Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 08 - Winning Can Be Murder Read online

  “Maybe,” Rhodes said. “Maybe not.”

  Rapper dragged a hand across his face to wipe away some of the water that had gathered there. He was still smiling.

  “You’re gonna need some help if you try that, Sheriff.”

  “And I don’t see anybody else around here but you,” Nellie said. “And us. Not unless they’re hidin’ in that county car. You got anybody in the trunk?”

  Rhodes wondered where Ruth was. She should have been there by now. Then he remembered that he’d told Hack not to send her if she was busy. Maybe she’d been working on something.

  But that wouldn’t necessarily have mattered. Hack would have sent her anyway. He never listened to Rhodes.

  If he’d sent her, though, where was she? Rhodes was beginning to regret having come out to the lake on his own. He was getting too old for this sort of thing. He reached for his sidearm, and as soon as he did, Nellie lunged for him, dropping his head low and bellowing like a bull.

  Rhodes might have gotten the pistol out had he not taken a step backward in his surprise at Nellie’s charge. His foot slipped in the mud, and he was halfway to the ground when Nellie hit him chest high, driving him backward.

  They hit the ground and skidded several feet in the muck. Nellie had his arms wrapped around Rhodes and was butting him in the chin with the top of his head. Rhodes gave up on trying to draw the pistol and concentrated on trying to break Nellie’s hold before Rapper got to them and did something Rhodes would regret.

  Just as he thought that, Nellie did something that Rhodes regretted — he broke the reading glasses in Rhodes’ shirt pocket. Rhodes felt rather than heard the crack of the plastic frames.

  For some reason that made Rhodes really angry. It was bad enough that he was rolling around in the mud with a cheap thug on top of him, but now his glasses were broken.

  Not only that, he could hear the roar of a motorcycle being started.

  He brought up a knee and slammed it hard into Nellie’s scrotum. Nellie let out a high-pitched scream and let Rhodes go, rolling to the side and clutching himself while assuming the fetal position.

  Rhodes drew his pistol, but it was too late to do anything with it unless he wanted to shoot Rapper in the back as he rode away.

  He was so upset that he actually considered it for about half a second. Then he put the pistol back in its holster and went over to where Nellie was squirming on the ground.

  “Looks like your buddy ran out on you,” he said.

  Nellie said something that sounded like, “Arrrgggghhhh.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Rhodes told him as he reached down to grab him by the shirt front.

  Nellie tried to wriggle away, but Rhodes dragged him over to the county car and opened the back door. Nellie made a half-hearted attempt to bite the sheriff’s wrist, but he was still in too much pain to do more than try. Rhodes flipped him over and grabbed his collar and belt.

  “Watch your head,” he said, and threw Nellie into the back seat.

  Rhodes slammed the back door, securing Nellie in the car. The rain had stopped completely now but the day was still dark and gloomy. Rhodes was cold, and he had mud all over his clothes and in his hair. He reached in his pocket and took out the glasses, which were now in two pieces.

  He supposed that he could tape them together with duct tape. Maybe nobody would notice. Or use Super Glue. That might work. Of course he could always buy a new pair at the drugstore. He tried to remember the strength that he used. Two point five?

  He put the glasses back in his pocket and went to look for the Marlboro butt. He found it crushed into the mud and picked it up. He could send it, along with the butt he’d found in the ashtray of Meredith’s car, to the lab and have it tested. Saliva had plenty of DNA in it, and the lab should be able to tell him whether the same person had smoked both cigarettes.

  He walked back to the car. The first thing he did after cranking the engine and turning on the heater was to call Hack and tell him to put out an all-points bulletin for Rapper.

  “What kinda motorsickle is he ridin’?” Hack wanted to know.

  “I’m not sure,” Rhodes said. “Nellie?”

  There was no answer.

  “Can you hear me, Nellie?”

  This time there was a low groan from the back seat, but that was all.

  “We’ll have to find that out later. Or you can check your computer. What happened to Ruth, by the way?”

  “She ain’t there with you?”

  Rhodes said that she wasn’t.

  “Well, I sent her along right after you came by the jail. I hope she’s not in trouble.”

  Rhodes said that he hoped so too and signed off.

  Turning to the back seat he said, “Can you hear me, Nellie?”

  Nellie groaned again.

  “Good. I’m arresting you for assault on a police officer.” Rhodes thought about his glasses and added, “And destruction of private property. Do you understand that?”

  In a strained voice Nellie said, “You son of a bitch.”

  “And for abusive language. Now let me give you your rights.”

  Rhodes recited the Miranda warning. “Do you understand?” he asked.

  Nellie didn’t say a word.

  “Exercising your right to remain silent. I don’t blame you.”

  Rhodes was feeling a little better now. The warm air from the heater was taking a little of the chill away from his wet clothing. He backed the car up and headed it toward the rutted road.

  “You’d better hope we don’t get stuck,” he told Nellie. “If we do, guess who’ll have to get out and push?”

  They didn’t get stuck, however, and they got off the Gottschalk land and onto the county road without incident. They hadn’t gone far toward Milsby before Rhodes saw Ruth Grady slogging toward him. She looked dejected. Rhodes didn’t blame her.

  Knowing that it would be better not to stop, Rhodes stopped anyway on what he hoped was a relatively solid part of the road. He lowered his window and waited.

  Ruth walked to where he was parked and looked in the window. “I guess I wasn’t much help,” she said.

  “No problem,” Rhodes said. He nodded toward the back seat. “You remember our friend Nellie?”

  “How could I forget? Is he the one who got you so muddy?”

  “Broke my glasses, too,” Rhodes said. “Get in and we’ll deliver him to the jail.”

  “What about my car?”

  “Where is it?”

  “In the ditch. We’ll pass it right around the next bend. I guess I got in too much of a hurry. It started sliding on the mud, and before I knew it, I was off the road and in the ditch.”

  “I’ll call Hack. He’ll send Henry out for it.”

  Henry Jenkins was the owner of Henry’s Full Service Station, the only place in Clearview where you could still buy gas and get it pumped by someone other than yourself. Henry would wash your windshield and check your tires, too. He also ran a wrecker service.

  Ruth walked around the car and got in. “I could have called Hack myself. I just hated to do it.”

  Rhodes could understand why. When Ruth had come to work for the county, Hack hadn’t been very receptive to the idea of a female deputy. Ruth had won him over quickly, however, and she obviously didn’t want to disappoint him.

  “We’ll tell him a cow ran in front of you,” Rhodes said.

  Ruth laughed. “Let’s just tell him the truth. I just hope he doesn’t make any jokes about women drivers.”

  Rhodes called in, and Hack was sympathetic rather than accusing.

  “Those roads oughta be paved,” he said. “Or at least have a good gravel toppin’ put on ’em. Why don’t you talk to the commissioners about that? There’s always somebody runnin’ off in a ditch when it rains.”

  “I’m not sure the commissioners want to talk about the roads right now,” Rhodes said. “They’re more interested in finding out about Brady Meredith.”

  “I guess so,” Hack said
. “I’ll call Henry and have him bring the car in unless Ruth’s gonna wait there and drive it.”

  “I’ll bring Ruth,” Rhodes told him. “I have some things to go over with her.”

  “Roger,” Hack said. “Over and out.”

  Rhodes wondered if the dispatcher had been watching a rerun of Highway Patrol.

  “What do we have to talk over?” Ruth asked.

  “Brady Meredith. I’m going to give you a few leads to check out.”

  “Good. I’ll try not to get stuck in a ditch while I’m doing it.”

  “Forget about that. If I had a dime for every time I’ve been stuck, I’d be a rich man.”

  “All right. What do you want me to do?”

  Rhodes told her.

  Chapter Eight

  After a long hot shower, Rhodes felt much better. Ivy would be home from work in a few minutes, and maybe he could talk her into going to the Jolly Tamale for supper. He could use something decadent, like a chile relleno.

  While he was waiting for Ivy, he went out to feed Speedo, whose real name was Mr. Earl. The dog bounded up to the door when Rhodes rattled the food bag, and Rhodes filled the dog bowl with Ol’ Roy.

  Speedo had recently come up in the world, thanks to a friend of Ivy’s who had built him a real dog house. It was made of wood and insulated with Styrofoam, quite a change from the barrel full of hay that Rhodes had provided for him. Rhodes hoped Speedo appreciated his new digs, but it was hard to tell. Speedo spent most of his time roaming around the yard, and he seemed to prefer to sleep under the big pecan tree in the corner.

  Ivy drove up just as Speedo was polishing the bottom of the food bowl, and Speedo ran over to greet her, jumping up on the side of the car and looking in through the window.

  “It’s just Ivy,” Rhodes told him. “Don’t get so excited.”

  “I heard that,” Ivy said, getting out of the car. She patted Speedo on the head. “Has the magic gone out of our marriage so soon?”

  “I didn’t mean that the way it sounded,” Rhodes said, wondering if he was just making things worse.

  “You silver-tongued devil,” Ivy said. She kissed him on the cheek. “And clean, too. Have you been washing off some hussy’s perfume?”

  “I had a long day,” Rhodes said.

  There was still some dampness in the air, but the clouds were beginning to break up. In the west they were rimmed with the red of the sunset.

  “I know,” Ivy said. “I heard about Brady Meredith.”

  “Did you hear that Rapper’s back?”

  Ivy hadn’t heard that, and Rhodes told her about his tussle with Nellie.

  “Why don’t we go to the Jolly Tamale tonight,” Ivy said when he’d finished. “I’m in the mood for some chicken fajitas.”

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll go,” Rhodes said. “That stuff has a lot of fat grams in it, though.”

  Ivy poked a finger in his stomach. “You could stand a few fat grams. Don’t be such a fanatic.”

  “Well, if you insist,” Rhodes said.

  They stopped at the drugstore on the way so Rhodes could buy a new pair of glasses. He was afraid that he couldn’t read the menu without them.

  Not long afterward, he was at the Jolly Tamale, looking at a battered and deep-fried poblano pepper stuffed with jack cheese and covered with ranchero sauce. He thought he could feel his arteries clogging before he even stuck his fork in it.

  “So what are you going to do?” Ivy asked as she squeezed a quarter of a lemon over her sizzling fajitas. “Everyone at work has already asked me if you’d have things taken care of before the bi-district game.”

  They were sitting in a corner booth and there wasn’t much likelihood of anyone’s overhearing them. The Jolly Tamale was a noisy family place, and everyone else was absorbed in loud conversation. It had to be loud to carry over the crying of the two babies who were shrieking at widely separated tables, the jangle of silverware, and the clatter of dishes from the kitchen. But since Ivy and Rhodes were sitting close to one another on one side of the booth, they could converse in more or less normal tones.

  While they were waiting for their order, Rhodes had told Ivy about what he’d been doing besides rolling in the mud with Nellie. There was too much still to be done for him to take care of all of it.

  “I’ve split things up with Ruth Grady,” he said. “She’s going to talk to Bob Deedham and his wife tonight. Deedham really seemed to dislike Meredith, and he tried to throw suspicion off on Jasper Knowles. Maybe Ruth can find out what’s going on there.”

  “Jealousy is a powerful motive,” Ivy said. “I’ve seen his wife. She’s very attractive.”

  “Maybe that’s it,” Rhodes said, cutting into the chile relleno with his fork. Steam rose into the air.

  “And where will you be going tonight?” Ivy asked.

  Rhodes had figured that question was coming, but Ivy had gradually gotten used to his not being at home in the evenings when he was working on a case. She still didn’t like it, but she didn’t complain. She knew it was part of the job, and that the job was important to him.

  Rhodes tried a bite of the relleno. It was still too hot to eat.

  “First I’m going to talk to Jasper Knowles. Then I’m going to The County Line and see if I can find out what Rapper’s been up to out there, or if he’s been there at all. And to find out if Brady Meredith has really been going there to drink.”

  “What about Hayes Ford?”

  “I’ll talk to him tomorrow. Sunday morning is probably the best time of the week to catch him at home. And tomorrow afternoon I’ll talk to the players before they watch the game films. That is, if the film study is still going on as planned. I’ll ask Jasper about that.”

  “When’s the funeral?”

  “I don’t know. I have to talk to Nancy Meredith again, anyway. I’ll ask her.”

  “I suppose that about covers it,” Ivy said. “I probably won’t be seeing a lot of you for the rest of the weekend, will I?”

  “Probably not,” Rhodes said.

  He had a nagging feeling that what Ivy had said about his having things covered wasn’t exactly true, that there was something that he was overlooking, but he couldn’t think of what it might be.

  He tried the relleno again. This time it was just right.

  Jasper Knowles sat on his black leather couch with his wife beside him. She had played basketball on the Wayland Baptist College Flying Queens in her youth, and she was almost as big as Jasper, with once-blonde hair now going gray in front and a sizeable gap between her top front teeth.

  She didn’t like it at all that Rhodes was there to talk to her husband.

  “I hope you don’t consider Jasper a suspect,” she said. “There’s no way he could have been involved in anything like that.”

  “I just want to clarify a few things,” Rhodes said. “Jasper’s not a suspect.”

  That wasn’t really true. At this point, everyone was a suspect, but there was no need to tell Velma Knowles that. She wouldn’t understand.

  “You don’t have to worry about the sheriff,” Jasper said. “He knows me. He knows that I wouldn’t kill anyone. Go ahead and ask your questions, Sheriff.”

  Rhodes was sitting across from the Knowleses in a leather recliner. He kept sliding toward the back, so he tried to sit on the front edge of the seat and lean forward.

  “It’s about something that Bob Deedham mentioned today,” he said. “He said that you and Brady Meredith hadn’t gotten along all year.”

  “Brady was a troublemaker,” Velma Knowles said. “He thought he was the head coach. He didn’t know how to follow orders.”

  Jasper patted his wife’s knee. “I can speak for myself, Vel.”

  Rhodes was glad to see that Jasper wasn’t quite as emphatic as Rapper had been in expressing more or less the same idea to Nellie.

  “Well,” Velma said, “I hope you’ll tell the sheriff about how Brady wouldn’t do what you told him to and how he called plays that
you didn’t authorize.”

  “Brady was in charge of the offense,” Jasper pointed out. “He was supposed to call the plays.”

  “Not some of the plays he called, he wasn’t. You told me so yourself.”

  Jasper looked at Rhodes and shrugged. “She’s right. The coaches work out an offensive and defensive game plan every week, and Brady and I go over the offensive plays. We were supposed to more or less agree about what he’d call in certain situations, but he didn’t always follow the plan.”

  “Like last night?” Rhodes asked.

  “Well, not exactly. We’d never been in that situation before. Most of our games weren’t that close.”

  He and Rhodes smiled at that. None of the Clearview games had been remotely that close.

  “Give me a couple of examples,” Rhodes said.

  “Tell him about the Westico game,” Velma said. “Tell him about that one.”

  The Westico game had been out of town, so Rhodes hadn’t seen it. He went only to the ones played locally.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “Lord knows, that one was strange,” Jasper said. “Brady called for a punt on a third down, when we were on the forty yard line.”

  “Their forty yard line,” Velma pointed out. “And we were moving the ball on every play. I thought I was going to have a stroke right there in the stands when I saw the kicker run out on the field.”

  “Well, we were a long way ahead,” Jasper said. “Maybe Brady was tryin’ to keep the score down.”

  Rhodes wondered if Brady might have been trying to do a little point shaving. He was beginning to think that maybe he should go ahead and try to talk to Hayes Ford tonight, but of course there was no use in that. Ford would be off somewhere in a card game, probably in another county, and there would be no finding him.

  “Was there anything else like that?” Rhodes asked. “When the team was moving the ball and Brady put a stop to it?”

  “Sounds pretty funny when you put it like that,” Jasper said.

  “I’m not laughing,” Velma told him.

  “Funny strange, Vel, not funny ha-ha,” Jasper said. “And there was another time, all right.”