Dutch Curridge

by Bryant, Tim

  "And did you finally locate Mr. Calhoun?” Cisero could tell that it had become a game to the judge. He looked amused, like a cat pawing around with a mouse. Trouble was, Cisero was feeling every bit the mouse.

  "Yessir, I did.”

  "We object,” the district attorney said. They argued that the defendant, it would be shown, wass in no condition to mount a believable defense.

  "You might as well bring somebody off the street corner to testify,” the district attorney said.

  "As you seem to have done?” Lynch said.

  Cisero smiled.

  The judge, the D.A., and Dandy all huddled. Cisero strained but couldn't make out a thing. Only the squabbling of Lynch and the D.A. Dandy seemed relaxed, right in the middle of them. Moments later, the questioning resumed, this time by the D.A.

  "You have a history of psychotic problems,” he said. "Is this not right, Mr. O'Bannon?”

  "Some people say that, sir.”

  "Were you not, in fact, just in the mental ward of a military hospital in Dallas, last week?”

  "Yes I was.”

  "Do you truly believe that serving as your own defense is in your best interest?”

  The D.A. made a motion that Cisero be reinstated as Dandy's lawyer. Cisero laughed. After a short break for lunch, Cisero was back on the stand with his defendant.

  "Mr. O'Bannon,” he said, "would you like to tell the jury why you were in the hospital last week?”

  "I asked my family to put me there again," he said. "I guess I felt like I was just safe there."

  "Safe from these mental issues that you experience?”

  "Not really that.”

  "Safe from?”

  The room got quiet except for the sound of everybody leaning forward just a little.

  "Sheriff Stubblefield and the Tarrant County Sheriff's Department,” Dandy said.

  Lynch called for order.

  "And why would you have anything to fear from the fine folks at the Sheriff's Department?” he said.

  "I'd found out a few things they didn't want me to know.”

  The state was objecting all over itself by now, but Lynch said to wait until cross examination, and then they could have at it. Cisero could tell that Lynch wanted to hear more.

  "Mr. O'Bannon,” Judge Lynch said, "what exactly did you think you knew that made you worried for your own safety?”

  "I knew where Whitey Calhoun was,” he said.

  "You knew where he was,” Lynch said, glancing sideways at the prosecution.

  "This man is mentally unbalanced, your honor,” the district attorney said.

  "My daddy always used to say there were two kinds of people you should always humor," Judge Lynch said. "Preachers and crazy people.”

  "Absolutely, your honor,” Cisero said.

  "Humor being the key word, your honor," said the district attorney.

  "What I mean,” said Dandy, "is I know where Whitey is.”

  39

  Cisero came bounding into Peechie's with such gusto that he managed to yank the "Canned beer: easy for the wife to bring home" sign right off the door.

  "Dutch,” he said. "Grab your hat.”

  There's the "Dutch, grab your hat” that means trouble is coming, right behind me. There's also the one that means the goddamn house is on fire. This one had an excitement in it that let me know I had missed something big.

  "What did I miss?” I said.

  "All hell's broke a-loose over at the Court House,” he said.

  "I'm coming too,” Slant said.

  "Wait a damn minute,” Patrick said. "Ain't nobody going anywhere that fast.” Cisero pulled some money out of his pocket, but Patrick looked at it in disgust.

  "Ain't worried about gettin' paid,” he said. "I wanna know what the hell's goin' on.”

  Cisero pulled up a chair.

  "I'll give you three minutes, you give me a beer,” he said.

  Two minutes later, he was draining the last of his story and his glass as well.

  "So,” Cisero said, wiping his suds mustache on his coat sleeve, "Lynch called on everyone to meet out at the judge's chambers, three o'clock this afternoon, for his decision.”

  "If Whitey Calhoun really is in that casket,” Slant said, "where the fuck is Lieutenant Kimble?”

  "According to what Dandy O'Bannon said under oath, they're sharing the ride,” Cisero said.

  "Oh, Kimble's gotta love that,” Slant said.

  "Lynch actually believed him?” I said.

  "Enough to call a delay so he could talk to Sheriff Stubblefield,” Cisero said. "He's got everybody but you and the mayor over there."

  The whine of the flathead eight cylinder engine almost put me under as we made our way to the courthouse for the afternoon announcement. The judge was there, a handful of folks from the Sheriff's Department, a few city officials that were afraid they might miss something big. Kimble's widow was there, standing alongside a younger woman I took to be Della's momma. I was surprised to find Ruthie Nell there too, notepad in hand, when we arrived. Lynch answered a couple of her questions and walked away.

  "I'm just glad the Startle-Gram isn't here,” he said.

  I looked around and noticed that the county coroner and the justice of the peace were standing right over my shoulder.

  "You placed your bets?” I said.

  "Lynch has lost his mind,” the coroner said.

  I said, "You just here to pronounce everybody still dead, I guess.”

  "This is a complete waste of time and money,” the J.O.P. said.

  "Can I quote you on that?” said Ruthie Nell, who'd just come up on my other side.

  "Here we go,” came a voice from the front of the assembly, and we all fell silent as Lynch made his way through his door into the hallway. Everybody picked a side and moved to a wall, not to let the judge through but to gain a sight line on him. He looked at the crowd, shook his head and cleared his throat.

  "We were given some additional information early this afternoon, in the case of the missing young man, Terrance Calhoun," he said. "I would have been remiss had I not taken this new information in and studied it deliberately. Having given it some considerable attention, I am now prepared to make a decision. The decision will be final and will, as a matter of course, carry the full weight of the law."

  "Is he reading that?" Ruthie said.

  "He probably practices things like that in his sleep at night," I said.

  "Now, according to the sworn testimony of the defendant in the case, Mr. Dandy Albert O'Bannon, the deceased body of the missing man in question would be found in the casket of a local policeman recently interred at Rose Hill Cemetery."

  For some reason, everybody decided this was their cue to start hurling questions. Ruthie was right in there with them. Lynch closed his eyes and stood there until they gave up on it. Seemed like a good five minutes of wasted time.

  "If you do not care to hear any more, I will have my secretary write up my notes," he said.

  "Everybody pipe down," I said. "I can't hear a damn thing he's saying, what with my bad ear."

  With the hallway finally back in order, Lynch cleared his throat a second time and continued.

  "After careful deliberation, I have concluded that there is not sufficient reliable reason to issue an order for excavation. I believe it would prove to be a waste of the city's time and the taxpayer's money. As a result, I am remanding Mr. O'Bannon into the care of the Texas Mental Health system, to complete a term of incarceration as they see fit. After discussing this course of action with Sheriff Stubblefield, I believe it is the only correct and sensible course of action."

  He looked down from the spot above us on the back wall that he'd been locked in on and stared directly into my eyes.

  "And I sincerely hope that will put the final nail in the coffin."

  The crowd broke as if the preacher had summoned the final amen and released his flock.

  "You didn't really think he was going to dig up Kimble, just
to see," Ruthie said. She scurried out, in the direction of her office, happy to know that she was going to beat the big guy to the punch on the afternoon's news story.

  I was just wondering how long it would be before someone else tried. There were a good many folks wanting to know what had happened. I wasn't sure they would be inclined to accept the judge's judgment on this.

  "Are you Mr. Curridge?”

  I hadn't heard anybody come up, so the question startled me. What startled me more was the fact that it was coming from the mouth of Mrs. Kimble.

  "Yes ma'am,” I said. "I'm real sorry about your husband.”

  She took my hand and didn't so much shake it as squeeze it.

  "I was hoping you'd be here, Mr. Curridge,” she said. "I'd like to get together and talk to you sometime.”

  Now the rumor had been going around, since her husband's death, that her lack of fidelity might have played some small part in his decision to end it all. That she was every bit as reckless, as shameless, as her granddaughter Della was. I didn't know enough to form an opinion, but I'll admit, it crossed my mind there at the courthouse.

  "I'm not sure we have that much to talk about,” I said.

  She handed me a folded piece of paper with her address and phone number on it. I stuffed it into the pocket of my overcoat and said I'd see what I could do.

  Half an hour later, when we pulled away in Cisero's car, I noticed her, standing in a corner of the courthouse lawn, talking to a deputy that I didn't recognize. Stubblefield had already whisked Dandy away in the back of a squad car, and, I have to admit, things weren't looking real good for him.

  "It never occur to you, Dandy could be wrong, Dutch?” Cisero said.

  "Oh yeah, he usually is” I said. "It just never occurred to me that Stub could be right.

  40

  I paid Judge Lynch a visit the day after the court hearing. Seemed to me it had been moderately decent of him to call the recess and consider Dandy's claim, and I wanted to know if he had truly believed Stubblefield was capable of burying Whitey in another man's grave.

  Lynch and Stubblefield had made careers out of scratching each other's backs, but I also suspected that each had thought of planting knives there as well. If there were any cracks in the facade, I figured I could help things out. Aggravate the situation a little.

  Lynch was on the phone when I arrived, and was obviously not in high spirits.

  "That money comes out of the city funds,” he said. "If I had gone out there on some fool's errand, it would have been all over the papers this morning, and the people would have had my head on a platter this afternoon.”

  I started to mention that, if he remembered, it had only been the Fort Worth Press there on site.

  "No, that's not why I did it,” he said and hung up the phone. He looked up at me and shook his head.

  "So why did you do it?”

  "Jesus, Curridge,” he said. "It's called doing my goddamn job.”

  "Everybody out there was placing bets,” I said.

  "And you think I'm not aware of that?” he said. He was chomping on a cigar as if he'd never entertained the thought of lighting one.

  "No,” I said. "I was just wondering which side you had your money on.”

  "That's called a conflict of interest, Curridge,” he said. "A concept you ought'a brush up on.”

  "I have no interest in conflict,” I said. "It just seems to like me, judge.”

  "Well,” he said, "you got the whole town talkin' about you. That's all I know.”

  I sat down.

  "Do tell.”

  "Well, in case it slipped your mind, you're at the scene when a man puts a bullet through his head, and next thing you know, you're seen hobnobbing with his old lady at the courthouse,” Lynch said. "Ya think nobody's gonna give notice to something like that?”

  "People have too much time on their hands,” I said.

  "Well, it is Barbara Kimble we're talking about,” he said. "The woman's enough trouble to make me think about putting a bullet in my own head.”

  I was about as interested in people's idle gossip as I was in Mrs. Kimble herself. It was mildly interesting that people thought I was such a rogue, and I knew it would be fun to tell Slant about, but it wasn't what I was there for.

  "Here's all I want to know,” I said. "When somebody makes an accusation like Dandy did, especially someone who's kinda off the rails, anyway, what makes you decide whether it's worth the effort and the money to check it out?”

  "Every case is different,” he said.

  "Well,” I said. "Let's start with yesterday's then. Was there something Dandy said that made you think he didn't know what he was talkin' about?”

  "Sheriff Stubblefield and I decided that we wanted to end any speculation. Put it to rest, once and for all, before rumors got out of hand.”

  "But wouldn't digging up the grave do a better job of neding speculation? Seems like you just added to it."

  "I determined the evidence to be lacking and called an end to it," he said. "If I had hauled an excavation team out there, I would have had to follow every other wild goose chase that came along or been accused of playing favorites. We don't have time to dig up all of Fort Worth, looking for one person who could be long gone by now."

  "Yeah," I said, "unless the body was there."

  "We had no reason to believe that to be the case," he said.

  "But you did confer with Stub,” I say.

  "He deserved to have input,” he said. "You know how people talk.”

  "Well, now I do.”

  I met Slant at the Pig Stand for lunch. As we sat in the Chummy and ate pork sandwiches, I caught him up on things.

  This is the way I guessed it went down. Whatever had really happened to Whitey Calhoun, and I had no doubt that Stub knew more than he was letting on, Stub had made sure that Dandy caught wind of this outlandish plot to dispose of Whitey's body by burying it alongside Kimble.

  Dandy was sure enough of it to stand up in front of a grand jury and swear to it. He may have been crazy, but he wasn't stupid. And he didn't have a reason in the world to make up such an allegation.

  Stubblefield, on the other hand, had plenty of reason to benefit from Dandy making such a statement. On one hand, if Stubblefield knew there was no body, he also knew that the whole thing would win Dandy a quick one-way ticket to Terrell Mental Hospital. Under a dark cloud too. With Dandy playing the role of scapegoat in the case, Stubblefield would have breathing room.

  "You think this whole thing was a set-up between Lynch and Stub then,” Slant said.

  "Maybe not,” I said. "Lynch probably just played into Stub's hands without even realizing it. Lynch pretty much admitted he didn't want the negros all getting wound up over rumors. He said they'd of been out there at the cemetery with their own shovels in no time, and he's right about that.”

  "So Stub put the idea in Dandy's head,” Slant said.

  "You realize what that means, don't you?” I said.

  "Dandy's maybe not so crazy after all,” Slant said.

  "It means Stubblefield either did something to Whitey Calhoun or knows who did,” I said. "And he knows that Dandy knows something. Why would he try to convince Dandy what he'd done with the body if he was trying to insist that there never was a body to begin with?”

  "You don't think Kimble did it?” Slant said. "He didn't just shoot himself over nothing, Dutch.”

  "I think Kimble plays into it,” I said. "You won't believe what they're saying downtown.”

  "That you and Mrs. Kimble had some kind of a thing going on. That Kimble found out about it and went into a depression. He threatened you. Told you to stay away from his family. You started following him around. You cornered him in his apartment, threatened him. Told him his wife didn't want him anymore. Maybe you told him to get out of the apartment. That you were moving in. He felt cornered, trapped, decided he couldn't go on. That pretty much the gist of it?”

  "Goddamn,” I said.

&nbs
p; Later, I asked if it had occurred to Slant to come to my defense when he'd heard all that nonsense. I also wanted to know why he hadn't already told me anything about it.

  "Let 'em think what they want to think,” he said. "Might be better for you if some people believe it.”

  I never was sure what he meant by that. Maybe them thinking I was screwing the dead cop's wife made me seem dangerous. Maybe it just gave me cover to go about my business and check out whatever it was she had to say to me.

  41

  I decided, if I was going to tangle with Chester Merkley again, I was going to do it on neutral ground. For one, he probably wouldn't have that wife of his with him, so I wouldn't have to worry about getting knocked over the head with a mop handle while dealing with him. And I also wouldn't have to deal with the off-putting sight of him running a place that had once been dear to me.

  Crawford said he almost always came by the record store on Wednesdays, to service his machines and take the week's pay. I was there waiting on him. When he arrived with the two blutos that Crawford had described, I realized that I might have made a strategic error. The old lady might have proven an easier foe after all.

  Merkley didn't appear too excited to see me there.

  "So this the guy you're working for?" he said, nodding at Crawford, who was standing behind the store counter and trying to act preoccupied with anything else but the situation at hand.

  "I pretty much work for myself," I said.

  One of his boys, a real sourpuss with a nose that had been broken at least a few times, thus betraying the fact that he wasn't as invincible as wanted to appear, was a little too eager to cause a ruckus.

  "Who is the wise guy?" he said.

  Merkley just grinned and chewed on matchstick.

  "You mean besides being the world's biggest Nu Grape Twins fan?" I said and looked from Merkley to the sourpuss.