Rusty liked this man. “Don’t feel the Lone Ranger. The Madison County District Attorney isn’t interested in the fact I didn’t kill anybody.”
“I read you didn’t have an alibi.”
“Where’d you read that?”
“The newspaper. You’re first page material now. Don’t you buy the paper?”
“Not unless I have to pack a box up to send in the mail. And no I just, and quite conveniently for the killer, happened to be spending the night alone in Dismal Canyon.”
“I love that place. I got my first piece of ass on the sand beach there at the waterfall.”
Rusty knew he liked this man. “What was your relationship with Dr. Compton?”
“Oh, man. If they let you go, they may just come and arrest me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I like everybody. Except for two people in the world. And I was in their senior class of high school. Elmore King and Robert Compton. Elmore King was an obnoxious asshole and I was stupid enough to lend him a thousand dollars back when a thousand dollars meant a lot to me. Well, a thousand dollars means a lot to me now. After all that money he made in catfish he wouldn’t pay me back. He said that I hadn’t loaned him that money, that we had went into a business deal together and that deal had gone belly up.”
“A shit ass.”
“Tell me about it.”
“Hey, aren’t you supposed to be uppity?” Rusty asked.
“What do you mean?”
“I thought college presidents were supposed to have patches on their elbows and smoke pipes and act like assholes.”
“No. That’s tenured professors.”
About that time the maid came back in. “Pardon the interruption, Dr. Preston. I have to run to the market. The missus called and she’ll be back here in half an hour.”
“Thank you, Ellen.”
Ellen left and Rusty turned to Preston. “You’re a doctor?”
“Not a real doctor.”
“What kind of doctor are you?”
“I was a lawyer.”
“You were a lawyer?”
“Yes. But I wasn’t doing very good with it, so I became a law professor. Then through a series of unfortunate and desperate events on the college’s part, I ended up being the president.”
“I see.” Rusty had to get him back on track. “Speaking of doctors. What was your relationship with Compton?”
“I sold him the car he got blown up in.”
“No?”
“Yes. You want to see it?”
“That’s not in some crime lab somewhere? You have the car parts left from the explosion?”
“No. I bought two Mercedes 450’s in a deal. They were just alike. I sold him one of them.”
“Oh, yeah. I like the lines on that car. I’d love to see it.”
“That’s my weakness. I love cars.”
“That’s no weakness.”
“I knew we were kindred spirits, Mr. Clay.”
Preston led Rusty through and out the back of the house, then through an old courtyard and off to the south side of the lot that went along Green Street. There was this long narrow building that looked like it could have once been a horse stable.
“In antebellum times this used to be a horse stable,” Dr. Preston explained. “In the Twenties it was converted into a five bay garage.”
Preston led him through a side door and turned on a light. The far bay was empty. Then Rusty called off the cars in order coming back toward them.
“A late model Jaguar convertible.”
“My personal everyday car.”
“The 450 Mercedes, a 1953 MDTD.”
“I bought when I entered college in 1968. And my pride and joy…”
“A two-door cherry red 1957 Ford.”
“And if you will care to note the dual foxtails on the antennae and the gas-saving hubcaps.” Gas-saving hubcaps? It was a phrase, a joke, that his own maternal grandfather would have made up. Winston County humor.
Preston led him down the line of cars and stopped at the grill of the Mercedes convertible. Rusty looked at the lines on the car, at the elegant grayish blue paint. It had the pop top clipped on. Yeah, he’d look really sleek in this baby. Even Gloria couldn’t call him a redneck if he owned something like this.
“So, this doesn’t add up. You hated Compton, but you sold him a car like this.”
“Yes. I bought both cars at a sale. I didn’t hate Compton at the time. We were not great friends but we both had a love of cars and we were both from Winston County. Our last names both ended in -ton. We were bit chummy. I called him Comp. He called me Pres. Stuff like that.”
“How did you end up hating him?”
“The son of a bitch couldn’t be in sight of my wife, without running over to her and practically dry humping her like a dog.”
“That would put a damper on a friendship.”
“Yeah, and the day he got blown up, he still owed me a thousand dollars on the car. He said he was short in the bank account he was writing the check on, that he didn’t want his wife to know about it, that he would pay me the other thousand in cash later. Later has become the same as never in this case.”
“The two men in the world that you hated had also owed you money. Hell, you have more of a motive than I do. They should have arrested you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Clay. Didn’t I read that Compton was to marry your ex-wife?”
“Yes.”
“Did that bother you?”
“Not really.”
“I suppose you must not be a jealous man?”
“I’ve grown out of certain negative emotions. And replaced them all with mere cynicism for convenience.”
Preston laughed. “I like that. May I steal it for a speech I’m giving next week?”
“Please do.”
Dr. Preston walked over and slapped the car on the fender. “Yeah, I don’t think I’m going to fix this baby. I may just sell it. I need the bay. I got another classic I have an eye on.”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Blown engine. Do you know an original cam shaft in this motor costs hundreds of dollars?”
“No. What, it just needs a new cam shaft?”
“No. The cam shaft is fine. Warped head. But it’s going to cost me thousands of dollars to rebuilt this engine properly.”
“How much you want for this car?”
“Um….I don’t know. If you pumped five grand it would be worth twelve. I almost want to let it go for four, but I got screwed out of a thousand. So, five thousand, I guess.”
Five thousand dollars. Exactly the amount Elmore King had plopped down. And Rusty envisioned himself a 450SL with a blown motor. What were the odds of all that? This had to be some kind of sign.
Chapter 25
Two news vans, with those satellite things extended up from the roof, were parked in front of Melvin’s office. Rusty and Melvin needed to talk over a few things, but not under these conditions, so Rusty drove on.
Ten minutes before he got to his house, he called Ray on his new cell to tell him he was coming. When Rusty got there, Ray was just clearing away a pallet of barrels from his gate, enough space for Rusty to edge his truck through.
Rusty zig-zagged through a few more barrels to drive up near his front porch. First he saw the blue Acura car and then he saw Sammy sitting up on the porch going away at his laptop.
Only when Rusty stepped up onto the porch, did Sammy look up. “Let me just finish out this sentence,” Sammy said, and kept clicking away at the keyboard.
Rusty sat down in a ladder back chair next to him. At last Sammy folded the top of the computer closed.
“So, did you finally figure out I must be right about this Winston County serial killer thing?” Rusty said and smiled.
“No,” Sammy replied and looked him in the eye. “I came to tell you Starr intends to go before Judge McCartney in the morning and move to have your bail revoked.”
Rusty actually cringed. Whe
n he recovered, he mumbled, “He can do that?”
“Yeah. He claims to have new evidence on the case.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know, Rusty. And what I just told you is insider information. I’m not even supposed to know it. Don’t tell anyone your source.”
Rusty stared out at the ground and grunted. In fact, Rusty was going a little bit numb. This would change everything. Rusty wouldn’t have a snowball’s chance in hell of solving his case. His body was going into some kind of reaction he knew would leave him prostrate right before Sammy’s eyes.
“What, he’ll go before the judge first thing in the morning?” Rusty managed to say. “How long will it take them to take me into custody if the judge agrees?”
“Oh, no. Not first thing. Tomorrow’s Wednesday. Jeffrey Starr is special,” Sammy said sarcastically. “Oh, he’s not like the rest of us DA’s. Since he works till midnight every night, he thinks he’s entitled to be off on Wednesday mornings until about eleven. He has to go fishing on Wednesday mornings.”
“What?” Rusty asked. Sammy’s last statement alone had stopped the paralysis from moving up his body.
“Yeah. He goes out by himself daylight every Wednesday morning. To recharge his batteries. Quote, unquote. He’s one of those bass fishermen.”
That got Rusty’s muscles back working. He looked up. “I bet the son of a bitch catches and releases?”
“Not before he brings them back to Hudson Marina and shows them off like he’s the only person who can catch a bass.”
“A sorry ass bass, my ass,” Rusty said. “Will catch and release a sorry ass bass but wants to catch and fry a Clay?”
“Yeah. He had a big six pounder he caught years ago mounted and is on the wall behind his desk. But now he’s all politically correct and only catches and releases.”
What Rusty needed to do was replace the mounted bass with a Billy Bass. See how he liked that.
“What, he’s got a slip at Hudson Marina?” Rusty said.
“Yeah. Last year, I had to sit there one morning for over an hour waiting for the arrogant son of a bitch to show back up in his overpriced bass boat. Hey, listen to this and I quote--unwires, unplugs, and unwinds to recharge his electrical dynamic energy. The son of a bitch won’t even take his cellphone out with him. Sat there for an hour waiting for one little tidbit of info. And he was pissed off I didn’t wait until he got back to his office.”
This was too good to be true. Manna from Heaven.
Recharge his batteries? Shit.
“Sorry, man,” Sammy said. “Listen, I got to go. I didn’t want to tell you that over the phone. I couldn’t risk it.”
“Yeah…Thanks, man.”
“Just giving you a heads up. Look, I called the State Attorney this morning. I did tell him about the two people were both from Winston County.”
“What’s he say?” Rusty looked over at Sammy. Rusty tried to act interested. But he knew he was going to have to save his own ass. Not some State Attorney who was trying to do the right thing.
“It didn’t interest him very much.”
Rusty looked back down at the ground.
“But I told him you didn’t do it.”
“Thanks for the character reference. But it’s not him running the case.”
“But he is in charge of the state. I told him you didn’t do it and I advised him to keep investigating the case.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he would review everything Madison County came up with.”
Rusty knew that meant nothing.
“Hey, look, Rusty, you’re not going to like what I’m about to say.”
“Go ahead and say it.”
“You should have stayed with Perry. He knows how to get you off.”
“And Waters doesn’t?”
“Waters is untested in these waters. Pardon the pun. But Perry knows how to play this game and win at it.”
“Yeah, Sammy. For himself. Drag this thing out for two years and cost me my whole net worth.”
“But you wouldn’t go to jail.”
“Don’t bet against me, Sammy. I’m not going to jail. One way or another.”
Sammy paused, like he was about to ask him what he meant by one way or another, but instead he just said, “No, Rusty. I would never bet against a Clay.”
With that, Sammy got up and left. Rusty kept staring at the ground. He heard Sammy’s car start up and then move away across the dirt drive. He heard Sammy and Ray banter back and forth, but couldn’t really make out any distinct words.
Only then did Rusty look up. That’s when he saw all the boats going up and down the river. The noise, the humming of the outboards, had been going the whole while. He just hadn’t noticed it.
Rusty heard Ray step up on the front porch, off to the side and then clomp over and sit where Sammy had been.
Rusty motioned out at the river. “Let me guess. The catfish have gone on the bed?”
“Yeah. The race is on. And it’s been a circus here. Three reporters been by today.”
“Sorry. Listen, I got a job for you.”
“Another one? I’m just now getting these fifty-five gallon barrel drums under control. And Tina Wilson called up wants us to redo her kitchen.”
“Well, Tina’s going to have to wait if she wants us.” Rusty tried not to think about being in jail for the rest of his life. Just sitting there it actually dawned on him: An innocent person could go to jail for something he didn’t do.
“When it rains, it pours,” Ray said.
“You got that right, Ray. Look, I just bought a 450 Mercedes, blown engine. I need you to have it towed from the college president’s house right away. I want you to take the engine out. The gasket is blown and the valves are bent. But here’s the plan. Take the engine apart. Sell the parts on eBay. Then drop that short block Chevy you got rebuilt into it. Give me a price for it all. Engine and instillation.”
“Done deal. I can get Tyler Joe uptown to have him make arrangements to haul that car down here. He owes me one.”
“Where is it?”
“The college president mansion on Morrison Avenue uptown in Dolopia.”
“I know where that is. Who’d you buy it from?”
“The president of the college.”
“You met him?” Ray asked, disbelieving.
“Yeah.”
“How’d you meet him?”
“Walked up to the front door and knocked.”
“Let me get this straight, Rusty Clay. You decided you wanted to talk to the damned President of Dolopia College. You go to the front door of that big mansion. Knock on it. They let you in. Then the president himself comes over and y’all start talking cars and he takes you out and sells you his 450 Mercedes with a blown engine?”
“That’s about it.”
“You can do the damnedest thangs, Rusty. If that’d been me, they’da called Homeland Security as soon as I stepped up on the porch. But you, they let you in, you start rubbing elbows with the president of the college. That’s just like the field goal you kicked against the Claramina Lions. You just one lucky son of a bitch.”
“I’m not lucky enough. I just got word from Sammy. And this is secret information. That DA is going to try to have them revoke my bail in the morning.”
Ray was silent for a moment and then asked, “What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call Waters. He wanted to see me anyhow. Then I’m going to Gloria’s and have me a cheeseburger. I’m about to starve.”
Chapter 26
When Rusty got into sight of Gloria’s Café, he almost near turned around right there in the channel. All he could think of was his father’s saying: It was so crowded you couldn’t fly over the place in an airplane.
And the sight of three sheriff’s patrol cars parked on the other side of the café didn’t do anything to invite Rusty on it. He found his natural instincts and headed on toward the mess.
Grabbling boat
s were tied up two and three deep, one to another. Rusty taxied in. He spotted his personal slip. Against all odds, it was empty. Maybe this was a good sign. He cruised in, tied up, and made his way down the slip toward the fueling dock.
Old man Clanton, who ran the bait shop for Gloria, had three outboard tanks lined up on the dock. He had oil bottles upside down draining in two of them and was gassing up the third.
A line of people filed in to the bait shop as a line of people filed out. They had an assortment of usual stuff--potato chips, beer, ice. But what was strange was that most every one of them had bought a newspaper.
Rusty made his way over to Clifford Clanton, maneuvering around grabblers all the way. If anybody else got on the dock, it was going to sink the pilings into the Elk. A lot of them wore this season’s T-shirts and the catfish caps. Gloria was cleaning up this year.
When Rusty got up near old man Clanton, he saw one of the newspapers in the seat of the ladder back chair that Clifford sat in most of the time when nothing was happening at the bait shop. This was not one of those times.
Rusty looked down at the paper. He took the whole top half in at one glance. The Dolopia Democrat. The headline in very bold lettering--Clay Arrested, Released on Bond. And there was a picture of his mug shot, taking up a chunk of that top half page.
Rusty grabbed it and took a closer look. Old man Clanton was satisfied that he had filled one tank up and moved the nozzle over, dripping gasoline between the two. He adjusted the greasy bill of his Alabama Crimson Tide cap and looked up, “Hey, Rusty.”
“Hey, Cliff. What’s with all the newspapers?”
“It’s that new rule they got.”
“What new rule?”
“To qualify their catfish in the contest, the grabbling has to be video taped to prove the grabble is unassisted and then they have to hold a current copy of a periodical in the shot to prove the date.”
“I understand proving an unassisted grabble, but just bringing the catfish in would prove it was current.”
“Ledbetter is putting up the prize money, I reckon he can dictate the rules. I reckon he don’t want nobody raising a pet catfish and then bringing it in like it was grabbled wild.”
The Redneck Detective Agency (The Redneck Detective Agency Mystery Series Book 1) Page 11