An Unsettling Crime for Samuel Craddock

by Terry Shames

  “Truly?” Tyler Penny’s eyes widen. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “I’m not joking. Do you think he’s guilty?” I ask Alvin.

  “Of course I don’t,” he says, “but I don’t see that’s going to help him. I expect now they’ve got him in their clutches, neither you nor I can do a dadgummed thing to fix it.”

  “Daddy, now stop it.”

  We both look at Tyler. “You stay out of this,” Alvin says to his son. “Me and him are having it out, and he’s holding his own. He doesn’t need some city dude helping him out.”

  I can’t help grinning. “I might need a little help.”

  Tyler grins, too.

  “Mr. Penny, I don’t intend to let Truly pay for a crime he didn’t commit. But the only way to fix that is to find out who really did it.”

  “It’s going to get you into a pack of trouble. You know that, don’t you?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Then why are you going out on a limb like that for a black man?”

  “I’ve been asking myself the same question, especially since I’m trying to get help from people as stubborn as you.”

  The son laughs. “I’m glad somebody said it.”

  “Look who’s stubborn,” Alvin says to me. “You’re the lawman trying to buck the system. All right,” he says to his son, “I’m outnumbered. Tell the man what he wants to know.”

  Tyler knows three of the names. “Duchess is the mother of two of the girls, Lily and Alice, and the boy. I don’t know her son’s name, and I don’t know who the other girl was.”

  “How do you know them?”

  “I don’t. I just remember somebody telling me they had been to some kind of party at their house.”

  “When was this?”

  “Sometime earlier in the summer. I got the impression it was like a housewarming party, but I don’t know why I thought so.”

  “I have to ask this. The girls were sexually active. Do you know if they were . . .”

  “What, prostitutes? Daddy?”

  Alvin shakes his head. “I can’t tell you anything about that.”

  If they haven’t been here long, maybe no one knew what they were up to. “Do either of you know anybody who might have been better acquainted with them?”

  The two men exchange glances. “I guess we’re back to the beginning,” the older man says. “That would be my son Beaumont. He came home especially to go to that party.”

  Tyler raises an eyebrow. “Must have been some party.”

  “How can I get in touch with Beaumont?”

  “I might have his number in Houston,” Alvin says, “but I have to ask you not to tell him how you got the information. Me and him are not on good terms, and I’d as soon not feed the flames.”

  I agree and he goes out of the room to get the phone number.

  As soon as we’re alone, Tyler says, “My brother is not a good man. Daddy and Mamma have three sons. Two of us are regular people. Why Beaumont went off and became a troublemaker, I’ll never know. The fact is, as crooked as he is, I can’t imagine him being involved with killing women and children. He’s a crook, but not a killer. At least I don’t think so. If you find out different, I’d appreciate it if you can find a way to spare Mamma and Daddy.”

  I tell him I’ll do my best. When Alvin comes back with a phone number and address in hand, I shake his hand and tell him I hope to use the information to clear Truly Bennett’s name. I just hope I don’t have to arrest this man’s son in his place.

  Chapter 24

  Sunday, Jeanne has arranged a picnic with Marilyn Beffort, a friend she plays cards with and who has kids Tom’s age. Marilyn’s husband, Jake, is a friendly man who owns a hardware store in Bobtail but grew up in Jarrett Creek and refuses to move his family to the big city of Bobtail.

  Jeanne has kept an eagle eye out that I won’t get caught up in police business on Sunday, so it’s midmorning before I have a chance to call the station in Bobtail to find out if Truly Bennett has survived another night. I speak with a deputy who sounds even younger than me.

  “Your friend Bennett is fine, but all hell has broken loose here,” he says.

  “What do you mean?” I think I know what he means, but I’m trying to maintain innocence.

  “You know that upstart troublemaker from Houston, Albert Lamond? He showed up here with a mob around seven o’clock last night, and they’ve been raising hell ever since.”

  “Raising hell how?”

  He pauses. “You know the way they do, the head man standing on a soapbox and inciting everybody to get riled up.”

  “Has anybody gotten hurt?”

  “Not yet. Sheriff Newberry has kept a tight watch on the situation.”

  When I hang up, I’m itching to get over to Bobtail to see exactly how Lamond is playing it, but Jeanne would pitch a fit, and it isn’t really necessary for me to be there anyway.

  We finally get the food, beach towels, water toys, and blankets loaded into the car. “We have enough to feed everybody in the park,” I say, as I load the last cooler into the bed of the pickup.

  Jeanne acts like she’s offended by my remark, but she can’t stop grinning. She loves to feed me, but she loves feeding Tom even more. He’s dancing around as if we were going to the World’s Fair instead of Lakeside Park.

  We meet the Befforts right where we’re supposed to, and the three boys take off for the lake like they were shot out of a cannon. It’s hot, and before we eat, Jeanne, Marilyn, and I decide to go for a swim, too. Jake Beffort says he doesn’t much take to the water, so he stays behind to watch the food. “I have to guard Marilyn’s chocolate cake. If anybody knew how tasty it was, they’d be willing to take it at gunpoint,” he says.

  The cool lake water feels good on this hot day, and I’m glad for a day off after a hard week. It seems like a long time since I was in Austin for the autopsy, although it was only a few days ago. Jeanne and Marilyn stay close to shore, but I swim out to the raft with the boys and we compete to see who can make the biggest splash when we jump in. When the boys start hollering that they’re starving, we race back to shore. Jeanne and the Befforts have already got the picnic set out.

  An hour later, the Befforts have gone off on a walk, and the rest of us are dozing in the shade. Jeanne and I are sharing a quilt. She’s stretched out with her head on my shoulder. Suddenly she sits up. “What is that smell?”

  As soon as she mentions it, I smell it too. It smells like tobacco, only sweeter, and I know exactly what it is. There’s a breeze coming from the south, and I sit up and search for the source. Several yards away, a handful of teenagers are huddled in a circle on a blanket, smoking marijuana. I expect they think they’re invisible.

  I wonder if I should confront them, or pretend I don’t notice what’s going on? If I ignore them, I’m wasting an opportunity to warn them that they can no longer get away with thumbing their nose at the law. But what if they were drinking beer? It’s illegal for them to drink, too, but when I was their age I sneaked plenty of beer. Am I joining the ranks of fuddy-duddies who can’t stand for kids to experiment?

  Tom is asleep on a blanket with the other two boys. Suddenly Tom says, “Daddy?” He raises onto his elbows and peers around, blinking.

  “Your daddy isn’t here,” I say.

  He frowns and sniffs the air, then yawns and lies back.

  Jeanne is watching him, too, and we both look up at the same time. She raises an eyebrow. “What was that all about?”

  “Dreaming,” I say. But I know that the smell is what triggered his dream. I know my brother smokes pot at times.

  The teenagers are getting louder. Two of them have fallen onto their backs and are giggling. “I have to go talk to those kids.”

  “Samuel, can’t you let it go for today?”

  “Is that what you want?”

  My question creates a problem for Jeanne. She has strong opinions about drug use. Her adored oldest brother has drug and alcohol problems. He has b
een in and out of rehab. I’ve met him only a few times, and I don’t give him much chance of recovering. I sometimes wonder if one reason Jeanne doesn’t like the idea of me being a lawman is that her brother has been arrested and spent time in jail, and the connection is too close for comfort.

  “Whatever you have to do,” she says. “I wish I hadn’t said anything.” She lies back down and crosses her arms over her eyes.

  I sit there a minute longer, but another strong whiff comes to me and I get up and put a shirt on. The group of half a dozen kids doesn’t pay any attention to me until I’m standing over them. The boy holding the joint looks up at me and his mouth falls open. He hides the joint in his palm, even though there’s no way I could have avoided seeing it. I hunker down next to them. “You know, marijuana is an illegal substance,” I say.

  One of the girls, a baby-faced blond, giggles. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She’s wearing a tiny bathing suit, and she repositions herself so that her breasts thrust in my direction. The boy sitting next to her throws a hooded glance at me.

  “You kids go to JC High School?”

  Nobody answers.

  “I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Samuel Craddock, chief of police in Jarrett Creek. Where did you get the marijuana?”

  “What if we don’t tell you?” the boy holding the marijuana asks.

  “I don’t want to have to arrest anybody, but if I can’t get your cooperation, I may have to take all of you down to the station.”

  “You won’t stand a chance by yourself,” the girl’s boyfriend says.

  “A chance of what? A chance of getting all of you down to the jail?” I let my gaze scan the surroundings. “Good number of people here, and I expect some of them would be glad to help out if I called on them. But like I said, I don’t really want to go that far. So I’m asking politely if you are students at Jarrett Creek High School.”

  One of the teens, a skinny girl with freckles and a scared expression, says, “All of us do except him.” She nods toward the defiant kid. “He goes to school in Bobtail.”

  “That means all the rest of you have parents here in town?”

  They all exchange horrified glances. The skinny girl’s lower lip starts to quiver. “Please don’t tell my mom.”

  The busty girl gives me a stink-eye. “Go ahead and tell. What are they going to do to me? Ground me? Whoopee.”

  “I need to know where you got the stuff,” I say.

  A couple of the kids sneak glances at the boy who originally had the joint. “You,” I say, pointing at him. “I want to talk to you.” I stand up.

  “Why me?”

  “Do you know who his daddy is?” one of the other boys asks.

  “I don’t care if his daddy is the governor,” I say. I gesture to the kid. “Come on.”

  I glance over to see that Jeanne and the boys have not moved, but the Befforts have returned from their walk and are sitting on the picnic bench, watching me.

  The boy gets up and ambles toward me, full of bravado. His eyes are red, and up close he reeks of marijuana.

  I steer him down toward the lake. “What’s your name?”

  “Uh . . .”

  “Your first name.”

  “Charlie. Charles, I mean.”

  “Charlie, it seems that you are the one who brought the weed. If you’ll give me the name of whoever supplied you with the product, you get to walk out of here. But if you don’t, we’ve got a problem.”

  “Why are you picking on me?”

  “What kind of a question is that? You sound like you’re in first grade. Listen, everybody was looking to you, and that tells me you were the one who supplied this little outing. Are you telling me it was one of the other kids?”

  “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

  “You’re right. Go get your stuff and I’ll run you down to the station, and you can call your folks; then we’ll deal with it in front of them.”

  The kid finally looks nervous. “I don’t know his name.”

  “What does he look like?”

  “I’ve never seen him.”

  “How do you get it, then?”

  He squirms. His shoulders are skinny and I see goose bumps scattered along his arm. “It’s a drop-off. I let him know what I need, and he picks up the money and leaves the order. That’s all I know.”

  “How often does this drop-off happen?”

  His answers are coming slower and slower. “It varies. Depends on what we want.”

  “How does he know when you want to buy?”

  “I’ve told you everything I’m going to tell you.”

  “Not quite.” With more poking and prodding, I find out that anybody who wants to buy some grass leaves a note and money in a particular spot at the stadium. “The drill is that you leave the note and come back the next day and the stuff is there.” He tells me that the supplier sells pills as well as marijuana, but no cocaine or heroin. He seems outraged at the very idea that the dealer would supply harder drugs. I fear that whoever is selling to him will ease into it sooner or later.

  “You make some good spending money as part of the deal?”

  He crosses his arms over his skinny chest and narrows his eyes. “I do it to help kids out. I don’t make any money.”

  “Right.” If I believed that, I’d believe anything. “Aren’t you afraid somebody else will pick up the package and walk away with it?”

  “Are you kidding? He said if he ever found out that somebody pimped his product, he’d kill them.”

  “You said you’d never met him. So how did he tell you that?”

  “I talked to him on the phone.”

  “You called him?”

  “Hell no, he called me.”

  “How did you get hooked up with him in the first place?”

  He shrugs. “I met a guy in Bobtail, and he said he could hook me up with some weed and he’d have the guy contact me.”

  “How long has this been going on?”

  “Not that long. A year, maybe a little longer.”

  “Charlie, I’m going to let you walk away from this because you cooperated with me. But I don’t think I have to tell you to keep your mouth shut. If I find out you warned your connection, you’ll be in trouble you can’t talk your way out of. Do you understand me?”

  “I guess.”

  “No guessing to it. You either understand or you don’t,” I say, looking him in the eye.

  He blinks first.

  We turn around to walk back, and I burst out laughing. His bosom buddies have cleared out, leaving his clothes lying in a heap.

  “That bastard Leo! How am I going to get back to town?”

  “Tough problem,” I say. “Maybe you ought to choose a better grade of friends. Or at least braver ones.”

  I leave him cursing quietly while he gets dressed.

  By now the boys are awake and have taken off to swim again. Jeanne and the Befforts are sitting at the picnic bench. Jake Beffort is drinking a beer, and I accept his offer of one.

  “What was going on?” he asks.

  “Just getting some information.”

  Chapter 25

  Back home I tell Jeanne I need to go check on something and I’ll be back in a while. She barely notices when I leave because she’s busy persuading Tom that swimming in the lake isn’t the same as having a bath. She is holding out a bribe of chocolate-chip cookies if he’ll get in the tub.

  I head straight for Ezekiel Bennett’s place. I don’t expect him to be home, because he’s most likely up at the jail in Bobtail. But I hope to find Alva home. Sure enough, she opens the door.

  “You can’t be here,” she says, flinging her hands up like she’s surrendering.

  “I have to talk to you.”

  “I don’t have to talk to you. I already did my talking. You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  “Would you rather meet me somewhere? We have to talk here or somewhere else.”

  “I don’t know. Okay,
I’ll meet you at the house. The burned house.” She’s practically shivering.

  “Ten minutes,” I say.

  It’s late afternoon, but it seems darker than it ought to be. Clouds have sneaked up and gathered into a low ceiling. I’m glad it waited until after our picnic to rain.

  It’s only been a few days since the fire, but the burned house looks like it could have been months ago. Desolation and ruin hang over the place. The front porch that was sagging has now collapsed. Most likely the embers of the fire continued to eat away at the pillars. The yellow crime-scene tape is broken and lies limp on the ground. I wonder who has been in here. Have vandals made off with the things remaining in the house? Someone should have been posted to keep out troublemakers and curiosity seekers. Was that my job, or Sutherland’s? Even if it was his, I should have known he wouldn’t do it, and I don’t have the manpower for it.

  I go around back and into the kitchen. Nothing here has been touched as far as I can tell. Flies and maggots have settled in to do their work of cleaning up the food left on the dirty dishes. I walk carefully into the hallway and the front room. Seeing as the front porch collapsed, any of the floorboards could be weakened.

  In the front room I see that people have been in here. All the photos have been removed. I don’t remember particular furnishings, but the room seems barer than it was.

  Out the front window I see Alva creep into view. She sneaks a look over her shoulder as if she’s scared someone followed her. I go back outside and call out so as not to startle her.

  She rushes toward me. “Oh, Mr. Craddock, I wish I hadn’t said to come here. I’m scared.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  She gestures toward the house. “It looks like spirits in there. Those poor folks that got killed.”

  She’s right—between the lowering sky and the gloom of the house, it isn’t inviting to be here. “Let’s walk. I won’t keep you long.” We head toward the road. “I have some things to ask you. One of the dead girls had a note in her pocket with your name on it. Why would she have that?”

  She stops in her tracks, her mouth open. “I don’t know.”

  “Don’t lie to me. You must have known Duchess Wortham or one of her kids.”