Red, White, and Blue Murder

by Bill Crider

  Beaman aimed a bucket-sized fist at Rhodes’s head. Rhodes saw it coming and ducked away at the last second. The fist struck the wall.

  Rhodes thought he heard small bones break and decided that having your back to the wall wasn’t so bad. He managed to get a few swift blows into Beaman’s soft stomach before Beaman straightened again.

  Beaman’s right arm dangled at his side, and Rhodes thought that his hand must be hurting quite a bit. Beaman wasn’t smiling anymore, either.

  But he wasn’t quitting, either. He swung at Rhodes with his left hand, and Rhodes wasn’t quite fast enough to get out of the way. Beaman’s fist nearly took his ear off.

  Rhodes backed along the side of the bandstand, kicking paper plates aside, trying to get a firm footing.

  Beaman also seemed to be having trouble standing upright. There was an odd look in his eyes, as if he were puzzled about something, though Rhodes couldn’t figure out what it might be. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something, then closed it and swung again.

  Rhodes was ready this time, and for some reason Beaman’s fist wasn’t traveling as fast as it had earlier. Rhodes grabbed Beaman’s arm, pulling the big man forward.

  Beaman couldn’t hold himself back, and Rhodes forced the arm down, turning Beaman’s head in the direction of the bandstand wall.

  The cap cushioned the crash a little, Rhodes thought, but Beaman’s head met the wall with a satisfying thud. Beaman fell and didn’t move. Some of the red, white, and blue bunting drifted down and rested on him.

  Rhodes reached down and picked up a napkin that didn’t have too much sauce on it. He was wiping his face when Ivy got to him.

  “I wish you wouldn’t get into fights,” she said. “I was afraid he was going to kill you.”

  “I didn’t expect him to get violent,” Rhodes said. “Thanks for the help, by the way.”

  “I didn’t do much.”

  “You did enough,” Rhodes said.

  He looked down at Beaman who still hadn’t moved. Rhodes turned his gaze to the crowd and spotted Dr. White among the spectators.

  “Better come over here and have a look at him,” Rhodes called over the excited talk that had broken out.

  Dr. White walked over and knelt down by Beaman. He tried to turn the big man over, but Beaman was too heavy.

  Something in Dr. White’s expression bothered Rhodes, who started to kneel down beside him. White waved Rhodes away and moved some of the bunting aside. He put his hand to Beaman’s neck. The crowd grew quiet again.

  After a few seconds, White looked up at Rhodes and shook his head.

  “Jesus Christ,” someone yelled. “The sheriff’s killed Jay Beaman!”

  25

  RHODES DIDN’T GO TO THE HISTORICAL PAGEANT THAT AFTERNOON, but he was sure that it must have been anticlimactic for any of the people who had witnessed his fight with Jay Beaman. They were still talking after the ambulance had come and taken Beaman to Ballinger’s, and unless Rhodes missed his guess, they’d be talking about it for months.

  He didn’t blame them. It wasn’t often you got to see the David and Goliath story reenacted on the Fourth of July to the accompaniment of Sousa marches. Of course he’d used a rock wall instead of a smooth, flat river rock, but it was all the same to the crowd.

  But Rhodes wasn’t sure that what happened had anything to do with David and Goliath. David had killed Goliath, and Rhodes didn’t believe he’d killed Beaman.

  Beaman might have hit the wall hard enough to knock himself out, though Rhodes wasn’t sure even of that.

  The man from the radio station had been sure, however. He’d come running over from the sound truck, stuck a mike in Rhodes’s face, and said, “How does it feel to kill a man, Sheriff?”

  Rhodes said he didn’t know, that he’d never killed anyone, but the announcer didn’t want to let it go. Rhodes had finally told him that he’d withhold judgment on what had happened until the autopsy report and walked away. There was no telling what the announcer might have said after that, and Rhodes didn’t even want to know.

  When he’d gotten the crowd quieted down, he drove to Ballinger’s to have a talk with Dr. White, who had ridden in the ambulance along with Beaman’s body.

  “How complete an autopsy do you do when you think you already know the cause of death?” Rhodes asked.

  “Are you trying to insult me, Sheriff?” White said.

  They were in Ballinger’s office, and Ballinger was watching them as they talked. He’d been reading a book, as usual, but he’d put it down. Rhodes couldn’t quite read the title on the cover, or maybe he could. It appeared to be The Spy with the Blue Kazoo, though Rhodes didn’t see how that could be right. What kind of title was that?

  “Dr. White always does a complete job,” Ballinger said. “You know that.”

  “Yes,” Rhodes said. “I do know that.”

  He felt dirty and gritty and uncomfortable, and there was a big wet stain on his shirt from the barbecue sauce. He didn’t feel like getting into an argument.

  “Then why were you asking?” Dr. White wanted to know.

  “Because I thought that in a routine autopsy there might be some things you might not check for.”

  “If he had a heart attack or a stroke, I’ll find out,” Dr. White said.

  “Good,” Rhodes said, relieved. “Because I think that must be what killed him. He got a funny look on his face while we were fighting, as if something might be worrying him. He didn’t hit his head very hard, either. I just don’t see how he could have died from it.”

  “You never know about head injuries,” Dr. White said, and Rhodes began to feel bad again. “Sometimes even the tiniest blow in just the right place is enough to cause death. But don’t worry. I’ll find out.”

  “He was pretty big and out of shape,” Ballinger said. “I’d bet on the heart attack.”

  “That’s not exactly scientific,” Dr. White told him. “I’ll do a thorough job. You can count on it.”

  “Thanks,” Rhodes said.

  Rhodes went by his house to bathe and change clothes.

  “You’re beginning to make a habit of this,” Ivy said when he came out of the bathroom.

  “I didn’t intend to,” Rhodes said. “I cleaned the tub again, too.”

  “That’s a habit I like,” Ivy said. “And I like your decorations, by the way.”

  Rhodes twisted around to look at his back and side. The bruises from where Beaman had hit him with the chair were beginning to turn dark.

  “It’s going to look even more colorful tomorrow,” he said.

  “It’s probably going to hurt more, too.”

  “I think I can count on that,” Rhodes said.

  Ivy had left the door to the bedroom open, and Yancey charged into the room and yipped around Rhodes, now and then taking a nip at his bare ankles as Rhodes tried to get dressed.

  “I’m going to feed you to Speedo if you keep it up,” Rhodes told the dog.

  “You shouldn’t talk like that,” Ivy told him. “You’ll scare the poor thing.”

  Rhodes reached down to put his socks on, and Yancey barked at his hand.

  “I can see he’s terrified,” Rhodes said.

  Ivy picked up the little dog and carried him into another room. When she came back to the bedroom, she shut the door. In under two seconds, Yancey was yapping outside, but Ivy and Rhodes ignored him.

  “I can’t believe that man died today,” Ivy said. “I didn’t think it was possible to kill someone like that.”

  Rhodes had wondered when she’d bring the subject up. He said, “I don’t think I killed him. I think it was something else.”

  “What could it have been? I heard his head hit that wall.”

  “It hit the wall, all right, but not hard enough to kill him. Maybe he had a heart attack. Or an aneurysm, something like that.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “I really do.”

  “Good. I don’t like thinking that y
ou had anything to do with it.”

  Rhodes didn’t like thinking that either. He said, “Did you stay at the park long after I left?”

  “About ten minutes. I think you and Beaman might have put a damper on the rib-eating contest.”

  “Did they go on and have the judging of the barbecue?”

  “I think so. Your friend James Allen was one of the judges. That man from the radio station was going around talking to all the cooks about their methods.”

  “But you didn’t stick around to see who won?”

  “I wasn’t very interested. Jennifer Loam was there because she had to write about it for the paper, but I could tell she was just itching to get started on her story about the brawling, two-fisted sheriff of Blacklin County.”

  “That sounds like it should be on a poster for an old black-and-white movie,” Rhodes said. “Starring Allan ‘Rocky’ Lane, or maybe ‘Wild Bill’ Elliott.”

  “Who are they?”

  “Cowboy stars.”

  “I’m not old enough to remember them, I guess.”

  “Me neither,” Rhodes said. “But I’ve seen their movies on TV. They’re sort of like those books Clyde Ballinger likes, short and to the point. Do we have any Tums around here?”

  “Getting too old to eat spicy foods?” Ivy asked.

  “It’s not that I’m too old,” Rhodes said. “It’s just that I shouldn’t exercise right after eating.”

  “I’ll look in the bathroom cabinet,” Ivy said.

  “Don’t let the dog in,” Rhodes told her, but it was too late. As soon as Ivy opened the door, Yancey shot through the crack and attacked Rhodes’s feet.

  “You should surrender,” Ivy said.

  “Good idea,” Rhodes said. “Do you think he’ll notice?”

  “Probably not,” Ivy said.

  When Rhodes arrived at the jail, Hack and Lawton were waiting, and Rhodes knew what they wanted to hear.

  So he said, “Anything happen today?”

  “You know what happened,” Hack said. “You were in on it. We want to hear about it. I know there’s more to it than was on the radio.”

  Usually the pair would never have admitted their eagerness. Rhodes smiled and said, “On the radio? Something was on the radio?”

  “You know what it was,” Lawton said. “All about how you killed Jay Beaman in a fistfight.”

  “I said I didn’t kill him. On the radio.”

  “Yeah, but that’s not the way it sounded from the way the guy told it,” Hack said. “It sounded like you beat Beaman to a pulp and then rammed his head into the wall.”

  “That’s not exactly the way it happened,” Rhodes said. “In the first place, I didn’t kill anybody. I’m pretty sure Beaman must’ve had a heart attack. And if anyone was getting beaten to a pulp, it was me. Beaman hit me with a chair. I have the bruises to prove it.”

  “Must’ve been quite a fight, then,” Hack said.

  “It was more of a fight than I wanted it to be.”

  “What started it?” Lawton asked.

  “I mentioned Beaman’s ex-convict friend. I should have kept my mouth shut.”

  “You’re gonna get a lot of publicity out of it,” Hack said.

  “But it’s not good publicity,” Rhodes said. “I don’t like to be thought of as a killer.”

  “Maybe the story in the newspaper will be better,” Hack said.

  “What story?”

  “The one that reporter’s gonna write.”

  “I haven’t talked to her,” Rhodes said. “So she can’t write a story.”

  “Sure she can,” Lawton said. “She called a while ago. She’s probably on her way here right now to interview you.”

  Just what I need, Rhodes thought. He said, “Has Ruth called in lately? Any word on Beaman’s friend?”

  “No calls,” Hack said. “But Ruth had an idea. She’s on her way to Thurston to check it out.”

  “What’s the idea?” Rhodes asked.

  Hack shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

  “But she’ll let you know if she runs into trouble.”

  “You bet,” Hack said.

  26

  RHODES SAT AT HIS DESK, PATIENTLY ANSWERING JENNIFER LOAM’S questions, while Hack and Lawton pretended that they were too busy to be listening in on the conversation.

  Rhodes repeated his theory that Beaman had died of a heart attack or some other physical problem and told the reporter that he hoped she’d put that into her story.

  “I can’t just speculate on the cause of death,” she said. “I’d have to have proof.”

  “You don’t have to speculate,” Rhodes told her. “I’ll do that. I think your readers should know that I didn’t kill anybody.”

  Jennifer said she’d put Rhodes’s idea about the death into the story. Then she asked him about Linda Fenton.

  “Nobody’s seen her,” Rhodes said. “But one of the deputies is working on a theory.”

  “What theory?”

  Since Rhodes didn’t know the answer to the question, he said, “It’s confidential.”

  He thought he heard Hack choke back a laugh, and Jennifer turned to look at the dispatcher. But Hack showed no sign of having made a sound.

  “I guess you’re a little upset that Beaman’s dead,” Rhodes said to distract Jennifer.

  “I’m always upset when someone dies,” she said. “But I didn’t like Mr. Beaman very much.”

  “Now there’s no way you can ever finish your big story about the county government.”

  “You never know,” Jennifer said.

  “It would be hard,” Rhodes said, “what with both the principals dead.”

  He thought about that for a second. The two men involved in her story were both dead, and she’d had contact with both of them. Was there anyone else who had? He wondered if she might have a motive for wanting Bilson dead.

  “I don’t like the way you’re looking at me,” Jennifer said. “You aren’t thinking I had anything to do with Mr. Bilson’s murder, I hope.”

  Rhodes didn’t want to tell her the truth, so he said, “No. I was just thinking that it’s funny that both he and Beaman are dead now.”

  “I don’t think it’s funny.”

  “I didn’t mean it as a joke. I meant it was strange.”

  “There’s nothing strange about the way Beaman died. You broke his head open.”

  “You know that’s not true,” Rhodes said.

  “Yes. I’m sorry. I just don’t like being treated like a suspect.”

  “You’re not a suspect,” Rhodes said, but he wasn’t so sure about that.

  Hack’s radio crackled at that moment, and Rhodes heard Ruth Grady’s voice. The deputy had found Linda Fenton. She was in Jay Beaman’s house in Thurston.

  “Tell her not to do anything,” Rhodes said to Hack. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “What about our interview?” Jennifer asked.

  “We’ll finish it later,” Rhodes said.

  Since Thurston was a little over twenty miles from Clearview, Rhodes didn’t pay much attention to the speed limit on his way there. He was careful, but he kept the accelerator pressed down. What bothered him was that every time he looked in the mirror, he saw Jennifer Loam’s little car behind him. It seemed as if the reporter was following him everywhere he went. She was turning into a pest. Rhodes knew that she was just doing her job as she saw fit, but he didn’t like the idea of civilians being involved in his business, story or no story.

  When he arrived in Thurston, he found Ruth Grady parked in the same deserted service station where she’d been the previous night. This time it was still broad daylight, so Rhodes got a good look at Beaman’s house. It looked even shabbier than it had in the darkness.

  “Is she still in there?” Rhodes asked Ruth.

  Before she even had time to answer, Jennifer Loam’s car pulled up beside them.

  “Who’s that?” Ruth asked.

  “Jennifer Loam. The reporter.”
/>   “What’s she doing here?”

  “She followed me. Just a minute.”

  He walked over to Jennifer’s car and tapped on the window. Jennifer rolled it down and Rhodes said, “You can watch from here, but don’t get out of the car. Understand?”

  Jennifer nodded, and Rhodes went back to Ruth’s car.

  “What about Linda Fenton?” he asked.

  “She’s in the house.”

  “How did you find her?”

  “I just thought that she might show up here. If she heard that Beaman was dead, and if she left anything in his house, she’d want to get it.”

  “Good thinking,” Rhodes said, wishing he’d thought of it himself. Considering Fenton’s background, Rhodes thought that she might even decide to take along a few things that she hadn’t left. “Was she here when you got here, or did she come later?”

  “She was already here.”

  “Where’s the pickup?”

  “In back.”

  Rhodes thought about that. He hated to say anything, but Fenton had gotten out the back last night. What was to stop her from doing the same thing again?

  “I let the air out of the tires,” Ruth said.

  “What?”

  “I let the air—”

  “I heard you. It just seems that women are reading my mind these days.”

  “I wasn’t reading your mind. I just knew you’d be wondering about that. Anyway, she’s not going anywhere.”

  “Good. I’ll go have a little visit with her.”

  “You want me to go along?”

  “You can wait here. I’ll let you know if I need you. And keep an eye on the reporter.”

  “I’ll do that,” Ruth said.

  Rhodes didn’t know why he thought Linda Fenton would come to the door. If he’d thought about it, he’d have known she’d just stay inside and keep right on doing whatever it was that she was doing. It wasn’t her house, after all. As far as Rhodes was concerned, she didn’t have any business being there in the first place, much less answering the door. But she probably saw things differently.