by Jeremy Tyler
John stared at the note as though he might, by careful inspection, magically force more meaning out of it.
“Well, at least it ain’t initials this time,” Dan said. “So, what do ya’ think he means? What couldn’t he let go?”
“Was it even him?” John asked absently.
“Beg pardon?” Mr. Parrott asked, trying desperately to follow the conversation.
“Well, we can’t just assume that the killer was referring to himself. Maybe the note was addressing some character flaw the killer saw in Arnold—like he was pointing out that there was something Arnold couldn’t let go. Or, he could have been stating that he couldn’t let Arnold go.”
“This is givin’ me a headache,” Dan complained.
“I don’t suppose, by any chance, that you happen to recognize the handwriting on this little note?” John asked.
Mr. Parrott shook his head.
“Cain’t say as I do.”
“Alright,” John relented, “we’ll pick this up tomorrow. What else you got, Mr. Parrott?”
“Not a whole lot, I’m afraid.”
“Was the car moving?” Dan asked.
“Naw. There ain’t no skid marks, or any sign that he braked suddenly. But the car was still in drive when Earl found ’im.’ Most likely, Arnold pulled up ’cause he saw somethin’ up ahead. That’s when ’e got hisself shot.”
“An ambush,” John commented. Dan managed to shake the sleep from his eyes as he walked up to where Earl was still held the fishing line.
“Earl’s standin’ in the middle o’ the road, which means our killer was, too. I’m thinkin’ that he wasn’t trustin’ in Arnold’s good nature to brake for a fella’ standin’ in front of ’is car, holdin’ a gun.”
“Yeah. Sounds reasonable,” John answered. Dan walked from Earl to the side of the road, knelt down, and pulled a flashlight from his belt. He shined it around for just a moment.
“Bingo!”
John moved over beside him to see what he was looking at.
“That right there…” Dan said as he reached down and touched a wet spot on the ground with two fingers, “ain’t clay.” He rubbed his two fingers together for a second, then tentatively brought them up to his nose and inhaled.
“Brake fluid. Somebody parked a car right here.”
John looked around for a moment.
“Earl stopped to help a car along the side of the road. Do you think maybe Arnold Rivers did the same?”
“Like you said,” Dan said, “an ambush.” With that, he got up from his perched position and walked back to Earl. A puzzled John followed, just footsteps behind him.
“Mr. Parrott, would you be so kind as ta’ turn the lights on?”
“Beg pardon?”
“The headlights on the car. Turn ’em on.”
Without really knowing why, Mr. Parrott reached into the driver’s side of the car and switched on the headlights. The effect, in the dark Georgia night, was considerable.
“Aw Geez, Dan!” Earl exclaimed, “you tryin’ to blind us?”
“That’s kinda’ the point, Earl. That’s a damned hard shot, all by itself—as you already pointed out. Throw in blindin’ headlights, and you got yer’self a ‘one-in-a-million’ shot. Only, this fella’ did it three times.”
“Yeah?” Earl said. He clearly wasn’t following Dan’s train of thought. But John was.
“And, when you figure in the level of planning it takes to determine where Arnold was going to be, so that the killer could set up a broken down car that would cause our victim to pull over…”
“Then it all adds up to one thing,” Dan finished.
“And what would that be, exactly?” Mr. Parrott asked.
“Our killer is a professional,” John said, then turned directly to Dan.
“And suddenly my earlier questions about Arnold’s business associates don’t sound so paranoid, do they?”
It was one of those classic scenes that deserved a moment of silence, as every man present contemplates the varied implications of what had just transpired. It was not to be, however, because at that moment Mr. Parrott chose to remember something that overshadowed everything.
“So…which one of us is goin’ to tell the sheriff about all this?”
* * *
As it happened, Mr. Parrott need not have worried. None of them were faced with the unpleasant task of informing the sheriff of his brother’s demise. That fell to Deputy Fred Flandon. Mind you, it wasn’t their intention of sticking poor Fred with the duty. But when it came to delivering the news, they ran into a formidable obstacle.
They couldn’t find him.
They tried to inform Sheriff Roy Rivers of the tragedy immediately by making a stop at the Rivers home. There, John and Dan made two very interesting discoveries: First, that Arnold Rivers had slipped out about 8 p.m., claiming that he wanted to take a moonlight stroll through the garden for a moment. Second, that Roy Rivers, having realized that his brother was no longer safely tucked away at the house, left immediately to search for him. He had been gone all night, and no one had heard from him since.
After getting statements from everyone present, both John and Dan were forced to admit to their own exhaustion. Dan left to get a few hours sleep at his home, and John decided to remain, in case Roy showed up. He did not.
Roy Rivers had spent the entire night on a desperate hunt for his brother, fearing the very worst. Despite his best efforts, his search was unsuccessful. Rather than go home, he decided to check in to the sheriff’s office first thing in the morning. It was there that Fred was forced to explain everything, and the sheriff’s fears were confirmed.
It was not a pleasant moment. An angry Roy Rivers is not a thing that anyone should ever want to see. Certainly, it was the very last thing that Fred wanted to see. As Roy stormed around the room, Fred kept thinking back to the look on the man’s face just a short time earlier as they drove out to the Stovall home. Back then, Fred had observed the smoldering resolve in the sheriff’s eyes, and had been frightened by it. That morning, the look on Roy Rivers face was that of nearly uncontrollable rage, and it absolutely terrified the deputy.
The angry ranting and enraged outbursts lasted for a good 10 minutes, during which Fred foolishly tried to answer the questions yelled out to him. This, of course, led to more yelling. When Roy had finally expended sufficient fury on his deputy to temporarily quell his inner demons, he sent one last murderously hateful look at Arthur Stovall, who was still sitting in his jail cell through the whole exchange, and walked out. The sound of Roy Rivers’ squad car tearing up gravel as he sped away was somehow amplified in tone, so that it seemed to be as furious and out of control as its driver. John and Dan arrived just 15 minutes later, bounding in, full of caffeine and adrenaline.
It was the sort of entrance that would have been comical in any other situation. They were both talking at about a mile a minute, jumping over each other’s sentences, and thoroughly incomprehensible to anyone but themselves. All Fred knew for certain was that they were very excited, which he took to be a good thing. Since he didn’t know what the focus of their conversation was, and they clearly were not about to stop and fill him in, Fred simply waited until he caught a reference that he could latch on to and, with some luck, remind the two that he was actually in the room. Maybe at that point they might decide to include him a little bit. Or, at least let him know why they still had Arthur Stovall locked up when last night fairly completely ruled him out as the killer.
“The maid said that Arnold slipped out around 8 o’clock,” said John.
“That gave him about two hours to plan everything, if the phone call is connected.”
“You really think it’s a coincidence?” John asked. “Look, whoever Arnold was talking to, it got him pretty upset. Upset enough to make a fast getaway out from under protective custody. Our killer was waiting for him, which tells me that Arnold’s phone call was designed to get him out on the road—and away from safety.”
“We need to find out who placed that call,” Dan was saying, as he rifled through the top drawer of his desk.
“We’ll run over to the post office before we go to Mr. Parrott’s and find out who was manning the switchboard last night,” John responded. This was Fred’s opportunity.
“I know who was at the switchboard last night,” Fred offered. Both men stopped and turned to face him. Suddenly Fred was not so sure he liked it better when he got noticed.
“I…I been courtin’ Alison Turnbell. An’ we was s’posed to go see a movie last night, only I had to work ’cause o’…”
“This story have a endin’, Fred?” Dan asked, interrupting.
“Well, yeah. Anyways, I had to work, an’ then Alison’s friend Minnie, who was s’posed to run the switchboard, she got ta’ feelin’ poorly. So Alison, she fig’gered if I had to work, she might as well, too. So, she did. An’ that’s hows I know that Alison Turnbell was workin’ the switchboard last night.”
“Okay, that’s…helpful,” John said, “Get Miss Turnbell on the phone, and see when she could come in and answer a couple of questions for us.”
Fred nodded his head vigorously and went to the phone on his desk.
“Oh, and Fred?” John added.
“Yeah?”
“You could have just told us who was on the switchboard last night.”
Fred shuffled his feet a little before answering.
“Yeah, I know. Only, the thing is…Alison’s a bit of a looker, an’ it took me an awful long time ta’ get her to agree ta’ go out with me in the first place. Seein’ as how I had to cancel, I doubt she’s goin’ ta’ give me a second chance.”
“Okay…” John wasn’t getting where Fred was going with this.
“Well, hell. If I ain’t goin’ to git to go on the damn date, I surely at least deserve to get some credit for getting’ the date in the first place,” Fred insisted.
John chuckled slightly. He could appreciate that.
“Alright, so that makes things easier. Now we just need to find the sheriff.”
“Oh, he just left here about ten minutes ago.”
Again, Fred was the recipient of the uncomfortable stares.
“I prob’ly should’a mentioned that earlier.”
Alison Turnbell had, indeed, been at the switchboard the night before, and she remembered the phone call coming in for Mr. Rivers, easily enough. There had only been three phone calls from out of town that night. One was from Edna Lowry’s nephew, whose wife had just given birth to an eight-pound, three-ounce girl. The second was from Jimmy Campbell, who was feeling a little homesick and a lot frightened since his unit was heading off to the Pacific in a few days, and wanted a comforting word from his father.
John and Dan listened as patiently as they could, while she rattled off the mundane details of the incoming calls from the previous night. They were sitting at her kitchen table as she poured herself another cup of coffee and started in on another long rambling tale. It was clear that Alison was the sort that enjoyed her job. It made one wonder how many conversations carried on across the phone lines were privy to the unfailing ear of the faithful switchboard operator.
“How about Arnold’s call?” John finally asked, trying not to sound as irritated as he felt, “The maid said the caller was from a company called Imperial Steel, but no one seems to know anything about them. Is there anything you can remember about that phone call?”
“Well, lots, I guess…the fella’ had a funny little accent, that’s fer sure.”
“Foreign?”
“No, not foreign. He was southern, sure enough, but like I said, he sounded funny.”
“Funny, how?” Dan asked.
“Well, I can’t say exactly. It just sounded differn’t. Not like he was from another country or nothin’, just…well, it was kinda’ like he was thinkin’ about evr’thin’ that came outta his mouth.”
“A fake accent, you mean?” John suggested.
“No. It weren’t fake. Or at least, if it were, he got it down perfect. Look, I hear people from all over the country, an’ jest about ever’body has some kind’a accent, an’ they’re all a little bit differn’t, even if they just live across the state. But I ain’t never heard nothin’ quite like that fella before.”
Dan took a swig from the coffee in front of him. He had a look on his face that spoke volumes, but he clearly didn’t want to say what he was thinking.
“Something on your mind, Deputy?” John asked pointedly.
Dan looked up at him, then sighed heavily.
“Just a theory—and not what you’d call a good one.”
“Well, I’m coming up with a big bag of nothing, so if you’ve got an idea, let’s here it.”
“I was talkin’ with an ol’ friend o’ mine the other day. He moved up north to New York a few years ago. Accordin’ to him, evry’body up there still thinks he sounds like he’s fresh off the farm. The thing is, when I talked to ’im, I couldn’t even tell the man was from Georgia. Ta’ me, he sounded like just one more damn northerner—no offense.”
John smiled blandly at the insult.
“Are you trying to tell me you think your friend did it? Because you’re right…that’s not a good theory.”
“You move somewhere, ya’ kinda’ take on the accent. Don’t have to try, don’t have ta’ think about it. Just happens. Only, it ain’t never quite like ever’body else. Ya’ always keep a little bit o’ where ya’ come from,” Dan explained.
“So, you’re thinking that maybe Alison’s mystery man sounds a little off because he picked his accent up.”
“Exactly.”
“So, we’re dealing with a transplant.”
“There is a whole lotta industry an’ business openin’ up in Florida right now, an’ there’s people comin’ in from all over the country—hell, all over the world. Lots of ’em.”
“Didn’t you say Arnold’s new business partners were based out of Florida?” John asked.
In reply, Dan took another sip of coffee.
“Wow, you guys are like real cops!” Alison burst out in surprise.
“Miss Turnbell, I appreciate your help,” Dan said matter-of-factly. It was a fairly clear signal that the conversation was done. After all, they still had several stops to make today.
He got up, and John followed. Alison Turnbell rose as well, and walked them out to the door.
“It was no trouble, an’ I was jest happy to help. You’ll let me know how ever’thing turns out, won’t you?” she asked, lowering her eyes just enough to direct Dan’s gaze toward her breasts.
John could definitely see why Fred was so taken with the woman. Pity that. She seemed the type that was easily swayed. And right now, it seemed she was swaying toward Dan.
“Actually, Miss Turnbell, I’m a little concerned.”
“Beg pardon?”
“Dan, if it was this easy for us to determine that Miss Turnbell had useful information, it might not take long for someone else to figure that out.”
Apparently, Dan caught on to what John was trying to pull and was happy to oblige.
“That’s true,” he said. “As a witness, she is—potentially—in danger.”
“My dear lord, you just can’t be serious!” Alison exclaimed.
“I’m afraid so. But don’t you worry none. I’m gonna have Fred come down and keep an eye on ya’.”
“Oh,” she replied. The look on her face was sheer disappointment. Fred was right. As it stood, he would not be getting that second date. At least, not without a little help.
“Actually, Dan, are you sure we can spare Fred right now? After all, he is our biggest source of information right now, and pulling him off the streets could set us back a lot.”
“Really?” Alison asked, with a little more interest in her voice.
“Oh yeah,” Dan replied. “Fred’s been incredible. Why do ya’ think we been keepin’ him so busy
?”
“I had no idea.”
“O’ course, Detective Webb is right about the kind’a danger we put ya’ in. No, it don’t matter if it sets us back a bit, Miss Turnbell, your safety is our top priority. I’ll send Fred straight over. An’ besides, we can still keep in touch by callin’ ’im on your phone, if that’s alright?”
“Well, of course. I would hate to think that the whole investigation is put in a bad way on my account,” Alison answered, with a much greater enthusiasm than just a few minutes earlier.
“You are a very brave woman, Miss Turnbell,” John said as he headed out the door, with Dan immediately following.
“We’ll send Fred over right away. You keep this here door locked ’til you hear him come knockin’,” Dan told her.
“Yes, sir. I will,” she said, then shut the door. Within seconds, the satisfying click of the lock sounded, and the two men walked back to the car.
“That was a nice thing you did for Fred back there,” Dan said as they got into the vehicle.
“We did. I doubt I could have gotten the woman quite as thrilled about having Fred over without your help.”
Dan started the car and pulled out onto the road.
“I owed him. He would’a had his date if I hadn’t made him work last night.”
* * *
Gerald was out of sorts. The morning had been hard enough on the poor man, but having to stay here at the Rivers’ home was almost more than the little man could bear.
His day had not started well from the start. Reporting in for work, he found that the entire household was in an uproar, with Deputy Merrill and that New York detective stomping around, causing all kinds of commotion. In moments, Gerald learned the cause of the disturbance. 10 minutes later, he confessed his part in Arnold Rivers’ escape.
Maybe Gerald expected that the two would be sympathetic. Maybe he expected that they would appreciate the fact that he was—technically—following orders when he drove Arnold’s car around to the back of the house so that Arnold could make a quick getaway while everyone thought he was taking a stroll through the garden.
Whatever Gerald thought, he was disappointed. In fact, the reaction he received was far from kind or sympathetic. Upon delivering the news that he had aided Arnold, he was immediately taken into a side room and questioned. This was not a friendly chat. It was an out-and-out interrogation, without any regard to his feelings or comfort. For a good half an hour, Dan and John took turns demanding every detail. No matter how cooperative Gerald was, however, the two were not satisfied.
