For a man like Horace McCracken Hamilton it was acceptable to be thought of as a bootlegger and even tolerable, though be it somewhat embarrassing, to be called a…“procurer of pleasure.” But a man of Hamilton’s status just couldn’t be thought of as a dead-beat, much less go to prison for the un-American act of not paying his taxes. Therefore it did not surprise Murdock in the least when, after missing one of his many court dates, Horace McCracken Hamilton was found hanging by the neck in his lumber mill.
Garvis, naturally, could not accept that her father took his own life. She insisted all along that her father had been set-up. She often remarked that, “Daddy was murdered by those dreadful Whittlesey boys, who framed him and hid all of that liquor in his mill.”
Murdock had long since learned to accept Garvis’s denial of her father’s guilt. She had railed on about her “daddy’s” innocence for so long that it was no longer worth the debate. She was adamant that the Whittleseys had killed her father despite the fact that both of the Whittlesey boys were sitting in jail at the time of Hamilton’s death. She also refused to accept that he was a bootlegger and a… “procurer of pleasure” despite the fact that he had confessed everything to two Texas Rangers when he was arrested, drunk and naked, at Miss Delilah’s Tomato Farm southeast of Maydelle.
It came as no surprise to Murdock when the papers began running stories about his father-in-law and the subsequent investigations and indictments. Mr. Nightingale had warned him about Hamilton’s dealings before he married Garvis. Nightingale may have liked to drink and gamble, but he had no respect for a man who took advantage of young women the way Hamilton did. Even if he was loosely connected to those houses, he was still in Nightingale’s opinion, “the worst kind of crook,” which is why he refused to even discuss a lumber contract with the man.
When it came to Hamilton at least, Murdock knew what he was getting into when he married. Unfortunately, he was not in the least bit prepared for Garvis. The woman was beautiful; there was no question about that. Even in her late thirties, she was a looker, but she was also a handful. She had married Murdock knowing that he wasn’t rich but her father was and the two would be able to live comfortably with Murdock’s income and a little help from “Daddy.” But right after the wedding ceremony, Hamilton took Murdock aside and explained that some business deals had not worked as well as expected and it would be a month or two before he could get them the house he had promised. Murdock, of course, could not possibly care less about any house from the man he now thought of as a glorified lumberjack, but Garvis absolutely hated that the two had to live in a dirty little old rented shack of a house on the back of a smelly chicken farm. Still, she was in love and often said that it would be fun to tell their grandchildren that they started their life together in the absolute worst possible conditions. Besides, it was only temporary. She and her father had already picked out a lot in Henderson where they would build their dream home. “This one,” she would say with a laugh, “will have indoor-plumbing and a swamp-cooler.” As if not having either was not only intolerable but also somewhat humiliating. Murdock, conversely, had never lived with indoor plumbing and wasn’t sure what a swamp-cooler was.
The day Garvis learned that her father didn’t have enough money to pay his legal bills, let alone buy her a house, she was distraught to the point of being ill. On top of that, her mother, who in her opinion had, “never appreciated daddy,” filed for divorce and moved to Dallas the very day the, “horribly ridiculous accusations about illicit houses,” hit the papers.
There were a lot of long, difficult years, five of which were in that little farmhouse without plumbing. Though there were moments when Murdock thought he could not tolerate another minute with her, there were other times when he knew he couldn’t live without her. For all her faults, Garvis was a good mother. She had raised their son Jesse almost by herself while he had been working the rigs. For that he loved her more than he could ever express. So if it took a little patience to live with Garvis, well, he had patience.
Thus, that Sunday morning after what he later thought of as the, “Incident at the Palace,” Murdock Rose was patiently waiting for Garvis to get ready for church. It wasn’t that she was late getting ready. Murdock had long since learned that she could get herself ready with less than a half-hour notice. What kept her was that she knew precisely how long it took to drive the half-mile to the First Baptist Church. She also knew at just what time the most people would be in the parking lot, about five minutes prior to the service starting. Therefore she knew just what time they needed to leave the house to be seen by the most people when they arrived at church in the big red LaSalle. So that Sunday, like all Sundays, Murdock patiently waited for his wife to come out of the bathroom, one of three in the house, at precisely the right moment for the two of them to arrive at the First Baptist Church Elza to be seen pulling into the parking lot with the windows up as they drove in weather-conditioned comfort. After over a year, Murdock would have thought that she would have gotten over making such a show, but she hadn’t.
#
Jefferson stepped out of the prowler slowly and walked up to the porch of the Rose’s home. There were very few people in Elza that Jefferson didn’t like. For the most part, just about everybody obeyed the traffic laws and showed Jefferson a reasonable amount of respect whenever he asked them to move a car out of a No Parking zone or to drive slowly past the school and such. In all honesty, Murdock always did even though he sometimes acted as if Jefferson was just being a pain in the posterior. Garvis, on the other hand, looked down her nose at Jefferson and just about everyone else in Elza. Quite frankly, Jefferson did his best to not come in contact with her. The woman was just plain rude. Frankly, he had no idea how she managed to raise such a good kid as Jesse.
As he stepped to the door, he secretly hoped that Murdock would be the one to answer. Murdock, though somewhat infuriating, was a man Jefferson could reason with.
Just as he raised his hand to knock, the door suddenly opened as Murdock held it for his wife to come out. The two were obviously dressed in their Sunday finest, which in the case of Garvis meant a dress that cost about what Jefferson made in a month.
“Chief Hightower,” Murdock said, “what brings you here?”
“Murdock, I apologize for interrupting you two on your way to church, but I need to speak to Jesse for a minute.”
“Is he in some trouble?” Garvis asked, the tone of her voice causing Jefferson to feel as if he was being told to get off her porch.
“No ma’am, I just need a word.”
“Can this wait, Chief?” Murdock asked. “We’re running late.”
“I know, and I truly am sorry, but I need to speak to him right away.”
“You’re making me scared, and you are not speaking to my son until I know exactly what this is about,” Garvis ordered loud enough for the neighbors to hear.
“Garvis, enough,” Murdock said in a firm tone, sensing something from Jefferson. “Chief, let’s go inside, I’ll get Jesse.”
Murdock held the door open as a fuming Garvis walked back in, followed by Chief Hightower.
“Exactly why do you need to see my son, Chief?” Garvis demanded.
“Enough!” Murdock ordered in a way Jefferson hadn’t expected.
Garvis suddenly shut up and stared wide-eyed at her husband. Jefferson sensed that she had rarely heard him speak like that before.
A sleepy but awakening Jesse came down the stairs wearing a pair of jeans and pulling a t-shirt over his head.
“What’s going on? I heard dad all the way upstairs.”
“The chief needs a word with you, Jesse,” Murdock replied.
Garvis was still staring at her husband but now with an expression of anger.
“Good morning, Jesse,” Jefferson said with a bit of a smile. He had always liked Jesse.
“Good mornin’, Chief. What’s up?”
“He’s probably home asleep, unless he went to church. But after what happened last night I doubt that. Why?”
“He didn’t come home last night. Did you see him after the shooting at the Palace?” Jefferson asked, feeling sure that he knew the answer. Those two boys had been sneaking out at night since they were nine or ten years old. About the only two people in town that didn’t know it were Jesse’s parents.
“What shooting?” Murdock asked in a tone that demanded an immediate answer.
“I’ll explain in a minute, Murdock,” Jefferson said in a commanding voice that let everyone know that this was serious, and he was in charge.
Jesse was a little uncomfortable with his parents there, but Jefferson was not joking around. He just used his serious “Police Chief” voice and Jesse had no choice. “He came by here at about midnight. We slipped out like we did when we were kids and drove over to the railroad bridge.”
“In your car or his?”
“Now, Chief, I’m starting to think that I need to know what this is about,” Murdock demanded, beginning to feel that something serious was happening.
Jefferson never took his eyes off Jesse. “In a minute, Murdock.”
“His car, Chief.”
“And then what?”
“Chief?” Murdock began.
“I said that I’ll explain in a minute, Murdock,” Chief Jefferson said with a lot more authority than he realized he could muster.
Murdock suddenly stood silent; no one had spoken to him like that since he was a child.
“He dropped me off over on Main, and I walked back here. We always did it that way so,” Jesse paused and looked at his parents, “so mom and dad wouldn’t hear his car.”
Jefferson was well aware that the two boys did that. Mrs. Cunningham had called him a dozen times after midnight over the years because of Cliff’s noisy Ford. Before the coupe the two used to drive around in Nickel Washington’s old Model-T pickup, which was even nosier than the coupe.
Jefferson turned to Murdock. The man’s face showed that he was angry, but for the first time since Jefferson had become chief, Murdock Rose looked as if he respected the badge.
“Cliff didn’t come home last night, and this morning we found his coupe crashed into Washington’s Feed Store,” Jefferson said, feeling a little empowered.
“Where’s Cliff? Is he okay?” Jesse asked, clearly worried about his friend.
“We don’t know. He wasn’t there.”
Outside, Shorty Newman pulled up to a stop in his black Dodge pickup behind the police prowler. Jefferson glanced out the screen door with some curiosity but turned his attention back to Jesse.
“What time did you get home?
“It was a little after one-thirty,” Murdock replied.
Jesse froze as he looked at his father.
Garvis looked at her husband, “You knew he was out?”
Murdock looked at Jesse, “I always hear you coming and going, son.”
As Shorty stepped up to the porch, Jesse felt a little cold chill, realizing that every time he had climbed out the window his father knew full well what he was doing.
“Chief, I need to talk to you,” Shorty said from outside.
“I’ll be out in a moment, Shorty.”
“I think you need to come right now, Jefferson,” Shorty replied with a shake in his voice.
Jefferson looked out at Shorty who was covered in mud from the knees down. “Good lord, Shorty, what did you get into?”
“You’ve got to come, Jefferson. Quick.”
Jefferson looked at Jesse and his parents, “It looks like they’ve found something. Jesse. I’ll call you when we find Cliff.”
“I’m coming,” Jesse said as he headed to the door.
“No.” Jefferson ordered just as he stepped out, stopping Jesse in his tracks. “I’ll call you.”
“Wait. What’s this about a shooting?” Murdock demanded as his patience ran out with Chief Thomas Jefferson Hightower.
Jefferson paused in the doorway, “Irwin Stoker came into the Palace last night with a shotgun and tried to shoot Cliff. He thinks Cliff got his daughter pregnant. Jesse here stopped him. He saved Cliff’s life.”
Murdock and Garvis were stunned as they watched Jefferson turn and walk out the door.
When they got about halfway to the prowler, Shorty started to speak, but the police officer halted him. When they were finally by the cars and out of earshot he nodded for Shorty to explain.
“The Lowery boys pulled up just as we were about to tow off Cliff’s coupe. They had been out huntin’ and, well, you just need to come down to the river.”
“What is it, Shorty?” Jefferson asked, a little annoyed.
“It’s Cliff, Jefferson. I ain’t never seen nothin’ like it.”
Jefferson looked at the porch. Jesse and his parents were watching. He nodded in their direction, smiled, then turned to Shorty, “Lead the way.”
“One other thing, Jeff. The coupe. There was a bloody tire-iron under the seat.”
#
Jefferson parked right behind Shorty’s Dodge pickup. They’d just driven about a quarter mile alongside the railroad line to the trestle on a rutted road made by hunters and fishermen. Jefferson hated doing that to his brand new prowler. He felt sure that the springs wouldn’t take much of it, and he doubted that the town council had allotted much cash for repairs.
Toad Lowery came walking toward him and Shorty as they approached the trestle. Jefferson found Toad to be a bit amusing. He’d known Toad all of his life and had always thought that “Toad” was just a nickname because he actually looked like a toad. He was short and broad-chested with no visible neck at all. On top of his shoulders, Toad had a melon shaped head that looked as if it was two sizes too big for his body. Naturally, given his appearance, kids would nickname him “Toad”. Then one weekend a few years back he had to run Toad and his brother Hunker into his jail for getting drunk and driving their father’s flatbed Buick all through Mrs. Hollis Harrison’s prize winning azaleas. Two years earlier Mrs. Hollis Harrison had won second prize at the State Fair of Texas Floral Competition. Mrs. Hollis Harrison was convinced that she had not won first place because, as it was learned after the fair, one of the judges, an editor from the Dallas Morning News, was also a cousin of that Galveston woman who did win. Mrs. Hollis Harrison was bound and determined to go back to the State Fair and win first place, and might have had it in the bag had the Lowery brothers not driven through her garden. Apparently it takes two or three years for a “competition quality” azalea to blossom. Understandably, Mrs. Hollis Harrison was not happy with the Lowerys and wanted them to go to prison. She settled for them spending two weeks on the county road gang.
When Jefferson booked the boys, he asked Toad for his real name. Obviously drunk, the boy kept telling him that his name was Toad. Finally, the next afternoon when their parents came and tried to bail them out, Jefferson finally realized that the boy was given the name “Toad” at birth and had somehow grown up to look like one.
“Chief,” an excited Toad began, “We been huntin’ on the other side of the river and came walkin’ across the bridge when Hunker seen a gator on the bank eatin’ somethin’. Well, he killed the gator with his first shot and then he climbed down the bank to get a look and seen that it was eatin’ some fella.”
Hunker walked up with a hunting rifle across his shoulders, holding it casually with both hands loosely hanging on it. “His head’s awful bloody, Jefferson, but I’m pretty sure it’s Cliff Tidwell.”
“Have you two told anyone else about this?”
“No, Chief,” Toad replied, “Just Shorty and Hobe. I seen Hobe tryin’ to tow that coupe; he said he’d get you, and we came back here.”
Jefferson walked out on the brid
ge and looked over at the body.
“Right by those trees,” Toad said as he pointed.
Jefferson took one good look and then turned away, feeling the scrambled eggs he had eaten for breakfast coming to his throat. The alligator was a big one, at least eight or nine feet. It lay dead with a leg in its mouth. The human was lying on his side, the leg almost ripped off.
“You boys stay here. I don’t want any more tracks down there.” Jefferson told the three as he made his way down the bank. When he got close enough, he swallowed hard and took a good look at the body. The head had been bashed in to the point that there was as a dent the size of a cantaloupe in the skull. Jefferson turned his head and began climbing back up the steep bank to the bridge. Out of sheer willpower, he kept himself from throwing up in front of those watching from above.
When he reached the top the boys met him.
“You ever seen anything like it, Chief?” Toad asked with a big smile, garnering a disgusted look from Shorty who was clearly close to losing his breakfast.
“No,” Jefferson said solemnly. “Toad, you and Hunker are now deputy police officers. You’ll get a day’s pay, just like Shorty. I’m going back to town to make a few calls. Shorty, you’re in charge. None of you are to go down to that body. And if anybody comes along, don’t let them near the bridge or down the hill. If anyone tries, arrest ‘em. This is a crime scene.”
“What about my gator?” Hunker asked.
“You can have it after the investigator gets here.”
“You gonna call Sheriff Cadwalder? You know Jonas Cadwalder don’t like us,” Toad said reminding Jefferson that the Sheriff did, in fact, dislike the two boys. When the two brothers were working on the county road-gang, they made an attempt to escape by driving away on a road grader. Unfortunately, the big machine had a maximum speed of about six miles per hour. When the Sheriff’s deputies caught up to them, they drove the grader into a creek. It took Sheriff Jonah Cadwalder nearly a month to find a tow truck large enough to pull it out of the ditch.
That Night at the Palace Page 8
