by Bill Crider
“You just take the money.”
Clement frowned. “That’s one way to put it, I guess. Not a very flattering one, but true enough. I don’t manage the place. I’m just a silent partner.”
“Well,” Rhodes said, “let’s go take a look at your investment.”
Chapter 20
Clement hadn’t wanted to go, but Rhodes had persuaded him by saying it would be good to have one of the owners around when he searched the place.
“Search the place?” Clements asked as they headed out of the office.
“There’ve been some more problems,” Rhodes said.
As they drove the three blocks to the center, Rhodes told Clement a little about what had been going on. Clement claimed to have no idea about any of it. He said he didn’t even know Al, but Rhodes wasn’t sure he believed him.
When they got to the center, the gate was closed and the warehouse was shut. Rhodes wondered what had happened to Al. He might have decided to move on to another part of the state or the country. For that matter, he might have gone to Mexico with Frankie.
“Let’s check the warehouse,” Rhodes said. “There’s a room I want to look at.”
Clement didn’t want to look at it, but Rhodes took him along. Although the warehouse door was closed, it wasn’t locked. Rhodes flipped the hasp back and slid the door open with a metallic squeal.
“After you,” he said.
Clement didn’t move. “I’m not going in there.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know what might be in there.”
“There might be rats,” Rhodes said. “In fact, I think I can promise you there are rats. They’ll probably leave us alone, though.”
“I don’t like rats,” Clement said.
Rhodes thought about Buddy. “Who does?”
“Probably nobody. You go on. I’ll just stay here.”
Rhodes asked Clement if he wanted to see the warrant.
“No. I don’t care if you ransack the place. I’ll wait for you.”
“If that’s the way you want it,” Rhodes said and went inside.
He had his flashlight with him, and he turned it on. There must have been a light switch somewhere, but Buddy hadn’t found it, and Rhodes didn’t see it. He shone his light at the roof and saw some dusty fixtures dangling down. He still couldn’t locate the switch that turned them on, however.
It was hot in the warehouse. The sun had been heating up the tin roof all day, and Rhodes started to sweat. He walked on back to the locked room, thinking that he could hear rats scurrying around behind the metallic junk. He told himself that he was just imagining it.
The locked room wasn’t locked anymore. The door was wide open. Rhodes pointed his flashlight inside. He saw a couple of short bits of copper wire glint on the floor, but that was all. Rhodes had come too late. Al must have cleaned the place out as soon as he’d left the jail. Maybe Guillermo and Jorge had come along to help.
Rhodes thought that the other materials in the center had been obtained more or less legally and didn’t need to be moved. If they’d been stolen, it would be hard to prove.
Rhodes looked around the room. He suspected that besides copper from various sources the room had held a few catalytic converters and maybe even some aluminum gutters ripped from houses, but there was no sign of them now.
He didn’t need to look anymore. He knew he wouldn’t find anything even if he did, so he went back outside. Clement was standing by the county car, and Rhodes went over to him.
“You need to get in touch with your partners,” Rhodes told Clement. “You need to tell them that I know what they’ve been doing here.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“That’s what I’d say if I were in your position. It might even be true, not that I’m accusing you of anything. You just need to let them know that if there’s another battery or catalytic converter or piece of copper wire stolen in this county, I’ll find a way to trace it to them, and from them to you.”
“I’m the mayor,” Clement said, but Rhodes could tell his heart wasn’t in it. “You can’t talk to me like this.”
“You might be the mayor, but you’re also involved in a criminal enterprise.”
“Now just a minute,” Clement said. “That’s slander.”
“Only if I repeat it to someone else,” Rhodes said.
“You don’t dare repeat it because you don’t have any proof of it.”
“Not yet,” Rhodes said, “but I’m working on it.”
Clement stood up a little straighter. “Until you have some proof, you’d better watch what you say. Now take me back to my office.”
“You sure you want to ride with me?”
Clement looked back toward the city hall. It was only three blocks, but it was a long three blocks.
“If you’ll let me,” he said.
“Get in, then,” Rhodes said.
* * *
Rhodes dropped Clement off and drove straight to his house. It was in the part of town where some of the wealthy residents had built homes years ago, the same era that had seen the construction of the mansion that was now Ballinger’s Funeral Home. These homes hadn’t been turned to commercial purposes, however, and were all still occupied by people with a little money to spend.
Clement’s house was big and imposing and one of the best looking in the neighborhood. The driveway was in the back, and Rhodes saw a big black Lexus SUV parked there. If he’d had any money to invest, Rhodes would’ve let Clement handle it, because he was obviously doing very well for himself.
Rhodes went up the sidewalk in front, feeling as if he should be looking for the servants’ entrance. Lonnie Wallace’s yard had looked good, but this one was perfect. The grass looked as if not one single blade was higher than any of the others. The flower beds were so perfect that a weed would have withered and died of embarrassment if it had dared to intrude into them.
Rhodes rang the doorbell, half expecting to be greeted by a butler dressed to perfection. Instead, Fran Clement opened the door. She was short, about five-four, and wore a white blouse and blue jeans with the cuffs rolled up to show her Nike walking shoes. She had dark eyes and short, very black fluffy hair. Rhodes wondered if she had it done at the Beauty Shack.
“Hello, Sheriff,” she said. “Welcome to my humble abode. Won’t you come in?”
Rhodes thought he got a faint whiff of liquor. “Thanks. I wanted to talk to you if you have a minute.”
“A minute?” Fran gave a little laugh. “I have all day. Nobody’s here but me. My husband’s never around, but then you probably know that. You probably know all about him.”
“Not much,” Rhodes said. “Maybe you could tell me a few things.”
Fran turned and walked down the hallway.
“I certainly could,” she said, without turning around. “Come along, Sheriff. I’ll tell you all.”
Rhodes followed her into the den, a big room with a tile floor, lots of throw rugs, and one of the biggest flat-screen TV sets Rhodes had ever seen. There was plenty of seating in front of it: a leather-covered couch and two leather-covered recliners. A plate-glass sliding door looked out onto a concrete patio and another impossible lawn.
Fran sat on the couch. She curled her legs under her and said, “Sit down, Sheriff, and I’ll unburden myself to you. I’ll tell you all my sad little secrets.”
Rhodes sat in a recliner. He wondered if she watched a lot of old black-and-white movies to get her dialogue. It sounded that way to him. He looked around the room but didn’t see any bottles or glasses on the coffee table or end tables. Maybe he’d just imagined the smell of liquor. This room smelled more like some kind of flower. Lilacs, maybe. Rhodes had trouble putting a name to air-freshener odors.
“I don’t need to know all your secrets,” he said. “Just a few of them.”
“My husband doesn’t understand me,” she said.
“That’s not a secret I need to hear.”
&
nbsp; Fran leaned back on the couch and rested her left arm along the top. “You’re not a bad-looking man, Sheriff. Has anyone ever told you that before?”
“Often,” Rhodes said.
His answer threw Fran a bit off her stride. “They have?”
“Not they,” Rhodes said. “It’s usually my wife who tells me that.”
“Oh.” Fran frowned. “Your wife. We don’t have to talk about her, do we?”
“No. I came here to talk about you and your husband.”
“Who doesn’t understand me.”
“You mentioned that, but that’s not the problem. The problem is Lynn Ashton.”
“She’s not a problem.” Fran’s frown changed to a smile. “Not now.”
“I take it you’re not grieving over her passing,” Rhodes said.
Fran removed her arm from the back of the couch, curved the fingers of her left hand inward, and examined her nails. “Not a lot, no.”
“Would you like to tell me why?”
“You know why or you wouldn’t be here. She was trying to steal my husband from me.”
“Just your husband? Or did she plan to steal something else?”
“Well,” Fran said, “him and his money. Cliff didn’t think I knew about the money, but I did. Sometimes I wonder which one I’d miss the most.”
Rhodes had an opinion about that, but he didn’t express it. He looked out at the patio, where there was a white table with a furled green umbrella protruding from the middle.
“Cat got your tongue, Sheriff?”
“I was just thinking,” Rhodes said.
“About me?”
“Sure enough, I was. Where were you the afternoon Lynn was killed?”
Fran gave her head a little toss. “Why, Sheriff. If I didn’t know better, I’d think I was a suspect.”
“Don’t feel special,” Rhodes said. “So is everybody else who knew Lynn.”
Fran didn’t want to hear it. “I like feeling special.”
“You shouldn’t,” Rhodes said. “Not in this case. Where were you?”
“You’re mean, Sheriff, and I think you’re trying to trick me. I don’t know where I was for sure because I don’t know when she was killed.”
“Let’s say it was around six o’clock.”
“Then I was here, the faithful wife, preparing a delicious evening meal for her wayward hubby.”
“A sandwich?” Rhodes asked.
Fran laughed. It sounded forced. “You’re a very funny man, Sheriff. Good-looking, too. My, my.” She fanned a hand in front of her face. “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”
Rhodes was tired of the act.
“This isn’t a scene from a bad movie, Ms. Clement,” he said. “This is about two murders that you’re involved in whether you like it or not. You can’t joke your way out of it. Now tell me where you were.”
Fran took a breath and looked down. When she looked back up, she said, “I’m sorry. I know it’s not a joke. I was here, like I said.”
“Was anyone here with you?”
“You mean Cliff? The wayward hubby? I hardly see him in the evenings. He usually eats somewhere else, at the Dairy Queen for all I know. Then he runs around with his young floozies.”
“Saucy” and “floozies” both in the same day. Maybe the old words were coming back. If they were, Rhodes was behind the curve.
“Floozies?” he asked. “He had more than one?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t even know he had one for a good while. The wife is always the last one to know, they say. I only found out about the money because he forgot and left his checkbook here one day. So I looked at it.”
“You have separate accounts?”
She nodded. “Yes, but I didn’t know that. This was a secret separate account.”
“It must have made you angry to find out about that.”
Fran flared up. “Of course it did. I was furious. I told him that if he didn’t break it off with her and give me half the money in that account, I’d … I didn’t know what I might do.”
She’d stopped herself just in time, but Rhodes had a pretty good idea of what she’d been about to say. Whether she said she’d kill Lynn or Clement was an open question, however.
“It would help if you could prove you were here when Lynn died,” he said.
“I watched Wheel of Fortune. Does that help?”
“Not a lot.”
“I can tell you what the final puzzle was.”
“DVR,” Rhodes said.
“What…? Oh. I see what you mean. Are you going to arrest me?”
“Not yet. I’m going to think about it.”
Fran cheered up at that. “You really are very attractive, you know.”
“Don’t start that again,” Rhodes said. “It’s just not going to work.”
“I’m not trying to flatter you,” Fran said. “I really mean it.”
Rhodes smiled. “That’s good. I’ll be sure to tell my wife you said so.”
* * *
Rhodes went back to the courthouse office. He needed a Dr Pepper, and he needed to think. A package of cheese crackers wouldn’t hurt, either.
Rhodes knew that a lot of people who watched TV bought into the idea that crime-solving in the twenty-first century was purely scientific. Forensic wonders abounded. A drop of blood, a single hair, a particle of dust, a partial print, or a fingernail paring was all that was necessary for the modern crime-buster to bring a culprit to justice.
It didn’t work like that in Blacklin County. It probably didn’t work like that anywhere.
What worked for Rhodes was talking, asking questions, and weighing answers. Sometimes he even found a clue.
Not this time, however. He bought a Dr Pepper from the machine and got some of the yellow crackers with peanut butter because the machine didn’t have the ones with cheese. He went up to his office and thought things over while he snacked.
What he came up with was a number of possibilities, starting with the simple fact that Lynn Ashton had been killed. Then Jeff Tyler had been shot. Lynn’s purse was in the trash bin behind Jeff’s store.
How it had gotten there? And why was it there? Rhodes came up with an answer that hadn’t occurred to him before. What if Jeff Tyler had killed Lynn, taken her purse, and buried it in his trash, knowing that Frankie and his friends would come along, find it, and remove it? If they were caught with it, they’d be under considerable suspicion. Tyler might have intended to turn them in, but the killer had stopped him.
Another possibility was that someone who found out what Tyler had done got revenge for Lynn’s death by killing Tyler. Maybe that person had even been the one to put the purse in the trash.
If that was the sequence of events, Lonnie was the one Rhodes liked for Tyler’s death. Lonnie had shown a temper, and Tyler might have panicked and confided in him.
Rhodes saw a big problem with that version of events, however, and the problem was motive. Tyler didn’t have one as far as Rhodes knew. Maybe more digging would reveal one.
Or not.
Fran Clement was another good candidate, at least for Lynn’s death. Say that Tyler had been sitting out in front of his store and had seen Fran’s SUV at the Beauty Shack. The Lexus was a hard vehicle to miss. The fact that Jorge had said there was no car there didn’t really mean much. He’d also said he hadn’t been keeping watch and wouldn’t have known.
If Tyler had seen Fran, it might have been his turn to try a little blackmail, but instead of paying him, Fran had shot him. Or Clifford had. That would mean that Rhodes had two killers to bring in.
Or maybe something else entirely was at work. Sharon Lawless had a good alibi, but what about Randy? Abby and Eric weren’t in the clear yet, either, even though Rhodes had liked them and couldn’t believe they’d killed Lynn or Tyler. Still, something had been said that nagged at him. He couldn’t quite remember what it was, however. He wasn’t worried about that. It would come to him.
Something else that
Rhodes still wasn’t clear about was the connection that Clement had with the reclamation center, and that was something he’d like to find out. Clement claimed not to know anything about the day-to-day workings of the place, but Rhodes didn’t quite believe him. Surely he must know Al, even though he said he didn’t.
Rhodes had Jennifer Loam’s cell number, so he called her from the phone on his desk. He hoped she’d use that number rather than his own cell number the next time she called.
She answered on the third ring, and Rhodes asked if she had any new information for him.
“A little,” she said. “I was just about to call you. This is going to be a great story for me to start my new online news with.”
“What did you find out?” Rhodes asked.
“It’s not so much what I found out. It’s what I saw.”
Rhodes wondered if everybody in the county had been taking lessons from Hack and Lawton. It wasn’t the first time that this had occurred to him.
“What did you see?” he asked.
“I decided that I should have a look at the center, so I drove by there. You remember that you told me it was closed?”
“I remember.”
“Well, it wasn’t when I went by.”
“When was that?”
“About an hour ago.”
Rhodes would have been leaving the Clement house about that time. It was getting awfully late in the afternoon for the center to be open.
“I thought it would be a good idea to see who was there,” Jennifer continued. “So I stopped and went into the office. The person in charge wasn’t the one you called Al. It was a man called Mike. I told him I was doing a story for the paper on the environment and that I’d like to know about the center and all the good things it did. He was glad to tell me all about it. He even showed me around.”
Rhodes could imagine Mike’s delight at a reporter being there. Then he remembered that Jennifer wasn’t just a reporter. She was also an attractive young woman. Rhodes suspected that Jennifer might have used some floozy wiles to get him to talk to her.
“What did you see?” he asked.
“A bunch of junk,” Jennifer said. “I learned all about wearing gloves and safety glasses to handle batteries. I always thought people just threw them away.”