Murder in the Air Page 7

  Because the article reinforced everything Rhodes had heard, it gave him all the more reason to suspect everybody who lived in Mount Industry, including, he supposed, Hal Gillis.

  Loam concluded with a note saying that there would be more articles to come. Rhodes was sure everybody would look forward to reading them, except Jared Crockett.

  The next morning, Rhodes drove to the jail.

  “So?” Hack asked as soon as Rhodes stepped through the door.

  “So what?” Rhodes asked, though he knew very well what Hack meant.

  “So what about Lester Hamilton?” Lawton asked from his usual place by the door to the cell block.

  “He’s still dead,” Rhodes said.

  “Yeah,” Hack said. “We kinda figured that. You gonna tell us if you found out anything else?”

  Rhodes relented. “He was murdered.”

  “Kinda figured that, too,” Lawton said.

  “Yeah,” Hack said. “When you got as many people hatin’ you as Lester did, it’s pretty suspicious when you drown.”

  “That’s not what you said yesterday,” Rhodes pointed out.

  “We were just tryin’ to make you feel better. What’re you gonna do now?”

  “Find out who killed him,” Rhodes said.

  The first thing Rhodes did was go out to Murdock’s rock pit to see if he could find anything he’d missed. He continued to have the nagging feeling that he’d overlooked something, but he still couldn’t figure out what it could have been.

  It was a bright day, not a cloud in sight, the sky as blue as a baby’s eyes. No one was fishing in the rock pit. The only sign of life was a rabbit that hopped away through the weeds when it heard Rhodes’s county car bouncing along the rutted road.

  Hamilton’s car was gone, towed away to the county lot, where it would sit for a while. If necessary, Rhodes would have Ruth go over it again.

  Rhodes got out of the Charger. It was too late to look for tracks again. Too many vehicles had come and gone since the previous morning, but it didn’t matter. Rhodes was convinced that the only cars that had visited the rock pit before he’d arrived yesterday were the ones driven by Gillis and Hamilton.

  Did that make Gillis the guilty party? Ivy seemed to think it might, and she had a point, but Rhodes didn’t believe Gillis was strong enough to drown a man like Hamilton.

  Rhodes walked to the edge of the pit and worked his way to the spot where Hamilton’s body had been. The sun sparkled off the water, and the willows whispered at Rhodes’s back. They didn’t tell him anything useful, however.

  Rhodes looked down at the rock that had half hidden Hamilton’s body. If there was a hole under that rock, the giant catfish that Gillis had mentioned might be hiding inside it, all right.

  Hamilton would have reached into the hole, which is when the fish would have latched onto him with its bucket-sized mouth had it been there. Could someone have been hidden in the hole? Or could someone have hidden himself some other way? Rhodes didn’t know, but he was sure of one thing: He didn’t want to find out himself. The county would have to hire a diver, probably a man named Casey Jones. He lived in Milsby, and he’d done that kind of work for several of the surrounding counties.

  While Rhodes looked at the rock and the water, the moss-backed turtle floated soundlessly up toward the surface. Rhodes couldn’t see it well at first, but then it became a distinct circular shape. When it was a foot or so from the surface, Rhodes could see it plainly. It came up even farther and stuck its head a little out of the water. It looked to Rhodes kind of like a submarine surveying the surface through a periscope.

  Two much smaller turtles floated beside the larger one. They weren’t much bigger than teacups, and they bobbed like fishing corks.

  “I wish you could talk,” Rhodes said. “I expect you know what happened here.”

  The turtles didn’t answer. The larger one retracted its thick neck and began to sink as quietly as it had surfaced. The two smaller ones sank beside him. It was a neat trick, and Rhodes wondered how the turtles did it. Maybe he should have paid more attention in biology class when he was in school, but he couldn’t even recall if the teacher had discussed snapping turtles.

  Rhodes leaned out a little to look at the turtles as they sank back down, and that was a mistake. He stepped on a round pebble that turned under his left foot, causing him to lose his balance. He grabbed for the willows but got only the tip of a branch. A couple of leaves tore off in his hand. He felt himself falling and windmilled his arms in an attempt to keep his balance, but it was no use. He tumbled backward, looking up at the blue sky and feeling like a clumsy clown. He shut his eyes and sucked in air, and his worry about what would happen when he hit the water was tempered by his relief that no one was around to see him.

  He hoped he wouldn’t hit the rock that stuck out from the side of the pit and break his back.

  He didn’t. He struck the water flat on his back. It stung, and he made a splash that he hoped would scare off any giant catfish and huge turtles.

  The water was cold, but not so cold that Rhodes was shocked into insensibility. It chilled him a little, but that was all. The summer had been a warm one, and the fall hadn’t been much different, so Rhodes wasn’t worried about being incapacitated by the cold. That was a good thing because he had plenty of other things to be worried about.

  He sank rapidly, but he didn’t reach the bottom. It occurred to him that he didn’t know how deep the water was. He knew he didn’t want to find out.

  He opened his eyes and saw wavery light above him. Righting himself, he kicked his feet, moved his arms downward, and started up. His head popped into the air, and he shook it hard, sending water drops all around. He bobbed like a cork and looked for a place where he could climb out of the water.

  Maybe he could save the county some money, however. All he had to do was duck under and make his own inspection of the space underneath the jutting rock.

  He didn’t have a light or any diving equipment, but he didn’t think he’d need a light. He wouldn’t go far enough under the water for that.

  He didn’t have anyone to watch him, either, and that wasn’t good. Still, while he didn’t want to make a fatal blunder, he was already wet. It seemed like a shame not to get some benefit from his accident. How long could it take? A minute or two at the most. Then he’d climb out and get dry.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he slipped off his shoes and threw them one at a time to the top of the bank.

  He left his pistol in its ankle holster. He didn’t want to throw it. No telling what might happen if he did. Considering his luck so far, it might go off and puncture the county car’s radiator.

  Rhodes slid back under the water and pushed himself over to the rock. It was darker underneath the water than he’d thought it would be, but he could see that there was an even darker area under the outcropping, darker than it should have been. He kicked his feet and went closer.

  Sure enough, a big hole gaped in the side of the rock pit, but Rhodes wasn’t sure it was big enough to conceal a man, and he wasn’t going to try to find out.

  He eased back to the surface for a breath or two. He didn’t think anyone could have hidden inside the hole and waited there for Hamilton. Even if someone had gotten inside, how could he have held his breath long enough to kill a man? For that matter, he’d have had to conceal himself for quite a while before Hamilton got there. It was impossible.

  One more look, Rhodes told himself. He submerged again and paddled over to the hole. Definitely not big enough for anyone to hide in, not that he could really see much. A big catfish could hide inside, even a gigantic one, but not a person.

  Rhodes was about to go back up when he saw something else. Just to his right, several small rocks stuck out of the side of the pit. He thought he saw something on the ragged edge of one of them, and he surfaced for a breath before taking a look.

  When he dived again, he saw that a piece of cloth, not a big one, had snagged on
the rock. Rhodes reached to get it with his right hand, holding on to one of the other rocks with his left hand.

  When he pulled the cloth off the rock, he kicked his feet to go up, but when he moved his left hand from the rock, something clamped onto it. Hard.

  Rhodes pulled.

  Whatever had hold of him pulled back, scraping the top of Rhodes’s arm against the rock.

  Rhodes was trapped. He wondered if Hal Gillis would come fishing and find his body.

  10

  Rhodes stuck the cloth in his back pocket and reached into the cleft of the rocks with his right hand. He felt a whisker and a slick muscular skin. A catfish had hold of him, all right.

  Luckily it wasn’t the giant that Gillis had told him about, but it wasn’t tiny, either. Rhodes grasped his left wrist and pulled.

  The catfish was lodged securely in the rocks and didn’t budge. Rhodes tried to pry its mouth open. He didn’t have any luck.

  Rhodes didn’t know how long he’d been under the water, but he knew it had been too long. He started to worry. He pulled again.

  This time the catfish budged, but not much. Maybe it was too big to pull through the opening. That would be too bad for Rhodes. He’d had a lot of embarrassing things happen to him over the course of his life, but it would be hard to top getting drowned by a catfish.

  It hadn’t seemed so bad when he’d thought Les Hamilton might have gone out the same way, but Hamilton had known the risk he was taking. Rhodes hadn’t even thought about the risk.

  That was the story of his life. He never thought about the risk until it was too late.

  His chest burned, and he had to struggle not to breathe. He fluttered his feet and churned his legs in an attempt to force himself to the surface while dragging the reluctant catfish from its lair.

  It didn’t work. Rhodes settled back down and felt his thinning hair float above his head. He hoped there’d be enough to cover the little bald spot that was showing up in back when they laid him out.

  Giving another hard jerk, he thought he felt the fish give a little ground, but not enough to slip through the crevice in the rocks.

  Rhodes drew up his legs, doubled his body, and braced his feet against the rocks. Then he pushed backward as hard as he could. The fish was wedged too firmly to move, and it wasn’t about to let go of Rhodes’s hand.

  It was all Rhodes could do not to take a deep breath and suck in water. Instead, he let the last bit of air bubble out of his lungs and sank farther toward the bottom of the rock pit. He wondered why his life hadn’t flashed before his eyes. Wasn’t that supposed to happen? He’d be disappointed if that turned out to be a myth.

  His left foot touched a stone. It was firmly stuck in the side of the pit, and it gave Rhodes some leverage.

  He hadn’t tried pulling downward, and he had no real reason to expect it would work any better than what he’d been doing, but he didn’t want to drown without giving it a try. He hooked his feet under the rock and gave as hard a downward jerk as he could.

  The fish popped out of the cranny, driving Rhodes down even farther into the water. He kicked for the top, but he didn’t think he’d make it.

  His mouth opened. Water choked him. Then he burst through the surface, gagging, gasping, and coughing.

  Rhodes shook his head and sent water droplets flying. They dimpled the water when they struck it. Rhodes floated where he was and drew in deep breaths. It felt good to fill his lungs. He was happy to be breathing, and even happier that he wasn’t in Mount Industry, where he’d have to inhale the polluted air of the chicken farm.

  After a short time, Rhodes raised his arm to have a closer look at the catfish that was still attached to his hand. The fish was scratched, bloody, and big. Rhodes figured it must have weighed a good twenty pounds, but sometimes things looked bigger under the water.

  The catfish looked up at Rhodes with harsh accusation in its black eyes. Then it opened its mouth, released his hand, and disappeared into the deep water with a twitch of its powerful tail.

  Rhodes wasn’t sorry to see it go. He didn’t have any use for it. He was thinking about never eating fish again. If he quit chicken and beef, that left him with vegetables, which didn’t seem like an alternative he could live with.

  He paddled to the side of the rock pit and moved along until he located a spot where he thought he could climb out. The rocks hurt his shoeless feet, and his clammy clothing clung to him like a heavy winter fog.

  When he reached the top of the stony bank, he sat on a rock so the sun could dry his clothes a bit. He removed his ankle holster and set it and the little Kel-Tec .32 automatic beside him.

  The .32 was new. Rhodes had carried a .38 revolver for years, but it was heavy and a bother. He’d carried it in different places, but he’d never found one that was comfortable, which explained the .32.

  It was tiny, not much bigger than the palm of his hand, and it weighed just an ounce over half a pound with seven hollow points in its magazine. It didn’t have the stopping power of a .38, but Rhodes didn’t often have to stop anyone with a bullet.

  The little pistol also wasn’t accurate at any great distance, but that didn’t bother Rhodes, either. For his purposes, a .32 was an adequate deterrent, and he didn’t plan to get into a firefight with any gangsters armed with tommy guns. If he did, maybe he could use the county’s M-16, assuming the county ever purchased one.

  The .32 had gray polymer grips. Rhodes wasn’t worried about the effect of the water on those. The receiver was aluminum and steel. The steel was what worried Rhodes. He’d have to give the gun a good cleaning when he got home.

  Rhodes reached into his back pocket and pulled out the cloth that had been hung on the rock and had almost gotten him drowned. It looked like the belt loop of a pair of jeans. Not much of a clue. Half the people in the county wore jeans, and unless this was some odd brand, it would be impossible to trace. Rhodes replaced it in his pocket. It might yet prove useful. You never knew.

  Rhodes took off his socks and wrung some of the water out of them. He stood up and stretched. His clothes hadn’t dried much, but it was time to go. He limped over to his shoes and after a little struggle got his feet into them.

  It seemed he was always messing up the interior of the county cars he drove, and this was a new one. He hadn’t gotten muddy, however, just wet. A little dampness wouldn’t hurt the seats and wouldn’t even require cleaning. He got in the car and put the cloth from the rock pit into an evidence bag.

  Then he started the engine. A blast from the air conditioner momentarily stunned him. He turned it off.

  When he got to the gate, another car was about to pull in. It waited for him to come out, and as he passed, the driver called out, “Catch anything, Sheriff?”

  Rhodes didn’t recognize the man, but he gave a friendly wave.

  “Almost caught a catfish,” he said. “Big one. But it got away from me.”

  “Too bad,” the man said. “Maybe I’ll snag him.”

  “Good luck,” Rhodes said.

  The man drove on into the field and deposited his money in the mailbox. Rhodes wondered if he’d have done that if the sheriff hadn’t been watching him.

  Thinking he was too suspicious, Rhodes drove on back to Clearview. He got Hack on the radio and told him he was going home.

  “What’s the matter?” Hack asked. “Wore yourself out already?”

  “I’m hungry,” Rhodes said.

  That didn’t satisfy Hack, but it was all he was going to get. Rhodes didn’t feel like having to explain his wet clothing to Hack and Lawton. Bad enough that he’d have to explain it to Ivy when she got home that evening.

  Or maybe he wouldn’t have to. He went in through the back door of his house after spending a minute or two tussling with Speedo and his chew toy. He undressed on the enclosed back porch and laid his pistol on top of the washer. He tossed his clothes and ankle holster into the dryer and turned it on. Yancey bounced around his feet with joyous yips throughout the whole
process, as if it were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen.

  Feeling far too exposed without his clothes, Rhodes went through the kitchen and into the bathroom. Sam hardly bothered to look at him, and Yancey was so happy to see him home at an odd hour that he pranced through the kitchen, completely forgetting to be afraid of Sam.

  Rhodes took a hot shower. The water and soap made him feel a lot better. He dried off with a thick towel and put on a robe that he found in the bedroom closet. The robe had been a Christmas gift years ago, and Rhodes couldn’t remember the last time he’d worn it.

  While the clothes dried, Rhodes spread some newspaper on the kitchen table and retrieved the pistol. He got the gun lube, bore cleaner, alcohol, cloths, patches, and swabs. After field-stripping the pistol, he cleaned and lubed every part thoroughly.

  Yancey hopped around for a while but finally gave up and lay down by Rhodes’s chair, his head on his paws, his eyes wide open and focused on Sam, who still showed no interest at all in what was going on. Rhodes figured that if Sam so much as moved, Yancey would be off and running.

  Rhodes reassembled the pistol, got a fresh magazine, and made sure the slide worked smoothly.

  “If only the criminal element could see me now,” he said to Yancey, who raised his head and looked at him. “A guy in a robe with a pistol the size of a deck of cards. They’d have a good laugh.”

  Yancey yipped in agreement.

  “Hack and Lawton would get a kick out of it, too,” Rhodes said, and Yancey yipped again.

  “You don’t have to keep agreeing with me,” Rhodes said.

  Yancey yipped and jumped up. The sudden movement bothered Sam, who opened his eyes and yawned, showing off his fangs.

  Yancey gave a short bark and scampered out of the room.

  “I wish you’d leave Yancey alone,” Rhodes said to the cat.

  Sam closed his mouth, closed his eyes, settled his head on his paws, and went instantly to sleep.