by Bill Crider
“You might as well tell me about it,” Rhodes said.
Sherman gave an involuntary twitch, and his head turned slowly back to Rhodes. “I don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”
Rhodes said he’d try not to.
“I had a talk with his cousin about him,” Sherman said.
“Mrs. Harris?”
“Yeah, her. She seemed nice enough. I thought maybe she’d help me out.”
“With what?”
“With Thorpe. He was making threats to me. He knew I’d turned him in. It couldn’t have been anybody else. He knew the others didn’t do it.”
“Did you call Mrs. Harris, or did you go by to see her?”
“I went by. I didn’t kill her, though. I haven’t been to see her in a good while.”
“You liked her, didn’t you.”
“Yeah, but she liked the Colonel, and he liked her. I couldn’t try to cut him out.”
People tended to think that nobody over fifty or sixty could have a serious romance. Rhodes had long ago learned better. Certain passions might not have burned as hotly, but that didn’t mean there was no fire at all. There was, in fact, often more than enough fire to bring about murder.
“You’re sure you haven’t seen her lately?” Rhodes said.
“That’s what I told you.”
“All right. I have one other question. Who should I talk to about Thorpe’s liking for the ladies?”
“You could try Miz Gomez. She lives over there.”
Sherman pointed to a trailer with a neat yard and a small flower bed.
“Is she home?”
“I’d say so. Her husband works at the lumberyard, and she cleans houses. But she usually doesn’t go out until afternoon.”
“I’ll have a talk with her, then. If you think of anything else I might need to know, give me a call.”
Sherman said he would and got out a cigarette. He lit it, and Rhodes walked over to the Gomez trailer.
His knock on the door was answered by a short woman with black eyes and black hair streaked with gray.
“Mrs. Gomez?” Rhodes said.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
Rhodes explained that he was asking questions about Leo Thorpe and that he hoped she might be able to help him.
“I did not like him,” she said with only a trace of an accent.
“Why not?”
“He was not a nice man. He made, I think, bad remarks. I am not a young woman, and even if I were, he should not say such things to me.”
Rhodes asked her to be a little more specific.
“He was very flattering. He told me how nice I looked, how pretty my hair was. How I was graceful when I walked.”
In other words, Rhodes thought, nothing insulting. Flattering, in fact, as Mrs. Gomez had said. It might work with some women, but not her.
“Did he ever make advances?” Rhodes said.
“Oh, no. He was most careful. It may be that he knew Carlos, my husband, would not like it if he became insulting. Carlos is a quiet man, but he is big. Strong.”
Rhodes thanked her for her help and went back to his car. Sherman was still sitting in his lawn chair. He didn’t wave good-bye when Rhodes drove away.
Jennifer Loam was waiting for Rhodes when he arrived at the jail.
“I told her you were in Canada,” Hack said. “For some reason or other she didn’t believe me.”
Hack sounded out of sorts, and Rhodes wondered if he’d actually expected the reporter to believe him. For that matter, Rhodes wondered if Hack had really told her that.
“We need to talk, Sheriff,” she said.
“Sure. I have a report to write about what happened with Leo Thorpe last night, and I’ll tell you about it while I work.”
“This isn’t about Thorpe.”
Rhodes was a little surprised. He’d thought she was there to find out about the events of the previous evening. “It’s not about Thorpe?”
“No, and I don’t want to talk about it here.”
No wonder Hack had been upset, Rhodes thought. He looked over at the dispatcher, who was looking at his computer monitor as if he had no idea that a conversation was going on behind his back. Rhodes knew he was listening, though.
“Why not here?” Rhodes said.
“Never mind that. Are you going to talk to me or not?”
Rhodes knew whatever she had to say must be important. Not to mention too sensitive to mention in front of Hack. That was unusual because Jennifer knew Hack, and she knew that he could be trusted not to pass on anything he heard in the office.
“Well?” she said.
“All right. Where do you want to go?”
“I’ll meet you in the courthouse.”
Rhodes said he’d be there, and she walked out. Hack said, “Must be a mighty big secret. You gonna tell me what it is?”
“I’ll think about it.”
Rhodes could hear Hack muttering as he left the jail.
Jennifer was waiting at the door of Rhodes’s courthouse office when he got there. He unlocked the door, and they went inside. Rhodes went behind his desk and told Jennifer to have a seat. She did, but she didn’t relax. She sat on the edge of the chair and tapped the tip of one shoe on the floor. She didn’t get out her recorder or even a notebook.
“You must have uncovered something big,” Rhodes said. “Have you solved my case for me?”
“I’m not sure. I just know this is important.”
There was a long pause. The tapping continued, but more slowly than before.
“Are you going to tell me what it is?”
“I’m thinking it over.”
Rhodes thought about the report that he had to write. “If you’re not going to tell me, we’re wasting a lot of time.”
“I know. It’s just that I’m not sure if this is something I should tell you, even if it does have a bearing on your murder case.”
“It’s pretty simple. If it has a bearing, you should tell me.”
“I know that. I’m just having to work up to it. I’m usually more straightforward than this.”
Rhodes didn’t say anything in response. He’d just let her get to it in her own time. Or not.
Jennifer looked down at her foot. The toe stopped tapping, and she looked up at Rhodes. “It’s about Colonel Brant. Except that’s not his name.”
“Not his name? You mean he’s living under an alias?”
“No. I didn’t mean it that way. His name is Brant, all right, but he’s no colonel. He was in the army, but he wasn’t promoted but once. He got to be corporal, and that was as high as he went.”
Rhodes found it hard to believe. Everybody knew Brant was a colonel. “Are you sure about that?”
Jennifer nodded. “Of course I’m sure. I’d never say something like that if I weren’t.”
“How did you find out?”
“Doing my job.” Jennifer looked embarrassed, and Rhodes could have sworn that she blushed. He wasn’t used to seeing people blush. It seemed to have gone out of style. “It’s something I should have done a long time ago.”
She hadn’t been in Clearview for a long time, so Rhodes asked what she meant.
“I did a story on him, remember?”
Rhodes said that he did. “We talked about it with him.”
“Yes. I should have done some research at the time I wrote that story, but I made a rookie mistake.”
“You were a rookie,” Rhodes said, remembering that the story she’d done on Brant had been printed not long after she’d come to Clearview. “You were entitled.”
“I was no rookie. This might be my first paying job, but I was a reporter for the college paper at Sam Houston State. A good one.”
Rhodes nodded.
“The Houstonian,” she added in case Rhodes hadn’t heard of the paper. “We were taught all about the importance of research, but everybody told me, ‘Go interview Colonel Brant. He’s a veteran, and he has some good stories.’ So I did, and I didn’t eve
n think about checking his credentials.”
The toe started to tap again.
“You checked them recently, though.”
“Yesterday. I thought I should know something about the people involved in the murder, especially someone who’s caused a little trouble. I checked Brant’s military records and found out that he did serve in Korea, and he even did some of the things he says he did, but there’s no record that he ever held a higher rank than corporal.”
That made Brant a liar, if it was true, which of course made Rhodes wonder what else the self-styled colonel might have lied about.
“You can see why I didn’t want to talk about this in front of anyone, can’t you?” Jennifer said.
“I think so.”
She put a hand on her knee as if to stop the toe-tapping by applying pressure. It worked.
“Because if I’m wrong,” she said, “it would be terrible to start a rumor like that. Even if I’m right, I’m not sure anybody needs to know that Brant’s a fraud. He’s not really hurting anybody by exaggerating his accomplishments. Look at that man who was Elvis Presley’s manager.”
“Colonel Tom Parker,” Rhodes said.
“That’s him. He wasn’t even from this country. That didn’t stop him from calling himself a colonel, though, and nobody seemed to mind.”
She had a point, Rhodes supposed, but then Colonel Parker had never been mixed up in a murder. Not that Rhodes knew about, anyway.
“People have a right to know the truth,” he said.
“I know that, but Colonel Brant seems like such a nice man that I hate to hurt him.”
Rhodes thought that might be a commendable attitude in most people, but he wasn’t sure it was a virtue in a journalist who was supposed to be devoted to objectivity and truth. On the other hand, Brant’s impersonation might not qualify as news.
Rhodes stood up. “I appreciate your telling me about this. I’ll have a talk with Brant about it and see if there’s any connection with what happened to Mrs. Harris.”
Jennifer stood up as well. “I’m going with you.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to. I’m going anyway. I want to know why he lied. Maybe what he has to say will help me decide what to do.”
Rhodes could have prevented her, but he didn’t think Brant was dangerous. On the other hand, Brant might not be so willing to talk if a reporter was present. He started to tell Jennifer that, but he didn’t get the chance.
“I’m going,” she said, as if that settled it.
Rhodes supposed that it did.
Chapter 22
THE LAWN AT BRANT’S HOUSE WAS JUST AS NEAT AS THE ONE AT Helen Harris’s. The grass along the front sidewalk was trimmed so precisely that Brant might have used a ruler to check his work. The white paint on the wooden sections of the house looked as fresh as if it had been applied within the last month. For all Rhodes knew that might have been the case.
He parked the county car at the curb and waited until Jennifer pulled up behind him. They both got out and started up the walk, with Rhodes in the lead.
“You’d better let me do the talking,” Rhodes said.
“Gladly,” Jennifer said. “I’ll just be the demure girl reporter, sitting quietly with my hands folded in my lap.”
Rhodes grinned. “You’re going to have trouble acting the part.”
“I’ll do my best.”
Rhodes didn’t believe her for a second.
Brant answered the doorbell and seemed taken aback to see the sheriff and a reporter standing there. Rhodes didn’t blame him.
“This is a surprise,” Brant said. “I’ve behaved myself all day, so I hope you’re not here to arrest me.”
“No,” Rhodes said. “That’s not it. Can we go inside?”
Brant nodded and led them to his den, a paneled room right out of the 1970s, which was probably when the house had been built. There were bookshelves on one wall, but there were books on only one shelf. The others held what Rhodes thought must be paperweights, all neatly in line. He walked over and picked one up. It was made of bright red glass with floral designs embedded in it.
“Millefiori,” Brant said when Rhodes asked. “It means ‘a thousand flowers.’ It’s a very old glass-blowing technique. It’s been around since the Renaissance, although paperweights themselves are a relatively new invention. That one comes from England. I collect them.”
Rhodes said he could see that. “They must be expensive.”
“Some of them are. Now and then I get lucky and find one at a flea market that’s not too costly.”
Rhodes put the paperweight down. The shelf was entirely free of dust.
“You probably didn’t come here to talk about my collection.” Brant looked at Jennifer. “It would make a nice article for the paper, but I’d rather you not write about it. If the wrong person read about it, I might get robbed. Not that you wouldn’t track him down, Sheriff, but it would be inconvenient for both of us.”
“Yes,” Rhodes said. “It would.”
“Well, then. Have a seat.”
“Maybe we’d better just stand,” Rhodes said, looking at an old couch that appeared much too soft to suit him.
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not ominous,” Jennifer said. “We just want to ask you something about your background.”
So much for the demure girl reporter with folded hands, Rhodes thought.
Rhodes heard a dog bark outside. “Your dalmatian?”
“Yes. He’s been with me about ten years. A fine dog. He’s not really a full-blood dalmatian, but that’s all to the good. He’s not as sensitive as they are. You don’t want to know about my dog, though.”
“No,” Jennifer said. “It’s a little more serious than that.”
“Then maybe I’d better sit down, even if you don’t.” Brant moved to a platform rocker and dropped into it in a way that made Rhodes think about Gid Sherman’s condition, although Brant retained his military bearing.
“You know what the question is?” Jennifer said.
“Judging from your disapproving looks, I think I might.”
“You’re not a real colonel, are you?” Jennifer said.
Brant looked uncomfortable. “That depends on what you mean by real.”
“I’d hoped we wouldn’t get into definitions. They’re usually just a way of evading the subject.”
“Why don’t you just tell us straight out,” Rhodes said.
Brant slumped just a little. “That’s not as easy as you think.”
“Try it,” Rhodes said.
“I haven’t committed any crimes. I’ve never impersonated an officer, at least not when I was in the service. Not now, either, not really.”
He was still evading, but Rhodes thought he’d eventually get to the point.
Jennifer wasn’t quite so patient. “Yes, you really did. You let people think you held a rank you didn’t earn.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
Rhodes had heard that excuse so many times in his career that it was all he could do not to sigh.
Brant must have sensed. Rhodes’s skepticism. “I don’t mean that I’m not to blame. It all started a long time ago, not long after I first moved here. I came to work at the cotton mill, if you remember it.”
Rhodes did, but he was sure Jennifer didn’t. The mill was still there, though it no longer made cotton ducking and canvas. It had been closed for years, but it had recently reopened. Rhodes wasn’t sure exactly what went on there now, but he could remember that when he was a small child, the mill whistle could be heard all over town.
“I was the last manager before the place closed down,” Brant went on. “Some of the employees, most of them, thought I was a true autocrat, and they took to calling me colonel. The title sort of stuck, and then someone from the paper interviewed me one Veterans Day. I don’t remember who it was, even, but I do know he called me Colonel Brant. I should have correcte
d him, but it never occurred to me to do it. I never even thought about it. So when the article came out in the paper, there I was with a promotion I’d never earned and certainly never asked for.”
“You could have said something then,” Jennifer told him. “You could have written a letter to the paper or asked the reporter to print a correction.”
“I should have. I knew it then, and I know it now. I didn’t, though.”
He didn’t offer any excuses, and Rhodes thought that he’d probably liked the idea of being thought of as a colonel.
“You earned medals,” Jennifer said. “You got a Purple Heart.”
“I did, indeed. I still have the scar to prove I earned it honorably. I nearly died, in fact, and by the time I recovered, the war was over. I like to think I’d have become a colonel in reality if I hadn’t been wounded. I might have stayed in the service, too. As it was, I was discharged from the service at about the same time I was discharged from the hospital.”
Rhodes didn’t know what to think of the story. He supposed it was true, but he was beginning to wonder about Brant’s veracity.
“I never meant to deceive people,” Brant said. “I never meant to hurt anyone. It seemed harmless enough to let people use the title if they wanted to.”
That, at least, seemed true enough to Rhodes. Brant had never used the title himself. He’d just failed to discourage others from using it.
Jennifer seemed to have come to the same conclusion. “I’m not going to print anything in the paper about this. I just hope that the next time the editor calls you about an interview, you’ll refuse.”
“I will. I’ve caused enough trouble already. I don’t want to cause any more.”
Brant wasn’t talking about the trouble with Truck Gadney and Leo Thorpe, and Rhodes wondered about those two. Brant had goaded both of them into fights, and he’d come close to getting killed both times. Rhodes didn’t know much about psychology, but he wondered if Brant’s reasons for provoking the two men hadn’t come from something more than just a desire to avenge the murder of Mrs. Harris.
Or maybe the impulse was something left over from the days when Brant had been in charge of the mill. If he’d been a dictator, and Rhodes had no reason to doubt it, he’d have been in complete control. He could be one of those people who always had to be in control of events, and his provocation of Truck and Thorpe would have been his attempt to bring them to some kind of vigilante justice.