by Bill Crider
“Maybe we could start with just a few of ’em,” Lawton said.
“I can think of some that could use it,” Hack said. “I’d like to be the one to make the list of who gets hit.”
“Like that woman last night,” Lawton said. “She’d be on it.”
Rhodes knew they were about to get to it. Not that they’d get there directly, but the journey of a thousand miles had at least begun with the first step.
“She didn’t need a knock on the head,” Hack said. “She just needed some help from the law. That’s what she said, anyway. Said it was an emergency.”
Rhodes knew it was his turn, so he said, “Help for what?”
“Car trouble,” Hack said.
“We don’t usually call that an emergency,” Rhodes said.
“This kind of car trouble is,” Lawton said.
“What kind was it?”
“The kind where she said somebody’d broke into her car,” Hack said.
“Cleaned it out,” Lawton said. “Took ever’thing.”
“Sure did,” Hack said. “She told me the stereo was gone, the radio was gone, the steering wheel was gone, and even the accelerator and brake were gone.”
“That’s some serious trouble, all right,” Rhodes said, wondering how anybody could make off with all that. Why would anybody even try? Who would want a steering wheel?
“Who’d you send to investigate?” he asked.
“Sent Ruth. She was on patrol down around Thurston, and that’s where this happened.”
“It must have taken more than one person to dismantle a car like that,” Rhodes said.
“Maybe not,” Lawton said, and Hack favored him with a hard look.
“What makes you say that?” Rhodes asked.
“Might not have taken even one person, that’s why,” Lawton said before Hack could cut him off.
Rhodes didn’t get it. He knew there was a catch. There was always a catch, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He told himself he wouldn’t ask, but he knew he would, eventually, so why not get it out of the way?
“What did Ruth find?” he asked.
“She didn’t find anything,” Hack said.
“Surely she found the car and investigated the complaint.”
“Well, she found the car. Found the woman, too. Turned out there wasn’t any complaint. Woman apologized, and Ruth gave her a ride home.”
Rhodes was getting more confused than ever, but he tried not to show it. “I can see why she needed a ride. Hard to drive without a steering wheel or a brake. I don’t see why there wasn’t a complaint, though.”
“’Cause none of that stuff was missing,” Hack said. “It was all there.”
“Then why did the woman call us?”
“It looked like it was all gone to her,” Lawton said. “See—”
“I’m the one got the call,” Hack said. “Seems like when Ruth got there, she found out what the trouble was. Hadn’t been anything taken after all. It was just a mistake.”
“How could anybody think all that was missing if it wasn’t?” Rhodes asked.
“Easy,” Hack said. “She was in the backseat instead of the front.”
Rhodes finally caught on. “Alcohol was involved.”
“Right. I’m surprised she could even use a cell phone, bein’ that impaired. That’s why Ruth took her home. She’d been drinkin’ at her boyfriend’s house, and when it came time to go home, he wasn’t in any shape to drive her. So she was goin’ to drive herself.”
“Couldn’t, though,” Lawton said, “not havin’ a steerin’ wheel and all.”
“Just as well she got in the backseat,” Rhodes said. “I don’t like to think about what might’ve happened if she’d gotten on the road.”
“Maybe not much,” Hack said. “Hardly anybody out on the roads down in Thurston after dark.”
“Mighta been somebody, though,” Lawton said, “and she couldn’t see ’em if they were there.”
“Sure couldn’t,” Hack said. “Couldn’t even see she was in the backseat ’stead of the front.”
Rhodes was reminded of what he and Ivy had been talking about the previous night, about the difference between seeing and observing. The woman in Thurston couldn’t see where she was, much less observe anything. He thought about some of the things he’d seen during the past couple of days. Doris Clements had told him he was pretty observant when he’d talked to her on the phone at Frances Bennett’s house. Rhodes wondered if he really was. He’d seen some things that he hadn’t observed carefully enough. As he thought back on them now, some of them started to mean a lot more to him than they had at first.
“I have to go see Ella Collins,” he said.
“Her sister’s from Thurston, ain’t she?” Hack asked.
“She is, but she wasn’t the woman in the car last night.”
“Nope. That was Liz Corley in the car. That’s what she told me, anyway. What you want to see Miz Collins about?”
“I’ll tell you later,” Rhodes said, and he scooted out the door before Hack could say anything more.
* * *
It was still early, but Rhodes thought that Ella Collins would be up and about. He didn’t think her sister would be there. She would’ve gone back to Thurston, having helped Ella make the funeral arrangements. The funeral would most likely be on Monday, and Ella would have a lot of last-minute things to take care of.
Rhodes went up on the porch and knocked on the door. Ella came quickly and opened it. She seemed a little surprised to see him.
“I thought you might be somebody bringing food,” she said. “I hope you didn’t bring anything. I already have a kitchen full. Casseroles and vegetables and all like that. Lots of desserts, too. You know how it is.”
Rhodes knew how it was. When someone in Clearview died, people wanted to help somehow or other, and everyone seemed to believe that the best way to do that was to bring food.
“I didn’t bring anything to eat,” he said, “but I’d like to come in if that’s all right.”
Ella pulled the door all the way open. “Did you find out who killed Burt?”
“Not yet,” Rhodes said. “I have an idea or two about that, but I can’t say for sure. Do you feel like answering a few questions?”
“I guess so,” Ella said. “Come on back to the kitchen.”
Rhodes followed her to the kitchen. Ruth had removed the crime-scene tape from the living room, but Rhodes could understand why Ella might not want to go in there to talk. Or to do anything. She might not want to go in there for a long time, or ever again.
When they walked into the kitchen, Rhodes saw that the counters were lined with pies and cakes, along with bowls and casserole dishes covered with foil or plastic wrap. He smelled coffee.
“You want something to eat?” Ella said. “I got plenty.”
Rhodes wasn’t sure if she was making a joke, so he said, “No, thanks. Just some talk.”
“Cup of coffee?”
“I don’t drink it,” Rhodes said.
“You one of them Mormons?”
“No,” Rhodes said. “I just never learned to like it.”
“You mind if I have some, then?”
“Not a bit. You go right ahead.”
“You just sit at the table there, and I’ll pour myself a cup,” Ella said.
Rhodes sat down and waited while she poured a cup of coffee from the carafe in the Mr. Coffee. She put sugar in the cup, stirred it with a tablespoon, and sat across from Rhodes.
“You said you wanted to ask me something?”
“It’s about Frances Bennett. Did you stay with her last night?”
Ella took a sip of the coffee. “No, I didn’t. She’s got other friends, and I didn’t feel like it, not with Burt and all.”
“You were with her the night Burt was killed, though.”
“Yes, I was helping her that night. I thought I already told you that.”
“You did, and I called her, just to be sure.”
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“I don’t blame you. You’re the sheriff. It’s your job to do things like that.”
“Sometimes I don’t like the things I have to do,” Rhodes said. “Like now.”
Ella drank some more coffee, then said, “You don’t like talking to me?”
“It’s not the talking I don’t like,” Rhodes said. “It’s the questions I have to ask.”
“I don’t mind,” Ella said.
Rhodes thought she was going to mind a lot when he got started on the really important ones.
“Before I say any more, I’d better tell you what your rights are,” he said. “I want to be sure you understand them.”
“I don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I’m saying you have the right to remain silent,” Rhodes told her, and then he went through the rest of the Miranda warning. “Do you understand all that?”
“I understand it, but I don’t know why you’re telling me. I hope you don’t think I killed Burt.”
“I don’t think that. This is about something else.”
“I don’t know what it could be.”
“Maybe it’s nothing at all,” Rhodes said. “Just let me ask the questions, and you can answer them. If we don’t get anywhere, we’ll just forget I ever started.”
“That sounds all right to me.”
“You left Frances’s house a little early the night Burt was killed, didn’t you,” Rhodes said.
Ella’s eyes narrowed just a little. Rhodes had questioned a lot of people. The eyes nearly always told him as much as their words.
“I don’t think so. I came home about the usual time, and Burt … Burt was dead when I got here.”
“You got home about the usual time,” Rhodes said, “but you left Frances’s early. I think you gave her the pain pills a little before the usual time, and when she went to sleep, you left. You didn’t come home, though. You went somewhere else. You want to tell me about that?”
“I came home,” Ella said. “That’s all.”
“You came home, all right, but first you went somewhere else. You went to Oscar Henderson’s store.”
“I never.”
“I should’ve thought of it before,” Rhodes said, paying no attention to her denial. “You had red lines on your face, but I thought they came from crying. They didn’t. They came from the stocking you had pulled over your head.”
Keen powers of observation, just like Sherlock Holmes and Monk. Ivy would be proud of him.
Ella set her coffee cup on the table and pushed it away from her. She didn’t meet Rhodes’s eyes.
“I don’t think you can even buy stockings anymore,” she said.
“You can cut the leg out of a pair of pantyhose,” Rhodes said. “You were wearing jeans and a shirt, and you disguised your voice. Chris never considered that a woman might be robbing him, so he thought you were a man.”
“Wasn’t me,” Ella said, without conviction.
“What really gave it away, though,” Rhodes said, “was the pistol. I knew Burt used to coach track, and I should’ve thought more about that. You know you could’ve been killed last night when Oscar got after you and started shooting? He thought you had a real gun, but what you had was Burt’s old starter pistol. Isn’t that right?”
“Starter pistol just shoots blanks,” Ella said. “Not even a real pistol.”
“That’s right, but it looks enough like one to scare somebody like Chris.”
Rhodes looked around the kitchen. All that food, and Ella wasn’t going to be there to eat it. Maybe she’d like to donate it to the jail to feed the prisoners.
“I know you needed money,” he said. “You couldn’t even pay Abby at the Beauty Shack. It wasn’t the first time. You paid her eventually, though. After you robbed Oscar’s store.”
“Burt was a tightwad. He never let me have any money. You heard what Bonnie said.”
“I did. It was a shame he treated you like that.”
“He was a good man in some ways,” Ella said. She paused. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember what they were, but we had food on the table. Sometimes not much of it, but we always had something. We paid all our bills on time, too, mostly. Burt’s retirement wasn’t all that good, and he was always looking for ways to get more money. Never found any, and he wouldn’t ever let me get a job. He didn’t like spending on what he called frivolous things, like my hair appointments. You ever wonder why our house is painted different colors?”
“I thought maybe Burt had an artistic side.”
“He never did, but he did paint the house himself. Couldn’t afford to hire anybody. It’s different colors because he couldn’t afford to buy all the paint at once, and he just got what was cheapest.”
That was as good an explanation as any for the paint job, Rhodes thought. Kind of a sad one, too.
“He wouldn’t let you have any money at all?”
Ella shook her head. “He said taking care of money was the man’s job because he was head of the house. My mama always told me that was the way it was supposed to be. The man was the boss, so I just did what he said. I thought it was the right thing.”
“Bonnie doesn’t seem to think that way,” Rhodes said.
Ella half-smiled. “Bonnie never did listen to Mama. She never did like Burt, either. Maybe I should’ve been more like her.”
Rhodes thought the same thing.
“You going to take me to the jail now?” Ella asked.
“That’s my job,” Rhodes said.
“I guess you’ll make me give Oscar his money back.”
“Yes, you’ll have to do that.”
“Sure do hate to cheat Abby. She does a nice job on my hair.” Ella touched her head. “That stocking really did mess it up, though.”
“I think it looks fine.”
“You do? Really?”
“Really,” Rhodes said.
“Will I be able to go to Burt’s funeral? It wouldn’t be right if I wasn’t there.”
“You’ll be there,” Rhodes said. “I’ll see to it.”
He would, too. She could go with one of the deputies as an escort. Ruth, most likely.
“You think I could call Frances Bennett?” Ella asked. “I need to let her know I can’t be helping her out anymore.”
“Sure, you can do that.”
Ella stood up, went over to the phone, and made her call. Rhodes noticed that she didn’t explain why she couldn’t help out any longer.
When Ella hung up, she said, “I guess we might as well go, then. You going to put handcuffs on me?”
Rhodes knew that he should, but he said, “No, I don’t think that’s necessary.”
“I appreciate it,” Ella said, and Rhodes thought she really meant it.
* * *
When he’d booked Ella into the jail, Rhodes sat down to write yet another report. Hack wasn’t going to stop pestering him, however.
“You never told me that you thought Ella was the robber,” he said. “You coulda told me that before you left.”
“I didn’t want to jinx it,” Rhodes said.
“Jinx it? You don’t believe in jinxes or haints or any of that stuff.”
“Maybe not, but it’s better not to take chances. Anyway, now you know.”
“You say she confessed?”
“I don’t remember saying that.”
“Well, did she?”
“More or less. She’ll tell us more, I’m sure. She showed me Burt’s starter pistol, and I brought that with me.”
He’d already logged it in and put it in the evidence room. If Chris could identify it, that would help things along.
“She never hurt anybody,” Hack said. “Couldn’t have, not with that starter pistol. I bet she didn’t even load it with blanks.”
“Probably not.”
It hadn’t been loaded when she showed it to Rhodes, and it didn’t appear to have been fired in years.
“You oughta just let her go,” Hack said.
“Can’t do it.
Have to do the job, even if things don’t always work out like we want them to.”
“I know that. Just seems like a shame, considerin’ the circumstances.”
“The judge and the jury will have to do that for us. Not our job.”
“I know that, too. What I think is, you oughta be doin’ somethin’ about Burt’s murder ’stead of arrestin’ his poor old widow.”
“That reminds me,” Rhodes said. “What about that paperwork Ruth was going to get for me?”
“What paperwork?”
“Burt’s phone records. Did she get them?”
“Hard to get that stuff on the weekends,” Hack said. “It used to be a whole lot easier before we got all these cell phones and different carriers.”
“Sure. In the old days you could just ring up the exchange and ask for Myrt.”
“You been listenin’ to Fibber McGee again,” Hack said.
He was right. Rhodes had subscribed to satellite radio, and he enjoyed listening to the channel that played old-time radio shows when he had the chance. He no longer had much access to the kind of bad old movies he enjoyed, but the radio shows were on twenty-four hours a day.
“You think the phone records would help?” Hack asked.
“Yes, mainly because they’d give me a motive. Or at least point me to something I think could be a motive.”
“You gotta know who did it before you need a motive.”
“Oh, I already know that,” Rhodes said.
Chapter 22
Rhodes hadn’t been entirely truthful with Hack. He didn’t really know who’d killed Burt Collins, not in the sense that he was a hundred percent certain, but he thought he was on the right track. He even thought he knew what the motive was, but he needed to clear that up. The phone records would’ve helped, but he probably wouldn’t be getting those until the next day at the earliest. While he wanted to make an arrest before then, he didn’t want to rush into anything. There was no rush. He didn’t think the killer was going to do away with anyone else, just as he didn’t think that Burt’s death had been premeditated.
Hack tried to pry the name of the suspect out of Rhodes, but it didn’t work. Rhodes wasn’t going to spill anything prematurely.
“You’ll just have to wait,” he told Hack. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
