Bill Hopkins - Judge Rosswell Carew 02 - River Mourn

by Bill Hopkins

  “What dead woman?”

  That’s right, Ollie. Make him say it. If it’s Tina, then that’s the end of me.

  “The one Ribs threw off the ferry.”

  Hallelujah! That wasn’t Tina!

  “Was she dead when Ribs threw her off the ferry?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How come no one saw Ribs throw her off?”

  “I didn’t know he was going to do that. All I was supposed to do was bang the side of the boat and get everybody’s attention. Ribs told me he was going to dump a load of dope because the cops were closing in. I didn’t know nothing about no dead woman.”

  Lying sack of crap. Charlie didn’t know there was a dead woman in the van? Right. And I have a hundred acres of swampland in Nevada for sale cheap.

  “How do you know where she is now?”

  “Me and Ribs went looking for her and found her stuck on a log. We drug her up the cliff to a cave and put her in there.”

  Rosswell wondered why they didn’t put the dead woman in the cave in the first place. Why throw her off the ferry?

  “Why did you throw her in the river if you knew you needed her body later?”

  Good one, Ollie.

  “I didn’t know nothing. I did what I was told.”

  “Where’s this cave?”

  “On the river.”

  Rosswell couldn’t decide whether the ants crawling on both of his legs or Charlie’s evasive answers were irritating him worse.

  Ollie said, “Any landmarks?”

  “What’s a landmark?”

  “Tell me how to get from here to the cave where the woman’s body is.”

  Judging by Ollie’s tone, Rosswell could tell that he’d reached the point of a screaming rage and systematic thumping party, with Charlie being the only guest. This was the problem when Rosswell wasn’t present when Ollie interviewed suspects. Ollie’s tolerance for frustration was exceptionally low. Rosswell should be standing next to Ollie, not sitting in a wooden crate roasting in the heat and suffering from the bites of industrious ants.

  Charlie said, “There’s that big bluff with all the trees and shit on it. Look out—”

  A loud beeping interrupted Charlie.

  Ollie yelled, “Charlie, get back here.” No answer from Charlie.

  Rosswell heard a whistle from the train track running through town a couple of blocks away.

  Charlie’s gone, jumping the southbound train. Next stop, Memphis, Tennessee.

  “Hey. You.” A new voice. A guy on foot.

  Ollie said, “What?”

  A second new voice. “Get out the way. We’re hauling trash.” A guy driving a trash truck.

  The beeping started again. Through a crack, Rosswell watched the truck backing up to the garbage bin next to him. The claw grabbed the bin. Upended it into the maw of the truck. The guy on foot said, “Make kindling and I’ll load it.” The guy motioned the truck to back up. A huge pair of metal arms slid into either side of the box. Cracking sounds split the air. The metal arms splintered the wood.

  Rosswell missed death by inches.

  “Stop!” He pushed the lid off the box. “Time to leave.”

  “Freaking frost!” Ollie said. “What’re you doing in that box?”

  “I can’t get out.”

  The guy on foot and Ollie grabbed Rosswell and tugged him out of the crate.

  The truck driver said to Rosswell and Ollie, “You fricking bums gotta stay out of boxes and bins and stuff. We don’t wanna kill youse.”

  The guy on foot stared at Ollie and Rosswell. “You’re dressed awful good for bums. You steal them clothes?”

  Ollie said, “We worked for these clothes. We don’t steal.”

  Rosswell brushed ants and brushed more ants till he was certain he was free from all of the nasty things. “Thanks. We won’t bother you anymore.”

  “Hey,” said the driver to Rosswell. “You look familiar.”

  Rosswell recognized the man he’d given a divorce to earlier in the week. “No, you don’t know me. I got into town early this morning and, in fact, I’m leaving right this very instant.” Several stray ants worked themselves out of Rosswell’s hair.

  “That’s right,” Ollie said. “This is my cousin from Paducah. He’s had some hard times and he’s headed for Chicago, looking for work.”

  The driver raced the engine and waved them off. “Get outta here. We’re running behind.”

  After Mabel barred Rosswell and Ollie from the restaurant, claiming that their appearance and smell were offensive, the disgraced pair sat on a bench in front of the courthouse. Rosswell said a prayer of thanks to the Goddess of Good Fortune that the place had closed for the day. He certainly wouldn’t want one of the court clerks to see him smelly and dirty.

  “Ollie, if this detective work keeps up the way it’s been going so far, I’ll be forced to declare bankruptcy.”

  “There are six ants dancing down your pants leg.”

  “I hate fire ants!” Rosswell brushed the offending critters onto the sidewalk.

  “If you’d been attacked by fire ants, you’d be lying in the alley screaming. The ones in the alley are Pogonomyrmex barbatus. Although generally found more southwest of here—”

  “Forget it!” Rosswell stomped on every ant he could find. “Back to detective stuff. Maman was talking about two caves. That’s why Lazar came down on me so hard for not listening to what she’d said.”

  “We went in two caves.”

  “I mean two separate caves. Where we were counted as one cave with two rooms.”

  “Maybe, maybe not.” Ollie placed his fingers over his mouth in a thinking gesture. After he sniffed, he rubbed his hands on his pants and left them at his side. “Tell me again what Maman said.”

  “ ‘Cave of one eye have much treasure. Cave of blind eye, she holds a treasure but not what you seek.’ ”

  Rosswell wiped his hands on his pants, then rubbed the sweat from his face with his shirtsleeve. A cloud passed over the sun, lowering the temperature maybe a half-degree.

  “Judge, we screwed up.”

  “I just said that very thing. There are two separate caves, not one cave with two rooms. There’s a cave of one eye and a cave of blind eye. Which one did we go into?”

  “I’m guessing cave of blind eye, since it was next to a cave with light. The cave with light didn’t count to Maman. The blind cave held a treasure, which was Ribs Freshwater’s body, but it wasn’t what we were seeking. We need to find the cave of one eye which has much treasure.”

  “The dead woman.”

  “Judge Carew, the cigar is in the mail.”

  “However, Ribs’s body wasn’t exactly a treasure.”

  Ollie stood. “Let’s go tell the sheriff.”

  “No. If I’m right, the Fribeau network connects directly to Nathaniel.”

  Chapter 17

  Thursday Afternoon into Shortly after Midnight Friday Morning

  “I’ve had it for today.” Rosswell’s energy faded with the setting sun.

  Ollie placed himself between the sun and Rosswell, casting a long shadow. “Why do you think Sheriff Fribeau is connected to Nathaniel?”

  “Let’s walk.” Rosswell also stood. “I don’t think that. I didn’t say that Gustave and Nathaniel were connected.”

  “That’s exactly what you said.”

  “Let me modify that. Lazar Fribeau knows that you talked to Charlie Heckle. That means that Sheriff Gustave Fribeau knows it, too. Charlie spilled his stinking guts to Nathaniel.” Rosswell blinked rapidly. “Charlie Heckle said something. What was it?”

  “Charlie said lots of stuff.”

  “Gustave knows Charlie. Maybe that connects him to Nathaniel.”

  “That’s your suspicion talking. You don’t have any proof.”

  There was something odd in the conversation between Ollie and Charlie, but Rosswell had crunched down on something in his mouth, shutting off his detective mode before he could discover the oddity. Was an
ant in his mouth? It tasted bitter. He spit before he spoke. “Gustave said he knew all about our visit to Maman before it happened. Who do you think told him?”

  “Lazar. Doesn’t mean Gustave is connected to Nathaniel.”

  “You’re right.”

  “And one other thing.”

  “What?”

  “If Gustave already knows I talked to Charlie, then if I don’t tell him what Charlie said, he’ll find some excuse to throw me in jail.”

  “The law doesn’t work that way.”

  Ollie guffawed.

  Rosswell said, “I mean, it’s not supposed to work that way.”

  “Then what do you suggest we do? Keep a look out for someone who knows about caves?”

  Rosswell clapped when he recognized the oddity in Charlie’s conversation. “That’s it. What you said. Ollie, you’re a genius.”

  “I already know that. If you’re fishing for compliments, the water is dead.”

  Mabel relented, allowing Rosswell and Ollie to eat supper in her storeroom.

  Rosswell said, “First we go find Frankie Joe Acorn. It’s Daylight Saving Time. The sun won’t set for a while.” He smacked a couple of times, tasting the remnants of the rib roast he’d chowed down. It went a long way toward diluting the ant taste lingering in his mouth. He thanked God his stomach had settled enough to eat a full meal. “Let’s go.”

  “You have your pistol?”

  Rosswell patted the Smith & Wesson 442 Airweight .38 Special, normally holstered in a suitcase under his bed, now resting at the small of his back under his shirt. “The deputies let me detour around the metal detector at the courthouse.”

  Even as Rosswell hefted the gun, he told himself to forget it. He wasn’t going to shoot anyone again. Not today. Not next week or next month. Not ever again. Shooting someone changes a minimum of two lives for the bad, not to mention that it generated a lot of paperwork.

  When they reached the trailer, Frankie Joe answered the door.

  “You the guys who’ve been asking questions all over the county?”

  Rosswell said, “Yes,” and Ollie nodded in agreement.

  Frankie Joe sized up the pair. “Come on in. Take a load off.”

  Susannah—again dressed head to toe in black—inclined her head slightly toward Rosswell and Ollie. “Coffee?” She sniffed a couple of times.

  “I’d love some.” Rosswell hoped he and Ollie didn’t smell too rotten. “The stronger the better. And I need lots of sugar.”

  “Thank you, yes.” Ollie smiled. “I’ve been practicing my manners.”

  Rosswell, gathered with the other three around the kitchen table, spoke first. “Tell me what happened on the ferry last Sunday.”

  Frankie Joe blew on his coffee. “Turk Malone and I were standing by my car, talking about the weather, how hot it was. This was around 6:00 AM. I’m pretty sure it was the first run of the ferry for that day.”

  Frankie Joe picked up a pitcher of cream and poured it in his coffee. “Anyway, I heard a banging noise on the other side of the boat, the side where the tug was. A guy standing over there yelled, like he was scared of something. I ran over to see what the problem was.” Frankie Joe stopped speaking and clinked a spoon in his cup, probably trying to remember something. “The deck hand—Jasmine LaFaire—was messing with some ropes. She didn’t seem concerned at all. I asked her if there was a problem but she said it was a log or something. The river’s up and the same thing happened several times the day before. No big deal.” Frankie Joe added more cream. “That’s all I know about it.”

  Susannah lit three candles, no doubt the odor eating kind.

  Rosswell’s nose went to work. There was a cinnamon scent in the air. He thought he remembered vanilla candles from their previous visit and wondered if Susannah lit different scents on different days. He yanked his mind back to the reason for their visit.

  “Did you know the guy who was at the side of the boat?” he asked Frankie Joe.

  “I didn’t then, but I know now that his name was Charlie Heckle.”

  “Was?”

  “Is.”

  Rosswell said, “How do you know that now?”

  Susannah cleared her throat. “Small towns. You know how people talk.”

  “Right.” Frankie Joe looked at his wife. “I heard it around.”

  Ollie said, “Did you see an Indian there on the boat?”

  “Yeah, I did. Ribs Freshwater. Everybody knew him. He was a friendly guy. Too bad he got murdered.”

  Ollie said, “Murders are generally bad.”

  Rosswell said, “Do you ride that ferry much?”

  “Practically every day during the growing season.”

  “The growing season?”

  “I’m a farm machine mechanic. Those bottomland farms in Illinois are flat and big. They have lots of machinery that’s always needing fixing.”

  Rosswell memorized the guy’s physical description, especially his hands, before he continued the questioning.

  “Does Turk Malone work in Illinois?”

  “He goes over there a lot. I don’t know where he works.” Frankie Joe laughed. “I don’t know if he works.”

  “He doesn’t work on farm equipment?”

  Susannah said, “He’s a dope pusher.”

  Frankie Joe said, “If I were a betting man, I’d bet on what my wife said.”

  Ollie said, “Why’s that?”

  “Turk Malone smells like a doper.”

  Heading out of Bloomsdale in the growing darkness after the interview, Rosswell broke the silence.

  “Someone’s been prepping Frankie Joe.”

  “Sure enough.” Ollie stared into the darkness. “Who do you think did it?”

  “His father-in-law.”

  Ollie scratched his nose, which Rosswell took as a sign of thought. “Frankie Joe lied about the time. You saw the body tossed off about seven, not six.”

  “And he lied when he said it was the first run. It was the second run.”

  “Notice his hands?”

  “Soft as a baby’s.” Ollie faced front and changed the subject. “Damn, it’s hot. Doesn’t this truck have an air conditioner?”

  “Yes, it’s hot and yes, it’s got an air conditioner, and, no, I’m not turning it on. Gas is too expensive.”

  Ollie bitched under his breath. Rosswell thought he heard the word “skinflint” before Ollie continued speaking aloud.

  “You’re saying that the Right Honorable Sheriff Gustave Fribeau is coaching his daughter’s husband how to answer the questions of a snoopy judge and his faithful research assistant?”

  “I am.”

  “For what reason?”

  “Something’s happening here that we’re not seeing. Frankie Joe is supposed to steer us in some direction with his lies, but I don’t know which direction we’re supposed to go.” Rosswell turned on the truck’s headlights. “Lazar somehow makes contact with Charlie Heckle—or whatever his name is. Then he sends Charlie to us. Gustave knew about that. He had to. Gustave knew about us going to see Maman Fribeau before it happened. And Gustave knew every detail down to how much silver we took her.”

  “We’ve got three or four versions of what went on when the ferry was crossing the river.”

  “I’ve told you before that eyewitness testimony is worthless.” Rosswell dimmed the lights to oncoming traffic. “Everybody’s lying. I aim to find out who is lying and who is telling the truth.”

  “And you think we’re going to stumble around in the dark tonight and find answers?”

  “I do.”

  Ollie pinched his nose. “It’s better than sitting on our thumbs.”

  “That’s a disgusting simile.” A feedlot on Rosswell’s left demonstrated the concept of disgusting, with its smell of fresh manure. The cows mooing sounded like sick babies crying in the night.

  “A simile likens one thing to another dissimilar thing. It used to mean resemblance or similarity.”

  Ollie brought out evil th
oughts in Rosswell, causing him to bite the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood. He wondered if he could claim that Ollie had accidentally fallen from the truck while it was speeding on one of the many curves in the road. “A disgusting metaphor, then.” Sometimes he thought the world would be better off without Ollie. Then he again faced the reality that his research assistant was indispensable. He wanted to sigh loudly, but stopped himself.

  “A metaphor compares two things, pretending they’re identical. Then it substitutes one for the other.”

  Rosswell said, “Okay, then, a disgusting saying. How’s that?”

  Ollie hung his head out the window for a moment after they passed the feedlot, then noisily sucked down a deep lungful of air before he brought his head back in. “What’s disgusting is us playing detective. I’m all for dumping this whole thing in Gustave’s lap. You and I are outsiders in this county. Someone’s playing us for fools.”

  “Yes, they are. Someone’s also trying to get away with murder. Gustave hasn’t shown the least interest in pursuing this case. It was you who said he was bent.”

  “You think he’s the murderer?”

  “I doubt it.” Rosswell slowed to go around a sharp curve. He wasn’t ready to dump Ollie after all. “Nathaniel is the big gun behind this assault. There’s got to be something he’s holding over the sheriff’s head.”

  “The big gun is holding the poisoned sword over the lawman’s head.”

  “ ‘And David lifted up his eyes, and saw the angel of the Lord stand between the earth and the heaven, having a drawn sword in his hand stretched out over Jerusalem.’ ” Rosswell stared through the darkness. “King David saw the Angel of Death, flourishing a sword dripping poison.”