“To tell the truth, I never noticed,” Johnny said. “He has a garage on his house, I think, and keeps the doors down. No way to tell for sure. Why?”
“No reason, really. Just wondering.” Rhodes wasn’t ready yet to take anyone fully into his confidence. “You go on home and get some rest. I may have something for you later.”
Johnny nodded and left just as Hack was coming in.
“Think we’ll get the results of that blood test on Billy Joe’s shirt today, Hack?”
The old man nodded. “Sure do. I told them lab boys to put on a real rush job, because this was a mighty important case for us. I’ll bet we get the results this morning.”
‘‘Good. I’m afraid I already know what’s going to show up, but I still want confirmation. I’m not sure what it’s going to prove, though.”
The truth was that Rhodes was convinced that Billy Joe was innocent of murder. His simple mind just didn’t seem capable of the kind of violence that had been in evidence in Elmer Clinton’s living room. That took a kind of derangement different from whatever went on in Billy Joe’s head, but Rhodes wasn’t sure just what kind of mind it took.
Too, Rhodes was still puzzled by the behavior of Ralph Claymore at the forum the night before. It was true that Claymore had scored heavily against him with the men in the audience, but he could have done even more damage, it seemed to Rhodes, if he had brought up Jeanne Clinton’s death. It was always a bother to Rhodes when things didn’t happen the way they should, and he was determined to find out what was going on. He was also determined to establish a link between Claymore and the former prisoner to see if he’d been set up.
The man’s name was Terry Wayne, Rhodes learned by checking the arrest record. “Hack,” he said, “get Buddy on the radio and tell him to check up on this Terry Wayne.” He gave Hack Wayne’s address. “Get him to talk to the neighbors and see what he can turn up. I especially want to know if Wayne knew Ralph Claymore, or if Claymore ever visited his house.”
“Can do, Sheriff,” Hack said.
Lawton came in from upstairs in the cell block. “See you got old Billy Joe back, Sheriff,” he said sheepishly. “I’m sure sorry about leaving that cell door unlocked.”
“This time, it’s OK,” Rhodes said. “Billy Joe’s so harmless that no damage was done. But I hope it doesn’t happen again.”
Lawton shook his head. “You don’t have to worry about that, Sheriff. I can promise that it won’t. I’ll be extra careful from now on.”
“Fine. Now let’s get to work.”
“Work” consisted of routine complaints: a report that a man on the Milsby cut-off had seen a pickup with a canvas cover stopped by the road with a hand dangling from beneath the cover, a reported assault at the State Park, a robbery at the County Line Tavern. “Man says the driver of the pickup got out, walked around to the back, and stuck the hand under the canvas before he drove off,” Lawton told Rhodes. “Probably just a couple of kids playing a joke. I gave the highway boys a description of the pickup, just in case.”
The other problems were being routinely investigated by the deputies, so by mid-morning Rhodes was able to get on the Toad to Thurston. He planned to have a little talk with Mrs. Hod Barrett, among others.
“Yes, Sheriff,” Mrs. Barrett said. “Hod was home all last night. I don’t know where you think he might be going.” She handed Rhodes a glass of iced tea with a few mint leaves stuck in it for flavor, then sat in a wicker rocker like the one she had already invited Rhodes to make himself at home in.
Rhodes had already thought of a story for that one. “I just thought that with these robberies around here he might be wanting to keep an eye on his store. I sort of got the idea that Hod didn’t think we county boys were doing a very good job.”
Mrs. Barrett took a sip of her own tea and said nothing. To Rhodes she seemed a fairly good-looking woman for her age, which he guessed at about fifty. A little dumpy maybe, and certainly her hair was almost totally gray, but no real reason there for Hod to be slipping over to the Clinton house. Of course, looks weren’t everything, and some people at Hod’s age just had to have a fling or two. Or at least give it a try. Rhodes decided to be more direct.
Some folks also say that he and Jeanne Clinton had a liking for one another. That might give Hod a reason to be out looking around, maybe for whoever did it.
Mrs. Barrett looked at Rhodes with faded blue eyes. “Small-town gossip, Sheriff. That’s all that is. You should know better than to trust anything like that.”
“You’re sure there’s nothing to it, then?”
“Ask Hod, if you don’t believe me.”
“Oh, I believe you,” Rhodes lied, taking a deep swallow of his drink. “That tea was mighty refreshing, Mrs. Barrett. I thank you. “
“You’re welcome,” Mrs. Barrett said.
Hod Barrett was irate. “Sheriff, you come in here, interrupt my business, cause me to lose money, and then pull some outrageous lie like that out of the air, why it’s enough to make a man downright mad. If you weren’t an officer of the law, I’d throw you right out that door!”
“It’s no lie, Hod. Your car’s been seen over there,” Rhodes said. It hadn’t, but as long as he was being accused of lying he might as well try a little. The two men were in the little back storeroom of Barrett’s store, standing behind a three-high stack of boxes of Northern toilet tissue, the only place in the store where there was any privacy.
“No way! No way!” Barrett’s hair seemed to bristle even more than usual. “I never drove. .” He stopped himself, shoved his fists into his pockets, and turned away.
“You never drove,” Rhodes said softly, “but you walked. People in town know, Hod. I think your wife knows, too.”
Barrett leaned tensely forward and whipped his fists out of his pockets, waving them futilely in the dim light of the storeroom. Rhodes wondered just how much damage those fists could do to a woman if Barrett were angry enough to attack her.
“I didn’t tell her, Hod,” Rhodes said. “I don’t think anyone told her. Women just know things like that.”
Barrett sat down abruptly on a case of canned pineapple chunks. “You don’t know what it’s like, Sheriff,” he said in a strangely subdued voice. He hung his head and looked at the grimy, cracked concrete floor, worn smooth and black with the years of boxes being piled and moved and slid across it. Somewhere above, a fly buzzed as it looked for a way out.
“I haven’t slept with my wife for three years,” Barrett said. “I’m not sure what the problem is; she’s not the kind of woman you can talk to about things. I sort of tried, at first. I even tried to get her to go to that new woman’s doctor over in Clearview. It didn’t do any good.”
Rhodes said nothing. Barrett clasped his hands and studied them intently. The buzzing of the fly died away as it found a crack in the wall.
After a minute Barrett went on. “Jeanne Clinton came to the store a lot, she was friendly. You know. Not flirting, just friendly. I liked her, and she liked me too, I think. Anyway, it had gotten so that I was taking a walk at night, just to get out of the house. One night I saw the Clintons’ light on.”
“You mean you saw Jeanne’s light on,” Rhodes said. “You knew that Elmer worked at night.”
“This wasn’t that late,” Barrett said. “Elmer was still there. I just went up to the door and knocked. They invited me in and we talked a while. Harmless talk.” He paused again.
“And that’s all there was to it?” Rhodes said.
“Naw, that’s not all. That was all at first, but then I got to waiting a little later to take my walk. After Elmer had gone.”
“How long had this been going on?”
“A few months, that’s all.” Barrett’s voice began to regain its vehemence. “But there was nothing shameful about what I did there, Sheriff. Jeanne Clinton was a fine girl, not the kind to do anything wrong. Sure, she let me in after her husband had left, but all we ever did was talk. She had a way of talking that made me forget what was wrong at home; she made me laugh.”