Show of Evil

Everyone on the team believed he had murdered his wife, but they could not prove his story was phony. There were some damaging circumstances, but that was all they were: circumstances. He was having a fling with a stripper named Poppy Palmer. He had insured both himself and his wife for $250,000 six months before the shooting. And the previous two years had been a disaster. Darby, on the verge of bankruptcy, was about to lose his farm.

But there were no witnesses, so there was no way to challenge him. His story, supported by the bovine Miss Palmer, was that a hysterical Ramona Darby had called Palmer an hour or so before the shooting and threatened to kill both Darby and Palmer. A slip of paper with Palmer's number had been found near the Darbys' phone.

Vail did the introductions, which were cordial enough. Vail and Parver sat with their backs to the camcorder and Darby sat across from them, slouching down in his chair and crossing his arms over his chest. He kept the hunting jacket on. Rainey laid a slender briefcase on the table and stood behind his client, leaning on the back of his chair.

'Okay,' he said. 'Let's get this over with.'

Vail smiled. 'What's the rush, Paul? Plenty of coffee. You can smoke. Nice view.'

'Martin, I've advised my client to cooperate with you people this one, last time. He's been interrogated twice by the police - once for six hours - and previously by your department for three. He's not accused of a thing. This is beginning to feel a little like harassment. I want an agreement that this is a voluntary interrogation and that all formal requirements in connection with such are waived. Also this statement, or series of statements, by my client does not constitute a formal deposition or a sworn statement.'

'Are you implying that he can lie to us with complete immunity?' Parver asked.

'I am saying that Mr Darby has agreed to cooperate with you in this matter. You can take his statement at face value.'

'Do you have any objections if we videotape the inquiry?'

Rainey thought for a moment. 'Only if we get a complete copy of the tape and you agree that it will not be used as evidence in a court case and will not be released to the public.'

Parver nodded. 'Acceptable.'

'Then it's acceptable to my client. We haven't got a thing to hide.'

Vail pressed a button under the table and started the camcorder.

John Wayne Darby said nothing. He stared across the table at Vail and Parver, his lips curled in a smirk.

Parver opened a file folder and took out a pencil. 'Are we ready?' she asked, trying to smile.

'Any time, little lady.'

She glared at him but did not respond. 'Please state your full name and address.'

'Sheee… you know my name and address.'

'Just do it, Jim,' Rainey said.

'James Wayne Darby. RFD Three, Sandytown.'

'How long have you lived at that address?'

'Uh, eight years. My daddy left it to me.'

'Age?'

'Twenty-nine.' He laughed and then said, 'Just kiddin'. I'm thirty-eight and holding.'

'Are you married?'

'I was. My wife is dead.'

'Was your wife Ramona Smith Darby?'

That's right.'

'How long were you married?'

'Ten years.'

'Did you graduate from high school, Mr Darby?'

'Yep.'

'Did you attend college?'

'Yes, I did, on a baseball scholarship.'

'And did you graduate from college?'

'No. Got my leg broke in a car wreck when I was starting my third year. Couldn't play ball anymore and lost my scholarship, so I had to drop out.'

'Then what did you do?'

'Went to work on my daddy's farm.'

'Were you married at the time?'

'Yes. Ramona and I married just after I dropped out.'

'That's when you went to live at RFD Three, Sandytown?'

'Right. My daddy's farm. He built a garage apartment for us.'

'Do you have any children?'

'No.'

'Is your father still living?'

'He got a stroke four years ago.'

'And died?'

'Yeah, he died.'

'How about your mother?'

'She died when I was in college. Cancer.'

'I will ask you if you will now agree to a polygraph test.'

'Objection,' Rainey said. 'We've been over this. I've advised my client against the polygraph. It's not admissible in court and there's no advantage whatsoever to Mr Darby taking a polygraph since it cannot benefit him in any way. And let's not make an issue of this with the press, okay, Martin?'

'I assume that's a "no",' Parver said.

'That's right, little lady, it's a no,' said Darby.

Vail leaned across the table, but Parver moved a foot over his and stopped him. She stared straight at Darby and said, 'Mr Darby, I'm nobody's little lady, especially yours. Now you agreed to this interrogation. We can do this quickly or we can spend the day here. It's up to you.'

Darby's face turned a deep shade of vermilion. He started to get up, but Rainey put a hand on his arm and nodded towards his chair. Darby sneered, then shrugged, sat back down, and fell quiet.

Parver took a diagram out of the folder and laid it before him. It showed the first floor of the Darby farmhouse. The front door lead from a wide porch into a small entrance hall. An archway opened on the left into the living room. Facing the archway was the sketch of a chair and a distance line between the arch and the chair that measured twelve feet, four inches. There were two Xs marked on the chair, two on the hallway wall opposite the chair, one on the wall next to the arch, and one that measured eight feet, seven inches marked floor to ceiling.

'I show you this sketch, Mr Darby,' Parver said. 'Is this an accurate sketch of the scene of the crime?'

'Strike the word crime,' said Rainey wearily. 'There isn't any crime. Nobody's been accused of a crime.'

'Would homicide suit you?' Parver asked.

'Event. I think scene of the event would be an accurate description.'

'Mr Darby, is this an accurate sketch of the scene of the event?'

Darby studied it for a minute and nodded. 'Yeah. There's some other furniture in the room.'

'It's inconsequential, is it not?'

'You mean did it enter into the shootout? No.'

'Now, Mr Darby, will you please describe for us what happened on January 7, 1993?'

'You mean getting out of bed, taking a shower…'

'You were going hunting…'

'Charlie Waters, Barney Thompson, and me went duck hunting. We go once or twice a week in the season.'

'Where did you go hunting?'

'Big Marsh.'

'What time did you get there?'

'We were in the blind by, I don't know, four-thirty, five.'

'Did you speak to your wife before you left?'

'She was asleep. I never wake her up. She made the sandwiches and stuff the night before.'

'Did you two have a fight or a disagreement the previous night?'

'Not really.'

'What do you mean, "not really"?'

'We weren't getting along. I told you that before. Things were not exactly peaches and cream around the place, but we weren't yelling at each other, nothing like that. It was just kind of cool between us. Hell, she made my lunch.'