Savich nodded. “He didn’t mean to, Brakey, it was an accident. He struck your father and then he didn’t know what to do. Like you, Brakey, Sparky panicked. He drove away, too afraid to say anything. Except to his father.”
He studied each of their faces. “Then Sparky made a bad decision. He went to see his lifelong friend Walter Givens to fix the dented bumper on his Mustang and Walter put it together and called Deputy Lewis.” He paused, nodded to Griffin.
Griffin said, “Everyone in Plackett knew Deputy Lewis liked to drink. One of his best friends was Milt Carroll, Sparky’s dad. After Walter told Deputy Lewis about the damage to Sparky’s prized Mustang, we believe Milt Carroll begged Deputy Lewis to protect his boy. It was an accident, after all— Mr. Alcott had wandered into the road. Sparky couldn’t avoid hitting him. It wouldn’t be justice to ruin his son’s life because of an accident. So Deputy Lewis became complicit in Mr. Alcott’s death.”
Liggert said, “It wasn’t like that! The little sod was drunk and he was driving and he hit my dad!”
Savich said, “We’ll never know now one way or the other since Sparky’s dead. In any case, Deputy Lewis buried the information Walter Givens gave him about the dent in Sparky’s Mustang. He called Walter back, told him to forget about it, that it wasn’t Sparky.
“Then you, Liggert, noticed that the paint job on Sparky Carroll’s Mustang didn’t quite match and you wondered. You went to Walter’s shop and asked him about it. An innocent question, and so Walter told you about the dent in Sparky’s Mustang and how you had had such a hard time trying to match it. Walter didn’t realize he was painting a target on himself, as well as on Sparky.
“You were furious, weren’t you, Liggert? You wanted to see your father’s death avenged.”
Liggert yelled, “The little bastard murdered my father! He left him to die! Yes, I could have killed him for that. He deserved what he got.”
“But you didn’t want to get caught for it, did you, Liggert? You’re fast with your fists, everyone in Plackett sees your wife’s bruises, everyone knows you smack her around. I imagine you wanted to beat Sparky to death in the middle of Plackett, watch him die, and walk away, like he did to your dad.”
Liggert was breathing hard, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You can imagine what you want. You have no proof I was involved in any way. Why don’t both of you leave, before—”
“Before you what, Liggert? You want to try to throw us out?” Savich flicked his fingers toward Liggert in invitation.
Liggert took a step toward Savich, his face a picture of rage, his hands fisted so tightly his knuckles bulged. Deliah yelled, “Liggert! You stop now!”
He wanted to fight, to pound them into the ground, but his mother’s voice reined him in. He flicked her an uncertain look. So Deliah still exercised some control over her son. Savich wished she’d kept her mouth shut. But at least he might get Liggert to keep talking.
Ms. Louisa sang out, “Let the boys have some fun, Morgana. Why not? What’s a little blood on the floor?”
Deliah turned on her. “Be quiet, you old witch!”
Savich never turned his eyes away from Liggert. He said, “Liggert, did you make Walter murder Sparky in front of all those people?”
“Don’t be an idiot,” Liggert said. “It was Walter who killed Sparky. I was here in Plackett. I have witnesses. And that little murderer Sparky deserved it, but I had nothing to do with it. How could I?”
Savich ignored Liggert, said to Deliah Alcott, “You know who Dalco is, Mrs. Alcott. I imagine you’re furious that Dalco made Brakey a murderer. I think you’re not saying anything because you’re terrified of what else Dalco might do. To you, to your sons, your grandchildren, to your life.”
Deliah stood in the middle of the living room, looking utterly disconnected from all of them, utterly alone. She shook her head.
“Liggert is your son, but you know he can be vicious, ungoverned. He beats his wife. He beats his children. Does he have the power to frighten someone into doing whatever he wants? Is Liggert Dalco, Mrs. Alcott? Has he threatened to kill you if you say anything? Threatened to kill Brakey or Jonah? Perhaps even his wife, his children?”
That got her. Deliah yelled, “That is ridiculous! Liggert has a bit of a temper, that’s all. He rarely hits his wife—”
Brakey said, “I saw him hit Marly, Mom. He smacked her so hard he knocked her out of her shoes.”
“All right, I know, I know. Liggert, you promised me you’d stopped. You don’t hit your children, do you?”
Liggert said nothing.
Deliah looked devastated.
Griffin said, “Walter Givens said he did. He said he had to stop Liggert from beating his little boy in public.” He turned to Liggert. “Is that why you sent Walter to murder Sparky Carroll? He’d be labeled a murderer? And you’d have your revenge?
“And then we came along and were getting too close. You wanted us out of the way. Why did you pick Charlie Marker to ambush us in McCutty’s woods? What did he do to you? Or was he just handy? And you knew he could get ahold of his dad’s gun. Come on, Liggert, aren’t you man enough to own up to that?” Savich could see the pulse in Liggert’s neck pumping from eight feet away.
Jonah took a step toward Griffin. “Stop it. You’re wrong, both of you. This Dalco character you say forced Walter Givens and Brakey to kill people, forced Charlie to come after you two—it can’t be Liggert. He has no ability to convince anyone to do anything at all. That’s why he’s so pissed off all the time. He hits his wife because he can, because she puts up with it and won’t listen to me when I tell her she should leave him. She only shrugs and waits for him to smack her again.” Jonah looked at his brother and continued, disgust thick in his voice. “Liggert’s common. He’s a good old boy with more rage than brains. I didn’t know he’d fallen so low to hit his kids. You actually hit little Teddy? That sweet little boy? You hit him again, Liggert, and I swear to you I’ll call the sheriff. You hear me? He’ll toss your ass in jail, and you’ll pay for that. Imagine the shame you’ll bring on the family then. Liggert Alcott beats his kids.”
They were getting off the tracks, though Savich was pleased Jonah was taking a stand. He hoped Jonah would follow through. In his experience, someone like Liggert would never stop hurting those weaker than him. Savich said, “Is it you, then, Jonah who has the ability to control what a person does? Do you have more luck with young men? You find they’re more malleable, easier to control? Did you avenge your father’s death by manipulating Walter and Brakey and Charles to do it for you? Your own brother? Are you that cowardly?”
Savich was surprised when Jonah laughed. “Nah, I’m not Dalco. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my dad, his death hit me hard, hit all of us hard, made me really mad, but the thing is I’ve known Sparky Carroll his whole life, watched him learn how to make meatballs from his dad. Sparky was always a nice little wuss who wouldn’t squash a bug on his nose. He was sweet, you know? It’s really sad if he did hit my dad. I can see him standing there, frozen, not knowing what to do. I can see him going to his own dad. He wouldn’t have gone to Tammy, she’s sweeter than he was.”
Jonah looked at them, shook his head. “It isn’t me who’s this wild-haired Dalco. It certainly isn’t Brakey. I mean, Brakey’s such a good criminal, he put Deputy Lewis’s body into his own truck in his own OTR. And Liggert?” He turned to his brother. “Have you learned some things I don’t know about, Ligg? Have you been dancing around a fire in McCutty’s woods, learning spells? Come on, Liggert, out with it. You saw the mismatched paint on Sparky’s fender and that turned you into a mad psychic?”