by Bill Crider
“Hey, Sheriff,” he said. “Too bad we don’t have enough for you, or I’d ask you to stay. Might be another beer in the fridge, though. How about it, Jamey?”
“Nope,” Hamilton said, flicking ashes onto the dry grass beside the chair, not seeming to care if he caused a fire. “We just had the two.”
Rhodes suspected he was lying, but he didn’t care. His drink of choice was Dr Pepper.
“You come to tell me you caught the son of a bitch that killed my brother?” Crawford said. He turned the steaks over and closed the top of the grill. “Five more minutes and those’ll be just right. Well, Sheriff? How about it?”
“I might know who did it,” Rhodes said.
Crawford waved the fork. “You got a name? You tell me the name, and you won’t have to worry about making an arrest. I’ll take care of the son of a bitch for you.”
Rhodes wanted to ask if Crawford planned to gut the killer with the meat fork, but he refrained.
“I can’t tell you yet. What I want to talk about is that whiskey you and Terry were making.”
Crawford grinned. “Now, come on, Sheriff, you know better than that. I already told you it was Terry who was making the whiskey. I’m the one tried to get him to stop, remember? Even the land’s in Terry’s name. You ask my lawyer, and he’ll tell you the same.”
Rhodes was sure of that. He said, “Let’s say I believe you. I guess if Terry was making the whiskey, Jamey wasn’t cutting you in on any of the profits he made from selling it out of his barbershop.”
Hamilton ground out his cigarette in the ashtray, set his beer can down on the table, and stood up.
“Are you accusing me, Sheriff?” he said.
“That wasn’t an accusation. Just a statement. I have a witness.”
Rhodes knew that nothing Michal had told him could be considered evidence. He’d just wanted to see how Hamilton would react.
“Probably that old bat that has the antiques next door to me,” Hamilton said. “She never has liked me. Anyway, it’s her word against mine. You won’t find any whiskey in my shop. Maybe you’ve already looked. That’d be an illegal search, and I’ll have my lawyer file on you in a New York minute.”
Rhodes had often wondered why a New York minute was supposed to be any shorter than a Clearview minute, or a Philadelphia minute. Or any other minute at all, for that matter.He didn’t think this was the time for a philosophical discussion of the topic, however.
“I haven’t been in your shop. Michal Schafer will vouch for that.”
Hamilton sat back down in the green chair. “It’s a good thing you didn’t go in. You gotta have a warrant for that. I know my rights.”
According to the records, Hamilton had never been incarcerated, but he already sounded like a jailhouse lawyer to Rhodes, who was now convinced that Hamilton had been selling whiskey. Not much, maybe, but certainly enough to get him jailed if he’d been caught at it.
Crawford opened the grill and smoke rolled out.
“Looks like these steaks are ready. Time for you to be on your way, Sheriff. Jamey and I’ll be going inside to eat.” He turned off the propane supply, and the flames in the grill died. “Like I said, we’d invite you to stay, but there’s no more beer and just the two steaks.”
He walked over to Rhodes and waved the two-pronged fork under his nose. A small piece of overcooked steak adhered to one prong.
“You hear what I’m saying, Sheriff? Don’t make me have to stick a fork in you to prove you’re done.”
Rhodes was tired of listening to Crawford, and Hamilton, too, for that matter. And he didn’t like being threatened. He grabbed the fork and jerked it out of Crawford’s hand. The sudden movement made both his shoulder and chest twinge, but he didn’t mind.
“You know what you need?” Rhodes said as Crawford stared at him openmouthed. “You need a chef hat. One with some kind of funny saying on it. Something like ‘Kiss My Grits.’ What do you think?”
“You took my fork,” Crawford said.
Rhodes looked at the fork. “Sure enough. You weren’t threatening me with it, were you? Because if you were, I’d have to arrest you.”
Crawford started to say something, but Rhodes put up his empty hand to stop him.
“I know what you’re going to say. You’re going to say ‘I’ll call my lawyer.’ But you can save your breath. I’m not going to arrest you. I’m not even going to keep your fork.”
As he said that, he threw the fork at the dry ground, tines-first. The ground was so hard that the fork didn’t penetrate it. It hit and bounced about six inches straight up before falling flat. Rhodes thought the hard ground might even have bent the tines. If that happened, Crawford would probably want to sue him.
Crawford picked up the fork and wiped it on the front of his apron. Hamilton sat where he was, not saying a word.
“You’re the sheriff,” Crawford said to Rhodes. “You can come here and throw my fork on the ground, and there’s nothing I can do about it. Jamey, though, he owns this place, and he can ask you to leave. What about it, Jamey?”
“You want to leave, Sheriff?” Hamilton said. He didn’t sound happy about having to say it. “I mean, if you’re through causing trouble and all.”
Rhodes was through. He’d found out what he wanted to know. Hamilton was guilty of selling whiskey, and Crawford was guilty of making it. They hadn’t admitted it, and Rhodes might not be able to prove it about either of them, but he was convinced. It wasn’t that their crime was so terrible, and it wasn’t that they shouldn’t pay for breaking the law. It was the fact that they felt like they were putting something over on him that bothered him most. He knew that wasn’t a good thing, but he couldn’t help it.
“I’ll be leaving now,” he said. “You two enjoy those steaks. They don’t serve meals like that in the prison units. They don’t have beer, either, and they don’t allow smoking. You wouldn’t like it there very much.”
“Yeah,” Crawford said. “That’s why we’re not going.”
“You be careful on your way to town,” Hamilton said. “And don’t hurry back.”
Rhodes left them there, both men laughing at their cleverness.
Chapter 29
AFTER A HEARTY DINNER OF VEGETARIAN LASAGNA, RHODES went out to play with the dogs in the backyard for a while. Even though it was well after dark, the heat hung on. Neither he nor the dogs could work up much enthusiasm, so after a couple of minutes, Rhodes made sure that Speedo’s water dish was filled with clean water and then sat on the back steps.
While Yancey chased Speedo halfheartedly around the yard, Rhodes sat on the back steps and thought about the murder of Terry Crawford and the disappearance of Rapper and Nellie.
No matter how hard he tried, Rhodes couldn’t make all the facts fit any scenario he could devise. It was like looking at a jigsaw puzzle with all the pieces laid out on the table but not finding any two that fit neatly together. Oh, you could jam one of the tabs into the place where it looked as if it belonged, but it was clear that it really didn’t go there.
Why would Rapper kill Kergan? Rhodes had thought he knew the answer to that question, but it had turned out that he was wrong.
Why would Rapper kill Terry Crawford? That was something that needed considerably more thought. The most likely answer was that Terry was competition for Rapper, who had taken his usual direct route to getting rid of anyone who got in his way. If that was the case, however, Rapper certainly shouldn’t have killed Kergan, who could have put him in touch with the people who’d been buying from the Crawfords.
A couple of other things were wrong, too, but Rhodes couldn’t quite wrap his mind around them. He knew they were in there somewhere, slipping around just out of reach of his consciousness. He caught hints of them, but then they’d slip away from him.
He heard the telephone ring inside the house, but he didn’t get up. If it was important, Ivy would come and get him. High in the sky, an airplane’s light flashed in the darkness, moving from wes
t to east. Rhodes wondered where the plane had been and where it was going. What were the people on it thinking about? Not about two murders in Blacklin County, he was sure.
Ivy came outside and sat beside him on the steps.
“That was Mikey Burns on the phone,” she said. “What have you done to make him mad?”
“Nothing. I just got into the middle of an argument he was having with Mel Muller. I thought they liked each other, but I was wrong.”
“About the department’s Web site?”
“Yes. Is that what he called about?”
“That was one thing. He said he was holding you responsible for that Web site, and that if it wasn’t on line by next week, you’d be sorry.”
“Why would he say that to you?”
“Because I told him you weren’t here and that I’d take a message.”
“I am here, though.”
Ivy patted his knee. “I thought you needed a break.”
“You were right about that. Thanks. What was the other thing?”
“He said there’d been two murders in his precinct and that you hadn’t done a thing about either one of them. He wants you to come in for a meeting tomorrow and make a report to him.”
“I don’t have to report to the commissioners.”
“I think he knows that. He was just trying to throw his weight around a little.”
“He should throw it at me, not you.”
“I didn’t mind,” Ivy said. “He needed to let off some steam, and he did. I’m sure he feels much better now.”
“I’d feel better if I had Rapper and Nellie in jail,” Rhodes said.
“You’ll catch them sooner or later.”
“Right,” Rhodes said.
When Rhodes went to bed that night, he thought that maybe everything would fall into place.
When he woke up the next morning, it hadn’t happened. He was still as puzzled by everything as he’d been when he went to bed. His head didn’t hurt, however, and the knot was smaller than it had been. The bruise on his chest was still colorful, but his shoulder was less sore. All in all, he had to believe things were getting better.
He went out to feed Speedo and check the water dish. It was another hot day, already in the eighties, and the sun was barely over the horizon. It’s a dry heat, though, Rhodes told himself. That was supposed to be good. And so far, not a single person had asked if it was hot enough for him. That was good, too. It was only a matter of time until someone did ask, but he was glad of the temporary relief.
As he drove to the jail, something he’d thought of while sitting on the steps came back to mind, the idea that Rapper had killed Terry to get rid of the competition.
Rhodes believed that Rapper was fully capable of killing a man just to get rid of him, but the method didn’t seem to be one Rapper would choose. A .25-caliber pistol? Rapper would prefer a .45, if not a twelve-gauge shotgun. Or a big Dodge pickup. Rhodes hadn’t managed a good look at Nellie’s pistol, but he was pretty sure it had been bigger than a .25. Nellie wasn’t like Rapper, but he’d prefer a weapon with some stopping power.
That thought led him back to the Schwartzes. Max had told Rhodes he’d been wrong about Terry’s having insulted Jackee. Had he just been trying to mislead Rhodes, or had he been telling the truth? Rhodes had believed him at the time, but that was when he’d thought Rapper was the killer.
There was no getting around the fact that Rapper had killed Kergan, however. Max couldn’t be tied to that. Neither could Mikey Burns, though Rhodes wouldn’t have minded pinning it on him. The black pickup, however, belonged to Rapper.
Rhodes arrived at the jail. He wondered what the bad news would be this morning. It didn’t take him long to find out.
“Sonny Streeter’s wife’s left him again,” Hack said before the door had closed behind Rhodes.
“We don’t do divorce work,” Rhodes said.
“Sonny don’t want a divorce,” Lawton said.
“What does he want, then?”
“He wants his keys back,” Hack said. “Miz Streeter took ’em all with her. Took the car keys, house keys, and even the keys to his store.”
Streeter owned a little video-rental store in a strip mall near the Wal-Mart. His wife, Sandy, worked there with him. They had frequent arguments about the operation of the store, the family finances, and other things. Sometimes the arguments got so loud that the other store owners would complain. Now and then, one of the Streeters would call to report the other for some petty thing. Though they never got violent, they separated every three or four months. They always got back together, and then things started all over again.
“Sonny says he’s going to file on her for theft,” Lawton said.
“I told him those keys were prob‘ly community property,” Hack said. “He doesn’t own but half of ’em.”
“We’ll see what we can do about getting his half of them back,” Rhodes said. “You tell Ruth to find Sandy and see if she can talk her into giving Sonny the keys.”
“They’ll be back together by tomorrow,” Hack said. “They always are.”
“We’ll see,” Rhodes said. “Is there any good news?”
“Could be. That Benton fella called. He was all excited, wants to talk to you.”
Somehow, Benton hadn’t struck Rhodes as being a morning person. He looked more like someone who preferred to sleep until around noon.
“When did he call?”
“’Bout a half hour ago. Here’s his number.”
Hack handed Rhodes a piece of notepaper with a telephone number scrawled on it in pencil. Hack didn’t like pens.
Rhodes went to his desk and made the call. Benton answered on the first ring.
“You’re up early,” Rhodes said.
“I haven’t been to bed, but that’s not the point. I have a surprise for you.”
“A good one, I hope.”
“A good one. Write this down.” Benton read off a Web site URL. “We were up most of the night getting it done.”
“You and Mel?”
“That’s right. She’s great. She even knows math.”
Yes, sir, Rhodes thought. Dr. Phil wouldn’t stand a chance against me.
“I don’t see how you got it done so fast.”
“Mel had already started, so with my expertise and hers, we were able to do it all in one night. It was a long night, but we had fun putting it together. You’re going to love it.”
Rhodes hoped Mikey Burns loved it, but he wasn’t going to tell Burns yet.
“Thanks,” Rhodes said. “I know you did a great job, and I haven’t even seen it.”
“Yet another example of my helping out county law enforcement. Mel and I still have some tweaking to do, so don’t worry if there are a few little problems. We’ll take care of them. And don’t bother to call me back after you’ve seen it. I’m going to bed.”
Rhodes thanked him again and hung up. Then he read off the URL to Hack, who typed it into his computer.
“Would you look at that,” Hack said.
The home page had a picture of the jail and a picture of Rhodes, along with contact information. There were other pages and other pictures, including one of Hack, who couldn’t believe he was on the Internet.
“Where’d they get that?” he said. “I didn’t know they had that.”
Rhodes suspected that Mel had been in touch with Jennifer Loam, who’d taken some photos at the jail months ago.
“It’s a good likeness,” Lawton said. “Too bad they didn’t get one of me to go on there. I guess they didn’t dare. They didn’t want all the women coming around, chattin’ me up and interferin’ with our business.”
“That’s bound to be it,” Hack said. “Either that or they didn’t want to scare anybody.”
Lawton didn’t respond to the gibe. Hack looked disappointed, but he soon turned back to the computer to look at the Web site.
“I didn’t think they’d come up with anything this nice,” he said after awhile.
Rhodes was pleased, too. He’d seen the Web sites of a couple of other departments, and he thought this one was as good as those and maybe even better. He didn’t see any problems that needed tweaking. It’s about time, he thought, that I got some good news.
The telephone rang, and Hack answered. He listened for a few seconds and then said to Rhodes, “It’s for you. Max Schwartz.”
Rhodes picked up his phone and said hello.
“I need you to go with me to see that Ellendorf guy,” Schwartz said. “I just talked to Benton, and he told me to get off the phone and let him sleep.”
“He’s been busy all night. I thought you needed his help when you met Ellendorf.”
“I wanted him to explain how the saucer repeller works. He made it sound complicated and logical.”
“Ellendorf won’t care about that, as long as it works. I guarantee it’ll work. The less we have to tell him about it, the better.”
“If you say so. I guess I could tell him how to turn it off and on, but I don’t know where he lives.”
“I’ll pick you up and go with you. Where are you?”
“At my store.”
“It’s still early,” Rhodes said. “I’ll be there in an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting.”
Rhodes spent the next hour working on his reports. He was just about caught up by the time he left to get Schwartz, who was waiting for him behind the counter. He was drinking coffee from a big green mug. No music was playing this time, and Rhodes missed it.
A small mahogany box sat on the counter in front of Schwartz. The box had two black knurled knobs on the front and three small red lightbulbs on top. The bulbs pulsed on and off in sequence. One lighted up, then two, then all three. After that, all went off. Then the first lighted up and went off. The second did the same, followed by the third, before the first sequence repeated. A distinct hum sounded as each bulb lighted on, and when all three were on at once, the hums made a pleasing chord.
“If that doesn’t repel flying saucers,” Rhodes said, “I don’t know what will.”