Murder in the Air

by Bill Crider

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Terrall grinned and looked at his wife. “ ’Scuse my language, Margie. Anyway, Sheriff, you really think somebody drowned that skunk? I’ll shake that fella’s hand, for sure. Better’n shaking hands with a fish anytime.”

  “You don’t get it, do you, Calvin,” Margie said. “The sheriff thinks you did it. He thinks you killed Lester.”

  Terrall’s grin disappeared. “That right, Sheriff? You think I’d do something like that?”

  “I don’t know who did it,” Rhodes said. “I’m just checking around. I heard you and Lester fished together, and I wondered if someone was with him yesterday.”

  “I don’t know anything about that. If there was anybody with Lester when he drowned, it wasn’t me. I was here trying to sell persimmons. Right, Margie?”

  “Right,” Margie said. “Here all the time. If you don’t want to take our word for it, you can ask anybody.”

  “Who would anybody be?”

  “Customers. You could ask them.”

  Rhodes looked around. “I don’t see any. Were there a lot more here yesterday?”

  “Margie’s word’s good enough,” Terrall said. He’d turned belligerent. “Mine, too. You got anything else you want to ask me, Sheriff?”

  “Not today,” Rhodes said. “I might think of something later.”

  “Fine. You come back when you do. Right now, though, if you’re not planning to buy something from me, I’d appreciate it if you’d just go.”

  Rhodes went, but he had a feeling he’d be back.

  The sheriff’s next stop was the jail. The first thing he did was record the evidence he’d found in the rock pit and put it in the locker. The piece of cloth didn’t amount to much, but if he could find the owner of a pair of jeans that was missing a loop, it could become significant.

  Hack and Lawton tried not to show their curiosity about what Rhodes was doing, and he didn’t give them any hints. He wasn’t going to tell them anything about his dip in the rock pit’s waters, so he couldn’t very well tell them about the belt loop and where he’d found it.

  After he’d taken care of the evidence, he asked Hack if anything had been going on around town.

  Hack grinned, which Rhodes knew was a bad sign. He knew that Hack and Lawton would have their revenge on him now.

  “Had an emergency at Lilly Bynum’s place,” Hack said.

  “What kind of emergency?” Rhodes asked, thinking he’d have made a great straight man if he’d gone into show business.

  “You might call it a headgear problem,” Lawton said.

  “The fit wasn’t right,” Hack said.

  “We’re fitting headgear now? What kind? Dental headgear? Crash helmets? Help me out, fellas.”

  “It was already fitted,” Hack said. “That was the trouble.”

  “Yeah,” Lawton said. “It went on, but it wouldn’t come off.”

  Rhodes thought he had the picture now. “Lilly Bynum tried on a hat that didn’t fit?”

  “Wasn’t a hat exactly,” Hack said. “More like a chair.”

  “Lilly was wearing a chair?”

  “Not a reg’lar chair,” Lawton said.

  “And she wasn’t the one wearin’ it,” Hack said.

  “Was her granddaughter,” Lawton said, earning a look from Hack, who hadn’t been ready to let the game end so soon.

  “Lilly was toilet-trainin’ her,” Hack said, picking up the story before Lawton could give everything away. “Or she was tryin’ to. The kid wound up wearing the potty chair on her head like a hat. Lilly wanted you to come get it off.”

  “Me?” Rhodes asked.

  “She figgered it was your job, you bein’ the high sheriff and all.”

  “I hope you didn’t tell her I’d come.”

  “Nope,” Hack said. “I told her that was the fire department’s job.”

  Rhodes was certain the fire department appreciated Hack’s efforts on their behalf.

  “He was nice enough to call ’em for her,” Lawton said.

  Hack laughed. “I wanted to hear what they had to say, and they said plenty. They sent somebody out there, though. I haven’t heard back, but I guess the kid’s okay.”

  Rhodes hoped so. He wished all their emergencies were that easy to deal with.

  He told Hack to have Ruth check on Hamilton’s will at the courthouse.

  “I think she’s on patrol out around Obert,” Hack said. “Buddy’s closer.”

  “Have Buddy do it, then. I’ll be out at the college, and then I’m going back to Mount Industry.”

  “The college? What’s out there?”

  “You mean who’s out there. Dr. Benton is who.”

  “You think he’s mixed up in this?”

  “Maybe,” Rhodes said, “and if he’s not, he soon will be.”

  “I’ll bet he’s lookin’ forward to that.”

  “Knowing him,” Rhodes said, “he probably is.”

  The college was on the outskirts of town near the highway to Obert. It was a branch of a community college from another county, one with a bigger tax base and one that was looking to expand. The operation in Clearview had started out in one of the downtown buildings, one that hadn’t been structurally sound, so as soon as the college built up its enrollment, the new building went up out on the highway.

  Dr. C. P. Benton had moved to Clearview from down around Houston to teach math at the college. Rhodes had heard some story about love gone wrong being Benton’s reason for the move, but he hadn’t delved into it. Benton seemed happy enough in Clearview, and he was a good fit for the community even though most people considered him something of an oddball. Or, to be more accurate, they considered him a major oddball, which he was, but he was also smart and always glad to lend a hand if Rhodes needed one.

  Rhodes parked in front of the redbrick building and went inside. Benton’s office was on the second floor, and Rhodes found it easily. The door was open, and Rhodes looked in. The place looked as if a small tornado had blown through only moments before. The only chair other than the one occupied by Benton was stacked high with books and papers. Papers littered the top of the desk, and the bookshelves were in no kind of order at all. Books were stacked on end, both right side up and upside down, on their sides, and occasionally on a slant. Books and papers lay on the floor.

  The math teacher himself sat at a computer desk looking at some oddly colorful shapes on the monitor.

  Without his surgical mask, Benton looked a bit like a puckish rabbi. He had a neatly trimmed beard, and he wore a disreputable black fedora. Rhodes didn’t wear hats himself, but if he were ever to wear one, he was sure he wouldn’t wear it indoors.

  “Fractals,” Benton said when he noticed Rhodes standing in the doorway. He pointed at the monitor. “Beautiful things. Would you like to know the math behind them?”

  Rhodes shook his head. “I don’t think so. Math was never my strong suit.”

  “English major, huh?”

  “Not that, either.”

  “It figures. You were probably good in PE, though. Could climb the rope and all that.”

  “I always made an A in PE,” Rhodes said.

  “I don’t doubt it, but I doubt that you came here to tell me that.”

  “No, I came here to ask if you wanted to take a ride out to Mount Industry with me.”

  Benton straightened in his chair, instantly alert. “Is something going on out there?”

  His body language and the tone of his voice made Rhodes suspicious.

  “Do you know something I don’t?”

  “No, no. Just wondering. I thought you might need my help to solve a crime or something. I’m good at that. I helped out the police in the town where I used to live.”

  Benton had made that claim before, and Rhodes had checked it out. While it was stretching things a good bit to say that Benton had been helpful, he at least hadn’t gotten in anyone’s way. Maybe he could use him later.

  “I’m going out to talk to your friend Qualls,” Rhodes
said. “I thought having you along might make things go more smoothly.”

  This wasn’t entirely true. Rhodes believed that Benton and Qualls might be working together. Not that Benton would ever kill anyone, but he and Qualls had been together yesterday. If Qualls was involved in Hamilton’s death, Benton might know something. Rhodes wanted to question them both at the same time, so he was taking Benton along under false pretenses.

  Benton looked disappointed. “I was hoping it was a criminal matter. I’ve cracked a couple of cases for you, too.”

  That was such an exaggeration that Rhodes didn’t bother to comment on it.

  “I just want to talk to Qualls about Lester Hamilton.”

  “I heard Mr. Hamilton was dead. Drowned. Murder, right? I knew as soon as I heard about it.”

  “You knew a lot sooner than I did, then.”

  “I have skills beyond those of ordinary men.” Benton stood up. “Besides, I was a member of the Citizens’ Sheriff’s Acacemy. Remember? You could say I’m a trained crime fighter, just like you.”

  The academy had seemed like a good idea at the time, but Rhodes had come to regret it.

  “I wouldn’t say you were well trained.”

  “Well enough,” Benton said. “My office hours are about over, and I don’t think anybody will miss me if I leave now.”

  Benton shut down his computer and moved a few books and papers around while not improving the state of his office any at all that Rhodes could tell. Opening the bottom drawer of his desk, he reached inside and brought out a surgical mask.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  “You’re not going to wear that, are you?” Rhodes asked.

  “Not here in the building, if that’s what’s worrying you. I won’t put it on until the smell gets bad.”

  “Fine,” Rhodes said. “Let’s go.”

  13

  On the way to Mount Industry, Benton told Rhodes that Qualls taught a world literature class on Monday and Wednesday evenings at the college, that he was regarded as a good teacher, if a little eccentric, and that he was interested in the quality of life in his little community.

  Rhodes wondered what Benton would consider eccentric. Maybe Qualls wore a respirator mask to class. It wasn’t a topic Rhodes wanted to discuss, so he asked how Benton had become involved with Qualls’s crusade against Lester Hamilton.

  “I’m as interested in the environment as anybody,” Benton said. “More than most people, I guess, and Hamilton’s farm has really ruined the air quailty around here. Or hadn’t you noticed that?”

  Rhodes admitted that he’d noticed.

  “I have a class on Monday night,” Benton said. “Qualls and I talked some in the faculty lounge one evening while we were on break, and he told me about his problems. He has asthma, and there are times he can hardly breathe out at his place. He’s been writing letters to everybody he can think of, but so far nothing’s been done.”

  Rhodes didn’t think there was much chance of anything being done. He didn’t consider himself a cynic, but he knew that the big poultry companies in East Texas made heavy contributions to as many legislators as they could. The legislature would be very slow to pass any laws that would harm those companies, no matter how many people had asthma.

  “How far do you think Qualls would go to stop Hamilton?” Rhodes asked.

  “He’d march on the capitol building naked,” Benton said.

  “He would?”

  “That’s what he said. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.” Benton looked thoughtful. “Naked marchers can accomplish things sometimes.”

  Once again Rhodes was suspicious. “Are you sure you don’t have something you want to tell me?”

  Benton’s expression was bland. Rhodes didn’t trust him.

  “Not a thing. Why are you asking about Qualls? Why do you want to talk to him?”

  “He and Hamilton used to be friends.”

  “Not anymore. Nobody in this county liked Hamilton.”

  “Qualls did at one time, though.”

  Benton thought it over. “Now that you mention it, Qualls told me that. When he first moved to Mount Industry, Hamilton was a good neighbor to him. He helped him get moved in, introduced him to people, things like that. Then Hamilton built the chicken farm. Qualls didn’t like that. When you move somewhere to get away from pollution, you don’t expect to find yourself breathing foul air. No pun intended.”

  Benton said the last with a straight face, but Rhodes didn’t believe him for a minute.

  “What do you get when you cross a rooster with a razor?” Rhodes asked.

  “You can’t cross a rooster with a razor. It’s a biological impossibility. Why?”

  “Never mind,” Rhodes said.

  “What about Deputy Grady?” Benton said, as if Rhodes hadn’t asked his razor riddle. “Is she working this case? I think she and I would make a good team.”

  “Mostly she works alone,” Rhodes said.

  “We’ve been going out. Did you know that?”

  “I don’t want to hear about it. Are you still playing at Max’s Place?”

  Max Schwartz owned a barbecue restaurant near the college campus. Benton occasionally played guitar and sang his own compositions there, supposedly for the entertainment of the guests, but Rhodes thought it was more for Benton’s own amusement than anything else.

  “I’m the most popular attraction he has, after the food,” Benton said.

  As far as Rhodes knew, Benton was the only attraction other than the food, if you could call Benton’s singing an attraction.

  “The barbershop chorus sang there last week,” Benton said, letting Rhodes know that there was other entertainment at Max’s Place. “You should join the group and sing with us.”

  Rhodes had been asked to join before, but not because of his nonexistent singing ability. The group was having problems they hoped he could solve, and he’d declined the invitation. When he thought about what happened later, he sometimes wished he’d joined.

  “I’m not a singer,” Rhodes said. “I have other talents. I’m sure you do, too. Archery, maybe.”

  “I know about Zen archery,” Benton said.

  Rhodes wasn’t surprised. Benton seemed to know a little about a lot of odd things.

  “The secret is not to aim,” Benton said, “but to aim.”

  Rhodes waited for the rest. Benton didn’t say anything further.

  “That’s it?” Rhodes asked.

  Benton nodded. “That’s it.”

  “Do you ever put it into practice?” Rhodes asked. “The secret, I mean.”

  “I’m not Robin Hood. I just know things.”

  “Do you know who Robin Hood is?”

  “I don’t know those kinds of things, but I might be able to find out. I learned a lot of investigative techniques in the academy. If you want me to help out, just let me know. I’m always glad to lend a hand.”

  Rhodes was afraid Benton might be more of a hindrance than a help if he tried to do any more than accompany Rhodes to visit Qualls. Rhodes was trying to think of a nice way to say that when the radio squawked.

  It was Hack. “What’s your twenty?”

  Rhodes keyed the mike. “About a quarter mile from Mount Industry.”

  “You better get on out there in a hurry.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Robin Hood’s on the loose, shootin’ up the chicken farm.”

  “I’m on it,” Rhodes said.

  He hit the switch for the light bar and floored the accelerator. The Charger surged forward, slamming Rhodes and Benton back against the seat.

  “Yow!” Benton said. “Little did I realize how much fun it was to be the sheriff.”

  Rhodes wheeled around the curve at Garrett’s store, past the cemetery, around two more curves, and up the hill that led to the chicken farm. Benton bounced around beside him. The seat belt wasn’t tight enough to restrain him, and he wasn’t holding on to anything to steady himself because he wa
s too occupied with putting on his surgical mask.

  Rhodes stopped the car near the red metal headquarters of the chicken farm. No one was in sight, but Rhodes saw a couple of arrows sticking out of the side of the building and another two sticking straight up out of the ground.

  “You stay in the car,” Rhodes told Benton, who was reaching for the door handle.

  “Are you sure you don’t need my help?”

  Benton’s muffled voice sounded relieved, but it was hard to tell, what with the mask he wore.

  “What I don’t need is you turning into a pincushion,” Rhodes said. “You stay put.”

  Rhodes looked around, but he didn’t see any movement anywhere. About the only place the arrows could have come from was the old farmhouse where Crockett lived, but Rhodes didn’t think Crockett would be shooting at his own building.

  Rhodes and Benton sat in the car for a while, looking and listening.

  Nothing happened, and Rhodes said, “I’m getting out.”

  “I’m staying put,” Benton said.

  Rhodes opened the door. He heard a buzzing zing and then a solid dong as an arrow bounced off the metal building.

  “Be careful,” Benton said. “You don’t want the county to have to go to the expense of burying you.”

  “Your tax dollars at work,” Rhodes said.

  “He’s hiding next to that big tree by the house,” Benton said. “That’s about as close as we come to Sherwood Forest around here.”

  Rhodes didn’t bother to point out that several trees stood on the hill behind the house and that a mesquite thicket fanned out in the fields beyond that. The thicket might not qualify as a forest, but it would do very well for the hiding and concealment for a whole band of Merry Men if any such thing existed in Blacklin County.

  An arrow thudded into the ground in front of the Charger, kicking up a little dust.

  “He’s not aiming,” Benton said.

  “You mean he’s not aiming,” Rhodes said.

  “That’s what I said.”

  Rhodes felt for a second as if he were back with Hack and Lawton.

  “Never mind. I don’t think he’s very accurate if he can’t even hit a car. He’s missed the building a couple of times, too.”