Too Late to Die

by Bill Crider

  “I wonder how Ralph Claymore is taking this?” Rhodes asked.

  “Oh! Is all you can think about that election? When it comes out what a hero you are, you won’t have to worry.”

  “I’m no hero,” Rhodes said. “In fact, I may have been too quick to accuse Johnny. If I’d thought things through, he might be alive now. I imagine Claymore will love that.”

  “And you’ll tell him?”

  “Somebody has to tell what happened. Reports have to be filed. The paper will love it.”

  “Well, I think you’re a hero. So do some others. Which one would you like to see first?”

  “What about the jail?”

  “Don’t worry about that. Hack’s called four or five times. He said to tell you that he’s doing a great job and that he might run against you next time if you manage to beat Claymore.”

  “That old poop,” Rhodes said, and laughed. He instantly regretted doing so. “Good lord,”‘ he said. “Never make me laugh again.”

  “I’ll try not to,”‘ Kathy said. “How about Mrs. Wilkie first?”

  “You think Ivy would understand?”

  “I’m sure she would.”

  “Then send in the redhead,” Rhodes said. “If I can face that, I can face anything.”

  Mrs. Wilkie was not pleased. “I just do not understand, Sheriff, how a man such as you could risk his life on such a venture,” she said. “I’m sure there was good reason, but . . .” She paused, waiting for Rhodes to explain himself.

  “Line of duty, Mrs. Wilkie,” he said, tight-lipped.

  “Of course, of course. I understand. But this Daniels woman . . .”

  Rhodes looked abashed. “She’s a very nice person,” he said.

  “Very nice, naturally.” Mrs. Wilkie shook her orange head. “But is she the right woman for an officer of the law? A man of importance in the county? I would think . . .”

  Rhodes cut her off. “We’re not engaged or anything, Mrs. Wilkie. I think she feels sorry for me. You know, a lone man raising his daughter with no one to help him. I’m sure that’s all it is.”

  “H-a-r-u-m-p-h!” was Mrs. Wilkie’s only comment. She turned and walked stiffly from the room. Rhodes figured he’d lost another vote.

  He didn’t feel so bad about it when Ivy came in, however. She walked over to the bed and kissed his cheek. “I wasn’t aware that you knew Mrs. Wilkie so well,” she said.

  “I believe she had the same sentiments about you,” Rhodes said. “Let’s just say that she may have been trying at one time to rumor herself into some kind of relationship with me. It didn’t work, but I think she may have believed it would—eventually.”

  “Maybe I should try the same thing,” Ivy said.

  “You wouldn’t need that kind of tactic,” Rhodes said. “It would be a lot easier for you. Was that you in the chair last night?”

  “Yes,” Ivy said. “I thought . . .” She didn’t finish her statement, but Rhodes got the idea.

  “I’m glad it was,” he said. “I’d much rather it have been you than Mrs. Wilkie, for lots of reasons. Sit down again, and I’ll give you a few hundred of them.”

  She walked over and sat in the chair, while Rhodes started telling her what he had to say.

  When Ivy Daniels left Rhodes’s hospital room an hour later, Rhodes was pretty sure that there was a kind of understanding between them. Neither one had mentioned marriage, or anything about a permanent kind of relationship, but they both recognized the attraction and each knew that the other felt that what was between them would soon develop into something serious—and probably lasting. They knew that they would have time for talking later, and they suspected that they would be talking to one another for quite some time to come.

  Rhodes leaned back against the hospital bed and rested. His ribs hurt now, and he wondered if he had, unaware of it, been given some sort of painkiller that was now wearing off. He thought about Ivy for a minute, and then he thought about what he would have to do in the light of what Johnny had told him. He didn’t doubt that Johnny had been telling the truth, which meant that he would have to rearrange the puzzle in his head one more time. Pieces that had seemed to fit in one position would have to be placed somewhere else, and he would have to be careful not to force them in where they didn’t belong.

  It was too bad that Johnny was so hotheaded, that he let his emotions rule his logical side. If he’d only trusted Rhodes to see that he got a fair trial, he might be alive now. But Rhodes had thought him guilty. Would that have affected his treatment of his prisoner? If he was honest with himself, Rhodes had to admit that he wasn’t sure. Convinced that he had the right man, how hard would he have worked to develop evidence in his favor? Maybe not hard enough. In a way, it was hard to blame Johnny for running.

  Now the puzzle that had come together for him when Larry Bell had mentioned knowing Jeanne Clinton in high school would have to be scrapped. Well, it had been close, but close didn’t count in this game. It could get you killed, but it didn’t count. He’d have Johnny on his mind for a long, long time.

  Unless Johnny had been lying. It was a possibility, even if it wasn’t very likely. Rhodes reached for the phone on the nightstand beside his bed and dialed the number of the jail.

  Chapter 18

  Hack answered, as always. Things were going along just fine, he told Rhodes, except for one little problem. “You remember them hippies?” Hack asked.

  Rhodes remembered them.

  “Well, we got us one. Hair down to his tailbone. Braided kinda nice, though, like Willie Nelson wears his. Beard, too.”

  “You mean . . .” Rhodes started to ask.

  “No, I don’t mean the beard’s braided. I just mean he has one. Could braid it, I guess. It’s pretty long. Uses a piece of rope instead of a belt. Don’t even own a shirt, I guess.”

  Hack paused. Rhodes knew he’d come to the point any minute now and didn’t try to hurry him.

  “Seems like he was lettin’ cattle out of the pastures all up and down Highway 11. Some of ‘em went in other pastures, but a lot of ‘em just wandered up and down the road. Some of ‘em wandered up and down the middle of the road.”

  “Any wrecks?” Rhodes asked.

  “Two,” Hack said, “but not bad ones. Killed the cows, of course.”

  “Of course,” Rhodes agreed. In any contest between a cow and an automobile, the cow almost always lost, though the cars were often demolished. Sometimes the passengers died, but apparently not in these cases. “So what’s the problem?”

  “‘You ever try to round up three or four hundred cows and get ‘em separated and back to their rightful owners?”

  “Three or four hundred?” Rhodes didn’t think he’d heard right.

  “Three or four hundred,” Hack repeated. “I guess you wouldn’t be up to herdin’ cows in your condition, would you?”

  “Not hardly,” Rhodes said. “He must have been busy.”

  “Said he didn’t think cows would like bein’ penned up. Thought he’d give ‘em their freedom. He hit every gate he could find for a long way down the road.”

  “How does he like being penned up?” Rhodes asked.

  “Not worth a damn,” Hack said. “But he might as well get used to it. Criminal mischief, I’d call it. He may not see the light for a while.”

  “Billy Joe still there to keep him company?”

  “Well, now that you mention it, no,” Hack said. “County judge found out about him and made us let him go. Said we didn’t have no charges on him and we’d be up the old creek if the ACLU ever found it out. What’s the ACLU?”

  “Don’t worry about it,”‘ Rhodes said. “I doubt we’ll be bothered by them. Listen, Hack, there’s something you’ve got to do.”

  “Just say the word, I’ll do it.”

  “Get over to Johnny’s house and look around for a .30-.30. If there’s one there, take it back to the jail and take the butt plate off, if it has one. Soon as you get it done, give me a call at the hospital
.”

  “Won’t take long, Sheriff,” Hack said. “Gimme about an hour.”

  “I won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Rhodes said. “Just take your time.”

  Rhodes had hardly hung up the phone before it rang again. He said hello and then heard the deep voice of Ralph Claymore.

  “I hear you got the fella that killed Jeanne,” Claymore said. “Mighty fine work, I have to say, even if I’m running against you. And you can be sure that I won’t bring up a thing about it being one of your own deputies that did it. When I said I’d run a clean campaign, I meant it. I want you to know that.” Rhodes held the phone silently. “Rhodes? You there, Rhodes?” Claymore asked.

  “I’m here,” Rhodes said, finally. “Who told you that I caught the man that killed Jeanne?”

  “What do you mean, who told me?” Claymore said. “It’s all over town. Everybody knows about it.”

  “Well, everybody just might be wrong,” Rhodes said. “I never told anyone that. They just assumed it.”

  “What do you mean?” Claymore said. His voice sounded suddenly unsure.

  “I mean what I said. Nothing’s been proved yet.”

  “Listen, Rhodes,” Claymore said, “I know what you’ve been doing. I know that deputy of yours has been sneaking around asking questions about me. You’re not going to drag me into this! I won’t stand for it.”

  Well, well, thought Rhodes. Buddy must have been really worried about losing his job to do some investigating on his own. He’d have to speak to him about that. “Calm down,” he told Claymore. “If you don’t have anything to hide, you won’t be in any trouble.”

  “I know it looks bad, Rhodes,” Claymore said, a pleading note finding its way into his voice now. “But you’ve got to believe me.”

  “I’ll think about it,” Rhodes said. Then he hung up and did.

  Hack may have taken his time, but it was less than an hour when he called back. “I done what you told me, Sheriff,” he said.

  “Good,” Rhodes said. “Now look where the butt plate was. Are there any initials carved on the stock there?”

  “Not a thing,” Hack said.

  Rhodes sighed. “OK,” he said. “Hang on to that rifle for a while. Put it somewhere safe in case we need it. I don’t think we will, though.”

  “Something the matter, Sheriff?” Hack asked.

  “No,” Rhodes said. “It’s just that things would have been easier right now if there had been some initials carved on that gun butt. I guess you looked all over the house.”

  “Sure did. I guess I could’ve missed something, but I think if I did you’ll have to do some damage to find it. I didn’t take up any floors or anything like that. You want me to give the place a real goin’ over?”

  “No,” Rhodes told him. “I don’t think you’d find anything if you did. Thanks, Hack.”

  Rhodes hung up. He’d had a bad feeling ever since Johnny had talked to him in the woods, but it could all have been worked out had Hack been able to find the right gun in the house. Since he hadn’t, Rhodes would have to put his mind to work again. He already had a pretty good idea of how the pieces would fit. It didn’t make him happy.

  They let Rhodes leave the hospital the next day, not that they felt very good about it. He didn’t feel too good about it, himself. His ribs felt as if someone were hitting him in the side with a sledge hammer at every step.

  In another way, though, it was a relief to get out of the hospital and back into some real weather. The cold air in there had been making him feel even worse than his ribs. Air-conditioning was all right in moderation, but there was no pleasure in too much of a good thing.

  Besides, he’d hardly been able to sleep at all the previous night. Every time that he dozed off, someone came in to check his blood pressure or to give him a pill or to shine a light in his face to see if he was asleep. It was the light that exasperated him.

  So he’d spoken to Dr. Williams, who had objected to his leaving at first but who had given in when Rhodes threatened to walk out with his gown on and not come back. Williams had cautioned him to take it easy—no strenuous exercise needed. R & R was the order of the day. That was all right for Williams to say. He didn’t have an unsolved murder on his hands.

  Kathy picked Rhodes up and drove him home. “I’ve put fresh sheets on your bed,” she said. “You can just get right in bed and watch television. I checked the schedule, and The Searchers is on this afternoon. You can watch that and get a good rest.”

  “That’ll be the day,” Rhodes said, in a lame imitation of John Wayne. “I’m going to eat lunch, and then you’re going to take .me to see the DA. I need to find out if we can go ahead and charge a dead man with murder.”

  Kathy swerved the car to the right, almost running up over the curb and onto a lawn. “I thought you said that Johnny didn’t . . .”

  “I said he beat her up, and I think he beat her pretty badly. She could have died as a result, I guess. Anyway, you’re the only one who knows what he said, except for me, and I could have been addled when we talked. I was doped up and might have said anything. Right now, I think Johnny will be charged. If I change my mind later, well, we can worry about that when it happens.”

  “You’ll tell me why, I guess.”

  “Maybe,” Rhodes said, but she couldn’t get any more out of him.

  The district attorney was a young man with a shock of wild reddish hair that he could never quite get combed down. It made him look even younger than he was, and he always wore navy blue blazers to compensate for it. Rhodes suspected that he’d read a book about “power colors.” Anyway, it seemed to work. He had a good record for convictions.

  Of course they could charge a dead man with murder, he told Rhodes, but since Johnny had confessed it might be easier just to take the whole thing off the books. Was Rhodes sure that the confession was freely given and that Johnny wasn’t just trying to shield anyone else?

  “I didn’t exactly read him his rights, if that’s what you mean,” Rhodes said. “But you’d have to call it a deathbed admission.”

  “Perfectly acceptable,” the DA said, shaking his red hair. Rhodes shook his hand and left.

  At the jail, Hack and Lawton were glad to see Rhodes back. “Not that things have been too tough for us, you understand,” Lawton said.

  “Not a bit,” Hack said. “We may be old, but we’re still able to do this piddlin’ little job.”

  “Course we did have one bad one this morning,” Lawton said.

  Rhodes waited.

  “Case of a parrot in a tree. Kids let it out of its cage, and it flew up in a pecan tree in the yard. Buddy went out there.”

  “Worse than a cat in a tree,” Lawton said. “With a cat, you know it’s not going anywhere, except maybe higher in the tree. Parrots can fly on off.”

  Rhodes admitted that parrots could probably do that. “So how did they get it down?” he asked, knowing that he shouldn’t have.

  “Well,” Hack said, “Buddy didn’t hardly know what to do, so he just stood there lookin’ up at it for a minute, tryin’ to come up with some idea of how to get it down. While he was lookin’, one of the kids came up with a rock and chunked it.”

  Lawton shook his head sadly. “Killed that parrot dead as a hammer,” he said.

  “Got it out of the tree, though,” Hack said. “You got to admit that.”

  “That kid is goin’ to make some team a fine pitcher one of these days,” Lawton said. “You mark my words.”

  Rhodes was just glad it wasn’t Buddy who had thrown the rock. He went out and got in the car, which had been brought back to town. It was time for one more trip to Thurston.

  While he drove, Rhodes thought about what he knew and what he now thought he knew, and he wondered just how much the election meant to him, really. He knew it meant a lot, in a way, but did it mean enough to make him do something he knew wasn’t right?

  It wouldn’t be hard, and it wouldn’t be exactly wrong, either. After all, Ralph Cl
aymore should have come forward immediately when he heard about Jeanne Clinton’s death. Instead, he’d kept quiet and hoped he wouldn’t be found out. Just like any other man would have done, maybe, but no other man was a candidate for sheriff. Hod Barrett and Bill Tomkins had kept quiet as well, but they weren’t running for anything, much less the highest law enforcement job in the county.

  So he could go public, tell what he knew about Claymore, back it up with witnesses, and probably win the election hands down. And if he could prove that Claymore actually had something to do with Jeanne’s death, that would just be the cherry on top of the whipped cream.

  The trouble was that he wanted to win the election because he was the best man. And not just that. He wanted the voters to choose him because he was the best, not just because they had no other choice.

  All in all, there was nothing he could do, he decided, except follow his thoughts and the few facts he had and see where they led him. If Johnny had been telling the truth, hard as that might be for folks around the county to believe, then someone else had killed Jeanne and Mrs. Barrett and Bill Tomkins. And if those last two had seen Claymore’s car at Jeanne’s house, it was certainly possible that a desperate man might want to get them out of the way before they told anyone. How possible? Rhodes thought he would know soon.

  Rhodes got himself a Dr Pepper out of the Coke cooler in Hod Barrett’s store. He wiped the cold water from the bottle with a tissue from the box that Barrett kept nearby for that purpose. While he drank it, he watched Barrett wait on a woman who had gathered up a small order of groceries. When she left, Barrett walked over.

  “You get the man who killed my wife, Sheriff? Was it that deputy of yours?” Hod looked old and tired. Even his spiky red hair seemed limp and bedraggled.

  “I’ll get him,” Rhodes said. “It wasn’t Johnny.”

  “Word’s around, he’s the one killed Jeanne Clinton,” Barrett said.

  “It is, huh?” Rhodes said. “It was Billy Joe that robbed your store, though. I just wanted to let you know. You going to press charges?”