Bill Crider - Dan Rhodes 20 - Compound Murder (14 page)

“What else did Mary Mason know?” Rhodes asked.

“Nothing much,” Benton said. “She’d heard that Wellington and Dean King had a big fight about something and that the dean and Dr. Harris were planning to get rid of Wellington at the end of the year.”

Part of that was news to Rhodes. He knew about the plagiarism argument but not that the dean and the department head were planning to get rid of Wellington. Neither King nor Harris had mentioned it. Trying not to draw suspicion to themselves, Rhodes was sure. Mary Mason might have been doing the same, but Rhodes couldn’t be sure since Benton hadn’t asked about any possible relationship with Wellington. Rhodes would have to find out about that.

“Anything else?” Rhodes asked.

“She’d heard the same things we’ve all heard,” Benton said. “That’s all.”

Rhodes had been wondering about those rumors. Everything had to start somewhere, and while rumors usually seemed to spring up without any particular origin, they didn’t just happen. They had an origin, even if it was almost always impossible to find.

“Where do you hear all that stuff?” Rhodes asked.

“In the faculty lounge,” Benton said. “A lot of the people with early classes like to have coffee in the lounge and talk to their friends. It’s a nice way to start the day. Not today, of course, but most days. Sometimes there’s a little gossip. Teachers love gossip, and that’s where Wellington got raked over the coals.”

“He wasn’t there?”

“He comes in, or came in, early, but he never came by the lounge. Maybe he didn’t feel comfortable with the rest of us. You know how it is. The ones who’ve been around for a few years don’t always welcome the newcomers. It took me a while to be part of the group, but I won them over with my natural charm.”

Rhodes waited for Ivy to kick him, but she just grinned at him.

“Besides,” Benton said, “Wellington liked to go outside and have a smoke before class. You know that already.”

“Who’s in the lounge in the mornings?” Rhodes asked. “Other than you.”

“The regular crowd is me, Tom Vance, Harry Harris, Charlotte Wilson, George Lewis, Beverly Baron, and Will Tracy. Do you know any of them?”

Rhodes knew Vance, a biology teacher and paleontologist who’d helped him out a little once upon a time when there was a mammoth involved in an investigation. He didn’t know the others, but he was sure he’d be talking to some of them. If they were in the lounge, though, they hadn’t been outside with Wellington.

“Oh,” Benton said, “Mary Mason comes in sometimes, too. She’s not faculty, of course, but she fits right in.”

“I’m sure she does,” Ivy said.

This time it was Rhodes’s turn to grin.

Chapter 12

After they left Max’s Place, Rhodes drove to Ballinger’s Funeral Home, which had at one time been a mansion occupied by one of Clearview’s wealthiest families. Ballinger lived in back in the servant’s quarters. If there was any symbolism in all of this, Rhodes preferred not to think about it. Rhodes saw a light in Ballinger’s window, so he parked the car and asked Ivy if she wanted to go in.

“That’s his house, right?” Ivy said.

“That’s it,” Rhodes said. “You didn’t think he lived in the funeral home, did you?”

“I just want to be sure there won’t be any surprises.”

“Clyde might be wearing his drop-seat pajamas.”

“That’s not the kind of surprise I meant, and you know it. Besides, nobody wears that kind of pajamas anymore.”

“Let’s go find out,” Rhodes said, and Ivy got out of the car.

They went to the door, and Rhodes knocked. Ballinger called for them to come in.

He wasn’t wearing drop-seat pajamas. He had on a pair of shorts and a Hawaiian shirt that was predominantly blue, with some palm trees and leis and waves as decoration.

Rhodes looked at Ivy. “Surprised?”

“At least it’s not drop-seat pajamas,” Ivy said.

Ballinger, who had been sitting at his desk, stood up and said, “Sometimes I get the feeling that I came in on the middle of something.”

“It’s nothing,” Rhodes said. “I hope we’re not bothering you.”

“Nope, I’ve been expecting you. Not Ivy, though. This is a rare pleasure. Have a seat.”

Rhodes and Ivy sat on a short sofa, and Ballinger sat back down in his desk chair. For years his desk had often been covered with copies of the kind of old paperbacks that he loved to read, but now there were none. There was just an e-book reader and several stacks of paper.

“Nice shirt,” Rhodes said. “Have you been hanging around with Mikey Burns?”

Commissioner Burns had a penchant for colorful shirts.

“Nope,” Ballinger said. “Just relaxing after a long day. You probably had one, too, considering that I have an autopsy report on the late Mr. Wellington for you.”

“All his days are long,” Ivy said. “I’m lucky to see him at all.”

“Always on duty or on call,” Ballinger said. “Not unlike a funeral director.”

“Did we interrupt your reading?” Rhodes asked.

“I was just seeing what I could pick up for free tonight. How is it that writers can just give their books away?”

Rhodes had to admit that he didn’t know.

“They do it all the time,” Ballinger said. He picked up his e-reader. “I’ve nearly filled this thing up with free books, and I just keep getting more. I’ll never get around to reading all of them.”

“Are they the kind you like?” Rhodes asked, remembering having seen the desk littered with books with lurid covers and titles like
Park Avenue Tramp, Halfway to Hell,
and
Campus Doll.

“Sure,” Ballinger said. “Lots of old books are free, but I can get new ones for free, too. I don’t know how they do it, but if they’re going to give them away, I’m going to take them.”

“I should get one of those readers,” Ivy said.

Rhodes was sorry he’d brought it up, so he changed the subject by asking Ballinger about the autopsy report.

Ballinger tapped a small stack of paper. “Here it is. Dr. White said to tell you that it’s about what you’d expect. No surprises.”

Rhodes got up and took the report. He flipped through the pages. Wellington had died because of the blow to the back of his head, all right, possibly as the result of being knocked into the Dumpster during a struggle. The time of death was approximately seven fifteen. No students would have been arriving at the time. The early-bird faculty would already have been in the lounge.

The report didn’t mention any bruises that might have resulted from blows to Wellington’s head and face, but there was a bit of bruising on his arms that suggested he might have been gripped tightly.

“Any help?” Ballinger asked when Rhodes was done.

“You never know,” Rhodes said. “What about personal effects?”

“Got ’em right here,” Ballinger said.

He reached down beside his chair and picked up a clear plastic bag. It was sealed and had a paper attached. That would be Dr. White’s statement that the bag held all of Wellington’s effects. Ballinger held the bag up, and Rhodes saw that it contained a cell phone, a wallet, some coins, a wristwatch, a package of filter-tip Camels, and a small pocketknife.

“Not many people still wear a watch,” Ballinger said. “They all have the time on their phones now.”

Rhodes took the bag and thanked Ballinger for his help.

“Drop by anytime at all,” Ballinger said.

*   *   *

Rhodes’s next stop was the jail.

“I’m getting the grand tour tonight,” Ivy said when they stopped outside. “I haven’t been here in a long time.”

“They should have a Take Your Spouse to Work Day,” Rhodes said as he opened the trunk of the county car. It was all right to drive the car to dinner, he figured, as long as he made sure to do some official business along the way.

Ivy got out of the car and joined him. “What’s in the trunk?”

Rhodes reached in and took out the AR-15.

“Where did that come from?” Ivy asked.

“I picked it up along the way today,” Rhodes said. When he’d told her about what he’d been doing, he’d omitted his little tussle with Duffy. “I’m going to lock it up where it’ll be safe.”

“I should hope so,” Ivy said, but she didn’t question him any further about it.

They went inside the jail, and Hack seemed glad to see her, though not quite so glad to see Rhodes.

“Where’d you get the rifle?” he asked.

“Just happened to find it,” Rhodes said, hoping Hack would let it drop and knowing all along that he wouldn’t.

“Find it where?” Hack asked.

“Down at Able Terrell’s place,” Rhodes told him. “I’m going to lock it up now.”

He got the keys to the evidence room, ignored Hack’s looks, and locked the gun away. When he came back with the keys, Ivy was sitting at his desk, and Hack was still curious. He said, “Terrell just let you walk off with one of his guns?”

“He might not even know about it,” Rhodes said, and that was true. Duffy might not have told him.

“Able Terrell never let anybody walk off with a gun in his life.”

“It wasn’t Able. It was Duffy.”

“Guy who called here today? He sounded big as a house.”

“Not quite,” Rhodes said.

“I don’t want to hear about it,” Ivy said.

“Don’t worry,” Rhodes said. “You won’t.”

They’d been married for a while now, but Ivy still had trouble dealing with some of the things that Rhodes got into. It was like the cheeseburger he’d had for lunch. He tried not to tell her more than she needed to know.

“Did Ike Terrell get his bond set today?” he asked Hack.

“Not yet. Judge’s gonna see him first thing tomorrow.”

“Don’t let him get away before I talk to him,” Rhodes said.

“Better be here early, then.”

“I’ll be here,” Rhodes said.

He and Ivy told Hack good night and left the jail. Rhodes was through for the night unless he got a call. It wouldn’t be unusual if he did. The county wasn’t always quiet at night. The metal thieves were still going after copper all the time, and they liked to vandalize air conditioners at deserted buildings in the wee hours. Churches were a favorite target. Rhodes had pretty much shut down the local outlets for illegally obtained metal, but the thieves could always go elsewhere—and would, as long as they got paid.

Lately there’d also been a rash of tailgate thefts. It took a skilled thief about fifteen seconds to remove a pickup tailgate, toss it into his own truck, and drive away. Rhodes didn’t know where the tailgates were being sold, but so far he hadn’t caught anyone in Clearview selling them. He’d keep looking, though.

Driving home, Rhodes thought about the day. He had more to worry about than tailgates and copper, including a dead body, but no real suspects unless he counted Ike Terrell, and he was by now convinced that while Ike might have burgled the Beauty Shack, he hadn’t killed anyone, even by accident.

Seepy Benton had given him some people to talk to about the rumors surrounding Wellington, but Rhodes didn’t know where that would lead him. He didn’t have great hopes that he’d find out anything useful. On the other hand, Benton had mentioned once before that the faculty members loved gossip. Maybe talking to them would lead to something.

“You have a lot on your mind?” Ivy asked when they reached the house.

“No more than usual,” Rhodes said.

“Maybe I can take your mind off those things and put something else on it.”

“That sounds promising.”

“You better believe it, pal,” Ivy said in her best Cagney voice. Or maybe it was her Bogart voice.

Rhodes couldn’t tell the difference, but that didn’t matter. He believed it.

*   *   *

The next morning the phone rang just as Rhodes finished feeding Speedo. He was in the kitchen, watching the two cats sleeping by the refrigerator, perfectly at ease with each other. The animal who wasn’t at ease was Yancey, who wouldn’t come in the kitchen. He hadn’t even crossed it to go outside for a little romp with Speedo earlier. Rhodes figured that the dog’s feelings were hurt but that he’d get over it.

Ivy answered the phone, then handed it to Rhodes.

“It’s the mayor,” she said.

Great, Rhodes thought. Just what he needed. The mayor, Clifford Clement, wasn’t one of Rhodes’s biggest fans ever since a previous case in which he’d been a suspect. It never paid to suspect the mayor, especially when the city contracted with the county to provide law enforcement. Rhodes didn’t know why Clement was calling, but he was sure it wouldn’t be to tell Rhodes what a wonderful sheriff he was and what a fine job the department was doing.

Rhodes was right. At first, however, Clement wasn’t upset. It took him a while to work up to that state.

“I understand you have someone in jail for the killing at the college,” he said after Rhodes took the phone.

“There are several people in jail,” Rhodes said, “but I don’t think any of them killed Earl Wellington.”

“I was told that you had one of the Terrells. Everybody knows they’re all crazy down at that compound.”

“They aren’t crazy, just a little odd, and the one in the jail’s not a killer. I don’t think any of them are killers. They want to be left alone, that’s all.”

“This is terrible publicity for the city and the college,” Clement said. “What if the college decides to pull out of Clearview? We can’t have that.”

Like the dean, the mayor seemed more interested in how Wellington’s death would affect his own bailiwick than in seeing justice done. It was an attitude that Rhodes understood but didn’t appreciate.

“You’d better get this wrapped up quickly, Sheriff,” Clement said. “If you don’t, the city council will have to reconsider Clearview’s relationship with your department.”

Rhodes had to smile because it wasn’t much of a threat. The city was about as likely to create its own police force as Seepy Benton was to fly to the moon, though of course that was always a possibility.

“The department is devoting all its resources to solving the case,” Rhodes said. That was the kind of phrasing that the mayor understood.

“It had better, and while you’re at it, you might want to do something about that Web site the
Herald
’s ex-reporter has. She’s sensationalizing everything, and it’s not good for the town or anybody in it.”