Too Late to Die dr-1

by Bill Crider

  Elmer sat up and looked around. He looked at the chickens, and then he looked at the gun in Rhodes’s hand. He nodded his head as if to shake himself completely awake.

  “We’ll walk over to the county car, now, Elmer,” Rhodes said. “You’ll be getting into the back seat.” He gestured with the pistol.

  Elmer got shakily to his feet and preceded Rhodes to the Plymouth. Rhodes opened the back door and nudged Elmer with the pistol. Elmer got inside, and Rhodes slammed the door.

  Going around to the driver’s side, Rhodes opened his own door and looked at Elmer through the wire that separated the seats. “You could save me a lot of time if you’d just tell me where that.30-.30 is,” Rhodes said.

  “It’s in my bedroom closet,” Elmer said listlessly. “In the back, to the right.”

  Rhodes shut the door and went into the house. In a few minutes he was back, carrying a rifle. He got in the car and took Elmer Clinton to the jail.

  “Well, Sheriff,” Hack began after Elmer had been placed in a cell, “I guess that about wraps things up, except for that little suit against the county. I sure hate to think that Johnny would’ve done such a thing as to kill Jeanne Clinton. And look at all that’s come of it. It’s a real shame.”

  Rhodes had to agree. “I think I’ll go on home now,” he said. “It’s been a rough day. Call me if you need me.” He left the jail and got in the car. It had been a rough day, all right, but it wasn’t over and he wasn’t going home. There was one other thing he had to do first. He started the car and drove away.

  Chapter 19

  It was getting late in the afternoon, and long shadows crossed the road as Rhodes drove past the former dump site to Billy Joe Byron’s shack. Billy Joe’s yard was just as exotic by the light of the fading sun as it had been at night, and Rhodes was able to spot a few things he’d missed on his earlier visit, like a heap of old magazines that were gradually becoming fused together as the rain and sun worked on them and four or five checkerboards that seemed to be laid out in some sort of pattern near the headless horse.

  Rhodes crossed the yard, ducked his head, and stepped up on the porch under the low-hanging roof. “You in there, Billy Joe?” he called.

  There was no answer, but Rhodes could hear someone moving around inside. “Come on out,” he said. “I’ll sit on the porch and wait for you.”

  Rhodes turned his back and stepped down into the yard. He sat on the porch and looked out over Billy Joe’s Sargasso Sea of junk. It wasn’t long before Billy Joe joined him. “You glad to be home, Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked.

  Billy Joe shook his head vigorously. He still didn’t want to talk, but it was obvious that he was happy to be at home, even though the stay in the jail had provided him with a bath and some fairly decent meals.

  Rhodes didn’t blame him for keeping quiet. What had happened was enough to scare anyone, especially someone like Billy Joe. “I don’t mind that you ran from me the other day,” Rhodes said. “You were scared, weren’t you?”

  Billy Joe nodded. “S-s-scared!” he said.

  “You know you’d better stay away from other folks’ stores, don’t you, Billy Joe?” Rhodes asked,” You could get in big trouble like that.”

  Billy Joe nodded in agreement.

  “And you’ve got to stay away from windows,” Rhodes said. “Dammit, that’s just not right. I guess Jeanne Clinton was nice to you, though, wasn’t she?”

  “Talk to me, sometimes,” Billy Joe said hesitantly.

  “Yeah, she was nice like that. She talked to a lot of people, and you see where it got her, don’t you?”

  “She hurt. . bad?” Billy Joe asked, full of concern.

  “Pretty bad,”‘ Rhodes told him. “You see what happened?”

  Billy Joe looked agitated. “Yes. Saw,” he said.

  “You saw somebody in a uniform like mine hit her?”

  Billy Joe was getting excited. “‘Thought. . thought it maybe you! Thought. . you!”

  “It wasn’t me,” Rhodes told him.

  “Know. . wasn’t now. You treat me good. Let me keep. . smokes.”

  “Did you try to help her?” Rhodes asked.

  Billy Joe nodded, almost shyly this time. “She. . yelling. She hurt.”

  “So you went in to help her. I guess she was pretty upset.”

  “She. . yelling. Said. . words. Hit me!” Billy Joe’s hand went to his face in an automatic gesture. “Hit me! Fight me!”

  “You were just trying to help,” Rhodes assured him.

  “Yes,” Billy Joe said, very excited now. He bounced on the porch. “‘Try to help! Face all. . all. .”

  “Bloody,” Rhodes said. “I expect her face was all bloody.”

  “Yesyes,” Billy Joe said, making one word of it. “Blood! She. . yelling. Fighting! Hitting!”

  “You still tried to help,” Rhodes said. “You held her?”

  “Held her,” Billy Joe agreed. “She. . fighting.” He looked at Rhodes. “She be. . all right?”

  Rhodes had been certain that Billy Joe did not know what had really happened. He had gone in to help the woman who had been friendly to him, and that was how the blood got on his shirt. She had been wild, maybe blinded by the blood from the beating Johnny had administered. It was possible that she thought Billy Joe was Johnny coming back. She had fought, and Billy Joe, trying to help and not knowing his strength, had struggled with her and probably caused her death.

  Rhodes looked at Billy Joe. “No,” he said. “She won’t be all right.”

  “I. . sorry,” Billy Joe said.

  “Me too,” Rhodes told him.

  They sat on the porch of the dilapidated shack and watched the sunset. Rhodes was a sheriff, not a judge or a juryman, and he wondered if he had any right to do what he knew he was going to do. Send Billy Joe to trial? Have him wind up in an institution? No. Who would profit from it? Jeanne was dead and so were the others. Johnny’s reputation would suffer, but he had beaten Jeanne and he might have done the same to others. Billy Joe never would, Rhodes was sure of that.

  If Billy Joe were put in some institution, he would be fed and bathed, but what did that matter if he were taken from what he had, little as that was? He wouldn’t last long like that. He wouldn’t last a year.

  A light breeze sprang up, and Rhodes could hear frogs croaking somewhere nearby. It was beginning to get dark. He had been wrong from the beginning, he thought. He had been nearly sure that the Terry Wayne business had been a setup, but it hadn’t. He’d been wrong about Johnny. He’d seen Elmer Clinton’s overwhelming grief and his sudden soberness after the first spasms had passed, but he hadn’t thought until too late that Elmer might have become unbalanced. And then he’d been certain that Johnny was the killer. That might have been the worst mistake of all, but it was too late now.

  Too late for Jeanne, too late for Bill Tomkins, too late for Mrs. Barrett, too late for Elmer, too late for Johnny. But not too late for Billy Joe. Out of all of it, maybe one could be salvaged, though he’d never realize it.

  So Rhodes would keep the secret. It might be wrong, but he thought it was right. He hoped it was right.

  Rhodes slid off the porch and stood in front of Billy Joe. “I’ll see you later, Billy Joe,” he said. “You take care of yourself, hear?”

  “I. . take care,” Billy Joe said.

  Rhodes walked through the surreal yard to his car. He got in and drove away.

  The next morning, Rhodes was sore. His ribs hurt as badly as they ever had, and he could hardly get out of bed. But he managed. He looked sadly at the latticework of tape wrapping his upper body. Somehow he managed to get dressed.

  Kathy fixed him scrambled eggs for breakfast. She didn’t mention Johnny Sherman, and Rhodes was sure she never would. Johnny was a subject that would never come up between them again, and Rhodes had said all he, wanted to say about it. He ate his eggs without speaking.

  As he finished, Kathy spoke. “You seem pretty moody today. Worried about the election?”
<
br />   Rhodes shook his head. He suddenly realized then he really didn’t care about the election. “Ralph Claymore would do a good job,” he said. “Maybe better than me. Maybe it’s time somebody else took over.”

  “You don’t really believe that,” Kathy said.

  Rhodes wasn’t sure whether he believed it or not, but he was sure that the matter was no longer important to him. Having made his decision about Billy Joe, he was no longer sure where he stood in regard to his job. It was something he had to think about.

  Rhodes pushed his chair away from the table. “Sure I believe it,” he said. “How would you like having an unemployed father?”

  “I wouldn’t mind,” Kathy said, taking his plate and brushing the crumbs into the sink. “I guess I could support you if I got a big-city teaching job. I typed some letters of application yesterday. If I’m hired, I could send you a little money every month.” She laughed. “On a teacher’s salary, it would have to be a very little, even in Houston.”

  Rhodes grinned. “I’m glad you’ll be getting back to the city,” he said “I’ll miss you around here, though.”

  “Somehow I don’t think you’ll be too lonely,” she said. “If you don’t make time with Ivy Daniels, I’m sure Mrs. Wilkie would be glad to come in and keep you company.”

  “A terrible thought,” Rhodes said. He stood up. “I guess I’d better get busy and give the taxpayers their money’s worth while I’m still in office. I hope I can get through the day without these ribs killing me. “

  Getting in the car hurt, and getting out of the car hurt, but Rhodes did it. His first stop was at a small brick building a block from the courthouse. The building had once been an insurance office, but it now bore a neat white sign with black letters which stated that it was the office of Billy Don Painter, Attorney at Law.

  Billy Don was his usual well-groomed self, cordial and smiling. “Good to see you, Sheriff,” he said, extending his hand. “What can I do for you?”

  Rhodes shook hands. “You can tell me how you’re going to proceed with this Terry Wayne thing,” he said.

  “Well, that’s direct and to the point,” Billy Don said. “We’ve got a mighty good case, let me tell you.”

  “I know that,” Rhodes said. “I also know you can create a lot of bad feelings in this county if you go to trial with it.”

  “Well, now, that may be so, but what are a few hard feelings in the cause of justice?”

  “Maybe nothing,” Rhodes said. “But what’s justice in this case? Terry Wayne may have been roughed up a little, but the man who did it is dead. You can’t punish him any more than that.”

  “Ah, yes, punishment,” Billy Don said, as if he hadn’t thought of it before. Probably he hadn’t. “What my client had in mind was compensation for the physical and mental pain which he went through. Who knows? He may be crippled physically and psychologically for life because of his encounter with the rogue minions of Blacklin County’s law.”

  “We aren’t in court yet, Billy Don,” Rhodes said, and the lawyer almost blushed. The tips of his ears got red. “I expect that Terry Wayne is working at his job right now, and has been ever since he got out of the jailhouse. If he has, we can prove it. We can also show that he wasn’t any lily of the valley himself, I imagine. It won’t be easy for you.”

  “I suppose it would also be easier for you if we dropped the whole thing,” Billy Don suggested mildly, “what with the election coming up and all that.”

  Rhodes shrugged. “Believe it or not,” he said, “I really don’t care too much about the election. If the voters want Ralph Claymore, they’ll get a good man. I’m just trying to save both you and the county some time and trouble.”

  Billy Don thought it over. “Perhaps a modest out-of-court settlement is what you had in mind?”

  “I was kind of thinking along those lines, yes,” Rhodes said. “A small amount, but enough to let Terry Wayne know we were wrong.”

  “I’ll talk to him,” Billy Don said. “That’s all I can do, Sheriff. The rest is up to him.”

  “That’s all I wanted in the first place,” Rhodes said. “Thank you, Mr. Painter.”

  The two men shook hands again, and Rhodes left the office.

  Things were pretty much as usual at the jail. Elmer Clinton had given no trouble. The hippie was calm. “Spends most of his time sittin’ on the floor with his legs crossed,” Lawton said.

  “No other problems?” Rhodes asked.

  “Not to speak of,” Hack said. He waited about ten seconds. “Well, maybe there is one little thing.”

  Here it comes, Rhodes thought. He wondered if he would miss this routine if he were not reelected, or if he would be glad not to have to hear it. Somehow he thought he’d miss it, but maybe he could adjust. “What little thing is that?” he asked.

  “Lou Willie Jenkins called,” Hack said. He waited expectantly.

  “How is Lou Willie?” Rhodes said. Lou Willie was an old woman, well beyond eighty, who loved to call the sheriff’s office when she had a problem.

  “She’s fine,” Hack said. “She’s fine herself. But there’s this one little thing that’s not so fine.” He waited again.

  Rhodes waited as well. The silence lengthened. It was Rhodes who finally broke. “All right,” he said. “I give up. What’s the problem?”

  “There’s a skunk under her house,” Hack said solemnly.

  “She sure about that?” Rhodes asked.

  “Sure as you can be,” Hack said. “It’s hard to make a mistake about something like that.”

  “I guess it is,” Rhodes said. “She wants somebody to come out there and get it out, I take it.”

  “Right as rain,” Hack said. “She figures it might die under there if somebody don’t get it out right quick. From the way she talked, it might even be dead already. If it ain’t, it could be dangerous.”

  Rhodes looked at Lawton. “You want to get it?” he asked.

  “I’m too old to go crawling around under houses,” Lawton protested. “Besides, I’m the jailer.”

  Rhodes looked at Hack. “‘Don’t go castin’ your eye on me, now,” Hack said. “I’m older than Lawton.”

  “My ribs are busted up,” Rhodes said. “There’s no way I can get under that house.”

  The other two men just looked at him. “You’re the sheriff,” Hack said.

  When Rhodes walked in his front door two hours later, Kathy came to meet him, but she stopped about twenty feet short. “What on earth?” she said.

  “Just what it smells like,” Rhodes said. “I’ve heard that if you soak your clothes in tomato juice, you don’t have to burn them.”

  “What about you?” Kathy said. “Go on back outside.”

  “You’ve got a point there,” Rhodes said. He went back out, and Kathy followed him.

  “You’ll do anything for a vote,” she said.

  “I didn’t do it for a vote,” Rhodes told her. “I did it for Lou Willie Jenkins.”

  “I’ll bet Ralph Claymore wouldn’t have done it. Come on around to the back and strip off.”

  Rhodes followed her. “Somebody has to do it,” he said. In a way, he thought, it’s not so much different from the rest of the job. “My ribs are killing me.”

  “I guess you won’t feel like talking to Ivy, then. She called and wanted to talk.

  “I can talk,” Rhodes said, slipping out of his shirt. “I doubt that she’ll want to see me until I get rid of this smell, though.”

  “What smell?” Kathy looked at him and they both laughed. Rhodes knew then that it would be all right. The smell would go away. There was a future for him, maybe a future with Ivy, no matter how the election went.

  “You’re right,” Rhodes said. “I can’t smell a thing.”

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