Survivors Will Be Shot Again

by Bill Crider

  “Go, Andy,” Rhodes said, and the deputy started after them while Rhodes watched the others.

  “Having a problem?” Rhodes asked.

  “Drugs got him,” the one who wasn’t coughing said. “Call an ambulance.”

  Rhodes saw a fancy metal urn lying on the ground beside what must have been Kathy Lansen’s jewelry box.

  “It’s not drugs,” Rhodes said, worrying about his promise to bring back the ashes. “He’ll be all right.”

  “He’s dying!”

  “He’s not dying.” Rhodes gestured with his pistol. “You stand up and put your hands on your head.”

  The boy did as he was told, settling his hands on the fedora that sat squarely atop his head, but he wasn’t happy about it. Maybe he was afraid he’d crush the hat. He was a skinny youngster who had a scraggly goatee and wore jeans and a T-shirt that said HATERS GONNA HATE on the front. The fedora reminded Rhodes of the one that Seepy Benton wore occasionally, but Benton had been wearing his for years, long before the current bunch of hipsters had appeared.

  “Noah’s gonna die and it’s all your fault,” the boy said.

  “I’m not the one who snorted ashes,” Rhodes said, looking at Noah, whose coughing had eased a bit. “You better stand up now, too, Noah. Hands on your head.”

  Noah stood up. He was a bit shorter and heavier than his friend, and he didn’t have a fedora or a goatee. He did have on jeans and a black T-shirt, but his shirt was devoid of slogans.

  “I need to wipe my nose,” he said.

  “Go ahead,” Rhodes told him. “One hand only.”

  Noah wiped his nose. He didn’t look more than fifteen, but that didn’t mean much. As he got older, Rhodes had more and more trouble guessing people’s ages.

  Rhodes touched the badge holder on his belt with his left hand. “I’m Dan Rhodes, the sheriff of this county. What’s your last name, Noah?”

  Noah sneezed.

  “It’s Noah Newsome,” the other boy said, helping him out. “I’m Todd Rankin. What did you mean about snorting ashes?”

  Rhodes pointed with the pistol. “You see that urn there?”

  “What’s an urn?”

  Rhodes wondered if English teachers still gave vocabulary tests. “It’s a kind of vase, usually one used to keep ashes in.”

  “Why would anybody want to keep ashes?”

  At least Todd was curious. Maybe that was a good sign.

  “They’re the ashes of a cremated relative,” Rhodes said. “In this case the ashes of Mrs. Lansen’s father.”

  Todd looked at Noah, who was sniffling, his eyes wide.

  “Dude!” Todd said. “You sniffed some dead guy.”

  Noah started to cough again. After a couple of heaves, he turned aside, bent over, and vomited. Todd jumped away from him.

  “Don’t go anywhere,” Rhodes said. “He’ll be fine. Ashes aren’t poison.”

  “Yeah, but a dead person up your nose…”

  Andy came walking back through the trees, alone.

  “What happened?” Rhodes asked.

  “They got away,” Andy said. “I got my feet tangled up in some kind of vine and tripped. By the time I got untangled, they were long gone.”

  Todd smirked.

  “That’s okay,” Rhodes said. “Todd can tell us who they were.”

  “I’m not a snitch,” Todd said, seemingly forgetting that he’d already told Rhodes Noah’s last name.

  “You will be when the sheriff gets you in the back room,” Andy said. He looked at Noah. “What’s his problem?”

  “Snorted ashes,” Rhodes said.

  “Like Keith Richards?”

  “Except these weren’t Noah’s own father’s ashes,” Rhodes said.

  “Who’s Keith Richards?” Todd asked. “What back room?”

  “Maybe I should just shoot him,” Andy said.

  “Wouldn’t be right,” Rhodes said, “but don’t tell him who Keith Richards is.”

  Noah straightened up again, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He didn’t look well.

  Todd looked at Andy, who smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile.

  “Names?” Andy asked.

  “Bryan Stout and Nic Chambers,” Todd said without hesitation.

  “We can pick them up later,” Rhodes said. “Right now we’ll take these two to jail.”

  “Jail?” Todd said.

  “Graybar Hotel,” Andy said. “The Slammer. The Big House.”

  “What’s he talking about?” Todd said, looking at Rhodes.

  “Your education is sadly lacking,” Andy said. “You’ll have plenty of time to study in jail. Maybe you’ll even find out who Keith Richards is. Put your hands behind your back.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Handcuffs,” Andy said.

  “Handcuffs?”

  “That’s right. Handcuffs. Hands behind your back.”

  Todd complied, looking distraught. Andy stepped behind him, holstered his .38, and secured Todd’s hands with zip-tie cuffs.

  “Your turn,” Andy told Noah.

  Noah didn’t speak. He just lowered his hands and put them behind his back.

  When both boys had been cuffed, Rhodes said, “Better pat them down, Andy.”

  “Right. They might be carrying sidearms or switchblades.”

  They weren’t carrying anything, however, and Andy looked a little disappointed when he reported it.

  Rhodes pointed at the ground and said, “I see a jewelry box and an urn. What else did you two take from the house?”

  “That’s all we had time to grab,” Todd said. “Those old people came back and we just ran.”

  “Good,” Rhodes said.

  Andy picked up the urn and looked inside.

  “Any ashes left?” Rhodes asked.

  “Looks like most of ’em,” Andy said. “I doubt Ms. Lansen will know the difference.” He picked up the lid and replaced it. Then he got the jewelry box. “Unless somebody squeals.”

  “We won’t say anything,” Todd said. “Right, Noah?”

  Noah nodded.

  “If you took anything else and those other two ran off with it, we’ll find out,” Rhodes said.

  “I swear that’s all we got,” Todd said.

  “I hope so,” Rhodes said. “Let’s go.”

  He and Andy marched Todd and Noah out of the trees and back to the Lansen house. Todd and Noah walked awkwardly because it was hard for them to balance with their hands behind them. Rhodes didn’t feel too sorry for them, however.

  Rex Lansen was waiting in the backyard when they arrived. He took the urn and the jewelry box from Rhodes and thanked him.

  “Kathy’ll be glad to get these ashes,” Rex said. He stared at Todd and Noah, who looked away. “What about the others?”

  “We’ll get them,” Rhodes said. “We know who they are.”

  “Good. I appreciate you getting these ashes back. Kathy would’ve grieved forever about ’em if you hadn’t.”

  Rhodes didn’t mention that not quite all the ashes were there. Nobody else said anything, either. Rex went back into the house, and Rhodes put his hand on Todd’s upper arm.

  “I’ll take this one in my car,” Rhodes told Andy. “You get the other one.”

  “He doesn’t smell too good,” Andy said.

  “I know,” Rhodes said. “That’s why I’m taking this one.”

  Both boys looked quite unhappy, and Rhodes thought Todd might cry as he put him in the back of the Tahoe, first removing his hat. What the boys didn’t know yet was that they wouldn’t be spending any time in jail. Andy had been exaggerating for effect, hoping to give the boys a little scare. They’d be taken to the juvenile processing office, which was in the jail, all right, but which was really just a room for temporary detention. Not exactly a four-star hotel, but not nearly as bad as a cell.

  Since they’d already admitted what they’d done and named their partners in crime, Rhodes didn’t even have to interview them. They’d go to the
jail and wait in the processing office until their parents showed up. Rhodes would release them into their parents’ custody, and they might not even face charges if Rex felt lenient. Or even if he didn’t. They were juveniles, and as far as Rhodes knew the burglary was a first offense. Still, going to the jail would be good for them. It wouldn’t hurt them to be a little bit scared for a while.

  Rhodes hadn’t taken Todd in the Tahoe just because Noah smelled bad. Todd had been talkative, and Rhodes wanted to talk to him about the burglaries at Billy Bacon’s place. It didn’t seem likely that Todd and his friends were responsible. Neither Todd nor Noah was big enough to have been the person on the video. It could have been one of their friends, however, either Bryan Stout or Nic Chambers.

  “What’s your father’s name, Todd?” Rhodes asked.

  Todd was sunk back in the rear seat, his voice so weak that Rhodes could barely hear him.

  “Ross,” Todd said. “Ross Rankin.”

  Rhodes knew who Ross was. He had an air-conditioning business that was quite successful. It was hard not to make money with an air-conditioning business in Texas.

  “What about Noah’s father?” Rhodes asked.

  “He’s just Mr. Newsome. I don’t know his name. He’s a bookkeeper or something like that at the hospital. Are you going to call my parents?”

  “Have to,” Rhodes said. “It’s the law.”

  “Damn,” Todd said.

  “No bad language,” Rhodes told him.

  Todd didn’t respond.

  “What about your friends? Bryan and Nic.”

  “They’re not my friends. They’re Noah’s friends. I barely know them.” Todd paused. “It was all their idea. Noah and I just went along with them. It’s not fair that they got away.”

  Rhodes figured this was just a bit of passing the blame, which was only to be expected. Everybody did it.

  “They got away from you,” Todd said. “It’s not fair.”

  Rhodes didn’t feel like getting into a discussion about the fairness of life. He was more interested in transportation.

  “Did they have a car?” he asked.

  “Yeah. We parked it around the curve past the Lansens’ house. We came in through the woods.”

  So they’d gotten back to the car. They’d be home by now, hoping that Todd and Noah wouldn’t give them away but knowing better.

  “They didn’t get away,” Rhodes said. “We’ll round them up. Are they older than you?”

  “Yeah. They’re both sixteen.”

  More juveniles. Rhodes didn’t think any of them would have been capable of stealing a welding rig, much less disposing of it.

  “What else have they talked you into?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Todd said.

  Rhodes didn’t believe him. “Seems like you’re familiar with drugs.”

  “That was Noah who sniffed the ashes, not me. I don’t know anything about drugs.”

  “Right. And you’re not a thief, either.”

  “I’m not. I never did anything like this before, and neither did Noah. We should never have listened to Bryan. He’s really the one who got us into it. He said it would be easy and we could get some money.”

  “To buy drugs with?”

  Todd didn’t say anything for a while, so Rhodes just waited.

  “Marijuana’s not a drug,” Todd said after a while. “It’s like a medicine.”

  “Your state legislature wouldn’t agree.”

  “They’re old. They don’t know anything.”

  Todd and Noah hadn’t had any drugs on them, so Rhodes didn’t think they were too experienced with marijuana. They certainly weren’t experienced with meth or cocaine. Or ashes.

  At the jail Rhodes took Todd and Noah to the room that served as the juvenile processing center, which was just like the other two interview rooms. It held an old wooden table that had a scarred top and a couple of folding chairs. The walls were painted a bilious green and had gray and brown stains of undetermined origin on them. It wasn’t a pleasant place, but then it wasn’t supposed to be.

  Rhodes got the name of the parents of Bryan and Nic, and Andy stayed with the boys while Rhodes called the parents of all four of them and told the parents of Nic and Bryan to bring in their sons.

  It took more than an hour to get everything sorted out. The parents were unhappy; the boys were even more unhappy. Rhodes wasn’t exactly Mr. Jolly himself. The parents raised their voices, made threats, withdrew the threats, and apologized. Finally everyone calmed down and matters were settled, at least for the time being, and Rhodes released the boys into the custody of their parents. When they’d gone, Rhodes told Hack that he was going home.

  “Might make it in time to watch the news,” Hack said. “If you rush.”

  “I’ll rush,” Rhodes said.

  * * *

  When he got home, Rhodes and Ivy sat at the kitchen table while he ate the warmed-up chile relleno and told her what had happened at the Lansen place. Yancey, a little puffball Pomeranian, bounced around his ankles, yipping. The cats, Sam and Jerry, lay in their usual spots by the refrigerator, not in the least bothered by Yancey, whom they were experienced at ignoring, especially when they were asleep, as they were now and most of the rest of the time as well.

  “It’s too late to go outside and play,” Rhodes told Yancey. “Go to bed.”

  Yancey continued to yip halfheartedly for a few seconds, then gave up and slunk off to his doggy bed in the spare bedroom.

  “It’s about time for us to go to bed, too, I guess,” Rhodes said when he’d finished telling Ivy about events of the evening and tossed the paper plate the chile relleno had been on.

  “I still can’t believe that boy snorted the ashes,” Ivy said, pushing back her chair and standing up.

  “He didn’t know what he was doing,” Rhodes said. “I’m sure he regrets it.”

  “Meanwhile you have a murder to solve.”

  “That’s true, but I have to deal with a lot of other things at the same time. The county needs to raise my salary.” He stood up. “I’m going to take a shower.”

  “I was planning to take one, too,” Ivy said. “Should we try to conserve water?”

  Rhodes grinned. “We’d be fools not to,” he said.

  Chapter 9

  The next morning Rhodes was up early and didn’t even take time for his usual romp in the backyard with Yancey and Speedo, the border collie who lived out back in a Styrofoam igloo.

  “They’re going to be upset,” Ivy said. “They expect you to play with them.”

  Yancey was already standing at the back door, waiting to go outside. He hadn’t started yipping yet, but it was only a matter of time.

  “You’ll have to take my place today,” Rhodes told Ivy. “I have other dogs to see to.”

  “I hope Yancey didn’t hear that,” Ivy said. “It’s bad enough that you aren’t going to play with him. You should eat something before you go. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

  “I think they’ve proved that’s a myth,” Rhodes said.

  A couple of pieces of toast popped up in the toaster on the kitchen counter. Rhodes grabbed them and buttered them with some kind of artificial butter that Ivy favored over the real thing. It was supposed to be heart healthy, but Rhodes didn’t trust it. It was, however, better than nothing.

  “I’ll take this toast with me,” he said, and he left the kitchen munching on a slice. Behind him, Yancey started to yip.

  “Don’t forget to feed him and Speedo,” Rhodes said as he made his escape.

  * * *

  Gus-Gus and Jackie acted quite excited when Rhodes showed up to feed them. As soon as he got out of the Tahoe, he heard them barking from inside the barn. He got the bag of dog food from the house and took it to the barn. The dogs were, if anything, noisier than before. They were scratching at the door and throwing themselves against it. If he hadn’t seen them eat the previous afternoon, Rhodes would have thought they were starving. As it
was, he just thought they were crazy.

  He set the dog food down and thought about how he was going to go about opening the barn door. He didn’t want to let the dogs outside because he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to get them back into the barn, so he had to be careful, especially as they were growing more and more agitated. They jumped against the door, and their barking was continuous.

  Rhodes opened the door so that only a sliver of space showed between the edge of it and the wall. It was enough. The dogs both hit the door at once, hard, jerking it out of Rhodes’s hand. He stumbled backward, trying to catch his balance, but the dogs hit him at the run and knocked him down. He fell against the food bag, expecting them to maul him as they ripped it open, but they weren’t interested in him or the food. They ran right over him as if they didn’t even know he was there.

  Rhodes pushed himself away from the food bag and stood up, thinking of a line from a Sherlock Holmes movie he’d seen on television long ago, something about the footprints of a gigantic hound. Now Rhodes had one right in the middle of his chest.

  The dogs turned the corner of the barn, and Rhodes went after them. They were headed for the woods in full cry, and if they got into the trees he might never catch them, not that there was much hope of catching them even if they didn’t. Rhodes didn’t think of himself as a runner, and even if he had been, he wouldn’t have been able to catch up to the dogs if they didn’t want him to. Dogs were just naturally faster than humans, and they didn’t seem to have nearly as much trouble running over rough ground and through the weeds.

  After about a hundred yards, Rhodes slowed down and began to walk. He thought he might as well go back to the house and see if there was anything there that would help him in finding out who killed Melvin. The dogs would come back by themselves when they got hungry, or he’d come back and see about finding them later.

  He’d taken only a few steps back toward the house when something else occurred to him. The dogs knew him, so his presence wouldn’t have stirred them up. They might have been hungry, but they ignored the food bag. Something else had gotten them excited. Or someone else, someone who might have been there when Rhodes arrived, someone who had come to look around the house, too. Rhodes had showed up, and whoever it was had left quickly and gone through the woods. That’s what had upset the dogs. That’s who they were after.