by Bill Crider
“We need evidence to make an arrest,” Rhodes said.
“You could at least search his place.”
“For that we’d need a warrant. We don’t have any cause to justify one.”
“They don’t need any warrants on the TV. Did you ever see that show about a guy called Castle?”
Rhodes shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”
“Well, when the cops on that show go after somebody, they don’t worry about any warrant. They just bust down the door and go on in with their guns out and ready to blast away.”
“Like I said, TV shows exaggerate sometimes.”
“Maybe so, but that’s the way it oughta be. We’re too soft on crime around here. You need to get you a SWAT team together and go in that compound like you did the last time.”
Rhodes and his deputies had been forced to go after a killer in the Terrell compound. It wasn’t something Rhodes wanted to do again.
“That wasn’t exactly a SWAT team,” he said.
“Whatever. The Terrells are the ones behind all this. You need to stop ’em.”
“Get me the evidence, and I’ll do it,” Rhodes said.
Billy didn’t respond other than to walk over and kick a clump of dirt on the floor. Dust flew into the air.
“Did the thieves take anything besides the saddle and tack?” Rhodes asked.
“I don’t know,” Billy said. “I haven’t been down to the new barn yet. When I saw the door open here, I checked inside and then called your office. I didn’t go any further. I didn’t want to mess with the evidence if there was any.”
“All right. We’d better have a look, then.”
“Can’t you go by yourself? I’d just get in the way.”
“Who’ll tell me if something is missing if you’re not there?”
“Oh,” Billy said, looking unhappy. “Yeah. I guess I need to come.”
“You go first,” Rhodes said. “I’ll come along in the Tahoe.”
“We can walk,” Billy said. “It’s not that far.”
Rhodes wondered about Billy’s knee but said, “That’s fine. I can use the exercise.”
“So can I,” Billy said. “My dang knee’s killing me, but I can make it.”
He went out of the barn, stepping down gingerly from the door, and Rhodes followed. Billy led him to another gate, this one mostly hog wire with a wooden frame, and opened it.
“You go on through,” he told Rhodes. “I have to keep this one closed. I don’t see any cows, but they might come wandering up anytime. They get down there in the creek bottoms, and I sometimes don’t see them for a week. I don’t go there. Nothing but thick woods and tall weeds. Might be a chupacabra down there, or a bigfoot for all I know.”
Rhodes knew about the bottoms. He’d been born not more than a mile from where they were now, and before his family had moved to town when he was about ten, he’d spent a lot of time roaming around in the woods, fishing in Crockett’s Creek, and looking for deer and bobcats and armadillos. He’d seen plenty of deer and armadillos, but only a couple of bobcats.
Rhodes walked on through the gate, and Billy closed it behind them. A worn track off to Rhodes’s right showed where Billy drove his pickup to the rest of his pasture, or the parts of it that he could get to. A bit farther along there was a copse of oak trees, and the shaded ground under them was as ragged as if it had been turned up by a walking plow pulled by a halfhearted mule. It would’ve been hard to walk there.
“It’s the damn wild hogs,” Billy said, catching up with Rhodes and seeing where he was looking.
Billy seemed twitchy to Rhodes, who supposed that the thought of losing more of his things was getting to him.
“The hogs get under the trees and go after the acorns,” Billy continued. “I’ve got dozens of those hogs on this property. Hundreds, maybe. They’ve rooted up half my acreage. I have hunters that come out here on the weekends, but they can’t kill them all. They’re ruining the place. If the thieves don’t run me off from here, the wild hogs will.”
Rhodes knew all about the hogs. There hadn’t been any when he’d wandered in the bottoms, or if there had been, he hadn’t seen them. Now, however, they were all over Blacklin County, the state, and the country. Not all of it, but in thirty-nine states at last count. They’d be in more before long. They hadn’t gotten into the towns of Blacklin County yet, not more than a couple of times, but Rhodes thought before long they’d be bolder. He’d read recently that they were invading a new housing addition in Fort Worth and tearing up the newly sodded lawns. They were like an unstoppable army. The state’s latest eradication effort, which Rhodes thought would be about as effective as the others that had been tried, was Hog Out Month. It was coming right up, but Rhodes wasn’t sure that Blacklin County was participating.
“Hogs, thieves, world’s going to hell,” Billy said, shaking his head. “Barn’s over there.”
It would’ve been hard to miss. It was a white metal building almost the size of an airplane hangar, probably not more than ten years old. The canopy Rhodes had seen in the video extended out from the near side. A couple of tables sat under the canopy. Aluminum lawn chairs with frayed or missing webbing sat beside them. Some rusty tools in wooden boxes were on the tables, along with some plastic buckets. Rhodes couldn’t see what was inside the buckets. An old power mower missing its engine lay turned on one side. The wide double doors at the end of the building stood open.
“I put a case-hardened steel padlock on those doors,” Billy said. “Had one on the gate, too. Bolt cutters go right through ’em like they were rat cheese.”
“The thieves didn’t take the tools,” Rhodes said.
“Old and rusted. They’ve taken everything worth a dime.”
Rhodes walked up to the barn and looked around under the canopy. Most of the plastic buckets were empty. Some held crushed aluminum cans.
“I should take those into town and sell ’em,” Billy said. “I could get maybe fifty cents. Wasn’t worth the thieves’ time, though.”
Rhodes left the tables and went to the open doors. He looked inside the building, which was dark and full of shadows.
“I have electricity in this one,” Billy said, reaching inside the doorway and flipping a switch. Fluorescent lights came on all along the ceiling, and it was easy to see that the place had been pretty much cleaned out except for some stacks of cardboard boxes along the walls and the big green tractor with yellow wheels and an enclosed cab that sat in the center of the building.
“They haven’t taken your tractor yet,” Rhodes said.
“I keep the battery in my pickup,” Billy said. “I’m surprised they haven’t brought one of their own and used it to start up the tractor so they could steal it.”
“What’s in the boxes?”
“Nothing. They’re empty. You never know when you might need a good box.”
Rhodes walked into the barn. He had gone only a step or two before he saw what looked like a pair of camo-clad legs sticking out from between a couple of stacks of boxes. The legs were attached to the body of a camo-clad man.
“Who’s that?” Billy said. He was standing a couple of feet behind Rhodes.
“Let’s have a closer look,” Rhodes said.
“Maybe he’s all right,” Billy said. He didn’t move any closer. His voice quavered. “Maybe he’s just sick or something.”
Rhodes knew better than that. He had a feeling that Billy did, too. The smell should have been a clue. The body had been there long enough for the process of decay to begin.
Rhodes pushed a stack of boxes aside, careful not to move them too far. The boxes hardly weighed anything. Billy hadn’t been kidding about that.
Rhodes knelt down. The man on the floor was dressed entirely in camouflage clothing. Even his boots were camo-colored. A hood was over his head, which was turned to the side. Two bloodstained holes were in the front of his jacket. A couple of blowflies buzzed around the holes. A trail of ants crawled under the wall a
nd up onto the man’s head. Another trail led back under the wall to the outside. Rhodes didn’t want to think about what they might be taking out with them.
The flies buzzed away when Rhodes reached to move the hood aside. Rhodes didn’t move it, however. He didn’t need to move it. He recognized the man’s profile.
“He’s not sick,” Rhodes said. “He’s dead.”
“Dead?” Billy didn’t sound surprised. “Who is it?”
“Melvin Hunt.”
“Who?”
“Melvin Hunt. You know him.”
“Melvin? That doesn’t make any sense. What was he doing here? He couldn’t be the thief. He had things stolen from his place.”
There were a number of things Rhodes could have said in reply to that statement, as he could think of several reasons why Hunt might have been there, but he said nothing at all. He moved the hood aside and felt for a pulse in Hunt’s neck, though he knew it was a wasted gesture. He felt only the cold flesh. Hunt had been dead for a while, all right.
“Are you sure he’s dead?” Billy asked.
“I’m sure.” Rhodes stood up. “I have to make some calls. You can come on out of here with me.”
Billy didn’t hesitate. He was out of the barn well ahead of Rhodes and walking fast back toward his pickup.
“Did you come down here yesterday?” Rhodes asked, catching up with him.
“No. Why would you ask that?”
“Just wondering.”
Billy opened the gate, and Rhodes went on through. He walked to the Tahoe and got Hack on the radio.
“Send the JP and the paramedics to the B-Bar-B,” Rhodes said.
The justice of the peace would declare Hunt dead. The paramedics would take the body away.
“What’s happened?” Hack asked. “Is Billy okay?”
“He’s fine,” Rhodes said. “It’s somebody else who’s dead.”
“Who?”
“Later,” Rhodes said, knowing it would get Hack’s goat. “I don’t want the word to get out yet. You never know who might be listening in.”
Rhodes was thinking of Jennifer Loam. If she found out, the news would be on the Internet before the paramedics could even get to the body.
“Is it the thief?” Hack asked.
“I’m not sure,” Rhodes told him. “Is Ruth through at the Hortons’?”
“Yeah. She says Lucille’s going to try to get Henry into a home real soon.”
“Good. Send Ruth down here to help me out with the crime scene.”
“I need to tell her what’s goin’ on if I do that.”
Rhodes knew that Hack was just angling for information for himself, so he said, “Just tell her it’s a crime scene. That’s all she needs to know.”
He signed off, racked the mic before Hack could protest, and got some evidence bags and a pair of nitrile rubber gloves. Billy stood not far away, so Rhodes walked over to him.
“Hunt’s been dead a while,” Rhodes said. “He might’ve been killed yesterday.”
“I wasn’t here yesterday,” Billy said, his voice shaky. “I told you that already.”
Billy had been oddly nervous from the moment Rhodes had arrived, and Rhodes was pretty sure he’d known that Hunt was in the barn and that he was dead.
“I remember,” Rhodes said. “You also made it a point to tell me that you hadn’t been in the barn yet.”
Billy removed his cap and wiped his forehead. Rhodes didn’t think the day was warm enough to warrant his doing that again.
“You think I knew Hunt was in there?” Billy asked. “Is that it?”
Rhodes was sure that Billy knew the answer to his own questions.
“Did you know?” Rhodes asked.
“No, I didn’t know. And you can ask Nadine if I was here yesterday. She can tell you I came home right after work.”
Billy’s wife, Nadine, had been Nadine Cooley in high school, a cheerleader the same years that Billy had played on the football team. Rhodes had seen her at a few games, a bouncy blonde with plenty of team spirit and a loud alto voice that carried well in a football stadium. She’d supported the team a hundred percent, and Rhodes thought she’d support her husband the same way.
“I’ll have to talk to her,” Rhodes said. “Just to be sure you’re in the clear. I don’t doubt that you are.”
“You’d better not doubt it,” Billy said. “I never killed Melvin. I still can’t believe it’s him in there.”
“Believe it,” Rhodes said. “I’m going back to take a look around. The JP and the paramedics will show up in a little while, and one of my deputies will be here before they are. You can wait here and show them where to go.”
Billy looked relieved that he wasn’t going to be required to return to the barn. “All right. I’ll do that.”
Rhodes nodded and started back to the barn. As he did, he decided to take a short detour by Billy’s pickup, just to have a look at it. You never could tell what you might see.
When Billy saw where Rhodes was headed, he came after him at a fast limp.
“Hold on, Sheriff,” he said. “What’re you doing?”
“Always did like these Dodge trucks,” Rhodes said. “The department’s been driving Dodge cars for a while now. Thought I might like one of these pickups for myself. Maybe replace that old rattletrap of mine.”
“Yeah, the Dodge is a good pickup,” Billy said, catching up with him, “but you don’t need to be looking at mine right now. You should go see about Melvin.”
Rhodes kept walking. “Not much I can do for him.”
“You could … investigate or whatever it is you do.”
“I have someone coming to help me with that.”
Rhodes had reached the pickup. He stopped a few feet away and looked into the bed. It was empty except for a rectangular piece of plain white cardboard. It looked almost new. The four corners of the rectangle had been torn away as if the cardboard might have been pulled down off a wall. Or a post. Rhodes went over and stood beside the pickup bed.
“What’s that?” he asked with a nod at the cardboard.
“Just some trash I was going to haul off,” Billy said, not looking at it.
“You shouldn’t leave trash in the bed of a pickup,” Rhodes said. “It always blows out when you’re driving down the highway. It’s bad for the environment, and you might get a ticket for littering if an officer sees you.”
“I was going to put it in the cab with me before I left,” Billy said, staring off into the distance. “Come on, you need to go to the barn.”
“I’m going in a minute. I’m curious about that piece of cardboard, though.”
“I told you. It’s just a piece of trash I picked up.”
“Where did you pick it up?”
Billy looked flustered at the question. “I … I didn’t pick it up, exactly.”
“You mind if I look at it?”
Billy clearly didn’t want Rhodes to look at the cardboard, but he said, “I guess not.”
“Thanks,” Rhodes said.
He reached into the pickup bed and flipped the cardboard over. There was text on the side that had been facing down, professionally printed black lettering in all caps, with two crossed rifles in the middle. Above the rifles were the words TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT. Below the rifles were the words SURVIVORS WILL BE SHOT AGAIN.
Chapter 4
“That’s not what it looks like,” Billy said, staring at the sign.
“It looks like something that used to be nailed to a post by the gate,” Rhodes said. “Is that what it is?”
“Well, yeah, that’s where it was.”
“But you took it down. Recently. Just before I came. Right?”
“Well, yeah, that’s right.”
“Why’d you do that?”
Billy started to take off his cap, caught himself, and dropped his hand to his side. “I just nailed it up there last week, and I got to thinking it wouldn’t look very good to whoever came down here to see about this new thiev
ery.”
“You know that Melvin Hunt was shot twice, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but … damn.”
It usually took Rhodes a little longer to get someone to incriminate himself. Billy might have been a good football player, but his mental speed couldn’t have been his strong suit.
“How’d you know?” Rhodes asked.
This time Billy did remove his cap and wipe his forehead. Rhodes waited.
“I … didn’t know,” Billy said after a while, putting the cap back on. “I was just guessing. I mean, the sign’s just a sign. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“The fact that it was in your truck instead of on the post does,” Rhodes said. “It means you knew Melvin was shot twice. It means you were in the barn before you called my office. It means you might even have been down here yesterday and shot him.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Sheriff,” Billy said, holding up his hands with the palms outward as if to ward off an impending collision. “Hold on a minute. I was in the barn, okay? I went in there and saw Hunt, and I could tell he was dead, so I called your office. That’s what any good citizen would do, okay? I should’ve told you about him, but I was afraid you’d suspect me, what with that damn sign. I should never have put it up. Anyway, I thought I’d just have you come down here and let you find Hunt. It’s the same as if I found him, okay? You aren’t saying I killed Melvin, are you? That I came down here yesterday and killed him?”
“I’m not saying you killed him. I’m just wondering about it. I think he’s been dead for about a day, though. You could’ve been here then. You have a gun in this pickup?”
“No. No. I don’t have a gun in there, okay? I don’t even own a gun.”
Rhodes didn’t believe it. Just about everybody in Blacklin County had a gun.
“I’m going to check on that,” Rhodes said, knowing it might not do any good. Billy could have bought a gun at a flea market or from somebody he knew, and there wouldn’t be any record of it.
“Okay, I have a gun,” Billy said. He really was too easy. “It’s for home protection, and that’s where it is, at home. It’s not really mine, okay? I just bought it for Nadine because she’s worried that somebody might break in some night. You read about those home invasions all the time.”
