A Merciful Death (Mercy Kilpatrick #1)(18)

“I see the resemblance too, Toby,” Truman answered. “Have a seat, folks.”

Mercy abruptly wondered if Toby’s parents should be present. She was unclear on his rights. Of course, she had no idea of his mental capacity yet. To her limited knowledge, people with Down syndrome varied widely in their abilities. She looked to Truman, who sat in his chair and watched Toby with confidence. She decided that if he’d felt there was an issue, he wouldn’t have allowed the meeting.

“How often did you help Ned Fahey around his place?” Mercy asked, pulling out her pen and small notebook, jumping into the interview. “Do you live close to him?”

“I live a quarter mile from Ned. If he doesn’t call and tell me not to come, I go there every Monday and Wednesday to help for three hours.” Toby’s eye contact was good . . . well, partially good. He was slightly cross-eyed in one eye, but his answers were direct. Mercy smiled, pleased they had a good witness.

“Did you help last Wednesday?” Toby had been the one to find Ned on the following Monday.

“Yes. It was wood-chopping day. Wednesdays is almost always wood-chopping day. He chops, I pick it up and stack it. He didn’t call to cancel, so I went back on Monday.” He looked down at his clenched hands in his lap.

“That must have been horrible for you,” Mercy said gently. “He was a good friend, right?”

“Oh no. Ned was my boss, not a friend. He was very crabby. Even my parents say he was crabby.”

Mercy bit her lip at his blunt reply. “Did you like working for Ned?”

“I did. He needed help because his back and knees always hurt. It was the right thing to do.”

“Did he pay you?” Eddie asked.

“Yes.”

Mercy and Eddie waited to hear how much, but Toby didn’t volunteer the information. Mercy wondered if he didn’t know or if he’d been raised not to discuss money matters. Her parents had never told her how much money they earned or paid for anything. The only time money had been mentioned was when it wasn’t available. Which was often.

“When you got there yesterday, was the front door unlocked?” Eddie asked.

Toby turned to look at him and intently studied his face. “I like your glasses. Those are cool.”

“Thank you,” said Eddie, blinking rapidly. “Ummm . . . what was my question?”

“You asked if the door was unlocked,” said Toby. “It was. I knocked several times first. I always knock, but Ned didn’t answer this time. I opened the door and went in.” He looked down again. “I hope that was okay.”

“You did the right thing, Toby,” reassured Mercy.

“I found him dead,” he whispered. “He had a hole in his head.”

“Then what did you do?” asked Eddie.

“I ran home and told my parents. They called the sheriff.” He ducked his head. “Ned told me the cave man would try to get him.”

Mercy remembered the rumor Sheriff Rhodes had been embarrassed to bring up. “Did you ever see this cave man?”

“No.”

“Did Ned say he’d ever seen him?”

Toby scrunched up his face as he thought. “No. Because I asked what he looked like and Ned said he didn’t know. But he thought he was really big and really mean.”

“Why did Ned think the cave man would be interested in him?” Eddie asked.

“That’s what the cave man does,” answered Toby. “He steals other people’s hard work and then kills them. He’s lazy,” he said emphatically.

Laziness would be the ultimate sin to a prepper like Ned.

“Did you ever see a lot of guns in Ned’s house?” Mercy asked.

“No.” Toby paused. “But there were a lot of them out in the shed.”

“Which shed?”

“The one that you take the path to. You can’t see it from the house. The guns are buried in the ground.”

“Did you ever count them?” Mercy asked.

“No, but one time Ned said he had twenty-five. That was a long time ago. He might have sold some since then.”

“When was the last time you saw them buried in the ground?” asked Eddie.

Toby ran a hand through his short, straw-colored hair as he thought hard. “Last summer,” he finally answered. “I remember it was hot.”

Mercy had a thought. “Did Ned have stuff buried anywhere else?”

“Not that I know about. Well, his septic tank is buried in the ground. But that’s how everyone’s is.”

“Did you see any strangers visit Ned?” Mercy asked carefully, wondering if the question was too broad. She’d realized they needed to be very direct in their queries.

Toby shrugged. “People have to drive by our place to get to Ned’s. Sometimes I don’t recognize the vehicles that go by.”

“Toby’s parents’ house sits a good ways back from the road,” Truman clarified. “I assume you couldn’t see every car that drives by?”

“That’s right. I’d have to be watching outside. From inside the house, I can only hear them.”

“Did you hear anyone go by on the weekend?” Mercy asked.

“Yes.”

She waited a few moments and then finally asked, “Did you see the vehicles, Toby?”