WEBSITE OF HIDDEN HAMPTONS...A Novel: https://www.hathawayhamptonbooks.com
THE FBI INVESTIGATES
The day of the FBI visit started like any other for Fred. He had plans to take Buzz to his childhood home, which he discovered was listed for sale through his own real estate agent in Bridgehampton. Both he and Buzz wanted to find out what was going on with the house being listed without Slattery doing what he had planned to do with the five estate sized properties.
However, their day took an unexpected turn when Fred received a call early in the morning to meet Buzz at the farm, only to find out that the FBI wanted to speak to both regarding the disappearance of Jayson Slattery.
Aware of the gravity of the situation, Fred emphasized the importance of complete honesty with the authorities. “We can’t afford to tell different stories or withhold any information from the FBI. I will meet you there at the farm, Buzz. No need to look like we are ‘plotting’ anything!” Both he and Buzz understood the consequences of lying to federal agents and were determined to be forthright in their dealings with them.
Fred had been consumed with grief and anger at the way things happened. He was not in any shape to now have to consider the idea that he was a suspect in the disappearance of Jayson Slattery! Both Buzz and Fred were not ready for the confrontation that would surely ensue if the questions being asked made any reference to what they were doing on any day. Calendars were not really kept by either man. To try to remember where they were on a given day was going to be a task that neither wanted. It would surely look suspicious to any law enforcement individual if they were not able to supply alibis.
They were supposed to meet the FBI agent right here on the farm, and they were supposed to meet up with Daryl Ofthauser there as well. Ofthauser appeared in the distance, near the large elm tree that still stood, like a soldier on patrol, guarding all who walked along the long dirt road that led to the back forty. Daryl was a mysterious shadowy figure near the old tree, and it gave Fred quite a start when he saw him in the distance.
Buzz and Fred were standing on the edge of the field where Jon Stevenson had died—not too far away from the very spot. It was one year to the day that Jon had succumbed to what appeared to be a heart attack. Fred told me that he had not been back to the farm until now—this was only one of a few times in almost two years that he had stepped foot on this treasured ground.
Fred said that it seemed like yesterday that he had held his dying father's head in his lap, his arms around the shoulders that had at one time carried him around in the haymow when Fred was just a tiny boy. It was the memory of those days that Fred could never forget—those days as a child with his father taking him to the fields and to the barns where the cattle were penned. There were not many of those days with Fred and his father, but the ones that came to mind most often were piercingly clear for him.
Fred had to shake his head as he stood there next to Buzz and Daryl; he had to shake all those memories from his head now, so he could think clearly. There were critical things to recall, and they were not of Fred’s childhood; they were of this moment, and they were dark and frightening things that had to do with a missing man.
Buzz turned to Daryl Ofthauser and said awkwardly, “Bet you never thought you would be here under these circumstances, did ya?” He smiled a crooked smile, not out of friendship but from a particular disdain he always had for this tall thin man in his rumpled overcoat. Buzz didn’t like him any more than he admired Jayson Slattery—they both could go to hell as far as he was concerned after what they did to his friends Jon and Fred Stevenson.
Buzz quickly gave Daryl a summary of what happened to the farm they were standing on. He gave all these details to Daryl never thinking he would be mocked for the idea that the family had been fooled into selling the farm to Jayson Slattery.
Daryl Ofthauser seemed like a slippery character, and Fred was repulsed by his nonchalant attitude toward the way the family had been swindled by Slattery. His comment after Buzz informed him of what had happened to Fred’s family was: “So, you want to blame a man who has a lot of money and knows what to do with it, huh? Not me!! I think Slattery was one smart dude to come up with the idea of the Right of First Refusal—especially at his young age. What was he…maybe twenty-one, twenty-two?” Buzz shook his head at the offhanded comment and walked away from him, beckoning Fred to follow. He did not want to see a fist-fight begin because of the pent-up anger Fred had for those who swindled his father! A disagreement at this moment could be an evil omen for all involved, including the FBI agents who were about to meet them there.
By the time the FBI team arrived at the farm, it was almost noon, and none of the three men were anxious to sit down with them. There was no reason to think that Daryl Ofthauser was a suspect in the disappearance of Slattery because of his close alliance with the missing man. But that was a different case with Buzz and Fred, it seemed only logical that they should be the ones the FBI was interested in as possible suspects.
As Fred, Buzz, and Daryl all stood there in the chilly fall air, they could see a van in the distance, moving slowly along the country lane. It was not too long before they could vaguely make out the circle on the side of the black van: a massive dark blue ring with a coat of arms and a gold halo around it struck a chord. It looks very official! Fred thought silently as he tried to steady his shaking hands.
The van came to a quiet stop about twenty feet away from where they stood. Two men in dark suits stepped out of the vehicle and walked toward the three. As they introduced themselves to the authorities and shook hands, Buzz and Fred faced one of the agents who stepped forward and said in his authoritative voice: “We are here to begin a discussion of a crime that has been committed. We cannot inform you of what that crime is now; we can only ask each of you a series of questions that will then be compiled and examined later. If we need to speak to any or all of you again, you need to agree to remain in the immediate area, preferably in your home, so we have secure communication at that later time. This is simply a discussion of events of which you may or may not have information.”
All three of these men would be questioned regarding Jayson Slattery’s disappearance. Each would step into the dark interior of the old farmhouse, one at a time, and the FBI agent would have them seated on a folding chair across from him. The questions flew at the one facing the agents; each query was stranger than the last one. Fred was told not to speak to the other two men after his session. He was told to leave and go directly home. He was told not to leave town for any reason whatsoever, and he needed to be available for further questioning at any time that the FBI saw fit.
Fred felt weak from the interrogation; he was outraged at the idea that he was being considered a suspect. As he slammed his hand against the old Farmall tractor that remained in the lean-to near the barn, his heart was beating too fast. He knew this was the typical FBI protocol that takes effect when there is suspicion of a crime.
As Fred sat next to the old red tractor, he had a flash of a thought. I know what the FBI will be looking for: I know they think Slattery is dead—but do they know where he is?? Where in the Hell do they think someone would put a body? Do they know it is buried here on the farm? Do they know where it is?
That is when Fred sat up and leaped to his feet. His faded denim jacket was an incumbrance as he jogged around the backside of the barn, his arms swinging as his legs stretched in giant leaps over the bales of hay piled there. He turned the corner of the west side of the barn, and there was the silo with its chute wide open. The door next to the silo was ajar as if someone had just gone inside the little anteroom to the main building. That was when he decided it was not a good idea to go any further. He stopped just short of the gravel parking lot nearby when he heard a booming voice behind him.
“Halt!... Halt or I will shoot!” the voice cracked through the crisp fall air.
Fred came to a complete stop, his breath in short spurts. He thought he was not going to be able to take his next breath; Is he talking to me? Fred wondered this as he turned around.
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