by Bill Hopkins
couldn’t take the chance that Candy might be guilty. If she were guilty and he didn’t keep her behind bars, the wolves would gather around the sheriff’s station and howl for his body to be thrown to the pack.
On top of all that, Frizz had no help. The three deputies were exhausted, having been on overtime duty, searching for the bodies. The only dispatcher was in the hospital.
Junior Fleming was a standing joke. Every Saturday night, the cop issued one traffic ticket, always to a driver between the ages of 16 and 21. The tickets usually ran around $50. The kids in town (and some adults also) had started a ticket fund. Whoever got the ticket that weekend was given $50 to cover the cost.
“Frizz, did Hermie tell you that he saw Candy driving a silver car out of the park?”
“You aren’t a detective. You aren’t on this case. You aren’t going to stick your nose into my business.”
“If you’re right about the killer going after Tina, then it is my business.”
“No, it’s cop business.” Frizz’s face grew red. He drummed his fingers on the desk. However this turned out, the two would still be working together after it was over. Rosswell didn’t want to burn any bridges he might need to cross in the future, and he hoped the sheriff felt the same. Eventually, Frizz said, “Do anything you want as long as you don’t do it under the porch and scare the dogs.”
“I guess you’re going to have to arrest me next.” Rosswell drew out the ring and stuck it in Frizz’s face. “For withholding evidence.”
Chapter Fifteen
Tuesday afternoon, continued
“What’s this?” Frizz said. He turned the ring in all directions, inspecting it closely.
“It’s a ring I found at the crime scene.” Rosswell told him the whole story.
Frizz shoved it under a lamp, appraising its every detail. For a long time, the only sound Rosswell heard in the sheriff’s station came from the static on the radio. An old clock, probably evidence in a long forgotten crime, chimed every quarter hour. A ticking from the computerized tape recorder for the telephone system rose to Rosswell’s consciousness. He grew tense, waiting for the wrath of Frizz.
“Judge, why in the hell do you have Ollie Groton helping you?”
“He’s my research assistant.”
“That’s shit and you know it. You don’t need a research assistant. Ollie’s a criminal, plain and simple.”
“Don’t you believe in rehabilitation?” That line hadn’t worked on Tina, and Rosswell doubted that it would work on Frizz. “People don’t like to see judges hanging around with criminals in social settings.”
“Social settings?”
“Merc’s.”
“Ollie knows a hell of a lot of stuff about people and computers. And he doesn’t ask for legal advice. Sure, he’s got a spotty past, but we all have secrets that we don’t want everybody else knowing.”
Frizz didn’t reply. Instead, he returned to examining the ring. Eventually he said, “No use trying to lift prints off it now.” He studied the ring one more time. “You and Ollie are probably the only ones who have left prints here. I’ve almost dismissed you as a suspect, even though you were the first one on the scene by sheer happenstance.”
Rosswell hung his head. “I picked it up without thinking and stuck it in my pocket. It’s not often I discover two corpses.” Rosswell’s body language must’ve showed remorse to the point that Frizz didn’t blast him with any more sarcasm.
Father Mike marched through the door, letting a blast of hot air into the air-conditioned semi-comfort of the station. “Sheriff, may I speak to you, please?” Always the gentleman.
“Rosswell was just leaving,” Frizz said.
Father Mike waved his hands in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, no. This isn’t private.” He focused on Rosswell. “The judge can stay.”
Not wanting to miss anything, Rosswell propped his bad arm on the desk behind the counter, relaxed, and listened.
“What is it?” Frizz verged on sounding brusque. Rosswell fought back the urge to tell him that maybe the priest had important information. About what he didn’t know, although you should never brush aside people who may have information.
“Do you have Candy Lavaliere locked up?”
“Yes, I do.” Frizz closed his eyes and shook his head. Rosswell could tell that the sheriff longed for a catnap. Frizz said, “I should say that I have her locked up in a manner of speaking. Why do you need to know that?”
“I’d like to post her bail.”
“Father Mike,” Frizz said, “she’s not been charged with anything yet. That means there’s no bail. She claimed she committed the murders. Right now, she’s writing a confession. I think she’s loony.”
Candy wasn’t loony. Arguing with Frizz about that in front of the priest wasn’t going to happen. In fact, arguing with Frizz about anything in front of anybody wasn’t going to happen. Rosswell kept his mouth shut.
Father Mike said, “If she’s not been charged, then can she leave?” Apparently, he wasn’t going to argue the loony charge either.
“No, she cannot.” Frizz stood. “I wish she could leave.”
“Then I want her.”
“You can’t have her.”
The priest’s eyes widened. “I want to talk to her.”
Frizz strolled to Candy’s cell.
Although Rosswell couldn’t make out the words, Frizz and Candy engaged in a lengthy conversation. After a moment or two of silence, the sheriff returned with Candy in handcuffs. Frizz was playing this by all the rules.
She took a gander at the priest. “What do you want?”
Rosswell decided that covering his mouth with his hand to hide any smiles seemed advisable in case there were a fight between Candy and Father Mike.
Father Mike said, “People are worried about you. I want to take you home.”
“What people?”
Father Mike said, “Sheriff, could I talk to her in private?”
“Yes. Lawyers and clergy get that privilege.” Frizz showed them the room adjacent to the dispatch area that was divided by a heavy glass partition with a grille for speaking. Each side had a passage door. Candy sat on one side and Father Mike sat on the other. Rosswell didn’t think either one of them looked pleased with the situation. Each side had a call button. “One of you press your button when you’re through.”
Candy said, “I can’t do that with my handcuffs on!”
“Sure you can.” Frizz shut the doors.
Rosswell said, “You’ll have to charge her and get another judge to set her bail.”
“Already in the works,” Frizz said. “The prosecutor’s taking care of it. Now, what about this ring?”
“Maybe the killer left it. Maybe it belonged to one of the victims. Maybe someone lost it there years ago and it has nothing to do with anything.”
“Do you have any idea whatsoever who could own this?”
“I don’t know who owns that ring.”
Frizz paused a moment before he continued. “EJD. Do you know anyone with those initials?”
Frizz caught my equivocal answer.
Rosswell said, “I searched the phone book. Nothing there.”
“Maybe EJD doesn’t have a phone. Or maybe he has a cellphone.”
“Why do you say he?”
“This is a man’s ring. And you said Ollie told you it was a Mason’s ring.”
“Maybe it’s a Mason’s ring.”
“What else could it be?” Frizz said. “If it’s not a Mason’s ring, then what could it be?”
“Maybe it’s a gang symbol, although I don’t know of too many gangs who have Latin mottos.”
Frizz grunted. “Nothing surprises me these days.”
“One of my language professors at Mizzou told us that if you learned Latin, you wouldn’t become a criminal.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No. He’s serving time for embezzlement.”
“Studying Latin must actually lower your morals.”
“You’re not on the case, remember?”
“What case?”
“Damn it, ANY case!” Frizz removed his hat, mopped his brow, ran the handkerchief around the inside of the hat, and then punched it back on his head. “I need some rest.”
“Yeah, and a happy pill.”
That made Frizz chuckle. “Yeah. If only a pill could solve my problems.”
A loud clunk signaled that the air conditioning system had failed. Again. Frizz had fought with the cooler for the last two years. The system was held together with bailing wire and pink bubble gum. Humidity and heat began rising inside the sheriff’s station.
Rosswell watched Frizz go outside and stomp to the air conditioner where he kicked it. When he came back, the uncooperative machine, subjected to the sheriff’s magic foot, returned to service. Frizz said, “Works every time.”
Rosswell said, “Did you know that Candy had the keys to Johnny Dan’s car?”
“She had keys when I arrested her. How do you know they were Johnny Dan’s?”
“Ollie told me. Candy told him on her way in to jail.”
“Shit.” Frizz consulted the phone book and then punched in a number on the phone. Rosswell could hear an answering machine click on and a voice deliver a message. Frizz hung up. “At least he left his cellphone number.” Frizz punched in the number. “Johnny Dan? Sheriff Dodson here.” Frizz picked up a pen and scribbled on a legal pad. “Yeah. Did you loan Candy Lavaliere your car?” Frizz wrote something. “Okay. I’ll wait.” He covered the mouthpiece and said to Rosswell, “He said, hell, no, he doesn’t loan his car to anyone. He’s going to check it out.” Johnny Dan came back on the phone. “Thanks. I’ll call the Highway Patrol and report it
