“‘Yeah,’ said Steve, ‘Chuckie couldn’t do it because he’s too big.’”
“‘I couldn’t do it, but I woulda,’ said Chuckie.
“‘The front door was locked,’ said WeeJay, ‘So we went under the big wooden door at the railroad where Catch brings in his repair jobs. Steve had to dig down in the mud to squeeze through and then when he got inside, he raised the door for the rest of us.’”
“‘I filled it all in so no one would know how we did it,’ said Steve in his soft voice.
“‘The engine was out so the boat wasn’t too heavy. We got on the sides and dragged her to the water. Then we hooked up the tractor tires so she’d float.’”
“‘The tires were Chuckie’s idea. He knows where to get them,’ said WeeJay.
“‘I just got all muddy but it was easy,’ said Steve.
“‘Then we walked the boat through the shallow water over to the cannery,’ said WeeJay.
“‘Nobody saw us because it was late,’ said Chuckie in his high pitched voice.
“‘Why did you tell me?’ I asked.
“‘We want you to help,’ they all said at once.
“‘The case is in the hands of the law,’ I said.
“‘We think the boat was going to be destroyed and we wanted to keep it for him,’ said WeeJay.”
“‘We want you to find a way for us to save the boat for Walker,’ said Chuckie.
“‘I’ll tell my editor. He’ll know what to do,’ I said.
“‘I know him. Mister Harry. He’s all right,’ said WeeJay.”
Annie smiled and said, “I guess you have a friend, Harry. Anyway, before I left the boys and came here, I took one more look at Walker’s boat.”
“I said to WeeJay, ‘The gas can is still here.’”
“‘Yes, Ma’am, it’s just like we found it. See all the corrosion on the can from being in the swamp water all those years.’”
“‘I lifted out the can and looked at it, then replaced it in the strap that fit around it. The corrosion and sea growth was exactly spaced around the old can where it had rested all these years,” she said. “I could still see the paint and the markings on the can too. That’s when I got this idea.”
“What idea?” asked Harry.
Annie paused for breath and looked at Harry. “That’s why you have to come with me so I can show you.”
Chapter 22
Friday, August 6 230 pm
Harry looked out the window of her car as she started it. He asked, “Where are you taking me?”
“That gas can in the boat was the key to Walker’s guilt, the thing that convinced everyone he set the fire, right?” she asked.
“I suppose. He was carrying it when he ran away. I don’t know why he did that.”
She nodded. “You’d think he would have dropped it somewhere, not taken it on the boat.”
“What are you getting at?” said Harry.
“Did you think to look at the fuel cans that Catch has in his shop, the ones he inherited from his father?”
“No, I didn’t,” answered Harry. “Why is that important?”
“I hadn’t really looked at them either. So, I went to Catch’s shop and studied them all racked on the wall.”
“I’m surprised you got in there,” said Harry, his eyes full of admiration.
“I broke in,” she grinned.
“So the paper’s in trouble for breaking and entering,” said Harry. “What did you find out?”
“I’m coming to that. After I left Catch’s place, I went over to Walker’s boat shop,” she said, driving the car as fast as the traffic would allow. “That’s where we’re going now, to show you what I found.”
The Honda stopped with a lurch in front of the Walker residence. People were milling in the yard and along the sides of the house singing the song Harry had heard before.
Father meet us on the river
Mother meet us on the river
Children meet us on the river
To chase the evil away.
“The boat shop is the work of the devil.” The fat lady from Reverend Blue’s New Jesus Temple had these words on a white piece of cardboard that she held in front of her at the door to the barn. The door itself had been broken open and vines were scattered on the grass.
“You shouldn’t go in there,” the woman said to Harry.
“Why not?” Harry asked, patiently.
“You’ll be damned. This is the place of evil,” replied the woman.
“I’ll take my chances,” said Harry.
The woman grimaced and let them pass. Annie led him inside where a light was on. Blue’s congregation had already ransacked the place. The various tools and benches were pitched to the floor and in a disheveled state. The hull of the Mahoney boat had a new hole in its center, a small axe handle sticking out from the broken ribs.
Over at the side of the room, dimly lit by the overhead bulb, was a table of fuel cans. Decades of spider webs were strung loosely among the spouts.
“Here, this is what I found.” Annie brushed off debris and held up one of the gas containers. “This is one of Walker’s fuel cans, the kind he would have used for his own boat.”
“They don’t look very special to me,” Harry said, looking at the can again.
“You can see that he used no special marking,” she said.
“So what?”
“The point is, Harry, that the can strapped in the Black Duck hull, the can that was found with the boat, is marked, and it is not the same in any way as these cans here.” She waved Walker’s container. The old fuel sloshed inside.
She put the can back on the table and said, “The can that was discovered on the boat has a big X mark on it,” she said, smiling. “That X is the same mark used by Catch’s father, the same mark that I saw on the neatly stored containers at Catch’s boat shop just an hour ago.”
Harry touched the fuel can. He studied it, thinking fast.
“You might have something,” he said. “You’re saying that the can that Walker carried into his boat was not his own, it was Homer’s.”
“That’s right,” she said.
It didn’t take him more than a moment to realize that she had just proved the innocence of the old man. Harry hugged Annie in front of the Blue supporters. They made a murmur of disapproval.
“You’re damned, Harry,” she said with a smile.
“Yes,” he said as he kissed her. “I think you’ve saved that old man’s life. Come on. Bring one of Walker’s containers along. We’re going back to the hospital.”
Peggy, Billy, and Senator had come to the hospital and were standing at the side of Walker’s bed as Harry and Annie entered. Harry could see the matronly self control in Peggy’s face melting as she stood looking, half leaning toward the old man. The vision of Walker, emaciated and worn out, thin under the white hospital blanket with the emblem of the River Sunday Hospital crumpled in its folds, reflected in the pity in her eyes. Her proud stance, that of a town society leader, was collapsing into the personality of a loving and sympathetic, even sisterly, woman visiting a long lost friend. She was calmer, as if she had come into a church, as she slowly leaned further and touched his wrinkled hand.
Walker smiled broadly as she did this and said, “Hello, Peggy.”
“Hello, Walker,” she said softly in return.
Another pair of visitors arrived. Harry watched Catch push his mother in her wheelchair. The sheriff stood up as they came in and then pulled his chair further up the side of the bed to make room for them.
Walker began to talk. “The night of the big town fire, I planned to see my girl for a while then stop over to Homer’s. I was carrying my old carburetor and wearing my racing jacket. Walking down the street I looked like the other race drivers that I passed. Homer had said to come early. After I saw him I was going to stop out and see if I could find any of the other drivers, some of my friends.
“Stella’s house was maybe two blocks from my house and
on the land side of the street. She was all bandaged up and it had been almost two weeks since the General Store fire. I knew she was hurting but I didn’t have any real good idea what to say to her to make her feel better. She had lost her job and that was hurting her more than the burns.”
“She was the first computer operator in River Sunday,” interrupted Harry.
“Yessir. That was it. She was so proud. I never knew exactly why Stella and I got together except that she was around and always talking to me. I had my mind on my boat and making engines work better and faster. That took all my energy and I guess I put off the women until later. She said to me that I didn’t love her enough and I guess she was right about that.
“We sat on her porch and watched the street activities. All kinds of folks were out in the darkness, yelling and singing. The town was very much alive with festivity.
“Stella wasn’t too festive though. Her face hurt where they had bandaged it and I told her I was going to take her up to Baltimore to be looked at by a specialist in burns.”
“‘I don’t want to go,’ she said.
“‘I’ll pay for it. You need to go,’ I said.
“‘I don’t want to leave town,’ she said. Lots of folks in those days didn’t like leaving the town, didn’t trust the city people. That was just the way it was.”
Good interrupted gruffly. “Let’s finish up, Walker.” He began telling Walker about how he would place him in jail as soon as the doctors allowed him out of the hospital.
“If it goes that far, Cheeks,” said Charleston in a quiet forceful voice. The sheriff stared at him as if he thought his look would wilt the lawyer. Charleston sat up straighter and stared back.
Harry said, “Wait a minute.” He thought that the time had come to challenge the sheriff’s theory of the case. He looked at the others, especially Peggy and the rest of Walker’s Patrol as if he was asking the old team to start up their boats and come to Walker’s rescue.
“I’m not sure he’ll be going to jail at all, Sheriff,” said Harry, holding out Walker’s gas can in front of him.
“What do you mean?” said the sheriff, looking up.
“You said you wanted to see some evidence. Well, here you are.” Harry put the rusty container on the bed sheets.
“I told you I saw him carrying that can,” said Sheriff Good.
“Do you recognize this fuel container?” asked Harry. Charleston, sensing that Harry might have found out something important, began to smile.
“Yeah,” said the sheriff, grabbing the fuel can. “This was on the boat we pulled out of the swamp. What are you getting at?”
“You’re wrong, Sheriff. This can belongs to Walker and it comes from his shop. The can that was found on the boat has a mark on it, a big X. Check for yourself. You’ll see the X marking.”
“I will, soon as I find the damn boat.”
“We found the boat, Sheriff,” said Harry.
The sheriff looked at him. “Where is it?”
“Right now we’re talking about the fuel container.”
“That doesn’t mean anything,” said the lawman.
Catch spoke out, “My father would never let anyone handle his containers except himself. Nobody, not even my mother or me. He wanted to make sure the fuel never got contaminated. It was one of his rules at the shop.”
“I think this means a lot, Sheriff,” said Annie. “Where the fire started was quite a way from Homer’s shop,” she said. “It had to be Homer who took the gas out there because he wouldn’t have allowed anyone else to touch his fuel supply. You should try to answer what Catch’s father was doing out there with a can of gasoline.”
Walker said, “I remember taking the can away from him. Homer had splashed some of the contents on the wall of the old cannery building.”
“You’re lying, old man,” said Good. “I was there. I saw you start that fire.”
“So let’s see,” said Harry. “Homer brings out gasoline into the alley because he’s the only one with access to the can. Walker says Homer splashed fuel on the wall of the cannery. Let’s suppose that Walker did try to stop his old friend from whatever he was doing. Walker hits Homer and takes the gas can away from him. Homer is knocked unconscious. Walker runs away. The question, Sheriff, is who was left to light the fire?”
“Walker,” said the sheriff, quickly.
“Homer couldn’t light off the gasoline on that building. He was unconscious. I read yours and Homer’s witness testimonies,” said Charleston, in his careful legal tone. He stood up, leaning toward the sheriff, his fist clenched.
“Only one person saw Walker set the fire,” said Charleston. “That’s you, Cheeks. The other witnesses only saw him running away and carrying the gas can.”
“I took the gasoline can away from Homer,” said Walker. “I knew he was in some kind of trouble. I suspected he had been told to set that fire. He got all his money from Terment. He must have been put up to it. I carried the can away because I didn’t want anyone to know he was doing this. The gasoline was not on fire when I ran away,” said Walker.
“If the fire was not started when you left, Walker, then who set the fire?” asked Annie.
“I don’t know. I said I didn’t know,” said Walker.
“What do you say, Cheeks? You were there,” asked Harry.
“I said Walker did it and then ran away.”
“If you are right, what reason would Walker have to light a fire? He had just taken the can away from Homer to stop him. Why would he now set the fire himself?” asked Harry. He turned to Catch, “You had to recognize that fuel can when it came out of the boat, Catch. You must have known what we just told you, that your father had rules, that your father took the can out there. Why didn’t you say anything?”
Catch nodded slowly.
His mother looked at her son, gripped her wheelchair arms tightly, and then spoke slowly, her voice less fierce, more soft. She turned to Sheriff Good and Harry saw a tense look of anger from her old eyes.
“You made a mistake. After all these years, we’ve finally got something on you,” she said.
“You ain’t got nothing,” said Good, glaring at her and standing up, his note paper falling on the floor.
At that moment Catch also stood up. The three men stood across from each other, surrounding the rumpled hospital bed. Walker lay back on his pillows and glanced first at Charleston, then at Catch and finally at the sheriff, where his eyes rested.
“Yes, we do, Cheeks,” said Catch. “You see, I was there that night too.”
The sheriff stiffened as if he had been hit by a bullet.
Catch went on,” Nobody knew I was there. I sneaked into the shop. When I heard the noise, I went outside in the alley. I know my father didn’t do it because he was knocked out by Walker. I saw Walker take the gas can from my father. Gasoline was stained on the old wood. I could smell it. Then I saw Walker bend down to help him, and I saw you, Cheeks, coming down the alley. Walker saw you, turned and ran by you. You watched him, and I was surprised you didn’t chase him. Then you turned around. You didn’t see me. You came over and saw the gasoline on the wall. You looked at Homer on the ground. It was you who lit the gasoline, Cheeks, with that Zippo lighter you always carry. I saw it then. I know you’ve still got the same one in your pocket. Then, as the flames grew, you pulled my father to safety.”
“Why didn’t you tell this before, Catch?” asked Charleston.
“I couldn’t prove anything. It was my word as a little kid against Good. I thought my parents would take Good’s side. My father was talking against Walker anyway. I was afraid of what Good would do.”
“We were all afraid of going to jail,” said Missus Kirby. “Besides, we all thought Walker was dead. All these years we have been afraid.”
She grabbed the big man’s arm as he tried to get by her. The sheriff pulled away from the old woman and as he did, her wheelchair fell on its side. She tried to crawl after him, shouting, “You bastard. You bastard.�
�
“I had to keep quiet,” Catch was saying as he moved towards the sheriff to restrain him, talking to Harry over his shoulder. He was a trembling man now, his eyes entreating, flashing glances at Walker.
The door opened and the State trooper who had been guarding the hallway looked in. “What’s all the noise?” he asked. He saw the overturned wheelchair and Sheriff Good trying to free himself from the grasp of Catch’s mother.
“Wait a minute, Sheriff Good,” he said, trying to push the door shut to restrain the sheriff. The sheriff turned on the policeman and hit him, knocking him down. Then he was out the door, his heavy body squeezing through the half open door and pushing hard against the fallen officer.
“You can’t get far,” the trooper shouted, stumbling to his feet, trying to get his radio out of its belt holster.
Harry thrust his head out into the corridor through the half open door. Sheriff Good was nowhere in sight. Down the hall, an exit door leading to the back of the building was closing slowly and softly.
Chapter 23
Friday, August 6, 4 pm
This was the third blow, like lightning from a severe Bay thunderstorm, crashing against their minds, their beliefs, their senses. First, the discovery of the race boat in the marsh, then finding Walker still alive, and finally, the realization that Walker was innocent and his accuser, the sheriff, was the true guilty one.
After Sheriff Good ran out, silence fell over them, punctuated only by the noises from the hallway, the slamming door, the boot clumps of men running down the corridor, the high pitched calls of “Stop him, get the Sheriff.”
Harry came back, his eyes showing disappointment at the sheriff’s escape, and his entry was the catalyst that set them into action. All tried to talk at once, looking into each other’s faces, speaking loudly with his or her own comments of surprise. Talk shifted to where the renegade sheriff might have gone, where he must be sought and how.
Then each became silent for a few moments, reflection of the kind that comes over a person when he realizes he has been duped, fooled. Each turned to Walker as if realizing that the old man, the only one who knew from the beginning of his own innocence, need now receive long awaited apologies. Everyone blurted sorrow for the old man’s ill treatment, promises to make amends, to make his life better. Catch and his mother who had originally come into this room to gloat were reduced to the role of again and again explaining the circumstance of the fire, chanting their story over and over again. More State police officers came into the room and began a new series of questions, demanding at once to hear everything again and in detail, to find out all the secrets of this case.
Powerboat Racer (River Sunday Romance Mysteries Book 3) Page 28
