Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 20 - Compound Murder (11 page)

Then there was the dead man, Earl Wellington. Judging by what he’d seen, Rhodes thought the man’s death was likely an accident, though caused by some kind of struggle. An argument of some kind? That’s what it appeared to be, but if that was right, the argument had gotten far too physical.

Rhodes didn’t know what to think of a man who liked cats and Sage Barton books being killed in a struggle. It didn’t seem in character, somehow.

Rhodes would need to get the official time of death, but he didn’t think Wellington had been dead for long before his body was found. If that was correct, something had happened only shortly before people had begun arriving at the college.

Wellington and someone else had been there, but they must have come in early, well before classes started. Rhodes wondered if that was a habit Wellington had. He’d have to ask Seepy Benton and see what he knew.

As for why Wellington might have been involved in an argument, Rhodes had already thought of several possibilities. The one that concerned him most was Ike Terrell. Obviously he’d had a problem with Wellington because of the paper that Wellington believed was plagiarized. Would that have been enough to set Ike off if he’d encountered Wellington in the parking lot?

What about Wellington’s supposed pickiness and difficulties with students? Lately Rhodes had seen story after story about teachers who’d gotten into sexual tangles with their students, but that didn’t seem to be Wellington’s problem. Most of the incidents he’d read about had to do with high school teachers, and a surprising number of them were about relationships in which the aggressor appeared to be a female teacher who had ongoing encounters with a male student. That wasn’t the problem here, or didn’t seem to be. Rhodes thought he needed to find out more about Wellington’s relationships with his students and whether they’d extended beyond what Wellington had told Harris was merely “teasing.”

It was clear that the dean and the department chair weren’t going to reveal much, certainly nothing more than they absolutely had to, but that didn’t surprise Rhodes. In any institution, there was a lot of covering up when things went wrong. A college wasn’t any different.

Rhodes would get it all uncovered, one way or another. He hoped. Seepy Benton would help, and Rhodes knew he could find out a lot from the students. They wouldn’t be interested in covering things up. They might even get a kick out of the possible scandal.

Rhodes passed the spot where the piece of Ike’s tire had hit his windshield. It lay over beside the road, nearly in the ditch. Rhodes wondered how long it would lie there before somebody picked it up. Nobody had adopted this section of the highway.

A little farther along he came to the spot where Ike’s car had gone off the road. He could see a clear trail where it had plowed through the grass to the trees. The trail would be gone soon enough if they ever got any rain.

Able Terrell’s compound was a few miles farther on. It was well off the main road, and to get there Rhodes had to turn off the pavement and drive down a sandy, rutted track that wound along for about half a mile. Trees grew so close to the ruts that Rhodes could have reached out and touched them if he’d rolled down his window, but if he’d done that he’d have been covered in the fine sand that the car’s tires were churning up.

At the end of the track, Rhodes came to a large clearing where a ten-foot fence of thick boards walled the Terrells off from the rest of the world. It would provide good protection from the zombies when they attacked, too, Rhodes figured, unless zombies could climb.

The fence was covered with hand-painted signs that didn’t do much to encourage visitors. One of them read
BEWARE OF THE DOG.
Right next to it was one that read
DON’T WORRY ABOUT THE DOG. IT’S THE PEOPLE HERE WHO HAVE GUNS.
Another read
GO AWAY. OR STAY AND GET SHOT. YOUR CHOICE. THIS PROPERTY PROTECTED BY SMITH & WESSON
was another one. All of them expressed similar sentiments.

Even though he was there by invitation, Rhodes didn’t feel welcome. He sat in the car with the engine running and sand settling on the roof and hood. He wondered whether he should ram the gate or just turn around and leave. Before he’d come to a decision, the gate began to swing open. When it had opened all the way, a man came into sight and waved Rhodes through.

Rhodes decided he’d rather walk. No use to have his car trapped in there if someone decided to close the gate. He got out of the car. A little of the sand still hung in the air, and he brushed a hand across his face.

It was getting on toward late afternoon, and the sun slanted through the trees, making long shadows all around. Rhodes wasn’t sure it was a good idea to go inside the gate at all, even walking. He waved for the man in the entrance to come out to meet him.

The man didn’t move. For a while the two of them stood there looking at each other. Rhodes had never met Able Terrell, but he knew the man in front of him wasn’t Terrell. Terrell was supposedly fairly small, and this man was, too, in a way. He wasn’t tall, but he was wide, and his arms looked as if he’d pumped a lot of iron with them. He looked tough enough to hunt wild hogs with a willow switch. Terrell wasn’t like that, by all accounts.

Rhodes realized that he didn’t know how many people lived in the compound. He doubted that anyone knew other than the ones in residence, not even the census takers. Especially the census takers, considering Terrell’s alleged antigovernment beliefs. Rhodes didn’t think Terrell would’ve filled out any census forms, not in a long time, if he ever had. He probably didn’t pay taxes, either. Rhodes knew for sure that Terrell, his wife, and several children lived in the compound, and supposedly there were others of like inclination.

The man finally got tired of looking at Rhodes and walked in his direction. When he got to within ten yards, he stopped.

“You the sheriff?” he asked.

He was even broader than he’d seemed at a distance. A Western-style straw hat that might once have been white was perched on his head, so Rhodes didn’t know if he was bald. The hair that showed was brown, mixed with a little gray. He wore a camouflage shirt and pants and pointy-toed black cowboy boots. He could’ve used some dental work.

“Sheriff Dan Rhodes,” Rhodes said. “Able Terrell said he wanted to talk to me. I expect you’d be Duffy.”

“That’s me,” the man said. He didn’t mention whether that was his first name or his last. He sniffed, grimaced, sniffed again.

“Hay fever?” Rhodes asked.

“Yeah. Can’t shake it.”

“Sorry to hear it,” Rhodes said, though he wasn’t, not really.

“You want to talk to Able, you’ll have to come on in,” Duffy said and sniffed. “He don’t come outside the fence. He stays inside, and that’s just the way it is.”

Rhodes thought it over. He didn’t see any real reason not to go ahead. Terrell hadn’t made any threats, and things looked peaceful enough.

“Lead the way,” Rhodes said, and Duffy turned around and walked back through the gate.

Rhodes followed him, and when they were inside the fence, Rhodes noticed that each section was double braced with heavy boards. No zombies were going to push that fence over. They might
pull
it over, but Rhodes didn’t bring up that point. He didn’t think it would be appreciated. Duffy turned and started to close the gate. The hinges didn’t make a sound.

“Able don’t like people to wander in,” Duffy said.

Rhodes gave him a look, but Duffy just went on and finished closing the gate. Rhodes didn’t really mind that the gate was shut. What he minded was the gun that was leaning against the fence until Duffy picked it up. Rhodes wasn’t a firearms expert, but he knew an AR-15 when he saw one. This one had a fixed stock, a twenty-inch barrel, and a rifle-length gas system. It wasn’t a Smith & Wesson, however, as the sign outside might have led someone to believe. It was made by Colt.

For just a second, Rhodes thought he could hear someone whistling “
El Degüello
.” The rifle’s magazine didn’t look as if it held more than five rounds, so it was legal. That didn’t mean Duffy didn’t have another magazine or two or a dozen around somewhere.

“Hunting rifle,” Duffy said, picking it up. His hands were large and calloused.

“Right,” Rhodes said.

The rifle looked like a toy in Duffy’s big hands. He pointed with the barrel. “Able’s house is the one in the middle.”

Rhodes looked in the direction Duffy had indicated. There were three houses, one of them larger than the others. All three were painted with camouflage colors, even the roofs. They looked to be in good repair, but Rhodes supposed that the people in the compound had plenty of time to work on them. A satellite dish was perched on the edge of each roof, so the compound wasn’t entirely cut off from the rest of the world. Probably got both TV and the Internet by way of the dishes. Rhodes saw the front end of a military-style jeep near the back of the biggest house, along with an old gray Pontiac. The Pontiac was dusty but looked serviceable. It wouldn’t have been out of place on the streets of Clearview. A couple of men were standing outside one of the houses watching Rhodes and Duffy. Rhodes heard dogs barking somewhere in back of the houses. The dogs didn’t sound friendly at all.

“Who are those fellas?” Rhodes asked, inclining his head in the direction of the men who were watching him.

“Nobody you need to worry about.” Duffy snuffled and wiped the back of his hand across his nose. “They live here and don’t bother anybody.”

“Right,” Rhodes said. “What about the dogs?”

“Got four of ’em. Leopard hounds. Big suckers. They’re real friendly.”

“I can tell they’re friendly,” Rhodes said, wondering if the phrase
release the hounds
was spoken often in the compound.

Duffy shot him a look.

“From the sound,” Rhodes said. “They sound friendly and happy.”

Duffy just looked at him. Rhodes smiled and said nothing. He looked around the compound some more. Besides the houses and vehicles, there were several archery targets and some bales of hay. Rhodes didn’t see any animals that the hay would feed, and he supposed it served as backing for rifle and crossbow targets. He caught the scent of wood smoke and noticed a faint curl of gray from a stovepipe on one of the houses.

“Smells good,” he said.

“Getting to be about suppertime,” Duffy said. “We use a woodstove for some of our cooking. Let’s go.”

The AR-15 dangled from his hand as he walked past Rhodes and led the way to the biggest house, which sat on concrete blocks. A set of concrete steps stood in front of the door. Duffy didn’t bother with the bottom step. He didn’t need it. He might have been short, but he was stout and agile. He stepped right up on the top step and rapped on the door with his free hand.

The door swung open and Able Terrell stood there. He was about Duffy’s height, but not nearly as broad. His brown, wrinkled face reminded Rhodes a little bit of a monkey he’d once seen in a photo in some magazine or other. He wore camos like Duffy, but no hat. His black hair was clipped short and had a gray streak through it. Skunk and monkey, Rhodes thought. Not a good combination. Terrell didn’t offer to shake hands, and neither did Rhodes.

“Come on in,” Terrell said, stepping aside.

Duffy went in, and Rhodes followed him. The room they entered was large, with a high ceiling. The floor was bare wood, polished but not gleaming. It held a couch, three sturdy wooden chairs, some end tables, and a TV set. In spite of the satellite dish, nobody was watching TV. There was a wide fireplace that would come in handy in the winter.

Rhodes smelled something cooking. Beans of some kind. It was a homey smell, but the atmosphere seemed anything but homey to Rhodes.

Duffy walked over to sit in one of the chairs. He placed the AR-15 across his knees.

“You have a seat, too, Sheriff,” Terrell said.

Rhodes sat in one of the chairs. He expected Terrell to sit in the empty one, but Terrell preferred to stand. It wasn’t really an advantage for him. He wasn’t built for looming the way Rhodes was. Neither was Duffy, but he could make up for his lack of height with his attitude. Rhodes thought he could loom with the best of them if he had a mind to. For that matter, he was practically looming while he sat in the chair, without even trying. The sniffling detracted a little from the image, however.

“You said you had some information for me,” Rhodes said to Terrell. “It must be good since you wouldn’t tell me on the phone.”

“I don’t tell anybody anything on the phone,” Terrell said. “You should know why.”

“Sorry,” Rhodes said. “I don’t.”

“Tell him, Duffy.”

“The gover’ment,” Duffy said. “A man can’t have a private conversation in this country anymore. They listen in on everything.”

“They?” Rhodes said.

“You know what I mean,” Duffy said. “The gover’ment. It’s in all the papers. They say they’re listening for terrorists, but that’s just an excuse. You county people are in on it, too, just like the ones in Washington.”

“We don’t tap phones,” Rhodes said.

“So you say. You probably record everything that comes into your jail, right?”

The county had thought about setting up that system up a few years ago, but it hadn’t been done yet.

“Not us,” Rhodes said, “but we might be before long.”

“See?” Duffy said. “Even us paranoids are right some of the time. The gover’ment is always spying on the public, even the ones that just want to be left alone.”

“Like us,” Terrell said. “We just want to be left alone.”

“If you want to be left alone,” Rhodes said, “what am I doing here?”

“You have my boy locked up in your jail. I want you to let him out.”

“You know I can’t do that,” Rhodes said. “He has too many charges against him. He must have told you what happened.”

“It was your fault he ran. He was scared. Anybody’d run in that situation.”

“Ike ran because he burgled the Beauty Shack.”

“If he did it, and I’m not saying he did, maybe he had a good reason.”

“You want to tell me what it is?” Rhodes asked.

“That’s up to Ike,” Terrell said. “If he did it.”