by Bill Crider
“Wasn’t so giant when he got there,” Lawton said.
“Who’s tellin’ this?” Hack asked, half rising from his chair.
“I guess you are, but you’re tellin’ it wrong. See, what George wanted to know was what kind of snake he was dealin’ with, it bein’ a giant an’ all. Not ever’ day a man sees a giant snake in his yard.”
Hack came all the way out of his chair. “I’m telling this.”
“All right,” Lawton said. “Tell it then.”
Rhodes knew better than to say anything. He didn’t want to encourage them, so he just sat there, waiting for whatever was to come.
“Overreacted is what Alton said George did,” Hack said, sitting back down. “Made it hard for Alton to help him out with what he wanted to know.”
Rhodes had lost track of the conversation. “What did he want to know?”
“What kind of snake it was,” Lawton said. He made a clucking noise with his tongue. “I said that already.” He gave Rhodes a pitying look. “They say memory’s the first thing to go when a fella starts to get old.”
“I thought it was the second thing to go,” Hack said.
“What’s the first thing? If you can remember.”
“I can remember, all right,” Hack said. “Better’n some I could name. Anyway, it’s hair. That goes first.”
It wasn’t easy for Rhodes to resist reaching up to touch the top of his head, which he was sure was a little blistered.
“First or second,” Lawton said. “Hair or memory. Don’t have anything to do with snakes, I guess.”
“’Course not,” Hack said. “So why’d you bring it up?”
“’Cause the sheriff couldn’t remember, and I thought that was a bad sign. A lawman’s gotta have a good memory. I got a mind like a steel trap, myself.”
“A worn-out rusty one,” Hack said. “Anyway, when he got to George’s house, Alton thought he could identify the kind of snake, but he wasn’t sure.”
“The giant snake,” Rhodes said. “What about the giant part?”
“That was kinda hard to tell by the time Alton got there,” Hack said. “Like I told you, Alton said George got kinda carried away.”
“Claimed it was ten feet long, at least, though,” Lawton said, drawing another glare from Hack. “More long than giant, maybe, but it’d be a world’s record if it was that long, I bet.”
“Alton said it was a coachwhip,” Hack said. “You know how they are. Long, but not very big around.”
“Ten feet long?” Rhodes said. “I never heard of one that long.”
“A giant snake,” Hack said. “I told you that. ’Cept we won’t really know for sure.”
Rhodes didn’t want to ask, but he couldn’t help himself. “Why not?”
“George got carried away,” Lawton said. “Remember? We told you that. He must not like snakes.”
“Had himself a sharp garden hoe,” Hack said, ignoring Lawton for a change. “Went after that snake and chopped that sucker up into so many pieces, Alton said they couldn’t put it back together to tell how long it was to start with. Besides that, George has a couple of sorry old dogs, and they got hold of some of the pieces and carried them off somewhere, so that’d make it come out short, no matter how good a job they did puttin’ it back together.”
“Not that they tried that,” Lawton said. “Anyway George got what he wanted. Alton told him it was a coachwhip. Harmless. Mostly just eats the kind of pests that people want to get rid of. George shoulda left it alone. Mighta had a world’s record, he’d left it alone.”
Rhodes was a little ashamed to admit it even to himself, but he was pretty much on George’s side. Even harmless snakes weren’t pleasant companions. Still, they didn’t deserve to be chopped up.
“Harmless?” Hack said. “You know how that kind of a snake got its name?”
“Never thought about it,” Lawton said.
“Got it because they used to wrap people up in their coils and whip ’em to death with their tails, that’s how.”
Lawton looked skeptical. “I know they’re supposed to chase people, but I kinda have my doubts about that whippin’ stuff.”
“You prob’ly don’t believe in Bigfoot, either.”
Lawton laughed. “I wouldn’t say that, but a snake whippin’ somebody to death with its tail? You gotta admit that’s kinda stretchin’ it.”
“Guess we’ll never know for sure,” Hack said. “Speakin’ of snakes, what kinda snake you think that is tattooed on our new guest’s neck?”
“Rattler,” Lawton said. “Or water moccasin. Some kind of pit viper, anyway. Saw the head, but I didn’t look to see if there was rattles on the tail.”
Rhodes wanted to get off the subject of snakes, so he asked if Cal Stinson had been in to file a complaint against Kenny Lambert.
“Nobody’s been in to file any complaints ’gainst anybody,” Hack said. “What kinda name is Stinson, anyhow? I never heard of any Stinsons from around here.”
“New people comin’ to town all the time,” Lawton said, “not that most of them hang around for long.”
Rhodes was thinking that he’d made another mistake. He should’ve asked Stinson for some identification, but it hadn’t seemed necessary. Stinson was the victim, not the perpetrator, and it wasn’t as if they needed Stinson’s complaint since Rhodes had plenty of charges he could press against Kenny if he wanted to. Still, it would be better to have the citizen file the complaint and get the whole story of what had happened on the books.
“Look around on that computer of yours,” Rhodes told Hack. “See if you can locate him. Said his name was Cal, but that might be short for Calvin. He should be easy to find if his last name’s unusual.”
“I’ll see what I can find,” Hack said. “Might not be easy if he’s new in town.”
“He said he was headed for Thurston to look at the old school building before they tear it down, so he must have some connections here.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Hack said, and Rhodes left him to it. He had to write up his report on Kenny’s arrest, so he did that while Hack got busy.
About half an hour later, Hack said, “Ain’t no such person.”
Rhodes looked away from his own computer, which he used mainly for writing reports. He wasn’t good about anything else related to it.
“How can that be?” he asked.
“I don’t know how it can be,” Hack said. “I’m just givin’ you the facts. Ain’t no such person. Not in Texas, anyhow. Used to be one by that name, but he’s over sixty-five years old, and he’s moved to Missouri.”
“You found out all that?”
“It’s easy if you know how and can get to some of the databases that we can. Might be good for you to learn stuff like that.”
“One day when I have time,” Rhodes said. “You’re sure about this?”
“Sure as I can be. Fella lied to you. Don’t ask me why. Computer won’t tell me that.”
Rhodes wondered why Stinson, or whatever his name was, would lie about something like that. Maybe he was wanted for some crime or other under his real name and had just pulled one out of the air.
“Prob’ly won’t matter,” Hack said. “Fella like that, one that lies to a sheriff, he always turns up again one way or the other.”
Hack turned out to be right about that. The man who’d called himself Cal Stinson turned up again the very next day. Only this time he was dead.
Chapter 4
Rhodes was sitting on the back steps of his house watching his two dogs, Speedo, a black and white border collie, and Yancey, a Pomeranian who looked like a mobile dust mop, get their morning exercise. Yancey, though much the smaller of the two, never seemed to notice the difference in size, and he was tussling with Speedo over a new squeaky toy that Rhodes had bought for them a few days before. It had looked sort of like a raccoon when Rhodes bought it, but it was rapidly getting chewed into an unrecognizable shape.
Speedo had hold of the head, and Yancey h
ad the tail. Speedo was silent, but Yancey was growling as he tried to shake the toy away from the bigger dog while Speedo backed up slowly, dragging Yancey across the yard a little at a time.
“I hate to break up the fun,” Rhodes’s wife, Ivy, said, opening the screen door, “but Hack is on the phone. He says it’s an emergency.”
Rhodes stood up. “We seem to be having a lot of those lately. Did he say what the emergency was?”
“He didn’t tell me. You go on in, and I’ll watch the dogs.”
Rhodes held the screen door open, and Ivy came out onto the steps. She was about six inches shorter than Rhodes, and her short hair had a good bit of gray in it. Rhodes bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek, then went inside. He glanced back to see if Speedo had taken full possession of the squeaky toy yet. He hadn’t, and Yancey wasn’t giving up. Nothing new there. He never did.
Rhodes went to the phone, probably one of the few landlines left in Blacklin County. Rhodes liked having it because all you could do with it was make phone calls. He had a cell phone, of course, but he wasn’t fond of it. He wasn’t sure the world had been much improved by a device people used to escape having to engage with things and people around them.
Rhodes picked up the landline phone and said, “What’s the emergency?”
When it came to emergencies, Hack was all business. “Got a dead man down in Thurston at the schoolhouse. Woman named Wanda Wilkins just called it in. You better get down there.”
“She’s sure he’s dead?”
“She says he’s not moving or breathing and doesn’t have a pulse. That sounds dead to me. I told her not to touch anything and to hold off calling for an ambulance, that you’d take care of that after you looked at the crime scene.”
“Who’s on duty down that way this morning?”
“Andy Shelby.”
“Get him to go on and secure the scene. I’ll meet him there.”
“I’m way ahead of you,” Hack said. “Already done that. You leavin’ now?”
“I’m halfway there already,” Rhodes said, and hung up the phone.
He went out through the back door and told Ivy where he was going and why. The dogs were still tussling over the new toy.
“Don’t let Speedo hurt Yancey,” Rhodes said.
Ivy laughed. “No chance of that. He has too much fun tormenting him to hurt him.”
“He’s not tormenting him,” Rhodes said. “Just playing.”
“Right,” Ivy said. “You be careful today.”
“I always am,” Rhodes said, and Ivy was still laughing when he turned the corner of the house and got into the Tahoe.
* * *
Rhodes didn’t break the land speed record getting to Thurston, but he made good time. The small town had only one main street, the highway that went right through the middle of it. The old schoolhouse was two blocks off the highway, and Andy Shelby was already there. Rhodes stopped the Tahoe in the parking area beside Andy’s county car and got out. He didn’t see any other cars and wondered where Wanda Wilkins had parked.
The schoolhouse was a two-story building of redbrick, built so long ago that it had never been air-conditioned. It sat right in the middle of one square block of land that was covered in dead grass, dirt, and sticker burrs. High windows lined the facade on either side of the arched entrance, and from the front the building didn’t look as if it might fall down at any minute. The inside was probably different.
Rhodes hadn’t thought to ask where the dead man was, but he didn’t think he’d have any trouble finding him. He went to the tall double door and pulled it open. It was cooler inside, but only a little. The floors were clean, but there was a musty, moldy smell, along with a whiff of pine-scented cleaner. The lights were on, and Rhodes walked past a couple of offices to his left and right, went up a couple of steps, and entered the main hallway. In front of him was the auditorium, and to the left and right were classrooms.
“Down here, Sheriff,” Andy Shelby called from Rhodes’s left.
Rhodes turned and walked down the hallway. Someone had recently mopped the floor, and the smell of pine-scented cleaner was stronger. On his left was a classroom, and he went inside. The dead man lay facedown on the floor in the front of the classroom. Not far away lay a piece of chalk. Above him there was an old blackboard, washed clean except for one ragged chalk mark that started a couple of feet above the chalk tray and descended from that point like the falling line on a stock report.
The blackboard was the only sign that the room had been used for classes. There were no desks for students. Instead of a teacher’s desk there was a small table with two chairs. In the back of the room were several long folding tables leaning against the wall, with folding chairs leaning against them.
Andy Shelby sat in one of the two chairs at the small table in front. In the other was a woman Rhodes didn’t know, though he assumed she was Wanda Wilkins.
Andy stood up when Rhodes came into the room. He was a compact young man with an athletic build that Rhodes envied. Andy had been a bit inclined to rashness when he first came on the job, but he’d settled down and was a good lawman. The only thing that worried Rhodes about him was that he was dating Jennifer Loam. Rhodes wasn’t sure it was a good idea for a deputy to be dating a reporter, but so far there hadn’t been any problems.
“This is Wanda Wilkins,” Andy said, indicating the woman who was still seated at the table. “She found the body. Ms. Wilkins, this is Sheriff Rhodes.”
Wanda stood up. Rhodes couldn’t guess her age, other than that she was old, somewhere between sixty and a hundred. Her thin face was lined, but her blue eyes were bright. She wore what appeared to be a man’s blue shirt and a pair of faded baggy jeans. White hair stuck out from the camouflage baseball cap on her head. When she spoke, her voice was as strong and firm as a youngster’s.
“Pleased to meet you, Sheriff,” she said. She stuck out a hand, and Rhodes shook it. She had a firm grip. She looked at the body. Some people might have been uncomfortable with a dead man in the room, but it didn’t seem to bother her at all. “What are you going to do about this?”
Rhodes looked at the dead man, too. He didn’t see any blood on the floor, but there was some blood behind his right ear. He’d take a closer look after he’d talked to Wanda.
“I’m not sure what we’ll do,” Rhodes said. “We’ll have to investigate and find out how he died, and more besides. How did you happen to find the body?”
Wanda’s laugh had a sort of cackle in it. She seemed very calm in the presence of a corpse. “I watch a good bit of TV, Sheriff, so I can tell you’re suspicious of me because I was the first one on the scene. I didn’t kill him, though.”
“I never thought you did,” Rhodes said, although he reserved the right to reconsider. “I just wondered how you found him.”
“I live right across the street,” Wanda said.
Rhodes had noticed the little frame house when he got out of the Tahoe.
“I went to this school when I was a girl,” Wanda said. “That was a while ago. I always win the prize for being the oldest graduate at the homecoming every year. We had homecoming back in June, and the classes all meet in the auditorium. It’s kind of dangerous because it’s not kept up as well as this little room. This is the only one that’s really taken care of.” She paused. “Where was I going with this, anyway?”
Rhodes looked over at Andy, who shrugged.
“You were going to tell us how you found the body,” Rhodes said.
Wanda nodded. “Oh, yes, of course. I live across the street. Did I mention that?”
“Yes,” Rhodes said. “You did.”
“Good. It’s a nice house, kind of small, but big enough for me. I like a small house. Not so much work as a big one, or a place like this school. I used to do some cleaning over here, but I haven’t done any for the last few years except for this room and the hallway. It’s just too much for me. Here at the school, I mean. I can take care of my house just fine.” She
glanced at Andy, who hadn’t said a word. “Don’t you look at me like that, young man. I’ll tell this my own way. I’ll get to the body in just a minute. Where was I?”
“It was too much for you,” Rhodes said. “Cleaning this building, I mean.”
“Yes, it was, but I thought I could do one other thing, at least. I could keep an eye on the place since I have windows that face over this way. During the day when I think about it, I look out and see if anything’s going on, like some kids trying to get in and tear things up. What would most likely happen is that they’d just get hurt, and then their parents would sue, and that would be the end of the building, for sure. You did know that the city has plans to tear it down?”
“I did,” Rhodes said, resigned to hearing a lot more than he wanted to before Wanda got to the point. He wondered if she were related to Hack or Lawton.
“I don’t know how the city got the building, but it did, so it’s really the city’s problem to take care of it. The money’s just not there, though. It’s cheaper to build something new than to fix this old place up. Some of us would like to keep this building, though. It’s a historic place. Did you know that Patrick Gibson went to school here?”
Gibson had been the state representative from the district for years and had then served in the senate. Without distinction, as Rhodes remembered. He’d left politics when he was in his eighties and died soon afterward, years ago.
“I’d heard he was from here,” Rhodes said.
“Some other famous people went here, too,” Wanda said. “I can’t think right now who they were, but this is a historic place and ought to be saved. That’s what the dead man thought, too.”
“How do you know that?” Rhodes asked.
“Because he told me.”
“When would that have been?”
“Yesterday, when I saw him snooping around over here. I told you that I look over here now and then, and late in the afternoon, around five, I saw him poking around outside. I thought he might be up to something, so I came right over and had a talk with him.”
“Did he tell you what his name was?”