by Bill Crider
Barrett shook his head in disgust. “I don’t care about that anymore,” he said. “It doesn’t even matter.”
“He might try it again,” Rhodes said, “or someone else might find out how easy this place is to get into. Then you’d probably lose a lot more than just beer and a few packages of cigarettes.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Barrett said listlessly. He walked over to his counter to wait on a customer who had come in.
Rhodes put his empty bottle in a wooden case and went outside. He got in the county car and drove to Elmer Clinton’s house. The chickens were still in the yard, and the car was still parked in its usual spot under the chinaberry tree. Elmer was different, though. He was sitting in a metal lawn chair under the tree instead of inside.
Rhodes got out of his car. “Haven’t gone back to work, yet? They must have a liberal leave policy at the cable plant.”
Elmer hardly looked up. “Quit,” he said.
Rhodes walked over near him and leaned against the car. It was coated with dust and chicken droppings. Rhodes tried to avoid the latter. “You ever do any deer hunting, Elmer?”
Elmer still didn’t look up. “Some,” he said.
“I expect you have a .30-.30, then,” Rhodes said.
“Yeah, I got one in the house somewhere.” Elmer sat with his legs straight and his hands crossed loosely in his lap. He was so still that only his lips moved.
“Would you be surprised if I told you I thought you had Hod Barrett’s rifle in there?” Rhodes asked.
Elmer just sat.
“Why, Elmer?” Rhodes asked. He thought he knew, but he wanted Elmer to tell him.
Elmer looked up for the first time. His eyes were red and slightly unfocused. He didn’t seem to really be looking at Rhodes, or at anything, except possibly at something only he was able to see. “What you mean, Sheriff?” he finally said.
“I think you know, Elmer,” Rhodes told him.
“No. No, I don’t,” Elmer said, dropping his head again.
Rhodes kicked at a chicken that was pecking near his foot. “I’ll just have to tell you then,” he said. “I was asking why you killed Bill Tomkins and Mrs. Barrett, and I think you know why. But maybe you don’t. I think they talked too much, myself.”
Elmer stiffened, but he said nothing.
Rhodes waited a minute, then went on. “Somebody had to stop them, I guess. They were saying things about Jeanne.”
“A whore,” Elmer said, so softly that Rhodes almost didn’t hear. “Called her a whore, and she was a girl that wouldn’t do wrong for anything. Maybe before she married me, but not since. Never once. She was like an angel on earth.” He shook his head sadly. “Called her a whore.”
“And Bill Tomkins?” Rhodes prodded.
Elmer said nothing.
“He told me things,” Rhodes finally said. “Maybe, he told some others the same things.”
“Lies,” Elmer said. “All lies. About how people all came to my house at night while I was at the plant, came here to see my wife. How could a man tell a lie like that?” Tears squeezed themselves out from behind Elmer’s eyelids.
“I guess you know I’m going to have to take you to the jail,” Rhodes said quietly.
“What?” Elmer looked up, directly at Rhodes, his eyes wide, the tears running down his cheeks. “Take me to jail? What for?” He seemed genuinely puzzled, as if Rhodes had asked him to factor a binomial equation.
“For killing those people, Elmer,” Rhodes said. “You’ll have to go to jail for that.”
The tears continued to run down Elmer’s face. “But they needed killing,” he said. “They were the ones tellin’ the lies. They had to be punished for that. I couldn’t let them go around sayin’ those things about Jeanne. They were lies.”
“‘Mrs. Barrett was wrong about what Hod was doing over here,” Rhodes said, “but that’s no reason to kill her.”
“He was never here!” Elmer yelled.
“Yes . . .” Rhodes began, but he never finished the sentence. Elmer Clinton catapulted out of the lawn chair and charged him.
Rhodes shifted to the side, pain coursing up and down his rib cage, but Elmer managed to grab him and wrestle him to the ground. Elmer was yelling incoherently, and Rhodes was yelling with pain.
It was probably the pain that saved Rhodes. He was never sure later exactly what happened, but it seemed as if he literally ripped Elmer’s arms from around him, grabbed the other man’s biceps, and stood up. Then he threw him back into the car as hard as he could. It seemed later as if such a feat would have been physically impossible, but it seemed to have happened that way.
All the air went out of Elmer, and he sagged forward. Rhodes stepped up and tapped him on the jaw. Elmer keeled over in the dirt. A couple of curious chickens came over to see what the matter was. They scratched in the dirt by Elmer’s head as Rhodes tried to get his breath and to fight down the pain that screamed in his body.
After a few minutes, he could breathe almost normally again. He looked down at Elmer, who was beginning to show signs of recovery, and took out his pistol. He wasn’t going to take any more chances. He’d used bad judgment in just about everything so far.
Elmer sat up and looked around. He looked at the chickens, and then he looked at the gun in Rhodes’s hand. He nodded his head as if to shake himself completely awake.
“We’ll walk over to the county car, now, Elmer,” Rhodes said. “You’ll be getting into the back seat.” He gestured with the pistol.
Elmer got shakily to his feet and preceded Rhodes to the Plymouth. Rhodes opened the back door and nudged Elmer with the pistol. Elmer got inside, and Rhodes slammed the door.
Going around to the driver’s side, Rhodes opened his own door and looked at Elmer through the wire that separated the seats. “You could save me a lot of time if you’d just tell me where that .30-.30 is,” Rhodes said.
“It’s in my bedroom closet,” Elmer said listlessly. “In the back, to the right.”
Rhodes shut the door and went into the house. In a few minutes he was back, carrying a rifle. He got in the car and took Elmer Clinton to the jail.
“Well, Sheriff,” Hack began after Elmer had been placed in a cell, “I guess that about wraps things up, except for that little suit against the county. I sure hate to think that Johnny would’ve done such a thing as to kill Jeanne Clinton. And look at all that’s come of it. It’s a real shame.”
Rhodes had to agree. “I think I’ll go on home now,” he said. “It’s been a rough day. Call me if you need me.” He left the jail and got in the car. It had been a rough day, all right, but it wasn’t over and he wasn’t going home. There was one other thing he had to do first. He started the car and drove away.
Chapter 19
It was getting late in the afternoon, and long shadows crossed the road as Rhodes drove past the former dump site to Billy Joe Byron’s shack. Billy Joe’s yard was just as exotic by the light of the fading sun as it had been at night, and Rhodes was able to spot a few things he’d missed on his earlier visit, like a heap of old magazines that were gradually becoming fused together as the rain and sun worked on them and four or five checkerboards that seemed to be laid out in some sort of pattern near the headless horse.
Rhodes crossed the yard, ducked his head, and stepped up on the porch under the low-hanging roof. “You in there, Billy Joe?” he called.
There was no answer, but Rhodes could hear someone moving around inside. “Come on out,” he said. “I’ll sit on the porch and wait for you.”
Rhodes turned his back and stepped down into the yard. He sat on the porch and looked out over Billy Joe’s Sargasso Sea of junk. It wasn’t long before Billy Joe joined him. “You glad to be home, Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked.
Billy Joe shook his head vigorously. He still didn’t want to talk, but it was obvious that he was happy to be at home, even though the stay in the jail had provided him with a bath and some fairly decent meals.
Rhodes didn’t
blame him for keeping quiet. What had happened was enough to scare anyone, especially someone like Billy Joe. “I don’t mind that you ran from me the other day,” Rhodes said. “You were scared, weren’t you?”
Billy Joe nodded. “S-s-scared!” he said.
“You know you’d better stay away from other folks’ stores, don’t you, Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked,.” You could get in big trouble like that.”
Billy Joe nodded in agreement.
“And you’ve got to stay away from windows,” Rhodes said. “Dammit, that’s just not right. I guess Jeanne Clinton was nice to you, though, wasn’t she?”
“Talk to me, sometimes,” Billy Joe said hesitantly.
“Yeah, she was nice like that. She talked to a lot of people, and you see where it got her, don’t you?”
“She hurt . . . bad?” Billy Joe asked, full of concern.
“Pretty bad,”‘ Rhodes told him. “You see what happened?”
Billy Joe looked agitated. “Yes. Saw,” he said.
“You saw somebody in a uniform like mine hit her?”
Billy Joe was getting excited. “‘Thought . . . thought it maybe you! Thought . . . you!”
“It wasn’t me,” Rhodes told him.
“Know . . . wasn’t now. You treat me good. Let me keep . . . smokes.”
“Did you try to help her?” Rhodes asked.
Billy Joe nodded, almost shyly this time. “She . . . yelling. She hurt.”
“So you went in to help her. I guess she was pretty upset.”
“She . . . yelling. Said . . . words. Hit me!” Billy Joe’s hand went to his face in an automatic gesture. “Hit me! Fight me!”
“You were just trying to help,” Rhodes assured him.
“Yes,” Billy Joe said, very excited now. He bounced on the porch. “‘Try to help! Face all . . . all . . .”
“Bloody,” Rhodes said. “I expect her face was all bloody.”
“Yesyes,” Billy Joe said, making one word of it. “Blood! She . . . yelling. Fighting! Hitting!”
“You still tried to help,” Rhodes said. “You held her?”
“Held her,” Billy Joe agreed. “She . . . fighting.” He looked at Rhodes. “She be . . . all right?”
Rhodes had been certain that Billy Joe did not know what had really happened. He had gone in to help the woman who had been friendly to him, and that was how the blood got on his shirt. She had been wild, maybe blinded by the blood from the beating Johnny had administered. It was possible that she thought Billy Joe was Johnny coming back. She had fought, and Billy Joe, trying to help and not knowing his strength, had struggled with her and probably caused her death.
Rhodes looked at Billy Joe. “No,” he said. “She won’t be all right.”
“I . . . sorry,” Billy Joe said.
“Me too,” Rhodes told him.
They sat on the porch of the dilapidated shack and watched the sunset. Rhodes was a sheriff, not a judge or a juryman, and he wondered if he had any right to do what he knew he was going to do. Send Billy Joe to trial? Have him wind up in an institution? No. Who would profit from it? Jeanne was dead and so were the others. Johnny’s reputation would suffer, but he had beaten Jeanne and he might have done the same to others. Billy Joe never would, Rhodes was sure of that.
If Billy Joe were put in some institution, he would be fed and bathed, but what did that matter if he were taken from what he had, little as that was? He wouldn’t last long like that. He wouldn’t last a year.
A light breeze sprang up, and Rhodes could hear frogs croaking somewhere nearby. It was beginning to get dark. He had been wrong from the beginning, he thought. He had been nearly sure that the Terry Wayne business had been a setup, but it hadn’t. He’d been wrong about Johnny. He’d seen Elmer Clinton’s overwhelming grief and his sudden soberness after the first spasms had passed, but he hadn’t thought until too late that Elmer might have become unbalanced. And then he’d been certain that Johnny was the killer. That might have been the worst mistake of all, but it was too late now.
Too late for Jeanne, too late for Bill Tomkins, too late for Mrs. Barrett, too late for Elmer, too late for Johnny. But not too late for Billy Joe. Out of all of it, maybe one could be salvaged, though he’d never realize it.
So Rhodes would keep the secret. It might be wrong, but he thought it was right. He hoped it was right.
Rhodes slid off the porch and stood in front of Billy Joe. “I’ll see you later, Billy Joe,” he said. “You take care of yourself, hear?”
“I . . . take care,” Billy Joe said.
Rhodes walked through the surreal yard to his car. He got in and drove away.
The next morning, Rhodes was sore. His ribs hurt as badly as they ever had, and he could hardly get out of bed. But he managed. He looked sadly at the latticework of tape wrapping his upper body. Somehow he managed to get dressed.
Kathy fixed him scrambled eggs for breakfast. She didn’t mention Johnny Sherman, and Rhodes was sure she never would. Johnny was a subject that would never come up between them again, and Rhodes had said all he, wanted to say about it. He ate his eggs without speaking.
As he finished, Kathy spoke. “You seem pretty moody today. Worried about the election?”
Rhodes shook his head. He suddenly realized then he really didn’t care about the election. “Ralph Claymore would do a good job,” he said. “Maybe better than me. Maybe it’s time somebody else took over.”
“You don’t really believe that,” Kathy said.
Rhodes wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not, but he was sure that the matter was no longer important to him. Having made his decision about Billy Joe, he was no longer sure where he stood in regard to his job. It was something he had to think about.
Rhodes pushed his chair away from the table. “Sure I believe it,” he said. “How would you like having an unemployed father?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Kathy said, taking his plate and brushing the crumbs into the sink. “I guess I could support you if I got a big-city teaching job. I typed some letters of application yesterday. If I’m hired, I could send you a little money every month.” She laughed. “On a teacher’s salary, it would have to be a very little, even in Houston.”
Rhodes grinned. “I’m glad you’ll be getting back to the city,” he said “I’ll miss you around here, though.”
“Somehow I don’t think you’ll be too lonely,” she said. “If you don’t make time with Ivy Daniels, I’m sure Mrs. Wilkie would be glad to come in and keep you company.”
“A terrible thought,” Rhodes said. He stood up. “I guess I’d better get busy and give the taxpayers their money’s worth while I’m still in office. I hope I can get through the day without these ribs killing me. “
Getting in the car hurt, and getting out of the car hurt, but Rhodes did it. His first stop was at a small brick building a block from the courthouse. The building had once been an insurance office, but it now bore a neat white sign with black letters which stated that it was the office of Billy Don Painter, Attorney at Law.
Billy Don was his usual well-groomed self, cordial and smiling. “Good to see you, Sheriff,” he said, extending his hand. “What can I do for you?”
Rhodes shook hands. “You can tell me how you’re going to proceed with this Terry Wayne thing,” he said.
“Well, that’s direct and to the point,” Billy Don said. “We’ve got a mighty good case, let me tell you.”
“I know that,” Rhodes said. “I also know you can create a lot of bad feelings in this county if you go to trial with it.”
“Well, now, that may be so, but what are a few hard feelings in the cause of justice?”
“Maybe nothing,” Rhodes said. “But what’s justice in this case? Terry Wayne may have been roughed up a little, but the man who did it is dead. You can’t punish him any more than that.”
“Ah, yes, punishment,” Billy Don said, as if he hadn’t thought of it before. Probably he hadn’t. “What my client had in mind
was compensation for the physical and mental pain which he went through. Who knows? He may be crippled physically and psychologically for life because of his encounter with the rogue minions of Blacklin County’s law.”
“We aren’t in court yet, Billy Don,” Rhodes said, and the lawyer almost blushed. The tips of his ears got red. “I expect that Terry Wayne is working at his job right now, and has been ever since he got out of the jailhouse. If he has, we can prove it. We can also show that he wasn’t any lily of the valley himself, I imagine. It won’t be easy for you.”
“I suppose it would also be easier for you if we dropped the whole thing,” Billy Don suggested mildly, “what with the election coming up and all that.”
Rhodes shrugged. “Believe it or not,” he said, “I really don’t care too much about the election. If the voters want Ralph Claymore, they’ll get a good man. I’m just trying to save both you and the county some time and trouble.”
Billy Don thought it over. “Perhaps a modest out-of-court settlement is what you had in mind?”
“I was kind of thinking along those lines, yes,” Rhodes said. “A small amount, but enough to let Terry Wayne know we were wrong.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Billy Don said. “That’s all I can do, Sheriff. The rest is up to him.”
“That’s all I wanted in the first place,” Rhodes said. “Thank you, Mr. Painter.”
The two men shook hands again, and Rhodes left the office.
Things were pretty much as usual at the jail. Elmer Clinton had given no trouble. The hippie was calm. “Spends most of his time sittin’ on the floor with his legs crossed,” Lawton said.
“No other problems?” Rhodes asked.
“Not to speak of,” Hack said. He waited about ten seconds. “Well, maybe there is one little thing.”
Here it comes, Rhodes thought. He wondered if he would miss this routine if he were not reelected, or if he would be glad not to have to hear it. Somehow he thought he’d miss it, but maybe he could adjust. “What little thing is that?” he asked.