room on the right, where two adjacent love seats, a chair and a coffee table served as a living room.
The man gestured for him to sit. “Can I get you a coffee, Mr. Tate?”
Cobi sat down and took out the pocket recorder, started it, then placed it on the table between them as the man settled into the opposite arm chair.
“No, thank you, I’m good. I’m sorry, Mister…”
“Oh… It’s Ed, Ed Martin. My wife’s at work, but I’m retired. Two years. Twenty-three years as a teacher.”
“Rough.”
“You got that right. We’re talking high school students.”
“Still, it must have had its rewards.”
“Yeah… everybody says that. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no, not really. Most of them were meatheads.”
“Sure.”
“It wasn’t their fault. Usually, they came from parents who were meatheads, too. They’ll probably marry other meatheads and have meathead kids.”
“You sound a little disillusioned by the whole process.”
“Eh, if I sound that way, I don’t mean to,” he said. “I guess… well… twenty-three years teaching high school. You know.”
It fell under “We were all kids once,” Cobi understood. “For sure, for sure. Now, what can you tell me about the night of Mr. Featherstone’s death?”
“Yeah… well as you probably know, I called police when I saw the body through my front window. He was just lying in the middle of the road.”
“Did you see anything of how he got there? Any vehicles or anything?”
“No… I was in the bathroom until just a few minutes before. I came back into the living room to watch The Daily Show , and I sat down to read my book until it came on. Then I heard sort of a low thumping noise, really briefly, followed by what sounded like a car door slam. I didn’t register it right away, because it was outside and I had the television on. The volume was down so Cheryl could sleep. That’s my wife, Cheryl. Yeah, it was a thump, and then a car door slammed. Then I sort of clicked in a few minutes later that it was a strange sound, and I walked over to the window. I didn’t see anything, though, except the lump in the road, which turned out to be poor Mr. Featherstone there.”
There was no mention of any car door in the background file Jessica Harper had shown him. “And you told the police about this?”
“Uh huh, sure.”
“When did the sound happen?”
“Hmmm… well I figure the news was almost done, so maybe five to midnight.”
“And when did the police arrive?”
“That would’ve been about twelve-forty. Maybe a half-hour, forty minutes?
“So what do you think happened, Mr. Martin?”
“I was listening to the officers talking in the road, and one of them seemed to think maybe he’d been dumped there, eh? Which would sort of make sense, if you catch my drift, because the car door I heard might have been someone slamming it shut after they threw him out.”
“But you said there was some kind of ‘thump’ before that? Not after?”
“No, definitely before. And I wouldn’t hear a body hit the road from inside my house, now would I?”
Cobi cursed inwardly for asking such a stupid question. He tried to keep his mind off of how much he wanted the job.
“I’m just getting the chain of events together, is all, checking for consistency. Can you describe the ‘thump’ more specifically? Did it sound like anything else? Could it have been a gunshot?”
The retired teacher squinted, taking on a pained expression as he tried to think of an equivalent. “That’s a tough one. Definitely not gun fire. More… thick, like someone thumping on a plastic garbage can, maybe? That’s about it.”
“What did the officer say exactly that made you think the body was dropped off?”
“He just said something about the amount of blood.”
“Hmmm. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“How so?”
“Not
The man gestured for him to sit. “Can I get you a coffee, Mr. Tate?”
Cobi sat down and took out the pocket recorder, started it, then placed it on the table between them as the man settled into the opposite arm chair.
“No, thank you, I’m good. I’m sorry, Mister…”
“Oh… It’s Ed, Ed Martin. My wife’s at work, but I’m retired. Two years. Twenty-three years as a teacher.”
“Rough.”
“You got that right. We’re talking high school students.”
“Still, it must have had its rewards.”
“Yeah… everybody says that. You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no, not really. Most of them were meatheads.”
“Sure.”
“It wasn’t their fault. Usually, they came from parents who were meatheads, too. They’ll probably marry other meatheads and have meathead kids.”
“You sound a little disillusioned by the whole process.”
“Eh, if I sound that way, I don’t mean to,” he said. “I guess… well… twenty-three years teaching high school. You know.”
It fell under “We were all kids once,” Cobi understood. “For sure, for sure. Now, what can you tell me about the night of Mr. Featherstone’s death?”
“Yeah… well as you probably know, I called police when I saw the body through my front window. He was just lying in the middle of the road.”
“Did you see anything of how he got there? Any vehicles or anything?”
“No… I was in the bathroom until just a few minutes before. I came back into the living room to watch The Daily Show , and I sat down to read my book until it came on. Then I heard sort of a low thumping noise, really briefly, followed by what sounded like a car door slam. I didn’t register it right away, because it was outside and I had the television on. The volume was down so Cheryl could sleep. That’s my wife, Cheryl. Yeah, it was a thump, and then a car door slammed. Then I sort of clicked in a few minutes later that it was a strange sound, and I walked over to the window. I didn’t see anything, though, except the lump in the road, which turned out to be poor Mr. Featherstone there.”
There was no mention of any car door in the background file Jessica Harper had shown him. “And you told the police about this?”
“Uh huh, sure.”
“When did the sound happen?”
“Hmmm… well I figure the news was almost done, so maybe five to midnight.”
“And when did the police arrive?”
“That would’ve been about twelve-forty. Maybe a half-hour, forty minutes?
“So what do you think happened, Mr. Martin?”
“I was listening to the officers talking in the road, and one of them seemed to think maybe he’d been dumped there, eh? Which would sort of make sense, if you catch my drift, because the car door I heard might have been someone slamming it shut after they threw him out.”
“But you said there was some kind of ‘thump’ before that? Not after?”
“No, definitely before. And I wouldn’t hear a body hit the road from inside my house, now would I?”
Cobi cursed inwardly for asking such a stupid question. He tried to keep his mind off of how much he wanted the job.
“I’m just getting the chain of events together, is all, checking for consistency. Can you describe the ‘thump’ more specifically? Did it sound like anything else? Could it have been a gunshot?”
The retired teacher squinted, taking on a pained expression as he tried to think of an equivalent. “That’s a tough one. Definitely not gun fire. More… thick, like someone thumping on a plastic garbage can, maybe? That’s about it.”
“What did the officer say exactly that made you think the body was dropped off?”
“He just said something about the amount of blood.”
“Hmmm. That doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.”
“How so?”
“Not
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