by Bill Crider
“We’d better see if the driver’s okay,” Rhodes said. “Keep that pistol handy.”
Buddy perked up at the possibility of shooting somebody. “I’m ready.”
Rhodes looked through the driver’s window. A young man lay against the door, his head just lower than the window. Rhodes couldn’t see his face. He wore a baseball cap with the Astros logo on it.
“Is he okay?” Buddy asked.
“I can’t tell,” Rhodes said.
He gave the door handle a tug, and the door popped open. The driver fell halfway out of the car before Rhodes managed to catch him.
Rhodes laid the young man on the ground, and Buddy moved over to have a look, but he didn’t holster his pistol. He didn’t get a chance to use it, however. The driver sprang up and hit the deputy in the chest with his shoulder, knocking him aside. Buddy’s arms jerked above his head, and he pulled the trigger of the pistol just before he fell. The sound of the shot was like a starter’s gun for the driver, who took off at a run. His cap flew off his head as he dashed around the car and into the trees.
Rhodes went after him, and within seconds he was running over dry leaves with tree branches slapping at him. The driver was younger and faster, but Rhodes was persistent. He tried to think of something to slow the driver down, but nothing came to him. All he could do was hope for good luck. For him, that is. He hoped for some bad luck for the driver.
In the end, it wasn’t luck that decided things. It was the driver’s youth and overconfidence that did him in. He came to a fallen tree and jumped over it, something Rhodes would never have attempted.
The driver shouldn’t have attempted it, either. He hadn’t been able to see the low-lying brush pile on the other side. He landed in it, and it tangled his legs and tripped him up. He fell sprawling. The brush crackled around him.
Rhodes took the cautious approach and climbed over the deadfall. Before the driver could get back to his feet, Rhodes was right there, kneeling on his back.
Buddy panted up beside them, holding his pistol. He’d run around the deadfall. “Can I shoot him, Sheriff?”
“Not a good idea,” Rhodes said. He was breathing hard himself. Sweating, too.
“Maybe just in the leg,” Buddy said. “Or the foot. So he won’t run off again.”
“He won’t run off again,” Rhodes said, knowing that Buddy was talking for the driver’s benefit. “Will you?”
“No,” the driver said.
“Good. I’m going to ease up a little and put some cuffs on you. Put your hands on your head.”
The driver did as he was told. Buddy held his pistol in his left hand and handed Rhodes his cuffs. Rhodes pulled the driver’s left arm down and slapped on a cuff. He hooked the other on the right. Taking hold of the cuff chain, he stood up, pulling the driver along with him.
When they were standing, Rhodes got his first good look at the young man he’d been chasing. He was around twenty, Rhodes thought, maybe a little older. Hair over his ears and falling in his eyes. A red splotch on his face, most likely where the air bag had hit him. Faded jeans and dirty running shoes.
“What’s your name?” Rhodes asked.
“Terrell.”
Buddy looked at Rhodes, who knew what the deputy was thinking. They both knew about the Terrells. They were a family of survivalists, living on their own off in the woods and avoiding contact with anybody else as much as they could. All sorts of stories circulated about them. They were running a meth lab. They were farming marijuana. They were guilty of some kind of unspecified crime and would all be arrested if they ever showed their faces in town. Rhodes didn’t think that even one of those stories was true.
“Terrell your first name or last?” Rhodes asked.
“Last. First is Isaac.”
“People call you Ike?”
“Maybe.”
“Good enough. That’s what I’ll call you. Got any ID?”
“In my back pocket there’s a wallet.”
Buddy removed a driver’s license and handed it to Rhodes, who noted that Ike was nineteen. That would make him an adult in the eyes of the law.
Rhodes handed the ID back. “Are you any relation to Able Terrell?”
“Maybe.”
“You take classes at the college?”
“Maybe.”
“You need to communicate a little better,” Rhodes said. “Might be a good idea to sign up for a speech class.”
Ike didn’t smile, but Rhodes hadn’t expected him to. It wasn’t much of a joke.
“You were out at the college this morning,” Rhodes said, “and you were in a big hurry to leave. Any reason for that other than the hair you have in your trunk?”
Ike looked down. “I don’t know anything about any hair. It looked like there was some trouble at the college, so I thought there wouldn’t be any classes. I thought I’d just go home. Then you got to chasing me.”
“There was some trouble, all right, and I got the idea you might have had something to do with it.”
“Well, I didn’t. I just didn’t see any reason for staying around if there weren’t going to be any classes.”
“I’ll bet he doesn’t take any classes,” Buddy said. “Those Terrells are all so worried about the end of the world that they don’t put any stock in education. They just hole up in that compound of theirs and wait for the zombies to come after them.”
“You live at the compound?” Rhodes asked Ike.
“Maybe.” Ike paused. “You gonna read me my rights?”
“I haven’t arrested you yet.”
“I don’t have anything else to say to you, then.”
“He lives at the compound, all right,” Buddy said. “All the Terrells live at the compound. There’s a whole mess of ’em down there.”
The compound was what everybody in the county called the place where Able Terrell and his family lived. Able’s predecessors had lived on the land for generations. They’d been mostly ordinary country folks as far as Rhodes knew, never bothered anybody, mostly self-sufficient, worked little jobs that didn’t pay a lot. Tilled gardens in the spring and killed hogs when the cold weather came around. Even Able had been ordinary for most of his life, until he got the idea that the apocalypse was coming. That had been in 1999, when there’d been a lot of talk about the millennium and how that might mean the end of the world. According to what Rhodes had heard, Able had started hoarding food, buying guns, and training his family for the “end times.”
When nothing happened on January 1, 2000, Able had decided that the apocalypse might be a little bit late but that it was still coming. Nobody was sure just what kind of apocalypse Able feared or hoped for. As far as Rhodes knew, Buddy might have been right about the zombies. Whatever it was, Able was going to be ready for it. He had around seventy-five acres of land, and right about in the middle of it he’d built the compound, a living area that was walled off from the rest of the world by a ten-foot board fence.
Not many people visited behind that fence, if any, but the word was that Able taught his family rudimentary martial arts as best he could and had them practice shooting at targets with handguns, rifles, and crossbows. Able had a lot of guns, so the story went. All kinds of guns up to and including assault rifles. Rhodes didn’t know how many crossbows there were supposed to be.
The children were homeschooled by Able’s wife, Eden, and the family members were seldom seen in town. They’d never been in any trouble with the law, not since Rhodes had been sheriff.
“Able must be your daddy,” Rhodes said to Ike. “I know he had a son who’d be about your age now. Why’d you take the hair from the Beauty Shack?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ike said. “You better take these cuffs off or arrest me, one or the other.”
Rhodes shrugged. People watched too much television and got too many ideas from crime shows.
“All right, then, I’ll arrest you. Ike Terrell, you’re under arrest for speeding, reckless driving, public en
dangerment, leaving the scene of an accident, resisting arrest, and assaulting a law officer. That’ll do to start with. We’ll get to the hair and any other charges later on.” Rhodes read Ike his rights, then said, “Come on and we’ll take you to the jail.”
“If you lock me up—” Ike stopped talking and turned to go back to the car.
“If we lock you up, what?” Buddy asked.
“Nothing,” Ike said. After taking a few steps, he added, “You’ll see.”
* * *
Rhodes and Buddy got Ike settled in the backseat of Buddy’s car.
“Take him in and book him,” Rhodes told Buddy. “Let him call a lawyer or his family, whichever he wants to.”
“His family?” Buddy said. “They don’t have phones there in the compound. They don’t even have electricity.”
“That’s just stories you’ve heard,” Rhodes said. “You don’t know it for a fact. Everybody has a cell phone now, and that’s bound to include Able. He has TV and probably a computer or two. A man’s got to have a way of knowing when the apocalypse is about to happen. That’s right, isn’t it, Ike?”
“I don’t have anything to tell you,” Ike said.
“I could rough him up, Sheriff,” Buddy said. “Get him to talk a little more.”
Rhodes hid a grin. “Never mind. Just take him to the jail.”
“Good idea,” Buddy said.
When Buddy started on the way to town, Rhodes called Hack and told him that Buddy would be in with a prisoner.
“Call for a wrecker to pick up a Chevy Malibu,” Rhodes said and gave Hack the location. “Tell him to hurry. I’ll wait here for him, and then I’m going back to the college.”
“Who’d you arrest?” Hack asked. “Anybody hurt? What’s goin’ on?”
“Tell you later,” Rhodes said and hooked the radio with a good bit of satisfaction.
* * *
While he waited for the wrecker, Rhodes picked up Ike’s cap and pitched it into the car. Then he had a look in the trunk. Besides the wigs and hair extensions, the trunk held a dirty spare tire with no air in it and a rusty jack. The interior of the car didn’t produce anything of interest. There was the Astros cap, along with some jerky wrappers and a couple of empty soft drink cups from the Dairy Queen. Rhodes had thought there might be at least a handgun, if not an assault rifle, considering the rumors about Able’s apocalypse arsenal. Rhodes tagged and bagged the hair, and by the time he’d done that, the wrecker had arrived.
The wrecker driver was Cal Autry, who got all the county business. He looked as if he’d gained a few pounds since the last time Rhodes had seen him, and he sported the fashionable unshaven look. Rhodes was sure that in Cal’s case, however, fashion had nothing to do with it. Cal just didn’t like to shave.
“Take the Chevy to the impound lot,” Rhodes said. “You need any help hooking it up?”
Cal pushed back his Detroit Tigers cap. He was the only Tigers fan in Blacklin County, as far as Rhodes knew. Maybe the only one in Texas.
“I can handle it,” Cal said. “You can go on about your business.
“I’ll do that, then,” Rhodes said, and within a couple of minutes he was on his way back to the college.
It wasn’t easy to drive the car with his head poked out the window, but at least he could take it slow. He’d have to get the extra car as soon as he could. The county commissioners wouldn’t be happy that he’d be filing another insurance claim, but there was nothing he could do about it.
When he got to town, Rhodes discovered that the accident at the foot of the overpass had been cleared, probably by Duke Pearson, one of the other deputies. Rhodes was glad to see it had been taken care of. One less thing for him to worry about. He already had plenty to worry about at the college. He should do something about that.
When he got to the parking lot the ambulance was just leaving. Ruth Grady and Seepy Benton stood near the Dumpsters, talking. Someone was with them, and Rhodes recognized Jennifer Loam, formerly a reporter for the Clearview Herald and now the sole owner and proprietor of her own news Web site. She’d been getting a good bit of advertising, thanks to a great kickoff with some photos from a big case handled by the sheriff’s department, and Rhodes knew that some of the cell phone photos and video taken of this morning’s chase would wind up on the site, along with photos taken of this crime scene.
Ruth had put yellow and black crime-scene tape around the Dumpsters, not that Rhodes believed it would do any good. He parked the county car near the Dumpsters and got out. Heat waves rose from the black asphalt, and Rhodes smelled the faint scent of garbage.
Jennifer Loam had been using a small video camera to record the scene, but she stopped as soon as she saw Rhodes. She came over and started asking him questions before he’d taken more than two steps. She was small, blond, and pretty. She was also very sharp and a good writer. She still held the video recorder in one hand. Rhodes didn’t mind helping her with her stories when he could, but he wished she wouldn’t use pictures of him on her Web site.
“Who were you chasing?” she asked. “Did you catch him? Did he have anything to do with this murder?”
She held up the video recorder, and Rhodes said, “I was after someone who was speeding. I’m not ready to release his name yet, and I have no idea if he was involved in what happened here.”
He stopped, and Jennifer turned off the camera.
“That’s not very exciting,” she said. “I know there was a wreck. I got video of it from two different people. Did anyone get hurt later on?”
“No,” Rhodes said.
Jennifer pointed to his car. “What about that windshield?”
“Hit by a piece of flying tire. I wasn’t hurt.”
Rhodes turned to Ruth Grady and asked what she’d found out at the scene.
“Not much,” she told him. “I’ve searched the area, and I didn’t find anything that looked suspicious. I found a cigarette butt and a coffee cup. That’s about it.”
“I found a penny,” Benton said. He didn’t mention that he’d already pointed out the cigarette butt to Rhodes. “A penny’s supposed to be lucky.”
“It didn’t do Wellington any good,” Rhodes said, “but it might be evidence. Did you tag it and bag it?”
“I did,” Ruth said, “but it wasn’t anywhere near the Dumpsters. It looked like it had been out here for a long time. It had turned almost green.”
“And that’s it?” Rhodes said. “A penny and a cigarette butt?”
“I wish I could say there was more. I took samples of the hair and blood from the Dumpster, but we both know it’s going to be from Wellington.”
“How about inside the Dumpsters?”
“They were emptied yesterday,” Benton said. “The college doesn’t have a cafeteria, so it’s not so bad in there. I volunteered to climb in and have a look, but Ruth wouldn’t let me.”
“I climbed in myself,” Ruth said. Rhodes gave her a skeptical look, and she added, “Seepy gave me a boost. There’s nothing in there.”
“Did you search Wellington’s clothing?”
“As best I could without disturbing things. I didn’t find anything suspicious. Maybe Dr. White will turn up something when he goes through the personal effects. Or in the autopsy. Or maybe the person you were chasing has some information.”
“Not likely,” Rhodes said. “What exactly do you think happened here?”
“I think I have it worked out,” Ruth said.
She showed him the outline of the body that she’d drawn on the asphalt. Jennifer Loam had the video recorder at the ready.
“Here’s where the body was,” Ruth said. She pointed at the blood on the Dumpster. “Here’s where the victim hit his head. As far as we know, nobody saw what happened. We don’t know when he died. Could have been early this morning before anybody came, or late last night after everybody had gone home.”
“I stay late sometimes,” Benton said. “I didn’t see anything, and I’m alert, always watching for ba
ttery thieves.”
Benton had baited a couple of thieves with his own battery not so very long ago, as Rhodes recalled, but he’d never admitted it.
“Even if you passed by, you might not have seen anybody,” Ruth said. She indicated the chalk outline again. “Judging by the position of the body, I’d say the victim was behind the Dumpsters, out of sight. Someone else had to be there with him. There must have been a struggle, and the victim hit his head. Or someone caused him to hit his head. He fell here between the Dumpsters.”
“Or he was pushed,” Benton said.
Ruth looked at him. “I’m the officer here.”
“I’m a deputy, too,” Benton said.
“I’m undeputizing you,” Rhodes told him.
“You didn’t even give me a badge.”
“That makes it easier. Let Ruth finish.”
“He might have been pushed here,” Ruth said. “I think he just fell, though.”
“Anything else?” Rhodes asked.
“That’s all. How did things work out with the person you were after?”
Rhodes thought about the broken windshield. “Could’ve been better.”
He looked at Jennifer. He might as well let her hear a little about what had happened. She’d find out sooner or later anyway, so he explained that the driver of the car was Ike Terrell.
“Isn’t his family the one that lives in the compound?” Jennifer asked. “Waiting for the world to end?”
“That’s the family,” Rhodes said, “but I’m not sure what they’re waiting for.”
“They’re supposed to have all kinds of weapons there.”
“Just a rumor,” Rhodes said.
“They never associate with people here in town.”
“Ike claims he takes classes here,” Rhodes said.
Benton raised his hand. Rhodes looked at him.
“May I speak?” Benton asked. “Strictly as a citizen, and not as a deputy, of course.”
“Go ahead,” Rhodes said.
“Ike Terrell does go to school here,” Benton said. “He’s in my calculus class.”
“Calculus?”
“Right. You know what calculus is, don’t you?”
