D’Angelo relaxed.
Another twenty minutes went by and the sheriff finally put down his magazine and spoke. “Now, I’ll tell you why’ I had you brung here, Mr. D’Angelo. We got some prints off that ice pick what killed the Malden girl. I jus’ want you to lemme take your prints so’s we can be sure they don’t match up. Okay?”
“You ain’t gonna fingerprint me,” D’Angelo told him. “I ain’t never had my prints taken and I ain’t never gonna. What’s more, you can’t make me unless you got some charge to bring against me. If you do, sheriff, you better make it fast. My lawyer’s on his way here now and if he finds you holding me without a reason, he’ll start raising all kinds of hell. I’m telling you, you better put that gun away and let me go.”
“Mr. D’Angelo, if you didn’t kill that girl, why won’t you jus’ lemme take your prints?”
“That’s my business.”
“Reckon that’s right -- but only for now.”
“Whaddaya mean?” D’Angelo asked, disturbed by the sheriff’s sly calmness.
“Fact is, Mr. D’Angelo, I s’pected you wasn’t gonna cooperate. So while we been settin’ here relaxin’, my deputy’s been up at your cabin at the lodge dustin’ the place real good. I ’rnagine he’ll come back with some real good prints o’ yours. Whatta you think?”
“You had no right—” D’Angelo was fuming, but fear was also beginning to crawl over his face.
“He gets back, first thing I do is check ’em ‘gainst the ones we got offen the ice pick. They match, you’re as good as hanged, Mr. D’Angelo. They don’t, we gonna send ’em round the country. Somehow I s’pect they’s gonna match with somethin’ some police department’s got somewhere. That’s all for now, Mr. D’Angelo. You can leave. But you’ll be hearin’ from me.”
D’Angelo left the office and started up the street. He stopped short as a car pulled up alongside him. “Where the hell have you been?” he greeted the driver. “You’re some great lawyer, showing up after the fat’s in the fire.”
“What’s happened?” the lawyer asked him.
D’Angelo told him.
“You kill the girl?” the lawyer asked.
“No. But that Reuben spreads my prints around, I’m in a lot of trouble. There’s more than one job they might match up with. What am I gonna do?”
“Run,” the lawyer advised, “And keep running.” He started the car and pulled away from the curb. “And don’t stop running,” he called over his shoulder.
D’Angelo walked on up the street, his brain pounding with fear. He didn’t even notice Jed, the deputy, passing him with Rafe Proctor in tow.
Jed led Proctor into the sheriff’s office and pushed him into a chair. “Look what I found out in the woods near the Morton Motor Lodge,” he told the sheriff, jerking his thumb at Rafe.
“Good work. How ’bout D’Angelo’s prints? You. get them?”
“Quite a few clear as a bell. You wanna see ’em?”
“Yep.” The sheriff took them from Jed and compared them with those on the card on his desk. “No luck,” he admitted gloomily. “Make up some sets of these,” he instructed Jed, an’ send ’em to the New Orleans police an’ the FBI. I’m gonna teach that D’Angelo not to go ’round callin’ lawmen rubes.” The sheriff turned to Rafe. “Well so Jed found you up near Morton’s, hey? How come you up there, Rafe?”
“I don’t rightly know, sheriff.”
“You don’t rightly know, hey? Now that’s mighty strange. How long you up in that neighborhood, Rafe?”
“I don’t know that neither, sheriff.”
“Do tell? Well, was you up there las’ night, Rafe?”
“What time las’ night, sheriff?”
“Oh, say anytime from ten or so till daybreak.”
“I wasn’t there before midnight. After that, I don’ know. See, I got crocked down to Andy’s Bar an’ I’member noticin’ it were midnight when I left. But then I kinda blacked out an’ I dunno where I went. You know how it is, sheriff .”
“I sure do, Rafe. I know how your temper gets when you been drinkin’, too, boy. Right murderous, that’s how. You like to kill someone when you tie one on.”’
“What you drivin’ at, sheriff?”
“They’s been a murder up to Morton’s. An’ you was there. An’ now you says like you don’t remember nothin’, That’s what I’m gettin.’ at, boy!”
“Murder? Who got murdered?”
“Wilma Malden.”
“Is that right?” Rafe grinned. “Is that right?” he repeated,
“Don’t get all broke up ’bout it,” the sheriff told him dryly.
“Hell no! She’s one broad had it comin’!”
“Is ’at why you killed her?”
“I didn’t kill her. I sure ain’t sorry somebody did, though.”
“I thought you two was kinda lovey-dovey. You workin’ for her pa and datin’ her a few times. Word was you had the inside track. How come you so sour on her now?”
“She jus’ a double-crossin’ bitch, that’s all!”
“How so?”
“That’s private, sheriff. ’Tween me an’ her. Got nothin’ to do with her bein’ murdered.”
“Hell, seems to me I heard that before! From jus’ about everybody in this damn case. All right, Rafe. Let’s not waste time. I’m gonna take your fingerprints.”
“Sure, sheriff.” Rafe held out his hand docilely.
A few moments later the sheriff was cursing to himself again. The prints didn’t match. “You can go,” he told Rafe disgustedly. As the door shut behind Rafe, the sheriff went into the back room where his deputy was busy making up copies of D’Angelo’s fingerprints. “I’m goin’ over to see Beau Barker,” he told Jed.
“You want me to go bring him in?”
“Hell no. In this town you don’t fetch Mr. Beauregard Barker to the jailhouse. If you be smart, you jus’ call on him nice an’ polite like. That is if you wanna stay sheriff, you do. I’ll be up to his house if you wanna reach me for anythin’.”
The maid let the sheriff in and led him into the living room. Mrs, Barker was seated there in an armchair. “Beauregard will be right down,” she told the sheriff. As though in response to the statement, Beau Barker entered immediately, hand outstretched to greet the sheriff.
“Have you gotten anywhere with the Malden murder?” Barker asked when they were both seated.
“No, sir. Not really, I ain’t. That little get-together you had here the other night kinda confused things.”
“How so?”
“Left me with more suspects than I rightly know what to do with.”
“I’m sure that none of the people who were here had anything to do with it, sheriff. They’re all law-abiding. They’d never commit murder.”
“I ain’t so sure, Mr. Barker. You got ’em mighty riled up ag’in’ those two girls. What I hear, they was talk a doin’ ’em violence right here in this room.”
“Are you implying that I am-in some way responsible for the Malden girl’s death, sheriff? Because if you are, I think you’re exceeding your authority. You have no right to come into my home and make such accusations.”
“Now hold on, Mr. Barker,” the sheriff said hastily. “I ain’t accusin’ you of nothin’. All l’m sayin’ is that if you was gonna have a meetin’ like that, you shoulda let me in on it.” '
“Perhaps you’re right, sheriff.” Barker conceded smoothly. “I just didn’t think of it. Please accept my apologies for having neglected to inform you of the meeting.” .
“Forget it, Mr. Barker. That’s all water under the bridge now. Only thing is those who was at the meetin’ mighta had reason to kill Wilma Maiden. I gotta check ’em all out. You can see that, Mr. Barker, can’t you?”
“Yes. I can see that.”
“An” I guess you can see as how that puts me in a right embarrassin’ position.”