by C. L. Bevill
“Be that as it may,” started Sheriff John.
Miz Demetrice interrupted, “That’s circumstantial evidence, Sheriff John.” She was possessed, as if a woman on a holy mission. She shook one of her tiny fists at the law enforcement official as if that would take care of business all by itself. Unfortunately, it did not.
Sheriff John sighed a deep sigh that indicated that he sincerely wished that he was anywhere but in this place at this time. “Bubba, you’re under arrest for suspicion of murder. Turn around, please.”
Precious, who had since woken up from her trip, had chased Mark Evan’s Mustang down the road for about one hundred feet. She had almost caught it, when she decided that from the smell of it, it wouldn’t be worth eating. She had sniffed her way back to the Snoddy place, taking time to mark each and every one of the police cars’ wheels, when she heard Miz Demetrice yell out something, and came on the double. She parked herself in front of her master, and bayed at the police officers, long ears flying out.
Sheriff John said agreeably, “You want to control your dog, Bubba.”
Simms took a step forward, and pulled a leg back to kick Precious out of the way.
Bubba said, “I wouldn’t do that.” It was a quiet, cold voice that warned of a great many things. If there was a rule in the south, another man didn’t mess with someone’s truck, his dog, or his woman, in that precise order.
The exact pitch of Bubba’s voice made Simms shiver just a second. He reconsidered his actions. He didn’t really care to kick a dog, but this whole arrest was getting to be a farce. The sheriff was being cowed by a damned dog, and old lady Snoddy alike. It was making Simms impatient and itching to wipe that obsequious look off the suspect’s face. But then there was Bubba, bigger than life, well, bigger than a whole lot of life, looking down the end of his patrician nose at Simms as though he could wrap the other man up in a knot ready for Christmas. “Uh,” Simms said, his limited range of vocabulary abruptly failing him.
Miz Demetrice reached around her son and grabbed a hold of Precious’s collar. The dog continued to bay and bark, but the woman dragged her back a bit. Bubba reached down and scratched his dog on her ear. She whined and suddenly sat down on the veranda, looking balefully between her master and the other humans in their uniforms.
Bubba turned around and presented his wrists to Simms. Simms extracted his thumbs from his gun belt, which wasn’t a quick thing to do, and fumbled for his hand cuffs. He couldn’t seem to get the fastener unconnected. Sheriff John watched for a long minute, swore, and hand cuffed Bubba with his own set. “You give those cuffs back to me, after he’s processed, Simms,” was his only tired remark.
Then Bubba went back to jail. He was carried away in the back of a county car, as his mother yelled mild obscenities and vague threats about lawyers and governors and such.
At the jail, Tee Gearheart was there with an understanding grin on his big face.
“Say, Bubba,” Tee said, not unlike the last time Bubba had been there, while Simms took the hand cuffs off Bubba’s wrists.
“Say, Tee,” said Bubba. “How’s your wife and the baby?”
“Still okay,” said Tee. “It’s less than a week since you last asked. He’s kicking her like a mule, though.”
“Here’s my wallet, and hey, I been looking for that pocket knife,” he passed over the contents of his pockets, methodically patting each pocket for anything he’d missed. He added a lead sinker, a Susan B. Anthony dollar, and a large green button, he’d found on his porch this morning. “Oh, yeah, you want my belt, too. I ain’t got boot laces today.”
“Yeah, Bubba,” Tee said. “That’s a nice belt. We need the hat, too.”
“You tell those people who keep the stuff, not to dent that hat. I bought that hat in El Paso.”
“They wouldn’t do that to you, Bubba,” Tee said. “You want to sign right here.”
Bubba signed the form, and said to Simms, “The sheriff wanted those cuffs back, hear?”
“Make sure you take a picture of his ugly mug, so he cain’t blame us for them bruises,” Simms sputtered, unable to think of any kind of witty repertoire with which to respond.
Tee laughed at the odd expression on Simms’ face. “Bye-bye, Deputy,” he called, waving a hand the size of a dinner plate at the perturbed deputy. “Come on, Bubba, you can have the window with the cell. We had to rearrange the cells again, because we have to get ready for a woman or two.”
Bubba walked in front of Tee toward the cell indicated. “A woman?” he repeated. Tee didn’t get too many women in the jail. Every now and again someone might be picked up for a DUI or bashing in their husband’s skull a mite too much, but mostly it was only men.
“Yeah, somebody’s wife finally complained to somebody over to the capitol about the Red Door Inn, and they’re doing a raid this evening,” Tee said amicably. “Not that I go by there on account that I am lawfully and honorably married and very much in love with my darling Poppiann, but it’s a crying shame. That place is a monument to Miss Annalee Hyatt.” Tee placed his hand reverently over his heart.
“I saw Miz Cambliss yesterday,” Bubba said. “I bet somebody told her. She’ll have her girls playing tic-tac-toe or something, when them boys show up.”
“It’s the locals, who’re doing the raid, tonight,” noted Tee. “Their hearts won’t be in it. But they don’t have room at the city jail, so they want to reserve a few of our cells. I have a prison matron coming in tonight, just to take care of them.”
“Say, Mike,” Bubba said, as Tee locked him in. “How’s that algebra?”
“I got an ‘A’ plus,” Mike Holmgreen said proudly. “It’s my first one.”
“Good for you, Mike,” Bubba returned, leaning on the bars. “Say, your grandmother ain’t coming by, is she?”
“No, she came yesterday. Say, Bubba, what happened to your face?”
About nine PM that night, Bubba watched as a female prison matron escorted Doris Cambliss to the cell farthest away from his side. It was blocked off with linen curtains so that she could have some privacy. Apparently, she had been at the Red Door Inn by herself, because none of her girls were with her. Of course, that meant that she had been tipped off and Bubba wasn’t surprised at all.
“Evening, Miz Cambliss,” Bubba greeted as she walked past, with the matron holding her arm tightly. The prison matron glared at Bubba. Bubba smiled at her, too, for good measure, even though she looked to be a mean, spiteful woman.
Doris said, “Hey, Bubba. You didn’t tell me you’d be in here, today.”
“You know those damned, pesky po-lice officers, Ma’am,” he said. “You never know when they’re going to take it upon themselves to search an honest, God-fearing individual’s property.”
“Yeah,” agreed Mike, simply because he felt like he was missing out.
Bubba grinned at the teenager. “You met Mister Mike Holmgreen, Miz Cambliss?”
“Pleasure,” floated back to them, across several empty jail cells. The matron locked the cell, and wandered back out, glowered at Bubba as she did so.
“Ma’am,” said Bubba. He would have tipped his hat if he had had one. But this time, unlike others, he remembered that he did not.
“Bubba,” Doris called in her throaty voice. “I cain’t believe they’d arrest me on suspicion of running an establishment of ill repute.”
“Me, neither, Miz Cambliss,” Bubba called back. “But these people have a mind that they’ve determined that some responsible, aboveboard kind of folk just have to be doing something wrong.”
“But, I heard them deputies talking about you, dear,” she said. Bubba could see her face pressed up against the bars. She sure didn’t look right in the jail. She was dressed in a yellow silk dress with matching shoes, looking as pretty as any woman could, with her jet-black hair in a stylish coiffure, and her make-up immaculate. “They said, the gun they found didn’t have your fingerprints on it.”
“Deputy Simms?”
“The
little ferret-faced one?”
“Yeah, that’s him.”
“They sounded a mite worried about your case, and arresting you a bit prematurely, shall we say?” She laughed softly, amused by the general ineptitude.
Bubba considered this carefully. He had, after all, never seen his father’s M1911 .45, much less handled it, or fired it. How much evidence could these people provide depicting innocence on his side before they decided that just maybe-Bubba hadn’t actually shot his ex-fiancée, Melissa Dearman? He had passed his polygraph test. He didn’t know about the gunshot residue test, but knew damned well they couldn’t say he had shot a weapon when he hadn’t, and now, none of his fingerprints on the murder weapon.
Someone was trying to lay the blame at Bubba’s feet.
But he suddenly thought of something else he could ask Doris while he was in the position to do so. “Say, Miz Cambliss?”
“Yes, Bubba?”
“I don’t suppose you happen to recall which of your gentlemen callers happened to visit on last Thursday evening,” he said as tactfully as he could. Could the police officers twist that into an illegal statement if they happened to be listening? He didn’t think so.
Doris thought about it for a minute. Either she was going to say that she didn’t know what Bubba was talking about, or she was going to answer him, depending on how she took it. “You thinking of someone in particular, Bubba Snoddy?” she called after a long pause.
Mike was watching Bubba with great interest.
“Noey Wheatfall,” Bubba said.
Doris let out a laugh. “No, sugar. He was barred about six months ago. For a minute I thought you might be talking about our regular Thursday night customers. I got one who’s a mite attached to, shall we say, infant garb.”
Bubba had to think for a second about just what Doris meant by someone who was attached to ‘infant garb.’ Abruptly, his twisted with understanding. “Who?”
“You know, Neal Ledbetter,” she said. “And Mister Mike Holmgreen, if you ever feel like you want to visit the Red Door Inn, it is best to keep a tight lip on anything we say here.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Mike called weakly. It was true that he had plans for the Red Door Inn. He had been planning on it since he was sixteen years old and found out about the place.
“Neal Ledbetter was at your place on Thursday night?” asked Bubba.
“Sure, until after two AM. I had to kick him out myself.” Doris’s laugh was like her voice, throaty and sexy. “Every damned Thursday night, because his wife is off playing poker with your mama.”
“Appreciate that, Miz Cambliss,” replied Bubba. “They got anything on you?”
“No, and I’m planning on suing the socks off them, dadblamed po-lice officers. They’re going to have to let me go, as soon as my lawyer shows up, and they don’t have a damned bit of evidence to show that I’m anything but an honest bed and breakfast owner.” Doris’s voice was positive and self-assured. Bubba knew that someone had warned the madam, long before any law enforcement official had even stepped a single foot into her establishment. They would have to do a lot better than that in order to catch her red-handed, or in her case, red-doored.
Bubba let out his own belly laugh. Mike continued to look at him curiously. “What’s the matter with you, Bubba? What’s so funny?”
Bubba waved at Mike with one hand, and went to sit on the tiny bunk in the corner. Here he was, inclined to put Neal Ledbetter on his list of suspects, simply because he wanted to buy out Miz Demetrice so bad, and the man was off at the Red Door Inn, playing in baby’s diapers with Doris Cambliss’ girls. He laughed again. Wait until he told his mother that. He couldn’t wait until he saw the reaction on her face. It would be something like her watching the Jerry Springer show for the first time. He could hear her words in his head, “Good God, what is wrong with that man? He’s a grown man, wearing diapers. How could a grown man wear diapers? Is he mentally deficient or something? Good God, what is wrong with him?”
But on the other hand, Doris had just delivered something to Bubba that would get Neal off their backs. His mother was not going to sell the land, and Neal needed to get used to the idea. She didn’t care if her neighbors were pissed, or the town got up in arms over the whole misadventure. And if the truth were told, the town folk would be more upset if they lost their Thursday night Pokerama than missed out on getting a Wal-Mart Supercenter. At least, most of the women would be, and that counted for a great deal in Pegramville.
It’s too bad, thought Bubba ruefully. Neal would have made a fine murder suspect for him. He had the motive. He had the gall to carry it off. But then, he didn’t have the opportunity. He had been busy. Bubba sniggered again.
Bubba spent the night at the jail, before Miz Demetrice was able to round up Lawyer Petrie, who argued before the Honorable Judge Stenson Posey on the issue of playing fast and loose with evidentiary rules. Judge Posey was the only judge who lived and worked in Pegram County and knew everyone very well indeed. Sheriff John got into the argument, and Miz Demetrice was so disposed as to do a bit of her own yelling. Then the bailiff had to prevent Miz Demetrice from shaking a fist in the judge’s face. Bubba watched the whole affair with a bemused expression on his face. When it was all said and done, Judge Posey was inclined to let Bubba out on bail. His Honor said to Sheriff John, “You got a lot of jack.”
Sheriff John considered the esteemed man on the bench, who was wearing a black robe and thoughtfully stroking his white beard. Sheriff John said carefully, “No one else had any reason to kill that woman.”
Said Judge Posey, “Motive alone does not make a crime. Let me count what you have. Mister Snoddy passed the polygraph. Oh, you didn’t think I’d hear about that, huh? No one saw him driving from Bufford’s to the crime scene or vice versa at the time of the crime. He had a negative on his gunshot residue test, which might indicate he didn’t fire a weapon. There were no fingerprints on the weapon which was found, hidden outside of his house.”
“He was lying on the polygraph, and besides it ain’t admissible in court,” Sheriff John barked.
“Well, you still gave it to him,” Judge Posey answered.
“We ain’t found a witness, yet,” Sheriff John cried. “Yet!”
“I cain’t take evidence from a ghost, now can I?” Judge Posey asked politely.
“He could have been wearing gloves,” was Sheriff John’s rejoinder.
“Oh my Lord, another O.J. Simpson,” His Honor returned with feeling.
“Why wouldn’t he wipe off the damned weapon?” Sheriff John demanded.
Judge Posey leaned over his great desk, eyeing the sheriff with a sober, steely look. “If I were a prosecutor, which I am not, I might be so persuaded to answer a question like that. But as I am not, and you are the man who gathers the proof of wrongdoing, it is thusly, up to you to gather the evidence that might prove Bubba Snoddy guilty beyond a reasonable doubt in this court of law.” He smiled suddenly. “On a personal note, I believe you got plenty to indict the man, but there ain’t a jury of twelve around here gonna convict him. Just a little personal note, there.”
Sheriff John glared impotently at the judge.
Judge Posey looked away from Sheriff John and leveled his judicious gaze upon Bubba. “Say Bubba, I ain’t seen you in here since, oh, let me think.” He rubbed his beard. “Was it when that feller from California mistook you for a Dallas Cowboy? Or was it when you had a haul a load of those trespassers from you all’s lands?”
“Trespassers,” Bubba answered shortly.
Judge Posey laughed. “I recollect that ever since that article came out in People magazine, ain’t been a week gone by, that some idjit goes out to the Snoddy Mansion to dig a hole.” He chuckled again. “You should have put up those signs. ‘Trespassers will be eaten. Survivors will be prosecuted.’ Watch out for that killer Basset Hound of yours. That might do the trick.”
Bubba muttered, “I’ll give it some thought, your honor.” He didn’t even want to
think about the throngs of people who had wandered out to Snoddy properties to see what they could see. All because of that old addle-pated ancestor of his, Colonel Snoddy, a man who had come back from the War of Northern Aggression with a wagon full of…
Bubba bit his lip. To hell with that train of thought. So he folded his arms over his chest and waited for the bond to be written for him. When he got all of his possessions back from Tee, he was holding that big, green button in his hand, wondering where it had come from, and why it looked strangely familiar.
Chapter Eleven - Bubba Narrows Down the Suspects Some More –
Thursday
As it also turned out, Doris Cambliss did spend the night in the Pegram County Sheriff’s Department Jail, several cells right down from Bubba Snoddy. Since Bubba was incarcerated first, he got to go up before His Honor, the venerated Judge Stenson Posey, before she did. Bubba was waiting on paperwork to be completed and his mother to sign over what Sheriff John Headrick called a wretchedly and obscenely low amount bail of $25,000 and a slap in the face of law enforcement from the judicial system. While that was happening, Bubba watched as Doris appeared before Judge Posey.
Although it was a tiny court, it seemed as though most of the town had managed to cram themselves inside the room. The church-like pews were so jam-packed full that skinnier individuals stuck between larger ones appeared as though they would pop up like cheap champagne corks. Wiser folks stood in the back and craned their necks to see the impending fireworks.
Some of the people had come to visit Bubba’s evidential hearing, to include his own mother, Miz Demetrice Snoddy, and her avid clan of poker-crazy grandmothers. Mary Jean Holmgreen was there, and she waved at Bubba when he accidentally caught her eye. Much to his dismay. Other poker aficionados included the sisters, Alice and Ruby Mercer, and Wilma Rabsitt, a woman who Miz Demetrice was convinced cheated on a regular basis. And even the gorgeous Deputy Willodean Gray was present. Willodean, noted Bubba with some disheartenment that he didn’t care to put a name to, was sitting next to Lurlene Grady, who also waved happily at Bubba.
