Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 08 - Winning Can Be Murder (6 page)

Rhodes could remember a time when the newspaper office had a smell as distinctive as the gym, a smell made up of printer’s ink and hot machinery and paper.  And the sound of the press was a constant hum.

It wasn’t like that now.  The newspaper office could have belonged to an insurance agent or a real estate salesman.  There were four desks, each one with a computer terminal sitting on it.  There was a big stack of back issues on one desk, along with some forms for classified ads.  The other desks were covered with note pads and papers.

The only person in the office was Goober Vance.  He was sitting at his desk, typing on a computer keyboard.  Or maybe he wasn’t typing, since he wasn’t using a typewriter.  Rhodes wasn’t sure what the right word was.

“Just a second, Sheriff,” Vance said.  A toothpick waggled at the corner of his mouth.  He had quit smoking a year or so ago and had since contributed mightily to deforestation.  “Have a seat.  Be with you soon’s I finish this paragraph.”

Rhodes sat at one of the vacant desks.  Vance stared at the words appearing on his computer monitor, typed a period with a flourish, and looked over at the sheriff.

“Now, then, what can I do for you?” he asked.

“Tell me a little about Brady Meredith,” Rhodes said.

“Funny you should want to know about him,” Vance said.  He was a small man with wavy brown hair and small brown eyes that were a little too close together.  “I was just writing an article about his death.”

“What were you saying?”

“I was saying that it was a shame that a young and successful coach had to die in such a bizarre way.  You want to fill me in on that?”

Rhodes wasn’t surprised that Vance already knew about Meredith’s murder.  It was almost impossible to keep a secret in a small town like Clearview.

“You probably already know as much as I do.  What I want to find out is what’s not going into the article.”

Vance removed the gnawed toothpick from his mouth and looked at it for a moment before tossing it into a green metal trash can beside his desk.  He reached into his shirt pocket and took out a plastic box, removed a toothpick, and stuck it between his teeth.

“You mean about his private life?” he asked after working the toothpick from the right side of his mouth to the left.

“I mean about his drinking and anything else that might give me some idea about how he wound up dead.”

“He drank a little, but not enough to make a difference to anybody.  Everybody needs a beer now and then, Sheriff, just to relax.  He was discreet about it.”

That was all that mattered.  The Clearview school board didn’t care how teachers conducted their personal lives as long as their personal lives didn’t affect their performance in the classroom.

“
Where
he drank, now, that’s something else,” Vance said.

“Where did he drink?” Rhodes asked.

“He had to get out of town, so not too many people would see him.  He went out to The County Line.  I wouldn’t go there, myself.”

Rhodes resisted asking Vance where he would go.  He said, “That’s a pretty rough place.  We’ve had a few calls about it.”

“I know.  I write the “Law and Order” column.”  He was referring to a weekly column that gave readers a condensed version of the various crimes and arrests throughout the county.  “You ever read that?”

“I don’t need to,” Rhodes pointed out.

“Right.  Well, from what I hear, most of the stuff that happens out there at The County Line never gets reported to you.  The people involved are the kind that like to settle things themselves.”

True enough.  The emergency room of the Clearview hospital had a few cases every weekend that came from The County Line, though the patients usually said something like, “I fell off my bike,” or “I slipped in the tub.”  While the former excuse was at least likely, the latter was clearly false.  Most of the people who said it didn’t look as if they’d been near a bathtub for several weeks.

“Did Meredith ever get in any fights out there?” Rhodes asked.

“Not that I’ve heard about.  There are plenty of rough customers out there, though.  Wonder if any of them had a lot of money bet on the game last night?”

Rhodes thought about Hayes Ford.  And he thought about the fight between Meredith and Jasper Knowles.  Meredith had wanted to kick the point instead of going for two.  Could that mean that Meredith was aware of some sort of bet on the game?  Or could Meredith himself have made a bet?  It didn’t seem likely, but anything could happen.

“What about Meredith?” Rhodes asked.  “Do you think he might have bet with someone?”

Vance gave it some thought.  “Maybe.  But if he did, I didn’t know about it.”

The implication was that Vance knew most of what went on, but if Meredith had been betting on the team, he would have kept it very quiet.

Vance changed the subject.  “And then there’s Meredith’s wife,” he said.

“What about her?” Rhodes asked.

“Kind of drab for the wife of a big-time football coach, wouldn’t you say?”

Rhodes hadn’t really thought about that, but it was obvious that there was more to the story.  It was also obvious that Vance was going to tell him about it.

“Brady married her when they were in college.  She was a cheerleader then, but she’s lost a little spark in the years since.  Brady thought he could do better.”

“Who with?  Anybody I should know about?”

“You catch on quick, Sheriff.”  The toothpick danced.  “No wonder you’re such an effective lawman.”

Rhodes couldn’t tell whether Vance was paying him a compliment or being sarcastic.

Vance said, “Ever seen Bob Deedham’s wife?”

Rhodes said that he hadn’t.  Faye Knowles had been the one ringing Nancy Meredith’s doorbell.

“Name’s Terry.  Now there’s somebody who still looks like a cheerleader.  Blonde, big hair, big eyes, big pom-poms.  The works.  The kind of woman that Meredith would go for.”

Rhodes wasn’t sure how to take the “pom poms” remark, but he didn’t ask for clarification.  Deedham’s attitude was beginning to make more sense than it had earlier.

“And there’s one other thing,” Vance said.

Rhodes waited.

“Did you notice anything about the team last night?  Did they seem especially aggressive to you?”

“They were fired up, all right,” Rhodes said.

“There’ve been some rumors about that,” Vance said.  He took out his toothpick and replaced it with a fresh one.  “You might have heard them.”

“No.  I’m always the last one to hear rumors.”

Vance looked as if he doubted that, then shrugged.  “Maybe so.  What do you think could hop up a team like that?”

“I’m not very good at guessing,” Rhodes said.  “Why don’t you tell me.”

“Steroids,” Vance said.  “Ever hear about them?”

Rhodes had heard about them, all right.  “You say it’s just a rumor?”

“But worth checking out.  Steroids can do funny things to a kid.  If one got mad enough, he might even shoot his coach.”

“Would any of them have a reason to do that?”

“They wouldn’t need much of a reason.  Let’s say someone identified pretty strongly with the head coach and you took a poke at him.  That might be enough.  It’s worth checking out.”

Rhodes agreed that it was.  “Do you have anything else for me?”

“That’s about it,” Vance said.  “I’d think that was enough to give you a start.”

It was more than enough.  Vance was a veritable Geraldo when it came to dishing the dirt.  Rhodes had plenty to think about:  The County Line, Hayes Ford, Bob Deedham’s wife (not to mention Deedham himself), and steroids.

“You know that this is the kind of stuff that’ll never get in the paper, don’t you?” Goober asked.

Rhodes knew it.  The Clearview newspaper’s editorial policy was one that advocated praising local politicians whenever possible, boosting the local economy by running free “shop at home in Clearview” ads when space permitted, letting everyone know whose aunt from Dallas was in town for a visit, giving generous space to all weddings and funerals, supporting the football team, and ignoring anything at all that might make Clearview look anything less than the most idyllic place to live in the state of Texas.

“But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to know the outcome of all this,” Goober said.  “I may not be able to write it, but I like to know what’s going on around town anyway.”

“If there’s anything I think you should know, you’ll hear from me,” Rhodes said, not so sure that he wanted to give Vance anything more to gossip about.  He thanked the reporter for his time and stood up.  “And if you hear of anything else that might help me, let me know.”

“You can count on me, Sheriff,” Vance said.  “Always glad to cooperate with the Law.”

He was already turning back to the monitor before Rhodes was out the door.

H
ack and Lawton were deep in conversation when Rhodes walked in the jail.  They looked up expectantly but didn’t say anything, which was a bad sign.  Rhodes thought it might be easier just to ignore them.  He put the cigarette butt in the evidence locker, which was really just an old black safe, then sat at his desk, put on his reading glasses, and started doing the paperwork on the Meredith death.

“He ain’t gonna talk to us,” Hack said behind his back.  “Too busy, I guess.”

“Sure,” Lawton said.  “I save his life at the game last night and then he slights me.  That’s the thanks I get.”

Rhodes swiveled around and looked at them.  “I appreciate it that you saved my life,” he told Lawton.  “And I’m not too busy to talk if there’s anything to talk about.  Is there?”

“We thought you might want to tell us if it was Brady Meredith in that car or not,” Hack said.  “And then you might ask if there’s anything else goin’ on around here that you oughta know about.”

Rhodes sighed and took his glasses off.  “It was Meredith, all right.  Somebody shot him.  I don’t know who it was yet.”

“You oughta talk to that Goober Vance down at the paper,” Lawton said.  “He knows ever’thing that goes on with that football team.”

“I talked to him.  He had a lot of hints, but no real facts.  I’ll have to find those out myself.”

“That figgers,” Hack said.  “I expect you’ll be gettin’ a lot of hints, considerin’ how interested everybody is in gettin’ this murder solved and out of the way so the really important stuff can go on as usual.”

“What important stuff?” Rhodes asked.

“Football,” Lawton said.  “That’s what all the calls have been about.”

“Calls?  Nobody mentioned any calls.”

“That’s ’cause you were so busy when you came in,” Hack said.  “You didn’t ask about any calls, so I didn’t mention ’em.  Didn’t want to bother you, seein’ as how you were so busy.”

“Tell me about the calls,” Rhodes said.

“There was a lot of ’em,” Hack said.  “Seems like ever’body in town already knows for sure that Brady’s dead.  Except me and Lawton, of course.  Nobody told us.  Not until we asked, anyway.”

“But I told you then,” Rhodes said, wanting to get on with it.  “What about the calls?”

“Like Hack told you,” Lawton said.  “There was a lot of ’em.  Phone like to rung off the hook.”

Rhodes slipped his glasses in his shirt pocket.  Hack and Lawton were always that way.  It took forever for them go get to the point.  Rhodes was used to it, and he knew there was no way to hurry them.

He tried, however.  “What were the calls about?”

“Football,” Lawton said.  “I told you that.”

“That’s right,” Hack said.  “He did.”

“What about football?”

“About how they want this taken care of immediately,” Hack said.

“If not sooner,” Lawton added.

“You got a call from the mayor,” Hack said, looking at a note pad.  “And two from the county commissioners, and one from the high school principal.  Then you got about twenty more from just your ordinary citizens.”

“And they want the murder solved today,” Rhodes said.

“That’d be nice,” Hack said.  “But tomorrow’d be OK.  Just as long as it’s taken care of quick and doesn’t interfere with the game next Saturday.  They had some suggestions for you, too, about where to start lookin’ and all.”

“And where was that?”

“Garton,” Lawton said.  “Lots of folks say it musta been somebody from Garton that was sore about the win.  Like that lady with her hair and face dyed.  You remember her?”

Rhodes said that he did.

“Well, she’d hafta be crazy to paint herself up like that.  So maybe she was crazy enough to kill somebody.  You know about that lawsuit?”

“I’ve heard about it,” Rhodes said.

“Well, don’t that prove they’re crazy?”

Rhodes wasn’t sure.  “Maybe they’ll win.”

Lawton snorted.  “No way.  Judge’ll throw it out in a New York minute.  If they got away with that, half the schools in the state’d be goin’ to court after every game, tryin’ to get bad calls overturned.  It’ll never fly.”

Rhodes had to admit that Lawton had a point, but before he could say so, the phone rang.

“Prob’ly another call about the game,” Lawton said as Hack answered it.

“If it is, just say I’m not here,” Rhodes said.

“Sheriff’s not here,” Hack said after listening for a few seconds.  “He’s out workin’ on the case right now.  But I’ll be sure to tell him what you said.”

He hung up. “That wasn’t exactly what you thought it was gonna be.”

“What was it, then?” Lawton asked.  “Sure sounded like somebody callin’ about the case.”

“You ought not to listen in on official business,” Hack told him.  “You’re just the jailer.”

“I guess you think the jailer ain’t just as official as you are.  I guess you think — “

Rhodes cut in.  “Never mind that right now.  What was that call about, Hack?”

“That was Miz Wilkie,” he said.  “Your old sweetie.”

Mrs. Wilkie had never been Rhodes’ “sweetie,” though she had certainly been interested in him before his marriage to Ivy.  Rhodes had done his best to avoid her then, and he didn’t go out of his way to see her now, though occasionally he had to in the course of his job.  She was working for James Allen, one of the county commissioners, as a secretary.

“What did she want?” Rhodes asked.