River Mourn

by Bill Hopkins

  Chapter 12

  Last Wednesday Afternoon

  Although Sheriff Gustave Fribeau arrived on the scene quickly, it seemed to Rosswell that it took hours. Waiting with a dead man slowed time way down.

  "Judge, you find more corpses than the average bear."

  "It's a talent I have."

  "You have that fancy camera with you?"

  Rosswell fixed the Nikon at eye level. "Always."

  "I've got crime scene folks coming down from Saint Louis. But I want photos myself. You got plenty of flash bulbs? It's mighty dark in here."

  "I haven't bought a single flash bulb since 2006." Rosswell snapped a picture of Gustave, filling the cave with a burst of light brighter than sunshine. "Electronic flash."

  Gustave blinked and spit on the ground. "Do you mind taking photos?"

  "No." Rosswell started snapping. "By the way, be sure to tell the CSI that black thing on the ground is part of your cigar. You don't want to screw up the crime scene."

  "Don't you screw up the crime scene." Gustave drifted close to Ollie. "And you are?"

  "Ollie Groton." Ollie stuck out his hand but Gustave ignored it. "I'm Judge Carew's research assistant."

  "I didn't know judges had research assistants."

  "Special assignment."

  Rosswell stopped snapping pictures. "I pay Ollie for information on non-judicial projects I'm developing."

  Gustave's reaction showed he wasn't buying this greased pig in a puny poke.

  "In fact, I have heard about Ollie. Your sheriff in Bollinger County tells me he's a criminal."

  "Respectful correction, Sheriff," Ollie said. "I'm certain that Sheriff Frizz Dodson told you that I was a recovering criminal."

  "See to it that you don't recover anything in Sainte Gen."

  "Yes, sir."

  Even though Ollie had never stolen anything, Rosswell knew his research assistant was smart enough not to argue with a sheriff. Ollie didn't want to spend any more time in jail on charges, trumped up or real.

  Gustave said to Rosswell, "You know the deceased?"

  Rosswell eyed Gustave, thinking that the sheriff already knew the victim's name. Answering the question straight sounded like a good idea. "He's a Native American from Bollinger County named Ribs Freshwater. The last time I knew of his whereabouts, I believe, but can't prove, that he was running dope for Johnny Dan Dumey."

  "Johnny Dan Dumey." Gustave stared at the ceiling of the cave. "Oh, yeah. The guy you smoked."

  Rosswell cringed at the callousness of Fribeau's remark, but continued photographing the scene. "Ribs and Johnny Dan were hooked up with a fellow named Nathaniel Dahlbert who's now living north of Sainte Gen at River Heights Villa."

  Gustave groped in his shirt pocket for a fresh cigar. "Tall guy? Red hair? Albino?"

  Rosswell lowered his camera. "Herman Melville asked why an albino repelled and shocked us. 'The Albino is as well made as other men and yet this mere aspect of all-pervading whiteness makes him more strangely hideous than the ugliest abortion.' It's because the pale color reminds us of death."

  Gustave bit on his cigar, narrowing his eyes. "Herman who?"

  "Herman Melville wrote Moby-Dick."

  Gustave laughed. "Yeah, lousy movie. I saw it on the Alzheimer Channel. Jimmy Stewart made a lousy Captain Ayrab."

  "Gregory Peck played Captain Ahab."

  Ollie stepped closer to Gustave. "Nathaniel's not an albino. If he were, his hair would be white. It's not really red. More like orange. And it's his natural color. He doesn't use dye. Nathaniel looks like a rodeo clown."

  Gustave rolled the cigar between his thumb and forefinger. "No such thing as natural orange hair."

  Ollie rubbed his head, clearly trying to decide if he should speak. After a brief time, talking won out over silence. "Beg to differ with you, Sheriff. Red hair in certain ethnic groups runs from deep burgundy to burnt orange to bright copper. That's because there's a lot of the red pigment pheomelanin and not much eumelanin, which is a dark pigment."

  Gustave chewed on the cigar for a long moment, no doubt trying to digest what Ollie had told him. "You research him?"

  "Six ways from Sunday and straight up on Monday."

  "Nathaniel Dahlbert's probably of Scottish stock." Rosswell hated to admit that part. "Ollie will be glad to show you his report. I don't have solid evidence on any of the three. Since they're dead, it doesn't matter about Johnny Dan and Ribs. Nathaniel's alive and dirty as a skunk dragged through pig crap."

  Gustave jabbed the cigar in his mouth. "What's Nathaniel got to do with Tina?"

  "I don't know of anything connecting them. However, I find it more than passing strange that Tina called me from here and when I show up, I find Ribs and Nathaniel. That doesn't make sense. They're dopers. Why didn't they head out for some big city far away from here?"

  "And you and Ollie decided to search here after Maman pointed in the right direction?"

  "I guess you heard about that."

  "Before it happened." Gustave shook his head. "I can't understand why anyone believes anything that crazy old woman says. How much did she take you for?"

  "Five hundred dollars." There was little use lying to Gustave. Rosswell theorized that the sheriff knew every detail of their visit. "In silver."

  "Exactly what did she say to you?"

  " 'Cave of one eye have much treasure. Cave of blind eye, she holds a treasure but not what you seek,' " Rosswell quoted Maman again. "Obviously, we didn't find what we sought, which was the body of a woman. Instead, we found the corpse of Ribs Freshwater, which we didn't seek, even though it's treasure of a sort."

  Ollie made sure Gustave saw the plastic bag containing the note. "Sheriff, if I might ask, what are you going to do about the threat against Judge Carew?"

  Gustave pointed to Rosswell. "I'm advising you to stick to judging and let the cops do the detective work."