by Bill Crider
“Yeah, him,” Hack said. “Anyway, he went in the store with his mama, and she wanted to get his picture made with Santy Claus.”
Rhodes recalled reading in the local paper that Hubbard had for the first time in the store’s history offered youngsters the opportunity to have their photos made sitting in the lap of “that jolly old elf from the North Pole, Santa Claus himself, photos made with the same attention to quality that has made Hubbard’s a byword in Clearview for over 100 years.” Rhodes had thought that maybe Hubbard was overstating things, since the photo was nothing more than a shot with a Polaroid camera, and Hubbard’s was charging $5.00 a shot.
“I always wanted to have me a picture made with Santy Claus,” Lawton said, “except they didn’t do that when I was a kid.”
“Yeah,” Hack said. “Back then we was lucky to even get anything for Christmas, except maybe an orange or a hick’ry nut. Sometimes two hick’ry nuts if we’d been real good.”
“I got a little toy truck once, Hack,” Lawton said. “It was a little bitty one, but I remember it was red. That was the best thing I ever got. I played with it all day, and then my brother beat me up and took it.”
“About the Terrell kid,” Rhodes said.
“I bet he gets all kind of presents,” Lawton said. “He wouldn’t even pay attention to a little bitty old truck like that one I got. I bet he wouldn’t have the least idea what to do with a hick’ry nut.”
“Kids today get ever’ kind of thing,” Hack said. “Those whatchamacallems—Transformers. And those Masters of the Universe.”
“I remember I was glad just to get a piece of gum,” Lawton said. “I guess I got about one piece a year. I remember there was a nail in the wall by my bed, and ever’ night I’d stick my gum on the head of that nail so I could chew it the next day. It had to last a long time.”
“I believe,” Hack said. “Why, at my house—”
“The Terrell kid,” Rhodes said again. He almost hated to break in. When Hack and Lawton got started in a competition telling of how much they’d been deprived in their childhoods, the stories were always funny, if not always true.
“Oh, yeah, him,” Hack said. “He assaulted Santy Claus.”
“Assaulted?”
“Yeah, but Miz Grady—Ruth—didn’t arrest him,” Lawton said.
“Wasn’t any use, him bein’ a juvenile and all,” Hack said. “Besides, Santy deserved it.”
“Deserved to be assaulted?” Rhodes found that a little hard to believe.
“He hit the kid,” Hack said. “Least that’s what his mama says. If it’s true, I don’t know as I blame Santy too much. Kid probably needed it.”
“Why?”
“He kicked Santy in the shins, the way Santy tells Hack seemed to think that was all that needed to be said.
Rhodes just waited.
“He didn’t get the car he wanted last year,” Lawton said.
“Toy car?” Rhodes asked.
“Trans-Am,” Hack said. “Red Trans-Am. Hell, the kid’s nine years old, nearly. He needs a Trans-Am.”
“So he kicked the Hubbard Santa?”
“Right. Just walked right up there and whaled him in the shins. Santy jumped up and grabbed him. Don’t much blame him. Whole day of havin’ to sit there and listen to those little farts tell him about what they want for Christmas. I don’t think he hit him, though.”
“But the mother does?”
“Not really. She was just afraid her kid would get tossed in the slammer. Wanted to stir up the water.”
“Slammer?” Rhodes said.
“That’s what Ruth said she called it. Folks watch too many TV shows,” Hack said.
“But everything’s all right now?”
“Yeah. Lots of little kids standin’ around cryin’ and takin’ on for a while, but Ruth got things straight. They was all afraid Santy was goin’ to slide down the chimbly this year and kick their butts. Do ‘em a world of good, you ask me.” Hack was not overly fond of children at the best of times. Christmas always brought out the worst in him.
“Maybe I should check by there,” Rhodes said
“I wouldn’t,” Lawton said. “It’s all right now. Those kids see the Sheriff come in, they might all break and run for the hills.”
“You may be right,” Rhodes said.
“I bet I am,” Lawton said. “Now if you wanted to buy a present . . .”
“Don’t start that,” Rhodes said.
Hack and Lawton said nothing. They simply looked at him accusingly.
Rhodes looked away first. “What about Phil Swan?” he asked.
“He’s all right,” Hack said. “Doc said to leave him here. He’ll have a nice bruise, be a little sore, but that’s all.”
Rhodes was already feeling more than a little sore himself. “I’ll go up and talk to him, then,” he said. “Maybe he can clear up some things.”
“He ain’t real friendly,” Lawton said. Lawton liked to talk to the prisoners, and usually they liked him. He wasn’t sympathetic, exactly, but he was always willing to listen to their stories.
Rhodes went up to the cellblock. Swan was sitting on his bunk, staring through the bars of his door.
“Looks like your lady friend ran out on you,” Rhodes said. “Tried to run over you, for that matter.”
Swan continued to stare through the bars as if Rhodes weren’t there. He flexed his hands once, as if he was thinking about taking hold of the steel and bending it to allow himself room to step through. Looking at the size of his hands, Rhodes wouldn’t have bet against him.
“She tried to run you down, you know,” Rhodes said.
“It was an accident,” Swan said. “She wouldn’t do that.”
“Maybe,” Rhodes said. “Maybe not.”
Swan just snorted, like a horse pawing the ground.
“You want to talk about it?” Rhodes asked.
“Nothing to talk about,” Swan said. “You might as well let me go.”
“Let you go?” Rhodes asked. “You kidding me?”
“You can’t hold me without a charge,” Swan said. “I’ll be out of here before you can say Jack Spratt.”
“Don’t count on it,” Rhodes said. “I’m charging you with assault.” He tried to keep from grinning as he thought of the Terrell boy.
“You came on my property,” Swan said.
“No,” Rhodes said. “It’s Dr. Martin’s property. Or, if you pressed the definitions, it could be called Betsy Higgins’s property, since the rent is in her name. But not yours.”
“Same difference,” Swan said.
“The judge won’t see it that way,” Rhodes said.
“I guess you know the judge.” Swan turned away and lay on the bunk. It was much too small for him, and his feet hung off the end. He didn’t seem to mind.
“The judge might want to know why you were so ready to fight,” Rhodes said. “He might wonder if you were trying to keep me from finding out something.”
“Maybe,” Swan said. “Like I said, you know the judge.”
“So will you, before long,” Rhodes said. “You might be getting to know a lawyer, too, and after that some of the residents of our better prisons. Maybe you read about them in Newsweek.”
“I don’t read much,” Swan said.
“Did you see the little old lady out walking when you were at Martin’s house?” Rhodes asked.
“What old lady?” Swan asked. “I haven’t been anywhere.”
Rhodes had hoped to catch Swan off guard, but it hadn’t worked. “Your pickup was seen,” he said. “The one with the bullriding sign in the back window.”
“Lots of them signs around,” Swan said.
“Probably not in trucks like yours,” Rhodes told him. “And the lady may be able to identify you. You could help yourself out by telling me why you were over there. Maybe we can get the charge reduced to manslaughter.”
“Charge?” Swan sat up. “What charge?”
“Capital murder,” Rhodes sai
d. “You killed Mrs. Martin during the commission of a burglary. That makes you eligible for a lethal injection. I hear it’s not a bad way to go, though.”
Swan got off the bunk, walked over to the bars, and wrapped his thick fingers around them. “I didn’t kill anybody,” he said.
“Maybe not. But if there’s a crowbar in that truck of yours, we’ll find it. And if there’s bloodstains on it, you’re probably a goner.”
“Now, wait a minute,” Swan said. “You’re gettin’ a little ahead of yourself here. Maybe I’ve got a crowbar, but that don’t mean I killed anybody with it.”
“Then you don’t have a thing to worry about,” Rhodes said. “Maybe it was your girlfriend that did it. You might want to save that point in case you have to plea bargain with the D.A.”
“Now hold on. You can’t even prove I was there.”
“I’ve got that lady who saw your truck, though.”
Swan’s hands gripped the bars so tightly that his knuckles were getting white. “I wasn’t there,” he said.
“You told me that already,” Rhodes said. “Maybe you’re even telling the truth. But I think I’ve got enough to go to the Grand Jury with right now. I’ve got a motive, I’ve got a witness, I’ve got you assaulting an officer. I figure the Grand Jury will indict you without a second thought. After that it’s anybody’s guess. You’re going to be mighty unhappy for a long time, no matter what. Unless you just like jail a lot.”
“Listen, Sheriff, I—”
“You don’t have to tell me a thing,” Rhodes said. He went on to tell Swan his rights. Apparently Swan was not so fond of jail that he wanted to stay any longer than he had to. Rhodes had painted the picture as black as possible in the hopes of breaking Swan down and finding out more than he knew already. It looked as if Swan was just dumb enough or scared enough to cooperate.
“I want to tell you,” Swan said, “me and Betsy didn’t kill anybody.”
“But you were there, weren’t you?” Rhodes said.
Swan relaxed his hold on the bars and went back to sit on the bunk. His head sagged, and he didn’t look up. “Yeah, we were there. I guess that old lady saw us, all right. But we didn’t kill anybody.”
“Didn’t steal anything, either, I guess.”
“No, we didn’t steal anything. We didn’t want anything those people had.”
“All right,” Rhodes said. “Let’s say I believe you so far. How did Mrs. Martin get dead if you didn’t do it?”
Swan looked up at him through the bars. “I don’t know,” he said. “She was already dead when we got there.”
Chapter 10
Rhodes shook his head. “I’m sorry you said that. I thought you could do better.”
“It’s the truth,” Swan said.”Listen, I’ve been in the pen before. I don’t want to go back there if I don’t have to, and I’m not goin’ for somethin’ I didn’t do.”
Rhodes didn’t know that Swan had been in prison before, but he would have found out soon enough. The fact that he had a record would make him look even worse to the Grand Jury. He mentioned the fact to Swan.
“Jesus, I know that. But this time I’m tellin’ the truth.”
“Well,” Rhodes said, “try it on me for size, and we’ll see how it fits.”
“OK,” Swan said. He launched into his story.
It seemed that Betsy Higgins had a small savings account at one of the local banks. She hadn’t wanted to touch the money, but Swan was out of work and so was she. Swan hoped to get on soon at the local cable plant, but for a while there wouldn’t be any income, at least not enough to pay the rent. So Betsy had finally agreed to dip into the savings. They had gotten the money, but then there had been another argument. Betsy had wanted to wait one more day. Swan wanted to pay the money before Martin came back and tried to take the TV set again, or tried to get them evicted, which he had threatened to do.
After arguing most of the afternoon, they agreed to go out for supper and spend a little of the money on themselves, then to take the rent by Martin’s house. When they got there it was already getting dark, but the garage light was on. Betsy had stayed in the truck while Swan took the money to the door. He knocked loudly several times, but no one came. Then he noticed that the door was slightly ajar. He gave it a push.
“Thought you might go in and see what you could see, huh?” Rhodes said.
“Not exactly,” Swan said. “I thought maybe someone was there and just wouldn’t come. Some folks don’t like to come to the door, you know?”
Rhodes didn’t blame them, not if someone like Swan was at the door. But someone like that wouldn’t leave the door ajar, either. Rhodes let the point pass, and Swan went on.
“I walked into the kitchen—you’ve seen that kitchen? I never saw so many gadgets in my life. I bet there’s a fortune tied up in that kitchen.”
“I’m not interested in the kitchen,” Rhodes said.
“Yeah, I guess not. Well, I just went in a couple of steps and then I saw her, lyin’ on the floor. I stood there a minute, just lookin’. I was spooked. I never saw anybody dead like that before.”
Rhodes put a hand up to cover the beginnings of a smile. Like a lot of big, tough-looking men, Swan was as much bluster as action. Oh, he would try to wring somebody’s pipsqueak neck, but his toughness didn’t go much further than that. He was beginning to believe that Swan was telling the truth.
“So anyway, I looked, and then I got out of there. I was scared. I got in the truck and we took off.”
“You were about to take off again,” Rhodes said.
Swan stared at him. “Huh?”
“When I came to the house,” Rhodes said.
“Oh,” Swan said. “Yeah. Well, we figured maybe somebody had found the body by then, and we knew you were already on our case. We just decided to head on out.”
Rhodes thought about it. In a way it all made sense, especially if Swan already had a record. He wouldn’t want to hang around and get picked up. Ex-convicts didn’t always get the benefit of the doubt.
“What about Betsy Higgins?” Rhodes asked.
“I don’t know,” Swan said. “I didn’t think she’d just take off and leave me like that. Hell, she’s got my truck.”
“You want to press charges?”
For a minute, Swan hesitated, and Rhodes thought he might actually be considering it. Then he said, “Naw, I guess not. She was just scared, I guess.”
Rhodes left it at that and went back down to the office. The more he thought about it, the more he was convinced that Swan wasn’t lying. Still, he would’ve liked to get his hands on the pickup and see if there happened to be a crowbar in it. And if there was, he’d like to send it to a good lab for examination.
“What do you think?” Hack asked when Rhodes came through the door.
“I don’t know,” Rhodes said. “I’m not sure he’s guilty of a thing, except maybe running away when he should have stood his ground.”
“If he ain’t, who is?”
“Well,” Rhodes said, “that’s what we have to find out.”
“Not me,” Hack said. “I just answer the phone. You’re the lawman around here.”
Rhodes was about to offer a mild argument when Ruth Grady came in. She had a white paper bag in one hand. “Hi, everybody,” she said.
“What’s in the bag?” Rhodes asked.
“Doughnuts. You know that little shop that just opened up over on Peach Street?”
Rhodes had driven by the place, a little prefab wooden building that hadn’t even been painted. “I’ve seen it,” he said.
“They have great doughnuts.” Ruth was not fat, but she was not thin, either. She enjoyed doughnuts, cake, and candy. “I brought these for Hack.”
Hack had a sweet tooth, too. At first he had not at all liked the idea of a woman deputy, but Ruth had won him over with a combination of her abilities, her cheerful attitude, and a series of bribes in the form of cakes and other goodies. “That was nice of you to think of m
e,” he said. He looked at Rhodes. “It’s more than I can say of some folks.”
Ruth handed Hack the bag. “Look at the pretty tree,” she said, noticing it for the first time.
Hack had opened the bag and was peering inside. “Might be some presents under it later,” he said. He reached into the bag and brought out a jelly-filled doughnut. “My favorite kind. Raspberry.” He bit into it, and jelly squirted out one side and got on his fingers.
“They’re napkins inside the sack,” Ruth said.
Hack put the doughnut down on his desk and reached back into the bag, bringing out a napkin. He wiped his fingers, picked up the doughnut, and wiped the spot on his desk.
“What kind of presents?” Ruth asked.
“All kinds,” Hack said. “I ain’t sure.”
“I think it’s a good idea,” Ruth said. “Should we draw names?”
Rhodes felt as if things were getting out of hand in. some way. “Draw names?”
“So we can get a gift for the one whose name we draw,” Ruth said “It might be fun.”
Hack wiped his mouth with the napkin. The doughnut had disappeared. “I think we did that in school when I was a kid,” he said. “That was a while ago, I’ll tell you.”
Rhodes didn’t know why he wasn’t in the Christmas spirit. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the murder of Mrs. Martin and the disappearance of her husband. Or maybe it was the fact that he didn’t have a present for Ivy Daniel. He didn’t want to try to figure it out.
“I’m not sure we’ll have time for that,” he said.
“Sure we will,” Hack said. “We don’t have any crime on Christmas Day, ‘cept maybe a drunk or two. We got plenty of time.”
“Good,” Ruth said. “I’ll write all the names on slips of paper and we can draw.”
“How about the Martins’ neighbors?” Rhodes asked, trying to change the subject.
“Oh,” Ruth said. “Sure. I need to talk to you about that.”
“Don’t mind me,” Hack said. “I’m just an old man who’s good for eatin’ doughnuts. You can talk in front of me.”
Rhodes had to laugh. “Old man, my foot. You could probably outrun either one of us. And you know you want to hear every word of this.”