Dead Broke in Jarrett Creek

by Terry Shames

  “What did you do about the people who were coming to look over the hall?”

  “I called them and told them we’d have to put it off. I didn’t tell them I’d found a body, though. That wouldn’t sit too well.”

  In answer to a question from Luke Schoppe, Carter says he didn’t touch anything or disturb anything around the body.

  “Was the building locked up when you got here?” I ask.

  “Yes, sir, it was. The lock sticks when it’s cold and this morning I had the devil of a time getting it open.”

  Schoppe tells Carter he doesn’t have to hang around any longer. He looks at his watch and says, “I hope the crime unit and the doc get here before too long.”

  “We’re waiting for Doc Taggart,” Odum says to me. His face is pale. From the way he averts his eyes from Dellmore’s body, it’s clear he has never seen a dead body—at least not one at the scene of a murder.

  “What kind of gun you think we’re looking for?” I ask Odum.

  Schoppe starts to say something, but I nod toward Odum. Schoppe catches on and keeps his mouth shut.

  “It’s a .45 casing,” Odum says eagerly, “so maybe a Colt or a Ruger. In training they told us that the Ruger is pretty popular. Or it could be a Smith & Wesson.” As I hoped, being asked to contribute perks Odum up and gets his mind off the nearby body.

  Schoppe smiles to himself. He probably thinks like I do that it’s more likely the weapon was a Colt or a Smith, tried-and-true guns that don’t cost too much. The Ruger is a little exotic for most people around here. But Schoppe doesn’t correct Odum. He gets that I’m trying to help the youngster settle down.

  Reinhardt comes back to join us. He looks miserable. “Who could have done this?” he says, his voice bleak.

  Suddenly I think of something. “Hold on.” I walk around the side of the building to the parking lot and see that Schoppe’s vehicle and Reinhardt’s SUV are the only two cars there. I go back and say, “Where is Dellmore’s car?”

  Schoppe says, “I didn’t see a car. I figured he came here with somebody or left his vehicle out on the road.”

  “No, he had it here last night,” I tell him. “It’s a black Crown Victoria.”

  “I’ll get the description from his records and alert the highway patrol to be on the lookout for it. Could be somebody shot him to get the car.”

  “I doubt it. Anybody who killed him for his car would have taken the money out of his wallet, too.” I notice Odum looking at me. “You got something to say?” I ask him.

  He ducks his head. “Probably not my place, but I’d feel better if you were back on the job.”

  “Yes, sir!” Schoppe says. “Smart youngster.”

  “I think you’re going to get your wish,” Reinhardt says, “as soon as I can figure out how to make it happen officially.”

  “Good,” Odum says. “Zeke will be glad to have you on the job, too.”

  “Zeke Dibble said that?” I say.

  He shrugs. “Not exactly. But he has good things to say about you, and I know he’ll be glad if you’re with us. Zeke isn’t a ball of fire, but if you get him talking, you find out he’s had a lot of experience, and he told me you fly under the radar, but you know what’s what.”

  “He’s got that right,” Schoppe says.

  Before I can let that go to my head, I remember what I overheard Dellmore say last night after the meeting, comparing me to Roy Rogers.

  “Has anybody thought to notify Dellmore’s wife?” I ask.

  “Oh, shoot!” Odum says. “I hate to think she’d hear news of what happened by accident before somebody official can get to her.”

  “Is it all right with you if we notify Dellmore’s wife?” I say to Schoppe. Technically it’s his investigation and his call to make.

  “I wish you would. I’m going to be here a while, and you know what to do.”

  “Why don’t we drive to her place and get it over with?” I say to Odum.

  “You’ll go with me?”

  “I know Barbara a little bit, so I’ll help you out.”

  “Barbara Dellmore was quite a looker when she and Gary moved here. She’s originally from Bryan-College Station, and she and Gary met when he went off to college at TCU. She was there working on her master’s degree.” We’re driving across town to a wooded area behind the cemetery that has homes on larger lots. “She’s six years older than Gary.”

  Odum whistles as if that’s an impossible span of years. If he had seen Barbara, he would have understood why Gary Dellmore was knocked off his feet. “Her dad owned a tractor/trailer business in Bryan, and when they got married Gary went to work for him. But then the business went bust and they moved back here and Gary’s daddy hired him at the bank.”

  “They have kids?”

  “No, they never did.”

  “Humph. I don’t understand people not having kids. I can’t wait for me and my wife to start a family.”

  He’s put his foot in his mouth, but there’s no reason to tell him so. My wife Jeanne and I wanted kids and then found out we couldn’t have them. It almost broke our hearts. We were considering the idea of adoption when my nephew Tom fled my brother’s drinking and came to live with us. We decided that Tom would be enough. Still, not having a houseful of kids left a hole in Jeanne’s heart.

  We turn onto the street where the Dellmores live and park at the curb. Odum says, “Would you look at that! I never saw this place. It’s like a park here.”

  Barbara puts all her time into her yard. Like Odum said, it’s more like a park than a garden. Every tree is trimmed to show off its best feature, whether it’s a trunk with handsome bark or the graceful droop of the willow that spreads over the goldfish pond. This time of year there aren’t many blooming plants, but pots placed around the yard display pansies and some kind of purple flowers. In beds bordered by rocks, Barbara has arranged banks of plants with contrasting combinations of green.

  “There’s Barbara,” I say, gesturing toward the side of the house. She stands up and shades her eyes, watching us walk in through the gate. It’s hard to see the attractive woman Barbara Dellmore once was. She looks dumpy and shapeless—sexless in her overalls. The sun is weak today, and she isn’t wearing a hat. Her mostly gray hair is chopped off close to her head in an unflattering style. It’s as if she has deliberately made herself unattractive.

  She comes to greet us, slapping her gloved hands together to clean the dirt off. She’s so short that she has to look up at us. “Hello Chief Craddock. Sorry I’m such a mess. I’m doing some transplanting.” She gestures toward where a couple of rose bushes have been dug up and are lying on the ground. She shucks off her gloves. “What can I do for you?”

  I introduce her to Bill Odum and say, “Do you mind if we go inside?”

  She looks from one to the other of us. “No, of course not. But Gary isn’t here.”

  I wait until we’re seated in the drab living room that contrasts painfully with the yard before I say, “Barbara, when was the last time you saw Gary?”

  She shrugs and reaches up to pluck off a leaf that’s lodged at the back of her neck at the hairline. “Yesterday evening. He said he was going to a meeting—he said you were going to be there.”

  “You didn’t hear him come in?”

  She frowns. “No. I get up before dawn, so I go to bed early. If Gary’s going to come in late, he sleeps in the spare room.” She inclines her head in the direction of the hallway.

  Odum has gone pale again, and Barbara studies him for a few seconds before turning back to me. “What’s going on? Has something happened?”

  “Barbara, I’ve got bad news for you. Gary was found dead this morning.”

  “What?” She claps a hand to her mouth and her chest heaves. “What happened? Did he have an accident?”

  “Somebody shot him.”

  “Oh, my God!” Her voice is suddenly loud and seems to echo in the room. “You mean… what do you mean exactly?”

  “It looks l
ike he was murdered.”

  She falls back like somebody has shoved her. “That’s impossible! Who did it?”

  “We don’t know that yet, Barbara. He was found this morning.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense. Who would murder Gary? Was he robbed?” She’s massaging her hands, as if they’re aching. Although her expression is bleak, she isn’t crying.

  “No, ma’am,” Odum says. “At least we don’t think so. But there is one thing—his car is missing.”

  She shakes her head slowly. “You think somebody shot him to steal his car?”

  “Could he have left the car here?” I ask. “Maybe in the garage?” Maybe I’m wrong and Dellmore’s car never was at the American Legion Hall. I can’t swear that it was. Maybe somebody picked him up and took him to the meeting.

  “No, we leave both our cars in the driveway or on the street because the garage is full of gardening equipment. And I know he took it last night. Where was he found?”

  “At the American Legion Hall, outside.”

  “And his car wasn’t there?”

  “No, ma’am,” Odum says.

  She’s staring off, eyes unfocused as if she’s trying to picture the scene. “Gary said there were supposed to be a bunch of people at the meeting. Do you suppose one of them did it?”

  “We haven’t had a chance to work out any suspect yet. Like I said, we only found this out an hour ago and we have no idea how it happened. We wanted to let you know right away, though.” I get up and Odum springs to his feet. “Barbara, I know this is a shock. Is there anybody you want me to call to come sit with you a little bit? Or you want me to go make you some coffee or something?”

  She looks past me as if I’ve asked her something too hard to puzzle out. Then suddenly she starts, her eyes wide. “Has anybody told Alan?” Alan Dellmore owns Citizen Bank and is Gary’s father and employer.

  “Not yet. We came to you first. But we ought to get on over there. You going to be all right?”

  Barbara nods. “I’ll call Mamma and my sister.”

  “Okay, then, but you let me know if you need anything.”

  “Do I have to go somewhere to identify Gary’s body?”

  “We know who Gary is.”

  She looks at me as if really noticing me for the first time. “Mr. Craddock, why are you here instead of the police? I mean, I know you’re here with Bill, but why not James Harley Krueger—he’s the one who took over for Rodell Skinner, am I right?”

  “Yes, but there’ve been some changes.”

  “What kind of changes?”

  “I’m sure you know the town has some financial problems—that’s what the meeting was about last night. Turns out we can’t pay the police, so the full-timers quit this morning.”

  “Well, if we can’t pay for police officers, then who’s going to figure out what happened to my husband?” Her voice trails away.

  I’m not official yet, so I’m not going to tell her that she’s looking at the answer to her question. “It will most likely fall to the Texas Rangers. But don’t worry; it’ll get done. Barbara, do you know offhand anybody who might’ve had it in for Gary?”

  “Not anyone in particular.” I can’t decipher the look she gives me, but there’s no mistaking the bitterness in her voice. I take it to mean that she can think of some people in general who might have had problems with Gary. I’ll have to ask her more about that when I come back later, when she’s had time to recover from the shock of finding out her husband was murdered.

  She follows us to the door, and I’m surprised when she comes outside and starts pulling on her gloves. She sees me notice. “No sense in letting those roses die. I’ll finish replanting them and then call my mamma.”

  As we’re driving toward the bank, it strikes me as odd that Barbara said we needed to notify Gary’s daddy. Why didn’t she say “Gary’s folks”?

  “Hard to believe she wouldn’t know her husband didn’t come home last night,” Odum says. He is young and newly married, and doesn’t know that people who’ve been married a while may not maintain a close eye on each other’s every move.

  In the Citizens Bank lobby little knots of people huddle around talking in low voices. There are a lot of grim expressions and a few red-eyed women. Cookie Travers, who has worked at the bank for years and is now a vice president, rushes across the marble corridor to greet us. “Samuel, I assume you’ve heard what happened. It’s terrible.” Her eyes are red-rimmed and her usually cheerful face is haggard.

  I tell Cookie that I’m helping Odum and ask where we can find Alan Dellmore.

  “As soon as he got the news about Gary he called us all together to tell us and then he went on home. We’re going to close up the bank in a few minutes out of respect. Mr. Dellmore wanted to keep the bank open long enough for our regular morning customers to do their business.”

  Gary Dellmore’s wife kept on with her gardening after she heard the news of his death, and now his father wants business to proceed as usual after hearing the news. Is there anyone who will be upset enough to stop their regular activities? I’m thinking that would be his mother, Clara Dellmore.

  “Do you know who told Alan about Gary’s death?”

  “I didn’t ask him. You know how things get around, though. Poor man, he was devastated. But I imagine he’ll have the bank open tomorrow and you can talk to him then. The way he is, this bank is like another child to him.”

  I don’t share her optimism that Dellmore will be up to business as usual tomorrow. But I could be wrong. Dellmore is an old-fashioned banker. He owns the bank and could leave the day-to-day business to others, but he prefers to keep his own steady hand on it. There’s a board of directors, but everyone knows the committee usually follows Dellmore’s lead.

  I respect Dellmore, and for a long time kept my money here at his bank, but after Gary began working here, it became clear that he didn’t have the discretion you want in a banker. He spread all over town how much money people had and where they spent it. I didn’t want that kind of information known and slid the majority of my money into a bank over in Bobtail, leaving only enough here for daily expenses. And I know I wasn’t the only one.

  Bill Odum and I go back outside. Earlier in the day the air was cold and still, but a north wind is coming in and it’s beginning to cloud up. I shiver and zip up my jacket.

  I consider if we ought to go by to check in on Alan and Clara Dellmore, but there’s nothing we can do for them. They know the basic news. “Let’s go back to the American Legion Hall and see if the crime scene investigators have arrived.”

  When we get back, there’s a crime scene van in the parking lot and an ambulance around back. The EMT duo is leaning against the ambulance smoking, waiting around for the forensics people to finish up. Reinhardt and Schoppe are watching the two crime scene investigators at work.

  “They’re almost finished here,” Schoppe says, nodding in the direction of the two investigators. They’ve got photos of the scene and blood samples and they took a couple of possible footprint samples, although they agreed that the ground isn’t going to yield much.”

  “You missed Doc Taggart. He didn’t spend much time here,” Reinhardt says.

  “He took the vitals and said the medical examiner will do the rest.”

  “Who’s going to do the autopsy?” I ask.

  Schoppe says, “They’ll figure that out when they get the body to Bobtail. Depends on how overloaded the ME is whether they do it there or send the body on to Houston or San Antonio.”

  I’m hoping T. J. Sutter, the ME and justice of the peace in Bobtail, will do the autopsy at his place. Once a body gets shipped off to Houston or San Antonio, no telling what will happen to it—or when.

  “Did you find Gary’s wife at home?” Reinhardt asks us.

  “We did.”

  “How’d she take the news?”

  “Shook her up, but she’ll be okay.”

  Reinhardt turns to Schoppe. “What happens now?”

>   “The Rangers could get somebody on this investigation right away, but…” He looks at me, eyebrows raised.

  “But what?” Reinhardt says.

  “You’ve got yourself a pretty good investigator right here.” He nods in my direction. “We’re swamped with that shoot-out that happened over in Burton last week. What’s the status with your chief of police? Last I heard he was out of commission.”

  Reinhardt nods. “We’ve got us a situation.” He explains about the town’s financial problems and the latest development with James Harley Krueger and two other deputies resigning. “Our police force is down to Odum here and one other old boy—both of them part-time. I already had in mind putting Craddock in charge, and what you’re telling me settles it.”

  “Good.” Schoppe crosses his arms across his chest and turns to me. “I’ll send over everything that comes back from the ME and the crime lab. Let me know if there’s any other help we can give you.”

  I nod, trying to digest their easy assumption that I’ll be taking over. Things are moving a lot faster than I thought they would, and with a lot more at stake.

  Schoppe looks at his watch. “I’m going to have to get moving.”

  Right after he leaves, the crime scene technicians signal to the EMTs that they can take charge of Dellmore’s body. We watch silently as they pack up their gear and the EMTs load the gurney into the ambulance.

  When the crew drives away, Reinhardt hooks his thumbs in his belt and turns to me. “It already seems like it’s been a long day, but I’m going to call the county sheriff now and find out what we have to do to make you temporary chief.”

  “That’s good,” Odum says, sounding relieved. The kid has been working part-time only since last fall, and my guess is that under the dynamic duo of Rodell Skinner and James Harley Krueger, he’s learned zip. He’d have done as well to study old episodes of Law & Order.

  “Odum and I are headed to the station right now,” I tell Reinhardt. “Let me know when you’ve talked to the sheriff.”

  After Jeanne died, I felt like I was of no further use to anyone. Helping out in a couple of investigations in the past year kicked me back into gear, and despite the feeling that things are moving a little too fast this morning, I’m ready to get started.