by Bill Hopkins
does it have to do with the murders here in Bollinger County? And what’s that got to do with someone trying to kill Tina and me?”
Frizz said, “Give the agent a chance to tell the whole story.”
Purvis said, “The meth lab in Birmingham was backed by interests in St. Louis and Kansas City. We recruited Johnny Dan. He signed on as undercover. His car business gave him the perfect camouflage. Add to that Johnny Dan’s acting ability and he was a natural. He’s been in several little theater productions. And the guy keeps the best notes of any snitch I’ve ever had. Most of my informants can barely read or write.”
“Purvis,” Rosswell said, “this is interesting and all, but someone tried to murder Tina and me. Can you help us on that?”
Frizz said, “You interrupted the man’s explanation. He’s fixing to shed light on the crimes we’ve been suffering during the last few days.”
Rosswell said, “I think he’s an overgrown hippy riding a motorcycle.”
“Thank you, sir,” Purvis said. “That was what I intended to look like. Glad it worked.”
“So far,” Rosswell said, “you’ve not said anything interesting.”
Purvis said, “Johnny Dan Dumey witnessed the murders at the state park.”
Frizz curled his hands into fists. “Just why in the hell did you and Johnny Dan forget to tell us that bit of information? I should arrest you both for withholding evidence. In fact, I should arrest you for impeding an investigation since you didn’t report to me the second you got in this county.”
A gaggle of motorcyclists sallied down the street in front of the sheriff’s station. Purvis’ motorcycle was parked out front. The hog riders no doubt wondered what one of their own was doing talking to the sheriff. They revved their engines, flooding the area with the strange Harley engine sound.
“The reason for not telling?” Purvis said. “The ring.”
“You,” Frizz said through clenched teeth, “couldn’t tell me about an eyewitness to two murders because of some fricking ring?”
“Let’s talk about the term ‘eyewitness’,” Purvis said.
“No, let’s talk about the fricking ring,” Frizz said.
“As far as an eyewitness, there’s nothing to talk about,” Rosswell said. “The term ‘eyewitness’ is well defined. It means the person was at an event, saw what happened, and can testify to it.”
“The first part about being there is correct,” Purvis said. “But the next part about seeing what happened is not correct.”
Frizz said, “You’re playing word games. Tell us who the murderer is so we can go after her.”
Scooby furiously licked Purvis’s neck. Without breaking stride, Purvis pulled a small cup and a bottle of water from a pocket, poured Scooby a drink and set her down to enjoy the break. Until she finished, every three seconds she’d growl and bark at Purvis. When she belched, obviously a signal that she was through, Purvis stuffed her under his shirt.
Purvis said, “I can’t guarantee that your killer is a woman.”
Rosswell said, “That’s a load of crap.”
Frizz said, “Rosswell caught Candy in Tina’s room.”
“And,” Rosswell said, “a woman tried to plant a false clue at the street fair.”
Frizz looked at Rosswell for a moment with an unspoken question.
“I’ll tell you later,” Rosswell said.
Purvis clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the ceiling, reminding Rosswell of professors he’d known long ago. A lecture was aborning.
“What,” Purvis said, “did this woman at the street fair look like?”
“She looked like Candy,” Rosswell answered. “At least that’s the description we got from an eyewitness.” Rosswell didn’t mention that the eyewitness was an eleven-year old Tenderfoot Boy Scout. “Baggy blue jeans. Gray sweatshirt.” Something else. What was it? “Oh, yeah. Her hair tucked under a John Deere cap. Dirty blonde hair. And sunglasses. Big sunglasses. She wore big bracelets on each wrist.”
“Baggy.” Purvis still stared upwards. “Baggy clothing hides a lot.”
“That’s what my wife says,” Frizz said. “Women wear baggy clothing to hide something.”
“And the cap part?” Purvis said. “Judge, are you sure it was a John Deere cap?”
Rosswell said, “I didn’t see the woman at the street fair. Purvis, you sound like a defense lawyer, not a cop.”
“I sound like a defense lawyer because I want to get rid of the defense lawyer’s arguments before the prosecutor takes the case to court.”
“Then,” Frizz said, “get on with it. I’m still considering arresting you and Johnny Dan.”
“It’s impossible at a distance to say that was a woman,” Purvis said. “The Judge couldn’t have identified this person’s sex from her hair, which was covered by a cap, nor by the shape of her body, which was clothed by baggy items, nor by her eyes covered by sunglasses.”
Rosswell said, “In other words, if I’d seen her from a distance, I’d have identified the person by face alone.”
“You’re quick.” Purvis smiled at Rosswell, then said, “And you are correct about the face. At least the part of the face that was visible.”
“And,” Rosswell said, caught up in the spirit of the question-and-answer session, “the killer could’ve made herself look like a man or vice-versa.”
Purvis said, “Unless you’re a man who has a beard or mustache, if you cover yourself, all but your face, most people can’t identify your sex during a period of stress.”
Frizz said, “I learned all that crap, too. But Rosswell knows the woman. If he saw her from a distance, then he could still identify her as Candy.”
“Johnny Dan is who I’m talking about.” Purvis began pacing. All he needed was a chalkboard behind him and he’d fit the professorial image one hundred percent. “He was definitely present at the murders.”
From the look on Frizz’s face, Rosswell thought the sheriff would shoot Purvis.
“That does it,” Frizz said. “Purvis, you son of a bitch, you’re under arrest.”
Purvis stuck both hands out and Frizz slapped on the cuffs.
Rosswell said to Purvis, “Why in the hell didn’t you say something the first time you came to the sheriff’s station? You should’ve identified yourself.”
Frizz said to Rosswell, “Let me handle this. I’ve got him under arrest for withholding evidence. Purvis, let’s go to your cell.”
Purvis spoke in a low voice to Frizz. “I can deliver the murderer to you.”
Frizz moaned. “But Johnny Dan didn’t see if the killer was a man or a woman? That’s a crock of shit. I’m going to arrest Johnny Dan, too. He’s impeding this investigation.”
Purvis said, “Hidden in the woods, keeping out of sight, Johnny Dan was too far away to hear or see anything distinct. He thinks the murderer was a woman.”
Frizz said, “You and Johnny Dan are going to be in separate cells far apart. You won’t be able to cook your story.”
Rosswell said, “Couldn’t Johnny Dan tell if the killer was wearing a woman’s clothes?”
“A woman’s clothes?” Purvis scowled at Rosswell. “Go out in the streets and take a look around. When was the last time you saw a woman wearing a dress or a skirt?”
“Crap,” Rosswell said. “Of course. Not a lot of dresses or skirts around these days. I guess I need to pay more attention to women.”
Frizz said, “That still doesn’t explain why Johnny Dan didn’t tell us about the murder.”
Purvis said, “I can help you with the investigation or I can sit in jail.” He shot a glance at the handcuffs. “Sheriff, your call.”
Rosswell said, “I need to get back to Tina.”
Frizz said, “Not yet.”
Purvis said, “Johnny Dan knew one of the victims. The male victim. It was Eddie Joe Deckard.”
“EJD,” Rosswell said. “That explains the initials on the ring.” In other words, Nathaniel lied to Ollie and Rosswell about what the init
ials meant. Why the lie?
Purvis said, “Eddie Joe Deckard was one of the biggest dope dealers in your county.”
“I know Eddie Joe Deckard.” Frizz removed his hat, wiped his forehead with his sleeve, then stuck the hat back on. “I’ve never had one whiff of a suspicion on that boy. How could he be the biggest dope dealer around here?”
“Simple,” Purvis said. “He didn’t do business in this county. As far as we could tell, Eddie Joe wasn’t a user. All he did was deal. And he was making a healthy profit. He was the linchpin between Birmingham, Memphis, St. Louis, and Kansas City.”
“And yet no one bothered to tell me?” Frizz said. “That’s a crock of day-old shit.”
“The ring?” Rosswell prompted Purvis.
Purvis said, “Johnny Dan made a buy from Eddie Joe. Johnny Dan claimed he didn’t have the full amount of money for the dope. Eddie Joe gave him credit but wanted some kind of collateral. Johnny Dan gave Eddie Joe his ring.”
“The initials?” Rosswell again prompted Purvis. “How did Eddie Joe’s initials show up on Johnny Dan’s ring?”
“Johnny Dan told me that Eddie Joe refused to return the ring. Somewhere along the line, Eddie Joe had his initials engraved inside the band since he decided to keep the ring.”
Again, Rosswell thought, that story didn’t fit with Nathaniel Dahlbert’s story, which was that a schismatic group of Masons added the first letters of Even Just Die to the Latin motto. And those letters happened to be the same as the initials of Eddie Joe Deckard? This possible coincidence seemed especially ludicrous.
The gaggle of Harley riders who’d circled the station a couple of times did a complete tour
