by Bill Hopkins
Rosswell said, “And Frizz stole money to cover the mortgage? I don’t believe that.”
“The money is still there. He hasn’t spent it.”
“Or he hasn’t spent this stash. How long does it take for him to collect that much money? Maybe he’s already used stolen money from an earlier stash to pay the bank.”
“I don’t know,” Ollie said. “I also don’t know if he stole the money. All I know is what we saw. And I also know I’m staying out of it. If you want to have a chat with Frizz about his finances, you go right ahead.”
A few of the fairgoers walking by inspected Rosswell and Ollie up and down. Rosswell suspected that after noting how dirty they were, maybe the nice folks had mistaken them for gravediggers.
At this point, there was absolutely no evidence indicating that Frizz had done anything wrong. Rosswell said, “The money is locked inside headquarters inside the sheriff’s station. Frizz didn’t steal the money. He’s got it in the evidence locker in his office.”
“So you say.”
They stood there in silence, taking in the Hogfest people enjoying the day. The noise of the fairgoers had lowered to the level of a small riot.
“Ollie, you don’t have one single drop of evidence to show that Frizz stole that money.”
“If his house doesn’t go on the auction block, then we’ll know the missed payments got made. We’ll also know where he got the money. He sure doesn’t have it anywhere else.”
Ollie’s statements rocketed to the stratosphere of fantasy. Rosswell asked himself how Ollie could’ve known the state of Frizz’s finances. Frizz could’ve left his checkbook lying around in headquarters, but even that wouldn’t give a full measure of Frizz’s financial health. Ollie had merely winged a guess. That, Rosswell concluded, was the answer.
“You don’t know how much money Frizz has,” Rosswell said. “Your speculation is rampant.”
“Yes, it is. It’s also correct.”
“And you’re basing it on the gossip you picked up at Merc’s.”
“You and I have an agreement. I tell you everything and you don’t ask where I got the info.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“Yes, you did.”
Nadine said, “Y’all don’t know the whole story.”
Ollie and Rosswell both whirled around, confronting Nadine. Neither of them uttered a word. She beat them to the punch.
Nadine said, “Before you ask, I heard everything. Y’all would make lousy spies.”
Rosswell said, “And you know the whole story?”
“Whole and entire.”
Ollie said, “Spill it.”
“I’m not telling you two jokers anything. You’d have it spread all over Bollinger County before sunset.”
Rosswell spoke to Nadine without obvious begging or pleading. Or tried to. “The three of us could have a lot to lose if we screw around with Frizz and his personal problems.” Labeling the situation delicate would’ve been a gross understatement.
“Stealing,” Ollie said, “is not a personal issue. It’s a crime.” He squeaked. “Judge.”
“Yeah,” said Nadine. “What we’ve done or haven’t done won’t give Frizz a free get-out-of-jail card.”
Although Rosswell doubted that Ollie or Nadine would bring up Frizz’s possible crimes in public, it was obvious that they were both fishing for something.
There were too many people on the square. It wouldn’t do for the trio to be discussing their criminal leanings while standing in the middle of a street fair. Someone might hear them.
Rosswell said, “Let’s get inside.” Once back in the sheriff’s station, he faced the two and flat-out asked them, “What do you want?”
Ollie said, “I’d prefer never to see the inside of a jail cell the rest of my life.”
Nadine said, “I’ve never seen the inside of a cell and I don’t want to. Ever.”
“Then what’s the deal?” Rosswell asked.
Nadine said, “Ollie, you go first.”
Ollie said, “I’ve kept my mouth shut up until now. You go first.” Nadine drew in a deep breath, wiped some of the crud from her face, and said, “Frizz and I are lovers.”
In order to keep his knees from crumbling and tossing him to the floor, Rosswell leaned against the counter. Nadine was right. He’d have made a lousy spy. Frizz was no angel, and Rosswell had never thought the sheriff was a candidate for sainthood. In fact, if it got out that he and Nadine were screwing their brains out, no one in the county would’ve cared come election time. Maybe fifty or sixty years ago it would’ve made a difference, but adultery was too common these days. Common evil loses its shock value.
Rosswell said, “Save me one illusion.”
Nadine said, “Which one?”
“Frizz didn’t know about your dope dealing.” Rosswell held his breath, waiting for the answer.
“He did not.”
Nadine was lying. Frizz had called the three of them two drunks and a doper. The sheriff knew about her doping and probably her dealing. Frizz wanted to protect his honey.
Ollie said, “I could’ve told you that. Your garden was one of the best kept secrets around. I never heard a whiff of anything connecting you with dope.”
Nadine said, “The news media likes to portray dope dealers as stupid and violent. Most of the time, that’s true. With me, I’m smart enough to keep my business dealings low key.”
Rosswell said, “Business dealings? I thought you said the dope was for medicinal uses. Or recreational uses.”
Nadine said, “You need a business to get your product into the market stream.”
I don’t trust you, Nadine. You’re too damned glib.
Rosswell mulled over Frizz’s anger at being left in the dark by Purvis and Johnny Dan. Frizz’s rage may’ve been partially fueled by the sheriff’s realization at how easy it was to keep a dope dealer secret. If the sheriff could keep Nadine’s dope operation secret, then Purvis and Johnny Dan could’ve kept Eddie Joe’s doping secret.
“And now,” Rosswell said, “you want me to assure you that you’ll never be prosecuted for dope dealing the rest of your life? No deal.”
“No,” she said. “I want you to forget what I’ve done up to now. If you catch me doing something in the future, then I’ll face the music.”
Rosswell said, “I’m not giving you any kind of guarantee.”
Ollie said, “We already said we never saw anything.” He touched their written statements. “I didn’t put a single word in mine about pot.”
“Nor I,” Rosswell said.
“That’s all I ask,” Nadine said.
Rosswell turned to Ollie. “What do you want?”
“You got me into this mess by showing me a weird ring with a Latin inscription. That’s my own stupidity. I don’t want anything.”
“You’re not stupid,” Rosswell said. “But you’re both lying.”
Nadine said, “Why would I lie to you?”
Ollie said, “Judge, I haven’t lied to you.”
“One last thing.” Nadine’s eyes shined. Rosswell knew she was on the verge of crying. After all this and she was just now crying? “I’ve got a bad feeling. Someone I know should’ve been calling me but hasn’t.”
Ollie said, “Happens to the best of us.”
Rosswell made the slice across the throat gesture again. “Nadine saved your life. Quit with the crap giving.”
Ollie said to Nadine, “One of your friends dumped you. What’s that got to do with anything?”
“No one dumped me,” Nadine said. “My friend is gone. An unexplained absence.”
Rosswell said, “What’s his name?”
Nadine said. “Do you have photos of the bodies?”
“You think your friend was one of the murder victims?” Rosswell retrieved his camera from Vicky. “They’re in here. They’re not pretty.”
“I just need to check,” Nadine said.
“Repulsive,” Ollie said. “You don’t want to loo
k at them.”
Nadine rubbed her face with her hands. Dirt and ashes sifted to the floor. “Was she wearing a dress?”
“She?” Rosswell said.
“The female corpse. Was she wearing a dress?”
Ollie said, “You know who it is, don’t you?”
Rosswell said, “She was wearing a yellow sundress and red high heels.” Nadine whispered, “Babe.”
Rosswell said, “Babe?”
“Yes,” said Nadine. “We had a business relationship but we were also friends. Her close friends called her Babe.”
Ollie said, “What do you mean everyone called her Babe? I’ve never heard of anyone around here named Babe.”
“I didn’t say everyone called her Babe,” Nadine said. “Only her intimate friends knew that nickname. Let me see the picture.”
Rosswell clicked to a shot of the corpse and showed it to Nadine. “What did everyone else call her?”
Nadine took a deep breath. “It’s her.” She hitched a sob, deep in her chest. Ollie said, “What’s her name?”
“Ambrosia Forcade.”
Chapter Thirty
Saturday afternoon, continued
Sitting alone in headquarters, Rosswell fumed in both sadness and disgust at Nadine and Ollie.
When Nadine had identified Ambrosia, Rosswell said, “Ollie told me that according to her secretary, Ambrosia’s in North Carolina at some kind of legal seminar.”
“No, she’s not,” Nadine said. “Her body’s either stuck on the deadfall or she got swept away to God knows where.” She shuddered.
“Thanks, Nadine. I’ll tell Frizz.” They’d both been playing Rosswell, angling for some kind of promise that he couldn’t give them. “Now leave, the both of you,” he’d ordered them, but not in a stern voice.
Ollie handed Rosswell his statement and a huge report he’d finished earlier. “After I clean up, I’m heading to Merc’s. Happy reading.”
Roswell said, “I thought you wanted to go to the emergency room.”
“I’m checking into a motel,” Nadine said. “I haven’t been this dirty since I was a kid.”
Roswell said, “Oh, you’re feeling a lot better?”
Ollie said, “We’re leaving.”
“Great,” Rosswell said, “as long as you both keep out of trouble.”
Nadine left first. Rosswell caught Ollie by the sleeve and pulled him back into the station.
“Ollie, I don’t believe for one minute that Nadine is clear of these murders. We still don’t know how many murderers there were. I can see a scenario where Candy and Nadine were the killers.”
“Nadine seemed awfully upset about Ambrosia.”
“Seemed. Nadine is in sales. She’s got to be a good actress. There could’ve been a falling out among local dope pushers. It’s been known to happen.”
“I’ll keep snooping.”
After Ollie left, Rosswell rustled up a pot of coffee made as strong as he could get it. He poured a cup, adding sugar to the steaming liquid until it became syrupy. After lightly salting it, he gathered up both statements and Ollie’s report, sucked in a few mouthfuls of the sainted brew, and read the statements through. Twice. He didn’t want any weird stuff in there. Neither statement contained anything about Nadine’s dope pushing. Rosswell hadn’t included it either. The words on the crinkly yellow paper showed him that at least all three had agreed on lying by omission.
Rosswell peeked in on Candy. She’d turned on her side, her mouth open slightly, a gentle snoring noise emanating from her nose. Exhaustion had overtaken her. Rip-roaring around in the woods, shooting at the trio, then escaping, left her beyond tired.
Although she’d tried killing three people that day, her face appeared almost angelic. Hell of an actress.
Around two o’clock, Purvis and Frizz bounded through the door.
Rosswell asked, “Did you find anything on the deadfall?”
“It was the male,” Frizz said. He was soaked from his hat to his boots. “From what Johnny Dan and Purvis tell me, I’m betting it’s Eddie Joe Deckard. Neal’s doing the autopsy.”
Purvis, also sopping wet from head to toe, said, “We’ll know for sure after the autopsy.”
Yes, that’s generally the result of an autopsy. After an autopsy, you know more than before you started it.
Rosswell said, “I know who the female was.”
Purvis and Frizz crowded near to Rosswell, dripping nasty river water on his head.
Frizz said, “Judge, I’m real close to throwing your ass in jail for all the trouble you’ve caused me. Stop stalling and tell me.”
Rosswell told them everything that Nadine had said. Then he added, “Now think about it. There’s no way to tell if she’s telling the truth until we find the body. Ambrosia could be hiding out in Mexico for all we know.”
“We,” said Frizz. “You keep saying ‘we’ like you’re included. You’re not included.”
Rosswell eyed Purvis but spoke to Frizz. “Sheriff, I need to ask you something important.”
Taking the hint, Purvis said, “I’m leaving.” His shoes squished when he left the station.
Through the front window of the sheriff’s station, Rosswell and Frizz watched Purvis, Scooby peeking out of his shirt, climb on to the motorcycle.
Rosswell asked, “How did he keep that little bitty dog from drowning when he was prowling around the deadfall?”
“That’s not important.”
“That’s not what I wanted to ask.”
Frizz said, “What do you want?”
“Two things. First, check out these statements. If you don’t like them, I’ll get Nadine and Ollie back in here to write them to your satisfaction.”
“They’re gone?” Frizz viewed the office as if he had just then noticed that Rosswell was the only one around the dispatcher’s desk.
“They outlived their usefulness.”
“Starting to piss you off?”
“You could say that.”
Frizz perused both statements, undoubtedly searching for any mention by Nadine of her dope growing operation. When he finished his study, he said, “Y’all were behind the door at the top of the steps the whole time?” Knowing Frizz, Rosswell would bet that he had the statements memorized.
“Yep.” A lie.
“You didn’t go down in the basement?”
“Nope.” Another lie. “We stayed at the top of the steps the whole
time.” A third lie.
“Even though someone was shooting at you, you stayed behind the door at the top of the steps?”
“That’s what I said.”
“What kept the bullets from going through the door?”
“It was a fire door. It was thick enough to stop bullets. It’s in the statement.”
“You’re alive even though somebody with an AK-47 was blasting you, with only a door standing between you and the shooter?”
“I’m here to testify that’s what happened. It was a heavy metal door. Bulletproof.”
Frizz stapled each of the statements and placed them in a folder.
“You’re a lousy liar.” He wrote on the tab of the file folder DUMBARTON NADINE.
“What’re you saying?”
“An investigator from the fire marshal’s office is headed to Nadine’s right now. There’s no way that the fire destroyed all the evidence of her dope growing.”
“Dope growing?” Rosswell tried sounding astounded. However, as Rosswell thought, Frizz wasn’t fooled. Why Nadine had tried to convince Rosswell that Frizz didn’t know about her doping was a puzzle. Except that maybe it was as simple as her wanting to protect him. He wanted to protect her. The feeling was mutual, which isn’t at all unusual between lovers.
“Can it,” Frizz said. “The fire marshal will see what’s left of a hydroponic garden, not to mention the heavy-duty doors and windows which were bulletproof. He’s going to want to know why her house was equipped with something like that.”
Busted.
“Nadine saved three lives. Mine, hers, and Ollie’s. I don’t give a crap if she was cooking meth. If it hadn’t been for her, then we all three would be dead.”
“I’ve noticed something about you.” Frizz pulled off his wet boots and removed his socks. “People with killing on their minds follow you around. If you hadn’t gone out there, nobody would’ve been shooting at her.”
“And she’d still have her dope garden.”
Frizz pulled the wet shirt out of his pants and took off his sodden hat. “What was the other thing you needed to know?”
“Do you believe Nadine about the second body? The female?”
“You’ve lied to me but you’ll get no lies from me on that one. I don’t know. It’s odd that no one’s been reported missing around here, yet not so odd. The woman could’ve been from California or New York for all I know. There are a million missing people in this country. We may never know who she is.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I’ll check out Ambrosia’s house and all her acquaintances. Even if a hundred percent of them say they don’t know anything, that doesn’t mean that she’s the body.”
“Ollie and I could do some more snooping.”
“Rosswell, do me a favor.”
“What’s that?”
“Go home. Rest up. Your wound hasn’t healed, what with you running all over the county stirring up shit.”
“We’ve had this conversation before and, while I appreciate your concern, I’ve got lots to do.”
“I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Frizz winked at Rosswell. “I wouldn’t know what to do with all the peace and quiet if you weren’t around.”
“Then that’s what I’ll do. Go see Tina and then straight home to bed.”
Once more, Rosswell hated himself for lying to the sheriff.
Frizz said, “As I said earlier, you’re a lousy liar.”
“Are you revoking my deputy’s commission?”
Frizz only laughed.
Rosswell headed for the door. “Check on Candy. She snores a lot.”
Chapter Thirty-one