The Code of the Hills

by Nancy Allen

  “JoLee,” he said, “this is Elsie Arnold. She’s handling the case against Kris Taney.”

  “I know who she is.” The woman fixed a hostile eye on Elsie. She returned the gaze, surprised to observe that JoLee was rather pretty, despite her Goodwill castoffs and ragged haircut. When JoLee brought a hand up to rub her eye, Elsie saw dark blue polish on fingernails that had been chewed painfully short.

  She tried to sound friendly. “I’m really glad to meet you, JoLee,” sitting down at the table across from her, a few feet from Ashlock. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to us today.”

  “I ain’t agreed to talk to nobody,” she said. Her eyes had a hunted look. “Is she going to read me my rights? You ain’t read me my rights.”

  Ashlock spoke in a soothing tone. “JoLee, you’re not a suspect. This is an interview for the investigation. We just want to talk to you, ask you about Kris Taney.”

  “Plus, this isn’t custodial interrogation,” Elsie blurted. Ashlock turned on her with a look and she shut up. Her mother had an old Missouri saying that Elsie now repeated to herself: Jesse, who’s robbing this train? She needed to let Bob do his job.

  Ashlock turned back to JoLee. “You don’t mind if I record this, do you?” he asked in a voice that would melt butter while gesturing at the tabletop record. “I’m just doing it so there will be no chance, no way, anyone could put words in your mouth or claim you said something you didn’t say.”

  “Like her?” JoLee demanded, jabbing a stubby blue-­tipped finger in Elsie’s direction.

  Elsie opened her mouth to speak, but Ashlock laid a warning hand on her arm.

  “Like anyone,” he said in a soothing voice. He continued, “So I’m going to record this, right?” When JoLee didn’t voice an objection, he turned on the machine.

  Ashlock started the interview with some preliminary questions, which she answered readily enough: her name, age, address, education, occupation. So far she had not been asked to reveal anything damning, so her responses about failing to finish high school and intermittent employment in food ser­vice should have been easy to provide. Still, she seemed edgy. Elsie watched JoLee fidget with the zipper on her hoodie jacket, her leg restless under the table, her heel tapping on the floor in a continuous dance.

  When Ashlock asked JoLee whether she knew Kris Taney, the process became choppy.

  “Yeah.”

  “Yes, what?”

  “I know him.”

  “Have you lived with him?” When she didn’t respond, he added, “Under the same roof?”

  JoLee didn’t answer. She turned her head and studied the cinder-­block wall, as if an answer could be found in its rough surface.

  Ashlock came at the subject from another angle, and asked whether she had any children. After a moment’s consideration, JoLee’s demeanor relaxed.

  “I got a little boy.”

  “How old is he?”

  “Nine months.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Kris.”

  “Who’s the father?”

  She fixed Ashlock with a defiant stare. She did not speak.

  Patiently, he asked whether she knew Donita Taney. After a period of silence, JoLee nodded. Ashlock told her that she would have to speak, that the machine could not record a nod, and JoLee said, “Yes. I know Donita.”

  Ashlock followed up and asked her whether she had ever met Charlene, Kristy, or Tiffany. JoLee admitted that she had. He inquired whether she had ever been at their home on High Street in Barton. After a prolonged silence, during which JoLee stared at her lap as she ran the zipper up and down a dozen times, she allowed that she had been to the residence before.

  “And I can tell you something about that Charlene,” she added, looking up. “She’s no good. She’s a liar and a whore. Biggest slut in town.”

  “Tell us about that,” Ashlock said smoothly.

  JoLee gave him a sly look before she added, “Should’ve seen how she carried on with Al. You would’ve thought he was her boyfriend instead of her uncle. Said she could be a movie star.” JoLee scoffed. “Yeah, right.”

  Elsie shifted in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable, anxious about things JoLee might reveal that the family had hidden thus far.

  Warming to the topic, JoLee said, “I know Donita’s been feeding you horseshit. That whole house is a pack of liars. It’s an outfit, is what it is.”

  She fell silent, fiddling with her zipper. Ashlock waited for her to begin again. When she didn’t, he resumed his questions: “Were you at the house in November—­”

  She cut him off. Looking straight into Ashlock’s eyes, she said, “That Kristy plays like she’s Miss Goody-­goody, but she ain’t. I swear. She’s mean. I seen her knock the snot out of Tiffany before. Then lie about it.”

  As Elsie digested the statement, Ashlock asked, “Did Tiffany ever tell you anything about her relationship with her father?”

  JoLee hooted in disbelief. Looking from Ashlock to Elsie and back again, she said incredulously, “Tiffany? Tell me anything? Ain’t you seen her with your own eyes? Tiffany’s a half-­wit. Can’t hardly talk.”

  The denouncement stirred something in Elsie, forcibly reminded of the silent child and her Barbie. She fought the urge to lash out at the woman sitting across from her.

  Ashlock asked, “What is your relationship with Tiffany?”

  “I ain’t got no relationship with Tiffany. Or Kristy. Or Charlene. I wouldn’t sit in the same room with that Charlene, if I didn’t have to. She’s the devil.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because she’s a lying, stealing, dirty whore. With the filthiest mouth in town. If it wasn’t for her daddy keeping her in line, she’d be in jail.” JoLee caught herself. She froze and fell silent, looking fearful, as if she’d said too much. She cast her gaze down.

  Trying to keep a neutral face, Elsie pondered JoLee’s violent dislike of Charlene. It seemed an extreme reaction. But the only explanation followed from Kris Taney’s valentine: Charlene was JoLee’s sexual rival.

  While JoLee sat, looking at her lap, Ashlock waited. The woman looked up again, a flash of inspiration in her eyes. “Donita ever tell you about the time she wore Charlene out with an extension cord?”

  Elsie leaned back in her seat as far as she could, her throat tightening. The woman’s voice had the ring of truth.

  “Striped her up so bad, they had to keep her home from school for a week. She tell you about that?”

  Frowning, Ashlock asked, “Did you witness the event? Personally?”

  JoLee regarded him with a knowing smile. But when Ashlock pressed her to expound on her statement, JoLee shrugged, shook her head. “Nothing more to say.”

  Ashlock then asked whether Kris Taney had been present at the time.

  No answer.

  He asked whether she was Taney’s girlfriend. She picked at her nails. When he asked whether she’d had sexual relations with Taney, she was nonresponsive.

  “Does he whip you?” he asked.

  Her head jerked up; JoLee looked at Ashlock with apprehension. Ashlock and Elsie saw that he’d touched a nerve. He pursued it.

  “Is it true that he hits you when you talk back to him? Gives you a whipping?”

  She started to shake, but did not speak.

  “You don’t have to put up with that kind of treatment,” he said gently. “It’s against the law, JoLee. A pretty young woman like you should have a good guy, somebody who treats you right.”

  Tears ran down JoLee’s cheeks. She squeezed her eyes shut to stop them. When Ashlock offered her a Kleenex box, she knocked it away and dried her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “You don’t know what you’re doing,” she said finally in a grim voice. “You got no clue. Nobody hits me. Somebody’s spreading lies.”

  “He’s in
jail, JoLee,” Ashlock urged in a comforting tone. “He’s locked up, behind bars. He’s not going anywhere. Right, Ms. Arnold?”

  “Right,” said Elsie, trying not to think about the bond reduction motion on her desk.

  Rigid, JoLee sat in her plastic chair, fists clenched, her voice shaky but determined. “You can’t make me say nothing about him. You can beat my head in and I won’t do it. Besides, I know the law. You can’t make me say nothing. Not a word. I’ll take the Fifth.”

  Ashlock played his trump card. “I know you love your baby, JoLee. Social Ser­vices lets you see him, what, once a week?”

  She eyed him murderously. “Every other week,” she spat.

  “They were real encouraged at Social Ser­vices to hear that you were talking to us. They’ll be taking it hard over there to hear you won’t cooperate. Don’t know what they’ll think about that.”

  JoLee’s face was mottled with suppressed rage. “Dirty stinking pig,” she whispered. “Cheesedick cocksucker.”

  Ashlock pretended not to hear. “Well, if that’s it, I’ll get a patrolman to drive you back home. You think about it.” He clicked off the tape recorder and departed abruptly.

  The tension in the room was palpable. Elsie watched JoLee covertly as the woman stared into her lap while tears rolled down her face and dropped on her clothes, making little wet dots. Elsie was uncertain of her role in the proceedings, now that Ashlock had departed. Was the interview over, or was she supposed to worm some information out of JoLee?

  The silence grew increasingly uncomfortable for Elsie. Finally, she was moved to ask: “JoLee, why won’t you testify? Don’t you want him locked up?”

  JoLee regarded her with frank dislike. She said, “You don’t know nothing about “He clicked the tape recorder off and departed abrubtly love. You’re so dumb.”

  Aside from a skeptical glance, Elsie didn’t respond. When JoLee saw the expression, she scooted her chair back from the table, looking Elsie up and down.

  “You think you’re so smart, think you’re hot shit. You ain’t. You ain’t no better than me.”

  The words sent a guilty shock through Elsie.

  “You’re dumber than a dog,” JoLee hissed, but Elsie scarcely heard her. Noah’s angry face flashed into her mind and she shuddered. The very idea that a parallel could exist between her and the woman across the table struck an uneasy chord; resolutely, she resisted it.

  I’m nothing like you, Elsie thought. Nothing like you at all.

  Chapter Twenty-­Four

  A UNIFORMED OFFICER reported to the interrogation room to escort JoLee back home. Elsie waited for Ashlock to return; when he didn’t appear, she left the room in search of him. She felt a little put out with him for deserting her. When she spied him at the end of a corridor, in deep discussion with another detective, she called, “Hey, Ashlock!”

  He swung around, a shocked expression on his face. Elsie jerked both palms up. “Where the hell did you go?” she hollered, in a tone of voice that she had not picked up at charm school.

  “Quit shouting and come on over here,” he said. “I’ve got someone I want to introduce you to.”

  She approached the men, still perturbed. “Sorry,” she said. “But it was no picnic in there alone with Lady Macbeth.”

  Ashlock shook his head, struggling to suppress a smile. When his companion gave him a quizzical look, Ashlock explained that they had just concluded an unsuccessful witness interview.

  “The witness called Ash ‘cheesedick,’ ” Elsie added.

  “Thank you, Miss Arnold, for sharing that information with the lieutenant here. Elsie, do you know Lieutenant Tomlin? He works a lot of the property offenses.”

  She extended a hand. “We haven’t met. Nice to know you. Any friend of Ashlock’s is a friend of mine; those are the words I live by.”

  “Oh, I’ve seen you around,” Tomlin said.

  “Around the courthouse, I expect. Ash, when you’re done, I need to talk with you.”

  “Yeah,” Tomlin said with a look on his face that she could not mistake. “And I’ve seen you on the town, too. Weren’t you getting drunk over at Noah Strong’s place?”

  Taken aback, Elsie said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Tomlin insisted, “I know it was you—­you and Strong. Getting drunk as a skunk, slopping liquor all over the place.”

  She could feel the color suffusing her face. Maybe she’d met Tomlin on New Year’s Eve. Noah had a rowdy party at his place, and she’d celebrated with tequila shots. The night was pretty much a blank. Elsie answered, “Goodness sakes, I remember now. We were just acting silly.” Ashlock was watching her with a keen eye, and it made her nervous.

  Grinning, Tomlin went on, “You’re a party girl. I heard you were knee walking at Baldknobbers.”

  Pulling herself to her full height, Elsie gave the lieutenant a cool stare, though she could feel her cheeks flush. Then she reached out and tapped Ashlock on the arm with her file. “I’ll wait for you in the lobby,” she said, turning on her heel and walking away.

  Damn it to hell, she thought, wishing that the floor would open up and swallow her. It was too much to hope for, in a town the size of Barton, that her indiscretions would go unnoticed. She dodged into the first floor restroom to see if her blush was very obvious. A glimpse in the mirror confirmed her fears; she was positively scarlet. Fervently wishing she’d made time that morning to cover her complexion with makeup, she doused a paper towel with cold water and patted her face. It didn’t help: rubbing her face only made it redder.

  Examining herself in the mirror, she shook her head. Why did she do reckless things? The notion of the Barton police force comparing notes on her follies made her wince.

  She left the restroom thinking dark thoughts, and collided with Detective Ashlock. He grabbed her to keep her from falling.

  “Shit, Ashlock,” Elsie squealed. Regaining her balance, she wheeled on him. “I can’t believe you ratted me out. About Baldknobbers.”

  Ashlock shook his head. “You know me better than that. I wouldn’t diss you, Elsie—­I’m your biggest fan.”

  Marginally satisfied and unwilling to dwell on the topic, she asked about Donita. Ashlock said that when he stopped by the house on High Street and asked her to come to the P.D., she begged off, telling him she had to be home for the kids.

  Elsie wanted to talk to Donita without delay; the meth allegation was bothering her. “I’ll borrow trouble about this until it’s resolved. I need to hear what her reaction is.”

  “You want to see her tonight?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “Well, if we’re going to do this, I’ve got to get back upstairs first,” he said. “Where’s your car?”

  “It’s across the street at the courthouse.”

  “Want to drive to the Taneys’ together?”

  “No. I’ll just meet you over there.”

  Ashlock headed back to the second floor and Elsie departed through the front door. As she buttoned up her coat against the cold, a squad car pulled up with a familiar driver at the wheel.

  She walked up to the driver’s side as the window rolled down. Raising a brow, Noah asked in an offhand tone, “Anything delivered to your office lately?”

  She had resolved to mention her displeasure about his swat, but as she stood by the patrol car, she decided against starting an ugly conversation. After all, the flowers were probably an apology. “The roses are beautiful. Thanks.”

  “Glad you like them. I got the yellow ones, because of your hair.” He jerked his head to the passenger side. “Take you for a ride, baby?”

  “Sure. Take me across the street, to the courthouse.” She walked around to the passenger side and got in the car.

  The radio yammered information at them; Noah pressed the receiver with his right hand and responded, t
hen said to her, “I’ve been looking all over the place for you. I tried to run you down at the courthouse, but they said you were at the Detective Division. I’ve been cruising around, waiting for you to come out.”

  “That’s sweet. I’ve been sitting in on a witness statement with Bob Ashlock.” As he pulled up to the side entrance, she said, “Ugh, I’m not ready to go back yet. Take me for a ride around the block?”

  Nodding, he reached over and stroked her cheek. “You’ve got a pretty mouth,” he observed, before returning his attention to handling the squad car.

  Now, that’s what I like to hear, Elsie thought, turning in the seat to face him. If he would make free with sweet talk, she could ride around with him all day long. She asked, “So what’s your schedule this week?”

  “I’m working from ten at night to seven in the morning, starting tomorrow. It’s a hell of a deal. I’m going to be all messed up. I hate it, honey, but I don’t know when we’re going to get together.”

  “Well, hell. That’s disappointing. Breeon’s having a party Saturday, I was going to see if you wanted to go.”

  He frowned as he stared through the windshield. “Why is Breeon having a party? Doesn’t she have a kid?”

  “She had a jury trial set for Monday that just pled out, and she’s throwing confetti in the air. Plus, her daughter will be at a weekend volleyball camp. She’s ready to cut loose.”

  “Well, I can’t go.” His face wore a sulky look. “I might not want to anyway. I don’t think Breeon likes me too much.”

  Lightly, Elsie asked, “What makes you think that?”

  “I don’t know. She always gives me an attitude.” He shifted in his seat and asked, “You sure you want to go?”

  Incredulous, she replied, “Hell yeah. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “I’m just thinking that ­people will think it’s funny, you showing up alone, when everybody knows we’re together.”

  Elsie didn’t know how to respond to something so ridiculous. Why was he trying to deprive her of a good time?

  After a moment’s silence, he added, “Don’t you have too much fun without me.”