Clearing her throat, she continued. “Lillie was very sick at the end. She was in constant pain, and nothing I gave her helped. Demerol and morphine made her deathly ill—nauseated. She begged me to end her suffering.”
Shenandoah turned in her chair to face Kate. “You mean she asked you to end her life?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her that as a doctor, I couldn’t do that. My job was to make her as comfortable as possible.”
“How did she take it?”
“She got very angry—wouldn’t talk to me for days on end.”
“You’re sure she didn’t think that you and Army were having an affair?”
“No. She knew that Army and I were just friends. Her anger had to do with my refusal to help her end her life.”
“Did you even consider it?”
Kate looked Shenandoah in the eye. “Yes, I thought about it because I felt so sorry for her.”
“How do you account for her having the barbiturate in her blood? Could you have given it to her—forgotten about it when you blacked out?”
Tears streamed down Kate’s cheeks. “I don’t know, Shenandoah. I don’t think so, but I can’t be sure.”
“Could she have given it to herself?”
“I guess so. I don’t know where she would get a barbiturate or a syringe—one of my syringes.”
“Do you know what the barbiturate was?”
“Seconal.”
“A sleeping pill?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“It’s water soluble. I guess she, or someone, could have dissolved a few pills and then injected the solution. I don’t know. It’s not something I would do.”
Shenandoah was silent for a moment, thinking. Finally, she said, “You were evidently at her house that morning. Can you think of anyone who might have seen you blacked out on the side of the road? Perhaps the time of death would put you somewhere else. You woke up somewhere around Static, right?”
“Yes, but I have no recollection of driving there. To the best of my knowledge, no one knows when I stopped my car. I just think it’s hopeless, Shenandoah.”
“Nothing’s hopeless. How’s Jake going to defend you?”
“I’m not sure he’s figured that out yet.”
“I hope to hell he figures it out soon. Jesus, Kate, your whole future hangs in the balance. I’m going up to Static today and see what I can find out. Rack your brain and see if you can remember what you did that day. I wish you had a better attorney.”
“Jake’s a smart lawyer. My father and Uncle Jeb depended on him for everything. I just wish he had more experience with criminal cases.”
“Me too. I’ll see you in the morning.”
Shenandoah pushed the button that called Deputy Masterson, and Kate gave her a good-bye hug. The deputy was always so prompt that Shenandoah suspected he hovered within earshot. Leaving the courthouse, Shenandoah stepped gently around the whittlers as she headed for the café phone. She wanted to call the Frampton farm to see if the senator would grant her an interview that day.
The senator himself answered.
“Senator Frampton, it’s Shenandoah Coleman. We met at your house yesterday. I wonder if we might do that interview today.”
“I’m right busy with my Angus herd, ma’am. Can it wait?”
“Well, tomorrow’s Sunday, and the trial starts Monday. Today would be best.”
“Okay. I’ll be in the barn.”
Shenandoah went to her car and headed for the senator’s farm. When she arrived, she parked in front of the house and walked to the barn. The barn was first class, like everything else on the farm. Unlike most barns in Parsons County, Buford Frampton’s stood plumb, blood red, and with a solid tin roof. The old man was holding a large syringe in his hand as Shenandoah entered through the big double door. Lester Frampton held the halter of a beautiful, very black cow. He smiled and looked away when he saw Shenandoah.
“Come in, young lady,” the senator said. “I’m just giving my prize cow a shot of penicillin for mastitis. I swear, these animals are gonna break me yet. Know anything about Angus?”
“No, sir. Is this one?”
“She’s a blue ribbon winner. The breed originated in northeast Scotland in the counties of Aberdeen and Angus. They came to this country around 1870, and they’re great beef producers. Good marbled meat.”
The senator jammed the needle into the rump of the cow, and said, “Lester, take her back to the stall, and then come join Miss Coleman and me in the kitchen. Edwina’s through canning, thank God, and we can get a cup of coffee.”
Shenandoah followed Buford Frampton to the senator’s back porch, looking carefully for Hercules. The kitchen was empty, and a percolator sat on the stove. Buford poured three mugs of black coffee.
“There’s sugar and cream on the table. Help yourself.”
Shenandoah sat in the closest chair and handed the sugar bowl and cream to Buford. Lester came in and took a seat beside his father.
“You wouldn’t be associated with the Beulah Land Coleman folks, would you?” Senator Frampton asked.
“Yes, sir, I grew up in Beulah Land.”
“Some folks don’t particularly like your kin, but they always voted my way if I gave them moonshine. So, you’re writing a book about old Ed Hull. How far along are you?”
“I’m still in the research stage. A friend of mine, a history professor at Memphis State, is helping me.”
“Have you talked to the mayor?”
“No. I didn’t think Mr. Crump would give me an interview.”
“Sure he would. He’d want to put a positive slant on any book about him. He’s a powerful man, but fair and respectful.”
“I’ve heard some pretty wild tales about him getting votes from people in the cemeteries. It reminds me of Boss Tweed and Tammany Hall in New York City.”
Buford took a sip of coffee and said, “Lady, politics is about power. You can use that power to help the people or to line your pockets. Successful politicians do a little of both. Tweed died in prison. That’ll not happen to Ed.”
“Doesn’t he pay poll taxes for votes?”
“The poll taxes were put in place in 1880 to keep the coloreds from voting. Now the way I see it, if Ed Hull pays their tax for them, they get to vote.”
“But they have to vote for his man.”
Buford shrugged his shoulders.
“What’s been your role in East Tennessee? I mean, what do you do to help Mr. Crump’s candidates?” Shenandoah asked.
“In the first place, Crump backs only good candidates. I have no problem supporting them. Take Frank Clement, for example. He’s a fine young man who’ll make an outstanding governor. They don’t come any better.”
“So what do you get in return?”
A sly smile formed on Buford Frampton’s lips. He took another sip of coffee and gave a soft chuckle. “As I said, politics is about power. I’ve done a lot for the counties in this area. New roads, bridges, schools, you name it. I get elected year after year because I look after my constituents. That power comes from my networking across the state. Ed Crump isn’t the only powerful man in Tennessee—just the most famous.”
“So you think that people like Mr. Crump are a part of the democratic process?”
“It doesn’t work without them.”
They talked another twenty minutes about Mr. Crump and Tennessee politics in general. The senator was very forthcoming, and Shenandoah took notes furiously. Shenandoah wondered whether the senator realized that her book was to be an exposé.
“Could we talk about something else for a few minutes?” Shenandoah asked.
“Like what?”
“Dr. Kate. What do you think of her? How do you feel about all the trouble she’s in?”
Buford stood and walked back to the stove. Lifting the percolator off the burner, he said, “More coffee? Lester?”
Shen
andoah and Lester nodded, and Buford brought the coffeepot back to the table and filled their mugs. He sat and leaned back in his chair. “Kate’s an interesting woman—independent and smart as a whip. We’ve had a run-in or two over the years. To be honest, she’s usually right.”
“Do you believe that she murdered Lillian Johnson?”
“No, I don’t. You have to understand: my personal feeling is that a woman’s place is in the home. My Edwina is a perfect example of what I think a woman should be: a devoted wife and mother. Besides, I don’t know a lot of men who want a woman doctor poking around on them. Know what I mean?”
Shenandoah nodded. “You think they’ll convict her?”
“That’s a toss-up, ma’am. I haven’t the slightest idea.”
“I appreciate your time, Senator. Anything else you can tell me?”
“No. I wish you luck with your book.”
“Thank you. Good-bye, Lester.”
Shenandoah got up from the table, and the senator and his son walked her to the front door. In the hallway they met Edwina coming out of a room with a dust mop in her hand. She smiled when she saw Shenandoah and said, “I see you finally hooked up with Buford. Did you get what you wanted?”
“Yes, ma’am, I sure did. Thank y’all for everything.”
* * *
On her way back to Round Rock, Shenandoah kept thinking about Hattie Mae’s clock and how it left her with jangled nerves each morning. At home she was accustomed to waking up to the sound of big band music on station WMPS. At the square, she parked on the street and walked to Sloan’s Hardware.
Entering the dark building, she found display cases that held tools of every description. Feed and seeds of various kinds were stacked in gunnysacks almost to the ceiling, giving off a sweet aroma. Bins of every nail or screw anyone could ever need took up a third of one wall.
Spying Mr. Sloan, an older gentleman with rugged good looks and a mop of white hair, Shenandoah said, “My name’s Shenandoah Coleman. You may not remember me.”
“I remember you very well. I’d heard you were in town. There aren’t many secrets in a place this size.”
“I need a clock radio. You got one?”
“Just got in a new Motorola—it’s red. That okay?”
“Yes, sir.”
Mr. Sloan turned and lifted a box off the shelf behind the cash register. Setting it on the counter, he said, “That’ll be fourteen dollars, including the tax.”
“Thank you. If you don’t mind, I’d like to look around a little before I pay for the radio.”
“Make yourself at home.”
A glass display case filled with knives caught Shenandoah’s attention. Most were pocketknives, but there were also several large hunting knives with stag horn handles. She thought of what Randall Moody had said about whittling a piece of cedar, and she wondered if it might calm her nerves like it did his grandmother’s.
“Need a knife, ma’am?”
“Not really.”
“Do you own one?”
“Never needed one.”
“Every person needs a pocketknife, ma’am. That’s how you take the measure of a person.”
“I don’t understand.”
“It’s simple. If a person’s knife has a broken handle, you know they’re rough and uncaring and don’t look after their things. If it’s rusty, you know they don’t clean up after themselves. And if the blade is dull, why, that’s the worst. It means the person is dull and doesn’t understand the first thing about knives or about life in general.”
Mr. Sloan reached into his pocket, pulled out a beautiful, shiny stag-horn-handled knife, and handed it to Shenandoah. It looked brand new.
“This knife’s twenty years old, ma’am. Open her up and feel that blade.”
Shenandoah took the knife from the man and promptly sliced a shallow cut in her right thumb. Cursing under her breath, she pulled a handkerchief from her shoulder bag and wrapped it around the wound.
“I see you aren’t used to dealing with sharp knives. You need a knife of your own. You’d be amazed at the things I find to do with mine. Just couldn’t get by without it.” He opened the cabinet. “This is one place where you get what you pay for. Case makes a fine pocketknife, and they come in different sizes and prices.”
Mr. Sloan removed a knife from the front shelf and passed it unopened to Shenandoah. “This is a good all-around knife with two blades. It’s reasonably priced, and if you take care of it, she’ll last you a long time.”
Shenandoah took the knife and ran her finger gently over the handle. It felt smooth and a little heavier than she had expected. This time she opened the large blade and felt the edge with care. When Shenandoah looked up, she saw that Mr. Sloan was holding a Band-Aid.
“You might want to put this on that cut.”
Placing the bandage around her thumb, Shenandoah said, “Thank you. I believe I’d like this knife.”
“Good choice. Now you’ll need a whetstone and a small can of Three-in-One Oil. Knife’s no good if it isn’t sharp. And you don’t look like a dull young lady.”
Mr. Sloan picked up a gray stone and a can of oil on the way to the cash register. He took a small paper sack from under the counter and slipped the items into it.
“How much do I owe you for all this stuff?” Shenandoah asked.
“Let’s see—two dollars and fifty cents for the knife, fifteen cents for the oil, twenty-five cents for the whetstone, fourteen dollars for the radio, and a dollar thirty-two cents tax. If you don’t have the pennies, I keep some at the cash register.”
After ringing up the sale, Mr. Sloan handed Shenandoah a receipt, the sack, and the box containing the radio. Smiling, he said, “You need anything else while you’re here, just come on in.”
“Thanks. There is one other thing you could do for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Give me your thoughts on Dr. Kate Marlow.”
He frowned and thought a moment. “Jeb, her uncle, was my best friend, but I see Dr. Compton down in Livingston.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’ve always felt more comfortable with a man doctor. I’m kind of bashful, if you know what I mean.”
Shenandoah chuckled to herself.
“I can understand that. But what I really want to know is what you think of her as a person.”
“She’s a dedicated physician who takes good care of her patients. I think Round Rock is lucky to have her. Anything else, Miss Coleman?”
“No, sir. Thanks for everything.”
When she stepped into the sunlight past the front door, the heat hit her like a blast furnace. Checking her watch, she saw that it was almost noon. She was about to enter the City Café when he saw Jasper Kingman and Deputy Masterson heading for the front door. Discretion being the better part of valor, Shenandoah went back to the Bel Air. Static was a few miles up the highway, she remembered a general store there where she could get a sandwich. Besides, she wanted to ask around to see if anyone could place Dr. Kate in Static at the time of the alleged murder.
Driving on the one good straight stretch of highway between Round Rock and Static made her remember her first frantic ride with Bobby Johnson. The night before, they had agreed to meet on Sunday and take his son, Wally, to Dale Hollow Lake for a picnic.
She pulled up to the Static General Store at about 12:30, parked her car, and got out. The windows of the store were open, and a large ceiling fan sucked hot air into the building. A big pot-bellied stove sat in the middle of the store with several ladderback chairs around it. In the winter the place would be full of idle farmers sharing hunting and fishing stories. It was the same in every county in Tennessee.
A refrigerated display case on one side of the large room contained sandwich meats, cheese rounds, links of sausage, and slices of country ham. An old woman who looked to be in her mid- to late seventies stood behind the case. “What you want, young lady?” she asked.
“Is that cheddar cheese in the m
iddle?”
“Sure is. Want some?”
“Cut me off a slice, please. Do you have any Vienna sausages? What about saltines?”
“Got ‘em all, honey. Have a seat at the bench there and I’ll bring ‘em to you.”
“How about a Coke, too?”
“Sure.”
Shenandoah ate, and then wiped her mouth with her handkerchief and burped discreetly under her breath. The old woman was adjusting some merchandise on a shelf as she walked up to the cash register. “How much do I owe you?” Shenandoah asked.
“Three dollars even. We count the tax in the price.”
Shenandoah took out her wallet and pulled out three ones. “Thanks, ma’am. That was awfully good. Mind if I ask you a question?”
“Ask away, honey.”
“Do you know Dr. Kate?”
The woman laughed and said, “Everyone knows Dr. Kate. What about her?”
“On March twenty-third of this year, do you remember seeing her old station wagon anywhere around here?”
“That the day the woman died?”
“Yes.”
“I’d like to help you, honey, but I don’t remember seeing Dr. Kate that day.”
“She had a blackout spell and woke up somewhere around here that afternoon.”
“I wish I could help you, honey. Dr. Kate kept my husband alive for several years after all them doctors in Nashville had given up on him. He had a cancer of the lung from smoking them awful cigarettes. I don’t even sell the things anymore.”
“Maybe you could ask some of your customers. If you find out anything, call Mr. Jake Watson in Round Rock. He’s her attorney. That is, you’d have to call the City Café and ask Dorothy to go and get Jake. The man doesn’t have a phone.”
“I’d be right happy to. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, ma’am. Thank you for your help. I know Dr. Kate will appreciate it.”
Chapter 8
On her way back to Round Rock, Shenandoah decided there was one person she had to see. In fact, she was long overdue for a visit with Frances Washington. She felt ashamed of herself for not seeing her sooner and for not keeping in touch in the years since she’d left Parsons County.
The Trial of Dr. Kate Page 14
