Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 01 - Courting Murder

by Bill Hopkins

  “Baggy.” Purvis still stared upwards. “Baggy clothing hides a lot.”

  “That’s what my wife says,” Frizz said. “Women wear baggy clothing to hide something.”

  “And the cap part?” Purvis said. “Judge, are you sure it was a John Deere cap?”

  Rosswell said, “I didn’t see the woman at the street fair. Purvis, you sound like a defense lawyer, not a cop.”

  “I sound like a defense lawyer because I want to get rid of the defense lawyer’s arguments before the prosecutor takes the case to court.”

  “Then,” Frizz said, “get on with it. I’m still considering arresting you and Johnny Dan.”

  “It’s impossible at a distance to say that was a woman,” Purvis said. “The Judge couldn’t have identified this person’s sex from her hair, which was covered by a cap, nor by the shape of her body, which was clothed by baggy items, nor by her eyes covered by sunglasses.”

  Rosswell said, “In other words, if I’d seen her from a distance, I’d have identified the person by face alone.”

  “You’re quick.” Purvis smiled at Rosswell, then said, “And you are correct about the face. At least the part of the face that was visible.”

  “And,” Rosswell said, caught up in the spirit of the question-and-answer session, “the killer could’ve made herself look like a man or vice-versa.”

  Purvis said, “Unless you’re a man who has a beard or mustache, if you cover yourself, all but your face, most people can’t identify your sex during a period of stress.”

  Frizz said, “I learned all that crap, too. But Rosswell knows the woman. If he saw her from a distance, then he could still identify her as Candy.”

  “Johnny Dan is who I’m talking about.” Purvis began pacing. All he needed was a chalkboard behind him and he’d fit the professorial image one hundred percent. “He was definitely present at the murders.”

  From the look on Frizz’s face, Rosswell thought the sheriff would shoot Purvis.

  “That does it,” Frizz said. “Purvis, you son of a bitch, you’re under arrest.”

  Purvis stuck both hands out and Frizz slapped on the cuffs.

  Rosswell said to Purvis, “Why in the hell didn’t you say something the first time you came to the sheriff’s station? You should’ve identified yourself.”

  Frizz said to Rosswell, “Let me handle this. I’ve got him under arrest for withholding evidence. Purvis, let’s go to your cell.”

  Purvis spoke in a low voice to Frizz. “I can deliver the murderer to you.”

  Frizz moaned. “But Johnny Dan didn’t see if the killer was a man or a woman? That’s a crock of shit. I’m going to arrest Johnny Dan, too. He’s impeding this investigation.”

  Purvis said, “Hidden in the woods, keeping out of sight, Johnny Dan was too far away to hear or see anything distinct. He thinks the murderer was a woman.”

  Frizz said, “You and Johnny Dan are going to be in separate cells far apart. You won’t be able to cook your story.”

  Rosswell said, “Couldn’t Johnny Dan tell if the killer was wearing a woman’s clothes?”

  “A woman’s clothes?” Purvis scowled at Rosswell. “Go out in the streets and take a look around. When was the last time you saw a woman wearing a dress or a skirt?”

  “Crap,” Rosswell said. “Of course. Not a lot of dresses or skirts around these days. I guess I need to pay more attention to women.”

  Frizz said, “That still doesn’t explain why Johnny Dan didn’t tell us about the murder.”

  Purvis said, “I can help you with the investigation or I can sit in jail.” He shot a glance at the handcuffs. “Sheriff, your call.”

  Rosswell said, “I need to get back to Tina.”

  Frizz said, “Not yet.”

  Purvis said, “Johnny Dan knew one of the victims. The male victim. It was Eddie Joe Deckard.”

  “EJD,” Rosswell said. “That explains the initials on the ring.” In other words, Nathaniel lied to Ollie and Rosswell about what the initials meant. Why the lie?

  Purvis said, “Eddie Joe Deckard was one of the biggest dope dealers in your county.”

  “I know Eddie Joe Deckard.” Frizz removed his hat, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then stuck the hat back on. “I’ve never had one whiff of a suspicion on that boy. How could he be the biggest dope dealer around here?”

  “Simple,” Purvis said. “He didn’t do business in this county. As far as we could tell, Eddie Joe wasn’t a user. All he did was deal. And he was making a healthy profit. He was the linchpin between Birmingham, Memphis, St. Louis, and Kansas City.”

  “And yet no one bothered to tell me?” Frizz said. “That’s a crock of day-old shit.”

  “The ring?” Rosswell prompted Purvis.

  Purvis said, “Johnny Dan made a buy from Eddie Joe. Johnny Dan claimed he didn’t have the full amount of money for the dope. Eddie Joe gave him credit but wanted some kind of collateral. Johnny Dan gave Eddie Joe his ring.”

  “The initials?” Rosswell again prompted Purvis. “How did Eddie Joe’s initials show up on Johnny Dan’s ring?”

  “Johnny Dan told me that Eddie Joe refused to return the ring. Somewhere along the line, Eddie Joe had his initials engraved inside the band since he decided to keep the ring.”

  Again, Rosswell thought, that story didn’t fit with Nathaniel Dahlbert’s story, which was that a schismatic group of Masons added the first letters of Even Just Die to the Latin motto. And those letters happened to be the same as the initials of Eddie Joe Deckard? This possible coincidence seemed especially ludicrous.

  The gaggle of Harley riders who’d circled the station a couple of times did a complete tour again. Maybe they were growing suspicious. Purvis talking to the sheriff. And for a long time. Rosswell was happy that the hog riders couldn’t see the handcuffs on the big guy.

  “Let me get this right,” Rosswell said, staring straight at Purvis. “One of the biggest dope pushers in the country lived in Bollinger County, but nobody in Missouri knew. Only y’all in Alabama knew.”

  Purvis hid an ace or two up his sleeve. The problem, however, was that Rosswell had no idea what the game was. And he doubted that Frizz knew either. “And the tale gets better. Johnny Dan gave Eddie Joe his Masonic ring as collateral on a dope deal? And Eddie Joe decided to have his initials engraved inside the ring and keep it?” Rosswell toyed with the idea of trying to imitate Ollie’s squeak, but gave up on the idea.

  Purvis said, “Judge, do you think that only when a criminal’s rational plans get screwed up that charges are brought? These dopers do a lot more stupid things than you ever dreamed of.”

  Rosswell said, “And Johnny Dan followed Eddie Joe out to the park?”

  “Yes,” said Purvis. “We asked him to keep an eye on Eddie Joe.”

  “And,” Rosswell said, “Johnny Dan almost saw who murdered Eddie Joe and the woman?”

  “Correct.” Purvis stroked Scooby’s head. The dog licked Purvis’s hand. “Johnny Dan can’t swear to it in court, but he’s almost certain that the killer was a woman. That’s why we didn’t want Johnny Dan to talk to you, Frizz. We didn’t have a sure footing yet.”

  The whole story sounded like a load of crap. Rosswell had heard loads of crap before. Yes, there’s plenty of jurisdictional squabbling when it comes to law enforcement agencies, but Purvis’s story reeked of something made up during a late night of drinking. From his squinted eyes and downturned mouth, Frizz didn’t seem to be buying the whole load either.

  Frizz said, “Now would be a good time to bring Johnny Dan in for questioning.”

  Purvis nodded to Frizz. “You can have Johnny Dan. That’s why I’m here. You should have full access to him all you want. As far as we’re concerned, he can tell you anything.”

  Rosswell said, “And blow his cover?”

  Purvis said, “Undercover operatives don’t last forever. Eddie Joe is gone, and we consider that a major accomplishment. Time for us to move on to different targets.”


  Frizz said, “You’re not worried that the other bad guys in the dope ring won’t try to kill Johnny Dan?”

  Purvis stood silent.

  “Answer me.”

  Purvis said, “I can’t guarantee anyone’s safety. Johnny Dan knew that when we signed him up.”

  “Frizz,” Rosswell said, “I need to head back to Tina’s room. I’ve got to make sure she’s being guarded correctly.”

  “Yeah,” Frizz said to Rosswell while staring at Purvis who hadn’t satisfactorily answered Frizz’s really good question. Frizz seemed distracted. “Purvis is headed for jail.”

  A half hour later, Frizz knocked on Tina’s door. Rosswell said, “Come in.” Tina was sleeping. Housekeeping had visited earlier after Junior patted down the man on duty and checked his cart for hidden weapons. Priscilla came in after housekeeping left. She made Rosswell turn his back while she bathed Tina and fitted her with fresh pajamas, if those rags you get in hospitals could be called any kind of sleepwear.

  Frizz said, “Are you by yourself?”

  “Yeah. I relieved the female deputy. Hope that’s okay.”

  “Sure. Listen, I’ve been asking around about Eddie Joe. I can’t find out who he’d been hanging around with lately. We’re still searching for the bodies, but the volunteers have dwindled down to two or three.”

  Rosswell said, “Have you been to the deadfall yet?”

  “Nope. Going there tomorrow. The river’s still too high but it’s going down.”

  “Sounds dangerous.”

  “There’s something funny about Eddie Joe.”

  “Funny?”

  “I couldn’t find out where he lived. The closest I came was an address that’s six months old. Somebody else stays there now, but it’s like Eddie Joe disappeared after he moved.”

  “And now he’s dead?”

  “Seems so, if Purvis knows what he’s talking about.” Frizz rubbed his nose and sneezed. “Something’s floating around in the air. Anyway, Purvis talked me into helping. I didn’t throw him in jail. He’s out trying to track down info on Eddie Joe.”

  “Maybe Eddie Joe had moved off somewhere and came back for a visit.”

  “Anything’s possible,” Frizz said. “He owned a house in Marble Hill. He sold it and left no forwarding address. That’s not unusual. I’ve talked to a couple of people who’ve seen him around in the last few months, but no one knows where he stays.”

  “Where did he live in town?”

  Frizz told Rosswell the address.

  Rosswell gasped. Loudly. Detectives shouldn’t do that since it removes the element of surprise.

  “That,” Rosswell said, “is where Nathaniel Dahlbert lives.”

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Thursday afternoon

  “Who the hell is Nathaniel Dahlbert?”

  Rosswell gave Frizz what he knew about the book salesman.

  Frizz said, “Do you think he’s mixed up in this in any way? Sounds like Nathaniel knows his way around a computer. It wouldn’t be hard for him to set up dope deals on the Internet.”

  “I don’t know who is doing what.”

  Tina moaned. Frizz moved over to her bed, watching her sleep. “She’ll be fine.”

  Rosswell reached under the covers and touched Tina’s hand. She moved. The bedding crinkled, signaling it was clean. He tucked the crisp-smelling blanket around her neck. This being a hospital, the temperature in the room hovered around 5 degrees below comfortable.

  “Frizz, there are lot of reasons that I hope she’s fine. More than fine.” Secretly, he’d been praying that Tina lived long enough to attend his funeral, not the other way around. A world without Tina was unimaginable. “Her reaction to the anesthesia is beginning to worry me. She should’ve been out of the hospital by now.”

  “Tell you what.” Frizz practically fell into the chair next to Tina’s bed. “Go talk to this Nathaniel guy again, knowing what you know now.”

  “I thought you wanted me off the case.”

  “I’m so tired I don’t know if I’ve found a rope or lost a horse. You’ve talked to Nathaniel. He’ll be more likely to talk to you than me. He’ll tell you more than he would me.”

  “I’m not leaving Tina.”

  “You go and I’ll stay.” When Rosswell didn’t consent immediately, Frizz continued, “I’ll stay behind a locked door and not move from this chair until you get back. I’ll threaten Junior with a slow, painful death if he bothers us.”

  Rosswell could see that Frizz was indeed exhausted. If the sheriff wasn’t useless now, he soon would be. Maybe a nap was in order. If the worst happened and the crazed murderer made another run at Tina, Junior would probably shoot the bad guy—or was it a bad girl? If Junior failed, Frizz could stop the killer, even if he had been napping. A nap? Close your eyes in any hospital and listen to the noise. How could a nap be possible with all the clanking and talking going on? Rosswell’s mother had always said that a hospital was no place for a sick person. He wondered if an orderly would wake Tina for a sleeping pill.

  “All right.” Rosswell gave a half-hearted salute. “I’ll talk to Nathaniel.”

  Frizz listed the specifics of what he wanted to know and then Rosswell walked out the door of Tina’s room. After he heard the click of the lock, he left the hospital.

  When Nathaniel opened his door, he said, “Judge, good to see you again.”

  Yes, you’re about as happy to see me again as I was when I found out I had leukemia.

  “Come in.”

  If Nathaniel was trying to hide anything, he was putting on a happy face. A secretive person doesn’t ask an investigator—thanks to Frizz’s request, Rosswell considered himself a detective now—to come into his house with such warmth if there’s something to hide. Right? Maybe Nathaniel hadn’t heard that Rosswell was a detective now.

  After the formalities, Rosswell asked, “When did you buy this house?”

  “Tea?” The silver tea service, shiny and clean, sat ready for service. “It’s time for my afternoon tea.”

  “Could you answer the question?”

  Any warmth Nathaniel had shown disappeared in an instant. “Is it true that in law school they teach you never to ask a question in court unless you already know the answer?”

  The rich fragrance of Golden Steed Eyebrow flooded the room when Nathaniel poured his cup. China’s Fujian Province is the only place in the world where that tea grows. With the dollar in the toilet, the beverage had to be the most expensive imported drink in America.

  Rosswell said, “I don’t recall anyone in law school saying specifically that you should know the answer before you ask the question, but it’s certainly a good idea.”

  He’d never heard that taught in law school. Maybe some professor said it when he was trying to catch a nap after a big lunch.

  “Then you already know that I bought it six months ago?”

  And what secrets, Nathaniel, do you have? That’s the question Rosswell wanted to ask but didn’t.

  “Yes, I already knew that.” As with his discussion with Father Mike about confession, Rosswell again felt as if he were in the fifth grade being interrogated by an irritated teacher slapping a chalkboard eraser on her palm. The memory of chalk dust made him sneeze. “Who did you buy it from?”

  “You already know the answer to that, also.” Nathaniel leaned back in his recliner. “Eddie Joe Deckard.”

  Rosswell had heard the cliché about blood boiling all his life. Now with the fire of anger sizzling his insides, he realized how the phrase started.

  Keep it steady. Don’t lose this guy. You need info from him.

  “Nathaniel, why didn’t you mention him when we were here the first time?”

  “You didn’t ask me about him.”

  “Sure, I did.”

  “No, you did not. Ollie asked me if I knew a Mason around here with the initials EJD.”

  “And you told us that the letters EJD weren’t the initials of a person. You gave us an unadulterat
ed bullshit story about those letters standing for a motto.”

  Again, Rosswell sneezed. It wasn’t the memory of chalk. It was dust on the books. Why hadn’t it bothered him the first time he was there?

  “I certainly did, but it wasn’t, as you say, unadulterated bullshit.” Nathaniel scratched his ear. “What is ‘unadulterated bullshit’?”

  “It’s something Ollie says.”

  Nathaniel scanned the books in his living room. Perhaps he searched for a dictionary or thesaurus. “How can something as nasty as bullshit be considered unadulterated?” He’d been cleaning house, stirring up dust. A spray can of Endust and a rag gave mute testimony to Rosswell’s conclusion.

  “If you knew Ollie better, you wouldn’t ask that question.” Rosswell found it hard to talk with clenched teeth. “You especially wouldn’t want to ask Ollie that question. The answer might last an hour.”

  Nathaniel pushed the recliner down and stood. “Would it make you less curious if I gave you permission to talk to my real estate agent?” He opened a desk drawer and rifled through it. “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  “What would I learn from your real estate agent that you couldn’t tell me?”

  “What is it that you want to know?”

  “First of all, I want to know where Eddie Joe Deckard went after he sold you his house.”

  “I wouldn’t have the slightest idea.” Nathaniel stopped leafing through the papers in the drawer. “Here it is.”

  “Who is your real estate agent?” Nathaniel read from a business card: “Nadine Dumbarton.”

  “I know a Nadine but her last name isn’t Dumbarton. Never heard of Nadine Dumbarton. Is she from around here?”

  “A native if I’m not mistaken. She’s the head of one of the largest real estate agencies in the county. Blessing Land Company.”