Murder at the Courthouse

by A. H. Gabhart

  “So you know who the John Doe is now.” Hank didn’t wait for an invitation to join him, just slid into the seat across from Michael without asking. “You should have given me a call. I could have taken a shot of you and Lester breaking into the car.”

  “I planned to do that.” Michael smiled a little. “It must have slipped my mind.”

  “No need for sarcasm.” Hank stirred another packet of sugar into his coffee. “Lots of reporters and policemen get along famously. They share leads, get shot at together, things like that. Don’t you ever watch television?”

  “I guess not the same shows as you. I thought the policemen were always shoving the reporters out of the way, telling them to take a hike and smashing their cameras.”

  Hank took a loud sip of coffee and shook his head. “And after I put that nice picture of you right up on the front page when I could have used that other shot where you didn’t look like you knew what two plus two makes.”

  “You’re probably saving that one for the next issue.”

  “That’s an idea. It’s according to whether you catch the killer by then.” Hank grinned. “If not, I might just use it. How about this headline? ‘Bumfuzzled Deputy Doesn’t Know Beans about Who Done What.’” He drew the headline out in the air with his hands.

  “You won’t catch me arguing with the truth.”

  Cindy Tilford stepped up to the booth and set a cup of coffee down in front of Michael. She gave Hank a hard look and took up for Michael. “Now you quit picking on Michael, Hank. Go pester the sheriff with your questions and let Michael eat.”

  “The sheriff never has much to say when I’m around,” Hank said.

  “Wonder why.” Cindy raised her eyebrows at him, then turned back to Michael. “You doing the special, honey? Meat loaf? Or something else.” She hadn’t bothered to bring him a menu.

  Cindy, a big-boned redhead whose hair was beginning to show streaks of white, was the waitress, cook, and along with her husband, owner of the Grill. She didn’t put up with the first bit of nonsense in her place, but at the same time she had a sympathetic ear for a hard-luck story. Michael had talked her into giving Anthony Blake a part-time job a couple of weeks ago.

  When she slid the heaping plateful of meat loaf, mashed potatoes, and green beans under Michael’s nose a few minutes later, Hank complained. “Hey, you gave him an extra slice.”

  Cindy laughed. “Get used to it, Hank. He’s cuter than you. Besides, look at your waistline. I was doing you a favor.”

  Hank looked at her suspiciously. “You been talking to my wife?”

  “Us girls have to stick together.” Cindy shrugged as she moved away to fill another customer’s coffee cup.

  Her husband, Albert, popped halfway out of the kitchen door to call across the room at Michael. “That boy didn’t show up yesterday afternoon. He’s not supposed to come today, but you tell him he don’t show up tomorrow, he’s history.”

  “Now, Albert.” Cindy looked over at him. “The boy’s got troubles.”

  “So, who doesn’t?” He scowled at Cindy and then Michael again. “The boy took the job. He’s supposed to show up.”

  “I’ll talk to him, Albert,” Michael said. “Give him another chance.”

  “How many chances you want to give that boy, Michael?” Without waiting for an answer, Albert went back through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

  “Don’t pay him no mind.” Cindy came back to their booth to freshen up their coffee. “Albert was just wanting to go fishing yesterday, and then when Anthony didn’t show, he wouldn’t go. I told him I could handle the dinner crowd without him. To get his pole and go fishing. But he wouldn’t. Instead, he started banging pans around in the kitchen till the folks out here were almost afraid to stay and eat. They might not have, except they all wanted to compare stories about that guy getting shot on the courthouse steps.” She glanced at Hank. “Nobody wants to wait for the paper around here.”

  “That’s the trouble with a weekly paper.” Hank sighed and hung his head. “The news is old before it ever sees print.”

  “But people still want to read what’s in the Gazette. We sell out your copies every week. Can’t say the same for the Eagleton News.” Cindy waved at the paper stand inside the door. “That paper is shrinking down to nothing.”

  “They should try to up circulation by printing pictures of their subscribers’ grandkids playing ball and winning science fair ribbons. That’s how I keep my readers.” Hank grabbed another packet of sugar and tore it open. “Plus a murder now and again to spice things up.”

  “I like the kid pictures best.” Cindy headed back to the kitchen.

  Michael attacked the plate of food.

  Hank watched him a minute, then said, “Are you going to give me the lowdown, or do I have to wait for a press release from Paul Osgood?”

  “Paul’s sick. Last I heard Caroline was thinking about taking him to the emergency room over at Eagleton.”

  “You don’t say. Nobody told me.” Hank fingered his coffee cup handle.

  “You’re the reporter. You’re supposed to find out things on your own. Who told you about the car?”

  “I have my sources,” Hank said noncommittally.

  “How much do you know?” Michael took another bite of the meat loaf. The editor was about as good at evading answers as the politicians in town were at avoiding his questions.

  “Not near enough, but I’m betting you can fill me in on the rest.” Hank pulled his little notebook out and flipped through it. “Name Jay Rayburn. Salesman. From West Chester up near Louisville. Worked out of New Albany. Company named TEKCO.”

  Michael swallowed and stared at him. “Betty Jean’s not on your payroll, is she?”

  “Are you kidding?” Hank closed his notebook. “Betty Jean wouldn’t give me the time of day if she was the only person in Hidden Springs who owned a watch.” Hank sipped his coffee and studied the faded cowboy print hanging over the booth as though he’d never seen it before.

  “You must have bought Lester lunch.”

  “That beanpole eats more than you’d think he could.” Hank brought his eyes back to Michael’s face and grinned. “I guess you might say Lester was more appreciative of his picture in the paper than you were.”

  Michael shook his head and went back to eating. “I’d have thought it would take more than his picture in the paper and a hamburger to break a dedicated deputy like Lester Stucker.”

  Hank twirled his coffee cup on the saucer. “Well, as a matter of fact, I’m working up a piece on how important the crossing guard is in protecting the children in our community. Something that needed doing anyway. Maybe a tie-in with school safety week, and I can print some more of those pictures of folks’ grandkids.”

  “You have no scruples, Leland.” Michael wasn’t really upset. Lester had saved him the trouble of letting Hank pry all the same information out of him. Before the Hidden Springs Gazette was published again next week, everybody in town would know the dead man’s name anyway. Could be they would have the killer in jail by then. Maybe Buck had run down some leads out at the campgrounds. He might even be bringing in a suspect. Buck liked to solo.

  “I could pay for your lunch if Lester left anything out.”

  “Nope. Sounds like you have pretty much everything I do. Except he was a printer technician and salesman. Worked on those big company machines.”

  “Nobody in Hidden Springs has anything like that, do they?”

  “Not that I know of, but his company is emailing a list. Once I’ve checked it out, I’ll let you know.”

  “That’s the trouble with you, Keane. You want to wait till it’s not news anymore and then tell me.”

  “You’ll have to keep a lid on what you’ve already found out until we get in touch with the next of kin. Betty Jean’s tracking down a daughter now.”

  “No problem. I don’t owe the Eagleton News any favors. Let them dig up their own news.”

  “I’d just as soon you t
old them.” Michael pushed his empty plate away. “One reporter stirring around is plenty.”

  “Stirring a little sometimes brings things to the surface that you might never notice otherwise.”

  Michael leaned back in the booth and studied Hank. There was something just a tad too pleased about the editor’s face. “Have you brought something to the surface that I need to know about, Leland?”

  “Now, you know I’d share the info with the proper authorities first thing if I uncovered anything I thought might be helpful in the investigation.” Hank opened his notebook again and leafed through it. “Nothing of interest to you here.” He was silent a few seconds, then asked, “But what was it you said was wrong with Paul?”

  “I didn’t. But the chief said it might be food poisoning.”

  “Did Buck take him out to eat last night?” Hank asked innocently.

  “You burnt your bridges behind you putting that picture of them in the paper, and if I were you, I’d be careful not to give either one of them an excuse to lock you up.”

  “Do you think they would?” Hank looked genuinely excited. “Really? That would make a great story. Police harassment.”

  “You’d better worry more about waking up to write your story if it’s Buck who arrests you. He’s been known to bash a few heads when folks don’t surrender meekly. Mind, all of this is off the record and just a friendly little warning.”

  Hank laughed. “Don’t worry about me, Keane. I’m meek as can be when I need to be. Besides, I know how far to push them without going too far. They all hate me, but I get my stories.” Hank slipped his notebook back into his shirt pocket and stood up.

  “How come you don’t push me?”

  Hank laughed again before he yelled over at Cindy to bring Michael a piece of that fresh apple pie. On him. Then he looked back at Michael. “Don’t you feel me pushing?” He smiled widely. “You will let me know when you’ve talked to the next of kin?”

  “I’ll let you know.”

  “Good. Maybe I should go talk to some people over at the hospital in Eagleton. Find out what Osgood ate last night. You never can tell what might turn out to be important.”

  After he left, Cindy brought over the pie and scooted into the booth across from Michael. Between them they took a poll of which stories going around about the murder were the most popular. The mob was still ahead about three to one, although the idea of a wife paying somebody to do the guy in was gaining and was her own personal favorite. Michael didn’t spoil her fun by telling her there wasn’t a current wife.

  When Michael got back to the office, Betty Jean had Amy Cartwright’s address and had already arranged to have someone from the local police department break the news to her. A little later when Michael got the daughter on the phone, he tried to keep it impersonal, but the girl sounded so small and sad he couldn’t keep from asking if someone was there with her.

  “My baby’s here. He was a month old yesterday. Dad was supposed to come see him next week.” The girl had to stop and swallow back tears before she could go on. “Said he wanted to wait till Jason got big enough for him to hold without worrying that he might break him.”

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cartwright. I know this has to be difficult for you.”

  “I can’t believe it’s true. Why would anybody want to kill my father?”

  “We don’t know yet, but we’re doing our best to find out.” He gave her a minute to compose herself, but he had to ask his questions. “Is there anything you might be able to tell us about your father that would help?”

  There was a long silence. Too long, and Michael wished he could see the girl’s face. He was planning out how to phrase his next question when a door slammed in the background and a voice called the girl’s name. At the sound, the girl began to sob.

  An angry, strident voice came on the line. “Who is this?”

  After Michael quickly identified himself, he tried to defuse the woman’s anger by first apologizing, then explaining his purpose, and last, asking, “Are you Amy’s mother?”

  “I am, and Amy can’t talk to you now.” No hint of grief or tears showed in the woman’s voice.

  “I understand, Mrs. Rayburn. She can answer any other questions we might have tomorrow. I’ve arranged to meet with her in Eagleton to confirm the identity of her father.”

  The mother fell silent as if surprised by his words. Finally she said, “Is that really necessary?”

  “I’m afraid so, Mrs. Rayburn.”

  “Stop calling me Mrs. Rayburn.” Irritation was plain in her voice. “My name’s Hawfield now. And you don’t need to be bothering Amy about all this right now. Jay may have been a skunk, but he was her father.”

  The muffled sobs grew louder and were joined by the sound of a baby crying. “I am sorry, ma’am, but Mrs. Cartwright is the victim’s next of kin.” A long silence stretched across the line between them.

  At last the mother sighed slightly and gave in. “If it has to be done, it’ll be done. Now leave us alone.” She disconnected before Michael could say anything else.

  Michael considered calling back to ask the mother to accompany her daughter the next day. The mother sounded as if she might have some answers, and Michael needed answers. Right now he’d even be glad to have a few questions. His hand hovered over the phone, but he didn’t want to further antagonize the woman. If she didn’t show up with the daughter, he’d get her number and contact her then.

  After his crossing guard duty, Lester came in to report he’d tracked down Buck. Lester was still glowing from his big discovery that morning, holding his thin shoulders back, strutting through the office over to the coffeepot. He poured the last of the coffee into his cup, but didn’t bother making a fresh pot. He left it for Betty Jean the way Sheriff Potter always did.

  Betty Jean opened her mouth to blast him, but Michael caught her eye and winked. With a scowl that said plain as words Michael was going to owe her, she pushed up from her desk to fill the pot with water.

  “Had Buck found out anything?” Michael asked.

  “I don’t know.” Lester looked up from his coffee, his cocky grin changing into a worried frown. “Buck got sort of mad.”

  “Yeah? Because you found the car before he did?”

  Lester shook his head. “Not that. He was out at the truck stop and I kind of bumped into his table and spilled his coffee in his lap. It must’ve been really hot, the way he yelled and jumped up and held his pants leg out away from him.”

  Michael bit his lip to keep from smiling. “So you just told him the news and got out of there while the getting was good.”

  “I wouldn’t run away like that.”

  Michael noted Lester’s sincere look and was almost afraid to ask. “What’d you do?”

  “There was a glass of ice water right there on the table, and seeing as how it was cold and the coffee was hot, I thought it would cool him off to pour it on his pants.”

  “It’s a wonder he didn’t shoot you.” This time he couldn’t keep from smiling.

  Lester looked scared. “He wouldn’t do that, would he?”

  Michael rubbed his hand across his face to wipe away his smile. “No, Lester, of course not. When he calms down, he’ll realize you were just trying to help.”

  “Yeah.” Lester cheered up a little. “So when he quit yelling, I told him what you said quick like, since I had to get back to the school. I have to be there before the bell rings, because some of those kids get out to the street really fast, and I wouldn’t want them to cross that road without me there.” Lester smiled all the way across his face. “Did you know Mr. Leland is going to write a piece about me and how much I help the kids?”

  “So I heard.”

  “Mr. Leland told me I must have a nose for leads and that’s how come I spotted that guy’s car this morning.”

  “He could be right,” Michael agreed.

  Betty Jean snorted a little as she measured out the coffee behind them, but Lester didn’t notice as he sat u
p a little straighter in his chair.

  “I’ll let you know, Michael, if I smell out any more leads.”

  Betty Jean had a coughing fit and had to go out into the hall.

  “You okay, Betty Jean?” Lester started to get up to follow her, but Michael waved him back into his chair.

  “She’ll be okay. She just needs a drink of water.” Michael waited till Lester sat back down. “I need all the help I can get with this, Lester, so if you see anything else out of the ordinary, anything at all, you tell me right away.”

  Lester’s eyes widened and he looked around as if expecting a new lead to pop up in front of him right there in the office. “I’ll be on the lookout, Michael. You can count on that.”

  “I know I can. Oh, and by the way, it might be best if you didn’t tell Hank Leland anything about what we find out. We want to keep what we know under wraps for a while until we have a suspect in hand.”

  “Right. He won’t get anything out of me.”

  Michael looked at Lester and knew he didn’t even realize Hank had gotten him to spill his guts at lunchtime. Michael was almost relieved when the phone rang so that he could give up on the impossible.

  It was Chief Sibley. There had been an accident at the intersection of North Main and Bell Street and could Michael go write it up, since he was headed over to Eagleton to the hospital to be with Caroline. It seemed Paul didn’t have a bug or food poisoning after all. His appendix had ruptured, and they were rushing him into surgery. Paul was out of his head and Caroline about as bad.

  Michael left Betty Jean with instructions to tell Buck where he was if he called in.

  Michael didn’t like working accidents. The fender benders were boringly routine, and the bad wrecks always pushed him too close to the strange pool of blackness that held the memories of that other accident years ago. Of course, he had to work wrecks all the time from fatalities on down to the bumper kissers.

  When the smashup was bad, it took Michael days to get over seeing the crushed cars and broken bodies. He had to turn off all feeling and become almost a robot to perform his duties.

  This wreck wasn’t bad. Irma Bottoms in the compact car had a bumped head, and Billy West in the pickup truck was ranting about how Irma must be senile to pull out in front of him like that. Michael wrote down their statements. Sam’s wrecker was just towing away the car when Buck showed up.