Booked for a Hanging

by Bill Crider

  “It is,” Ivy said. She was sitting on the couch, her feet tucked up under her. “Tomorrow night, they’re showing The Searchers.”

  Rhodes watched a few minutes of the movie. He thought John Agar was almost as good in this one as he was in The Brain from Planet Arous. But not quite.

  “I wish you wouldn’t stay up so late waiting for me,” he said. “It makes me feel guilty.”

  “Who said I was waiting for you?”

  “Well, I just thought—”

  “Are there any beautiful women involved in this case?” Ivy said.

  Rhodes thought about Marty Wallace. “I guess you could say that there was one.”

  “Then maybe I want you to feel guilty,” Ivy said. “Did you ever think of that?”

  “No,” Rhodes said. “It doesn’t seem like you.”

  “You never know.” Ivy uncurled herself and stood up. “Did you eat any supper?”

  “I forgot again.”

  “It’s not good for you to forget things like that. Come on in the kitchen.”

  Rhodes followed her to the kitchen. There was no more meatloaf, but this time there was cold roast beef.

  “It would have been warm roast beef if you’d come home by ten o’clock,” Ivy said. “After you called, I gave up on you and put it in the refrigerator.”

  “I’m sorry,” Rhodes said. “It’s not going to be this way all the time. I promise. We don’t have that many murders around here.”

  He went on to tell her the whole story about Oma Coates, his search for the Appleby twins, the discovery of Brame’s body in the Volvo.

  “How are Mrs. Appleby and Twyla Faye?” he asked, helping himself to a thick slice of the roast. It would make as good a sandwich as the meatloaf, or even better. He noticed that it was very lean roast and that Ivy had cut off all the fat when she had sliced it. He spread two pieces of the oat bran bread with the light salad dressing and mustard.

  “They’re fine,” Ivy said. “I think both of them are ready to get some counseling. Neither one of them will testify against the husband, but neither one seems sorry that you arrested him. I told them that you might be able to send him to prison for cattle theft even without their testimony, and they didn’t seem very sorry about that, either.”

  “Good,” Rhodes said, finished with making his sandwich and taking a bite. It was as good as he’d thought it would be, even if he did have to use the oat bran bread.

  He told Ivy again about Brame’s murder then and wondered aloud if there were some way he might be able to tie Appleby to Brame’s murder, but he didn’t think so. The twins, however, were a different story.

  “I know they’re not telling me everything,” he told Ivy. “Oma Coates knew more than she was telling, too. If people would just talk to me, we could get this taken care of.”

  “It seems to me there aren’t that many suspects left,” Ivy said.

  “I’m not counting the twins out of it, yet,” Rhodes said. “I don’t think they killed Oma Coates, but they seemed to know that Graham had been murdered. They talked as if they liked him, but that doesn’t mean a thing, not if they thought big money was involved.” He told Ivy how much the Tamerlane might be worth. “They could have killed Brame, too,” he added.

  “Why?” Ivy said.

  “I haven’t worked that part out yet.” Rhodes got up and got himself a Dr Pepper to wash down the sandwich. “It might be that he found the book, though, and they killed him for that.”

  “I’d think they were the kind to take things if they killed someone, all right,” Ivy said. “They wouldn’t just go off and leave the car, though.”

  Rhodes got his Dr Pepper and took a swallow. “They know cars are easy to trace,” he said.”And that Volvo would stand out like a jet airplane around here.”

  “Even if they left the car because of that, they wouldn’t leave an unopened suitcase.”

  “They might if they were in a hurry and didn’t search the trunk,” Rhodes said.

  “So what does all this leave you with?” Ivy said.

  “It leaves me with a theory or two, but nothing that I can arrest anybody with. Not yet, anyway.”

  “That’s too bad. I heard Red Rogers today.”

  “Me too. I can’t wait until tomorrow, when he’ll have Hal Brame’s corpse to talk about. Sometimes I think he wants to get me in a recall election.”

  Ivy didn’t think so. “He just wants to get as many people to listen to him as he can. But I think you might have a lot more of the media people from Dallas and Houston coming around again when they find out about that Brame’s been murdered. No one’s going to believe that Graham committed suicide now, not after all this.”

  Rhodes knew she was right. Thinking about it, he didn’t sleep very well at all that night.

  It was nearly nine o’clock when he got to the jail the next morning. Hack and Lawton smirked when he came in, but they didn’t say anything at first.

  Hack couldn’t resist for long, however. “You know somethin’, Lawton?” he said.

  Lawton said he didn’t know much of anything.

  Hack was pleased to enlighten him. “It seems to me that when a fella gets married it does somethin’ to his whatchamacallit. His metabolism. Slows it down somethin’ awful. You take a man who used to be able to get to work at the crack of dawn, well, he might not get in till eight o’clock. Eight-thirty, maybe. Sometimes, nine o’clock. It’s terrible to see a fella slow down like that.”

  Rhodes would not be baited. “Are the twins awake yet?” he said.

  “Sure are,” Lawton told him. “You take a couple of young boys like that, they don’t need as much sleep as an old man might, ’specially if the old man’s got him a new wife at home. They been up for hours.”

  Rhodes didn’t let Lawton bother him any more than Hack had. He said, “I think I’ll go up and have a word with them.”

  “Mind those stairs, you hear?” Hack said. “They might be a little tricky for a fella in your condition.”

  Rhodes went through the door without a word.

  He heard Lawton say, “Reckon he’s gettin’ hard of hearin’, too?” as the door closed.

  The twins were sitting on the edge of their bunks, smoking cigarettes and talking to their father in the next cell when Rhodes entered the cellblock. They got very quiet when he came in.

  The flasher was in the cell across from Appleby. He was either still asleep or pretending to be. Rhodes didn’t blame him. It most likely wouldn’t be a good idea to overhear a conversation among members of the Appleby family.

  “You come to spring us, Sheriff?” Appleby said.

  “No,” Rhodes said. “I don’t think you’ll be getting out anytime soon.”

  “I can plead self-defense. You threatened me.”

  “It’s not the assault that you ought to be worried about,” Rhodes said. “It’s the cattle.”

  Appleby laughed. “I got the bill of sale.”

  “We’ll see,” Rhodes said. He hoped that lab report came in soon. “I want to talk to your sons.”

  “They don’t want to talk to you,” Appleby said. “Do you, boys?”

  “Nah,” Clyde said.

  Rhodes looked at the other twin. “How are your eyes today, Claude?”

  “I can see all right.”

  “Good. Now then, last night you said something about a trade. What did you want to trade me?”

  “Nothin’,” Clyde said. “And you said you didn’t make trades.”

  “I told you they didn’t want to talk,” Appleby said.

  “It might be easier for them if they did.”

  “Easier for you, you mean,” Appleby said, sitting on his bunk and leaning back against the stone wall of the cell with his hands crossed behind his head. Rhodes really didn’t like the man.

  “Easier for all of us is what I meant,” Rhodes said. “But I can do it the hard way if I have to.”

  “You might as well do it, then,” Appleby said. “You won’t get nothin’
from one of us.”

  Rhodes didn’t bother to say any more. He had thought a lot about things after going to bed the previous night, which was one reason he had been late getting to the jail, and he was convinced that he had put everything together, more or less. What he lacked was proof, and it would have been better if he could have gotten some help from the twins. He thought he might, eventually. Their father might be accustomed to being in jail, but they weren’t.

  Besides, he had lied to them. He had decided that he was willing to make a trade, but not until there was no other choice. He didn’t see any real point in sending the twins to the juvenile version of prison until he was certain of their crimes, however, so he was willing to let things rock along as they were for a little longer.

  When he left the cell block, the flasher was still feigning sleep.

  He went back down to the office, where Hack and Lawton were contriving to look busy.

  “Did you make those phone calls that I asked you about last night?” he said.

  “I sure did,” Hack said. “You were right.” He looked over at Lawton, who had his broom and was beginning to sweep up. “But then we shoulda known that. You don’t even need the computer to figure things out. You—”

  “Hack,” Rhodes said.

  “Huh?”

  “Can they give us a positive ID?”

  “Sure. All we gotta do is trot out the suspects or show ’em a picture. They’re pretty sure.”

  “Where did you locate them?”

  “They didn’t go far, like you thought. Gorton.”

  “We’ll need the telephone records.”

  Hack looked pleased with himself. “I thought about that. Shouldn’t be any trouble. All that stuff’s on computer these days.”

  “Good. What about the Lakeway Inn?”

  “Same deal. You were right about that, too.”

  “Even better. Now call Dr. Slick and see if he’s found out anything about those blood samples.”

  Hack got on the phone and called the veterinarian. “He wants to talk to you,” he told Rhodes after a few seconds’ conversation.

  Rhodes got on his extension. “What have you got for me?” he said.

  “It’s what you’ve got that matters,” Slick said. “I think you’ve got a case.”

  “Good,” Rhodes said. He meant it sincerely. “Tell me.”

  “There’s a good chance that the bull we sampled is the sire of those calves.”

  “How good?” Rhodes said.

  “Real good. We took blood from four calves, and they all match up with that Santa Gertrudis. The odds against getting that kind of a match on four out of four are so high that the lab guys didn’t even try to compute them.”

  “That’s good, all right,” Rhodes said, wondering if Appleby would be quite so relaxed up there in his cell if he knew that there was a really strong case building against him. “I just hope the jury we get will agree. You’ll testify at the trial if we need you, won’t you?”

  “Sure. And the jury will agree, don’t worry about that. The odds are up in the billions if not more.”

  “Great,” Rhodes said.

  “There’s just one thing,” Slick said.

  “What’s that?”

  “If we ever do this again, I hope the next guy you pick won’t be so easy to rile as this one was. He might jump me instead of you.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” Rhodes said. “I’ll protect you. And thanks.”

  “No problem,” Slick said. “It was almost fun, especially the mud wrestling.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Rhodes said. He hung up and told Hack to call Dr. White, who confirmed Rhodes suspicions about Brame’s “accident.”

  There hadn’t been an accident at Little Man Creek at all, and there had been no suicide. Brame had been strangled, not unlike Oma Coates, though of course there was no way to prove that it had been done by the same person. Someone had pushed his car into the creek, maybe hoping that no one would investigate further. Or maybe not having a very high opinion of the law officers of Blacklin County.

  Rhodes thanked Dr. White and had Hack to call Adkins. “And tell him to get down here. I want to talk to him.”

  Hack was already dialing.

  Adkins was glad to know that he was going to get his cattle back, but he wasn’t entirely pleased with the lecture Rhodes gave him.

  “In the first place, this was expensive for the county,” Rhodes said, explaining that the vet and the lab didn’t work for free. “It’s going to cost us around five hundred dollars.”

  “Those cows are worth that much,” Adkins said. “They’re worth a lot more.”

  “To you,” Rhodes said.

  “But you’re gettin’ a cattle thief off the streets,” Adkins said. “That’s worth somethin’.”

  “He didn’t steal the cattle on the streets,” Rhodes said. He couldn’t resist.

  “Well, you know what I mean,” Adkins said.

  Rhodes knew. “But if you’d branded those cattle, we wouldn’t have had this problem. They probably wouldn’t have been stolen in the first place.”

  “You sayin’ I encouraged him?”

  “Not exactly. But you didn’t do anything to discourage him.”

  “I’ll brand ’em from now on,” Adkins said.

  He refused to meet the sheriff’s eyes, and Rhodes knew that Adkins wouldn’t follow through. Adkins was like a lot of people Rhodes had talked to since becoming sheriff; they always took the easy way, no matter how much trouble it caused anyone else. In a way, Appleby and Adkins had more in common than Adkins would ever have admitted. Appleby took the easy way, too.

  “Another thing,” Rhodes said. “If you’d had a bull and if someone had stolen it along with the rest of your herd, we might not have been able to do the blood tests. You would never have gotten those cattle back.”

  Adkins was still looking at the floor. “I ain’t got no bull, though.”

  “Right,” Rhodes said. His lecture wasn’t getting him anywhere. He almost regretted that he’d spotted Adkins’ cows in that pasture.

  But then he thought about what else he had learned about Appleby, and he was no longer regretful. Appleby wouldn’t be hitting his wife again for a long time, if ever; and since his wife had refused to testify against him, the cattle theft charge was what would be keeping Appleby away from her. That fact was worth more than five hundred dollars and all of Adkins’ cows lumped together.

  “When can I have my cows back?” Adkins said.

  “That might take a while,” Rhodes said.

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry about it. They’re getting free grazing right now, anyway.”

  Adkins brightened. He hadn’t thought of that. “OK. But I want ’em as soon as I can have ’em.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Rhodes said.

  Adkins left the jail in a fairly good mood.

  “I bet he’s on his way to the courthouse to register his brand right now,” Hack said. He had been listening to every word.

  “Sure he is,” Lawton said. “And then he’ll have him a brandin’ iron made.”

  “Count on it,” Rhodes said. They all laughed.

  Chapter 17

  On the way to Obert one more time, Rhodes looked out at the last of the rusting oil derricks that could still be seen on the outskirts of Clearview, reminders of a time when the town had been on the boom and a much livelier spot than it now was, or livelier than it now was as a general thing. The last few days had been all too lively for Rhodes.

  A few people had become very rich as a result of the oil days, and there were still some signs of their existence in Clearview. Their names were still prominent, and their homes were still the biggest in town.

  But for most of the population, the boom had made little difference even at the time it was occurring, and it made even less difference now. Ancient history. Many of the derricks had remained standing for years, but most of them were gone now, sold for steel. Hardly any
one in town remembered the boom days; hardly anyone cared. The remaining derricks were the last reminder, and soon they would be gone, too.

  It was funny how something like a little book, or pamphlet, whatever Tamerlane was, something made of paper, anyway, could outlast even those steel derricks and could cause so much trouble so many years after its publication.

  If it was even real. Rhodes hadn’t seen it yet, and he wasn’t absolutely sure anyone else had. He thought someone had, though. All he had to do was prove it.

  He parked his car outside the main building and walked up to the third floor where someone had killed Simon Graham.

  It was hot and stuffy in the big room, but there was no one there. Marty Wallace and Mitch Rolingson were probably in the house. Their cars were there, at any rate.

  Rhodes looked up at the beam where the rope had hung. Hal Brame could have taken the rope, dropped it over Graham’s head, and hoisted Graham right up to the beam, or so Rhodes had thought for a while. Brame’s size argued against that possibility, however. Graham was no giant, but hoisting him up that high would have required more strength than Brame seemed likely to have possessed.

  Rhodes crossed over to the windows and looked out across the field to the pile of huge rocks. They looked even more like dinosaurs from a distance. Then he turned back to look at the rafters again.

  Brame had been in this room, or nearby, when Graham was killed. Rhodes was convinced of that. There was no other way Brame could have heard the things he said he had heard. And Rhodes still thought Brame had deliberately called his attention to the body.

  So who or what had Brame seen?

  Appleby? It would have been no problem for Appleby to hang Graham. He had the build for it, and maybe even a motive, if hatefulness was a motive. But not the temperament. He would have used his bare hands, not set up a fake suicide.

  Graham might have said something to the twins about the rapid building up of Appleby’s cattle herd, and Appleby would have considered that meddlesome, just the way he considered Oma Coates meddlesome. But he did have a bill of sale for the cows, and he wouldn’t have felt threatened enough to kill Graham over an offhand comment. He was vicious, but not that vicious. Or so Rhodes believed.